Rage burned in Kyogai's eyes. "Why? Why did you interfere with my meal? Damn you! You deserve to die! I'll kill you!"
Aoki looked at Kyogai, a flicker of something akin to pity crossing his face, a detached curiosity in his gaze. He spoke, his voice calm, almost clinical. "Why are you so weak?"
Kyogai's eyes went crimson, a flare of pure fury, a primal rage that threatened to consume him.
He'd spent his life being scorned, dismissed, belittled. He was a failure as a human, a failure as an artist. Becoming a demon had been his chance, his path to power. Now, this traitor mocked him, stripped him bare with a single, careless phrase.
"I don't mean you're weak," Aoki added, a calculated twist of the knife, a deliberate goading of his wounded pride. "I mean you're not strong enough to be a Lower Moon."
Aoki's words were like acid, burning away the fragile facade of Kyogai's self-importance. His face twisted, a grotesque mask of shock and fury, a desperate attempt to cling to the illusion of power.
"I know you," Kyogai hissed, his voice a low growl that vibrated with hate, a promise of pain barely contained. "You're the traitor! If I kill you, the Master will praise me! He'll give me more blood! I'll be stronger! I'll climb higher!"
His words were a desperate plea, a fragile hope whispered into the void, a desperate attempt to reclaim his lost glory.
Kyogai lifted his arms, his eyes fixed on Aoki, a predator locking onto its prey, a desperate gamble against impossible odds.
"Instant Drumming!"
He attacked with a roar, a primal scream that echoed through the dilapidated house.
Thump!
Kyogai slammed his chest drum, a deafening boom that shook the room, a percussive blast of power unleashed.
Five claw-shaped slashes ripped through the air, blades of force aimed at Aoki's heart, a desperate attempt to tear him apart, to silence the mocking voice that haunted his dreams.
Thump, thump!
Almost at once, he struck the drums on his right shoulder and left thigh, the room tilting, spinning, a disorienting dance of death, a chaotic ballet of blood and bone.
Masumiko, huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her children, watched the scene unfold, her face a mask of terror, her prayers a silent whisper against the storm.
Aoki stumbled, caught in the shifting gravity, the world a disorienting blur, a kaleidoscope of violence and despair. The claw-shaped attacks followed him, relentless, unyielding, a deadly pursuit through a shifting maze. But his face was calm, his golden eyes focused, his mind calculating.
"Spatial Blood Demon Art."
It was the first Blood Demon Art based on space he'd encountered, aside from his own Space Warp, a twisted reflection of his own power.
It combined attack, control, and evasion, a versatile weapon in the hands of a desperate soul. Interesting.
It might be why Muzan had made Kyogai a Lower Moon, a twisted reward for his unique ability, a fleeting glimpse of power in a world of shadows.
Aoki banished the thought. He focused on the fight, the immediate threat, the desperate dance for survival. His body shifted, a whisper of darkness swallowed by the storm, a phantom moving through the chaos.
"Where did he go?"
Kyogai blinked, confused, his control slipping, the world tilting without his command. Then, a shadow fell over him, a sudden darkness that blotted out the light.
"Aoki Style, Death's Grip!"
Aoki's voice, a cold pronouncement of doom, a whisper of death in his ear. His fist slammed down, a force that shattered bone and crushed flesh, a brutal pronouncement of the inevitable.
Crack!
Kyogai screamed, a sound lost in the storm of his own power, a desperate cry swallowed by the void. His right arm snapped, severed at the shoulder, the drum flying away, useless in the face of Aoki's relentless assault.
Kyogai's face twisted, a mask of fury and desperation, a desperate struggle to hold onto his power, to reclaim his lost glory. He reached for the drum on his chest, a frantic gesture, a prayer to a god who wouldn't answer.
Then, Aoki's elbow slammed into his arm, a brutal interruption that shattered his defenses, a broken promise whispered in the dark.
Crack!
His left arm broke, a mirror image of his fallen right, a grotesque symmetry of pain.
These injuries would heal. He was a demon. He was strong.
But he didn't have time. He didn't have a second to breathe, a moment to gather his strength.
Thump, thump, thump!
Aoki attacked, a relentless storm of blows, a hurricane of fists and feet that battered his body, a brutal symphony of destruction. His movements were precise, brutal. Kyogai moved like a puppet on broken strings, his body a canvas for Aoki's deadly art, a grotesque dance with death.
Boom!
Kyogai's head exploded, a final, desperate act of defiance, a fleeting spark extinguished in the darkness.
The defense shattered, the power extinguished, the body a mangled ruin.
Aoki's brutality was terrifying.
Aoki moved with cold efficiency.
His power was absolute.
The Broken body fell, a silent thud against the shattered remains of his home.
All the key joints and muscles had been destroyed and torn. The regeneration ability was suppressed.
Kyogai lay on the floor, his muscles twitching, his lifeblood spilling onto the floor, a dark stain spreading across the wood. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. He could only wait for the end, a broken god on a ruined throne.
"The Blood Demon Art is interesting," Aoki thought, a cold assessment of his fallen foe, a clinical analysis of his strengths and weaknesses. "But the rest... You were weak up close. You didn't understand how to fight."
He'd relied on power, not skill. He'd been a brute, not a warrior.
Aoki walked over, his steps measured, his purpose clear. He reached out his hand, a silent pronouncement of his judgment.
Kyogai was a failure, a broken dream, a waste of demonic power.
It was time to harvest the soul, to claim the prize, to feed the darkness within.
Kyogai's broken body twisted, softened, a grotesque surrender to the inevitable. It was swallowed by the vortex in Aoki's palm, his essence consumed, his existence erased, a final act of oblivion.
[Killed Lower Moon Six, Gained 150 Experience.]
[Congratulations! Leveled Up!]
"Only one hundred fifty experience? That's..." Aoki started to complain, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
Then, a thought struck him.
He looked inward, a silent communion with the darkness within, a sudden understanding of a hidden truth.
He closed his eyes, focused. He activated Space Warp, a familiar surge of power, a whisper of movement in the void.
He didn't move to another place. He twisted his body, a sudden, violent contortion, a grotesque dance with gravity. He inverted himself, his feet pointing skyward, his head aimed at the floor, a desperate plunge into the abyss.
Thump!
He crashed against the floor, a jarring impact that shook his bones.
The sound startled Masumiko, huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear. She hesitated, then crept forward, a fragile hope warring with her terror.
"Sir? Are you okay?" Her voice was a whisper, a fragile thread in the darkness.
"I'm fine!"
Aoki waved her off, his voice a low rumble. His eyes shone, a spark of excitement in their depths. "I see."
He'd found something new.
He'd unlocked a hidden secret of his power.
He'd learned a new way to use Space Warp.
He'd devoured Kyogai, a demon who controlled space.
He'd gained something more than experience.
He'd gained knowledge.
He'd gained control.
Devouring a demon with spatial abilities had changed Space Warp.
It wasn't just about moving. It was about manipulating space, bending reality to his will.
He could change his orientation, flip his body in mid-air. He could move up, down, sideways, forward, backward, all in a blink. And he didn't need to see where he was going.
It was a small change, a subtle shift in his power. But it was a glimpse of a vast potential, a hint of the power that lay dormant within him.
It gave him new options. New ways to fight. New ways to survive.
It was a taste of what he could become.
The implications were huge.
There was a long way to go.
It was just the beginning.
The changes themselves weren't significant. The important thing was the direction it pointed him to.
It was the potential that truly excited him.
"Too bad there aren't many demons with spatial powers," Aoki thought.
He could only think of one: Nakime, the Biwa Demon, the master of the Infinity Castle.
The Infinity Castle was a dimension of its own.
It wasn't on this world.
You needed Muzan's permission to enter.
Now, he'd never ask Muzan for anything.
The thought of relying on Muzan made him shudder.
He'd find his own way.
He'd carve his own path.
Aoki pushed the thoughts away, focused on the present. "Are you hurt?"
He looked at Masumiko, a fragile human caught in his world of shadows.
Masumiko shook her head, her eyes wide, her body trembling. "I'm okay. Just... scared."
Aoki nodded. He understood.
"It's over," he said, his voice a quiet reassurance. "You're safe now."
He added, "There was money on the body. Take it. There might be more in the house. Look around."
He couldn't offer comfort. He couldn't offer safety. He could only offer the tools for survival, a small measure of control in a chaotic world.
Masumiko nodded, her face a mixture of gratitude and fear. "I understand."
She was grateful for his help. She was terrified of what she'd seen.
She'd do what she had to do. She had children to protect.
Aoki turned to leave. "After you go home, plant wisteria flowers. Burn wisteria incense at night. It keeps demons away."
Masumiko spoke quickly, "Please, tell me your name. I'll pray for you every day."
"That's not necessary."
Aoki shook his head, his face a mask of indifference. He shimmered, vanished, a whisper of darkness swallowed by the shadows.
Masumiko stared at the empty space, a silent prayer forming on her lips. Then, she turned back to the task at hand.
She had to survive. She had to protect her children.
She'd find the money. She'd find a way.
She bit her lip, a small act of defiance against the fear that threatened to consume her. First, she'd find the money. Then, she'd find a way to live.
She found the money pouch on Kyogai's body. Then, she searched the house.
She found two more pouches, hidden beneath a floorboard.
It wasn't much. But it was enough. It would help them survive.
Then, the first rays of dawn touched the sky.
Masumiko left the house, hurrying through the woods, a survivor carrying the weight of her world.
She returned home near noon.
Clatter!
The firewood slipped from Etsuo's arms, scattered on the ground. He stared at Masumiko, his face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief.
Masumiko ran to him, held him tight, a fierce embrace that chased away the ghosts of the night.
Etsuo's eyes burned. Tears streamed down his face.
"Mom..."
---
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