"This is magnificent! His ability isn't like normal necromancy. He regains full control over anything he summons, and they retain their memories and seem to possess unwavering loyalty to him. Fascinating," Kenjaku exclaimed, his eyes roaming the scene with eager curiosity. He yearned to dissect this power further.
"So, that's how he does it. He extracts their souls before imbuing them with his own energy, granting them new bodies. Is this possible because of his mana, or could a curse technique achieve the same?" Kenjaku pondered, even as his life hung precariously in the balance. The thought of the merger failing and his inevitable demise gnawed at him. Even if he somehow bested Mahito, the army of shadow soldiers surrounding him presented a formidable obstacle. He sensed that Mahito, despite his nonchalance, wasn't the strongest among them; that honor likely belonged to the imposing knight.
Kenjaku's gaze then shifted to Igris, standing resolute beside Kenzo. His eyes then drifted to Choso...
"He even managed to revive the Death Painting Womb. I wonder how he accomplished that. Did he use his mana to sculpt their appearances, or did they simply materialize like this?" Every detail fueled Kenjaku's insatiable curiosity.
His manic excitement contrasted starkly with Mahito's apathetic boredom. Undeterred by Mahito's lack of interest in his fervent observations, Kenjaku's manic energy remained undimmed.
With a smirk tinged with indifference, Mahito interrupted Kenjaku's musing. "Are we going to fight, or are you going to prattle on much longer? Do you want me to join you for a nap too? Just wake me when you're done."
Kenjaku met Mahito's gaze before replying, "Let's get started then." As the words left his lips, he unleashed a swarm of low-level curses to distract Mahito while creating distance between them. He knew precisely how Mahito's ability operated and was determined to avoid any physical contact.
Dust rose in a swirling cloud as Kenjaku's swarm of curses collided with the cobblestones, momentarily obscuring the battlefield. Mahito, a flicker of annoyance on his face, effortlessly weaved through the chaotic dance of limbs and teeth, his Shikigami dissolving and reforming with mocking fluidity. "This is getting tedious," he drawled, stretching in an exaggerated manner.
Kenjaku, perched atop a crumbling wall, remained undeterred. His eyes, alight with manic curiosity, scanned the shifting shapes, searching for patterns, weaknesses. He snapped his fingers, and a rusty chain whip materialized in his hand, its links imbued with cursed energy. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the whip snapping through the air, aiming not to harm, but to bind.
Mahito scoffed, dissolving into mist just as the whip passed through where he once stood. He reappeared behind Kenjaku, a wicked grin splitting his face. "Playing with toys, old man? Not very stimulating."
But Kenjaku was already moving. He launched himself off the wall, twisting in mid-air to send a wave of cursed energy surging outwards. The cobblestones beneath Mahito's feet cracked and shifted, momentarily trapping him in place. Kenjaku landed gracefully, the whip whipping around his arm like a serpent.
"Fascinating," he breathed, his gaze fixed on Mahito. "Your form shifts, but your essence remains. Perhaps I can..."
His words were cut short as Mahito, with a surge of his own cursed energy, shattered the earth prison. He lunged, aiming for Kenjaku's chest, but the whip met him halfway, the metal singing against his outstretched hand. The touch did nothing, but the surprise momentarily disrupted Mahito's momentum.
Kenjaku seized the opportunity. He slammed his hand against the wall, and a hidden inscription flared to life. Chains erupted from the stone, snaking towards Mahito with chilling speed. "Let's see how well you handle binding, shall we?" He cackled, a sound that echoed through the ruined city like a raven's call.
Mahito scoffed, dissolving into mist just as the whip passed through where he once stood. He reappeared behind Kenjaku, a cunning grin splitting his face. "Playing with trinkets, old man? Not very stimulating."
His words were barely uttered before Kenjaku, anticipating this maneuver, activated his hidden trump card: the Anti-Gravity Curse Technique. The ground beneath Mahito warped, sending him hurtling upwards in a disoriented spin. "Let's see how nimble you are without the ground," Kenjaku cackled, a sound that echoed through the ruined city like a raven's call.
Mahito, momentarily off-balance, recovered quickly. His form shimmered and stretched, defying gravity itself as he propelled himself towards Kenjaku. But the old sorcerer was ready. He slammed his hand against the wall, activating a hidden inscription. Chains erupted from the stone, enchanted with binding curses, snaking towards Mahito with chilling speed.
The battle raged, a whirlwind of shifting shadows and cursed energy. Kenjaku, fueled by his thirst for knowledge, pushed Mahito to his limits, his whip and cursed objects snapping and snapping again. Each parry, each dodge, revealed another facet of Idle Transfiguration. Mahito, initially bored, now fought with a grudging respect, his own cursed technique evolving, becoming more lethal, more unpredictable.
But amidst the clash, an unseen observer watched. From the rooftops, Igris, ever vigilant, kept his guard high.