If Gyokko was a monster twisted in body, then Doma was an aberration through and through, inside and out.
Charles read Doma's aura as still as a dead pond, without the slightest ripple.
Unlike the supreme martial state of no-self, Doma was a hollow missing all emotion.
Even "rattled" by Charles's words, he felt no normal anger or malice. In short, a pitiable creature not worth pity at all.
Thinking of what this monster did in the original story, Charles decided to do a good deed today and teach Doma certain human feelings.
Namely, despair and fear!
Charles tightened his fists and War Saint appeared in his palms. He took one step—crossing several meters—and arrived before Doma, his great blade falling with the force to split mountains and seas.
"Blood Demon Art, Lotus Ice!"
Several lotus blossoms of cold ice appeared out of thin air and unfurled, each petal shining with a jade-like luster.
Beautiful as it looked, the move could freeze living tissue to necrosis in an instant—danger to the extreme.
But as Charles's edge traced a blazing arc, the frozen lotuses were cleaved and vanished.
The instant Charles struck, Doma slipped aside; only his split horned cap dropped to the floor.
Doma's hair had been white-oak long, but a black mark marred the crown of his head—like dried blood poured over it.
He squinted at the fallen cap.
As Charles stepped forward again, the half-crouched Doma suddenly rose and snapped his iron fan.
"Blood Demon Art: Freezing Clouds!"
A billow of white mist smacked toward Charles's face. The "mist" was fine ice crystals carrying a killing chill.
Doma had lived for centuries and fought Hashira more than a few times; he knew well how to target these Breathing swordsmen.
Breath is everything in their fights; inhale the crystals and your entire respiratory system freezes and dies, your resistance gone in moments.
Fragile parts like the eyes would also be ruined on contact, crippling combat capability.
At the end of the day, compared with demons, the human body was far too frail.
Unfortunately for him, Charles was no ordinary human.
With one swell of Charles's chest, the white cloud Doma fanned over was blown away outright.
The air on Doma's face felt like fire scalding him. No wonder his Blood Demon Art couldn't withstand a single exhale. Was this man even human?
While he was stunned, Charles's blade was already coming down, forcing Doma to retreat again.
"Blood Demon Art: Creeping Lotus Vines!"
Cold vines spread like living plants, snaking to bind Charles.
Charles kicked War Saint's dragon head; the blade that had chopped into the ground flipped up and smashed the tangled ice vines to powder.
Seeing Charles close again, Doma gritted his teeth and swept the fan upward.
"Blood Demon Art: Winter Icicles!"
Countless ice spikes congealed above and dropped toward the advancing Charles. Credit where due: Doma's timing was perfect—the spikes would land squarely on Charles.
War Saint spun in Charles's hand, then he flung the blade.
Like a blazing sun hung overhead, half the icicles evaporated before they even touched the spinning blade.
Charles was already in front of Doma, sinking into a bow step as his hands flashed out in a pair of punches. The first hammered Doma's iron fan, warping the thin metal at once.
The second dumped its force into Doma's chest, folding him over and making him spit a mouthful of blood.
Charles stepped and twisted, his palm slamming into Doma and blasting out a circular shockwave.
A fountain opened on Doma's back as gobbets of flesh and fragments of organs and bone flew out.
Charles raised a hand to catch the falling War Saint and hacked down.
Half a body—one arm and one leg still attached—hit the floor. Doma had, at least, kept his neck out of the way and fled.
His body regenerated swiftly; even the robe and iron fan returned to normal.
Those weren't silk and metal at all, but substances formed from Doma's own flesh.
"With how mean-spirited you are," Doma said darkly, "you could have taken my head, but you didn't!"
Shouldering the great blade, Charles said, "Don't get me wrong. I don't have a nasty habit of torturing foes. But fighting someone as empty as you is deeply unpleasant."
The manufactured warmth vanished from Doma's face, his tone turning grim. "Then my apologies indeed."
Charles lowered his body. "So hurry up and feel the terror and despair of those you devoured—and then go atone in hell."
He stamped War Saint against the floor.
The instant the pommel touched ground, Doma felt the world change, as if an orange-red filter had been laid over his vision.
Even so, it wasn't enough to make him give up; he swung his arms to unleash his strongest technique.
He could conjure a giant ice bodhisattva and attack in myriad ways. Strangely, after he swept his fan—nothing happened.
Confusion crossed Doma's face. He refused to accept it and flicked again and again—to the same nothing.
Despair often begins in helplessness before reality; that was Muzan's feeling now.
As for how Charles did it… a certain shinigami captain boasted the strongest ice-type blade, yet when the Head Captain got serious, he couldn't even release it.
Same principle here—not elemental counters, but outright suppression by overwhelming power.
Within the area Charles saturated with dense mana, Doma's ice crystals evaporated instantaneously. How could any technique manifest?
Charles weighed the blade in his hand. "Let's begin. Answer me—what's one thousand minus seven?"
Before the words finished, Doma's left arm, iron fan and all, went flying.
Shaken by the loss of his Blood Demon Art, then losing an arm, he froze—and a heartbeat later screamed like an ordinary human.
"Aaaah! Y-you… you… don't come any closer!"
Charles stepped forward, and Doma fell on his rear in fright. Though his limb had already regrown, he didn't even try to counter.
"I said… what's one thousand minus seven?"
As he spoke, Doma's freshly healed arm went flying again.
…
Earlier, Tanjiro and Gyokko had crashed through the wall and into the open.
Tanjiro was very strong now—solidly Hashira-class.
Already familiar with Gyokko's abilities, he quickly forced him to reveal his true form.
Even so, the body Gyokko bragged was harder than diamond was severed by a single stroke.
After Tanjiro collected the blood and returned through the breach, he saw Doma slumped on the floor like a pile of sludge.
Though his limbs were intact, he lay limp as if he'd lost all sensation and control of them.
As for what had happened, Tanjiro didn't dare ask.
Looking at Doma's vacant eyes, Charles curled his lip. "In the end, you learned nothing. Hopeless."
He squatted, plunged a syringe into Doma, drew a large tube of blood, then stood.
As he stowed the vial, he swung backhand—and took Doma's head.
______
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