Crack… snap…
The sound of shattering glass cut through the silence like a death knell. In that moment, even time itself seemed to hesitate.
Sukuna froze. His crimson eyes locked onto the impossible sight before him—the ethereal blue blade mark cleaving his entire domain in half, bisecting the sea of blood and the bone shrine. The cut was mirror-smooth, carrying a chilling, immaculate will that denied the very essence of his Malevolent Shrine.
"How… how is this possible…" Sukuna's cracked lips twitched, his voice rasping like sandpaper. "How is this possible?!"
His domain, the pinnacle of his curse, began to collapse like a dying tide.
The sea of blood churned and faded. The shrine twisted upon itself. Wailing souls dissolved into nothingness. His proud world of carnage was melting away, colors bleeding like a drenched painting.
Buzz—!
Reality lurched. The scent of concrete dust flooded Sukuna's nostrils, replacing the suffocating reek of blood. The dark red world vanished. Shibuya's ruins lay bare beneath the cold moonlight.
Yet what surrounded him was no longer a battlefield. Within a radius of two hundred meters stretched a flawless, mirror-smooth plain—grayish-white, sterile, utterly silent. Everything once standing there—steel, concrete, flame—had been erased. Not crushed. Not broken. Erased.
Sukuna stood at the center, staring down at the unnerving perfection beneath his feet. What should have been the mark of his supremacy was now a monument to his humiliation. The wind whispered across the flat expanse, carrying the faint sigh of dust.
Taisai Tensei stood dozens of meters away. He lowered his eyes, exhaled softly—a sigh lighter than air, yet sharper than scorn.
"…You're too boring now," he said simply. His tone was devoid of emotion. "Sukuna, go reclaim your power."
The words echoed, stark and clear. Sukuna trembled. Slowly, rigidly, he lifted his head. The arrogance that once shaped his expression had fallen away, leaving only stillness—and within that stillness, humiliation, disbelief, and a flicker of icy, burning resolve.
He gazed at Taisai Tensei with an intensity that seemed to carve the image into his soul.
Then, after a long silence—"...Good."
No laughter. No rage. Just a word heavy enough to shake the air. Taisai nodded, glanced at his watch.
23:04. Still early.
'Mahoraga. Mahito,' he mused. 'Mahito, especially. The one who took out two fan favorites. He'll die just the same.'
He sighed. 'After this, I'll go home. I wonder if Marin's asleep yet.'
"See you next time, Sukuna," Taisai said, smiling faintly. "Bring me something worth my time."
The air around him twisted. Space folded inward. He vanished into the void, leaving Sukuna alone beneath the cold wind.
Sukuna's face remained still for a long moment. Then, quietly, he murmured:
"Next time… I'll show you true terror."
And like that, he too disappeared.
Shibuya, another battlefield.
"Yurayura…"
Megumi Fushiguro knelt on the cold ground. Blood seeped from his waist, but he felt nothing. His chant was steady, his resolve unshakable.
Buzz—!!!
Shadows erupted behind him, expanding like a living abyss. A monstrous cursed energy filled the air—heavy, primal, suffocating. Pebbles rattled across the cracked asphalt.
Shigemo Haruta's grin died in his throat, replaced by naked terror. The pressure crushed his lungs, bending his bones.
"Wait—!!!" he screamed.
From the abyss rose a colossal figure—grayish-white skin like weathered stone, one arm fused with a blade, a face stripped of features, and above it, the spinning Dharma Wheel of adaptation.
Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General—Mahoraga.
Megumi lifted his head, blood painting his smile. "I'll die first," he said to Shigemo, voice trembling with fatal pride. "Good luck to you."
The giant fist descended like a meteor.
Rip—
A single, spectral-blue arc flashed. Mahoraga's arm stopped inches above Megumi's head. A mirror-smooth cut bisected it cleanly, the flesh glowing faintly as it sealed itself in molten light.
Boom.
The severed limb crashed beside Megumi. Dust roared up. He looked up, stunned—and saw him. White hair. Calm eyes. A presence that erased the world around him.
He didn't even glance back at Megumi. "Mahoraga?" he murmured, as if confirming a rumor. "Alright."
His eyes flicked toward the darkness. "And Mahito's next."
He sighed. 'After this, I'm going home.'
Mahoraga roared—a primal, shaking thunder. Its wheel screamed as it spun, desperate to adapt. The cursed sword flared dark-purple, tearing through space as it fell toward the white-haired man below.
Wind howled. Dust rose. Taisai Tensei merely tilted his body aside. His left hand rested on his sword hilt.
"Dimensional Slash."
Clang. The blade left its sheath by an inch.
Buzz—!!!
The world shattered.
Lines of ghostly blue light filled the air—no arc, no path, just death incarnate. Every angle, every space, every breath—cut.
Puff. Puff. Puff.
The sounds of slicing overlapped into one endless hiss. Mahoraga froze mid-swing, trapped in the luminous lattice. The Dharma Wheel screeched, spinning violently, runes flickering and fading.
But the adaptation failed. The cuts deepened, layer upon layer. Muscles, bones, armor—all separated in a single instant.
Then, with the sound of breaking stone—boom. Mahoraga collapsed in a hundred perfect cubes. Taisai Tensei sheathed his blade with a quiet clink. He turned.
Megumi stared, petrified, the will to think ripped away. The pride of a sorcerer meant nothing before what he'd just witnessed.
"It's dealt with," said Taisai Tensei, voice flat. "Leave."
White hair. Blue light. That impossible slash. Megumi's lips trembled. "Ne… Nero?!"
Taisai's brow twitched, but he said nothing. His figure vanished—erased cleanly from the world. Silence returned. Shigemo gasped for breath, madness flickering in his eyes. "Ha… hahaha!! I'm alive! I'm—"
The laughter stopped. Faint blue lines traced across his body. Space warped slightly around them.
Puff.
Shigemo's pupils dilated. His body collapsed into hundreds of pieces, each edge smooth, glowing faintly. The air filled with the stench of heat-sealed blood.
Megumi could only stare, trembling, nausea rising in his throat. The wind carried away the dust and the echoes, leaving only the silence of something far beyond comprehension.