Chapter 50: Comb of Hostility
A crimson mist saturated the air, clinging to the flat ground in a supernatural haze. Yura of the Hair watched the scarlet particles hang suspended, her previously confident expression finally cracking.
"Do you think this pathetic little mist can do anything to me?" she scoffed, forcing a veneer of calm. "My hair can absorb Yao Qi, and your blood is no exception—"
Her taunt died in her throat.
Hikaru smiled.
Against his pallid skin, that smile was a far more glaring and unsettling sight than his previous eerie grins.
"Who said I was going to attack you with blood?"
He lifted a single finger. Though his body was ensnared by her living hair, a movement so small was still possible.
"Ghost Firefly," he whispered, giving the technique its name.
It was a rudimentary demon art, an ability he had awakened to naturally upon becoming an Oni Samurai. Nothing more than an inconspicuous little skill, a wisp of foxfire kindled by his own Yao Qi.
But now… the blood mist hanging thick in the air ignited all at once.
Ghostly blue flames bloomed from within the crimson haze. They sparked to life, point by point, until they resembled countless fireflies dancing in a twilight sky.
Beautiful, yet utterly lethal.
"This is—!"
Yura's pupils constricted into pinpricks. She finally understood. The blood mist wasn't the weapon.
It was the medium. It was… the fuel.
'Not good—'
She tried to retract the web of hair she had spread across the battlefield, but it was far too late.
The ghostly blue flames raced along the trails of blood mist, expanding at a speed visible to the naked eye. And that mist was everywhere—coating the strands wrapped around Hikaru, lacing through the complex 'hair net' she had so painstakingly woven, and settling upon every inch of ground beneath her feet.
No matter its demonic properties, hair was still hair. And hair was flammable.
A chorus of sizzling filled the air. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to drain all the color from Yura's face, leaving it a mask of ashen horror.
"No—!"
She frantically tried to pull back the ignited strands, but the Ghost Fireflies were no ordinary flame. They were fueled by Hikaru's Yao Qi, consuming the blood mist and anything unnatural it had touched. The burning tendrils writhed violently, like a thousand black snakes in their death throes, releasing a foul, charring stench.
The hair binding Hikaru slackened and fell away. It wasn't that Yura had released him; the strands were simply burning to ash, unable to hold their form any longer.
"Free at last."
Hikaru flexed his wrist, his hand already finding the familiar grip of his sword's hilt. But in that same instant, that fleeting split second, a thought surfaced in his mind as his crimson eyes fell upon Yura, now trapped within a circle of her own burning power.
Yura of the Hair.
A demon whose true form is a comb.
'A comb is an inanimate object…'he reasoned.'Does that mean an existence like her falls within my system's parameters? Can I… conquer her?'
For an object to gain sentience and become a demon was a rarity on par with a non-corporeal entity doing the same. This was the first time since his transmigration that he had encountered such a creature.
His body moved with the speed of his thoughts. Hikaru never hesitated.
The next second, he charged.
He didn't use Ghost Step, just a simple, brutally direct rush straight toward Yura. As he moved, he let his sword fall from his hand.
He needed to test his theory. He needed to make contact.
"You—!"
Yura tried to scramble back, but her legs felt weak and unresponsive. The hair she had spread across the clearing was an extension of her very being, the vessel for her demonic energy. With so much of it burning away, her power was draining at a catastrophic rate.
Before she could retreat a single step, Hikaru's hand clamped around her wrist. His other hand pressed down on her shoulder, and their bodies collided with a violent thud.
She stumbled backward, and he used the momentum to drive her to the ground.
Bang!
Her back hit the earth, sending up a cloud of dust. Yura lay pinned, with Hikaru's body pressing her down. Their faces were mere inches apart, their breaths mingling in the charged air. She could smell the cold, metallic scent of blood on him, mixed with the chilling aura unique to an Oni Samurai. He, in turn, could smell the acrid scent of her own scorched hair clinging to her skin.
"You—" Yura gasped, trying to struggle.
But Hikaru's hands were like iron vices, pinning her wrists to the ground on either side of her head. Her body was completely eclipsed by his. The thin, dark red fabric of her kimono was bunched and twisted, and the swell of her chest rose and fell violently with her ragged breaths, threatening to spill from the neckline. His weight pressed down on her waist, forcing her delicate skin against the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. Her thighs instinctively tried to clamp shut but were held apart by his knee, leaving her to feebly press her leg against his.
"Let go!" Her voice was laced with a rising panic.
This was wrong. Everything was wrong. She was the predator. She was the one who pinned her prey to the ground to drain their life force.
Why… why was it reversed?
"Let me go—!"
Her remaining hair surged madly, attempting to ensnare him once more, but the strands were still smoldering, unable to coalesce or hold any shape.
Hikaru looked down at her, his crimson eyes appearing exceptionally captivating at this close range.
"What were you saying just now?" he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. "That you were going to tie me up and wait for that shrine maiden to return? That you were going to drain my vitality right in front of her?"
He tilted his head, the slight movement sending a cool wisp of air across her neck.
"What about now?" he murmured. "Hmm?"
Yura's body went rigid. She could feel his hands crushing her wrists, his knee wedged between her legs, his weight making it hard to breathe. But more than any of that, she could feel a dangerous aura radiating from him.
It wasn't killing intent.
It was… covetousness?
"Wh-what do you want to do—" Her voice trembled.
Hikaru didn't answer. He just stared down at her.
Then—
[Yura of the Hair]
[Quality: Artifact (Comb)]
[Affinity: -30 (Full of Hostility)]
'It actually worked!?'
A flicker of triumph lit up Hikaru's eyes.
And at that very moment.
"Kobe Hikaru."
A voice cut through the air from the edge of the clearing. It was cold, indifferent, yet carried an undercurrent that sent a chill straight down the spine.
Hikaru's movements froze. He seemed to finally register the deep inappropriateness of his current position.
The Oni Samurai slowly turned his head.
Kikyo stood not far away, a vision in her white robes and red hakama, her longbow held loosely in one hand. Her black hair draped over her shoulders, shimmering faintly under the sunlight.
Her expression was perfectly calm—a calm that was terrifying. Her pitch-black eyes flickered from Hikaru to the scantily clad demon he had pinned beneath him.
Silence.
A dead, heavy silence.
The scene was, admittedly, not ideal. He was straddling a half-dressed female demon with a posture so ambiguous it could fuel a thousand wild fantasies.
But fortunately… he was an Oni Samurai.
The advantage of a perpetually deadpan face was once again on full display. Not a hint of panic showed on Hikaru's pale features, his crimson eyes as placid as still water. As if he were merely finishing a mundane task, he rolled off Yura and rose to his feet with fluid grace.
"This is a demon," he stated plainly. "She came to attack me."
"I saw," Kikyo replied, nodding once. Her expression remained placid, unreadable.
But Hikaru couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Fortunately, he was 'calm' enough to match her.
On the ground, Yura saw her chance. She scrambled to her feet, intending to flee. But just as she pushed herself up, a flash of white light struck the ground before her.
A Sacred Arrow.
It was embedded three inches from her feet, its shaft still humming with spiritual power.
"Don't move," Kikyo's voice was as calm as ever. "Move again, and the next arrow will not be a warning."
Yura's body froze solid, not daring to twitch another muscle. She stared at the arrow, then at the shrine maiden in the distance.
It was over.
This shrine maiden's spiritual power… it was too strong. So strong that the thought of facing her as an enemy was inconceivable. So strong that, in that moment, she couldn't even muster the will to run.
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