Ōtsutsuki Isshiki's back slammed into the earth.
The ground abruptly collapsed into a bowl-shaped crater dozens of meters across. Then a shock wave swept dirt and rubble into the sky, erupting into a grayish-brown mushroom cloud in the sunlight.
At the center of the crater, Isshiki knelt on one knee on the fractured rock, his left hand clutching his chest and a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Gritting his teeth, he braced his right palm against the ground, his knuckles digging deep into the cracks between the shattered stones.
His rapid breathing rasped deep in his chest, but his eyes held no trace of wavering.
That kick had not shattered Isshiki's combat instincts. Instead, the pain had sharpened his awareness. "...Damn it."
He muttered the words, then abruptly looked up.
High above, Momoshiki had already charged up to Naraku.
That exchange of blows had happened too quickly.
As Isshiki fell, Momoshiki had caught up from diagonally below, as though riding the wake of the wind pressure.
The long red staff in his hands was a solid form created by compressing the power of Bōshijin.
Momoshiki's eyes remained fixed on Naraku. His right arm raised the staff overhead, his entire body poised for a full-force downward strike.
"Haaah!"
With a furious roar, he brought the staff crashing down directly over Naraku's head with terrifying force.
Naraku's pupils contracted slightly.
He did not retreat. Instead, the instant his toes touched the ground, he stepped half a pace diagonally forward to the left, turning his body ever so slightly to let the long red staff sweep past almost flush with the space between the tip of his nose and his chest.
The wind pressure from the staff tore through the air beside his cheek, even severing several strands