He could feel the stinging of his many wounds, shallow cuts and scrapes though they might've been. But they stung all the same.
Reinforcement was a good substitute for when an attack could not be dodged, but a reinforced body was not an invincible one; that ability lay solely in the hands of infinity.
The sound of footsteps on blood forced him to shift his attention back to Tamamo. Her new form walked leisurely towards him, and to his shame, he noticed how well-shaped she was. The figure she wore drew closely from her tales as a Miko, and he had never heard of one of the Goddess's chosen being unappealing.
Her long hair trailed down her face, and set in her porcelain-like skin, sat four orbs that gazed at him through the curtain of hair that hung around her face.
She continued her walk towards him, the only sound in the vicinity the splatter of her feet against the blood. That was the first sign that this incarnation of the cursed spirit was a different sort from her first.
The second sign was when she appeared in front of him a second later, lashing out with a blow he deflected instantaneously. The second strike was an open palm that would've caved in his chest, but he slapped down on her hand, noting the effort it took to send the attack awry.
She lashed out with a kick towards his groin, and he checked it with his inner thigh, ignoring the way her skin slipped out of the slit in her red dress. For those few seconds, they stood eye to eye, right before she slammed her head into his in a vicious headbutt.
But he was already moving back, having seen it coming and robbing the strike of the majority of its power. So, when he immediately whipped his head back towards her, it must've come as a shock that he was able to counter so quickly, and the sound of cartilage breaking rang out in the otherwise quiet street.
She stumbled back, before raising her head up to stare at him once more. Her nose was a broken thing, pulped and disfigured, but even as he looked at it, he could see it popping back into place, bones realigning, and cartilage healing.
He could already tell this incarnation was going to be a headache, as he felt warm blood leak from a gash at his eyebrow, idly noting the amount of blood that he bled was too much for the minuscule injury he had taken.
First blood went to her, but his counter had been more devastating. If she were human, at least, and he once again found himself missing the fragility of human opponents.
This new incarnation had all the viciousness the previous one seemed to lack, the opposite of its past incarnation's passivity. He was forced to remind himself that while this current incarnation was said to have been a Miko, Mikos were not just simply shrine maidens.
Their roles lay in more than just cleaning up the shrines of the Gods, or the sacred dances that had been passed down from bloodline to bloodline and centuries to buffet them.
A long time ago, shrine maidens were more known as fighters of the supernatural, the bane of demons, and the chosen ones of Amaterasu. But most importantly, they were the first exorcists of supposed ghosts and the cursed creatures that birthed the rumors of ghosts.
So perhaps he should not have been surprised at her skill in combat. No, what really drew his attention was the cursed spirit bouncing on the toes of her feet once, twice before disappearing in a blur, and he smiled in response, then lashed out with an elbow strike to the right in the same instant she appeared, caving in her jawbone and sending her spiraling.
If Tamamoe-no-Mae thought she would beat him in a pure close combat altercation, he disabused her of that notion in seconds. His feet slid across the ground smoothly as the special grade curse fought to recover her balance. The moment she did, he was already in front of her and lashed out with a quick one-two combo that hit her sides and the other part of her jaw.
He ducked underneath her wild flailing and grabbed hold of her arm. Two quick strikes to the wrist and elbow turned the appendage into a useless heavyweight, suitable only as a paperweight, before he dempsey rolled out of her other wide strike, slotting another blow into her mid-side.
Whatever Tamamoe-no-Mae was—a centuries-old curse, a shrine maiden of Amaterasu herself, or a folk tale spread far and wide to scare courtesans into demurring—she was not Jorogumo. Even as she recovered and entered some ancient martial arts stance, he matched her blow for blow. He would never have tried this with any other century-old special grade; that would have been a death sentence. But Tamamo-no-Mae seemed to be on the weaker spectrum when it came to raw physicality. Which made him wonder, where did her power lie?
His pinpoint blows destroyed her defense and sent her reeling with every strike. The final one, an enhanced blow, obliterated her torso and sent her careening into a storefront, shattering what survived of the glass door and steel frame, before disappearing into the darkness of the store.
The brief pause in combat allowed him to assess his state of being once more. He was still running at optimal levels; the only intensive technique he had used was the Great Flame Annihilation, twice. That left him at what he estimated to be seventy percent of his cursed energy reserves, even with his ability to optimize cursed energy usage.
Once more, he cursed his average-sized reserves, which forced him to focus on finesse more than brute force—a failing that had plagued him in both lives. If he was going to face Geto after this, then he would need to be at his best. That was why he had not activated any of the techniques that came with his eyes.
The stinging of the multiple lacerations caused by the courtesan drew his attention once more. They had stopped bleeding. Even the thin cut across his forehead had stopped. While he still lacked the ability to heal via reverse cursed technique, his body was still far from mundane humanity.
These were the thoughts running through his mind as he walked slowly toward the store that Tamamoe-no-Mae had disappeared into. She must have been recouping her losses and spending an extensive amount of cursed energy to heal herself. While cursed spirits, especially special grades, had a ridiculous advantage in regeneration, it was bolstered and fed by cursed energy. Only the immense amount they could bring to bear saved them from blows that would have rendered any other curse to nothing. Yet Jiki was not bothered. Every injury she healed would result in a weaker version of her, and if what she had shown was all she had to offer, then it was only a matter of time until he finished what he had started.
Death by a thousand blows.
Meters away from the storefront, his eyes finally pierced the veil of darkness the curse had chosen to hide in, and the darkness stared back at him with two red malevolent eyes, a shade of hate to match his own apathy.
This time he almost didn't see it.
It felt like he blinked, but he knew he hadn't. One moment he was staring at a pair of red eyes nestled in the darkness of the storefront, the next he could feel a slight weight on his shoulders, and his eyes were locked in with that same pair of red.
She had changed again, he noted without any real fear, even though she lay perched on his shoulder. Her feet were digitigrade, and the claws on them sunk deep into his shoulders. As she tilted her head down at him, he could see the feline-like ears that poked from the top of her head as he raised his to stare up at her.
The Kitsune.
The sight of those ears nearly broke his mask of apathy. He had hoped it would be impossible for her to take this particular form, yet like all things, the world showed him once more that hope was a lie.
He could feel his eyes shift instinctively from their three-tomoe state, his body sensing the danger far faster than his mind. His nerves snapped, burning and going into overdrive as the three black dots melded and morphed into something else, heedless of the rapid drain in his cursed energy.
The words were on his lips before he knew he was saying them, and this time it was the special grade curse that widened its eyes in surprise.
"Amaterasu—"
The next moment, she disappeared and was standing meters away from him once more, standing upon the broken and wrecked corpse of a car.
This time he blinked. The motion served two purposes: to both automatically deactivate the still-forming technique, quenching the unending flames before they could form, and to express his surprise.
She had moved again, faster than he could see or anticipate. And that was the issue. His eyes saw all. Even movements so fast that his body could hardly respond to were movements he still saw, yet she had moved twice and he had not seen her do either.
His analytical mind spun as he tried to make sense of it. It was movement, not simple teleportation. Black and scarlet eyes picked up the little divots in the ground that came from her high-speed movements. His brain churned and calculated the trajectories she would have followed if she had jumped, and it proved his assumption correct.
So how? Then it came to him. He almost let out a laugh as the realization bloomed.
"You've figured it out?" she asked, her voice managing to be even silkier than the courtesan's and still holding some measure of feral power as she took him in with slit eyes that raked his form. Her features were more chiseled, eyes slanted and cheekbones pronounced. In this form, she looked more human than curse.
Her voice had lost the demure tone that the courtesan held, forgoing the courtesy and submissiveness of the courtesan, discarding even the uncanny and eerie ways of the corrupted shrine maiden. Instead, it had shifted into something more… noble laced with a hiss.
Her body was clad in an even greater embroidered robe—a red and gold kimono, the cloth looking as if it were spun of raw gold, and bathed with pure blood glistened in the moonlight. But he recognized it now that he was aware of it.
Even as the single red tail swayed rhythmically at her back, her eyes raked his form as she continued, "He always said you were a special little creature. Looking at you now with those carefully guarded features and those eyes that constantly move and scheme, you would've fit so well with the sorcerers of the past, not these atrophied remains of greatness."
He ignored the praise, instead flexing his cursed energy and washing away the imperceptible hold she had on him. Genjutsu, or more specifically illusions. That was how she moved so fast; her mastery of genjutsu was so sublime that it slipped through the cracks of his defense and latched onto him like a parasite.
It twisted his sense of time at a minuscule level, but that was enough to steal bare moments, which made every movement she made seem like teleportation. "Illusions," he noted, and she smiled in response, losing the empress's bearing she had looked upon him with. Her smile was feral, all teeth.
He should've known. He had never faced any real genjutsu since he woke up here twelve years ago. The closest approximation was the white-skinned special grade, and compared to what Tamamo-no-Mae had shown, he was a sledgehammer to her scalpel.
Unlike in his past life, the nine-tailed fox was not simply a being of immense chakra and power. Here, it was a different thing, one of trickery and subtlety. Yet even in both lives, the nine-tailed fox had never been an easy opponent. Another tale spoke of a kitsune that had rebelled against the heavens before finally being made to see the error of her ways.
A nine-tailed fox, yet when he looked upon her form, he could see only a single tail.
"Where are your other eight?" he asked conversationally as she continued to stare at him, her smile growing wider as she moved to respond.
"I cut them off."
He held off the desire to blink in shock at the response, yet her smile widened once more, somehow knowing he was surprised even if his face remained an apathetic mask of nothing.
"And from that act came enlightenment. From that weakening came strength, and from that strength…" Her eyes and voice trailed off, seemingly looking to the past before continuing, "Freedom." Her eyes regained their focus as she snapped her right hand wide to the side. From the voluminous kimono, a mirror manifested.
Maximum Technique: Ethereal Reflection - Nine Tailed Mirage"
As the mirror materialized, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. The air crackled with static energy, as the mirrow casted an eerie glow that seemed to draw the attention of the entire world.
For a brief moment, the mirror remained motionless, a pristine surface reflecting the surrounding darkness. Then, with a ripple like a stone disturbing a still pond, something pressed against it from the other side. Slowly, almost tantalizingly, a hand emerged, breaking through the barrier between reality and illusion.
With a fluid motion, the figure pulled itself through the mirror, revealing its identity as none other than Tamamo-no-Mae. Each movement seemed to carry a weight of centuries, a presence both ethereal and unsettling as she stepped into the realm of the living.
Another incarnation of her emerged, clad in a sleek black kimono, her expression dripping with danger and intent. The mirror's surface undulated once more, as if caught in the throes of a restless dream, and the scene repeated itself—a new Tamamo-no-Mae stepping forth from the abyss of the mirror, drawing her first breath in this realm.
It happened again and again and again, and when it was completed, Jiki was surrounded by nine different women, including the original Tamamo-no-Mae.
They all bore similar features with little differences. The first one that stepped out of the mirror had a pair of striking blue eyes. The third one that slipped out of the mirror had rounder eyes, something you'd expect from a foreigner, and she held a red paper umbrella.
Yet for all their striking differences in looks, postures, dress, and character, they all shared one thing in common—a tail. A red bushy fox tail that slipped out of their kimonos and weaved behind them.
Jiki took a step back for the first time as he assessed the new incarnation of Tamamo-no-Mae and the many figures she had brought to their chessboard. He peered at them once more, focused on the cursed energy that pumped through their forms, and realized something intriguing.
They were illusions. The eight extra women that had appeared from the mirror and surrounded him were not real.
So, despite what his instincts screamed at him, he trusted his eyes and ignored the new variables that had been brought to bear. Instead, he focused those same eyes on the original Tamamo-no-Mae.
Staring her down and calculating the most optimal way to exorcise the special grade curse. This had to be her last incarnation. There were only three stories that birthed the imaginary vengeful spirit: the courtesan, the shrine maiden, and the kitsune.
Some said they were all facets of the same story and person. It was that belief the imaginary vengeful curse latched onto. Staring at her once more, he noted something different, and it was only thanks to the increased perception and memory that came with his eyes.
Her smile had increased, a little thing—the edges rising slightly, revealing fangs. His eyes narrowed as he—
A kick to the side of his face sent him flying, bouncing on the ground before reorienting himself midair and landing on his feet. His eyes wide, he stared at the illusion that had kicked him, her dainty leg still outstretched as she slowly lowered it and smiled at him.
He had seen her coming and ignored it, assuming it was a ploy—a distraction that would have caused him to ignore something the original was doing, yet…
His hand trailed to the side of his face, feeling the split on his lips. The sensation of her shin against his face had been unmistakably real. Had she just fooled his Mangekyō Sharingan?
Sensing another one running towards him from behind, he waited, then pivoted at the last second, lashing out with a palm strike at her throat. He watched as the illusion's eyes widened in surprise before passing through him, rendering both her blow and his strike void.
It had been a fruitless confrontation, Jiki sensed the gears of his mind shifting into motion. His mental faculties churned, processing and analyzing the information gleaned from his senses with meticulous precision.
From that second clash, he already had a theory. So when four of the illusions charged at him at once, he simply let out a breath and spread his feet apart. Two came from the front, one from his right, and another from his left.
The one on the left was closest, so he turned to face her and lashed out with a strike to her head. Once more, his eyes noted as she revealed herself to be nothing but an illusion as she dispersed against his form. He moved with the blow and pirouetted to face the one on his right, watching her dissolve into an illusory mist also.
His eyes trailed to the two that should've been in front of him, but he saw only one. Instead, he felt the other one as she slammed into him with a blow that outright fractured his ribs and sent him skidding back.
His legs dragged a furrow through the ground, refusing to be sent flying again. If he was correct about her technique, then taking to the air would be a death sentence. He felt blood dribble out of his mouth but held it back, staring at the original once more. But was she really the original?
Considering what she told him, this incarnation of Tamamo-no-Mae was a nine-tailed fox that had severed off eight of her tails in a bid to show either remorse for the many sins she had committed as a malevolent monster or to escape something. The eight women that stepped out of the mirror were each a tail she had cut off, transformed into something else.
He felt the realization fall on him, the clarity of the thought blazing in his mind's eye. They were illusions. His eyes were not wrong, but they were not also right.
He ignored the way they positioned themselves around him, circling his still, thinking form once more, confident in his obliviousness. His first clue to the technique was the first illusion that dispersed against him the moment he tried to face it.
It had committed to the strike. It didn't just run up to him; it had aimed to strike the back of his neck and had been surprised when he pivoted and faced her.
She had been real until she wasn't.
Eight ethereal clones materialized, each representing a tail she had sacrificed. Her technique, an intricate fusion of illusion and reality, blurred the line between the two until it became indistinguishable.
It should have defied logic, yet Jiki understood that it was far from impossible.
They attacked him in sync immediately refusing to give him the time to think, lashing out with debilitating blows, and he was forced to bob and weave through them, his movements a sublime dance, his partners eight fox-tailed women. Yet for all his skill and precision, they overwhelmed him.
Illusory strikes became real whenever he wasn't looking, each clone materializing into existence with a seamless grace that defied comprehension. The injuries piled up. A blow above his eye that reopened the cut, another strike to the fractured rib breaking it, a kick that almost dislocated his knee, and a kidney shot that stole his breath.
Caught in a maelstrom of relentless attacks, Jiki stood firm, anchored by a simple yet profound reason: enlightenment.
This extraordinary bending of perception ignited a storm of activity within his brain, forging new neural pathways previously unexplored. As the idea took shape, he could feel its weight, the sublime fusion of illusion and reality beckoning to him.
Entranced, he watched the clones and the original move with eerie synchronicity, their presence both ethereal and palpable. In their mesmerizing dance, Jiki glimpsed a profound truth: the boundary between reality and illusion was as thin as a breath, and within that delicate space lay true power.
The urge to unleash this newfound understanding surged within him, he ached to manifest the pinnacle of sorcery. Yet, he suppressed the feeling, knowing it was still an incomplete revelation, merely the first shard of a greater puzzle. He refused to set it free like a desperate child pushed to the edge, he desired perfection, and he still had another card to play...
"Jiki-san!" A voice pierced through the chaos, cutting through the clamor with an urgency that spurred Jiki into action. Despite his battered state, he instinctively triangulated the source of the call—a two-story building, where a waif of a girl stood at the window, her presence a beacon in the darkness.
"Ieiri-sama is around. She said you can let loose now!"
The world seemed to hold its breath as the weight of those words sank in. The nine women surrounding him halted, a collective realization dawning upon them—that he was still holding back.
They must've sensed the change in his cursed energy as they swarmed him once more in a bid to put an end to him. But they were too late, and in their rush, they exposed themselves.
He closed his eyes, knowing it would drag them from immaterial to reality. His senses heightened to their peak, allowing him to discern the subtle cues of his assailants' movements—eight synchronized breaths, the patter of footsteps, the rustle of fabric.
A small smile tore across his face, and with a low voice, he called out with his hands outstretched to either side of him and his stance low.
This would not be the indiscriminate attack that was the original. Over the past few months, he had been refining it for precision and control, and now, it sprang awake, yet shackled and controlled by his indomitable will.
"Finally, Maximum Technique—Enton: Kagutsuchi."
He sensed a looming presence behind him, a manifestation of primordial authority descending upon the mortal realm. The weight of the goddess's attention bore down upon him, igniting the air with a palpable intensity.
In a moment of profound significance, her glare pierced through the veil of reality, setting the world ablaze once more with its black fire. The very fabric of existence seemed to quiver under the sheer heat of it.
The world ground to a halt as everything from white-furred bears in Alaska to malformed fingers trapped in seals within seals were forced to pay attention and take note.