Five Wooden Dragons crashed down, their bloody maws gaping.
Gale-force winds swept the wreckage of the work shed into the air, and stones clattered against the ground. The dragons' bodies blotted out the moonlight, plunging the entire battlefield into darkness.
Yaha stood directly beneath a dragon's jaws. His hands were tucked into his yukata pockets, his wet black hair clinging to the side of his neck. The loose knot in his sash swayed as he tilted his head up.
He didn't move.
The first Wooden Dragon's fangs closed to within half a meter. Bits of rubble still clung to its serrated wooden spikes, and its shriek through the air pierced the ears.
Yaha pulled out his right hand.
With his index and middle fingers pressed together, he made a light slash toward the dragon's maw.
Hiss.
The sound was barely audible.
The Wooden Dragon at the front began to disintegrate, starting at its head. It wasn't smashed apart. Instead, it unraveled along the grain, layer by layer, as though someone were dismantling it along its growth rings into the most basic strands of wood. Cursed Technique Eight operated at full power, without a single flashy move-only a pure law of destruction pouring outward.
Exceedingly fine wood shavings drifted down from the sky. Thinner than hair, they let sunlight spill through their gaps, illuminating the entire clearing as though golden snow had fallen.
That dragon hadn't held him back for even a second.
The azure dragon mounted on Zohakuten's back stiffened.
The righteous grief and indignation on his face cracked. His drumsticks fell together, striking the Taiko Drums behind him.
Boom, boom, boom.
The remaining four Wooden Dragons wheeled around and opened their mouths, spewing wild lightning and destructive sound waves. Before the lightning struck, a thunderclap like tearing silk exploded,