"Are you Cursed Spirits?"
Mahito's mismatched eyes studied the two figures who had materialized from the shadows. Both had crimson hair and wore the distinctive white-and-black robes of the Kamo Clan. Masks concealed their faces—one bearing the intricate pattern of a spider, the other a stylized monkey.
The spider-masked figure moved with a grace that suggested a feminine build. The monkey-masked figure stood perfectly still, one hand resting on the hilt of a tachi at his waist—the posture of an expert swordsman.
Mahito's perception prickled. They felt wrong. Not human—he knew humans better than anyone in this world. But not Cursed Spirits either. Something else entirely.
"We are Red Spider and Akamaru," the spider-masked figure announced, her voice distorted by the mask but unmistakably female. "We are here to retrieve the Sukuna finger in your possession. Hand it over, Cursed Spirit."
Mahito's lips curled into an amused smirk. He tossed the gnarled finger lazily in his palm. "This? I finally found something interesting. Why would I give it to you just because you asked nicely?"
Red Spider's eyes glowed faintly behind her mask. "Then we'll exorcise you first and take it afterward."
"Tch." Mahito continued tossing the finger, openly mocking. "If you can, come try."
Now.
The finger reached its apex. In that instant, a thread—finer than silk, nearly invisible—shot from Red Spider's mouth. It struck the finger, wrapped around it, and retracted in a blur.
The finger vanished into layers of spider silk, then disappeared entirely as Red Spider swallowed it.
Mahito froze. His hand, still raised from the toss, clenched empty air. He stared at his palm as if confirming reality.
"Mission complete. Let's go." Red Spider turned without a backward glance, already walking toward the exit.
"Hey. Hey, hey, hey." Mahito's voice dropped, losing its playful lilt. "Are you treating me like I'm invisible?"
He had waited, curious whether swallowing the finger would do something interesting. Nothing happened. Now they were just leaving?
Multiple Souls: Body Extraction!
A massive chunk of flesh erupted from Mahito's hand, gaping maw wide, hurtling toward the retreating pair. They dodged easily—but the exit was now blocked by writhing, hungry flesh.
Mahito's form flickered. In an instant, he was upon them, one arm transformed into a razor-sharp mantis scythe aimed directly at Red Spider's throat.
CLANG!
Akamaru was there. His blade intercepted the strike in a shower of sparks that briefly illuminated the dark sewer. His stance was perfect, his timing impeccable.
Mahito's grin widened. 'Good. This is good.'
He pulled back, his body warping again—right foot swelling to grotesque proportions, sweeping toward both enemies in a devastating arc.
Red Spider's hands moved. A web, impossibly tough, shot forth and wrapped around Mahito's transformed limb, halting its momentum. The strands bit deep, restraining him.
Akamaru moved. One step, two—his blade sang through the air, cleanly severing the massive foot at the ankle.
Mahito didn't flinch. His body shrank, slipping free of the webs, and by the time he stood at full height again, a new foot had already grown in place of the severed one.
"Wonderful!" His mismatched eyes gleamed with genuine delight. "This is exactly what I needed. Play with me longer!"
Red Spider's voice was ice. "We're not your playmates. Akamaru. End this."
Akamaru shifted his stance, both hands on the hilt, facing Mahito with deadly focus.
But Mahito wasn't finished talking.
"Do you think the soul came first, or the body?"
Silence. The puppets began circling, flanking him from two directions.
"Don't understand? Let me rephrase." Mahito's smile never wavered. "Does the soul reside in the body, or does the body depend on the soul?"
He paused, savoring the moment.
"The answer is the latter. The soul exists prior to the body. Always. The body's form is shaped by the soul's form."
His eyes glittered with mad certainty.
"That's why my Cursed Technique—Idle Transfiguration—works. I don't touch the body. I touch the soul. And the body follows."
He spread his arms wide, inviting attack.
"No matter how many times you cut me, as long as my soul remains intact, my body will regenerate. You can't win. So play with me until I'm satisfied."
The puppets paused. For a moment, even their machine-like focus seemed to consider his words.
Then Akamaru's blade rose.
And Mahito's smile widened into something truly, terribly hungry.
Just as Red Spider and Akamaru tightened their encirclement, Mahito's arms dissolved.
Not in pain—in transformation. They softened, elongated, becoming two massive, serpentine limbs that lashed out with predatory precision. One struck at Red Spider, the other at Akamaru—a simultaneous assault that would have caught most opponents off guard.
Mahito had abandoned brute force for speed. Fluid. Unpredictable. Deadly.
Red Spider flowed backward like water, her body responding to the threat before conscious thought. Even as she retreated, her hands were already moving—spider threads arcing through the dim light, seeking to pin the writhing limbs to the walls.
Akamaru took a different approach.
His blade became a blur—a wall of steel so dense it seemed solid. Each swing met flesh, carving through Mahito's transformed arms in a shower of dark fragments. By the time the assault ended, the arms had been reduced to twitching pieces scattered across the sewer floor.
"I told you, it's useless!" Mahito's voice rang with manic glee.
He simply released the remnants of his arms—letting them fall away like shed skin—and grew new ones in their place. Fresh. Whole. Unharmed.
His attacks grew more frenzied. The ancient sewer walls groaned under the impact of his wild strikes. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone. Sewage splashed in fetid waves as the confined space shuddered, threatening collapse.
Red Spider saw her opening.
Both hands shot forward, threads flying—not to attack, but to bind. They wrapped around Mahito's legs, tangled, tightened. He stumbled, balance disrupted for a single critical moment.
Akamaru was already moving.
A leap. A twist. His blade descended in a perfect arc, cleanly severing both legs at the knees.
Mahito crashed to the ground, sending up a spray of filthy water and debris.
But even prone, he was dangerous. His body rippled—countless sharp thorns erupting from his skin, shooting in all directions like a living rain of blades. A desperate measure to keep his enemies at bay.
Then came the Transfigured Humans.
They poured from his flesh—twisted, malformed creatures born of Idle Transfiguration's power. Each one was a nightmare given shape, launching themselves at the two puppets with mindless ferocity.
Red Spider dodged, wove, bound. Akamaru carved through them with mechanical precision, his blade never slowing, never faltering.
A human sorcerer might have hesitated. Might have felt horror at the grotesque forms, anger at the violation of human souls trapped within. Those emotions would create openings. Doubt. Fear.
Red Spider and Akamaru felt nothing.
They analyzed. Adapted. Executed.
Every attack was countered. Every opening exploited. Mahito's Cursed Energy drained with each failed assault, each regenerated limb, each Transfigured Human sent to waste.
The tide was turning.
Mahito's movements grew more frantic. His grin, once confident, now held a desperate edge.
"Come on! Come ON!" he shrieked, lashing out wildly. "Is this all you've got?!"
But the puppets said nothing. They simply continued their relentless, systematic dismantling of his defenses.
Victory was no longer a question of if.
Only when.