Stew

It's feverishly attacking his body from dawn to dusk. There was no rest when your skin was like that. You have constant power—and nowhere to display it, no one to proudly boast of it to.

The slash of the sword does not frighten him. The depths of Hell... Nothing... Did he fear injury?

No...

The world had gone to a point where everything was cast in a pot—you could be salt, flavoring the whole nation with commands, or you could be the water, turning into broth whenever the government ordered you to be.

Shishio, of course, was the pepper.