Inside the chamber beyond the black door, Araksha stood before the coffin, grinding its twin swords together.
Steel scraped against steel in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Sparks flickered in the darkness, briefly illuminating the demon's twisted frame. Torn flesh clung loosely to its body, holes puncturing its torso where something had once pierced through. The sound was not meant to sharpen the blades, it was a warning.
"I… do not care… how you know my name," Araksha rasped, its voice echoing unnaturally through the chamber. "It will not save you… from me. I will not… show mercy to a human."
Ashan rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, joints popping softly as if he were preparing for training rather than a death match.
"Good," he replied calmly. "That's exactly what I want."
He tilted his neck from side to side, loosening it.
"You see, I've been looking for a suitable opponent to test a new sword technique. Someone strong enough to survive more than a few exchanges. So let's make this a proper duel."
A distorted grin crept across Araksha's face. With torn lips and exposed teeth framed by ripped flesh, the smile looked less like amusement and more like hunger given form.
"What an interesting human," the demon muttered. "To think… a human dares to challenge me directly. Do you truly believe I'm weak?"
It leaned forward slightly, swords angled downward.
"I'll tear off your limbs… and fill my stomach with your flesh."
Ashan smiled.
Not a forced smile. Not arrogance.
A wicked, knowing grin.
"Do you really think," he asked quietly, "that I'm an ordinary human?"
The air changed instantly.
Ashan released the cursed energy he had been suppressing.
It poured out of him like a floodgate shattering. The pressure slammed into the chamber, crushing the air, warping the space itself. The darkness seemed to recoil as if alive. The walls groaned. Loose debris rattled violently across the floor.
Araksha staggered back half a step.
Its breath caught.
Its mind shook.
This wasn't simple killing intent. This wasn't raw mana. This was corruption, dense, carrying the unmistakable authority of something that had ruled over curses rather than feared them.
"That presence…" Araksha hissed, eyes widening. "This corruption… it's familiar. You are not human."
Ashan raised his hand.
Seven blades emerged from a pocket dimension, materializing one by one in midair before settling into his grasp with flawless precision.
"I am human," Ashan replied evenly. "Just not a normal one."
He lifted his hand to his mask.
"And that's because I surpassed a limit most humans can't."
Without hesitation, he removed the mask.
The cursed markings on his face pulsed faintly. Four eyes stared back at the demon, the lower pair transforming fully as the Byakugan activated. Veins traced outward from them, glowing subtly beneath his skin.
Araksha let out a low, mocking chuckle.
"You call that a human face?" it sneered. "You look more like a monster wearing human skin."
Ashan didn't react.
"Enough talk," he said. "I'm eager to fight."
His gaze locked onto the demon, calm yet razor-sharp, measuring distance, angles, timing.
One sword clenched firmly between his teeth.
Two secured beneath his armpits.
One locked against his elbow.
One aligned along his knee.
Two held tightly in his hands.
Seven blades.
Each balanced perfectly.
His stance lowered, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. The ground beneath him felt solid, dependable. His breathing slowed until it synchronized with his heartbeat, steady and controlled.
Every muscle in his body was engaged, but not tense. His shoulders remained loose, his core firm enough to twist, pivot, or explode into motion instantly. The swords beneath his arms trembled faintly with his breath.
He adjusted the blade in his mouth slightly, tightening his bite.
There was no opening.
Every direction was covered. Every movement accounted for.
Araksha's jaw tightened.
"I… don't know what you're planning," the demon hissed, voice dripping with malice. "But I will carve you open… and drink your strength."
Ashan tilted his head a fraction.
"Then stop talking."
Silence followed.
Araksha vanished.
A sonic boom detonated through the chamber as the demon reappeared directly in front of Ashan, both swords swinging in perfect synchronization, the Twin Fang Art.
The blades cut through the air faster than vision. Shockwaves rolled outward, tearing gouges into the walls and sending stone fragments flying.
But Ashan's eyes rotated like burning wheels.
The world slowed.
Through the Byakugan, he saw everything. The flow of mana along Araksha's muscles. The tightening of tendons. The exact moment the swing was decided, before it even began.
He bent backward by a single inch.
The blades passed so close they sheared a strand of hair from his forehead.
'Too shallow.'
His knee snapped upward.
The sword positioned at his knee thrust forward, clashing against Veyra and deflecting the follow-up strike. At the same moment, the two swords under his arms twisted outward, cutting along impossible angles.
The movement was mechanical, precise, and fluid beyond logic.
Seven blades moved as one rhythm.
Araksha barely crossed its swords in time.
Sparks exploded between steel.
'What is this?' the demon thought sharply. 'These movements… this isn't normal. It's a style.'
Ashan spun.
The blade in his mouth swept upward while the hand-held swords moved in opposing arcs. The impact produced a resonant metallic scream that echoed throughout the chamber.
For the first time, Araksha was forced backward.
The sound of their battle thundered like colliding storms. Each clash carved new scars into the walls. The floor cracked under the pressure of every step, shockwaves pulverizing loose stone into dust.
Araksha slid back, crouching low. Blood dripped from a gash along its arm, sizzling as steam rose from the wound before it sealed shut.
"You… move like chaos itself," the demon growled. "Seven blades… how can one body control such madness?"
Ashan straightened slightly, exhaling slowly.
"It's simple," he replied. "I don't let the blades move."
He took a step forward.
"I become their movement."
He vanished.
Ashan reappeared instantly, launching into another assault. The pattern of his attacks was impossible to predict. Each blade followed its own trajectory, yet all adhered to a single underlying rhythm.
A slash descended from above.
Another rose from beneath the elbow.
A third came from behind, unseen.
All converged in perfect harmony.
Araksha's sword sense screamed.
Threats came from every direction, but it couldn't distinguish feints from killing blows. Its parries struck empty air while real blades found flesh.
Blood sprayed.
A blade ripped across Araksha's shoulder. Another carved into its thigh.
The demon roared in fury.
It retaliated with everything it had.
Its swords spun violently, unleashing Reaper's Waltz in full. Crescents of compressed force erupted outward, each shockwave sharp enough to cleave stone and shred steel.
Ashan twirled.
Seven swords rotated around his body like a controlled storm.
Every shockwave was met, redirected, or erased.
The chamber's air pressure collapsed inward. Steel screamed against steel. Sparks filled the space. For several seconds, both figures were swallowed by a tornado of slashes, energy, and rage.
Then,
They broke apart.
Twenty meters separated them.
Araksha's chest heaved violently. Its mana bled away faster than expected. The repeated use of Reaper's Waltz strained even its demonic body.
Ashan stood untouched.
Not a single cut marked his skin. Kamui had erased every lethal strike mid-exchange, bending space itself to deny contact.
His posture remained relaxed.
His Sharingan spun faster.
He was memorizing.
Every habit. Every pattern. The subtle delay in Araksha's left wrist. The slight hesitation in its footwork.
"You rely on patterns," Ashan said coldly. "Sword sense reads motion."
He took a step forward.
"That's your flaw."
Araksha snarled. "What.."
Ashan vanished.
He reappeared behind the demon.
Seven slashes landed in a single blink.
Blood splattered across the wall.
Araksha spun instinctively, thrusting Solen, but Ashan was already above it, rotating midair. The swords beneath his arms plunged downward like twin fangs.
Araksha crossed Veyra and Solen to block.
The impact slammed it into the floor.
Cracks spiderwebbed outward as the ground caved beneath its body.
Ashan landed lightly.
His voice was calm.
"Too slow."