Chapter 81: More Than One Person is Angry
A serpentine bolt of lightning, crackling with the roar of a dragon, tore through the forest night. It carved a blistering path through the mass of giant, writhing tentacles, severing them wherever it passed. The appendages fell away in scorched, twitching pieces.
Its momentum barely spent, the lightning dragon shot straight for Gyokko.
Unfortunately, the demon was slippery. With a flicker of movement, he vanished, and the attack slammed into empty air.
"Well now," Akira called out, his voice deceptively calm. "Your attacks aren't much to look at, but your ability to run for your life is quite impressive."
Though the tentacles had been surprisingly tough to cut, the first rule of a verbal spar was to never concede the momentum.
"With that snail-like attack speed of yours, how could you possibly dream of touching me?" Gyokko's voice echoed from a new position not far away. His form materialized, and he began to taunt, finally finding an outlet after being so thoroughly suppressed.
"Actually," Akira said, casually flicking a single, glistening trace of blood from the edge of his Nichirin Blade. "I believe I already have."
At the same time, a thin red line began to seep from the junction of Gyokko's shoulder and neck. The sight sent a jolt of shock through the demon, and the two small, childlike hands near his head flew up to cover the wound.
It was shallow—barely a scrape of the skin—and it healed in an instant, but the fact remained: he had been wounded.
A secret alarm blared in Gyokko's mind. He already knew the boy was fast; he had witnessed it firsthand when Akira had snatched the girl, Makomo, from his grasp. For that reason, the pot he currently occupied wasn't one of his usual offensive vessels, but a specialized one designed for high-speed evasion.
And yet, even with that advantage, he had still been hit. And it had happened while the boy was simultaneously breaking through his attack to save someone else.
"So, is this all a dignified Upper Rank has to offer?" Akira continued his verbal assault, using the time to regulate his breathing and recover his stamina.
"You uncultured insect! You know nothing of art! Stop looking down on me!" Both of Gyokko's mouths spat flecks of saliva, his rage mounting.
"I've told you, you're not a person, and I'm not an insect," Akira replied, shaking his head with an air of weary disappointment. "You can't even distinguish between species. You really are brainless." He sighed dramatically. "Oh, dear. My grandfather once taught me never to argue with a fool, because you lose face whether you win or lose. Honestly, how could I have forgotten?"
Bulging veins pulsed across Gyokko's face. The demon's entire body seemed to swell, on the very verge of exploding with fury.
"Oh, right," Akira added suddenly, just as Gyokko was about to erupt. "I have one more thing to say."
"?"
"Those other pots of yours, while the patterns were a bit… strange, at least their shapes were presentable. But this one you're in now?" Akira tilted his head, his expression one of clinical critique. "Not only is the pattern hideous, but the spout is crooked. It completely lacks symmetry, which is the last, most basic tenet of aesthetics."
"!!!"
"Shut up! You sightless little brat! What do you know about art! How could my pot be crooked!"
The insult to his precious pottery was the final straw. Gyokko completely lost his mind.
'Now.'
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash."
Exploiting the momentary distraction, Akira launched his attack. A flash of gold, a crack of thunder—he was gone and then he was there, his blade hissing through the air.
Unfortunately, it only managed to slice through a thin layer of skin.
But his true goal had been achieved.
All that time spent on trash talk wasn't just to stall for time or draw aggro. It was a calculated strategy to completely infuriate Gyokko, to shatter his composure and force him out of that troublesome, high-speed pot. Even Akira's own advanced techniques struggled to keep up with its erratic movements. If Gyokko didn't come out, Akira would have no way to vent the firestorm of rage building in his own chest.
The image of Makomo, fainting and so terribly weak in his arms, had long since pushed his anger to its peak. After their initial clash, he had a measure of Gyokko's strength. The demon was strong, yes, but not unbeatable.
Since this creature had hurt Makomo—had almost made it so Akira would never see her again—then he would have to leave something behind before this night was over.
Ideally, his life.
The layer of skin Gyokko shed fell limply to the ground, turning to ash along with the now-useless pot. Having abandoned the vessel, the demon revealed his true form, reappearing on the thick branch of a nearby tree.
His head was the same, but his body had become far more hideous. The fin-like growths that had served as his hair were now longer, forming a grotesque ruff around his neck. His entire torso was covered in scales that shimmered with a hard, metallic luster.
The short, useless arms that had lined his sides were gone, replaced by a pair of thick, powerful limbs. The scales on his forearms and palms were a sickly green, and his claws gleamed with a chilling light. His lower body was no longer humanoid but a long, coiling snake's tail covered in blue scales, wrapped tightly around the tree trunk.
"You insect, devoid of a single artistic cell!" Gyokko boomed. "Open your ignorant eyes and gaze upon my true face! You are the third human fortunate enough to witness this form..."
As Gyokko prepared to launch into a grand monologue about his ultimate state, Akira interrupted him again.
"I'm a bit curious," he said plainly. "Who were the first two?"
"Shut up! Is that the point?!" the demon shrieked. "Once I get serious, no one leaves alive! Those two are obviously dead! Who would remember the names of the dead!"
"Oh. Then you're just so amazing," Akira said, his face a mask of calm.
The veins on Gyokko's face, which had just begun to subside, bulged once more.
"Shut your mouth, you stinking kid!" Gyokko hissed, trying to regain his composure. "These translucent scales covering my body are harder than diamonds..."
"Really? I don't believe you. Not unless you stand still and let me try to cut you."
"I told you to shut up!"
"This is the incomparably perfect physique I have spent centuries refining within my pots! Prostrate yourself at my feet!"
"The other parts are… somewhat passable, I suppose," Akira mused, stroking his chin. "But have you really not considered changing that face? It's quite ugly."
"Also," he added, his gaze drifting down to the snake tail coiled around the branch, his voice laced with innocent curiosity. "Do you even have feet? Prostrating at your feet… no matter how I think about it, that seems impossible, right?"
"Is that the point?! You brat who loves nothing more than to provoke people!"
"I've said it before, you're not a person, and I'm not..."
Before Akira could finish his sentence, Gyokko's figure vanished from the branch. In the blink of an eye, he was directly in front of Akira, a fist roughly the size of the boy's head already smashing down.
Faced with Gyokko's explosive increase in speed, Akira could only fall back, his movements a blur of evasive maneuvers. He knew from his past life's knowledge that in this form, Gyokko's green-scaled palms possessed a terrifying ability: the 'God's Hand,' which could turn anything they touched into a fish.
Relying on his own extraordinary vision, Akira successfully dodged the demon's furious series of attacks, the wind from the blows whipping at his hair. But he couldn't find a single opening to counter. If those claws so much as grazed his Nichirin Blade, it would be a disaster.
"Can't hit me, can't hit me," Akira taunted, his voice steady despite the high-speed dance of death. "Are you mad?"
"Arrrgh—!" Gyokko let out a roar of impotent rage, his movements growing wilder.
"Oh my, getting anxious already?" Akira continued his verbal jabs, intending to completely shatter the demon's reason and force a mistake.
"Blood Demon Art: Killer Fish Scales!"
This was Gyokko's strongest move in his true form. Using the powerful snake tail that comprised most of his body, he launched himself into a series of high-speed, ricocheting leaps, surrounding Akira to kill him from all directions.
It had to be said, as Upper Rank Five, Gyokko was still formidable. Even with Akira's speed, which could crush anyone in the current Demon Slayer Corps, and even with eyes that could clearly track the demon's every move, he still couldn't completely dodge this technique.
There was a tearing sound.
Akira's new haori—the one he hadn't even worn for a full twenty-four hours, the one hand-sewn for him by Kanae—was suddenly missing a large piece from the back and the side hem. That section of fabric transformed mid-air, turning into several small, flopping fish that scattered across the ground.
A pungent, fishy smell rushed straight into his nostrils.
This time, it was Akira's turn to explode with rage.
On the other side, seeing Akira freeze in place, Gyokko thought his attack had wounded him. He spoke with smug satisfaction, "How is it? How does the touch of my 'God's Hand' feel?"
Akira did not respond. He only looked up, his head tilted slightly, his eyes now filled with a killing intent so pure and cold it was terrifying.
In an instant, Gyokko sensed the aura around the boy shift. It became something deeply wrong, something that made even him, an Upper Rank demon, feel a primal sense of danger. The powerful, steady rhythm of his breathing deepened, and within it, Gyokko could hear the faint, ominous rumble of muffled thunder.
"Thunder Breathing, Ninth Form," Akira's voice was low, a deadly promise. "Divine Judgment."
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