"Have any of the others arrived yet?"
The voice cut through the tense silence like a blade through silk. Doma emerged from the moonlight, his tone carrying that characteristic lightness that made everything sound like an amusing joke - even when death hung in the air.
His sudden appearance sent visible waves of unease through the assembled Twelve Demon Moons. Muzan had been clear about tonight's mission: to eliminate Kokushibo. But he hadn't said anything about the two traitors appearing on the same battlefield.
To make matters worse, Doma had come alone, without a single follower from his Eternal Paradise cult. The ice demon's confidence was either breathtaking arrogance or a terrifying indication of how powerful he'd become since breaking free from Muzan's control.
The current Eternal Paradise boasted more loyal followers than several major heir organizations combined, and wielded an influence throughout the human world that dwarfed anything Muzan currently commanded. This vast network of followers was precisely what gave Doma the audacity to demand to become Oboro's sole successor.
Had he chosen to use numerical superiority, his chances against the Demon King would have been much greater. But Doma had deliberately given up that advantage, and the implications were frightening.
He wanted Muzan to fall without excuses. No explanations about being outnumbered or overwhelmed by superior tactics. Just pure, undeniable defeat followed by death.
"Don't tell me you're the new batch of Twelve Demon Moons?" Doma casually strolled over to where Kokushibo was sitting in meditation, his rainbow eyes sweeping over the demons positioned around them with obvious disappointment. "It seems there aren't many promising ones among you."
Several of the hot-tempered demons visibly bristled, their expressions darkening with barely contained anger. The casual dismissal struck deeper than any direct insult could have.
"Ah, have I hurt your feelings?" Doma feigned surprise, covering his mouth with an ornate iron fan before breaking into that infuriating smile. "Perhaps I should have said that more diplomatically."
The words had barely left his lips when one of the upper ranks exploded into motion.
Whoosh!
The demon became a streak of deadly light, closing the distance with predatory speed. In its left eye, the kanji for "three" glowed with malevolent intent.
Upper Rank Three.
The remaining Twelve Demon Moons watched with predatory interest. Whoever succeeded in killing Doma or Kokushibo first would receive great recognition from Muzan. Though both traitors were known to be formidable opponents, the demons held a numerical advantage - six to one offered a reasonable chance of success.
More importantly, Doma's decision to arrive without his followers from Eternal Paradise presented a rare opportunity to be exploited.
Doma's colorful eyes suddenly changed, becoming as clear and cold as winter ice crystals. The change was subtle but profound, like watching a mask slip away to reveal something far more dangerous beneath.
Under the amplification of his soul power, spiritual energy erupted with crushing force, sweeping across the entire battlefield in an invisible tsunami of pressure.
But Upper Rank Three sliced through the soul fluctuations like a blade through water, his consciousness intact and his momentum unchanged. The demon's mental strength proved to be remarkably strong - he clearly possessed some understanding of soul power himself.
In this transformed world, spiritual abilities had become standard equipment for any serious warrior. The old hierarchies based purely on physical prowess were quickly becoming obsolete.
"I'll have your head!" Upper Rank Three's war cry echoed across the moonlit clearing as he closed the final gap.
An ancient brush materialized in his hand - the focal point of his blood demon art. With practiced precision, he aimed the tip directly at Doma's seemingly defenseless form.
Crimson ink flowed through the air like liquid malice, forming a single mark on Doma's body: Death.
The moment the word appeared, Doma's flesh erupted in a symphony of invisible cuts. His entire form convulsed as if thousands of razors were slicing through every inch of his being. Blood should have painted the ground in spreading pools.
Instead, shards of ice fell like frozen rain.
Upper Class Three's pupils dilated in shock and growing horror. The figure before him had completely transformed - not flesh and blood, but solid ice molded into perfect human form.
It hadn't been Doma's real body at all.
Floating ice crystals filled the air, causing the temperature to plummet with preternatural speed. Where they touched the ground, white frost spread outward like spilled milk, transforming the entire area into a crystalline wonderland that stretched for miles in every direction.
Upper Rank Three felt his own body temperature fluctuate wildly as ice flowers brushed against his skin, leaving patches of frozen flesh in their wake. Survival instinct screamed at him to retreat immediately.
He jumped back - right into the embrace of massive, waiting arms.
There was no warmth in that embrace. Only bone-deep cold that seemed to freeze his very soul.
When he turned his head, a towering ice sculpture of a Bodhisattva had risen from the ground. The statue's face wore an expression of serene compassion, carved with such skill that it seemed almost alive.
Then the impossible happened. The Bodhisattva's eyes opened.
Dark, empty sockets stared down at the trapped demon, combining with the peaceful smile to create an expression of horror beyond description. The contrast between the benevolent features and the hollow, lifeless eyes was more terrifying than any snarling monster could ever be.
Upper Rank Three struggled desperately, but the statue's grip tightened like a vise. Cold spread from his feet upward with relentless determination, creeping toward his head with the patience of winter itself.
"No!" His cry echoed across the frozen battlefield, filled with the desperation of one who sees his own death approaching, step by inevitable step.
Within seconds, he had become part of the Bodhisattva's structure - another frozen ornament adorning the base of Doma's masterpiece.
From the shadows behind the statue, Doma emerged with the same furious smile, completely unharmed. His casual reappearance sent a chill through the remaining demons that had nothing to do with the supernatural cold surrounding them.
The blood demon art of the upper tier three was one of the most deadly in their current list. Once marked by his brush, the target's soul itself carried the curse - theoretically impossible to avoid or defend against.
Yet Doma had not only survived, but seemed completely unaffected.
How was this possible?
Doma opened his palm to reveal a miniature ice sculpture - another Bodhisattva statue, this one small enough to fit in his hand. The delicate figure was covered in hairline cracks that were spreading even as they watched.
Click.
The tiny statue shattered completely. As the pieces fell, everyone present heard something that made their skin crawl - the agonized wail of a soul in torment.
"Lord Muzan should have taught you proper methods of soul training," Doma observed with mild disappointment, as if critiquing a student's failed homework. "Or at least explained how to use that power effectively."
The truth was elegantly simple. Upper Rank Three had indeed marked Doma's soul, but the gap in their spiritual mastery was insurmountable. Doma's consciousness commanded countless souls that he'd devoured over the centuries - a vast army of absorbed spirits that could serve as a shield against spiritual attacks.
When souls were linked by power, they became interchangeable to a certain degree. One could be sacrificed to preserve the other.
The Soul Force had been spreading throughout the demon world for some time, especially with Muzan's help. Yet after all these years, the Demon King remained stingy with his subordinates, apparently still fearing another rebellion.
Even more disappointing was the fact that despite the considerable time that had passed since the Infinity Castle incident, the current upper echelons' understanding of soul power was still painfully elementary. Compared to his own generation and Kokushibo's era, these new Twelve Demon Moons fell woefully short of expectations.
Desperation had clearly lowered Muzan's recruitment standards.
Without warning, Doma raised his iron fan in a graceful arc.
White mist erupted like a geyser, and suddenly the world disappeared beneath a howling blizzard that seemed to devour the light itself. Wind and snow crashed over everything like an ocean of ice, transforming the battlefield into a frozen hell where visibility dropped to mere inches.
The remaining Twelve Demon Moons found themselves trapped - some in trees, others on the ground - as Doma's technique activated. The blizzard engulfed them all before they could even attempt to flee.
Ice spears erupted from the frozen earth beneath their feet, while frost claimed every surface around them. When the supernatural storm finally subsided, all twelve demons had lost their life signs, transformed into shimmering sculptures that reflected the moonlight like precious jewels.
With a single devastating attack, Doma had eliminated the entire Twelve Demon Moons.
This was his true power - power that dwarfed anything he'd possessed while serving under Muzan's command.
Sometimes, Doma would look back on those days with genuine amazement. When he had followed the Demon King, he had never imagined that he would gain such incredible abilities. The transformation had begun on that fateful day when he and Kokushibo had first met Oboro.
That meeting had revealed a power beyond his previous understanding.
Everything he'd become was a gift from this extraordinary man.
The world had become much more interesting than it had been over a century ago. At least now, individual power had reached new levels of possibility.
Kokushibo watched Doma's appearance without surprise. Even though they'd been separated for a long time, the moment Doma appeared, Kokushibo had felt the overwhelming aura of his soul.
This spiritual presence was immensely powerful - but also chaotic.
The chaos indicated that multiple souls existed within Doma's body. Beyond his original consciousness, other spirits had taken up residence in this shared space.
It was an incredibly dangerous gamble. If Doma's control ever slipped, those absorbed souls could take control of his body and steal everything he'd worked to build.
However, this method was the simplest and most effective way to increase soul power. The fact that Doma's mental state had remained stable for so long was a testament to his extraordinary ability to manage the absorbed consciousnesses.
This was the soul technique Doma had developed on his own: spiritual peeling.
Stripping the souls from devoured lives and bending them to his will.
Kokushibo couldn't duplicate such methods. Like the Blood Demon Arts, each individual's approach to soul improvement was unique, and Oboro had never taught formal techniques to anyone.
He, Doma, and Muzan all crossed the river by feeling for stones in the dark.
Each of them relied on his personal ability to comprehend his own specialized soul techniques.
Suddenly, both demons' attention shifted simultaneously in different directions around the battlefield. Several familiar auras approached through the night.
"At last," Doma said with genuine joy, "things are about to get interesting.
The real battle was about to begin.