Chapter 200
Light pours down.
The blade flashes, slashing with conviction.
The dance of blades performed by both hands and sky.
Aaaaah...!
Dozens of blades stab into the centipede shaped like a fallen monk.
These are not the familiar execution blades used in the Dragon Palace or in the Dream Incubator, where they once stabbed Jinna-sol or me. No, these are twice the size—ornately crafted with bells and lacquered handles. Ritual blades.
Weapons crafted to confront wicked 'existences.'
Uuuuuoooh...!
The blasphemous being, that had merely mumbled its own terrible revelations while mimicking the human mouth to inject madness, writhes.
And each time it flails, human arms writhe from its body and fall to the floor, turning to ash and finding peace. A rite of appeasement.
Thud.
The centipede convulses as the shrine pillars and rafters collapse around it.