My Supernatural Girlfriends Spoils Me Rotten

The generals still hadn't caught on to Asher's interference.

His timing was too precise, his golden energy weaving seamlessly into the surge of Hisame's mist.

To them, it must have seemed like she simply pushed herself beyond her limits or had been hiding her true power all along

Perfect. That meant he could stay on the sidelines—for now.

Watch. Analyze. Wait for the right moment.

The imp-like yokai was killed with ease, but only because of the element of surprise.

That advantage was gone now. The remaining generals weren't about to make the same stupid mistake.

'Where is she?'

If kitsune showed up, it would save him the trouble of finding her.

'This people are her allies. Better to cut a few down now before they become a problem later.'
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His gaze swept over the room.

The skeleton fiend stood motionless, but there was something unreadable about it.

Then there was Miko—grinning, carefree, almost childish.

But the glint in his eyes told another story. A sharp, honed confidence.

Those two were even more dangerous than Zagan—he could tell just from looking at them.

'I need to eliminate them first before they showed their true power.'

Then there was her—and Shuten.

The Oni wasn't angry. If anything, disappointment filled his face—Hisame made the worst possible choice.

A waste. A needless rebellion because of her own pride. Now, there was no turning back.

Execution was inevitable—a fate she could have avoided if only she had chosen to cooperate.

"KE! KE KE! KEEEE!"

The slit-mouthed woman grinned from ear to ear—literally. A jagged, unnatural gash of a smile, stretching too wide, and too deep.

"You shouldn't have done that, Hisame." Her voice slithered through the air, layered, overlapping. Like a chorus of whispers speaking in unison.

With a grotesque crack, her arms stretched. Fingers fused together, bone twisting, flesh warping.

Not swords. Not claws. But massive, crude scissors.

They snapped shut.

CLANG!

The sound rang through the room like a guillotine falling. It was too loud—like it cut through the whole room itself.

Hisame's ears twitched, her muscles locking up for a split second. That was all the slit-mouthed woman needed.

One moment, she stood across the room. The next, she loomed over Hisame, her scissor hand already mid-swing.

SNAP!

Hisame bent backward, her palm grazing the floor as she twisted away.

A heartbeat later, the scissor-blade cleaved through the space she had just occupied.

The wooden floor split apart with a clean, surgical precision.

No splinters. No jagged edges. Just a perfect, seamless cut.

Then it spread.

One cut became two. Two became four. Then eight. Then twenty.

The floor fracturing beneath them in rapid succession, multiplying.

It was one of her abilities—one that guaranteed death the moment she landed a clean hit. The only silver lining was that she was faster than the slit woman.

"Am I beautiful?" The slit-mouthed woman tilted her head, eyes squinting . Her grin never faltered. But now, something else changed.

Blood.

It seeped from the jagged blades, thick and sluggish, trailing down her fingers. The first drop hit the wooden floor with a soft pat.

Then the wood blackened. Darkened.

Then it melted.

A thick, bubbling sludge swallowed the space between them, writhing, pulsing.

"Am I beautiful?" she asked again.

"KE! KE KE!"

Her laughter came next—warped, layered, infecting the very air around them

And just like that, the room morphed.

The wooden floor beneath them dissolved into murky blood water, thick as tar.

Mist coiled upward, swallowing everything in sight.

This was her domain now.

The water churned, bubbling violently. Then, with a sickening lurch, they emerged.

Hundreds of massive scissors—rusted, jagged, polished, gleaming—rising from the depths like the bones of some forgotten beast.

Some curved like sickles, others gaping wide like the jaws of a trap. All of them waiting.

Waiting to be used.

Waiting to cut down anyone who dared to challenge her.

Asher watched with keen interest, his mind already working to decipher the mechanics of this so-called domain.

He had to admit—domains were useful. A battlefield reshaped to the wielder's will, bending reality itself in their favor.

And the slit-mouthed woman? Her power surged the moment she activated it.

Hisame straightened, drawing in a deep breath. The air around her thickened as a deep purple mist wrapped around her body, stronger than before.

Her hair glowed, shining with the same color, and her entire form turned semi-transparent, flickering between solid and mist like she was slipping between worlds.

Then, the ground shifted again.

The massive scissors, once rising like jagged monuments, began to sink. Their sharp edges dulled, their presence fading as something else took over.

A garden of purple water lilies bloomed at her feet, spreading outward, overtaking half of the swamp.

The dark, murky water cleared, turning glassy and still. The reflection of her glowing body shimmered on its surface.

This was what happened when two domain wielders clashed.

Reality itself changed—no longer belonging to just one, but to both.

The battlefield was silent—only the distant bubbling of the crimson swamp and the eerie hum of shifting blades filled the air. The other generals stood still, watching, but none interfered.

The slit-mouthed woman made the first move.

A chorus of metallic shrieks filled the space as countless giant scissors shot from the mist, aiming straight for Hisame.

But before they could reach her—she was gone.

In the blink of an eye, she was there—claws raised, slicing through the space between them.

CLANG!

The attack was blocked as a wall of gleaming scissors erupted from the slit-mouthed woman's side .

The slit-mouthed woman didn't waste this opportunity .

She lunged, her scissor-hand slicing downward in a ruthless arc, aiming to cleave Hisame in two.

But just as the blade was about to hit—

Hisame was already gone, but the space where she stood echoed with multiple whooshing sound.

That single attack generated hundreds of cuts—a guaranteed one-hit kill. And the slit-mouthed woman didn't even look like she was trying.

Asher nodded in understanding. The yokai generals were powerful, but in a different way.

Their domains felt almost like cheating, bending the rules of reality itself.

But in terms of raw destructive force, they were still lacking.