In a darkness so absolute it swallowed even the outline of one's own hand, Enma could clearly hear the voice drifting out from within the void. Her expression shifted, surprise flashing across her face.
At first, she had taken Ren Kuroda for a despicable man—someone trying to exploit her concern over the boundary between the two worlds, using it as leverage to force her to stand down.
But what he did next forced her to admit, if only inwardly, that she had judged him with a rather petty mindset.
Even so, Enma wasn't about to let her guard down when it came to his character. Not taking advantage of someone's vulnerability was certainly admirable—but a person's power and aura could never lie.
Holding her kiseru pipe, Enma took a slow drag. She could clearly sense that the space they now occupied was no longer part of the world she knew—it was something else entirely.
And yet… the atmosphere of this place made her deeply uneasy.
Until now, Enma had believed that the underworld beneath the living world—the land of Yomi, the so-called Root Country—was already the most polluted and corrupted place in existence. As the realm of the dead, its filth was so profound that even a god like Izanagi could not ignore it, and it was from his purification that Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susanoo were born.
But standing within Ren Kuroda's domain now, Enma found herself frowning.
Because the aura of this space… was even more malevolent than the river in Yomi that washed away the sins of the dead.
That river purified the accumulated sins of every departed soul.
And yet Ren—just one individual—now emanated a darkness that rivaled, even surpassed, the totality of those sins.
This wasn't merely the presence of someone "not good." Compared to the boundless evil radiating from him, even so-called evil gods would seem like saints.
"You've built the stage yourself," Enma said coldly, her voice echoing through the void. "Then I won't hold back any longer."
Her gaze hardened.
"And I've changed my mind. No matter how strong you are, I won't allow you to leave here alive. By every measure, you're far too dangerous. Better to eliminate you now than risk some unknown catastrophe in the future."
Hearing this, Ren let out a faint, almost amused laugh from the darkness.
He understood perfectly—Enma had completely misunderstood him.
If her impression of him had been barely positive before, then the moment he deployed his Innate Domain, her opinion had plunged straight into the deepest negatives.
But honestly, that didn't surprise him in the slightest.
In fact, he was used to it.
Every time he activated this ability, people immediately pegged him as the ultimate villain—the kind so irredeemably evil that even other villains would find him disgusting.
But there was no helping it.
After all, the source of his Innate Domain was none other than the embodiment of "All the World's Evil." If that didn't feel sinister, something would be seriously wrong.
Words could deceive. Even expressions and eyes could lie.
But aura… power… those were reflections of one's very essence.
They could never be faked.
Ren knew that no amount of explanation would change anything. So he didn't even bother trying.
As it stood, he had two ways of wielding the power of "All the World's Evil."
One was external—manifesting it outward to form this very domain: the Innate Domain: Demon Realm.
This method posed relatively little risk, but its enhancement to his strength was limited.
The other was internal—absorbing that power directly into his body, forcing himself into a fully "corrupted" state.
That method granted overwhelming power—but at a terrifying cost. Even after awakening as a Demon Lord, Ren could maintain his sanity in that state for less than ten minutes.
Against a great yokai like Enma—especially one who had spent ages in the underworld—the pitch-black darkness of this domain posed no obstacle whatsoever.
"Wailing Spirit Bind!"
Within the domain, Ren could clearly sense Enma's position and track her every movement.
Just as he prepared to draw his blade, a sudden disturbance rippled beneath his feet. The black mire churned—and in the next instant, pale, emaciated spirits burst forth from the ground.
Their faces twisted in agony, they stretched out ghastly white arms, clawing at him, trying to drag him down into the abyss.
Ren's blade, blessed with divine power, sliced through them—but passed straight through, as if they had no physical form at all.
Yet despite that, their grip was real.
Cold, relentless hands clamped around his legs, pinning him in place, rendering him unable to move.
From the far end of the darkness, Enma was fully aware of everything unfolding.
With a flick of her wrist, she tapped the ash from her pipe. Then, from within the fox-fur cloak slit high along her thigh, her long, slender leg—barely over a meter in length yet strikingly elegant—stamped fiercely against the ground.
"Abyss of Wailing!"
An immense surge of yokai power, laced with divine energy, gathered at her foot.
The moment it struck the ground, the entire domain trembled violently.
A massive fissure split open before her—and surged forward, tearing through the landscape toward Ren.
The crack widened as it advanced, and by the time it reached him, it had become a vast chasm, like a canyon carved straight into the abyss.
Within its depths lay countless skeletal remains. The spirits within howled in agony—twisting their faces into grotesque expressions, stretching out their arms toward Ren, desperate to drag him down into the void with them.
"A spirit-filled abyss, huh?" Ren murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched the expanding chasm approach. "Let's see if your 'abyss' can handle all the evil in this world."
There was not a trace of panic in him.
Wraith-like spirits might be immune to blades—but that didn't make them invincible.
As a vast surge of yokai power poured from Ren into the ground beneath him, the entire domain reacted like the surface of water struck by a massive force—ripples spreading outward in violent waves.
Then, the black mire rose once more.
Like water flowing downhill, the pitch-black sludge—formed from "All the World's Evil"—surged forth and cascaded directly into the yawning chasm before him.
And as if sensing the danger carried within that dark tide, the spirits lining the fissure changed instantly.
Gone were their wails and jeers.
In their place came raw terror.
Some fled back into the depths of the abyss. Others scattered in all directions, desperate to escape.
Because "All the World's Evil" devoured everything.
It was the crystallization of every sin in existence—there was almost nothing it could not corrupt.
These were merely restless spirits.
Even legendary heroes—figures immortalized in myth and history—would be unable to resist its erosion after becoming heroic spirits.
So what chance did these pitiful wraiths have?
They possessed neither great power nor unyielding will.
Just ordinary souls, unwilling to accept unjust deaths.
No matter how vast their numbers, before the devouring tide of that black corruption… they didn't even have the strength to resist.