HxH: I Will Be Supreme

"I'm not very interested in you, but I'll start with you nonetheless."

The words had barely left Oboro's lips when he materialized directly in front of Doma. He moved with such fluid grace that it seemed effortless.

The pupils of the newly appointed Upper Two contracted to pinpricks, shock rippling through his usually composed features. He had never witnessed a human move with such devastating speed. Not even the Hashira-level swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps who had faced the former Light Pillar, Sayuri, could compare to this otherworldly velocity.

"Blood Demon Art: Snow in the Withered Garden!"

Doma's survival instincts kicked in instantly. Two razor-sharp iron fans materialized in his hands, their metallic surfaces gleaming with deadly intent. With practiced precision, he swept his arms in a wide arc, creating a protective circle around himself.

Biting frost erupted from the fan blades, crystallizing the air itself. This technique served dual purposes: a vicious offensive strike wrapped within a defensive barrier. Ice crystals danced through the air like deadly cherry blossoms, each one capable of shredding flesh.

"Very calm," Oboro observed, his voice colored with genuine appreciation. This alone elevated Doma far above Gyokko's frantic desperation. The upper two possessed genuine combat intelligence, instinctively understanding which techniques would be most effective against different opponents.

But even Doma's tactical brilliance proved utterly insufficient.

Oboro's walking stick began to smolder, radiating intense heat that evaporated the scattered ice crystals into harmless steam before they could approach his body. When Doma's fans struck the wooden staff with enough force to cleave stone, the weapon held firm.

Doma's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in Oboro's wrist: a minute adjustment that redirected the devastating impact by rotating the angle so that the wooden staff slipped away from the fan's cutting edge and caught against the broader surface instead.

The block appeared almost casual in its effortlessness.

"Blood Demon Art: Frozen Lotus!" Doma's tactical mind shifted gears instantly. Ice crystal vines erupted from the ground, seeking to ensnare and bind his opponent while Doma created distance for his next assault.

But Oboro's voice cut through the air with quiet menace. "I heard that you've been unable to understand human emotions since childhood, no joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness. Is that true?"

The man raised his head slightly, his deep eyes meeting Doma's with an unsettling intensity. A smile played across his features, but it held no warmth.

"Can't you even feel fear?"

As the words left his lips, the wooden staff in Oboro's grip erupted with searing heat. The wood itself seemed to transform under his touch, becoming far more dangerous than any forged blade.

Oboro hadn't tapped into his Nen; this was pure mastery of breathing techniques pushed to their absolute limits and channeled through an unlikely medium.

CRACK!

The floating ice crystals dissolved into superheated steam. With a thunderous impact that shook the compound's very foundations, the transformed staff struck Doma's neck with the force of a falling meteor.

The sheer kinetic energy of the blow sent Doma plummeting toward the earth as if gravity itself had doubled. He crashed into the courtyard with a bone-jarring impact, creating a crater in the carefully manicured grounds.

Dust and debris filled the air as Oboro casually stepped to the edge of the crater and placed one foot on the fallen demon's chest. He shouldered his staff with the same nonchalance one might show after swatting a particularly persistent fly.

"You're quite skilled," he commented mildly.

In the crater below, Doma's rainbow eyes showed no trace of shock or terror, only the same hollow emptiness that had defined his existence. Even his beatific smile remained perfectly in place.

As expected, this creature truly couldn't experience fear. The concept simply didn't exist in his emotional vocabulary.

"A deformed soul," Oboro mused. Doma's very essence was incomplete, missing the fundamental pieces that make up human consciousness. Yet, this deficiency also granted him extraordinary potential in other areas, a trade-off that made him both pitiable and dangerous.

"You're incredibly strong," Doma said with genuine admiration, seemingly unbothered by being literally stepped on. The wound across his neck, where Sun Breathing had combined with devastating physical force, was healing agonizingly slowly.

The key was channeling the power of breathing techniques through an unconventional weapon. Even without a Nichirin blade, Oboro could imbue ordinary materials with the life-giving energy of the sun. Perhaps not even Yoriichi could have managed such a feat with mere wood.

The main factor was Oboro's profound understanding of life energy itself. The penetration of higher-world power into lower realms was virtually complete; he was a walking anomaly that broke every established rule.

Oboro stepped over Doma's prone form and approached Kokushibo, who stood frozen in the doorway like a statue carved from a living nightmare.

The moment Kokushibo sensed that familiar energy signature, his hands and feet went numb with recognition. A shadow buried deep in his soul began to stir, and he had blurred memories of a figure who filled him with profound unease and long-suppressed panic, but he couldn't quite visualize him.

Oboro had defeated Doma with a single, decisive strike. With his centuries of experience, Kokushibo could see that Oboro could have easily delivered a killing blow, but held back.

Everything had happened with terrifying speed.

"You won't kill me?" Doma asked as Oboro's attention shifted away from him. The demon slowly rose to his feet, his rainbow eyes studying the human's retreating form with calculating interest.

"You're missing part of your soul, not lacking one entirely," Oboro replied, not turning around as he dismissed the threat with a casual wave. "Being born human cost you certain emotions, but not all of them. Even as a demon, you retain fragments of basic human feelings; they're simply muted. For instance, that uncomfortable sensation in your chest right now, you hate being dismissed so casually."

Oboro had read the subtle fluctuations in Doma's spiritual energy and seen through the demon's emotional void to the tiny sparks of genuine feeling beneath.

Doma's smile widened, possibly in delight. Just as he prepared to launch himself forward in a sneak attack enhanced by blood arts, the world suddenly tilted sideways. His brain felt like it was expanding beyond his skull; his five senses had become useless static.

His entire body was locked in place, paralyzed by an invisible force.

"Just stay still," a distant voice said, as if spoken through water.

Seeing Oboro approach step by measured step, Kokushibo's eyes narrowed to deadly slits. He crouched low, his muscles coiling like loaded springs, and his massive flesh-and-blood sword materialized behind him.

The cursed blade, Kyokokukamusari, began its grotesque transformation; additional segments sprouted from the original edge like malignant growths.

Oboro's display of power demanded Kokushibo's full attention and respect. Once he committed to battle, Kokushibo would hold nothing back.

"Seventh Form: Waning Moon, Lonely Reflection!"

Kokushibo launched himself from the doorway in a high-speed dive, his blade carving through the air with lethal precision. Multiple cutting waves exploded outward, each designed to seal off potential escape routes while simultaneously targeting Oboro's position.

Each slash carried enough power to level buildings, and their overlapping coverage seemed to leave no avenue of escape.

Yet this seemingly perfect assault was dissected and neutralized with almost contemptuous ease.

Though Kokushibo's sword techniques were genuinely terrifying, Oboro's enhanced perception revealed countless gaps in the attack pattern. Where others saw inevitable death, he saw opportunities for exploitation.

The most glaring weakness was the lack of true omnidirectional coverage. Spaces remained between the strikes, and where there was space, there were escape routes.

Oboro moved forward to meet the descending blades head-on. The cutting waves seemed to pass directly through his body, but no blood flowed. This wasn't durability; it was pure technique.

At the precise instant that each blade would have connected, Oboro made microscopic adjustments to slip past the attacks before instantly returning to his original position. To outside observers, he appeared completely motionless while impossible strikes passed harmlessly through him.

However, Kokushibo, the strongest of the Twelve Demon Moons, wasn't so easily dismissed. The moment his feet touched the ground behind Oboro, Kokushibo immediately transitioned to close-quarters combat.

Relying on the reach advantage of his massive blade and a century of refined swordsmanship, he engaged Oboro in a deadly dance of steel and skill.

Oboro's wooden staff was laughably inadequate by comparison: too small and fragile to withstand the slightest contact with a real blade. As he had done when facing Hashira-level opponents like Gyomei and Tengen, he relied purely on technique to bridge the gap in equipment.

"Hmm?"

Oboro hadn't expected his skill advantage to be significantly reduced against Kokushibo. The ancient demon rapidly analyzed his combat patterns and adapted his responses in real time.

CLANG!

In a pivotal moment, Kokushibo's blade pressed heavily against Oboro's wooden staff, steadily increasing the pressure until his arm began to bend. The cursed blade stopped mere centimeters from Oboro's face, held back only by his increasingly desperate defensive techniques.

Kokushibo's grotesquely transformed features leaned in close. His voice was as cold as winter stone. "You don't know how to use a sword."

"No," Oboro agreed simply.

His wooden staff developed stress fractures, tiny splinters flying as it approached its breaking point.

Though his techniques were divine in their precision, they were channeled through an inadequate medium, which weakened their effectiveness considerably. He couldn't toy with Kokushibo the way he had with other Hashira. After all, this demon had survived for centuries, accumulating vast reserves of practical experience and tactical knowledge.

Additionally, demons of Kokushibo's caliber possess physical attributes that far exceed human limitations, placing Oboro at a significant disadvantage in a direct confrontation.

Physical strength remained the most crucial factor. Without accessing his Nen abilities, his body was the foundation for everything else.

Even the most refined techniques required adequate attributes to support them.

Furthermore, he had deliberately avoided using Sun Breathing again because he wanted to properly gauge the level that Yoriichi Tsugikuni had once reached.

Now, he had a much clearer understanding.

"Since you pointed that out, I won't use a weapon at all." Without warning, Oboro released his grip on the wooden staff, allowing it to clatter to the ground.

This unexpected action left Kokushibo momentarily stunned.

Then, the ancient demon was shocked to discover that everything about his opponent had changed. The very air around the man seemed to shift and thicken.

Kokushibo realized that the weapon hadn't been enhancing this human's strength. Instead, it had been restraining him, sealing away a portion of his true power!

CRACK! CRACK.

In Kokushibo's horrified vision, the man's muscles and bones began shifting with thunderous pops and cracks. His back expanded, his musculature spreading like wings beneath the black haori that billowed wildly around his frame.

His body temperature spiked dramatically, and waves of heat radiated from beneath his clothing with furnace-like intensity.

Oboro's eyes, now blazing with cold fire, locked onto his opponent with predatory focus.

"This is the first time I've gotten even slightly serious. I hope you can help me recapture some of the sensations from my past."

The Divine Fist technique awakened.

Upon hearing these words, every hair on Kokushibo's body stood on end as primitive terror flooded his ancient instincts.

"Eighth Form: Moon-Crowned Phoenix Tail!"

Kokushibo bellowed, pouring every ounce of his demonic strength into the cursed blade. The weapon's edge blazed with the radiance of a full moon, its cutting power concentrated to the absolute maximum.

However, just as the technique reached its peak, a devastating impact sent blood spraying from his mouth, leaving his vision swimming with stars.

A single fist had completely shattered the power of his sword technique, leaving a massive crater where his chest had been. His internal organs were pulverized and his entire torso was reduced to little more than a thin layer of flesh stretched over broken bones.

Even his ribcage had been reduced to mush.

The kinetic energy from that one punch continued its destructive path, obliterating the entire gate and wall structure behind him in a cascade of flying debris.

Though Kokushibo's regeneration began working immediately to repair the damage, Oboro's large hand seized his hair in an iron grip.

"Don't worry. Let's take our time with this." (TN: Hey, you! Get the baby oil!)

After speaking, he drove downward with casual force. Kokushibo was completely unable to resist the overwhelming strength, and his entire face was driven into the ground with a bone-crushing impact.

How could any human possess such monstrous power?

That was the only coherent thought he could manage.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM.

What followed was brutally straightforward.

Doma, who was still paralyzed nearby, witnessed the carnage firsthand. One of the mighty Upper Moons, a being of incomparable demonic power, was being systematically destroyed by a human who was unable to resist.

The scene was cruel, bloody, and utterly shocking in its one-sidedness.

In Oboro's hands, Kokushibo had been reduced from an apex predator to a broken toy that could be discarded at will. Despite possessing Muzan's blood and a demon's incredible regenerative abilities, his recovery couldn't keep pace with the rate of destruction being inflicted.

"How beautiful," Doma whispered, smiling with genuine appreciation.

It was a beauty unlike anything he had ever experienced before: the aesthetic of absolute domination, of power so overwhelming that resistance became meaningless.

Oboro's mansion was vast, and the area where he was training Kokushibo represented only a small portion of the grounds. Yet the power he displayed had far-reaching effects, turning carefully arranged rock gardens into chaotic rubble.

Several minutes later, Oboro lifted Kokushibo's blood-soaked body with one hand and brought the battered demon up to eye level.

The ancient swordsman's body was riddled with wounds that showed no signs of healing.

"For the first time since my recovery, I'm actually enjoying combat a little."

"What about you? Are you having fun?"

Oboro asked with a soft chuckle.

Though he wasn't as strong as he was in his Hunter x Hunter days and wasn't using his full power, the damage output should have been far more devastating than this display suggested.

At full power, the destruction would have been spectacular.

The primary limitation remained the "world restrictions." In lower-tier universes, energy compatibility faced inherent boundaries.

Even so, for demons like Kokushibo and Doma, this level of power was beyond their comprehension.

THUD.

Oboro released his grip, allowing Kokushibo's broken form to collapse to the ground like a discarded puppet.

"I'm feeling a bit tired. I think I'll take a nap. You two can stay here for now."

After stretching his shoulders with casual satisfaction, he bent down to retrieve his fallen haori and walked back toward the house with unhurried steps.

Silence settled over the destroyed courtyard like a funeral shroud.

Doma was paralyzed by the technique that had frozen him in place. Meanwhile, Kokushibo's body refused to regenerate properly, leaving him helplessly sprawled in the crater.

Neither demon had imagined they would find themselves in such a thoroughly humiliating position before arriving at this mansion.

"Well, what should we do now?" Doma asked cheerfully, a tone that contrasted sharply with their dire circumstances.

"Senior, do you have any solutions?"

It seems like we might actually die here."

Doma looked toward the motionless Kokushibo and continued his one-sided conversation, clearly amused.

But Kokushibo offered no response, his entire being still trapped in a state of shock and confusion that rendered him as motionless as carved stone.