The Crystal's Whisper and The Wind's Embrace

Chapter 70: In the Hands of Death

The chamber groaned as if it were alive, straining under the crushing force that swelled within it. Splinters of stone rained from the ceiling. The floor split jaggedly down the center, bleeding dust into the choking air. Every breath burned. Every heartbeat seemed to echo the cracking walls.

And then—Kokushibo shifted.

His flesh warped grotesquely, twisting as though it no longer obeyed the laws of human form. New eyes bloomed across his torso, rolling and blinking with predatory hunger. His sword—already a monstrous extension of him—lengthened, its blade serrated with jagged teeth and ivory bone, gnashing like a beast desperate to devour.

Upper Moon One had cast aside all pretense. This was his true self.

Even Muichiro faltered, his breath stuttering in his throat. "What... is that?"

Gyomei's jaw hardened, the chain of his weapon rattling as he drew it taut. "Steady yourselves. This is where it begins."

Sanemi's body tensed, his stance bristling with unyielding defiance. Yet even as rage carved his expression, his arm flung instinctively back—shielding Tsukiyo, forcing her a step behind him. Her hands trembled around her blade, but not from fear. Her heart hammered with a clarity that left no room for it.

Strength alone would not win this battle. If they were to survive Kokushibo's storm, it would be through sheer will—through refusing to fall until there was no blood left to bleed.

Kokushibo lunged. The ground shattered like glass beneath his monstrous stride.

Sanemi and Tsukiyo dove opposite ways as the demon's strike carved clean through the stone floor, splitting it to rubble.

Genya fired, his gun barking over the din. Bullets ripped through Kokushibo's regenerating ribs, but each wound closed almost before the smoke cleared. The demon didn't flinch.

Not anymore.

"Crystal Breathing, Sixth Form: Diamond Drill!" 

Tsukiyo's sword spun in an angular, crystalline arc, intercepting Kokushibo's sweeping strike inches before it would have claimed Muichiro's head. Sparks screamed across her blade as the impact rattled her bones.

"Thanks!" Muichiro gasped, launching forward, mist coiling like a living cloak.

They struck in unison—wind, crystal, mist, stone, and gunfire—but the rhythm frayed.

 Kokushibo was faster. Adaptive. Each exchange stole ground, momentum, hope.

And then—his six eyes fixed on Sanemi.

"You," Kokushibo rumbled, voice layered with an unearthly resonance. "You are the most volatile. The most dangerous."

Sanemi's muscles coiled, breath tearing ragged through his chest.

Tsukiyo saw the moment unfold as if submerged in water. Kokushibo's sword lifted, the air shuddering beneath its killing intent. Sanemi shifted to meet it—too direct, too reckless.

If the strike landed, he would not rise again.

"NO!"

Her cry tore her throat raw as she hurled herself into the path. Her crystal blade crashed against Kokushibo's mid-swing. The blow detonated through her arms, dislocating her shoulder in a sickening crack. She flew backward, boots gouging furrows in the stone, before Sanemi caught her hard against his chest.

"You idiot!" His voice cracked—ragged, almost breaking. "Don't ever do that again—!"

"I had to!" she gasped, vision swimming. "You weren't going to dodge—"

"I was—"

"You weren't!"

Their eyes locked. No time. No words. But everything was said.

She would die for him. And he, he would shatter if she did.

Kokushibo did not pause. His blade spun toward Genya, who braced with trembling arms.

"Damn it—!" Genya roared, gunfire spitting flame as Muichiro's mist spiraled in to intercept.

Gyomei surged forward, his flail slamming into Kokushibo with the sound of earth breaking. "Regroup!" his voice thundered. "Do not falter!"

Tsukiyo staggered, blood dripping in crimson threads from her side. The counterforce had cracked her ribs; every breath was a knife.

Sanemi's hand caught her wrist, white-knuckled. "Stay behind me," he snarled.

"No," she rasped, voice hoarse yet unshaken. She lifted her blade with her good arm, every muscle screaming in protest. "We stand together."

"You can't even lift your arm!"

Her teeth clenched. With a choked cry, Tsukiyo seized her dislocated shoulder and slammed it back into place. The grinding pop cracked like thunder in the chamber, fire tearing through her nerves. Her scream caught in her throat, strangled into a guttural gasp as her vision swam with white stars. Sweat poured down her temples, her whole body trembling violently. But still—she lifted the arm, fingers tightening around her sword as if sheer will alone would bind the broken pieces back together.

"I will," she hissed, eyes blazing through the tears of pain, "if it means keeping you alive!"

Sanemi froze, as though struck. For an instant, the fury that always drove him faltered—replaced by something raw, something helpless. His breath shook, his throat tight, the sight of her defiance burning into him deeper than any blade could.

"Damn it, Tsukiyo..." His voice cracked, torn between rage and fear. "You think I want that? You think I can watch you tear yourself apart for me?"

His hands trembled where they gripped her. The words scraped out, unguarded, a truth he'd never meant to show:

"I'd rather die," he whispered, voice breaking despite himself, "than watch you fall."

"Then fight like hell," Tsukiyo shot back, her blade rising unsteadily, her knees quaking but her eyes unflinching, "and live—for me."

Behind them, Genya's scream ripped through the chamber. His body was mutating further, flesh twisting with demonic strain, but his will held fast. He drove his gun into the ground to anchor himself upright, his voice tearing raw.

"NOW! He's open!"

Mist surged as Muichiro blurred forward, his blade cutting through vapour like a phantom.

Tsukiyo turned to Sanemi. Her hand shook as it reached for his. "Together?"

His fingers closed tight around hers, his voice a vow. "Always."

They charged.