Crack… snap…
The sharp sound of shattering glass pierced the absolute silence, jarring and unmistakable.
Sukuna stood frozen, his blood-red eyes locked on the center of his vision—a deep blue slash mark that had sliced clean through his entire domain, neatly bisecting the sea of filthy blood and the bone shrine. The cut was mirror-smooth, radiating a cold, pure intent to sever, utterly dismantling his proud "Malevolent Shrine" with one stroke.
"How… is this possible…?" Sukuna's cracked lips moved, his voice hoarse like sandpaper on wood. "How is this possible?!"
The presence of his domain faded like a retreating tide.
The viscous blood sea, the eerie shrine, the wailing shadows of tormented souls—everything that symbolized the Curse King's absolute authority warped and blurred, like a cheap canvas soaked in water, its colors collapsing and peeling away.
Hum—!
His vision jolted.
The acrid smell of concrete dust flooded his nostrils, replacing the thick, inescapable stench of blood.
The crimson domain vanished as if it had never existed.
Shibuya's ruins lay exposed under the pale moonlight once more.
But the scene before him was no longer a battlefield littered with broken walls and debris.
Centered around Sukuna, a massive, 200-meter-radius plain stretched out.
No rebar, no concrete, no twisted vehicles or burning shop remnants.
Just an endless, mirror-smooth, gray-white surface, as if polished by the finest grinder.
Flat. Silent. As if every protruding object in the area had been obliterated in that earth-shattering slash, leaving not a single bump above the ground.
Sukuna stood at the heart of this eerily silent plain.
He lowered his head slightly, staring at the ground beneath his feet—a masterpiece as if a god had flattened the earth. This should've been the aftermath of his domain's relentless slashes, but instead, it stood as humiliating proof of his opponent's single, domain-shattering cut.
This plain was both evidence of his domain's existence and undeniable proof that his slashes had been utterly crushed.
A faint breeze swirled fine dust around his feet, letting out a soft, mournful whine.
Gaio stood quietly dozens of meters away.
His eyelids drooped as he looked at the frozen Sukuna, letting out a barely audible sigh.
That faint sigh, light as it was, cut deeper than any mockery.
"…You're too boring right now," Gaio's voice was flat, stating an obvious fact. "Sukuna, go get your full power."
His words echoed clearly across the silent plain.
Sukuna's body jolted.
Slowly, stiffly, he raised his head. The signature mix of arrogance, savagery, and untouchable pride on his face was gone, replaced by a heavy, almost petrified expression.
The pure destructive urge in his crimson eyes faded, replaced by a storm of humiliation, shock, and… a spark of icy, burning resolve forcibly ignited.
He stared at Gaio, as if trying to etch the figure who'd so casually shattered his millennium-long pride into the depths of his soul.
The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
"…Fine."
A single word rumbled from Sukuna's throat—dry, raspy, yet heavy as a mountain.
No maniacal laughter, no roars.
That one word carried the ignited flames of the Curse King's war and an unprecedented… acknowledgment.
Gaio nodded slightly at Sukuna's response, then glanced at his wristwatch.
11:04 PM. Still early.
His thoughts wandered: Anything else interesting around here? Oh, right, Mahoraga and Mahito. Especially Mahito—that guy took out two of Jujutsu Kaisen's most popular characters.
He sighed again, knowing that both Mahoraga and Mahito would likely meet the same fate: sliced to pieces by his Dimensional Slash.
Once I deal with those two, I'll head home. Wonder if Marin's asleep yet. His gaze returned to Sukuna.
Sukuna was still staring at him, unblinking.
Gaio gave a small smile. "See you next time, Sukuna. Hope you'll be more entertaining then."
With that, the air around him shimmered, space twisting as his figure was swallowed into endless darkness, vanishing without a trace in the blink of an eye, leaving Sukuna alone at the center of the desolate plain.
Sukuna's expression was unreadable, complex. After a long pause, he muttered under his breath, "Next time… I'll show you true terror."
With a flicker, he too vanished, leaving only the howling wind to recount the earth-shaking clash that had just occurred.
Shibuya, another battlefield.
"Burube, yurayura."
Fushiguro Megumi knelt on the cold ground, warm, sticky blood seeping from the wound at his waist. He felt no pain. Each syllable he uttered carried a resolute weight, echoing through the silent streets.
Hum—!!!
The shadows behind Fushiguro surged, boiling and expanding like a gateway to the abyss.
A massive, chaotic surge of raw, destructive cursed energy descended! The air was sucked dry, tiny pebbles on the ground trembling like grains in a sieve.
Choso's ferocious grin froze, replaced by indescribable shock and fear.
The sheer weight of that cursed energy pressed down like a tangible mountain, his bones groaning under the strain.
"Wait—!!!" Choso managed to choke out a single, fear-warped syllable.
From the shadows, a colossal figure slowly rose.
It had a humanoid silhouette but was covered in rough, stone-like gray-white skin. Its right forearm bore a single-handed sword, its face devoid of eyes, nose, or ears.
Two pairs of wing-like keratinous growths extended from where eyes would be, stretching toward the back of its head. Its lipless mouth revealed red gums and teeth.
Above its head floated a wheel-like object, resembling a ship's helm, occasionally letting out a faint ding-dong as it swayed.
This towering, muscle-bound creature, over three meters tall, was the Zen'in family's strongest shikigami from the Ten Shadows Technique.
The Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General—Mahoraga!
Fushiguro raised his head, his pale face twisting into a proud smirk, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
He looked at the petrified Choso, his voice laced with a martyr's mockery: "I'm off to die first. You do your best."
The moment his words fell—
A massive arm, accompanied by a terrifying shriek that tore through the air like a falling meteor, swung down toward the tiny Fushiguro below!
The aura of death froze his blood.
He could feel the vicious wind from that giant fist slicing his skin.
At that critical moment—
Shing!
A faint, impossibly sharp blue arc of light sliced into the path of Mahoraga's descending arm without warning.
Fast!
A soft, almost imperceptible sound, like the sharpest paper cutter slicing through cardstock.
Thud!
Mahoraga's mountain-crushing arm halted abruptly, less than half a meter from Fushiguro's head.
A mirror-smooth cut appeared across the middle of its massive arm.
The cut revealed stone-like gray muscle and hard bone, all cleanly severed.
The severed surface gleamed, reflecting distant flames.
Boom!
The massive arm fell like a collapsing boulder, crashing beside Fushiguro with a dull thud, kicking up a wave of dust and rock debris that nearly choked him.
Fushiguro's pupils dilated, his resolute, sacrificial smirk freezing. His mind went blank.
What just happened?!
Mahoraga's movements stilled for a brief moment, its head tilting slightly as if "staring" at its severed arm.
A figure had appeared, standing between Fushiguro and the terrifying shikigami.
White hair. A tall, unyielding silhouette.
Gaio.
He didn't even glance back at the stunned Fushiguro. His eyes remained half-lidded, as if he'd merely brushed dust off his sleeve.
"Mahoraga?" His voice was calm, almost bored, like confirming an insignificant name. "Alright, since we've met."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze briefly flicking to Choso, who was slumped on the ground, paralyzed with fear and losing control of his bodily functions.
"And… Mahito."
Gaio's eyes shifted to the darkness in the distance, his wrist lifting slightly.
Take care of these two, and I can head home.
"ROAR—!!!"
Mahoraga's lipless maw let out a thunderous bellow. The wound on its severed left arm writhed with regenerating flesh, but some lingering cutting intent stopped it cold.
Hum!
Its remaining right arm shot up, the spiral sword—etched with ancient exorcism runes and radiating an ominous aura—bursting with blinding dark purple cursed energy.
The air churned and tore like thick liquid. The sword's tip strained the space itself, groaning under the pressure.
No flourish, just raw power and destruction. The giant sword ripped through the atmosphere, bearing down on the small white-haired figure with crushing force.
The wind from the swing whipped Gaio's hair and clothes wildly.
He didn't even look up at the descending blade.
He simply sidestepped, avoiding the sword's direct path.
His left hand, unnoticed until now, rested steadily on Yama's handle at his waist. His fingers tightened.
"Dimensional Slash."
A soft whisper.
Clang—!!!
Yama unsheathed an inch.
Hum—!!!!
In an instant, the space in a fan-shaped area around Gaio shattered like a frozen lake struck by a boulder.
Countless crisscrossing blue slashes appeared out of nowhere—no trajectory, no sequence, forming a deathly web of absolute cuts that enveloped the sky and earth.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud—!!!
A rapid, scalp-tingling series of slicing sounds rang out like rain on banana leaves, striking Mahoraga's massive body all at once.
Its sword-swinging motion froze.
It hung in midair, pinned like an insect in amber. The exorcism sword, carrying unstoppable force, stopped mere millimeters from Gaio's head, unable to advance further.
Crack-crack-crack—!!!
The wheel-like "Dharma Wheel" above Mahoraga's head let out a teeth-grinding screech, as if countless precision gears had been forcibly jammed.
The wheel trembled and spun wildly, its complex runes flickering on and off, desperately trying to analyze and adapt to the destructive cuts filling the space.
But it was futile.
The blue slash marks seared into Mahoraga's stone-like skin, cutting deep into its muscles, bones, and joints. Every intersection was a perfectly smooth cut.
Mahoraga's massive body, along with its raised exorcism sword, was sliced into hundreds of mirror-smooth cubes, as if measured by an invisible ruler.
The cuts glimmered with faint blue light, sealing the surging cursed energy within.
Boom—!!!
The massive chunks of flesh and sword fragments collapsed like a toppled pile of blocks, crashing between Fushiguro and Gaio, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Clink.
Yama slid back into its sheath.
Gaio turned slowly, his gaze landing on Fushiguro, who was kneeling, blood-soaked, pale as a statue.
"Done." His voice was steady, stating a simple fact. "Get out of here."
Fushiguro's mind had shut down.
The pride, resolve, and martyr-like defiance on his face were obliterated by the sight of the mythical shikigami being dismembered in an instant.
He raised his head stiffly, his trembling pupils locking onto Gaio's face.
An absurd realization jolted through his nerves like lightning.
White hair… that terrifying slash…
A name slipped from his blood-drained, parched throat, trembling with disbelief: "Ne… Nero?!"
Gaio's brow twitched faintly.
He didn't answer Fushiguro's question or even pause.
His figure vanished like it had been erased, leaving only a brief ripple in the air before the silence returned.
All that remained was Fushiguro's heavy breathing, Choso slumped on the ground, and the pile of Mahoraga's fragments—edges glowing faintly blue—slowly sinking into the shadows.
The stench of blood, dust, and the scorched smell of sliced space mingled, nauseating.
A surge of post-battle euphoria hit Choso, shattering his fear-paralyzed nerves.
Scrambling with hands and feet, he tried to stand, his terrified expression twisting into crazed, almost deranged joy.
"Ha… haha… HAHA!!" A dry, grating laugh burst from his throat, mixed with the sound of swallowing saliva. "I'm… I'm alive! I survived—!"
His last syllable cut off like a strangled duck.
Choso's body froze.
The manic grin on his face turned to stone, replaced by confusion and disbelief.
Slowly, sluggishly, he looked down at his body.
Fushiguro, dazed, raised his head just in time to witness the eerie scene: Choso stood rigid, staring at his chest, arms, and waist as if they weren't his own.
In Fushiguro's view, countless faint, thin blue lines had appeared on Choso's exposed skin, crisscrossing like a precise grid enveloping him.
The edges of the lines warped the space slightly, unnaturally.
Were those… lingering blade marks?
A colder, deeper chill than facing Mahoraga gripped Fushiguro's heart.
"No…" A faint, terrified gasp escaped Choso's throat.
The next second—
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Like countless piano strings snapping at once.
Soft, rapid slicing sounds erupted across Choso's body, so faint they were nearly drowned by a heartbeat.
His pupils dilated to their limit, his face frozen in pure fear and confusion.
Then, in Fushiguro's eyes, Choso's body—along with his tattered clothes—disintegrated as if carved by an invisible, nanometer-precise scalpel.
Along those blue lines—
His head, torso, limbs… all collapsed in an instant.
No gushing blood (each cut was sealed by instantaneous heat and spatial force), only mirror-smooth surfaces faintly glowing blue.
His body fell apart like a toy tower kicked over by a child, scattering in a muffled crash.
Hundreds of variously shaped, perfectly cut "parts," mixed with a few neatly sliced cloth scraps, littered the ground like disassembled components.
A fragment of his head, frozen in a distorted mask of ultimate fear, stared blankly at the sky.
The sickly-sweet stench of blood finally spread, suffocatingly thick.
Fushiguro clapped a hand over his mouth, a violent gag rising in his throat. His trembling pupils couldn't focus.
The last shred of relief he'd felt was crushed by this silent, grotesque dismemberment. Fear flooded his consciousness like icy water.