"Ph'nglui, Ph'nglui…."
What flowed from her mouth was an otherworldly language, scraping and tearing, impossible for human vocal cords to produce.
The small brushes held by Hokusai split the void. Then, the laws of the world reversed.
Swiiish~!
As if ink spreading on rice paper, the solid bedrock Gyokko stood on turned into a black liquid and began to ooze.
The sound of waves vanished, replaced by strange, ear-splitting flute and drum noises filling the space.
"W-what is this…! My body won't move!"
Gyokko tried to move his fins, but the floor wouldn't release him.
No, precisely, the space he stood in itself was being compressed into a plane (2D).
His pot, which should have been three-dimensional, began to flatten like a drawing on paper.
"You spoke of art? Arrogant pygmy bastard."
Her pupils, no, the eyes of the painting maniac dominating that flesh looked down at Gyokko.
That gaze wasn't looking at Gyokko but rather at a stain mistakenly smeared on a canvas.
"That crude pot of yours isn't art. It's just a trash can. True art… is carving the soul to peer into the abyss."
Hokusai raised her brush and flicked it toward Gyokko.
Plip plop.
Black ink droplets fell onto Gyokko's body. But they weren't mere ink.
Where the ink touched, Gyokko's skin sizzled and vanished. No, it was being erased.
"Gyaaaah!! It hurts! It's hot! What is this!!"
Regeneration? Impossible. Not even an Upper Moon's regenerative power could recover.
This wasn't a physical wound but an act of painting over the very concept of existence.
"How dare… how dare you insult this Gyokko-sama!! I am a perfect being! Beloved by Muzan-sama…!"
Gyokko screamed to overcome his fear, attempting a final struggle.
"Blood Demon Art, [Deadly Fish Kill]!! I'll turn everything into lovely fish!!!"
His entire body turned red as he charged toward Hokusai, destroying the surroundings with his fists to transform them into fish.
Simultaneously, he used Ten Thousand Air Needles to charge together.
But Hokusai snorted.
"Noisy. Too many smudges on my canvas."
She swung her brush grandly.
Instantly, sky and earth vanished from Gyokko's sight. The world he saw was entirely covered in dark blue.
From afar, a wave larger than a mountain surged. But it wasn't a wave made of water.
It was a wave of a black star, entangled with hundreds of millions of eyeballs, wriggling tentacles, and screaming souls.
"Hee… heeek…?!"
Gyokko's thoughts froze before that overwhelming sight. His Blood Demon Art's school of fish scattered like dust before that massive wave.
Beyond that wave, where Mount Fuji should have been, the silhouette of an indescribably enormous being towered, looking down at him.
"Fool who knows no place. You're not even worth paint. Just… disappear into the background's blank space."
"Ah, no… I don't want… I don't waaant!!!"
The otherworldly wave engulfed Gyokko. There was no impact. No pain. Only, his existence was decomposed.
"IaIa, Ph'nglui, Ph'nglui, on Sudrista sowaka, Wgah'nagl fhtagn."
Gyokko's body was torn apart at the cellular level, becoming part of the black wave. His consciousness was sucked into the abyss of the infinitely expanding universe.
"O venerable one who sees through all phenomena, celestial emperor sleeping in the abode of the starry sea. I offer a stroke of my soul, now, behold."
'Was I… not an artist…? I was… merely….'
All that remained in his final consciousness was the wretched realization that the art he had pursued all his life couldn't even compare to a child's scribble against a single stroke of that great being.
"[Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji], Kanagawa Otherworldly Sea. Unpublished practice piece."
Upper Moon Five, Gyokko. He wasn't beheaded, nor did he burn in the sun.
He was merely sucked into the great painter's picture, becoming an ink stain from which he could never escape.
Where the wave passed. The storm vanished as if a lie, and only the sound of the quiet night sea's waves returned.
On the cliff, a wet canvas lay. But the damaged painting from before was nowhere to be seen, and a new picture was drawn on it.
A grotesque Mount Fuji rising over a dark blue night sea. And below it, a small fish swept by the waves, screaming with a painfully distorted face.
The fish's face looked exactly like Gyokko's.
"Hmph. Now it's somewhat worth looking at."
Hokusai's personality subsided, and Oei's expression returned. She looked at her own hand.
The hand that had been shattered by Gyokko had already returned to a clean human hand.
"Father… you got too excited. What about the cleanup…."
Oei grumbled, but she felt a peculiar satisfaction looking at the picture contained in the canvas.
Shinobu, Kanae, and Tsubaki, who had watched this scene from afar, couldn't say a word. They were demons, but what they had just witnessed was a calamity that transcended demonic power itself.
"...So that's the sincerity Akira-san spoke of."
Kanae murmured with a trembling voice.
"We must never… touch Oei-san's paintings again. Absolutely never."
Shinobu wiped cold sweat and shook her head.
The defeat of Upper Moon Five. The result was an overwhelming victory, but the process was closer to divine punishment than a slaying.
Only Ushigozen, watching from the darkness, quietly nodded and sent a message to Akira.
[Upper Moon Five, defeat complete. …No, deletion complete.]
A while later.
In the old-fashioned garden of the Nagao mansion.
As if a drop of black ink fell from the empty void, space itself tore as if brushed, and a huge hole opened.
Crossing that strange ink door, the slaying party that had left for the western village revealed themselves.
The first to step out was Oei.
She walked out with a large brush slung over her shoulder, but her expression was like that of a child throwing a tantrum.
"Ugh, really! Father should calm down a bit! What about flipping the painting like overturning a carefully set dinner table!"
Oei grumbled, setting the brush down with a thud.
It seemed that Hokusai, her father, who had taken control when erasing Gyokko, had gone too wild, draining Oei's energy.
Following her, Kanae, Shinobu, Tsubaki, and Ushigozen walked out unharmed.
"Welcome back, Akira-san."
Kanae spotted Akira who had come to greet them and smiled brightly.
"Good work. Ended quicker than expected?"
Akira welcomed them leisurely, arms crossed. His attitude suggested Gyokko wasn't even in his sights.
"So it was Upper Moon Five, but it was nothing special? He uses poison, but it didn't taste as good as my poison."
Shinobu reported with a cheerful smile.
"More than that… Hokusai-san cleaned up so fiercely that we feel like we just watched the show."
Tsubaki added, clicking her tongue.
Akira approached Oei, who was pouting with a sulky face.
"What's wrong, our painter teacher. Why such a dark expression after a great victory?"
"Hmph! Don't even mention it. That demon bastard ruined my painting, and Father rampaged in my body. Because of that, my inspiration is cut off, my hand aches… worst mood ever."
Oei sulked, pressing her forehead against Akira's chest.
Though outwardly complaining, it was clear she wanted comfort from Akira.
"Should we have extracted some information from Gyokko? We just killed him."
"No, it doesn't matter. That guy was just Muzan's wallet. No value as an informant. Cutting off the funding and cheering you up was worth enough to kill him."
Akira gently stroked Oei's hair and hugged her.
"Well done. Thanks to you, we caught one annoying fly."
With Akira's warm embrace and praise, Oei's pouty face quickly turned red.
She looked up and stared at Akira intently.
"...Really? Did I do well?"
"Of course. Whose skill is it?"
"Hehe… then give me a reward."
Oei smiled mischievously and tugged at Akira's collar.
"Give me tonight. Because of that octopus-headed bastard, my mood is ruined, Master must take responsibility with your body and fix it."
At her bold demand, the eyebrows of Kanae, Shinobu, and Tsubaki twitched.
But having seen that earlier, they couldn't really object.
Akira laughed heartily and wrapped an arm around Oei's waist.
"Fine. Comforting an artist wife's anguish is also a husband's duty. I'll spend tonight only with you."
"Yay! Heard that? Master is mine today!"
Oei, intoxicated with victory, stuck her tongue out at the other women and, clinging to Akira's arm, headed toward the bedroom.
Deep inside the mansion, Akira's bedroom. In the room swaying with faint candlelight, a dense atmosphere flowed.
"Haa… Akira…."
Oei was in Akira's embrace, wearing only a loose yukata. The insane appearance shown on the battlefield was nowhere to be seen; now, it was just the face of a woman wanting to be loved.
"You're even prettier today, Oei."
As Akira kissed her nape, Oei giggled and hugged his neck.
"Of course. Whose woman am I… mmm…."
Their lips overlapped, and hot breaths exchanged. The room was filled only with the sound of clothes rustling and drunken moans. Each time Akira's touch reached Oei's white skin, she sank into pleasure as if dipping a brush tip in ink.
It was after a while, when hot passion filled the room.
Whoosh~
Suddenly, a thick smell of ink vibrated from the void. Above Akira and Oei's bed, black ink coiled like a snake in the air and began to take human form.
"...?!"
Oei looked at it with surprised eyes. As the ink cleared, what appeared was another woman with the exact same appearance as Oei.
But her gaze and aura were completely different. Languid and decadent, yet with eyes that felt somehow weighty with experience.
It was the father, Hokusai, who had dwelled in Oei's body.
"Tch, I'm in a bad mood today too. Having fun alone?"
It was Toto-sama, who had materialized in Oei's form. Her outward appearance was the same beautiful girl as Oei, but her speech was unmistakably that of an eccentric old man.
Hokusai approached from behind Akira and hugged his broad back tightly.
"Whoa, father-in-law? It's surprising when you pop out suddenly."
Akira smirked, only turning his head to check behind.
The sensation of Hokusai's ample chest touching his back was the same as Oei's, yet somehow more dense.
"Quiet. Because of that seafood bastard, I ruined my brushwork, and I'm so irritated I can't sleep."
Hokusai rubbed her face against Akira's back and whined.
"Help me vent this anger. With your yang energy, my gloom might wash away."
Akira felt absurdity and a peculiar sense of conquest simultaneously.
The legendary painter and his Servant father-in-law, in his daughter's form, was clinging to him.
"Ha, this is something. I've held you before, but do I have to hold father and daughter simultaneously?"
When Akira asked mischievously, Hokusai smiled seductively with Oei's face and whispered in Akira's ear.
"Yes. It's an immoral and insane relationship where you hold a father-in-law in a daughter's form along with the daughter. Still, don't you care?"
Provoked by that, Akira turned his body to face Hokusai directly. And roughly pulled her waist.
"I don't care. We're not human anyway. As long as it tastes good, that's enough. Besides… right now, you look more perfect as a woman than anyone."
At Akira's bold words, Hokusai's eyes widened. A situation where an ordinary man would be terrified and run away.
But this man was rather enjoying it.
"Kukuku… you really are a madman. To be my son-in-law and new companion, you need this much madness."
Hokusai hugged Akira's neck with satisfaction.
Oei beside them, not to be outdone, grabbed Akira's arm.
"Unfair, Father! I was with him first!"
"Quiet! Good things are meant to be shared! Now, come in already."
That night, Akira's bedroom was truly a crucible of chaos and pleasure.
Two Hokusais. One was the lively, affectionate daughter; the other was a woman with the seasoned, decadent spirit of the father.
Like a painter holding two brushes simultaneously to draw, Akira indulged in both women at once.
"Haaah♡! Master…! You, your technique is quite something…♡"
Hokusai couldn't keep her mind together under Akira's fierce caresses.
A soul that had spent its life only painting was helplessly crumbling under the new stimulus of physical pleasure.
"Not a father-in-law, but just a female… I'm becoming…♡!"
The words bursting from her mouth proved that even the great Hokusai was merely a woman before Akira.
"More… fill me deeper♡! Fill me full of you inside!"
Oei also craved Akira, competing with her father.
Instead of the smell of ink, the room was filled with the thick scent of night flowers.
Black hair and white skin scattering in the air, and the entangled shadows of three people were like living spring paintings.
The painter who drew the abyss willingly sank into the abyss of pleasure that swallowed him that night. And the master of that abyss was Akira.
The night of the abyss was growing hotter and stickier, deeper than ever before.