Chapter 49: You Underestimated Me
A flash of cold steel met a torrent of living shadow.
Hikaru's Muramasa carved through the air, its dark blade energy tearing through the atmosphere and severing dozens of whipping strands of hair.
But that was only the beginning.
An impossible flood of hair erupted from the girl's head—not dozens, but hundreds, then thousands. They formed a suffocating tide of black, a living ocean of darkness that blotted out the sky as it swept toward Hikaru.
"Interesting."
Hikaru leaped backward, his blade slashing in a clean horizontal arc that unleashed another wave of demonic energy. The attack tore a rift in the ocean of hair, but the gap was instantly swallowed by an even greater surge of writhing strands.
The girl—or rather, the demon—stood at the heart of the storm, wreathed in countless pitch-black filaments. "Yura of the Hair."
Her voice was a melodic threat. "That is my name, Oni Samurai."
"Remember it."
"Because it will be the last name you ever hear."
Yura of the Hair. The name clicked into place in Hikaru's mind. In truth, he had recognized her the moment he laid eyes on the girl-like demon. She was a figure from the original story, a demon who commanded hair, whose true form was a simple comb that had absorbed enough resentment and Yao Qi to gain a malevolent consciousness.
Those hairs weren't just a weapon; they were a medium for her to absorb life force. Anyone entangled in them, regardless of age or gender, would have their life drained away before they even realized what was happening.
"Yura of the Hair..." Hikaru's lips curled into a slight, dangerous smile. "A good name."
"It's just a pity—"
He activated Ghost Step. His form flickered, dissolving into a phantom-like blur that reappeared in a flash at Yura's left flank.
"—you've picked the wrong opponent."
The blade struck, aimed for a vital point.
Yura didn't bother to dodge, only shifting her body a fraction. In that instant, countless strands of hair wove themselves into a dense barrier before her, catching the fierce strike.
A high-pitched shriek of metal scraping against an impossibly hard surface rang out. Those seemingly soft strands of hair were tougher than forged steel.
Hikaru's brow furrowed. This one was going to be troublesome. The sheer number of strands was one problem, but their durability was another; a normal attack couldn't sever them. Worse, they seemed to regenerate instantly. The ones he'd cut just moments ago had already been replaced.
"How is it?" Yura's voice was laced with a triumphant, mocking purr. "Can you feel the despair?"
"Your blade is fast, I'll grant you that. But I have more hair. Even if you cut a thousand strands, I have ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million more waiting. I can keep growing them forever. But you? Can you keep cutting?"
Hikaru offered no reply. Instead, he leaped back again, creating distance. It was then that he noticed something on the ground.
The severed strands of hair hadn't vanished. They were writhing on the forest floor like black, segmented worms, coiling silently toward his ankles.
With a sharp downward slash, Hikaru severed the creeping tendrils. But it was a futile gesture. More hair surged in from all directions—from the earth, from the air, from shadowed corners he couldn't even see. It was an omnipresent web, tightening its grip on the world little by little.
"You're trapped," Yura's voice echoed, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "My hair doesn't just grow from my head. Everywhere I have been, I leave a piece of myself behind."
"That mountain path you walked... did you really think I just arrived?"
A cold knot formed in Hikaru's stomach. He scanned his surroundings, and his eyes narrowed.
She was right. On the ground, tangled in the branches of trees, and woven into the crevices of the rocks, pitch-black strands of hair were everywhere. They crisscrossed the entire area in a dense, suffocating web.
This was her domain. She had been preparing it all along.
"How long have you been waiting here?" Hikaru asked, his voice steady.
"Half a day, perhaps," Yura shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been guarding this area ever since I sensed the aura of the Shikon Jewel."
"I thought I might have to wait a few more days, but I didn't expect you to deliver yourselves right to my doorstep." She smiled, a chillingly eerie expression on her delicate face. "That priestess's spiritual power is formidable; I have no desire to clash with her head-on."
"But you are different." Her gaze swept over Hikaru, analytical and dismissive. "An Oni Samurai... not weak, I suppose."
She lifted her chin, her posture radiating arrogance. "But not nearly enough."
As the last word left her lips, countless strands of hair tightened in unison. They wrapped around Hikaru's limbs, constricting with crushing force. More tendrils twisted around Muramasa, wrenching it from his grip and binding it to his body, leaving him utterly immobilized.
"Get off!" he snarled.
He channeled his Yao Qi, his Oni energy erupting from his body in a violent pulse, trying to snap the restraints. But the hair was like a living trap, infused with some strange property. The more he struggled, the tighter it became, digging into his flesh until it was impossible to break free.
"It's useless," Yura said, strolling toward him. Her golden, slitted pupils dilated as she came to a stop directly in front of him. "My hair absorbs Yao Qi. The more you struggle, the weaker you will become."
"Just stay put, obediently." She reached out, her slender fingers resting on Hikaru's chin, tilting his head up.
"When that priestess returns and sees you, bound and helpless... what do you think she will do?" Yura mused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Will she obediently hand over the Shikon Jewel?"
"Or—" She leaned in closer, her breath ghosting across his face. "—will she watch helplessly as I drain you of every last drop of your essence?"
Hikaru met her gaze. There was no fear on his face, not even a hint of tension. There was only a quiet mockery that Yura found deeply unsettling.
He had to admit, he had underestimated this demoness. Thinking back, she had gone toe-to-toe with Inuyasha in the original story and had even managed to suppress him for a time. While Inuyasha didn't have Tessaiga back then, his raw power was still far beyond that of any minor demon. To be able to dominate him, even temporarily, meant Yura of the Hair was, by Hikaru's own definition, on the cusp of a 'Qualitative Transformation'. She was, admittedly, slightly stronger than his current self.
But fortunately, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
"What are you laughing at?" she demanded, her brow furrowing in irritation.
"I'm laughing at you," Hikaru said plainly. "Do you really think you could trap me with a little trick like this?"
"A trick?" Yura's expression darkened. "You are bound, unable to move, and can't even lift your blade. You still dare to talk so tough?"
"It's not tough talk," Hikaru replied, a faint, eerie smile touching his pale face. "It's that you've underestimated me far too much."
"Underestimated you?"
"Yes." A flicker of crimson light ignited in the depths of Hikaru's eyes. "You see an Oni Samurai."
"But you don't know—"
"This Oni Samurai is a bit special."
He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping across the clearing. "Look around you."
Yura froze for a moment, then followed his gaze.
Her expression changed instantly.
At some point during their battle, a faint red hue had begun to permeate the air. It was so faint, so subtle, that it had been completely unnoticeable amidst the chaos. But now, looking closely, she could see it for what it was.
Mist. A blood-red mist.
It was dense and thick, filling the entire area, even more numerous than her own strands of hair.
"This is..." For the first time, a note of genuine shock entered Yura's voice. "When did you set this up?"
"From the very beginning," Hikaru stated. "Did you think my dodging and counterattacks were merely to evade you?"
"No."
"I was setting up."
The corners of his mouth curled into that signature, unsettling smile. "Setting up a web even larger than your own."
Resonance with Blood. It was the ability Muramasa had left him after merging with his body. Using blood as his eyes, using blood as his medium. Any place stained with his blood was within his field of perception.
During the fight, he had deliberately allowed her hair to cut him. Every shallow wound bled, and that blood atomized into a fine mist, scattering into the air.
It was everywhere. It had permeated everything.
"You..." Yura's expression finally twisted from arrogance to alarm. "You let me injure you on purpose?"
This time, Hikaru didn't speak.
There was no need to delay any longer.
The time had come.
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