Kamado Takeo hadn't expected this.
Not only could the ghost in front of him regenerate at terrifying speed, it also had a supernatural power: control over flowing water.
As the ghost summoned two blades of pressurized water and fired them through the air, Takeo didn't even try to block.
He dodged.
Fast.
So did the ghost hunter beside him.
The two men moved with precision—one darting left, the other right—as the shimmering water blades ripped through the space they'd just occupied and slammed into the crates behind them.
CRASH!
Porcelain shattered. Several boxes toppled over, spilling their contents across the blood-slicked floor.
This was no longer a confrontation.
It was a battle.
The water demon lunged, but Takeo didn't flinch. Instead of replying, he dashed forward—sword drawn—charging head-on.
The ghost hunter, watching him move, fell silent.
This wasn't the first time Takeo had faced the ghost. He had stepped in with no hesitation, deflected its attacks, and now stood toe-to-toe with it again.
He hadn't mastered any breathing techniques. He wasn't a trained slayer.
But the fact that he was still alive, and now going on the offensive—
That alone earned him the ghost hunter's respect.
"Watch out for his blood art! He can control all the water in this room!"
Takeo's eyes narrowed.
Blood art?
So that's what this ghost's power was called.
He began to take wider steps, deliberately avoiding the water stains on the warehouse floor.
He remembered the smell earlier when he entered—moist, briny, thick like seawater.
He'd assumed it was just natural humidity from being near the ocean. But now…
This water didn't come from the sea.
It came from the ghost.
Takeo zigzagged, keeping his footing away from every glistening puddle. Then, tightening his grip, he charged again.
The water demon raised both hands, pale-blue palms flashing with power.
The puddles on the floor rippled. Then, in a single moment, dozens of water arrows erupted from the ground.
—Blood Demon Art: Water Arrows!—
Takeo moved like a shadow.
He dodged, weaved, ducked beneath the volley. One arrow grazed his arm—but that was nothing.
He could heal.
Using the demon's distraction, Takeo closed the distance.
With one fluid step, he was in front of the demon—and brought his blade down, aiming for its neck.
"You again?! You think that toy can hurt me twice?!"
The demon's serpentine lower body writhed like a snake's tail, whipping back and sliding him out of reach.
He smirked.
But that smile didn't last.
The ghost hunter had arrived.
Wind Breathing, Fifth Form: Cold Autumn Mountain Breeze!
The technique was beautiful—surreal. A sweeping arc of slicing wind roared past Takeo, a shimmering illusion of silver-blue air that carried the scent of autumn.
In that moment, Takeo realized:
Real power existed in this world.
Power beyond Wolverine. Beyond his instincts.
But still—not enough.
The wind blade had been aimed at the demon's neck. It missed by inches, slicing off only the right arm.
"Tch tch tch… Close, hunter. Real close."
The demon's voice was low and mocking.
He dodged. Then retaliated.
The moment the ghost hunter's feet hit the ground, the demon whipped the water around them—summoning a long, snake-like stream that lashed out and tried to entangle him.
Takeo saw it coming.
"Watch out—!"
He didn't hesitate.
He turned from the demon and sprinted toward the ghost hunter, who had just narrowly avoided being wrapped in the water serpent.
The two of them collided, rolled across the floor, and scrambled back to their feet, just in time to see—
The demon picking up its severed arm.
Placing it back on its shoulder.
SHLICK.
The flesh stitched together instantly.
In seconds, it was whole again.
His regeneration is insane…
Takeo glanced at the ghost hunter, who was now breathing heavily.
That attack had cost him more than it had gained.
Meanwhile, Takeo's own cuts—small and shallow—were already healing.
Most fighters would be on death's door by now.
"He's a real demon," the hunter muttered. "Lucky the space is tight. If we were outside where he could move freely… we'd be screwed."
Takeo nodded silently.
Demons like this weren't just strong—they were inhumanly strong. Their speed, strength, and endurance outclassed ordinary people completely.
Even elite ghost hunters could only fight back with refined breathing techniques.
Even then…
If the enemy had Blood Demon Arts, victory wasn't guaranteed.
"So…" Takeo said, eyes still locked on the demon, "how do we kill him?"
He didn't realize the ghost hunter was staring at him.
The hunter paused, exhaled, and spoke low.
"Two ways. First—cut off his head. With this."
He raised a gleaming blade.
Takeo blinked.
"…That's not happening, is it?"
"...No. So there's a second way."
"And?"
"We wait for sunrise."
"Huh?"
"Demons fear sunlight. If we can last until dawn and find a way to collapse the ceiling—daylight will kill him."
Takeo's stomach dropped.
He glanced outside.
Still pitch-black.
And it was winter.
We'll have to last six hours at least...
Six hours.
Against a demon they couldn't kill. One that regenerated instantly. In a confined space.
Takeo swallowed hard.
"So… we're supposed to stall him? For six hours?"
The ghost hunter didn't answer.
The demon just smiled.
Author's Note:
A head can't be severed. A sun that won't rise. One ghost hunter, one wandering swordsman, and a demon that refuses to die. Dawn is far away. And the warehouse has become a cage.