Unknown Colony No.
Kashimo flicked his wrist lazily, letting drops of blood slide from the tips of his fingers.
At his feet, the body of a player lay motionless, without a single groan, reduced to just another piece of discarded waste.
"Tsk." He pursed his lips, showing annoyance devoid of interest. "How boring."
He lifted his head and let his gaze sweep across the grayish sky, covered by the wall of the Culling Game barrier.
"Higuruma… bastard. Where the hell are you hiding? Come out and fight already!"
But before his voice finished fading into the air—
BZZZZZZZT
A tremor ran through the entire colony. A deep hum that made the skin crawl to the marrow.
The screech intensified, climbing to an unbearable point, and then—
CRASH
The echo was that of shattering glass.
Kashimo jerked his head up sharply, and his pupils contracted violently.
High above, on the translucent wall of the barrier, countless bluish-white dazzling fissures began spreading across its surface.
They weren't simple cracks… they were cuts. Tiny and countless, appearing from nothing and crossing each other like a luminous spiderweb that covered the sky.
"What the hell…?!"
Kashimo's entire body tensed. His cursed energy burst out instinctively, releasing discharges that crackled around him like a shell of lightning.
Instinct screamed at him that he was facing a danger he had never encountered before. Something that could not be taken as just a simple game.
His eyes locked onto a single point: the center of the torn sky.
There, a solitary figure floated.
The white hair of the stranger whipped violently under the air currents, and his black clothes billowed like a banner of darkness. In his right hand, he held something… no, someone.
A shattered body hung limp from his grasp: a man in a monk's robe, all four limbs severed at the roots, his torso drenched in blood, reduced to a pitiful state.
!
Kashimo froze, and his pupils widened. He knew that face all too well.
"Kenjaku?!"
The name slipped out half incredulous. That damn puppeteer, the brain that had manipulated jujutsu history for over a thousand years? The sorcerer who had toyed with entire clans as if they were nothing but pieces on a board?
Now he was like this? Mutilated, bloody, reduced to trash and held like garbage in the hand of a stranger?
The image hit him so hard that for a few seconds, his mind went blank.
He lifted his gaze again, this time fixing it on the face of the young man floating in the sky. White hair… heavy eyelids, and an expression so cold and distant it left no room for doubt: he wasn't there to show off.
The ferocity of his fighting spirit was replaced by a terrifying doubt.
'That guy… who the hell is he?'
…
Damian lifted his gaze to the sky, calmly observing the bluish streaks of light that still glimmered across the surface of the barrier.
They were like petrified lightning bolts, cuts suspended in the air that flickered faintly.
"Nero, you cannot destroy the barrier." Kenjaku's voice rasped, loaded with strain. "It is the product of countless years of meticulous preparation. Even if you bring down the Higashi section, the others will take care of fully repairing it."
His words were followed by a broken laugh. "Do you really think with this you can–?"
"Oh, really?" Damian tilted his head, letting a lock of his white hair fall over his eyes and hide his gaze. "Then let's just destroy all ten points of the barrier you prepared with such 'care.'"
!
Kenjaku's laugh cut off abruptly. The newly regenerated eyeball bulged violently.
Ten?
How could he know the exact number?! For centuries he had hidden that detail, not even the higher-ups of Jujutsu could confirm it. Nero… since when did he know so much?
But he had no time to find an answer, as the world around him distorted.
Damian's figure became a white streak that crossed the space in a blink.
A second later, the air above the rooftop of the tallest hotel in the Higashi port area rippled like a reflection on water.
Damian appeared there, dragging Kenjaku.
With an indifferent gesture, he hurled him against the ground.
"Cough—!" Kenjaku spat blood, the impact shaking his cursed energy and shattering the fragile sprouts of flesh that had barely reached half a centimeter.
Damian did not bother to look at him. Calmly, he raised his left hand and closed it around the empty air.
Bzzzt
A strange screech resounded through the space, and in a blink, a new katana materialized in his palm.
The weapon was austere in appearance: a hilt of deep purple without inscriptions, a worn bronze guard, and a simple brown scabbard, without ornament or shine.
Damian held it for an instant, then hung Yamato at his waist. The blade rested against the black fabric of his clothes and, as it did, vibrated faintly, as if it had taken root in his body.
Raising his hand, he closed his fingers around the new hilt.
His knuckles brushed against the plain scabbard, producing a dry click that shattered the silence of the rooftop.
Shing—
As soon as the blade slid half an inch out of the scabbard, an invisible pressure exploded downward, crushing the ground like a colossal hammer.
It wasn't cursed energy… it was something different, strange, like an inverted collapse of gravity, a force with the edge of metal that swept across the entire Higashi port area in a matter of seconds.
!
Kenjaku collapsed against the rooftop floor, as if crushed by an immeasurable weight. The air escaped his lungs in a broken gasp, and sweat drenched his forehead and clothes.
That pressure… it did not carry the cloying aftertaste of cursed energy, it was something else… absolute.
And the pressure was not limited to the rooftop.
In the nearby ruins of Higashi, a sorcerer hidden behind a container fell to his knees with a dull thud, barely avoiding collapsing completely by bracing his palms against the ground.
In a dark alley, a special grade cursed spirit let out a groan, shrinking its deformed body as if trying to bury itself in the very shadow to escape.
The players of the Culling Game were also struck. Some clenched their teeth desperately to remain standing, but their knees trembled uncontrollably. Cursed energy boiled inside them, running wild, but it was useless.
"W-what… what is this?" Kenjaku's voice trembled. The sprouts of flesh trying to regenerate his limbs began tearing apart again, unable to sustain themselves under that oppression.
Damian did not respond.
His hand remained firm on the hilt, and the blade kept sliding out of the scabbard, millimeter by millimeter, and every inch revealed increased the oppression.
The silvery gleam reflected his narrowed gaze, and the pressure spread even further.
In the distance, Kashimo advanced at full speed, wrapped in lightning crackling violently. Yet suddenly he came to a halt. Lightning exploded in his palms, but his feet could not lift from the ground.
The silence of the ruins then filled with a uniform pounding.
Thump… thump… thump…
It was not a single heart. Dozens, hundreds… perhaps every heart still remaining inside. Under that force, each heart was forced to beat in the same rhythm.
Damian kept his gaze fixed on Kenjaku's broken face. The absolute terror deforming his features was so evident that even the tension in Damian's own fingers relaxed slightly. The corner of his lips slowly curved into a frozen smile, one that conveyed no joy, but the cruel satisfaction of one who knows the prey no longer has any escape.
Shing— Clang
The metallic sound tore through the air as the blade finished sliding out of the scabbard.
The last half inch of the blade left the scabbard, and in that instant the pressure in the air erupted, as if the entire sky had decided to collapse upon the earth.
The sword was finally fully exposed under the sunlight. And, against everything anyone might have imagined, it did not shine with a cold or imposing brilliance.
It was strange.
The blade was covered with reddish streaks, as if crusts of dried blood had clung to it since time immemorial, forming an irregular pattern that intertwined across the metal.
But between those cracks also emanated a burning glow, a faint radiance, like embers.
!
Kenjaku's pupils shrank to tiny points, and for a moment he even forgot to breathe.
'What…?' his mind refused to accept the obvious.
How could a sword that looked so battered, almost like a piece of rusted iron covered in scars, be the source of that oppression that pinned him to the ground?
Damian paid no attention to the disbelief on his face and turned the hilt in his hand until the blade pointed downward. Then, he raised the katana to the height of his lips, speaking to it.
"Ryūjin Jakka" he murmured playfully, "…if he tries to move, burn him until nothing remains but ashes."
The moment he spoke those words, his wrist dropped brutally.
!
The crimson blade cut through the air with a clean whistle before sinking with surgical precision into Kenjaku's chest. The pommel struck against the rooftop floor, pinning him in place as if it were a stake piercing flesh and stone.
Kenjaku barely had time to attempt to activate the reverse technique, but the cursed energy inside him collapsed instantly, snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
Before he could even process the pain, a scorching heat burst from the wound, spreading through his heart, his bones, and every fiber of his body. The red streaks of the sword glowed like red-hot iron embedded in his insides.
"...."
The pain tore the breath from him, but not a scream. His throat only managed to release a muffled gasp, unable to shape a human sound.
The sword responded with a faint tremor, obeying Damian's will. From the crimson scars that ran along the blade emerged a diffuse heat, expanding in concentric circles until it wrapped Kenjaku in a glow of semi-transparent fire.
Damian shook his hands indifferently and walked toward the edge of the rooftop without even looking back.
But Kenjaku, pinned to the ground, opened his eyes wide in a spasm of horror.
!
He discovered with panic that not only was his cursed energy blocked, but the sword was mercilessly absorbing it. He tried to move a finger, a muscle, anything… and all he managed was to feel his tendons and flesh threatening to burn from within.
Regeneration became impossible; even breathing was like inhaling fire.
"Tell me, Kenjaku… weren't you so proud of this game you planned for a thousand years?"
Damian stopped at the edge of the rooftop, his back turned. His upright silhouette cut across the horizon, unmoving before the wind that carried the ashes.
He barely turned his face, letting his gaze slide sideways toward the defeated one.
"I'll make it clear for you. Before true power, all your conspiracies are worth absolutely nothing."
The last word still hung in the air when his figure vanished.
!
Kenjaku's eyes darted frantically, fixed on the point where Damian had disappeared: An opportunity!
But the moment he tried to force the cursed energy inside his body, Ryūjin Jakka vibrated with a tremor that rattled his bones.
"Aaahhh!" A tearing scream burst from his throat. His body arched violently, as if struck by lightning from the inside out.
The crimson streaks of the blade glowed intensely, and from them poured an indescribable heat that spread through his veins as if liquid magma had invaded his body.
His organs twisted, and even his consciousness felt as though it was being hurled into a blazing furnace.
Kenjaku trembled uncontrollably before collapsing completely against the ground. The veins on his forehead swelled to the limit, and every fiber of his being cried out to escape. He tried to force the reverse healing technique, but it was useless: the flames devoured him before he could even focus the energy.
These flames were not normal. They had will. It was enough for him to think of escaping and they manifested with fury, spreading even further, burning not only his flesh but even his thoughts.
Defeated, he lay motionless on the ground. His eyes, glazed from the effort, lifted uncontrollably toward the sky.
Up there were still the bluish-white marks that Damian had left on the barrier…
His words returned to his mind, burning as fiercely as the sword that pierced him: "True power"?
His heart tightened into a knot of fear and rage.
Everything? His thousand years of preparation, his plans, his absolute dominion over the world of jujutsu…? Was everything going to be reduced to ashes at the hands of this idol?
"Heh…"
But a harsh sound escaped Kenjaku's throat, half laugh, half lament, tainted with the bitter stench of defeat.
Yet his mockery died instantly.
The bluish-white scars that marked the sky of the barrier began to shine intensely, as if they had come to life. Suddenly, a blinding radiance burst from above, spreading across the entire sky.
The light was almost unbearable, and the ruins of Higashi were bathed in a brutal clarity that erased every shadow.
The sky vibrated with a sharp sound, like the edge of a sword tearing through the air.
First that, and finally, a deep rumble. The gigantic dome of the barrier shattered like glass.
Craaaash
"N-No… IMPOSSIBLE!!!"
Kenjaku's eyes opened wide, so bulging they seemed about to pop out of their sockets. The red veins covering his sclera throbbed with rage, fixed on the sky collapsing upon itself.
"Ten barriers… at the same time?! In so little time?! HOW CAN HE BE THAT FAST?!!!"
The last card into which he had poured a thousand years of preparation, the central network of barriers of the Culling Game, considered his ultimate triumph, was crumbling before his eyes.
And worst of all: it had not even lasted three minutes after Nero's words…
________
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