Chapter 224

Onitsuki Kochou

¹ once fell in love far above her station. It was a foolish, reckless love that ignored all propriety.

And now, she was in love again. Falling, drowning, loving. She was mad with it.

At her age, she knew she should feel ashamed. She was no longer an innocent maiden. She had been married off to a man she didn't love, had her body violated to its core, and had birthed four children. Now, she was nothing but an old hag, a grandmother who spent far too much effort on the facade of youth. She knew this. Yet, even knowing her place, she could not extinguish this hellfire of affection. Perhaps because her heart had been severed so brutally in the past, these current feelings were all the more... excessive.

It was destiny. She could only view her meeting with him as such - an act of divine mercy. A face that mirrored "him," a character that evoked "him," and a mistake that echoed "him" exactly… the sacrifice of Onitsuki's own stupidity. A reenactment of the very folly Kochou wished to erase from her past.

But unlike that man from her memories, this boy had survived. And unlike her younger, powerless self, she now possessed strength. Yet, despite her power, he was still casting himself into the jaws of death… and yet, he remained so resilient.

He had overcome every trial, picking up women like stray embers along the way. She found herself envious of that. It was the very life her past self had once dreamed of. She knew she could never hold that position - not truly. She thought it would be enough just to help him find happiness. That was supposed to be enough.

But then, trapped in that cave, he had cast aside his humanity to save her. Regardless of her age, she fell in love a second time. It felt like a continuation of that long-lost day. That feeling turned into absolute conviction when she realized this young man had been born from the womb of a woman descended from that person. A coincidence this perfect could not be dismissed as mere chance.

And so, Onitsuki Kochou became a woman again. She cast aside the "mother," the "grandmother," and even her status as an Advisor

². Those roles were mere shadows. Above all else, she chose to be a Woman. To pine for her beloved, to go mad with longing. To throw away everything - to sacrifice everything - just to love and be loved in return. The only exception might be the Princess, who reminded her of the first child she had lost… Ah, how she pined for the three of them to live as a family…

…She knew. She had to know her place. Not for social standing, not because of her age, and certainly not out of common sense. No, she had to know her place solely for his sake.

Who could ever truly want a worn-out, second-hand piece of junk like her? Lineage? Pedigree? Her own granddaughter held those cards. Wealth? A merchant's daughter could provide far more. Beauty? Don't make her laugh. Men crave young, vibrant flesh; they want to surround themselves with beauty and indulge their whims. A paradise for his sake had already been built. There was no room on that stage for her.

…She knew. But she could not resist her cravings. She would beg for even a single drop of his mercy. Perhaps he had heard the dark rumors of Madam Black Butterfly

³, for he was remarkably wary of her. That only meant she had to prove her sincerity with even greater intensity. Kochou was prepared to do anything to earn his trust.

She had humored his every whim, dressing in that pathetic bunny girl outfit, donning a collar, and kneeling before him as if she had just had a toy shoved into her rear. She had arrived in her funeral shroud, prepared for his total rejection. The Sutra of Fifty-Myriad Words

⁴, the vow she offered him, spanned five hundred thousand words. She had memorized every one. It was more than a contract; it was a sacred rite of absolute, unconditional surrender.

She vowed to forfeit her rights. She vowed that every scrap of her wealth within the Onitsuki family would be his. She offered herself. Every strand of hair, every heartbeat, every second of her time - all of it belonged to him alone.

She vowed to sever all ties. Bonds of family, affection for her kin, her very identity as an Onitsuki - she cast it all away. If ordered, she would kill her own children or grandchildren. If he commanded the destruction of her House, she would execute it with all her strength.

She vowed to know her place. She knew the meager value of her body and her coin. She would not ask to be his "number one." She was content to be just one of the many holes for his release. She was happy to be his foundation. She would sell her flesh for him. She would take the fall and lose her head for him. She was fine being treated like a disposable toy. Even if she was used alongside other women, even if she went unacknowledged, even if she was forced to abort - she would accept it. She would accept it all and vow absolute loyalty.

…Words alone wouldn't be enough. A mere written pledge would leave him anxious. So, she carved it. She etched it into her very being. If one can turn a man into a woman, or a woman into a man, then carving a vow into one's own flesh is child's play. She carved it into her womb. Five hundred thousand characters, etched deep. It was a curse that became the root of her existence. A total reversal of master and servant. She no longer made a vow; she existed for the sake of the vow.

To crown it all, she recorded everything. She transcribed her very memories into books and gave them to him, to her granddaughter, and to the merchant's daughter. If she ever betrayed him, her disgrace - far beyond mere shame - would be laid bare. Ruin would be the least of it. At best, she'd be thrown into a dungeon; more likely, she'd be forced to drink poison to erase the stain on her House.

Her life, her death, her past, her future - her honor, her glory, her fears, and her wealth. Everything she had built, everything she owned - truly, everything - was his. She offered it all just to win a shred of his trust. If it bought her the right to grovel at his feet as his slave, it was a bargain.

The silence that followed was terrifying, enough to make her want to take her own life on the spot. Yet, she waited with a heart that felt like it was stopping. She waited, pining, praying. Praying that he would step on her head and accept her….

And when he finally raised her up and held her gently… when he whispered in her ear and accepted her feelings, the floodgates broke. She had clung to him, acting the part of the spoiled child. She acted like a toddler seeking affection; then, like a wife, entwining hands and sharing pillow talk; and then, he let her soothe him as if he were an infant. In the end, they were both beasts. Less than beasts. It was an act of service - his service to her. He filled the void in her heart. He filled it, packed it tight, and kept pouring until he was satisfied. He painted over her entire world. He screamed at her to look only at him.

And so, she became his secret handmaiden. In a single night, she learned every position imaginable. Even when he took a form that was no longer human, they joined together until she was saturated in him. In the morning, he carried her to the bath like a princess. Held in those powerful arms, she used her body like a silken cloth to clean him, a bathhouse girl overflowing with gratitude. They soaked together, played together, and she snuggled against him, letting him stroke her hair and nurse from her.

Of course, she let her granddaughter witness it all, recording the memory into the book. She obscured his face and voice for his safety, but she left herself completely exposed. Every part of her was now in the palm of his hand - and the hands of the women who served him. What a sweet, delicious reality.

Yes. She had given everything. She had cut off her own retreat. She was prepared for any horror. She would do any dirty job. She would undertake the most hideous missions. No matter how much an act trampled on common sense or dragged her dignity through the gutter, if it was for his sake - if it was his command - she would embrace it with the joy of a maiden in love. She would lick his soles in thanks. She felt only the deepest gratitude for being used, for being his tool. She was old, anyway. In this one life she had, she wanted to spend her remaining years exactly as she pleased. She wanted no regrets. She had none.

That was why she was so incredibly happy when he relied on her today for this mission. And it was why she felt such burning hatred for the target. To insult him like this… it made her want to tear the man apart herself. The way this person and his wretched sister were causing her master such grief was utterly infuriating.

And so, seeing the man finally cornered and broken brought her a grim satisfaction….

"This is… looking pretty grim, isn't it?" he asked.

Or so it should have been….

"Why… how…?" Kochou stammered.

"…? Ah. Advisor... or is it 'My Lady'?" the man replied, coughing. "I assume. Haha… you look well… I'm glad."

The man sitting at the base of the tree looked up. He saw right through the cloak Onitsuki Kochou wore - a garment woven with powerful redirection charms.

His face was ghastly. Pale, gaunt, hollowed out. Fatigue, surely. But more than that, he was bleeding out. From the side he was clutching, a crimson stain continued to spread through his clothes, forming a grisly pool on the dirt. His lips trembled. His face was twisted in an agony he couldn't hide, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. His casual tone couldn't mask the reality of his condition.

Kochou's heart stuttered. A memory from her childhood flashed through her mind - the memory of parting from that man. The sight of him, wounded, heading toward his pursuers using his sister as a decoy. She looked at the man before her now. She compared them. This was a cruel, twisted play. And she was the antagonist. She was playing the same role as that woman from her past - the villain hounding the person she loved….

"Master!" Kochou cried.

"!!?"

Perhaps sensing Kochou's instability, the sharp, rebuking voice of her disciple - the former boy - cut through the air. The Advisor snapped back to reality, trying to regain her composure under that reprimand. But then, the dying man spoke again.

"And over there… is that you, Shirowakamaru?" the man said, his voice fading. "Hah, I see. 'I' must have done a good job. So that ghost… wasn't just talking out of his ass."

"…! Big bro!!? Wait, this… what is this?!" Shirowakamaru shouted.

Even though he should have been unable to recognize their voices or faces through the cloaks, the man identified them instantly. The disciple was even more shaken than his master. Shock, then terror. Confusion. Chaos. The words tumbling from his mouth were a stuttering mess that couldn't even pass for an excuse….

Kochou didn't look at him with blame, but with pity. She understood his feelings all too well. This wasn't supposed to happen. She knew it the moment the man spoke. They had dismissed this as a fake. But this… how could anyone see this and think it was a fake? How could anyone believe this wasn't real?

It was exactly like - wait. Wait! Hold on! Don't give me that bullshit!!

"!!? You're trying to… trick me…!!" Kochou screamed.

Madam Black Butterfly gnashed her teeth, caught between the part of her that wanted to believe and the part of her enraged by the perfection of the imitation. How had they prepared a fake this perfect? Who had made it, and for what end? The man she loves explained nothing. When she had been assigned this task, she had been fine with that. She thought she should just do as he said. To obey blindly. That was supposed to be enough….

God, how pathetic!!

"Don't be stupid!! Do you actually intend to kill him!?"

"But he's a fake, isn't he!?"

"There's no way! Open your damn eyes and look at him properly!"

"Wait...!?"

It was a shouting match fueled by a demonic, almost domestic intensity. Overwhelmed, the former boy looked at the man being held. He looked at the man who was a perfect physical double, staring into eyes that watched them with utter exhaustion...

"Ugh...!"

The words of denial stuck in his throat. Even if he wasn't supposed to be real, the boy found himself hesitating to reject or deny him. His heart was screaming at him - screaming that this was the real thing. It was impossible. It couldn't be true...!

"How...!? Then are you saying the other one is the fake!?"

"Of course not!!"

"Then what the hell is going on!? Are they both real!? It makes no sense!! Is it a body double or something!? Even if it is...!!"

He truly didn't understand. It wasn't just Shirowakamaru; Kochou didn't understand either. Reason and emotion were a tangled, chaotic mess.

"Could you... keep it down...? It's rattling... my wounds."

"..."

"...!"

At the sound of his wheezing, deathly complaint, the master and disciple both shuddered, shrinking back in apology. Their bickering ceased instantly. They fell silent, gazing at him with agonizing concern.

"...I'll use a Ritual

⁵ to move you. We're taking you somewhere safe."

"Ah, ugh, ah..."

Faced with his master's taut, iron-clad command, Shirowakamaru didn't raise his voice again. Instead, he stood there, completely shaken and useless, yet trying his best to help her as he was told.

...Following the whims of her heart so shamelessly, it was a display of sheer womanly instinct.

"You idiots... What are you doing? Whose side are you - ga, GA, GUOH!!?"

The man-made being started to mutter a complaint, looking exasperated by their ridiculous behavior, but he couldn't finish. Suddenly, he writhed in agony. He began to suffer, his body convulsing violently.

"Are you - !?"

"Nng, gh - get back!!?"

Kochou let out a scream and tried to offer some kind of treatment, but he threw her off. He shoved her aside, struggling to stand and run, only to stumble and collapse immediately to his knees. Red-black viscera began to spill from the wound in his side. He spat blood from his mouth, swinging his arms wildly to ward Kochou and the others off.

"Ha... ha..." Hahaha. "What the hell... is this!?"

...And as the hand he was swinging began to deviate from human form, he could do nothing but laugh. It was a blood-slicked hand, as if the skin had been flayed off. The fingers grew unnaturally thick and long, the nails twisting into talons.

"A, ah...!? A, aaaa... AHH... AAAAAHHHH!!?"

What flooded his mind then were memories and raw, surging passions. A violent, turbulent storm of negative emotion: rage, terror, gluttony, greed, lust, and the impulse for pure brutality. Every worldly desire. The despair of a final death rattle... It felt as though these things were being crushed into a pulp and poured directly into his skull through a hole gouged in his head. As if he were being forced to shoulder the agony meant for someone else.

'AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!'

He could no longer think. His eyeballs felt like they were about to burst from their sockets as an inhuman shriek tore from his throat. His body half-collapsed, beginning to transform...

"What on earth is happening!?"

"T-this is... Youkai-ization

⁶!? But why? Why now...!?"

Kochou knew about his Youkai-ization. She knew the conditions. It shouldn't have surfaced unless he sought it himself, or was on the absolute brink of death. It shouldn't have... so why...!?

As these thoughts raced through their minds, the double - the "fake" who felt far too real - continued to change. He writhed, caught in a halfway metamorphosis. Muscles bulged like an ogre's, tearing his clothes to shreds. His eyes wavered between sanity and madness. He had become a tragic, deformed sight, one side of his body grotesquely swollen and lopsided. Tears of blood streamed down his face without end.

'Aa... a... gah... h...!!'

Those eyes pierced through Kochou and Shirowakamaru. That single look was enough to make them both collapse. Whether the two battle-hardened warriors lost their strength because of the horrific sight of their beloved, or due to some dark authority he now possessed, remained unclear. Regardless, the eyes that reflected them were being consumed by the colors of hunger, lust, and violence.

"M-Master... what do we do?"

"..."

Kochou couldn't answer Shirowakamaru's desperate plea. Finishing him would be easy. She could tear him limb from limb. This partial madness and transformation meant he couldn't yet wield the true power of his blood. And yet...

"Master...!!"

"No... I can't... I won't do it. I can't. Don't you see?"

Partial madness. Partial transformation. The reason for it was even easier to grasp.

It was him. Because he was resisting. Look at his eyes. He was wandering the threshold between reason and the wild. He was desperately fighting the urge to attack them. Even though these were the "females" who had been hunting him, he was suppressing his desires, struggling not to lay a finger on them. It was a display of supernatural self-control.

'A... ah... aa...'

He fell to all fours, crawling toward the master and disciple. Shedding bloody tears and dripping saliva, his body shaking as he dragged himself forward like a wounded animal. He looked like a predator ready to ravish and kill, yet his eyes were still searching for help.

It was just like that cave.

"Ah... ugh..."

Once Shirowakamaru realized it too, he was paralyzed. He couldn't even run away. He couldn't leave him behind. He couldn't. Instead...

"...It's all right. It's okay. Come here. ...See? It's okay."

Fearfully, beckoning him, Kochou opened her arms, reaching out to welcome him in. It was pure instinct. She felt that accepting this suffering man and saving him was her destiny.

"You don't have to hold back anymore... See? There's nothing to be afraid of. It's all right. I'll forgive you for everything..."

Kochou whispered to him like a mother. It was a betrayal of the true "him." A betrayal, yes - but it was for his sake. Kochou could not abandon the man standing before her.

Because that man was him. Because on that day, as his own flesh scorched in the depths of the cave, he was the one who had hauled her from the brink. He was undoubtedly the same man who had smothered his own violent passions just to keep her safe. Kochou's intuition screamed it with a primal force, and she believed it without a shadow of doubt.

How could she ever cast him aside? No matter what he intended to do to her in the next heartbeat, how could she possibly refuse?

"It's alright," Kochou whispered, her voice a seductive lure. "Don't hold back... okay?"

"Agh..." the man groaned.

She offered a faint smile as an unnaturally long tongue rasped against her cheek. Even as she feared this act was a betrayal of the "him" in her memory, her body and soul were ready. She loathed her own foolishness, her wretchedness, her sudden, lewd hunger. Yet as the man closed in, she met him with a trembling, desperate grin.

Then, the world turned red. A geyser of hot, copper-tasting blood erupted from the man's throat, splattered across Kochou's face.

"Ah..."

Stunned, she sat frozen as the gore dripped from her skin. Then she saw the shadow looming behind him. Anger flared, followed quickly by a paralyzing terror.

"Which one of us is more pathetic now?" a voice spat. "You stupid bastard."

It was him. The real him stood behind the monster, cursing with a voice full of self-loathing. Reenacting that moment from their past, he drove a spear straight through the other man's spine.

* * *

Hotoya Tamaki was shivering. The chill had finally reached her bones.

Even for a Princess, her life had been a rural one. In her fertile home province, the distance between the rulers and the ruled was short. Tamaki was nothing like the sheltered noblewomen of the capital. Her childhood was spent caked in mud helping with the rice planting, catching prize-fighting insects, and getting drenched in the river before being tossed into the hot springs with the local brats. Even as she matured, that wild core remained. She was hardly the picture of a refined lady.

During the sweltering summer months, she'd sleep in thin robes, tossing and turning until she was half-exposed. The maids would find her in the morning in a tangled mess of blankets, snoring with a bit of drool on her lip. She'd catch a summer cold at least once a year from the midnight drafts.

Eventually, a reliable little friend joined her inner circle as an attendant and put a stop to her slovenly habits. But old habits died hard. If she wasn't careful, she'd wake up facing the wrong end of the bed. It was unseemly, but worse, it made her a burden to the household when she inevitably fell ill.

It was a half-wolf girl—a servant in name only after being caught up in some legal trouble—who suggested a "human space heater." Being close in age and the same gender, the girl had volunteered herself for the job. The results were undeniable. Tamaki realized then why beasts wore fur year-round; it was breathable in the heat and stiflingly warm in the winter. It was soft, comforting, and the girl always made sure the blankets were tucked in. That wolfish warmth had become Tamaki's anchor.

Now, in her haze, that same loneliness clawed at her. Separated from her family, torn from her friends, and having lost her benefactor, she reached out for that familiar warmth. She wanted to disappear into it, to hug it tight... but something felt wrong.

Wait. Stop. What am I forgetting?

The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her mission. Her orders. Who had sent her here?

Awareness flooded back. Her muscles screamed with exhaustion, and the biting mountain air dragged her consciousness into the brutal present.

"Hoh. Finally decided to join the living? That's a dangerous lack of awareness you've got there," a voice rumbled.

"Eek—!"

A monstrous, grinning face filled her vision. Tamaki let out a strangled yelp, her body seizing with fright. This wasn't her home. This was a derelict woodcutter's shack deep in the wilderness. The muggy night wind felt like a graveyard chill.

"What... what is—!?" Tamaki gasped, trying to bolt. She couldn't move.

"Hahahaha! You slept so soundly I had time to do all the prep work myself!" the Oni mocked.

Tamaki didn't understand his laughter until she looked down. A scream tore from her throat. Her clothes—her sturdy traveler's silks—had been shredded as if by playfulness with a dull blade, leaving her skin exposed to the damp air. She was bound tightly in a "turtle shell" pattern

⁷, the rough hemp of the curse-rope biting into her flesh and choking the flow of her spiritual energy. The ropes dug deep, emphasizing every curve of her body in a display of pure, unadulterated humiliation.

"Don't look! Turn away!" she shrieked.

"Hah! A bit late for modesty, isn't it? I've already spent the last hour memorizing every inch of you while you snored away!"

Tamaki's voice broke into sobs. She tried to curse him, but her defiance was swallowed by his booming laughter. She flushed crimson, the weight of her helplessness sinking in. What had he done to her while she was unconscious? The possibilities made her stomach turn.

"Gwahaha! You're adorable! You play the tough exorcist soldier, but you're just a little girl underneath. And imagine my surprise—a virgin Princess, too!"

The Oni's laughter echoed off the shack's rotting walls. He leaned in close, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

"Don't worry. I'm not the type to take a girl while she's out cold. There's no fun in that. I want you to feel everything!"

He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of her ultramarine hair and yanking her to her feet. Tamaki's shredded clothes fell away further, leaving her completely vulnerable. With her hands bound behind her back, she could only press her knees together in a desperate, pathetic attempt to hide herself. Tears blurred her vision as the pain in her scalp flared.

Just as she tried to muster one last look of defiance, he thrust it directly into her personal space.

A massive, terrifying column of dark flesh.

"Ugh...!"

Tamaki recoiled, her head snapping to the side. If she hadn't moved, the monstrosity would have slapped against her cheek. The height difference was cruel; as they both stood, the thing loomed right at her eye level. The Oni was nearly naked himself, the remnants of a Minister's robes

⁸ hanging in scorched tatters around his waist.

Wait... those robes?

"You... no... you're from the Minister's estate!" she stammered.

"Took you long enough. All that training and you're still a dim-witted brat. No wonder you fell into my lap!"

The memory clicked—the suspicious, fallen monk from the estate and this demon were the same man. But the revelation didn't save her. The Oni stepped closer, the heat radiating from him like a furnace. Tamaki arched her back, trying to shrink away until her spine hit the wooden wall.

"Magnificent, isn't it? The ultimate weapon for the ultimate demon

⁹. This is strength no human could ever touch. Hahahaha!"

It was crude, but he wasn't lying. The thing was obsidian-dark, its surface mapped with thick, pulsing veins. It looked more like a weapon than a part of a man—hot, heavy, and smelling of musk and iron.

"W-what do you want? Why are you doing this!?"

"What a stupid question. Does a demon need a reason to satisfy his hunger?" He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "If you must know, I'm just venting some frustration. That Hyakuyain Princess was a fun little project, too. Those stiff-necked, noble girls are always the best to break. They start so proud, but once you crush that mask, they're the ones who beg the loudest. I was going to show her the 'joys of Nirvana' myself, but you and your little friends had to go and ruin it."

"So this... this is all just spite? You murdered all those people... for this!?"

"Spite?" The Oni's face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He slammed the massive weight of his member against her stomach.

"Guh—!"

The air was driven from Tamaki's lungs. Her midsection was already tender from the struggle during her kidnapping, and this was far worse than any blow from a fist. It felt like being hit with a heated iron bar.

"Gah... h-hah..." she wheezed, her eyes rolling back.

"I thought you were just a pampered brat when I first saw you, 'Princess.' But I see your mouth is gonna be the death of you!"

The Oni roared, his demonic aura erupting like a wildfire. The sheer pressure of his malice filled the shack, suffocating her. But then, the aura flickered. It didn't vanish—it seemed to be being drained away.

It's just like at the temple... Tamaki thought, her mind racing even through the pain. No man who turns into an Oni keeps this much sanity. There was a trick to it. A gimmick.

"Fine," the Oni hissed, his anger cooling into something far more dangerous. "Since you're so eager to talk, I'll just have to make sure you're too breathless to scream."

He slammed her back against the rough wood of the wall, the splinters biting into her bare skin as he pressed his full, sweltering weight against her.

"Guh... h-hngh...!" Tamaki gasped, her voice trembling. "What is... this sensation...?"

As the reality of what was being pressed against her abdomen sank in, Onitsuki Tamaki's features twisted in a mask of revulsion. She could feel the slick, viscous heat of the fluid at its tip; the mere touch against her skin made her flesh crawl. She clamped her thighs together with a desperate, tragic resolve-a silent vow that she wouldn't open them even if her legs were torn from their sockets.

But the Oni only answered her defiance with a booming, mocking peal of laughter.

"Hah-hah-hah-hah! Valiant! Truly valiant! But alas, girl... it is utterly, pathetically futile!"

He drove a jagged finger into her exposed navel. His sharp claw toyed with the indentation, scraping the sensitive skin. With the slightest flex of his strength, he could have gutted her-sliced her open in a single horizontal stroke (Fuumi-ji) or driven his hand straight through her spine. But the Oni spoke of a fate far more twisted than a simple death.

"I am the Thunder Oni," he declared. "The one who supplants the heavens and rules all. Tell me, girl... have you heard the legends of the Raijin? Of how the God of Thunder steals the navels of the mortals he strikes?"

"What... what of it!?" Tamaki spat.

"Kukuku. Let me tell you another tale, then," the Oni replied. "Lightning is also the harbinger of a bountiful harvest. My fury is, in itself, a testament to prosperity."

"So... what!?"

Tamaki tried to dismiss his words as the ramblings of a madman, but the words died in her throat. As she pieced his riddles together, the realization struck her like a physical blow. She understood the sickening possibility he was hinting at.

"My lightning impregnates the very earth with thunder-beasts," the Oni whispered. "I wonder, then... if I were to discharge my 'wrath' into the hollow of a woman's navel, what manner of creature would be clawing its way out of her? Don't you think it would be a delightful little experiment?"

Slowly, he withdrew the weight that had been buried against her stomach and took aim, centering the tip over her navel. Tamaki let out a raw, primal shriek.

"Stop! No! Please, no! Stop it! STOP ITTTT-!"

"Hah-hah-hah-hah!"

The Oni howled, delighted by her frantic, shattered cries. He watched her struggle with the rapt attention of a man enjoying a fine vintage; her desperate resistance was the perfect appetizer for his main course.

"Now, now, don't be so cold," he chuckled. "You might find you have a taste for it. Just trust in my 'craft.' I'll make sure this tool gives you every ounce of pleasure you can handle, eh?"

"No! Noooooooooooo!"

Tamaki thrashed, her body heaving against the restrictive tortoise-shell cords of her binding. She swung her hips wildly, trying to throw off his aim. Her breasts and thighs quivered with every frantic movement. To the Oni, her pathetic struggle was a masterpiece. He looked as though he could have sat there and finished ten jugs of sake just watching her fall apart.

Tamaki, meanwhile, was drowning in the abyss. This was the end. Shamed. Bound. Her purity was about to be stolen in the most profane way imaginable. She was being broken, piece by piece.

"No... no! Help me!" she wailed. "Someone, please! Anyone... ANYONE!?"

Flashes of her life flickered behind her eyelids: her family's smiles, the faces of the villagers back home, her friends, her mentors, her fellow disciples... and then, finally, him.

"No... please..."

But the truth crashed down on her. He wasn't coming. Her benefactor was gone. Tamaki spiraled into a bottomless despair. There was no one left to call. Her mind tried to reject the reality of the living hell she was about to endure. She sobbed like a broken child. Faced with an inescapable, monstrous fate, no soul could be expected to remain sane.

It was upon her now. Merciless. Inches from its target.

A vision seared itself into her mind: the thing gouging out her navel, overrunning her womb. She saw herself kept as a breeding sow, her torso distended into a grotesque, fleshy bulb to house a monster's brood. She saw non-human horrors crawling out of her, gnawing at her breasts even as she was forced to conceive the next generation. The vision was too vivid, too sickeningly clear.

"Not that... anything but that..."

It was being stolen. Her dignity. Her pride. Her very first time... the self she had meant to save for the person she loved.

Everything was being ripped away.

"I... won't... let you..."

The voice that spoke next did not belong to Tamaki.

In that instant, the world was painted a flat, suffocating black.

Before you can rob me... I will devour everything.

---

Summary:

Kochou reflects on her absolute, obsessive devotion to the protagonist, revealing she carved a massive vow into her own body. They find the protagonist (or a perfect imitation) bleeding out by a tree. Chaos ensues as the 'fake' recognizes her and her disciple despite their magical cloaks.

Kochou and her disciple Shirowakamaru find themselves unable to kill the 'fake' of their beloved as he undergoes a horrific youkai transformation. Despite the physical danger and the creature's growing bloodlust, Kochou's maternal instincts take over. She chooses to protect and comfort the monster instead of executing it.

Kochou faces a literal and metaphorical ghost from her past before a bloody intervention occurs. The narrative then shifts to Hotoya Tamaki, a rural princess captured by a sadistic Oni who was once a monk. The Oni subjects Tamaki to psychological and physical humiliation in a remote shack, revealing his connection to a previous ministerial estate.

Tamaki is held captive and bound by a sadistic Thunder Oni who intends to violate her through a mythological 'navel theft.' After realizing her benefactor won't save her, Tamaki's mind fractures under the weight of a horrific vision of her future. In the final moments, her consciousness is overtaken by a mysterious, darker presence as the world turns to black.

---

Trivia:

- Kochou's grandson is the descendant of her first love.

- She has a history of trauma regarding a man using his sister as a decoy.

- She literally carved 500,000 characters into her womb.

- The protagonist currently has a perception-obstructing cloak.

- The man is resisting his transformation to protect Kochou and Shirowakamaru.

- Kochou's decision is considered a betrayal of the 'real' person.

- The transformation includes psychic pollution (memories/passions) being forced into the man's head.

- The physical state is 'halfway' - he is deformed and asymmetrical.

- The mention of 'He' versus 'he' in the first segment implies two distinct personas or a double.

- Tamaki's ability to notice the Oni's 'Youki' (Aura) being drained, suggesting an external power source or gimmick.

- The Oni's former identity as a 'fallen monk' from the Daijin's estate.

- The specific 'human hot water bottle' memory serves as a direct contrast to the Oni's 'iron heat'.

- Tamaki's hair is ultramarine blue, a distinct visual trait

- The Oni's obsession with the navel is rooted in Japanese folklore (Raijin).

- Tamaki is specifically in kikkou-shibari (tortoise-shell) bondage.

- The mention of 'lightning as a harbinger of harvest' is a double entendre for insemination.

- Tamaki's benefactor is explicitly noted as being absent/gone, triggering her final despair.

- The last line suggests a personality swap or possession ('the voice did not belong to Tamaki')

---

Character Insight:

Kochou transitions from a cold authority figure to an emotionally shattered 'maiden' when her past trauma overlaps with the protagonist's current state.

Kochou regresses into a maternal, protective state as a trauma response, prioritizing the 'existence' of her beloved over the reality of the situation. Shirowakamaru experiences a crisis of faith, unable to deny the 'realness' of the fake.

Tamaki shows resilience despite her fear, moving from a dazed memory of home to active tactical observation of her captor's weaknesses. The Oni exhibits typical 'fallen' traits, fueled by spite for noblewomen.

---

Behind the Scenes:

The author leans heavily into 'depressive erotic' elements, showcasing self-mutilation as a form of devotion.

The transformation mirrors a previous event in a cave, suggesting the 'fake' possesses the same soul or internal resilience as the original.

The author uses 'Kikkou-shibari' (turtle shell binding) not just for erotica but to plot-justify the suppression of the protagonist's spiritual energy/ki.

---

TL Notes:

1↵ Onitsuki Kochou: Surname Onitsuki, Given name Kochou (Butterfly).

2↵ Advisor: Advisor (Komon) is a high-ranking consultant/elder role in Japanese organizations.

3↵ Madam Black Butterfly: Reference to her name 'Kochou' and her dangerous reputation.

4⁴ Sutra of Fifty-Myriad Words: A reference to the extreme length (500,000 chars) of her written vow.

5↵ Simplified Ritual: A low-level or streamlined version of a Shikigami summoning used for combat or utility.

6↵ Youkai-ization: The process of a human or entity transforming into a supernatural monster, often accompanied by loss of sanity and physical mutation.

7↵ Kikkou-shibari: A traditional Japanese geometric binding pattern.

8↵ Yashiki: A high-status mansion or estate, typically belonging to a Daimyo or Minister.

9↵ Oni ni Kanabou: Literal meaning 'An Oni with a metal club,' an idiom for making the strong even stronger, here used as a double entendre for his physique.