Demonic Kitsune

Less than an hour after the Demonic Mole arrived, a group of Arrancars swept through the afternoon like a gust of wind. Running at breakneck speed, they leaped effortlessly over obstacles in their path. Every movement was precise, almost delicate, to avoid attracting the attention of ordinary people or anyone with heightened senses. They moved like shadows—experienced assassins on a mission.

These were the members of the First Young Arrancars Squad. When they encountered an impassable route, they didn’t hesitate. Quickly, they adjusted, taking alternate paths. Six days passed in this manner. They faced relentless obstacles: harsh weather, swarms of bees, and locusts in the desert. With a few slashes and swings of their weapons, they overcame these challenges, never pausing, enduring sleepless days and nights.

Finally, they reached the "Far Floating East," a route leading to an impossibly tall mountain cliff. In the distance, a floating island hovered over the misty sea, a silent testament to the cliff's immense height.

With sneers on their faces, they prepared for the jump. This was their specialty—scaling and jumping steep mountains was second nature to them. 

With a powerful leap, they soared through the air. Below them, the landscape stretched out like a painting, bathed in the soft, golden light of the rising sun. The warm glow touched everything, making the world seem at peace. Anyone who gazed upon it felt a serene calm wash over them, a gentle smile tugging at their lips as the cool morning breeze whispered past. They landed softly on the dense, interwoven treetops of the sprawling forest below, the leaves rustling softly beneath their feet.

Without breaking stride, they dashed like a cold wind across the seas surrounding the "Far Floating East," their feet skimming the water as they used their "Walk on Water" ability by coating a considerable amount of demonic energy onto their feet.

In a single, fluid motion, they reached the large port. From there, they made their way to Glacolia. Two days passed, slipping by as naturally as the shifting hours.

— — — — —

Just as reported, Noir Gu's situation was dire. It had been raining since early evening. Dark clouds twisted and swirled, completely blocking the moon and plunging everything into darkness. 

It would have been an ideal day to rest, avoiding the downpour that threatened to drench their robes and hair.

Unfortunately, the Second Young Arrancar Squad was well-equipped to complete their mission. They had cleared half of it with ease, but then unexpectedly encountered the ‘Fairy Saint of the Central Holy Church.’ She had never imagined they would meet him here.

“Damn it…” she cursed, sprinting through the mountain range as the rain poured down in relentless sheets. The landscape was thick with glistening shrubs and water-laden vines that clung to the slick, rocky slopes. Jagged peaks, drenched and shrouded in lush greenery, thrust sharply into the stormy sky. The scene evoked the feeling of a forest, though not a single tree stood among the rugged cliffs.

Missions created by the Clan were designed to be clearable, though not without losses. There was always an option to retreat if a mission became too risky. However, the ‘Fairy Saint' was an unpredictable variable—a terribly concerning one. He was comparable to the top of the Clan, at least an Arrancar Grandmaster. Even if Noir Gu played her trump card, she could only manage to cut off one of his arms while he took her life. In other words, she was no match for him.

As a young Arrancar of the Institute of Arrancar, all she could do was lead the remaining members of her squad in a desperate escape.

Six had already died. Now, only about fifteen remained, with nearly half of them injured or utterly exhausted.

“Damn it.”

Noir muttered a curse under her breath, her gaze snapping back to one of the young Arrancars who had collapsed in the mud, exhausted and beaten. She hurried over, slipping her arm beneath his to help him stand. Arden Beowulf, one of the few young male Arrancars from the Institute who had managed to survive, leaned heavily on her, his breath ragged.

“Just a little longer. Reinforcements will be here soon,” Noir urged, her voice steady but unyielding as she addressed the haggard squad. They had no choice but to keep moving. The "Fairy Saint" was hunting them like a predator in the night, and any delay would mean certain death. With renewed urgency, Noir pushed forward, leading them through the thick, glistening underbrush and tangled, water-soaked vines that clung like chains to the slick, rocky slopes. The survivors trailed behind her, their desperation driving them onward.

But their escape was short-lived.

“You slippery Arrancars, I didn’t think you had it in you to run this far. But you’ve reached the end of your rope, haven’t you?” 

The Fairy Saint's voice slithered through the cacophony of the heavy downpour, weaving through the narrow, water-carved valley. It echoed off the moss-covered walls. The sound was unsettlingly close—not behind them as they had expected, but ahead.

Noir frowned, wiping water from her brow as she looked up. How had the Fairy Saint already caught up? Even more alarming, his voice was coming from in front of them. The wind shifted, blowing in from the mountains, and the rain curtain ahead began to drift aside, revealing what lay beyond.

Six figures emerged from the mist, their boots squelching through the sodden ground. The underbrush trembled as they approached. At their head was a handsome, arrogant-looking man in an elegant titanium robe, its cross-shaped embellishments catching the light from flickering lanterns. Flanking him were older men clad in rusted armor, their expressions grim and unyielding. Noir frowned as she recognized them: the Fairy Saint and the remnants of the dreaded "Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath."

The young Arrancars of the Second Squad gripped their weapons tightly, eyes locked on the front as the relentless downpour drenched the field. They knew the situation was dire. They had already clashed with this opponent once, only to be defeated, fully aware now of his overwhelming power. Their current state was pitiful—outmatched, wounded, and exhausted from their harrowing escape.

"It seems, taking the shortcuts was worth it," the Fairy Saint sneered, holy mana swirling around him, forming a shimmering barrier that kept the rain from touching his pristine robe and long, silken blonde hair.

Noir scanned the scene with a calculating eye. If the intel about the Fairy Saint she had sent to Headquarters had been received, reinforcements might already be on their way. But how long would they take to arrive? The timing was crucial. If they were nearby, there was a glimmer of hope. But if they were far, their fate was sealed. The real question was whether they could hold out long enough for help to arrive.

Noir glanced back at her comrades. The young Arrancars stood soaked to the bone, their hands trembling as they clutched their weapons, the cold seeping into their very bones. In their condition, a battle against the Fairy Saint was a death sentence. Even stalling for time seemed impossible. But perhaps she could fight alone. Biting her lower lip in frustration, she forced herself to remain calm.

"Stay alert," she ordered, her voice carrying a steely edge. "But don't engage unless absolutely necessary."

She released her grip on Arden Beowulf, whose bruised and trembling legs gave way, sending him collapsing into the mud. Noir stepped forward through the mire, her golden eyes glinting with icy resolve.

The Fairy Saint and the Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath watched her approach, frowning in confusion.

But then...

"Hey! Saint, or whatever they call you! Let's settle this one-on-one, with our honor and lives on the line!"

Her voice, though soft, carried an eerie undertone that made their laughter catch in their throats.

"Muhahahaha! This little Arrancar wants a duel, staking her honor and life!"

But as Noir's lips curled into a sinister smile, a chill ran down the Fairy Saint’s spine. Something about this Arrancar was off—disturbingly so. When they had clashed before, he had sensed a dark, twisted energy within her, like a door to some Pandora's box was about to burst open. They had laughed at her challenge, but now...

A sneer twisted across his face. Perhaps this could be entertaining after all. Just as he prepared to step forward, one of the Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath blocked his path.

"Let me take care of that creepy bitch. She killed five of my comrades. I want to taste her blood myself."

The other knights nodded in agreement, their eyes burning with the same vengeful desire. As third-in-command, his voice carried weight. The Fairy Saint, seeing the deep-seated hatred in the knight’s black-and-white eyes, relented. His time to toy with this psycho would come later.

"Fine," he said, a cruel smile forming. "Just don’t let her heart stop. I want her a bit alive so I can heal her and fight her again."

Noir overheard their conversation despite the roar of the rain. Her frown deepened, her body shivering under the chilly breeze, though she concealed it well. She knew all too well what awaited her if she lost this fight—torture, blood drained by psychos, healing only to face the Saint again, and then, a pathetic end. She cursed inwardly, steeling herself for the battle ahead.

“Fret not. I’ve no intention of killing her instantly. First, she’ll feel the pain she inflicted on my comrades. Then, I’ll tear her limbs off myself.”

To the Monsterized Knight of Wrath’s words, the Fairy Saint smiled and stepped back slowly. As expected, the other advanced. Noir moved forward cautiously, while the Second Young Arrancar Squad spread out, ready to seize any chance to escape when their leader gave the signal. Her jade-like hand gripped the broadsword tightly.

Noir’s mind raced. She wasn’t strong enough to kill the ‘Fairy Saint.’ Even if she wounded him severely, his Holy Magic would heal him in an instant, like a troll’s regeneration. Fighting him was a losing battle—a risk she couldn’t afford. Taking on one of the Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath seemed like the better choice.

She had to endure without falling. She needed the perfect moment to escape, to stall for time—hoping reinforcements would arrive soon. Remembering the Demonic Arrancar Clan’s “Five Texts,” she braced herself. She could do this. She had to do this.

The Monsterized Knight of Wrath stepped forward, eyeing his opponent and surrounding young Arrancars. He noticed a shift in their movements and sneered. After all, if the Leader was dead, nothing else mattered.

“I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” he muttered as his body began to morph. 

He grew larger, veins bulging grotesquely as distortion rippled through the air around him. Noir narrowed her eyes, realizing that this monsterized knight had intended to fight seriously from the start. He hadn’t underestimated her; that mistake had already cost half of his comrades their lives.

Yet, this only made her smile widen, her expression becoming coquettish with excitement. 'Come! Show me what you’ve got, Knight!’

He lunged, boots churning the mud as he surged toward Noir with deadly intent. His spear sliced through the air like a thunderbolt, its tip gleaming with lethal precision. The sound of his heavy breathing was drowned out by the pouring rain, but the fire in his eyes blazed with vengeance.

Noir met his charge with a sly smile, her eyes glinting with cunning. “What could that be, I wonder?” she taunted, her voice cutting through the drumming rain. She dashed forward to meet his attack head-on.

At the last second, she twisted her body, parrying his spear with a swift, fluid motion. The force of the blow reverberated through her arms, metal clashing against metal. The sharp ringing sound echoed through the downpour accomplished by a shockwave. The slippery ground betrayed her, but she used it to her advantage, letting the momentum of her sidestep carry her out of his path. With a quick flick of her wrist, she diverted the spear’s trajectory, using his own strength against him. The deflection sent him stumbling, but he quickly regained his footing, boots splashing in the mud as he swung the spear again with overwhelming force.

Noir wasn’t finished. With an excited expression, she kicked up a spray of dirt and muck toward his face, aiming to block his vision. He growled in frustration, clicking his tongue at her trickery. He jerked his head to avoid the worst of the spray, shifting his attack slightly. The spear passed just over Noir's shoulder, creating a shockwave that split the downpour with a resounding crack.

Mud splattered across his face, momentarily blurring his vision. He couldn’t locate the sneaky and slippery eel who had seized the opportunity. Noir bent low, her movements as fluid as the water trickling down her hair and neck. She threw a hefty punch coated with demonic energy, aiming for his jaw at point-blank range.

But the Monsterized Knight of Wrath, in his "Monsterization" state, had heightened senses, though their sensitivity had decreased. His battle instinct made up for it, and now, it warned him of the impending attack. With a swift movement, he dug his feet into the ground and evaded the punch at the last second. The force of the blow sent a recoil through his head, shattering the air with its power.

Wiping the mud from his eyes, he tightened his grip on the spear. With a roar, he swung it in a wide arc, forcing Noir to leap back. The spear cleaved through the air, cutting a deep gouge into the mud where she had stood just moments before. The ground shook slightly from the impact, sending ripples through the waterlogged terrain.

But Noir was relentless. She used the shifting terrain to her advantage, her feet barely touching the ground as she danced around him, always just out of reach. Each time he attacked, she was there to deflect or evade and also attack when necessary, her movements a perfect blend of grace and trickery.

She led him in circles, frustrating him with her taunts and coquettish expressions. To anyone watching, she appeared to be a psycho with a love for battle. She used the draining terrain and constant downpour to wear him down, all the while waiting for the perfect moment to strike at his weak point.

After all, there’s a saying: “No matter how big an elephant is, if it can’t catch an ant that wishes to attack it, it can’t display its overwhelming strength.”

The same was true here. The Monsterized Knight of Wrath, known as “Terror,” grunted with exertion, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The relentless rain and Noir's ever-changing fighting style were sapping his time left in the "Monsterization." But he couldn’t afford to stop. He gritted his teeth in fury. He had to avenge his fallen comrades. Not now. Not when she was so close to being dealt with. He could almost taste her blood, fueling his "Monsterization."

Finally, Noir saw her chance. Defeating the “Terror” of the Monsterized Knights of Wrath wasn’t a problem, but she had to strike when he least expected it—a split second, and his fate would be sealed. But if she finished him too quickly, the "Fairy Saint" would be next, and she wouldn’t be able to last ten minutes against him, let alone a few hours. As Terror overextended with a thrust, she slid forward on the muddy ground, slipping under his guard. With a swift, decisive motion, she struck, her weapon aimed at a weak point in his armor. The impact sent another shockwave through the ground, the vibrations rippling outward as if the earth itself shuddered in response.

He staggered back, the wind knocked out of him, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The rain poured down in sheets, the battlefield a chaotic mess of mud and water. Noir avoided finishing him off and retreated, her actions deliberately making it seem like exhaustion had prevented her from doing so.

But someone watching closely could tell. It was the Fairy Saint, who narrowed his gaze in amazement. Yes, this psycho was surely cunning—a perfect match to quench his thirst for a good battle, something he had sought since he was dispatched to this low-life side of Salamander to become the leader of the "Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath," the discarded tools of the Great Families from the Holy Grail War.

However, only he noticed. Terror, blinded by hatred and frustration, didn’t. He charged on. The Fairy Saint could have left him to exhaust himself and then fought that psycho Arrancar, but he knew it wasn’t wise to ignore such an unexpected variable. His gut feeling warned him.

He sighed,  feeling quite bothersome by those blinded by rage and revenge. A divine weapon flicked into existence in his hand. He drew an arrow, nocking it, and with practiced ease, drew the bowstring taut. His eyes, which had been closed, opened slightly. In one smooth motion, he released the bowstring. The arrow flew, cutting through the downpour and striking the ground between them, wedging deep and separating the two combatants.

“Hey! I can’t believe you’re so blinded by rage that you can’t even observe your opponent, Giant.”

“What do you mean?!” Terror shouted at the Fairy Saint, his breath rough as the downpour hammered down on him.

The Fairy Saint strolled forward, speaking calmly. “You’ve been toyed with.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, that bitch never wanted to fight you. She’s been stalling for time to escape while avoiding a fight with me!”

At this point, Terror looked alternately at the approaching Fairy Saint and Noir. Only…

“Oops, you got me, Saint! You seem smarter than you look. Hehehe” Noir chimed in with a menacing yet euphoric expression, her voice gentle yet terrifying, confirming what the Saint had said.

… then that Terror realized he had truly been toyed with. He hadn’t been close to catching this slippery eel of a psycho Arrancar—she had let him believe that all while evading any real damage.

With his breathing rough and his "Monsterization" form slowly dissipating, his body shook from the aftermath. Anger surged through him, and he cursed, "Goddamnit!"

Despite being utterly exhausted, he could see her hiding her rough breath behind a mask of cold, calculated yet creepy expression. He knew he wasn't her match and stepped back, finally understanding why his comrades had failed and died by her hand. 

At this point, the Fairy Saint stepped forward. "O little Arrancar, be glad you're acknowledged as worthy of quenching my thirst for a good fight. It's nice weather, don’t you think?" His once calm expression twisted as his eyes narrowed with malice, and his robe shimmered with Holy Magic. "I hope you don’t play the same petty tricks you did with him. Kukuku!" His smile broadened into a creepy grin that matched Noir’s.

Noir let out a deep breath. Droplets dripped down her face as she flicked her broadsword between her fingers. She hadn’t stalled for enough time, nor had she delayed the inevitable. She couldn’t deny that she hadn’t expected the Fairy Saint's eyes to be so sensitive, but she had anticipated they would be exceptional.

Normally, she could have revealed her identity to create an air of mystery or curiosity. If he knew she was the direct descendant of the Demonic Arrancar Clan’s Leader—the Demoness—he wouldn’t dare touch her. But Noir wasn’t one to rely on such low tactics. Enrolling in the Institute before the Demoness even suggested it, she wanted to be acknowledged for her own efforts, not her Mother’s absolute power and influence.

As the Fairy Saint drew closer, the scattered Second Young Arrancar Squad’s eyes brimmed with savagery. Demonic energy they never knew they possessed danced around them, fueled by bloodlust.

Noticing this, the Fairy Saint chuckled more intensely. "...Muhahahaha, I can hear the breath of wolves ready to bare their fangs the moment I come closer! You must be important. Or is it loyalty? Do cruel Arrancar have that too?"

He seemed to enjoy bickering more than usual, and Noir wondered why. She stirred her Demonic energy, summoning her broadsword into her hand. She flexed a few swings, sending shockwaves that knocked everything in their path into the air. But she was nearing her limit.

Yet, she had to hold on, even if just a bit longer. The Fairy Saint surged forward, his boots parting the muddy ground as he charged at Noir. "I hope you’re ready to tank this attack?"

Noir’s horns tingled at the incoming speed. She signaled her comrades not to act on whatever they were planning. They would only die in vain. Instead of waiting for the attack to land, she bolted toward it, imbuing her calves with Demonic energy and coating her weapon.

As they collided in the heavy downpour, highlighted by sudden flashes of lightning, a brief silence followed as if the rain had paused. The clash of such different forces caused a rumble of thunder and a terrain-changing aftershock that filled the air.

In the heat of the battle, thrill and determination were evident on their faces, but the strength of each blow made Noir’s wrists tremble. Pain coursed through her arms as if her hands were about to burst. Yet, the euphoria of this life-threatening fight masked the agony she felt inside. Both fighters retreated in succession.

If only Noir had trained more. Perhaps, just maybe, endured another four years of seclusion training and learned the Forty-Five Formation Blood Demonic Heart Technique. But that would also have required her to perfect the Twenty-Four Formation…

The Twenty-Four Formation of the Blood Demonic Heart Technique was the second stage of the Supreme Sword Formation. The first stage—Demonic Energy Manifestation—involved the fusion of one’s blood, bloodlust, and faith. The second stage collected all sword movements into a single, powerful technique that could be used for both attack and defense.

Noir knew that even if she managed to reach this stage, it was far from complete. Enlightenment through the thrill of battle and experience was essential to perfect the second stage and progress to the third. Moreover, the Sword Art of the Demoness could only be mastered by those destined to become the next Demoness.

Meanwhile, the Fairy Saint pressed on, his greatsword clashing with her broadsword. Shockwaves filled the air as shrapnel and dust burst forth in upcurrents. They displayed countless skills, each trying to drag the other down, causing tatters to appear on their robes.

Sweat ran down Noir’s delicate cheeks and neck, her condition becoming more evident.

The young Arrancars and the remaining 'Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath' held their breaths. The fight before them, sparking shrapnel and blasts into the air, was a testament to the combatants' skill.

At some point, Noir flipped herself in the air, narrowly avoiding an attack aimed at her blind spot. Too exhausted to parry, strands of her hair were cut off. Had she been a moment slower, it would have been her neck.

Noir’s creepy smile broadened even more. ‘This… This is battle.’ Without the danger to her life, how could she call it a battle? But this…

It was like the day she fought someone she liked on that platform. It was truly remarkable and amazing.

Meanwhile, the Fairy Saint bounced back. "Little Arrancar, it was fun while it lasted," he said, swinging his hefty sword down with complete confidence in his victory.

But Noir’s hand failed to respond to her soul’s call. The pain was… unbearable. Even if she used the Blood Demonic Heart Technique, it would be meaningless. She had already suffered internal injuries from fighting the Saint. Whether she used it or not, her death seemed inevitable. So, she began summoning. 

Her heart beat faster as her terrifying smile revealed her canines. It was the smile of a sleeping demon. From the depths of her being, currents of reddish-purple-dark energy erupted from her body. She urged her rain-soaked, stiffened body to move, but it was like a rusty machine—slow and unresponsive.

But at that moment, Noir’s terrifying smile made the Fairy Saint hesitate. His attack slowed as an otherworldly chill tingled his instincts, warning him that something sinister was about to be unleashed in full force.

Yet, before Noir could fully control her stiffened body, a heavy sound echoed nearby as a dashing light zoomed past her toward the Saint.

"Take it easy, Noir. You did your best, so leave the rest to me. I’ve come to save you."

It was a familiar voice. One she least expected, yet it made her heart pound as she recognized the snort of this young Arrancar. The figure threw a hefty punch that erupted in a shockwave, hitting the Fairy Saint in the gut and sending him flying into a gorge with a crash, smoke billowing amidst the heavy downpour.

Noir’s smile was genuine this time as she looked at the figure in front of her. It was GIMEL, with a wrapped scythe on her back, her face dripping with rain.

Her thoughts neglect all “what”, “why” or “all 5ws and 1h”, leaving behind a single thought. 

This… was unexpectedly amazing.