"Actually, I hate you."
Blood dripped from Doma's mouth as he slowly rose to his feet, having just devoured the flesh and soul of a fallen heir. His rainbow eyes fixed on Gyutaro with an intensity that would have been impossible for the emotionally hollow demon in centuries past.
Hate.
It was an emotion that had never existed in Doma's consciousness before - an alien sensation that burned like acid in his chest. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had started, but hearing Gyutaro's name now filled him with a sickening mixture of anger and disgust that he found both fascinating and unbearable.
The reason crystallized when his gaze fell on the distinctive black haori draped over Gyutaro's scarred shoulders.
This robe. There were only two in the entire world, and Doma knew the significance of each thread. Only Gyutaro had been honored with such a gift - the only demon to receive a personal reward from Oboro himself. The sight of the sacred cloth on such unworthy shoulders was an insult that made Doma's perfect features twist in barely contained anger.
"That black haori doesn't suit you at all," Doma said, his voice carrying the musical quality that had once enchanted countless victims. But beneath the soft tones lurked something poisonous and sharp.
"How many years has it been? How many years since you appeared, since that perfect man tasked you and your sister with eliminating us?" His smile remained calm even as his words became cutting. "Yet you never managed to complete your mission. Not only have you failed to live up to his expectations-you are unworthy to bear his name."
Doma's tone remained conversational, almost friendly, but the killing intent radiating from his soul made the air itself feel thick and oppressive.
Tonight's battle had been framed as a confrontation with Muzan, but in truth, Doma was far more concerned with the scarred demon standing before him. Eliminating Gyutaro had become an obsession that consumed his thoughts - once the inferior creature was dead, he would claim the black haori and become Oboro's sole successor.
The only successor.
In Doma's perception, creatures like Gyutaro were incapable of understanding Oboro's divine perfection. They saw only superficial power, missing the elegant artistry that made their master a work of cosmic beauty. Only Doma possessed the aesthetic sensibility necessary to inherit such magnificence, to become a worthy vessel for this transcendent will.
His confidence was not misplaced. Doma had calculated every variable in tonight's chaos - he could survive Muzan's initial attack through superior soul manipulation, he knew that Kokushibo would appear at the crucial moment to divide the Demon King's attention, and the distraction would provide opportunities to devour fallen heirs and replenish his strength.
Whether he could actually defeat Muzan remained uncertain, but that outcome had become secondary to his true goal. All that mattered was killing Gyutaro and Daki under Oboro's watchful gaze, proving once and for all who deserved to stand at their master's right hand.
"You have performed adequately," Doma continued with false praise, "but adequate is not nearly enough."
As he spoke, he watched the transformation overtake his opponents. Gyutaro's appearance had changed dramatically - Akaki's face now growing from the back of his skull like a grotesque second head, her features twisted with pain and rage. The siblings had achieved a complete fusion, not the simple hiding technique they'd used in the past, but a true unity of flesh and spirit.
This was their unique soul ability - a mutual growth and symbiosis that multiplied their physical attributes through spiritual resonance. Their blood demon arts would be enhanced beyond normal limits, similar to the final fusion demonstrated by the Edo period heirs Teshimaga Ka and Yasuhara, but far more refined and advanced.
Most importantly, even in this merged state, their consciousness remained clear and distinct.
BOOM!
Gyutaro had no patience for Doma's psychological games. Daki's face urged him forward with bloodthirsty enthusiasm as he exploded into motion, his body becoming a crimson tornado of devastating slashes that tore through everything in their path.
The entire chamber disintegrated under the assault - walls, furniture, even the air itself seemed to split as blood-red crescents of cutting energy swept toward Doma with surgical precision. Woven through the storm of blades were ribbon-like tentacles that sought to bind and strangle their target.
Doma raised his iron fan with casual grace, thick walls of crystalline ice erupting from the ground to block the oncoming devastation. At the same time, ice crystal lotus flowers bloomed beneath Gyutaro's feet, their stems sprouting thorny tendrils that slipped through gaps in the whirlwind to pierce the demon's flesh like surgical needles.
"Your soul ability is disappointingly simple," Doma observed as his ice barrier exploded into glittering fragments, successfully deflecting the blood tornado. Crystal powder drifted through the air like snow as he studied his opponent with condescending amusement. "It is tragic that such a crude understanding could win this man's favor. Soul power was his gift to this world, yet you show no understanding of its true potential."
Gyutaro's muscles contracted violently around the ice vines, his increased strength shattering them like brittle glass. But suddenly, Daki screamed in agony, her cry echoing from the back of his skull as sharp pain ripped through their shared consciousness.
Hallucinations flooded Gyutaro's mind - whispers, shadows, the sensation of something alive burrowing through his thoughts like a parasitic worm. This was Doma's true soul technique: the ability to transport enslaved spirits directly into his target's consciousness, where they could wreak psychological havoc from within.
It was the same method that had wounded Muzan so severely during their earlier confrontation.
"Fascinating," Doma mused, tilting his head in scientific curiosity. "Your souls have not integrated as thoroughly as they should. True fusion would mean shared pain, wouldn't it? Yet she seems to suffer far more than you."
WHOOSH.
The smile had barely faded from Doma's lips before his pupils constricted in genuine shock. A red flash of lightning zigzagged through the wreckage of the destroyed chamber, moving so fast that his enhanced perception could barely track the movement.
This impossible speed - Doma knew the source of Gyutaro's notoriety, the reason he'd eluded Muzan's pursuit time and again. The scarred demon possessed footwork and body movement techniques taught by Oboro himself, martial arts that combined skill and soul into something approaching perfection.
Gyutaro dropped low, his blood sickle tracing a thin crimson line through space as it swept toward Doma's throat. The blade moved with such precision that the ice demon's head separated from his shoulders before he could even attempt to dodge.
Doma's decapitated head spun through the air, his expression still frozen in that moment of surprised realization.
"Don't let him die so easily!" Daki's voice screamed from behind Gyutaro's skull, her pale features twisted in vengeful rage. "I want him to regret every insult he dared to speak to me!"
Her tone carried the imperious quality of someone accustomed to having her every whim immediately satisfied. Silk ribbons erupted from her position, wrapping around Doma's headless body and squeezing with enough force to crush stone.
Ignoring his sister's demands, Gyutaro slowly raised his gaze to follow Doma's falling head. His voice fell to a hoarse whisper, filled with predatory satisfaction.
"I wielded this blade with killing intent. You are impressive to have survived."
"Truly impressive."
Even as he spoke, Gyutaro could see that his attack had not achieved its intended result. Doma's severed head was regenerating at a visible rate, flesh and blood flowing back into proper formation. By the time his skull hit the ground, his body had regrown everything from the neck up.
The increased vitality of demons in this transformed world was truly terrifying, especially for someone of Doma's caliber.
But the ice demon's casual recovery didn't diminish the impact of what had just happened. In that single exchange, Doma finally understood how legendary Upper Moons like Gyokko and Hantengu had fallen to this scarred assassin.
The answer was devastatingly simple: speed.
Dodging required reaction time. Activating the Blood Demon Arts required preparation. When those precious milliseconds were lost, retreat became impossible.
Doma had intended to use spatial manipulation to move before the attack connected, but Gyutaro's extensive experience hunting demons had taught him to recognize such tactics. The sickle had been swung before the ice demon could even begin to channel his technique.
"What?!" Daki's face contorted with rage and humiliation. She had truly believed that a single blow would end her enemy forever. "Brother, what are you doing?! Can't you be more serious?! My head is killing me!"
Her complaints echoed through the chamber as the straps that bound Doma's body suddenly exploded. What they had held was not flesh and blood, but compressed ice that shattered into countless needle-sharp projectiles. Cold mist rose from the detonation, blurring vision and numbing exposed skin.
Gyutaro leaped backward, avoiding the worst of the blast, but his distinctive black haori slipped from his shoulders in the evasive maneuver. As the garment fluttered to the ground, Doma glimpsed the truth beneath - large patches of diseased black spots covered Gyutaro's skin like cancerous growths.
"She seems quite troublesome," Doma observed with false sympathy, tilting his head as he studied the merged siblings. "Would you like me to help you get rid of her? I could devour her completely-think how peaceful that would be."
His tone remained gentle and caring, as if he were offering genuine help rather than proposing fratricide.
"What did you just say?" Gyutaro's laugh was a harsh, grating sound that seemed to scratch the air itself. "You and I are one being. To speak such blasphemy in front of a brother is absolutely unforgivable."
As his laughter intensified, blood began to flow from Doma's nose and mouth in steady streams.
"Even if you can regenerate infinitely, it's useless now," Gyutaro said, using his fingernails to scratch fresh wounds across his scarred face. The self-mutilation sent fresh toxins coursing through his bloodstream. "You've already been cut by my blade."
Understanding finally dawned in Doma's rainbow eyes.
"Poison?"