-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
3rd POV (Ushiwakamaru Focus)
The city felt wrong.
That was the first thing Ushiwakamaru understood as she shadowed the blue-robed Caster through the ruined streets. Not merely ruined–cities were often destroyed in wars, burned, trampled, rebuilt. This was something else.
The air itself felt heavy. Stagnant. As if something vast had pressed its hand down upon the land.
Cursed
Not in the clean, defined way curses manifested in legends or spiritual texts–but smeared across everything. Buildings, streets, even the silence between sounds. Ushiwakamaru frowned slightly as she ran, sandals barely touching the ground. It felt less like walking through a battlefield and more like trespassing through the aftermath of divine punishment.
Had a God judged this land?
The thought unsettled her. She had faced men twisted by ambition and hatred, even crossed blades with beings who called themselves monsters–but gods were another matter entirely. She had trained under Sojobo on Mount Kurama, yes, but even that was no fair comparison. She had never seen such a being at full power.
Still.
This city felt as though something far above mortal hands had judged it.
Her eyes flicked briefly to her Lord.
Ritsuka-dono moved with a forced determination. His inexperience was loud–it showed in the way his spine locked whenever the ground shuddered. Yet, despite the obvious fatigue, he followed the Caster without doubt.
That, more than anything else, caught her attention.
Her Lord was placing his trust in someone he did not know.
From what Ushiwakamaru could glean since her summoning, this was no standard Grail War. Alliances were forming at a lethal pace. Yet Ritsuka-dono didn't question the path. He followed–deliberately.
That suggested a gratitude that surpassed suspicion.
Her gaze shifted forward again, to the man Ritsuka-dono was following.
Her gaze shifted back to the man in the lead. The Caster moved with a "low-effort" ease that only came from someone used to high-output battle. His staff was loose in his grip. He had shared no names, only essentials. He had taken command, and her Lord had accepted it.
Ushiwakamaru's fingers tightened on her blade's hilt. If he leads my Lord into a trap, I will end him before his next step.
Still… she could not deny that the Caster's urgency felt justified.
The ground trembled again beneath their feet–stronger this time. Somewhere ahead, stone shattered. The sound carried like distant thunder.
Her thoughts drifted to the name Caster had mentioned earlier.
Sukuna.
He had said it plainly, without reverence or fear–just a name, as though it belonged to a troublesome ally rather than a legend.
And yet, the more Ushiwakamaru turned it over in her mind, the more it unsettled her.
Sukuna.
A name from the Heian era. A figure spoken of in hushed tones, wrapped in contradictions–man and monster, rebel and calamity. Two-faced. Four-armed. A being who stood against the world–against the Minamoto–and was remembered for it.
And yet–
Her Lord respected him.
That alone told her that this Sukuna was not the one from the legends she had learned from the monks at the Kurama temple.
That much was clear from the way Ritsuka-dono had spoken earlier. From the way he had not hesitated when told that this "Sukuna" had gone ahead alone to face Berserker.
Alone.
Ushiwakamaru had assumed, at first, that it was a sacrifice.
A delaying action. A final stand.
The image had struck painfully close to home.
Benkei, standing at the bridge.
Holding back her brother's army with his own body so that she might live.
The memory tightened her chest.
But then the Caster had spoken again–casually, almost offhandedly–about Sukuna holding Berserker off. About the possibility that he might even win.
That had shattered her assumption entirely.
To stand against Berserker, Heracles was one thing.
To do so with confidence was another.
Her respect had shifted then–not the somber respect one held for a doomed warrior, but something sharper. Something alive.
Whoever Sukuna was… he was not–
Her thoughts were cut short as the Caster suddenly accelerated.
Matching his pace, she broke into a sprint. The streets opened up into a plaza of scorched stone and deep gouges in the earth, as if something enormous had been dragged through the ground.
Then she saw him.
A black haired man, standing amidst the wreckage, back straight, posture relaxed despite the destruction surrounding him. His clothing was torn, stained with blood. Steam curled faintly from his skin, water evaporating as though his body still burned with residual heat.
No visible wounds.
No signs of fatigue.
And yet the battlefield around him spoke of prolonged violence.
Her eyes flicked to his hands as he brought them together, fingers forming a shape she did not recognize. His lips moved–words spoken too low for her to hear.
The air shifted.
Pressure descended upon the battlefield like an unseen weight, heavy enough to make her breath catch. Ushiwakamaru felt it in her bones, in the hilt of her blade, in the instincts honed through countless battles.
This presence was wrong.
Not corrupt in the same way the city was–but alien. Absolute. As if something vast had briefly turned its attention toward this place.
Before she could analyze it further, the Caster moved.
He vanished in a blur of motion, launching himself toward a shadowed rooftop where a presence had been lurking just beyond her immediate perception.
Assassin.
Ushiwakamaru's eyes snapped toward the remaining enemy.
The tall woman with violet-pink hair emerged fully into view, chains clinking softly as she shifted her weight. Scales glinted faintly along her limbs, and beneath the blindfold, Ushiwakamaru could feel her gaze–cold, predatory, wrong.
Servant.
Corrupted.
The battlefield had already divided itself.
Sukuna against Berserker.
Caster against Assassin.
That left–
Ushiwakamaru exhaled once, steady and controlled.
Her role was clear.
She tightened her grip on her blade, feet adjusting into a familiar stance as she moved toward the remaining Servant. Whatever questions she had–about this war, about Sukuna, about the cursed city–could wait.
Her Lord was here.
And an enemy stood before her.
That was enough.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-
3rd POV
With a mighty leap, Ushiwakamaru crashed into the corrupted servant, their combined momentum smashing them straight through the concrete wall of an office building.
Dust choked the air. Ushi didn't hesitate. In the confined wreckage, she swung Usumidori for the neck, a blur of killing intent.
CLANG!
It wasn't a chain that stopped the steel. A heavy black scythe had materialized in Medusa's grip, its haft catching the blade just inches from her throat.
Ushi grunted with effort, pivoting on her planted foot to drive a boot straight into Medusa's sternum. The impact sounded like a hammer hitting solid rock. Medusa flew backward, crashing out the other side of the building and skidding down the asphalt.
She bounced once, limbs flailing, before black chains punched out of the ground behind her, anchoring her stance and dragging her to a halt.
Medusa stood up slowly, dusting debris off her black leather armor. Her mouth was set in a scowl, somewhere between annoyance and genuine anger.
"Who are you?" Medusa demanded, tightening her grip on the scythe.
She didn't know this face. But as she glared at the samurai, a memory flashed–seeing movement on the distant bridge. She had spotted Caster, and behind him... humans.
Medusa's scowl curled into a nasty smirk.
"Ah. I see," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "You're with the rats on the bridge. Maybe one of the girls? No, maybe the boy?"
Ushiwakamaru froze. Her stance stiffened just enough to be noticeable. Medusa laughed low in her throat; that was all the confirmation she needed.
"How lovely," she said, sensing Ushi's Master nearby. "You haven't just come to get in my way. You've brought me a new battery. I was running low on mana, and that Master of yours smells delicious."
Ushi's face contorted in anger, teeth clenched tight. But she didn't lash out. She forced a breath into her lungs, pushing the rage down into a cold, hard knot in her gut. She knew the enemy was trying to make her sloppy. It wouldn't work.
She tightened her grip on her katana.
No words. She just moved.
The speed was blistering. One second she was ten feet away, the next she was inside Medusa's guard.
Medusa's eyes widened behind her blindfold. She brought the scythe up in a panic.
Crash!
Steel sparked against steel. The force of the blow shook Medusa's arms, pushing her boots backward into the pavement. Medusa opened her mouth to taunt again, but Ushi didn't let up, raining down a flurry of strikes that forced the Gorgon to focus entirely on not dying.
Medusa gritted her teeth and hopped backward, keeping low to the ground to create space. Ushi chased her immediately.
"Back off!"
Medusa's violet hair suddenly hissed, transforming into a knot of lunging vipers. They struck like spears aimed at Ushi's face.
Ushi's eyes widened slightly, but her reflexes took over. Usumidori blurred in a defensive arc. Snick-snick-snick. The snakes were chopped into pieces before they could sink their fangs in.
But the distraction worked. Medusa used that split second to shove forward, driving her shoulder into Ushi's guard to push her off balance. Simultaneously, the asphalt beneath Ushi cracked.
Rattle!
Sharpened chains shot straight up from the earth, aimed to skewer the samurai.
Ushiwakamaru didn't panic. She stomped down hard, landing right on the flat of a rising chain. In a display of an impressive feat, she used the trap as a platform, using the nails on the end of the chains as footing, she jumped sideways, rebounding off a wall of a ruined bank to rocket back toward Medusa.
She came in for a horizontal slash. Medusa braced herself, lifting the haft of her scythe to block the heavy blow.
It was a feint.
At the last second, Ushi let go of her sword with one hand and dropped her body weight, ducking under the scythe. Medusa, braced for an impact that didn't come, stumbled forward, overextended.
Wham!
Ushi's kick buried itself in Medusa's stomach. The Gorgon doubled over, spitting saliva. Ushi grabbed her sword with both hands again and slashed upward.
A chain managed to snake in the way, ruining the clean cut, but the blade still bit deep. It carved a gash across Medusa's shoulder, spraying dark blood onto the street.
"Hah!"
Ushi spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to Medusa's head, sending her flying down the road. The Gorgon tumbled, crashing through a bus stop before hitting the ground hard.
Ushiwakamaru dropped into a low crouch, her hands steady on Usumidori. She inhaled deep, channeling every ounce of mana she had into the blade.
The blade ignited, wreathed in roaring spiritual energy that looked akin to fire.
She slashed.
The shockwave tore the street apart. Chunks of concrete lifted into the air as the wave of force rushed toward Medusa.
But Ushi wasn't done.
"Dan-no-Ura—Eight-Boat Leap!"
Seven orbs of light popped into existence around her, instantly forming into seven solid copies. They moved as a unit, springing forward. Ushi leaped, using the floating debris and the enemy's own chains as footholds.
One jump. Two jumps. Eight jumps.
She bounced around the battlefield like a pinball, slashing through the defensive chains and vipers Medusa tried to throw up in panic. The copies swarmed the Gorgon, confusing her defense, before the real Ushiwakamaru spun in the air like a top, coming down with a vertical slash.
Medusa roared, swinging her black scythe up to catch the blade.
They connected.
CLANG!
White light blinded the street. For a second, there was no sound, just the pressure of their clash.
The light faded.
Ushiwakamaru stood a few paces behind Medusa, back turned to her enemy. There was a grimace on her face; a shallow cut was bleeding across her abdomen—the trade she had made to get past the scythe's reach.
She flicked the blood off Usumidori and slowly sheathed it. Click.
Behind her, the Gorgon stood frozen. The black scythe slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the broken asphalt.
A thin line of blood appeared on Medusa's forehead. It traveled down, splitting her blindfold, her mask, and her armor perfectly down the center.
The blindfold fell away. Medusa's eyes, now revealed, didn't hold any of the malice or corruption from before. There was only relief.
She collapsed, her body sliding apart into two halves. But as she fell, a small, gentle smile touched her lips. She mouthed a name, soundless against the wind.
Before she hit the ground, her body dissolved into golden motes of light, fading into the cursed air of Fuyuki.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
3rd POV (Cu Focused)
Cu collided with the Assassin in mid-air, a tangle of limbs and wood. They dropped from the rooftop, gravity taking hold instantly.
Cu twisted.
He rotated his staff, driving the tip straight down toward the falling Servant's chest.
Fwoosh.
A rune flared hot white. A column of flame erupted from the wood, hammering the Assassin point-blank. The blast accelerated the fall, hurling the cloaked figure into the street with the force of a missile.
BOOM.
Cu landed a split-second later, boots sliding across the cracked asphalt. He spun the staff and planted it, looking at the fire.
"Gotcha."
He straightened–
–and pain tore across his back.
Cu jerked forward. He spun on his heel, swinging the staff like a bat in a blind reflex arc.
The wood whistled through empty air.
Behind him, the Assassin stood untouched. No burns. No scratches.
Cu blinked. He touched his shoulder, fingers coming away red.
"…Right," he muttered, lips curling. "So that's how you're playin' it."
He scanned the perimeter.
Presences. Dozens of them. Flickering in and out of detection range. Some weak, some strong. All distinct.
"Clones?" he questioned aloud. "Either one body and a mess of tricks… or you're all thinkin' together."
A hivemind, maybe.
He clicked his tongue.
"Using that here would be a waste."
This fight wasn't worth his new toy.
He slammed the butt of his staff into the pavement.
THRUM.
A translucent green film snapped into existence. A thirty-meter dome, sealing the intersection like a lid on a pressure cooker.
A Bounded Field.
No one in. No one out.
Inside the bubble, the air pressure shifted. Cu manipulated the atmosphere, creating a low, constant wind current that circled the enclosed space.
It was a sonar.
Every movement, every twitch, every invisible footstep displaced the wind.
There.
Cu didn't look. He pivoted his hips and cracked his staff sideways.
CLACK!
The wood connected with empty air–until it didn't. The impact forced the cloaked figure into visibility, ribs cracking under the blow as it was sent skidding across the pavement.
Before that body stopped moving, knives flashed from the left.
Cu ducked. He stepped in, twisting his body around the blade, and drove an elbow into the new attacker's face.
Crunch.
Another one appeared behind him.
"Tch."
Cu didn't turn. He thrust the staff backward like a pool cue. The wood caught the Assassin in the solar plexus, dispersing the body into black smoke instantly.
Movement. Everywhere. Left. Right. Above.
Cu smirked. He blocked a dagger with his forearm guard and swept the legs of the attacker.
"Y'know," he said, smashing the prone figure's skull with his boot. "If you guys are this squishy..."
He ducked a throwing knife.
"...the little lady could handle a dozen of you."
Mash had nothing to worry about. These weren't warriors. They were pests.
Annoying ones.
Cu exhaled sharp. Done playing.
He thrust his staff straight up.
Runes ignited in the air, chaining together in a complex sequence. A ball of fire formed at the apex–massive, roaring, painting the street in violent orange.
It was too big. Unwieldy.
Cu clenched his fist.
Compress.
The fire shrank. The roar vanished, replaced by a high-pitched scream of physics being violated. The beach-ball-sized flame collapsed into a marble of blinding white heat.
Dense. Heavy. Volatile.
The Assassins lunged from every shadow, realizing the danger.
Too slow.
Cu leaped. He shot straight up toward the top of his barrier. As he passed the compressed sun, he flicked it downward with the tip of his staff.
"Oops."
The marble hit the asphalt.
KA-BOOM.
The explosion wasn't fiery; it was absolute.
The Bounded Field didn't just break; it shattered outward like glass, unable to contain the thermal expansion. A shockwave scrubbed the intersection clean.
When the dust settled, there was no street.
Just a smooth, smoking crater. Thirty meters of the city erased from the map.
No bodies. No smoke shadows. No presence.
Cu landed on the lip of the crater, boots crunching on glass. He peered down into the hole with a satisfied hum.
"...Yeah," he said, rolling his stiff shoulders. "That'll do."
If one or two survived? He shrugged. Not his problem anymore.
He lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the distant, towering pillar of destruction where Sukuna was fighting.
Time to move.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
Sukuna POV
Berserker didn't wait. He didn't breathe. He just attacked.
He roared, a sound like grinding metal, and brought his colossal stone blade down in a vertical smash. The air pressure alone cracked the pavement before the weapon even made contact. It was an attack designed to flatten a tank.
I didn't dodge.
I stepped in, bending my knees to lower my center of gravity. I threw my hands up–not to block, but to catch.
CLAP!
My palms slammed against the flat of the stone blade, sandwiching it inches from my forehead. The ground beneath me cratered, sinking two feet instantly. My elbows buckled slightly under the sheer tonnage, but my grip held.
"Too slow."
Cursed Energy flooded my hands.
MAXIMUM OUTPUT: CLEAVE!
CRACK-SHATTER!
The massive weapon exploded. The spiderweb of Cursed Energy traveled instantly from my grip through the stone, dismantling the weapon. The sword disintegrated into gravel and dust in Berserker's grip.
He paused, his momentum ruined.
I didn't.
I kept my grip on the fragments of the hilt, using them as handles to wrench him forward. As he stumbled, I planted a foot on his chest and heaved.
I unleashed a burst of Cursed Energy from my sole. It acted like a cannon blast. The giant was launched backward, tumbling end-over-end through the air before crashing through the skeletal remains of a bus.
CLACK.
I didn't let him recover. I blurred forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
He was rising from the wreckage, already regenerating, his mud-soaked muscles knitting together. He swung a massive fist at my head–a sloppy, angry hook.
I ducked under the swing, feeling the wind rustle my hair.
Hand-to-hand it is.
I was smaller. Faster.
I stepped inside his guard. I drove a straight right into his solar plexus, reinforcing my knuckles with blue energy.
THUD.
His abs were like iron, but the impact forced air from his lungs. I didn't stop. I weaved to the left as he tried to grab me, delivering a spinning elbow to his kidney.
BAM.
It felt like hitting a heavy bag filled with cement, the durability adaptation was getting beyond annoying. He grunted, turning with surprising speed to backhand me.
I dropped flat, sinking my calves into my own shadow to lower my hitbox instantly. His arm whistled harmlessly over my head. From my crouch, I surged upward—an uppercut.
CRUNCH.
My fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped back.
I landed, pivoting on my heel. I channeled a max output Dismantle into my shin and drove a low kick into his knee joint. The invisible blade bit deep, severing the tendon.
CLACK.
Berserker buckled.
But he didn't fall. He caught himself with one hand and lashed out with his leg, catching me in the ribs.
Wham!
I slid back twenty meters, my boots carving grooves in the asphalt. I winced, feeling a rib fracture and instantly healed it with RCT.
I glanced at the rubble. The stone axe was gone, but the Mud bubbling off him was already hardening, trying to form a new weapon in his grip. If I let this drag on, he'd just keep coming back. He had lives to spare–Eleven, if I remembered it correctly.
I could open my Domain. That with Furnace might burn through a few lives but then what? I'd have to face an Anti-Sukuna. Can't have that.
CLACK.
Above my head, the ghostly wheel turned again.
Ah. There it is.
Berserker roared, the new stone-club fully formed in his hand. He charged, a locomotive of hatred and black sludge.
"Come on, big-guy." I whispered.
I met his charge head-on.
He swung the club. I slipped past the blow, moving so close I could smell the rot on him.
I channeled everything into my right hand. I didn't aim for the chest. I aimed for the button.
"BLACK–
A hook to the chin.
–FLASH!"
Berserker's eyes rolled back for a fraction of a second. His brain rattled in his skull. Equilibrium: gone.
In that second of disorientation, I moved. I didn't strike; I grappled. I jumped, my knees digging into his chest, my hands clamping onto his massive biceps like vices.
Cleave.
I poured maximum output directly into his arms. The invisible blades sawed through the skin, through the muscle, grinding against the humerus bone. Dark blood and mud sprayed over my face.
He roared–a sound of pure fury–and the black mud erupted from his wounds. It surged toward my hands, trying to stitch the flesh back together, trying to swallow me whole.
"Oh no you don't."
My shadow exploded outward. It didn't summon a creature; it expanded like a tarp, enveloping both of us in absolute darkness.
At the same time, I reversed the flow of energy in my hands. I stopped cutting.
REVERSED CURSED TECHNIQUE!
White sparks flew. The mud hissed and screamed as the positive energy burned against the corruption. I wasn't healing him; I was neutralizing the glue holding him together. The mud fought back, roiling and thrashing, but I held him pinned.
"Tag in," I grinned, my face inches from his snarling mask.
The shadow behind Berserker rippled.
A towering figure emerged from the abyss. The Divine General. Mahoraga.
It didn't roar. It didn't posture. It just acted.
The sword attached to its forearm wasn't glowing with its usual silver. It was a blinding, pristine white.
Mahoraga stepped in and swung. A perfect, horizontal decapitation slash.
I pushed off Berserker's chest, backflipping away just as the blade connected.
It didn't cut. It phased through him.
The Sword of Extermination passed through Berserker's waist like he was made of smoke. There was no resistance.
Berserker froze.
The wound line suddenly ignited.
It wasn't blood. It was fire. Beautiful, terrible blue-and-purple flames erupted from the point of contact. The fire didn't burn outward; it burned inward, racing through his veins, consuming the black mud, eating the corruption alive.
Berserker tried to scream, but he dissolved before the sound could leave his throat.
The giant turned to ash. Then dust. Then nothing.
The adaptability of the Divine General is not limited to defense. Earlier, Sukuna had utilized a shard of the Sword of Extermination to test Heracles' durability showcasing Mahoraga's first adaptation. Then, Sukuna forced the Shikigami to process the Mud–the curse of Angra Mainyu. The Divine General went a step further, adapting to the process of keeping the Servant tethered to the world.
The white blade was not a sword of physical destruction. It was an anti-corruption algorithm made manifest. A conceptual virus tailored specifically for this instance of Berserker. It did not kill the body; it unraveled the tainted Spirit Origin, severing the link to the Mud so violently that regeneration became impossible. A "Critical Error" forced into reality. The counter would not work for other corrupted servants as it was made exactly for this instance.
I landed softly on the pavement as the blue-purple flames vanished into the ether. Mahoraga dissolved back into my shadow without a sound.
The street was quiet. The Berserker was gone.
"Well," I murmured, stretching my healed arm. "That was kind of cheating."
I looked up at the sky, where the last embers of the corrupted mana were fading away.
A part of me felt dissatisfied. The durability, the strength–that hero was a masterpiece of violence. Fighting a mindless puppet was a waste.
"Next time," I said to the empty air. "Next time, try to keep your sanity, Heracles. I want to see what you can really do."
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
Author's Note:
Yo, how's it going guys? Good? Neat.
So–how did you like the chapter? As promised, this one was just pure action. No breaks, no breathing room, just fights back-to-back. Do let me know if anything felt off in any of them.
PREVIOUS NOTE:
[Let's go through the fights one by one:
Medusa:
This fight was mainly meant to showcase Ushiwakamaru's abilities. As for why the Gorgon didn't use her eyes–simple reason: pacing. If you notice, Medusa never actually gets a clean moment to remove her blindfold. The fight never gives her that opening.
As for why she even had the blindfold in the first place… I'll leave that to you guys to figure out. There is a sensible reason. If nobody catches it by the end of the arc, I'll explain it outright.
Assassin:
This one was intentionally short. I really didn't see a way to stretch it without it feeling forced. Cu does enjoy fights, but the situation wasn't ideal for messing around. To him, this was more of an annoyance than an actual battle–and he treated it like one.
Berserker:
If this fight felt fast-paced, that's because this is ROUND BLOODY THREE. At this point, even Sukuna is bored of the back-and-forth.
Some of you might feel that Mahoraga's adaptation is a bit of a cop-out, which is fair–but consider this first: Heracles here is a Shadow Servant, so he does not have proper God Hand. I still gave him an extra life because people on SpaceBattles asked about it back in Chapter 1, and without that, the fight would've felt like a letdown.
The important part is this: Sukuna doesn't know that.
From his perspective, if Heracles comes back after a Domain-powered Fuga, that's it–GGs. An anti-Sukuna tank. At that point, the only logical answer is Mahoraga, because his own techniques just wouldn't cut it anymore.]
NEW NOTE:
It's been a while since I picked this story back up, hasn't it? Am I back? Maybe. As you've probably noticed, I've also started another story, Of Aliens, Magic, And Superheroes. So what's the plan here? Am I continuing that, or shifting back to this?
The answer is neither. I'm doing both.
Going forward, I'm aiming for around three chapters a week on (two here), split between the two however it makes sense at the time. I can't promise a perfect schedule or flawless consistency, but I will try to keep things steady.
Drop a comment if you're enjoying it. Genuinely means a lot.
More content available on my pat - reon / st_scarface : INTER 5, FCO Fuyuki Arc(Completed) and INTER 1 and 2, 4 chapters of A Pragmatist's Guide to a Prophecy (HP SI AS HARRY) and up to chapter 4 of Of Aliens, Magic, and Superheroes.
PS: Got a ko - fi now, so come say Hi — no need to pay anything, a message is enough:Just search ko - fi stscarface
As always, thank you for supporting me.
Ciao!