Chapter 13: The Crimson Maple's Edge
"Yes. From now on, I am Momiji." The newly named demon repeated the name, tasting it on his tongue. Momiji… Crimson Maple.
"You were a shinobi," Shuichi stated, not asked. He'd scrubbed away most of Momiji's past but left the ingrained muscle memory, the ingrained understanding of power. It explained the young man's singular focus. He was curious. Breathing Technique swordsmen retained their arts after demonization. Could a shinobi retain ninjutsu?
Momiji closed his eyes, his expression one of intense inward focus. He assessed the potent, alien energy thrumming within his cells, alongside its glaring, sun-born weakness. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped open, revealing icy blue irises flecked with gold. Confusion flickered there.
"The chakra is gone."
Shuichi's brow creased slightly. Wrong guess? So ninjutsu doesn't carry over like Breathing Techniques? Still, a shinobi-turned-demon was clearly superior in base physicality to the likes of Dry Arrow or the crow. Momiji's earlier self-analysis confirmed it. Even without a Blood Demon Art, his raw power likely eclipsed the others.
Momiji's own brow furrowed in concentration. "However…" he murmured. "There is another force. Interwoven with the cells. It is… similar to chakra, yet fundamentally different. Chakra is centralized, pooled. This energy is… diffuse. In every cell. It cannot be molded for hand seals or conventional ninjutsu. But it feels… it can be manifested. As a coating. A protective layer."
His internal monologue, of course, was an open book to Shuichi.
"A protective layer?" Shuichi's interest was piqued. Neither Dry Arrow nor Onigarasu had exhibited anything like this. Perhaps it was a remnant of the chakra system, mutated. It sounded practical. If only it could block sunlight, he thought wryly. Too easy.
He can read my thoughts?! The realization jolted through Momiji, a spike of alarm he quickly suppressed. To have one's mind laid bare… it was a profound violation. A flicker of something cold and calculating passed behind his eyes, even as his surface thoughts smoothed into placid obedience.
"Yes, My Lord," Momiji replied aloud, standing. He focused, willing the strange, cellular energy to the surface.
A brief, silver-white luminescence shimmered across his skin, there and gone in a flash. To a casual observer, nothing had changed. But Shuichi sensed the shift—a subtle hardening of the air around Momiji, a new density to his presence.
"Demonstrate."
Without further warning, Shuichi's right arm distorted, flesh flowing into the familiar, spiked whip. It lashed out with a crack that split the alley's silence, a crimson blur aimed directly at Momiji's torso.
Momiji had no time to react, to dodge, or to brace. He simply stood as the attack arrived.
CRACK-THUD!
The whip struck. There was a brief, almost crystalline snap—the sound of the unseen protective layer shattering—before the spikes tore into flesh. Blood sprayed. The force lifted Momiji off his feet, hurling him backward like a ragdoll.
"Incredible power!" The thought was clinical, even as agony seared through him.
He tumbled through the air, but his demon-enhanced reflexes and balance took over. Twisting mid-flight, he landed in a low crouch on the low wall of a nearby garden, steady as a cat.
The horrific wound running from his right shoulder to his left hip, deep enough to glimpse bone, was already knitting itself shut with terrifying speed. In moments, only his shredded clothes bore witness to the blow.
Shuichi watched, analytical. He had felt the whip break through something first—a brief resistance—before making contact. So the 'layer' was real. Just pathetically fragile. For a creature with near-instant regeneration, what use was a brittle shield?
"Is that its only function? This 'layer'?" Shuichi asked, his tone dismissive. "Rather underwhelming."
"My Lord," Momiji replied, leaping down from the wall, his wound fully sealed. "For now… I have discovered no other application."
"Then you will delve deeper. Unlock its potential. A single-purpose tool is a waste." The order was clear.
"Yes, My Lord." Momiji's voice was even, but his mind churned. He had considered challenging the Ghost King one day, testing his own growth against the source of his power. The casual, overwhelming force of that single strike had annihilated that notion for the foreseeable future. The ambition wasn't gone—it was shelved, a long-term goal filed away under 'when I am powerful enough.' For now, survival and growth were paramount.
Shuichi read these careful thoughts and said nothing. Ambition in a subordinate was fine, as long as it was channeled productively. A demon obsessed with gaining strength would hunt relentlessly. And the more it consumed, the more he would gain.
With Konoha on high alert, Momiji had nowhere safe to go. In a display of what he considered remarkable generosity, Shuichi decided to take his new creation home. His apartment was spacious enough. He even found a set of his own, looser-fitting clothes for Momiji, replacing the bloodied rags.
It was somewhat comical; Momiji's height hadn't increased at all during his transformation, remaining a compact 160 centimeters. Shuichi's clothes hung off him.
To Momiji, this 'kindness' was another test, another layer of supervision. The Ghost King was placing him under direct observation to monitor his progress. It meant constant pressure, living under the eye of overwhelming power. Miserable, a part of him thought. But pressure forged strength. He adjusted his mindset accordingly, tying his long magenta hair back for practicality. The oversized clothes gaped, revealing pale skin marked with crimson maple-leaf patterns.
He might have… a certain appeal to a specific demographic, Shuichi observed with detached amusement.
Standing by the door, Shuichi issued final instructions. "I am going out. When I return, I expect everything here to be exactly as it is now. Also," he added, his gaze sharpening as it fell on Momiji's vividly colored hair, "if someone knocks… do not answer. Do not be seen."
The hair was far too distinctive. Anyone who saw it would remember.
"Yes, My Lord." Momiji's internal sigh was perfectly audible to Shuichi. Does he think I'm an idiot? Of course I wouldn't answer the door.
Without another word, Shuichi Mayumi slipped out into the deepening night, leaving his newest, most promising—and most perilously ambitious—subordinate alone in the dark apartment. The game within Konoha's walls was escalating, and he had just added a dangerous new piece to his board.
(End of Chapter)
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