Chapter 54: So What If You Can Slash?
Seeing Dojima paralyzed with what it assumed was terror, the Tumor Demon wasted no more time. With a flick of its wrist, five or six walnut-sized lumps of flesh shot toward the swordsman like organic bullets.
[Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!]
Almost simultaneously, Dojima unleashed a familiar technique. An upward arc of fire erupted from his blade, incinerating the projectiles into ash.
"Sorry, but I don't plan on sitting here and waiting to die."
Forcibly steadying his rattling nerves, Dojima Kazuma assumed a rock-solid Kendo stance, his gaze locked onto the monster.
"So, shut your mouth, you freak."
The "friendly" smile on the demon's face widened.
The swordsmen who had come to this factory before him had been exactly like this. In its long memory, every Slayer it eventually devoured had behaved the same way.
They were terrified out of their minds. So, they used words and self-hypnosis to bolster their courage. Then, they used those fragile little "toothpicks" to resist in vain, until they finally buckled under the weight of its perfect body.
And then, it would plant its seeds deep inside them.
It savored this "foreplay"—this lingering scent of futile resistance. It didn't rush to use its full strength; instead, like a predator playing with its food, the Tumor Demon began to press forward.
It swung its massive claws and launched clumsy, brutish charges. While its raw physical stats gave these "unga-bunga" swings terrifying power, they weren't a lethal threat to a swordsman like Dojima, who had undergone hellish training and possessed years of combat experience.
I can dodge this! I can counter!
Wielding his Nichirin Sword, Dojima danced through the shadows, parrying the demon's heavy limbs and sidestepping the lunges. He constantly shifted his footwork, rapidly closing the gap.
After ducking under a massive haymaker, he found himself in the optimal strike zone. The demon's neck was within reach of his blade.
In the next micro-second, the swordsman's eyes ignited.
[Total Concentration: Flame Breathing!]
[Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!]
This strike was far more decisive and violent than the last. It condensed every ounce of his spirit and physical energy—a "Desperation Move" powered by Total Concentration.
The trail of fire successfully carved through the demon's neck.
Dojima thought: Did I win?
But even as the thought formed, a jarring sense of wrongness hit him. The tactile feedback... it was wrong again.
It didn't feel like cutting through flesh and bone. It felt like burying a blade into thick, highly elastic industrial gel.
It was exactly like the sensation he had felt when slashing the clones earlier.
Before he could even retract his sword, Dojima saw the demon's head still sitting perfectly intact on its shoulders. It was as if his blade had simply "passed through" a ghostly illusion of a neck.
"You didn't actually think you'd decapitated me, did you?"
Dojima's pupils shrank. He performed a desperate backflip to put distance between them.
"Gwah... Gwahahaha! HAHAHAHA!"
The demon's distorted laughter echoed through the workshop, dripping with sadistic mockery.
"Good eyes, good resolve, and decent technique. But... my dear young swordsman..."
"Slashes are completely useless against me."
It used a deformed finger to slowly caress its own throat. On that neck, covered in pulsating cysts, there wasn't a single scratch.
"Is the blade fast?"
"All I have to do is let my body know the blade is coming right before it hits... and then, shhh-t!"
The demon mimed a splitting motion with its hands.
"I simply open a gap in my neck, or my arm, or wherever you're aiming. Your little toothpick just passes through the tunnel I've graciously provided. And once the steel is gone... pop... I close the gap."
"Isn't that a delightful Blood Demon Art?"
"And the best part? Every time you slash me, my body memorizes your rhythm. The next split becomes faster, more natural, more refined."
"I get to satisfy your desire to hack at me, and I get to become stronger in the process. It's a beautiful cycle, isn't it?"
Dojima gritted his teeth, his expression darkening. How is this possible?
A Blood Demon Art that literally cheats the physics of the game.
Veins popped on Dojima's forehead. His grip on the hilt was so tight the rayskin wrap creaked.
"Don't believe me? Then... please, try again!"
The demon spread its arms wide, even jutting its neck forward, wearing a look of undisguised contempt.
[First Form: Unknowing Fire!]
[Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!]
If one strike doesn't work, I'll hack you into mincemeat until there's nothing left to bridge the gaps!
Dojima transformed into a whirlwind of fire. His blade flashed from different angles, using varying levels of force, striking the demon's body again and again.
Limbs, head, torso, waist.
Every slash carried the weight of his unyielding will and sharpest intent. But every single one was futile. The blade sank into the demon like it was hitting a viscous liquid, passing through and leaving the flesh to seal up instantly behind it.
The demon even began to "playfully" eject small chunks of its own tissue along the blade's path, only to suck them back in a second later like a grotesque magic trick.
"Huff... huff..."
The continuous, full-power exertion began to throw Dojima's breathing out of sync. Sweat soaked his back. But unlike the burning in his lungs, a cold sense of powerlessness began to crawl up his sword-arm, eroding his fighting spirit.
"GWAHAHAHA!"
"Are you really still trying? I gave you the answer, and you're still this stubborn... Fine. I guess I need to teach you a lesson."
The demon was done playing.
In the next heartbeat, its seemingly sluggish body accelerated with explosive force. Its two arms elongated like snapping rubber bands.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two heavy punches, far faster than the swordsman could react to. One slammed into his chest, the other into his shoulder.
Dojima only had time to bring his sword up to catch part of the impact before the sheer force sent him airborne. He flew backward like a kite with a broken string, slamming hard into the workshop wall.
SPLURT!
Blood mixed with saliva sprayed from his mouth. His Nichirin Sword nearly slipped from his numb fingers. He coughed violently, using his blade as a cane to barely force himself back to his feet.
I can't do this. I literally can't beat him.
Do I run?
But the people here... damn it... I have to hold out!
He wondered how the "Tsuguko-sama" was doing. But if this demon could negate slashes entirely, even a high-tier prodigy was likely struggling.
Forcing his breathing back into a rhythm, Dojima raised his sword once more. The fire in his heart hadn't gone out.
This drew a look of genuine confusion from the Tumor Demon. "Huh? Still not running?"
The demon looked at Dojima's positioning, then at the civilians behind him. It realized the truth.
It burst into laughter. "Oh! You're worried about them? That is touchingly... STUPID!"
The laughter vanished. The demon was actually insulted by the heroism.
Dojima's expression didn't change, but the light in his eyes grew more concentrated—like a focused flame.
"I've always wanted to be the kind of hot-blooded guy who stands by his friends," Dojima said raspy.
Abandoning comrades and innocents to show a monster my back? What kind of man would that make me?
The demon sneered. "Then let's see if that 'hot blood' of yours can protect them once you're a cold corpse!"
It preferred prey that begged for mercy. It hated these "stubborn rocks" that reminded it of the grit in a toilet.
The surface of its body began to ripple and pulsate. A dozen fist-sized, even uglier mini-nodules split from its mass. They screeched and scurried across the floor like a tide of fleshy rats, swarming toward Dojima.
"Gwahaha... play with my little babies. I've lost interest in you."
The demon leaned against a dormant textile machine, watching with casual amusement. It even called out to its clones: "Don't kill him too fast, now!"
Dojima was plunged into a desperate struggle. These mini-monsters weren't strong or fast, but there were too many of them. Like their progenitor, they didn't care about slashes. They clung to his legs, nipped at his arms, and drained his stamina and focus.
Even with his Flame Breathing keeping his strikes fierce, new wounds began to open on his body.
But that wasn't the end of it.
While Dojima was completely occupied by the swarming clones, a cruel light flashed in the demon's eyes. It raised its deformed right hand toward the comatose Slayers and civilians it had "seeded" earlier.
It curled its fingers.
The next second, the hair on the back of Dojima's neck stood up.
Except for the one Slayer whose flesh-bud Natsuya had cut, all the other civilians slowly stood up. They began to close in on Dojima.
Some picked up broken wooden beams. Others grabbed heavy stones.
Combined with the swarming tumor-clones, they formed a circle of absolute despair.
Dojima Kazuma, battered and bleeding, was now completely trapped in the center.
☆☆☆
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