Chapter 117: Kanzaki Akira, Are You a Sore Loser?
"Time and time again, you have brushed off my invitations. You dared to shake my resolve to reach the pinnacle of strength, and now, you have delayed Lord Muzan's mission." Akaza's voice dropped to a lethal, vibrating register. "Kanzaki Akira, you truly deserve to die."
"Destructive Death: Leg Type - Explosive Flurry!"
The Upper Rank demon lashed out. His leg became a blur, unleashing a barrage of shockwaves that were denser, faster, and infinitely more devastating than before. The sheer velocity of the kicks rendered them nearly invisible to the naked eye, tearing through the air with deafening sonic booms.
Faced with this apocalyptic onslaught, Akira's instincts screamed a single command: Dodge.
"Thunder Breathing, Seventh Form: Dragon's Glide!"
A dragon-shaped flash of golden electricity erupted from his form. Akira darted to the side, his body transforming into a streak of blinding lightning as he circled around Akaza's flank, narrowly avoiding the cratering impacts.
"To possess such exquisite martial skill, yet you only think of evading..." Akaza roared, his golden eyes burning with absolute fury. "Kanzaki Akira, you disappoint me!"
Pivoting on his heel, the demon adjusted his aim. The invisible shockwaves tracked Akira's movements, chasing the swordsman through the forest like a torrential, devastating downpour.
Akira weaved frantically through the ancient woods, relying on the thick trunks of the surrounding trees for cover. Whenever the shockwaves clipped too close, he raised his Nichirin Blade to parry, the metal ringing out in sharp, desperate protests. He was barely holding on. His stamina was plummeting at a terrifying rate. Dragon's Glide was designed for instantaneous bursts of extreme speed, not prolonged evasion. After pushing the technique to its absolute limit, his leg muscles screamed in agony, threatening to give out entirely.
Yet, hope lingered on the horizon. A faint, pale glow had begun to bleed into the distant sky.
The sun was about to rise.
Suddenly, the relentless barrage of shockwaves ceased. A second later, an exasperated, furious roar tore from Akaza's throat.
"Coward who only knows how to hide—die!"
The Upper Rank demon could sense the impending dawn just as clearly as his opponent. The mission Muzan had entrusted to him was on the verge of total failure. And it was all because of Kanzaki Akira—because of this infuriating, stalling combat style, and the venomous words that had so deeply disturbed his martial focus.
If the mission was destined to end in failure, Akaza would at least ensure this infuriating swordsman stayed buried in this forest forever.
With a final, earth-shaking bellow, Akaza dropped his center of gravity, assuming the starting stance of his Technique Development. The massive compass needle materialized beneath his feet. But this time, something changed. On each of the twelve points of the glowing snowflake pattern, a phantom silhouette appeared, perfectly mirroring Akaza's lethal stance.
Uh-oh...
Akira's heart plummeted into his stomach as he recognized the shift in the air pressure.
"Destructive Death: Final Form - Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow!"
In perfect synchronization, the twelve phantoms and Akaza himself struck out. Hundreds of cannonball-like shockwaves erupted simultaneously, blasting outward in every conceivable direction.
The previous attacks had been like a heavy rainstorm; dense and dangerous, but Akira's kinetic vision had allowed him to find the microscopic gaps between the drops, weaving through to avoid the worst of the damage. But this? This was a solid, inescapable wall of kinetic force. It expanded outward from Akaza at a terrifying speed, obliterating everything in its path.
Gaps still existed within the chaotic afterglow, but they were now so infinitesimally narrow that Akira couldn't possibly exploit them. His superhuman eyes could perfectly track the safe zones, but his exhausted, battered body simply couldn't execute the extreme, high-speed maneuvers required to thread the needle.
Are you seriously this much of a sore loser? Akira cursed inwardly.
Since there was absolutely nowhere left to hide, he had only one option remaining: carve a bloody hole straight through that wall of death.
Grounding his stance, Akira forcibly adjusted his breathing. Total Concentration. His heart pounded against his ribs like a frantic war drum, pumping oxygen-rich blood through his veins. With every exhale, the faint, crackling sound of thunder echoed from his lips.
As long as he could survive this single, apocalyptic move, the sun would rise.
It was time to put everything on the line.
"Thunder Breathing, Eighth Form: Bōyū Rika - Pierce!"
Forcing out every last drop of physical energy by violently stimulating his heart rate, Akira launched himself forward. He transformed into a singular, unstoppable spike wrapped in incandescent lightning, slamming head-on into the oncoming wall of shockwaves.
The instant his blade made contact, a massive, crushing force transmitted directly down the steel. The skin of Akira's palm split open instantly. Crimson blood dripped down the hilt, but before the droplets could even reach the ground, the violent, swirling air currents shredded them into a fine, bloody mist.
He had no time to care about the pain. Gritting his teeth until he tasted copper, Akira pushed forward, piercing through the relentless layers of shockwaves one by agonizing inch.
His wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints emitted a sickening, screeching sound, groaning under the pressure like overloaded metallic gears on the verge of snapping.
Suddenly, Akira's pupils constricted to pinpricks.
Under the continuous, devastating impact of Akaza's final technique, the metal finally gave way. The tip of his Nichirin Blade, along with nearly a fifth of the upper steel, shattered into jagged fragments.
A piece of the shattered tip ricocheted backward, violently grazing Akira's cheek and leaving a hot, stinging trail of blood in its wake.
His offensive momentum broken, Akira was forced to instantly shift his stance. He had to tank the final layer of the attack head-on.
The golden rim of the sun was already peeking over the horizon. Sensing the lethal UV rays, Akaza had abruptly ceased his assault, turning to flee deep into the shadowy depths of the forest. But the final layer of the shockwave wall was still barreling straight toward the swordsman.
"Thunder Breathing, Fifth Form: Heat Lightning - Realm!"
Blazing lightning rapidly coiled around him, transforming into a dense, spherical protective barrier that shielded him within its crackling center. Drawing heavy inspiration from Giyu's self-created Eleventh Form, Akira had heavily modified and improved his own defensive technique, drastically increasing its mitigation power.
However, his physical body was already pushed far past the absolute brink of exhaustion.
Under Akira's wide, bloodshot gaze, his Nichirin Blade let out a sharp, agonizing crack as it absorbed the brunt of the final shockwave. The steel, already severely shortened, snapped cleanly in half straight down the middle.
The residual momentum of the shockwave tore through the broken guard. Akira barely managed to twist his torso before the invisible force slammed directly into his right shoulder like a runaway freight train.
Crack.
The sickening sounds of a dislocated joint and fracturing bone echoed in quick succession. The sheer kinetic impact lifted Akira off his feet, sending his entire body hurtling backward through the air.
In that chaotic, weightless moment, Akira had the absurd realization that a human body could skip across the solid earth much like a flat stone across a pond.
In a hazy daze, his mind flashed back to his previous life—specifically, the jarring, helpless sensation of being sent flying by that mysteriously airborne truck that had ended his original existence.
After violently skipping across the dirt and roots several times, Akira skidded through the underbrush, carving a long trench in the soil before finally coming to a dead stop.
"Cough!"
Sprawled flat on his back, he violently coughed up a mouthful of blood. The crimson mist sprayed up into the morning air before splattering warmly back across his pale face.
But Akira couldn't bring himself to care. Staring up at the canopy as the first rays of warm sunlight filtered through the leaves, a light chuckle escaped his lips.
"Haha... Hahaha—"
His laughter grew louder, echoing through the quiet forest, completely unrestrained. It carried the raw, unfiltered joy of surviving a brush with absolute death, mingled with the bright anticipation of a much more hopeful future.
This brutal clash with Akaza had allowed him to clearly gauge the explosive growth of his own strength. Yes, he was severely injured. Yes, it was currently a monumental struggle just to breathe, let alone stand up. But the gap between him and the Upper Ranks—a gap that had once seemed like an impossible, terrifying chasm—was no longer out of reach.
After his laughter finally subsided into heavy pants, Akira shifted slightly. Gritting his teeth against the flare of pain, he managed to sit up, supporting his weight on his left arm. Aside from extreme muscle fatigue, his left side was relatively intact.
Standing up, however, was entirely out of the question.
Spamming Dragon's Glide to its absolute limit, followed by bracing against Akaza's ultimate technique, had left his legs completely unresponsive. They felt like dead weights, asserting their existence only through a deep, throbbing agony.
The paralyzing sensation was eerily similar to the aftermath of his desperate battle with Gyokko.
Shifting his gaze, Akira looked down at his completely limp right arm. The arm itself wasn't pulverized—though his palm was split open and bleeding freely, and the muscle fibers were undoubtedly torn. Yet, all of that localized pain was completely overshadowed by the radiating agony in his shoulder. The joint was undoubtedly fractured, accompanied by a nasty dislocation for good measure.
Even his back felt raw and wet, bleeding freely after his impromptu impression of a skipping stone across the abrasive forest floor.
A few feet in front of him, the shattered remains of his Nichirin Blade lay quietly in the dirt, its metallic sheen dulled, as if it had finally reached the end of its long life.
"I think I'm about to prematurely activate a certain top-tier vengeful spirit..." Akira joked dryly to himself, slowly circulating his Breathing Technique to staunch the bleeding and control his internal injuries.
"Maybe I should ask the Butterfly Mansion's chef to prepare a mountain of mitarashi dango before he gets here."
Just as the thought crossed his mind, a familiar voice—laced with frantic anxiety and deep concern—rang out from the forest path behind him.
"Kanzaki-kun!"
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