The rail yard shook with every clash. Gravel scattered beneath their feet, the sound of movement sharp and fast.
Kenjaku's Blood Manipulation cut clean arcs through the air, but the Faceless One wasn't copying him anymore. Its attacks were lean, efficient — made only to kill. Every strike pressed him harder, closing the gap with each move.
Then, without warning, the curse lunged — a direct rush, no feints, no wasted motion. Kenjaku moved to counter
but the strike broke mid-swing with a sharp, wet crunch.
The curse's arm bent the wrong way, hanging for only a second before threads of its own form pulled it straight, knitting the damage almost instantly.
Kenjaku didn't drop his guard. Neither did the curse.
It tilted its head, the faceless void locking onto him.
"Not worth the effort," it said, voice low and distorted.
Kenjaku's eyes narrowed. "You're walking away now?"
"You have power."
It stepped forward instead of retreating.
"What do you truly seek from me?"
Kenjaku's answer came steady. "Humanity is stagnant. Cursed energy is wasted on mediocrity and fear. I intend to force its evolution. Chaos will break the old order, and from that chaos, the strong will rise. The world will be… different."
The Faceless One didn't move. Its presence pressed down heavier.
"You speak as if the outcome is already yours."
Kenjaku smirked. "It will be. I've shaped the board. I know the moves."
The silence between them stretched.
Kenjaku tilted his head slightly. "So tell me… why do you think it won't work?"
The Faceless One didn't answer with words. It raised one long, clawed hand and slowly reached into the void where its face should have been.
When it withdrew its hand, something pale rested between its fingers — a blackened, mummified finger, radiating cursed energy so dense it felt like it weighed the air down.
Sukuna's finger.
Kenjaku's eyes fixed on it. The energy was unmistakable.
"Because you chase the future," the curse said, "while the past still walks the earth."
It let him see it for only a moment longer.
Then the Faceless One raised the finger again and pushed it back into the darkness of its face. The void swallowed it completely — and in an instant, the oppressive cursed energy vanished.
No trace. No signature. No proof it had ever been there.
Kenjaku stood silent.
The curse wasn't showing off. It was warning him.
And then it stepped back into the shadows, gone without a sound.
Kenjaku was left alone in the yard. Not victorious or defeated.
Just reminded that some pieces on the board couldn't be moved.