Story:

Nobunaga and Shiro led the miko sweeping in from the south-west—hammering into the demon flank while the Uesugi cavalry held the north—and the pincer closed on the demon horde like a jaw.

The miko were few, barely sixty—but they were the shrine's best, every one of them stronger than ordinary samurai, each raised from girlhood in the arts of dealing with demons, and the horde discovered it at the point of contact:

Suppression wards detonating on impact, talisman volleys detonating whole ranks into black mist, naginata lines holding discipline where lances had shattered.

And at the jaw's hinge, the two biggest problems.

Yoshiro was dominating the battlefield—an entire army's worth of demolition in one grinning body—and it was for him, specifically, that Nobunaga and Shiro charged side by side, red armor and red staff, sword and holy thunder, cutting a straight line through the surrounding demons to reach him.

Ai and Mai flew flanking escort, twin blades of dawnlight clearing the demon fighters around their path in whirling arcs of blue and red so their seniors need never break stride.

The collision was thunderous. Yoshiro's axe against Heshikiri; Yoshiro's tentacles against Shiro's new staff; the demon lord roaring with laughter as he took on a warlord and a battle miko at once—

Laughing right up until the moment Nobunaga's blade finally slipped past the axe and Mai's glowing edge came from the other side, and the two of them cut the demon lord into pieces.

Yoshiro's split bodies fell writhing—and before they could reknit, Shiro and Ai descended together, red staff and blue dawnlight pouring holy mana, and burned the pieces—searing each fragment to ash before it could reassemble, until the mask's grin charred and crumbled.