After the Ushi-oni marsh sank into the spiral void, the world went wild: towering stone walls loomed like massive trenches, colossal torches blazed with blue flames, and the air was thick with a mist of blood. Far above the ruins, the Oni drum beat out a catastrophic rhythm, pulsing through the heart of every soul that heard it. Flames danced, and from their shadows stepped Ibaraki-dōji—his form towering like an ancient tree, skin as tough as steel, hair wild and red, and his right arm pitch black, the veins of his curse throbbing with a spiral rune that resembled a divine claw. From his eyes radiated eternal resentment, an aura of death settling around him.

  Ibaraki-dōji was not merely a follower of Shuten-dōji but the last son of the Spiral Abyss, the strongest Oni who had ever consumed the soul of the spirit King Benkei and bound thousands of human names to his accursed arm. It was said that every hero who fell by his hand transformed into a runic seal, granting him power equal to that of deities—and making him an instrument for a world that rejected rebirth.

  Ibaraki-dōji approached with heavy steps, “Arrogant human. You have already brought down Benkei, Tengu, and Ushi-oni. But this hand—‘Kurayami-no-Te’—was not forged to conquer, but to obliterate the hope of the last hero of this world!”

  “Ah, but what do you know of hope?” Fitran's voice flowed in the darkness, soft yet sharp like a drawn blade. “Is hope not merely an illusion to ensnare the weak? And you, Ibaraki, you are one of them, ensnared in an everlasting curse of resurrection.”

  Ibaraki-dōji groaned and snarled, her body trembling with fury. “I am a power to be feared! You’re just a human playing with fire!”

  “A game it is, indeed.” Fitran replied with a sardonic smile, his movements light as he circled around, weaving illusions of shadows around him. “And like all games, there are rules. Follow them, and you shall survive; break them, and… you know the consequences. Don’t you wish to delve deeper into that Spiral Abyss? To find immortality within the darkness?”

  Ibaraki-dōji paused for a moment, doubt flickering in her eyes as Fitran's words seemed to create a crack in her pride. “What do you propose?”

  “A deal, where we share power and knowledge,” Fitran replied, his tone resonating with magical vibrations in the air. “To shatter the limits of darkness and expand the circle of dominion. With your strength and my wisdom, we could call forth a darkness deeper than the Abyss itself.”

  “And what is the cost?” Ibaraki’s majestic voice trembled, yet an aura of impatience began to creep into her demeanor.

  “Only a temporary trust, Ibaraki,” Fitran replied, his cold gaze concealing a hidden message. “A trust that you could shatter in an instant if you are unprepared to face the consequences of your ambition for power. Or perhaps, we can learn to appreciate one another in this deadly rivalry.”

  Ibaraki-dōji bared her teeth, “Shuten-dōji? That’s the past. I am the heir to the dark hand of the Spiral Devil, the eater of names who once challenged the deities at the peak of Yamato. With this hand, I bound Yoshitsune’s spirit, devoured Taira’s dragon, and incinerated the sacred body of Sōjōbō—all while disregarding the sanctity of life. Such is my legacy!”

  Fitran stood amid the shadows of the ruins, Voidlight shimmering sharply in his grip, “Don’t waste your breath. Are you just a remnant of the nightmare that was Shuten-dōji?”

  “A nightmare?” Ibaraki-dōji laughed cynically, “More like a dark legend that haunts this world. And you, Fitran, seem to be trapped in the shadow of your own name.”

  “It appears you don’t understand, Ibaraki. The power embedded in names is not merely for challenge. A name can also become an indelible curse,” Fitran retorted with a frosty smile, his piercing stare unflinching, “Keep speaking; I enjoy hearing the architect of your soul demolish your own hopes!”

  Ibaraki-dōji bared her teeth, "Shuten-dōji? That’s nothing but a memory. I am the inheritor of the dark hand of the Spiral Demon King, devourer of names who once challenged the deities at the peak of Yamato. With this hand, I have bound the spirit of Yoshitsune, feasted upon the Taira dragon, and burnt the body of the holy priest Sōjōbō—all locked away in my cursed fingertips! Tonight, I want the last human name to adhere to my flesh!”

  “Ah, a name steeped in disgrace and fury, a poem crafting beauty from sorrow. But why do you remain shackled to the past?” Fitran countered, his soft voice vibrating in the darkness, “Are you certain you can summon those shadows, Ibaraki? Let us discover who truly deserves to be called the king of darkness.”

  Fitran smiled thinly, his piercing gaze fixed on her, “Go on. Who’s truly arrogant here?”

  Ibaraki-dōji raised her right arm, black runes glowing with ominous energy, “Stop questioning me. Do you wish to know why this hand is feared more than Shuten-dōji? Because every technique I wield is a curse from death itself! Feel it, Kurodaiji Smasher!”

  Fitran evaded her strike with grace, as if each step was a dance within this fight. “What a show without an audience; you’re aware of the match we’re in, correct? Only darkness can appreciate another's darkness,” his voice echoed with a sweet yet lethal cadence.

  “Questions are answered with more questions. This isn't some word-guessing game,” Fitran said, staring at Ibaraki as if she were a chess piece to be easily accepted.

  “You said yourself that's the past, yet you keep bringing it up. Can't you just name Shuten-dōji? Haven't you said you despise him?” Fitran's tone sharpened, “Or is this all just a fa?ade to conceal your desire to end my life?”

  “Every curse can revive buried memories, Fitran,” Ibaraki replied, her aura cloaked in darkness, as if a malevolent force ignited the ground around her.

  Ibaraki lunged, her cursed arm shattering the earth, invoking the Oni spell: Despair Rune Smash. Stones and flames soared through the air, a single strike shook the spiral field until it cracked, black energy flowed like a giant spider's web enveloping Fitran, forcing his veins to transform into strands of the curse.

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  Fitran, struggling against the Voidlight, trembled, “The Oni curse... the spiral you wield... not bad. But all curses are maelstroms longing to be forgotten by the world.” He smirked cynically. “Have you considered the price of this curse? Every power comes with a burden, Ibaraki.”

  Ibaraki laughed, “Stop bragging, Fate. Your body is far too weak for this fight. So hand it over to me!”

  “Ah, but how delightful it is to see you struggle,” Fitran replied, responding to the curse's energy swirling around him. “This power is not just about the tools, Ibaraki. It’s about who wields it. You are merely reaching into an even deeper darkness.”

  Fitran longed to sever Ibaraki's head before ultimately being restrained by his own arm.

  Ibaraki-dōji growled, “You don’t understand… this arm is my tool to acquire anything! I gained this limb on Mount ōe, absorbing my mother’s spirit and devouring my father. This technique is not merely a source of power, but an annihilation of all will.”

  “You speak of annihilation,” Fitran retorted, grinning. “If will can be manipulated, why not create ruins from your own hope? Are you sure this isn't just a mere contract with darkness?”

  Ibaraki suddenly grew larger, her black arm transforming like that of a colossal tree, “Devouring Oni Palm—spiral grip, crush the hero!”

  Fitran merely chuckled softly, “Hero? Oh, Ibaraki, that concept has become stale. The heroes you call are merely puppets of your power. And now, you shall witness what happens when the thread of absorption attempts to land upon the truck. Wrapping, adhering, and then… killing.”

  Ibaraki shouted, “Wail within the Oni's curse, spiral human!”

  “Curses are merely mirrors,” replied Fitran, gripping the curse tightly, his fingers of Voidlight trembling, “In the spiral, will is a poison more lethal than any magic. You only keep it beyond your reach. Let's put this theorem to the test, Ibaraki.”

  Voidlight ignited the glowing purple spiral runes, drawing the curse's aura into his blade, “Void Severance.” With a single slash, the curse's aura in Ibaraki's hand nearly split in two, the psychic wave exploding into the field, shaking the souls of the Oni around them.

  Ibaraki glared at her blackened arm, furious, “No one shall break this hand! I've bound too many names to my body—every soul has died alongside me!”

  Fitran's voice dropped, full of psychological games, “Ah, Ibaraki, those names are not burdens at all. On the contrary, they are sources of strength. However, when you bind yourself with rage, nothing but sand remains.” He gripped his sword tighter, adjusting his stance, and continued, “Do you even understand the price of all these curses? Power grants no mercy, and the strength you adopt will only consume everything.”

  Fitran, his voice icy, noted, “Everything breaks when it withstands the spiral long enough. Even eternal curses require time to be forgotten.”

  Ibaraki raged, summoning the young Oni from the shadows, their war chant igniting the air, piercing through the tension that had settled in. With each step Ibaraki took, magic erupted like an explosion; flames soared high, while blood seeped from the ground. Fitran pressed Voidlight into the earth, activating “Spiral Banishment”—a wave of psychic pressure swept over the smaller Oni, who screamed before fleeing into the swirling vortex, leaving two giants on the battlefield. “Oh, look around you, Ibaraki,” he mocked, “everything you summon is merely a game. They will never be loyal, not like me. Every soul you retrieve will only flow back into the darkness.”

  Fitran challenged, “Come on, Ibaraki. Prove that this hand is more than a tool for vengeance. Show me, what does living in a world that rejects your name truly mean? Or will you remain ensnared in the illusion of this one power?”

  Ibaraki, teeth chattering, declared, “This hand was born of betrayal. I was once human, but the world refused to take me back. Tonight, I will cast aside everything. Oni’s Despair Cataclysm!”

  The cursed limbs drew in all fire, stone, even the remnants of the spiral field—transforming into a dark crimson energy, forming a sphere of destruction, ancient runes from Yamato glowing like an open wound in the night sky.

  “Do you really think you can destroy the world that has forgotten you?” Fitran's voice was low, teasing as he challenged, “Are you truly certain that this curse can set you free? Or will it bind you even deeper?”

  “I will erase you along with the history of humanity—becoming a curse for all who ever dared to hope for the light!” Ibaraki asserted, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

  Fitran chuckled softly, “Ah, Ibaraki, blaming history is merely a weak excuse to repeat the same mistakes. In this day of reckoning, what I desire is not hope, but chaos. And you—you are simply a pawn in this game.”

  The waves of the Oni engulfed the entire field, the curse's arms ravaging the ground, yet Fitran planted Voidlight at the center of the explosion, absorbing all the Oni's energy—twisting into a spiral vortex, transforming the energy of destruction into a small black hole. “You do not yet understand; everything in this world has a price. And that price, my dear, is you.”

  Ibaraki roared, “I… Oni… am no one's tool! I… am the architect of my own fate!”

  “A delusion,” Fitran retorted, his voice deep and intimidating. “No one is free from fate, only caught in the balance between darkness and light. Release or be destroyed; our paths end here and now.”

  Fitran thrust the Voidlight into Oni's arm, his voice low and decisive. “Then prove it. Break your curse or vanish—spirals make no record of those who fail. Be brave, Ibaraki. Dare to face the darkness you’ve summoned yourself.”

  Ibaraki screamed as the runes on her blackened arm shattered one by one, dark blood flooding the ground. The Oni warriors shrieked hysterically before being drawn into the swirling vortex. "Look what you've done, Fitran! You've unleashed a deeper darkness!" she cried out, her face contorted with pain and rage. Ruins crumbled, flames extinguished one after another. Ibaraki's body slowly fell apart, the curse broken, and the drumbeats of the Oni fell silent. "You will pay for this!"

  "You have no idea what darkness truly means," Fitran sneered, his voice dripping with malevolence as he conjured an aura of bloodlust that chilled the air around them.

  "Don't speak of curses if you're merely going to lament about them," he continued, his tone laced with scorn as shadows danced at his feet.

  Ibaraki struggled to grasp Fitran's intentions, her mind racing amidst the chaos. Yet somewhere deep within, she felt the unsettling echoes of what he was alluding to...

  Ibaraki's last whisper was faint, “The curse of the Oni will return… the spiral is not finished, Fate…” She understood, even as her body shattered, that there would be far greater consequences for the world. Fitran raised an eyebrow at her, “But no one is prepared to reckon with the end, are they? All you’ve done is prolong this game.” He tightened his grip on the Voidlight, its glow shimmering with an intimidating power. “When that day comes, I will rewrite the curse—with blood older than your history.”

  The body of Ibaraki collapsed, its cursed arms dissipating into dust within the quiet spiral. In Fitran's hand, Voidlight was now adorned with Oni runes, radiating an aura that seeped into the darkness. “Every Twilight brings both hope and calamity. Can't you grasp this, Ibaraki?” The shadow of Kagutsuchi no Ura materialized in the distance, its voice echoing like a death song, “You have conquered the hand of despair, Fitran. But every spiral carries names that you have yet to forget…”

  Fitran gazed ahead, his eyes filled with dark resolve, “As long as there are names, I can erase them.” He tightened his grip on Voidlight and whispered, "No one is born without blemish; only the wise can purge that stain." A pale gray rain began to fall, covering the blood and emptiness—a sign that every battle was etched in memory. "Only a fool believes they have won before the end.”