Blood and Blade

Shibuya's streets were a graveyard of rubble and ruin, the air thick with dust and the metallic reek of blood. Beneath the surface, Mahoraga's chaos rumbled like a distant storm, but above, a quieter, no less brutal clash neared its end.

Nanami Kento, Maki Zen'in, and Naobito Zen'in stood battered and breathless amidst the wreckage, their blades slick with crimson as they faced Choso, the eldest Death Painting Womb.

The fight had been raging off-screen, a relentless grind of blood and steel, and now the toll was etched into every strained muscle and ragged breath.

Choso swayed amidst a sprawl of broken bodies—transfigured humans and curses he'd torn apart in a blind fury—his blood-crusted hands trembling as he clutched his side, a shallow gash leaking crimson down his torn robe.

His chest heaved, his crimson eyes flickering with a rage that burned dimmer with each passing second, fueled by a cursed energy he couldn't name but despised—a sorcerer's taint that gnawed at his instincts.

"You…" he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracking as he glared at the trio, his stance unsteady. "You'll… pay…"

Nanami stood hunched, his blunt blade chipped and heavy in his grip, his suit shredded at the shoulder, blood seeping from a cut on his forearm. His glasses were cracked, one lens fogged with sweat.

"He's still standing…" he muttered, his voice rough with fatigue as he wiped his brow, his breath uneven.

"We've been at this too long—end it."

Maki leaned on her spear, her left arm stiff and bruised from a prior block, her breathing labored as she spat blood onto the pavement.

"He's stubborn as hell," she growled, her tone sharp but strained, her sharp eyes locked on Choso's faltering form. "Let's finish him already—I'm sick of this crap."

Naobito gripped his blade with a shaky hand, his smirk long gone, replaced by a grimace as blood trickled from a gash on his cheek, his kimono torn at the hem.

"Womb's tougher than he looks," he said, his voice a dry rasp as he steadied himself, his movements sluggish. "But he's done—let's bury him."

Choso's blood surged, crimson tendrils coiling around his arms in a weak, uneven pulse, hardening into jagged spikes that trembled from his fading strength.

"You… killed them…" he croaked, his voice breaking as he thrust a shaky hand forward, unleashing Piercing Blood.

The crimson stream wobbled, slower and less precise than before, his stamina nearly spent—but it still streaked toward Naobito with lethal intent.

Naobito blurred with Projection Sorcery, his speed faltering as he dodged, the blood grazing his arm and tearing a shallow gash through his sleeve.

"Tch," he grunted, stumbling slightly as he regained his footing, his breath labored. "Barely worth the effort…"

Nanami surged in, his steps heavy as he swung his blunt blade at Choso's side, the Ratio Technique marking a seven-to-three weak point.

The strike landed with a dull thud, jarring Choso's ribs and forcing a choked grunt as blood seeped from the blow—but Choso's blood hardened into a patchy shield, deflecting Nanami's follow-up with a weak clang, both men wincing from the effort.

"He's… holding on," Nanami hissed, stepping back as his arm ached, Choso's Blood Edge spinning toward him—a jagged disk that veered off, slicing into a wall with a shuddering crack.

Maki lunged, her spear thrusting low with a grunt, her movements sluggish from fatigue as she aimed for Choso's leg. "Stay down!" she snapped, but Choso staggered aside, his blood clotting into a crude patch that dulled the strike, the spear scraping off with a faint spark. He stumbled, his knees buckling as he glared at her, his breath a ragged wheeze.

"You… won't…" Choso rasped, his hands fumbling as he clapped them together, summoning Convergence. The air thickened, his blood compressing into a shaky orb—but it flickered, unstable, his focus crumbling.

He forced it into Supernova, a scatter of crimson droplets that sprayed outward, thin and scattered, his energy nearly gone.

Naobito sidestepped with a tired grunt, a droplet nicking his shoulder as he hissed, "Sloppy…" Nanami deflected a few with his blade, his suit tearing further as one grazed his wrist, his jaw tightening.

Maki ducked, her roll stiff as a droplet caught her calf, drawing a sharp curse. "He's spent," she muttered, pushing up with a wince, spear trembling in her grip.

Nanami's voice cut through, low and firm despite the strain.

"He's breaking—hit him now," he said, nodding to Maki and Naobito as he steadied his stance, his breath shallow.

Maki charged with a snarl, her spear slashing at Choso's side with gritted teeth, syncing with Naobito's faltering blur as he aimed for the chest.

Choso's blood surged in a weak wall, cracking under Maki's thrust as Naobito's blade grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

Choso staggered, his knees giving as he swung a shaky Blood Edge, the disk shattering harmlessly against a wall.

Nanami closed in, his blunt blade crashing into Choso's chest with a Ratio strike—seven to three—breaking ribs with a wet crunch, forcing blood from his mouth in a spray.

Choso swayed, his hands clawing at the air as he gasped, "You… all…" his voice a broken wheeze, his vision blurring as he tried to harden his blood one last time, his strength gone.

Nanami stepped back, and Maki seized the moment, her spear driving through Choso's chest with a tired grunt, the tip bursting out his back in a muted spatter of crimson as it pierced his heart.

Choso's body jolted, his eyes dulling as blood bubbled from his lips, his hands twitching once before falling limp.

"Brothers…" he whispered, his voice fading into the night—unaware that the cursed energy he'd sensed, the one he'd cursed with his dying breath, belonged to a brother he'd never known. He slumped forward, hitting the ground with a soft thud, his blood seeping into the rubble—a quiet, spent end.

Nanami lowered his blade, his shoulders sagging as he caught his breath, his suit a tattered ruin.

"It's over," he said, his voice rough as he wiped blood from his hand, glancing at Maki and Naobito. "But something's still wrong…"

Maki shook blood from her spear, her arm trembling as she leaned on it, her breath ragged. "Yeah, no kiddin'," she muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the ruins. "Toji's up to somethin'—this ain't normal."

Naobito straightened with a wince, his blade sheathed with a shaky hand, his tone dry despite the exhaustion. "That stray's always been trouble," he said, brushing dust from his torn sleeve. "Let him rot in his mess—we've got enough to handle."

But their words faltered as the ground shuddered—a deep, resonant quake that split the silence and sent dust swirling.

Nanami's grip tightened on his blade, his gaze dropping. "Subway…" he said, his voice low and taut. "Something's breaking down there…the cursed energy is off the charts!"

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Deep below, in the subway's shadowed tunnels, Kenjussy was crumbling.

Mahoraga's relentless assault had ripped through his cursed spirits, the golden blade of the Sword of Extermination slashing through every defense with brutal precision.

His kimono hung in singed tatters, his composure a distant memory as he dodged another swing, the strike gouging the tunnel wall and showering him with debris.

"Tch," he hissed, his voice sharp with frustration as he summoned a faltering wave of curses—hulking, malformed things—to shield him, their forms collapsing under Mahoraga's advance.

"This… wasn't the plan…" His mind raced, grasping for control as the Divine General loomed closer, its wheel spinning faster, its hollow gaze unrelenting.

The air crackled with power, the tunnel trembling—but Toji Fushiguro was gone.

The shadows where he'd taunted from were empty, his presence vanished without a trace, leaving 'Geto' alone against the storm he'd unleashed.