Inosuke roared, the primal sound of his anger echoing through the woods as he lunged at you, blades slashing through the air with raw force. His eyes were wild, veins pulsing with rage—rage that had been fanned to a wildfire when he found Shinobu's lifeless form sprawled on the ground behind him, her final expression frozen in an unspoken plea. The memory of that moment, the sweetness of victory over her, still lingered in your mind, as sharp and cold as the steel of your golden fans.

You brought the fans up in a graceful arc, blocking his wild strikes with a measured ease. The fans glittered with an unnatural luster, catching the moonlight as you deflected his blows, the clatter of metal ringing like a challenge. Your smile was as serene as it was sinister, eyes locked on Inosuke’s face as he pushed against your defense, muscles straining with the effort.

Kanao’s movements were a stark contrast to Inosuke’s feral assault. Silent and precise, she darted forward, her blade a blur of deadly intent aimed at your side. Her expression, cold and unreadable, spoke of resolve forged in the fires of grief. But you were no stranger to that look. You had seen it many times before, in the eyes of those who dared to come for you, and it always ended the same way: with their defeat, their pain, their broken spirits.

Inosuke roared in rage, charging with a wild, desperate power that bordered on recklessness. But you, Douma, the perfect predator, stood unyielding, the embodiment of beauty and danger. You moved with all the elegance of a storm, striking with precision, a cruel smile playing at your lips as you continued to play with them, a dance where only one outcome was ever possible.

No matter how much they wished for vengeance, they were simply outmatched.