Anime Crossover: Eating Evil in a Daily World — Chapter 110

Chapter 110: Supreme Commander of All Yokai; Yozora’s Modern Exorcism

Rio Futaba and Yotsuya Miko felt the ambient air thicken into a suffocating mire.

Even the freezing drizzle suspended in mid-air, caught in the sudden, overwhelming spike of spiritual pressure. Thick, bruised clouds rolled overhead, swallowing half the moonlight and casting the already dilapidated shrine in a heavy, suffocating gloom. The boundary between the human world and the ghost realm had never felt so terrifyingly thin.

“They’re here.”

At Yozora’s calm observation, Miko and Rio immediately snapped their gazes toward the shrine’s entrance.

Slowly ascending the weathered stone steps was an old man. He was incredibly short, dressed in traditional attire, with an unusually elongated back of the head. His frail figure exuded absolutely zero aura; at a passing glance, he looked like nothing more than a senile, muddle-headed grandfather out for a late-night stroll.

However, following silently in his wake were hundreds of yokai. They were a grotesque, varied assortment of nightmares, yet they marched in perfect, terrifying synchronization. Their footsteps fell in absolute unison, a disciplined army of the supernatural.

“Supreme Commander!”

Seeing Nurarihyon finally arrive, Gyūki, who was currently suspended in the crushing grip of the Pale Ghost Hand, let out a ragged sigh of relief. Then, remembering the monster holding him, he hurriedly warned, “Supreme Commander, be careful, this guy—”

Before Gyūki could finish, Yozora lazily raised his right hand and clenched his fingers.

The massive Pale Ghost Hand mirrored the motion perfectly, its spectral fingers tightening with a sickening crunch. Gyūki’s warning was cut off by a pained, guttural grunt as his massive frame was squeezed to the breaking point.

Watching his vice-general and sworn brother humiliated so casually, a flash of genuine anger rippled across Nurarihyon’s aged, wrinkled face. He raised his right hand. Instantly, the hundreds of yokai behind him froze in place, utterly silent.

Witnessing this display of absolute authority, Miko and Rio’s expressions tightened.

Neither of them had ever expected to see such a staggering concentration of supernatural military might in the real world. The sheer density of their combined aura was suffocating. But what truly put the girls on edge was that simple hand gesture. These were not mindless Evil Spirits driven by a base instinct to slaughter. They possessed discipline. They were like Tamamo-no-Mae from the Inner World—creatures harboring intellect that matched, or perhaps even surpassed, human wisdom.

An enemy that could think was infinitely more dangerous than one that only knew how to bite.

Nurarihyon slowly walked forward, his aged eyes locking onto Yozora, who was sitting casually in front of the shrine.

“My friend,” Nurarihyon began, his voice deep and measured. “Our visit this time carries no ill intent. We merely wish to—”

“No ill intent?” Yozora interrupted, completely disregarding the face of the so-called Supreme Commander of All Yokai. He shook his head in dry amusement. “This Gyūki of your Nura Clan just threatened to kill me.”

A flicker of helplessness crossed Nurarihyon’s face. Gyūki was an exceptional subordinate in every regard, but his attitude toward humans was notoriously problematic. Having originally been human himself, Gyūki harbored a distinct, twisted arrogance after his transformation into a Great Yokai. Nurarihyon could easily imagine that his vice-general’s idea of ‘negotiation’ had been anything but friendly.

“Regarding his offense, please, sir—”

Yozora didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into a calm, icy register. “This guy used to attack villages and slaughter innocent people for sport, didn’t he?”

Nurarihyon’s heart plummeted.

He stared at the masked young man sitting before him, a creeping sense of unease taking root. Ever since this Exorcist had specifically named the Nura Clan, Nurarihyon had felt something was terribly wrong. The Nura Clan operated in the shadows. They hadn’t set foot in Kyoto for years. How did this boy know so much about them?

When the Tengu had delivered the report, he mentioned that this young man had specifically demanded the Supreme Commander’s presence. And now, he was casually bringing up the atrocities Gyūki had committed centuries ago, long before he had even joined the clan.

Nurarihyon had walked into this assuming he held the advantage of the shadows, while the Exorcist was in the light. Now, the roles felt violently reversed. Was the Nura Clan the one being played?

“Not speaking?”

Seeing the old man fall silent, Yozora smiled. He stood up from his chair and closed the distance, stopping just inches away.

Seeing the Exorcist step within three meters of their Supreme Commander, the hundreds of yokai tensed, their killing intent spiking.

“Actually,” Yozora said, towering over the short old man. He even crouched down slightly, as if worried the elderly yokai was hard of hearing, his posture dripping with mocking politeness. “I am a very reasonable person.”

Before Nurarihyon could even process the statement, the smile vanished from Yozora’s face.

“I won’t interfere with matters outside of Kyoto,” Yozora whispered, his voice devoid of warmth. “But you marched hundreds of yokai from your Nura Clan into my territory, including an Evil Spirit like Gyūki who has a history of massacring humans. And you have the audacity to stand there and tell me you have no ill will?”

Naked, suffocating killing intent bled from Yozora’s eyes beneath his black mask.

“Who allowed you filthy creatures to step into Kyoto?”

Feeling the sheer density of that murderous aura, Nurarihyon’s expression hardened. Negotiations had officially broken down.

Clang!

The moment the words left Yozora’s mouth, he had already drawn Onimaru Kunitsuna, bringing the legendary blade crashing down toward Nurarihyon’s skull.

A deafening shriek of metal echoed through the shrine grounds as two immense pools of spiritual power violently collided, shattering the stone beneath them and kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

As the debris settled, Rio and Miko stared in shock. The frail old man was gone.

Standing in the crater was a striking young man, nearly six feet tall, with flowing hair split starkly between black and white. He wore an ancient, elegant kimono, his posture radiating a lazy but lethal arrogance. In his hands, he held a long sword, perfectly parrying the heavy strike of Yozora’s Onimaru Kunitsuna.

Rio frowned, adjusting her glasses. “Could it be… that old man from before? I didn’t expect him to possess a rejuvenation ability. He actually looked like this in his youth?”

Miko nodded blankly, her eyes wide. “Hmm. I didn’t expect a yokai to look that good when he was young.” A second later, she quickly added, “Of course, not as good as Yozora.”

Rio shot her a deadpan look. “Stop being infatuated, we’re in the middle of a warzone.”

Rio couldn’t help but sigh internally. Ever since Yozora had mentioned needing to ‘verify’ something with Miko, the girl had been completely absent-minded. She would randomly zone out and flash this innocent, silly smile at nothing. Miko had never acted like this before. Had she caught whatever brain-rot Yui Yuigahama was carrying?

Meanwhile, at the epicenter of the clash, the rejuvenated Nurarihyon stared directly into Yozora’s eyes. His aura had completely transformed, shedding its elderly restraint for a wild, oppressive edge.

“We did not come to start a war,” Nurarihyon warned.

“You still don’t understand,” Yozora replied flatly. He pressed Onimaru Kunitsuna forward, the sheer physical force grinding against the yokai’s blade. “Kyoto is my city. What happens here is not up to you. It’s up to me. And I’m too lazy to talk nonsense with a corpse.”

Without breaking eye contact, Yozora casually shifted his grip on the sword to his left hand. He raised his right hand toward the sky and clenched his fist.

High above, Gyūki let out another muffled, agonizing roar as the Pale Ghost Hand threatened to snap his spine.

Nurarihyon’s composure finally cracked. Gritting his teeth, he abandoned all pretense of diplomacy and shoved his blade, Nenekirimaru, forward with explosive force. The tip of the yokai sword managed to pierce through Yozora’s guard, tearing a gash into the black attire formed by his Evil Spirit power.

“Interesting. Truly interesting.”

Rather than showing fear at his defense being breached, Yozora’s eyes lit up with genuine, unhinged excitement. “Bring me more joy.”

The moment those words left his lips, the Pale Ghost Hand gripping Gyūki vanished into thin air.

Before the massive yokai could even register his freedom, a chilling, primal sense of dread seized his heart. It wasn’t just him. Standing face-to-face with Yozora, Nurarihyon felt every hair on his body stand on end, as if he had been plunged naked into a frozen lake.

The Pale Ghost Hand hadn’t just disappeared. It had merged back into its master.

Miko and Rio remained calm, already familiar with Yozora’s combat mechanics. But Nurarihyon was rapidly realizing just how catastrophically he had miscalculated.

The Exorcist’s strength was completely off the charts. Initially, the Nura Clan executives had assumed Yozora was just an ordinary, moderately skilled Onmyoji who needed to steal a famous sword like Onimaru Kunitsuna to compensate for his lack of raw power.

That assumption was dead wrong.

Onimaru Kunitsuna had completely submitted to the boy. If Nurarihyon wasn’t crossing blades with him right now, he would have called it impossible. It had been less than half a month since the Kyoto Municipal Museum was breached. Gaining the absolute loyalty of a divine artifact of that caliber in such a short window was nothing short of monstrous.

Empowered by the absorbed Pale Ghost Hand, Yozora surged forward. Holding the legendary blade with only one hand, he pressed down. Nurarihyon’s face twisted in strain. He was forced to abandon his elegant stance, throwing his second hand onto the hilt of his sword just to keep from being cleaved in half.

The gap wasn’t just in physical strength; Yozora’s spiritual density was crushing him.

Despite the intense blade lock, Yozora casually turned his head to look at the two girls standing near the shrine. “The opponent is too strong. I have to go all out here, so I’ll leave the small fries to you two and Hachishaku.”

Rio and Miko simultaneously rolled their eyes. I’d believe a ghost before I believe a word out of your mouth.

Go all out? This was the same guy who, even if he lost a mere tenth of his power, would dramatically pretend to be on his deathbed just to play it safe. If the enemy was actually a threat, he wouldn’t be casually chatting over his shoulder. They knew exactly what he was doing—using his overwhelming presence to lock down the boss so they could farm combat experience in absolute safety.

“Open your eyes, Hyakume!”

“Tear off the disguise, Hone-Onna!”

As Miko and Rio called out, massive, terrifying Soul Avatars materialized behind them. The sheer grotesque majesty of the entities sent a shockwave of confusion through the Nura Clan’s ranks. Even ancient beings like Gyūki and Nurarihyon were momentarily stunned.

Were those Shikigami? No, the aura was entirely wrong. It felt ancient, cursed, and deeply unnatural.

“Never seen it before? First time? Pretty fresh, isn’t it?” Yozora mocked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Nurarihyon’s face darkened. With his rejuvenated body came the fiery, insubordinate temper of his youth. He was no longer the patient old man.

“What an arrogant brat,” Nurarihyon snarled.

In a blur of impossible speed, the Supreme Commander vanished from Yozora’s front, reappearing directly behind him. He swung Nenekirimaru down in a merciless, lethal arc aimed at the Exorcist’s neck.

“Is that all?”

Yozora didn’t even turn around. He simply tilted his body to the side, letting the deadly blade whistle past his ear by a fraction of an inch. Simultaneously, his left hand casually reached inside his coat.

Seeing the movement, Nurarihyon instantly aborted his follow-up strike and dropped into a defensive guard, his eyes narrowing.

What stance is this? Nurarihyon’s mind raced through centuries of combat experience. Iaijutsu? Battōjutsu? A hidden thrust? He could usually read an opponent’s next move by the subtle shifts in their shoulders and waist. But Yozora’s body was completely relaxed. There was zero kinetic tension.

Could it be… the legendary ultimate world of martial arts? Power nullification? Relaxing the body to the absolute extreme to counter any attack?

“Old Deng…”

As Nurarihyon braced himself for a god-tier sword technique, Yozora finally pulled his left hand out of his coat.

The Supreme Commander of All Yokai froze.

A cold, dark muzzle was pointed directly at the center of his forehead.

“Times have changed,” Yozora chuckled.

BANG.

The deafening crack of gunfire shattered the tense silence. Nurarihyon stood frozen in place, his hands trembling slightly as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Clink…

The empty brass casing hit the stone floor, the sound echoing loudly in the stunned quiet.

Nurarihyon stared at Yozora, his handsome face twisting into a complex mask of absolute bewilderment and outrage. You little bastard, you’re playing dirty! What kind of self-respecting Onmyoji pulls out a Glock during a sword fight!?

But to Yozora, all fear stemmed from insufficient firepower. At this very moment, Kyoto’s number one Exorcist was finally living out the dream he had harbored since enrolling at Sobu High School. Who said he was going to engage in an honorable duel of blades? He was going with the American quickdraw.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Yozora didn’t give the ancient yokai a single second to breathe, ruthlessly emptying the magazine.

Nurarihyon was fast, but he couldn’t outrun bullets at point-blank range. He threw his body into a frantic, undignified dance of evasion, desperately twisting to protect his vital organs. Had he truly possessed the limitless stamina of his youth, he might have dodged them all. But despite his youthful appearance, his core was still that of an old man.

A hollow point tore straight through Nurarihyon’s calf.

He winced, stumbling slightly. As a Great Yokai, the physical damage was negligible, but the sheer disrespect of the attack stung worse than the bullet.

“Hmm…”

After the slide locked back on empty, Yozora calmly tucked the smoking pistol back into his coat. He held up his left hand, his tone suddenly shifting into that of a strict schoolteacher. “You stand right there. Don’t move. Wait for me.”

Under Nurarihyon’s utterly baffled gaze, Yozora pulled a black-covered notebook and a ballpoint pen from his pocket. He flipped it open and began writing, muttering aloud as he jotted down his observations.

“Even a Great Yokai of the Nurarihyon class cannot effectively defend against close-range ballistic trauma. Kinetic impact is sufficient to pierce the flesh. Recovery ability is currently pending observation…”

Yozora paused, looking up from his notes with a bright, friendly smile. “By the way, do me a favor. With a gunshot wound like that, how long do you estimate it will take for the tissue to fully regenerate? Also, regarding the pain—assuming the baseline pain of a normal human being shot is a 5, express your current pain level with a number between 1 and 10.”

Nurarihyon stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “Why in the world are you asking me these things?”

“You don’t understand?” Yozora looked at the legendary yokai as if he were a slow toddler. “It’s to gather empirical data, obviously. I need the most efficient, convenient, and cost-effective method to exterminate your species.”

Nurarihyon’s jaw practically hit the floor.

Good heavens, this brat is shameless. Are you treating this Old Deng like an idiot? Why would I ever give you that information?

“Don’t want to say?” Yozora’s friendly smile widened into something distinctly predatory. “Never mind. Even if you gave me a number, I couldn’t trust the integrity of the data. I’ll just have to verify it myself.”

Yozora casually tossed the notebook away. “By the way, let me show you something really interesting.”

Nurarihyon’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. What new trick is this lunatic going to pull now? He’s not going to pull out another gun, is he?

Yozora shifted Onimaru Kunitsuna to his left hand. He extended his right hand forward, palm facing the stormy sky. Instantly, a dense, writhing mass of black Evil Spirit power erupted from his skin.

“Let me tell you a secret. I have a very special ability,” Yozora murmured, his eyes locking onto the yokai. “As long as it’s a weapon I understand the mechanical structure of, I can manifest it into reality using Evil Spirit power.”

Watching the mass of black energy rapidly lengthen and take shape, Nurarihyon’s pupils contracted to pinpricks. He didn’t care about the mechanics of the boy’s power anymore. A sickening realization washed over him. He isn’t actually going to build…

Under the Supreme Commander’s horrified gaze, the dark energy snapped into a hard, metallic reality. It was a weapon, but it had absolutely nothing to do with swords or spells.

Yozora sheathed Onimaru Kunitsuna at his waist. He gripped the newly forged construct with both hands—a sleek, heavy, beautifully machined pump-action shotgun.

Nurarihyon felt his brain short-circuit.

You can use ancient, supernatural Evil Spirit power to 3D-print modern ballistic weaponry!? The art style of this fight is completely ruined!

CHIK-CHAK.

Yozora racked the slide with a deeply satisfying, heavy metallic clack. He raised the shotgun, aiming the massive barrel directly at Nurarihyon’s chest, his eyes crinkling in absolute delight behind his mask.

“Let me emphasize this one more time.”

Yozora’s finger hovered over the trigger.

“Old Deng, times have changed. What era do you think this is, still playing around with traditional exorcism?”