The iron-rimmed wheels of the military carriage rattled violently against the stone road.
Todd Fang sat in the dim interior, his chin resting in his calloused hand, staring blankly at the floorboards. Beside him, Arakiya was slouched on the bench. She looked small, almost delicate, with her legs tucked up to her chest.
Her wooden branch was clutched in her arms like a security blanket.
He'd learned over the past few days that when dealing with the Spirit Eater, you had to treat her like you would a guard dog, in a sense.
"Too bumpy," she complained, her red eye staring out the window. "This carriage is bad. I want to see Prisca."
"We're almost there, Arakiya..." Todd reassured.
"I'm hungry, too. There was no time to eat anything on that island."
"I'll get you something sweet once we pass the barracks," Todd promised.
He didn't look at her. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed on the vibrating wooden floor, but his mind was hundreds of miles away, trapped in a dark, ruined office on Gladiator Island.
He knew.
The thought looped in Todd's head, rhythmic and mocking, matching the turning of the carriage wheels.
The damn guy knew we were coming. He knew about the Curse Tool. He knew exactly when to strike.
To Todd, the world was a simple calculation of cause and effect. If you took a risk, you prepared a contingency. If you encountered a wild beast, you climbed a tree. But Natsuki Subaru didn't follow the rules of the world.
He had dropped through a solid wooden ceiling at the exact millisecond the negotiation failed.
He himself had only known Gustav's secret after a rather wild guess——that the Governor had hidden the Curse Tool inside his own body.
The brat had even let Gustav die, sacrificing his own commander just to corner Todd and strip him of his only leverage.
He's a damn blight... a plague... fuck!
Todd thought, his teeth grinding together until his jaw ached.
Every time Todd tried to make a logical, pragmatic move to secure his own survival, those dark, mocking eyes were already waiting for him in the shadows.
"Todd..."
Arakiya's voice was a low mumble. She shifted on the bench, her single red eye cracking open slightly. "Are we... at the capital?"
"Almost," Todd said, his voice flat. He reached up, touching his pocket where his hand-axe usually sat. His hand was steady, but his chest felt remarkably tight. "We'll be entering through the southern gate soon."
"I want... to see Prisca," Arakiya muttered, her eye closing again. "I'm tired."
"I suppose I'm tired of how long I've been sitting in this carriage, if anything."
The towering, golden-tipped walls of Lupugana were rising in the distance, cutting a sharp silhouette against the dusty sky. It was currently, no doubt, the most heavily fortified city in the world. Five bastions. Thousands of elite soldiers. A Divine General made of solid steel.
And, of course, the white-haired anomaly currently doing who knows what, who knows where.
Berstetz Fondalfon wanted him to stay. The Prime Minister wanted Todd to remain in the capital to help coordinate the defense, to use his sharp instincts to sniff out the bastard prince's vanguard.
But Todd wasn't an idiot. The military command, the Prime Minister, the Divine Generals... none of them understood.
If the black-haired monster was coming to Lupugana, then Lupugana was going to fall. It didn't matter how many walls they had. It didn't matter how many soldiers they lined up.
That damn child of war would find a way to slide through the cracks, predicting every trap, bypassing every guard, until he was standing over their corpses with that same manic, terrifying grin.
I need to get Katya as soon as possible.
Todd decided, his fingers clenching into a tight fist on his lap.
Screw the Prime Minister. Screw the Emperor. Screw the Empire. Screw this whole damn war.
He wasn't going to die for a damn crown. He wasn't going to stand on a wall and wait for that black-haired demon to slide through the shadow of a gate and cut his throat.
The moment the carriage stopped. He was going to find Katya. They would pack light. No carriages, no heavy bags. Just enough food for a few days, and then they would leave through the northern gate before the siege lines were fully formed.
He would run. He would run to the edge of the world if he had to.
Todd Fang was going to survive. And he was going to do it by running as far away from Natsuki Subaru as physically possible.
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The night air of Chaosflame was thick with the smell of red stone and burning charcoal.
The city viewed from the stone balcony of the Crimson Lapis Castle was a sea of glowing embers. Scarlet lanterns hung from the eaves of the houses, casting long, dancing shadows down into the streets below, where the quiet clatter of hammers and saws still echoed in the dark.
Emilia rested her elbows on the carved stone railing, her purple eyes reflecting the light from a distance.
The cool night breeze ruffled her silver hair but did little to ease the quiet, heavy ache in her chest.
"You should be resting, Emilia-sama."
Emilia turned her head at the soft, familiar voice.
Rem looked out the balcony door. She had left her heavy morningstar behind but still wore her spotless maid uniform, her blue hair as neat as ever.
Her face was calm, but her eyes were quietly intense.
"Rem," Emilia said, offering her a small, tired smile. "I tried to sleep, but... my head is just too full of thoughts. I keep looking at the sky and wondering where he is."
Rem padded over, her soft shoes making little sound on the stone.
She stood beside Emilia, her eyes wandering to the horizon, where the road to the capital must be lost in the dark.
"He is marching," Rem said, her voice steady and filled with an absolute, unshakeable certainty. "He is alive, and we will see him soon. That is the only thing we need to focus on."
Emilia let out a soft sigh, her shoulders dropping. "I know. But... hearing Abel-san talk about him like that... like he's just a pawn... it made me so angry. Subaru aaaalways does this. He runs ahead, he gets hurt, and he carries all the weight by himself because he thinks he has to."
"He does," Rem agreed softly. A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "He is a foolish, stubborn person. He will throw himself into a fire if he thinks it will keep us warm. He has always been like that."
Rem pressed her hand to her chest, fingers curling around the fabric of her uniform over her heart. She remembered the cold of the forest of Arlam, and how he had saved her when she had been treating him so horribly at the time.
It is because he is a good person.
"That's why we have to catch up to him," Rem said, her light blue eyes flashing with a fierce, beautiful resolve. "We have to stand beside him so he doesn't have to carry the sky on his own. I won't let anyone—not an Emperor, and not a Divine General—treat his life like a disposable tool."
Emilia looked at Rem, her heart swelling with a great, deep respect.
She felt as if there had been silent, unspoken distance between them in the past.
But here she was, at the beginning of a war, and she knew they were bound by the same thread.
"We'll find him," Emilia said, her voice turning firm. "And... we'll save Gojo-san, too. No, we'll save everyone!"
The mention of the white-haired man brought a brief, complicated silence between them.
"Gojo-sama..." Rem murmured, her brow furrowing. "Back in Lugunica... he always seemed so... untouchable. Like nothing in this world could ever hurt him. To think his mind could be broken like this..."
"It's because he's always alone, I think..." Emilia said quietly, her eyes softening with pity. "Even when he was with us, smiling and joking... he felt so far away. Like he was standing on the other side of a wall. Now that he's lost his memories, he doesn't even have that wall to protect him. It makes me reaaally sad."
Petra's words from earlier echoed in Emilia's mind.
He saved me. He didn't even know me, but he protected me.
"We have to be his wall this time," Emilia said, turning to face Rem fully. She reached out, gently taking Rem's hand. "Even if he doesn't remember us. Even if he attacks us with that terrifying magic of his. We're going to bring him back, Rem."
Rem looked at their joined hands, then up at Emilia's determined face. The lingering anger in her chest finally began to melt, replaced by a warm, solid focus.
"Yes," Rem said, her grip tightening around Emilia's fingers. "We will bring them both home."
Two girls from a faraway kingdom, side by side, on a high balcony, looking out over the red city of the Empire, ready to face whatever it is that is waiting for them in the dark.
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Al leaned against the cold stone pillar just inside the threshold of the balcony, completely hidden behind the heavy, velvet drapes of the door.
One hand rested on his hip, his head tilted as he listened to the soft voices of the two girls outside.
But beneath his thick steel helmet he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached.
His stomach sank. His stomach wrenched with a deep, physical sensation of pure, unadulterated disgust.
He didn't much like the half-elf's naive, starry-eyed rambling. Emilia was but acting a part she did not understand in the end.
But the other one, the maid with blue hair, made his blood run absolutely cold.
Every word that came out of Rem's mouth tasted like poison to his ears.
Al felt like spitting. He wanted to grab her by her perfect, neat blue hair and slam her head against the stone balcony until she shut up.
It was a gut hatred, one without any rational logic. At the moment in time he had no real reason to loathe her this much, but the sound of her voice made his skin crawl. To him, her whole existence seemed a gross parody of a human being.
As if the blind, sick adoration she had for Subaru was some kind of disease.
A disposable tool... you don't know anything, girl.
She talked about Subaru like he was some rare, delicate thing that needed protecting. She didn't know the truth, not even close. She didn't understand Subaru was a tool. A reset tool. A tool that would throw itself into the meat grinder over and over and over again, dying in agony just so these morons could stand on balconies and talk about heroics. They don't know shit.
And she, this maid, this tragic, self-sacrificing one, was the worst of all. A piece of cardboard playing like a protagonist.
Al had his eyes closed, breathing shallowly. He hated her dedication. He hated her readiness to die. He hated the stupid, fragile Oni pride that made her believe her feelings could actually change the script of this world.
"Idiots," Al muttered under his breath, his voice barely a quiet hiss against the metal of his helmet. "The whole lot of you."
He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to be near her.
If they were headed for Lupugana, they were headed for a monster.
Satoru Gojo wasn't a man you could just save with a speech and a warm smile.
Let them run straight into the wall; we'll see how much your 'hero' can save you when the sky actually falls... "Rem."
Al thought, his single hand gripping the hilt of his cutlass as he disappeared into the shadows.
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The sun had crept back up beyond the horizon, utterly and entirely unreachable by all levels of the imagination.
Far below, the streets of the wild city of Lupagana were flooded with the teeming masses of soldiers, ready for their last sunrise.
It was laughable. They all fought for freedom, even though they are chained to such a shitty world.
Freedom was one hell of a thing.
A thing that is altogether beyond his own reach, no matter how far he stretches out his arms.
At least that was his situation at present. So what if things are different?
High, high above the city, the Six Eyes floated with his hands tucked calmly within his oversized pockets, looking out over everything, watching the way they all moved, completely unaware that this was the last days of their lives.
His white hair was flapping in the high wind. He did not hide his eyes. Use was nothing. The sky was clear, and below it the city was just a big, teeming mass of thermal signatures, of hearts beating and mana flowing.
The world was a mountain of raw data to him, processed at a million miles an hour.
He could read the fear in their blood pressure. He could see the tension in the way they held their spears.
It was only noise. A million useless details of people he didn't know, fighting a war he didn't give a shit about, for men who only saw him as a weapon.
Be the strongest. Protect them.
The voice in his head was a constant murmur.
But who even was them?
Was it perhaps the soldiers? The citizens? Or even the fake emperor?
He had tried to be the hero. And he had clung to the faded ghost of a promise made by a boy named Suguru. He'd used that promise as a shield to keep the emptiness in his chest from swallowing him whole. He'd kept people safe because that's what the strongest were supposed to do.
But the mask was gone, gone now. He could not keep up the pretense.
Abel wants to win the war and have the throne.
Berstetz had gone back on his word.
The PM promised to give him answers. He had promised him a place to just exist, without being used. All a lie, and he was stupid enough to believe it, just because it would give him a reason.
Just another old politician trying to put a leash on someone way too dangerous to scare the wolves away.
They were all alike. They saw his power, and they saw a tool.
Such a dilemma; whatever he did, he would be helping one side to beat the other.
Stand with the capital and crush the rebellion. All of those faceless people who look at him so compassionately.
If he joined the rebellion and helped them win, he would be handed over to another self-proclaimed Emperor to point at the next enemy.
His mouth gave a soft, jagged chuckle. A dry, hollow sound that did not reach his bright, star-like eyes.
Why should he choose? Why should he play their game?
He did not need their throne. He had no need for their war.
If they wanted to make the capital into a stage for their petty, blood-soaked ambitions, then he would just close the stage down altogether.
He put his hands in his pockets and looked down, calmly, at the roof of the crystal palace.
"Unless I just kill them both."
He whispered the words into the empty, cold sky.
His voice was sure, with an uncharacteristic lack of conviction, too.
He didn't care if it was right. He didn't care if it was wrong.
In a universe in which power was the only reality, he had the last word on what was important.
If it was a calamity they wished to avoid.
Then he——
The biggest coward of them all. The slave to an ambition not his own.
——Would give them one they'd never forget.
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The study of the prime minister was as calm as ever.
There was no sound bar the repetitive, scratchy sound of a quill hitting paper.
Berstetz Fondalfon sat behind his heavy desk, his posture as tight and faultless as it had been for decades.
His closed eyes and peaceful, aged face gave him the image of a sleeping statue.
Across from him, the sound of feet touching down upon wood made itself known.
Satoru Gojo suddenly stood close by, as if he'd been there the entire time and had not simply warped from the outskirts of Lupagana into Berstetz's office.
"Here I thought Vollachians were supposed to be sticklers for military discipline. Aren't you meant to be preparing for a war?"
Berstetz did not stop writing. "A state does not run on punctuality alone, Gojo. It runs on preparation. I was ensuring that the reports from across the Empire I'd received were... properly cataloged."
"Cataloged." Gojo let out a dry, breathy laugh. "Is that what you call counting the body bags?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Berstetz replied, his voice a calm, even baritone that carried the chilling weight of absolute rationality. He finally set the quill down, folded his hands over his lap, and turned his sightless face toward Gojo. "Though, I find myself wondering why a guest of the Empire is so deeply invested in our accounting. Your role, if I recall our agreement, was to act as a silent deterrent. A wall that does not move."
"A wall keeps people safe," Gojo said, his voice rising just a fraction. "That was the deal, Berstetz. I help the Empire against this damn revolt, and you keep your little dogs away from the cities. No slaughter. No collateral. I protect the weak. That's the rule."
Berstetz did not flinch at the sudden, oppressive weight that flooded the room. He merely tilted his head.
"The weak," the old man repeated, savoring the word like a bitter tea. "A noble sentiment. A beautiful shield to carry. Tell me, child, who are you trying to convince?"
Gojo's features twitched. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I have watched many men play the role of the savior," Berstetz said, his tone entirely devoid of mockery, which only made his words cut deeper. "They are usually driven by greed, by love, or by a desperate hunger for glory. But you... you possess none of these. When you stand before the citizens of this Empire, you do not look at them. Your eyes are constantly searching the empty space behind them. You are playing a part, Gojo. And you are playing it with a desperation that borders on madness."
"It's just what I do——to save people, ya know."
"No," Berstetz corrected him calmly. "You save people because you are terrified of what you will become if you stop. You have no past in the Empire, no foundation either. You cling to this noble 'purpose' like a drowning man clutching a rotting plank. You have borrowed a dead man's dream—this... wish to protect the weak—and you wear it like a mask so you do not have to look into the mirror and see the empty void beneath."
The glass inkwell suddenly shattered, black ink spilling across the neat white parchments.
All of these people, Subaru, Abel... everyone, just really know how to tick me off in the worst way possible. How many times are they going to tell me this before these people realize I don't care.
"You think you're pretty smart, don't you? Like saying the same thing I've heard a thousand times already actually matters?" Gojo whispered, his face inches from Berstetz's. "But it doesn't matter what you think of me. The agreement stands. I am the one trying to keep things clean in this rotten country."
Berstetz slowly closed his eyes, let out a soft sigh, and picked up a different parchment from the side of his desk.
"An agreement is a tool of statecraft, Sir Gojo. It is valid only as long as it serves the preservation of the Empire." Berstetz smoothed out the paper. "Two hours ago, rebel forces under the banner of the fake Emperor were spotted moving toward Guaral, likely scouts. To ensure their complete encirclement, I ordered the garrison from the nearest cities to withdraw."
Gojo froze. "You... what?"
"Without the garrison, the rebel forces have entered the cities," Berstetz said, his voice entirely flat, presenting the tragedy as if it were a simple mathematical equation. "As we speak, they are seizing supplies. There is, of course, significant resistance from the local population. The casualties are... unavoidable. But their focus is now split, and those select soldiers are moving to crush them from the rear. A brilliant stroke of strategy."
"You used them," Gojo whispered. "As bait... the people I'd made clear not to kill..."
"I used the resources available to me to secure the future of Vollachia," Berstetz corrected him. "You wished to keep them safe to satisfy your own conscience, Gojo. A state cannot be governed by the fragile ego of a boy who does not even have real ideals. Their sacrifice will be cataloged."
The clean, sanitizing falsehood was gone.
The innocents were burning. And they were burning because he had stood by and let Berstetz play him like a piece on a board.
Something inside snapped.
Slowly, Gojo reached up and covered his face.
Though the slight holes in his fingers were enough to glimpse the incandescent glow of the Six Eyes, which violently trembled as his discipline crumbled.
"———"
Berstetz's brows furrowed, the oxygen in the air seeming to become heavy with dread.
"I was trying..." Gojo said. "I was trying so hard to be the guy he wanted me to be. The good guy. The hero. But you just took that away from me."
Gojo whispered, pressing his palms against the desk until his glowing, mad eyes were focused on the Prime Minister's. "You made me a hypocrite. You made me a failure. You made me a joke. So, let's stop pretending; I don't need a past to decide what I do next. And right now... I've decided that you don't get to live anymore."
He raised his right hand, his index finger pointed firmly at Berstetz's chest.
"——I already knew you were coming here to kill me." Berstetz said, his voice low and steady.
The only words that escaped his lips before Gojo narrowed his eyes.
"What?" Gojo questioned, his tone sharp.
——Suddenly, countless brambled, razor-sharp thorns burst through the wall, engulfing Gojo and his vision completely.
Despite the sudden assault, Gojo quickly reacted, flicking his arm horizontally while also utilizing Lapse Blue.
Of course, as a result, the wave of thorns was quickly torn asunder on the atomic scale and drawn into the blue emptiness that had surged in the center of the room.
Instantly, he ran toward the flung-wide door where Berstetz had moved to before; suddenly, the entire office-room had crashed in on itself in dramatic fashion——
Through the swirl of blowing dust and falling debris, Gojo levitated through the haze and clicked his tongue.
"Tsck...!" He couldn't find Berstetz anywhere; somehow, the old snake had slithered into hiding. "All these... nonsensical guys just keep getting in my way, huh."
It was well and truly silly, absurd, even, that so many people could continue coming in his way at the worst possible moment.
He turned his gaze laterally, toward the brown-skinned, green-haired figure hundreds of meters in the distance who stood atop a tall wall in the distance.
The culprit of that thorny attack, most assuredly.
Gojo's eyes narrowed as he saw his lips move in the distance, mouthing something.
Of course, the words went unheard, but he could readily make out what was being said.
With a sharp ring, marking the clasp of his hands and his fingers intertwining, he twisted the space between them instantaneously.
Gojo scoffed as he peered down at the man. "…You're not worth one fourth of me, bastard."
The man in question, Kafma Irulux, abruptly whipped his head up in the direction where Gojo had suddenly teleported.
He seemed surprised, momentarily, before his expression soon calmed. "I am aware. But my role here is not to defeat you, exactly."
He grasped Kafma's words in an instant. "A deterrence, yeah. For what, two minutes at best?"
For what purpose could a man like this, with such respectable capabilities, labor like a devoted dog for a snake like Berstetz?
"That is my role, so I have nothing to complain about, even if there is nothing but an inevitable death to greet me at the end of this all."
After delivering his thoughts on the topic, Kafma quickly raised his fists.
Although the subtle movement of his brows did not go unnoticed by the Six Eyes.
With a tilt of his head, Gojo asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Kafma sighed. "I just think it's unfortunate. Such an impressive person like you pushed into a position where you can do nothing but force your hand… perhaps we could've been comrades in a more generous life."
From those remarks diminishing, the frown upon Gojo's face considerably deepened as he closed his eyes and averted his face toward the sky.
"They all just… keep assigning me a role I don't care for——weapon, teacher, guardian, disaster… hero… but all for what? Because I'm supposed to be trustworthy, capable, and the strongest that everyone can rely on?"
It went without saying that he was not any of those things.
And he cannot abide the idea of becoming something that he is not.
"And you…" He lowered his attention toward Kafma. "I'm not someone to be pitied, you know."
"———"
With a sharp, swift motion, Gojo's sudden outstretched hand signaled the start of the fight.
A tidal wave of folded space swept Kafma Irulux off of the towering wall and out into the open sky.
Though the expression upon his face was not one of astonishment, rather, he seemed as if he had been expecting such an attack.
Thricefold, insect wings surged from his upper back and snagged at the air——the six wings instantaneously bringing him to a halt in the sky and rebounding him toward Gojo, who stayed immovable from Kafma's fist that fell victim to the Infinity surrounding him.
Swiftly, Gojo's left arm snapped upwards, parrying away the fist before his more dominant arm forced its way into Kafma's stomach.
"———?"
Though he was anticipating vomit, perhaps even for the dark-skinned man to already be knocked out, such a thing did not happen.
Amidst Gojo's upturned eyebrows, he rapidly retracted his hand and followed with a sharp roundhouse kick to Kafma's neck, which sent the man falling through the air before he upturned himself with a swift flap of his insect wings.
He's a fairly durable one. Perhaps similar to Subaru, though; if not for this shrunken body, he'd have taken genuine damage from those attacks already.
Kafma's six insectoid wings buzzed with a deafening, high-frequency hum, stabilizing his body in mid-air.
The chitin lining his neck was split, leaking a dark, thick fluid, but his head remained linked to his shoulders.
He glanced at the white-haired child hovering opposite him, clearly in thought.
His physical strength is limited, but his speed and his control over space are absolute. I cannot touch him. I cannot run from him.
But he didn't need to run. He merely had to stand in the way.
With a harsh click from his neck, Kafma threw his hands forward. The sleeves of his dark cloak shredded as hundreds of black, needle-like hairs sprang from his forearms. Each needle was tougher than steel, covered in a paralytic venom potent enough to fell a ground dragon.
They raced across the sky like a hail of black rain.
Gojo didn't even move his hands from his pockets.
The rain of needles stopped suddenly, poised in the empty air a fraction of an inch from his face.
They lingered there, absolutely still, trapped in the limitless space of the Limitless.
Gojo glanced at the dangling needles with an expression of profound, chilling boredom.
"Is this it?" Gojo asked.
He flipped his wrist without waiting for an answer.
The area around the dangling needles violently compressed. The hundreds of black spikes were swiftly dragged into a single, compact point, squeezing together with a screech of twisting metal until they formed a solid, jagged spherical of squeezed iron and poison.
With a nonchalant swipe of his foot, Gojo kicked the sphere.
It broke the sound barrier, flying back at Kafma with a thunderous boom.
Kafma's wings flexed. He dived, the orb brushing his shoulder and shredding his cloak to ribbons before obliterating a big chunk of the high wall behind him. But before Kafma could even level his flight, the air behind him became icy cold.
Gojo was already there. He didn't use his hands. He simply elevated his leg and pushed his heel down onto Kafma's back.
The sound of Kafma's chitinous shell bursting reverberated throughout the sky. He was launched hurtling downward like a meteor, grinding diagonally against the huge stone wall before he found himself immediately buried into it by a heavy fist that pummeled him further into the thick surface.
Gojo fell slowly, hovering a few meters away from the crater in the wall, his white hair reflecting the sunshine.
He gazed toward the dark hole. "Get up already," Gojo murmured, his voice flat. "I know that didn't kill you."
From the ruins, a low, rhythmic clicking sound arose.
Kafma hauled himself out of the ruins. His dark robe was gone, showing the ugly, black-and-green chitin armor that wrapped his torso and limbs. His left arm hung limply, entirely fractured, yet his six wings were still intact.
He reached out with his right hand, grabbed his shattered left arm, and, with a sickening crunch that held no hesitancy at all, snapped the bone back into place.
He glanced forward at Gojo, his eyes mirroring the child's image a thousand times more.
"You are... truly magnificent," Kafma replied with a look of true respect. "A peak that few warriors of this Empire could ever hope to climb."
"I don't care about your compliments, bastard," Gojo remarked. He raised his right hand, his index finger pointing precisely at Kafma's chest. "You're just wasting my time."
Kafma did not know what was coming, but with the chills that shot up his spine and the way the dozens of insects within him writhed in desperation, he knew he couldn't evade or block it.
So, he chose to suffer it.
Kafma crossed his arms over his chest, his chitinous shell spreading and hardening until it formed a thick, spiky cocoon around his essential organs.
He dug his feet firmly into the stone wall, binding himself to the very foundations of the city.
"El Jiwald."
Gojo whispered, his eyes burning with a cold, insane light.
The rush in mana on his fingertips expanded wildly.
A dense ray of blue light exploded from each of Gojo's fingers and hit Kafma's cocoon head-on. The sheer, intense pressure of the blast rapidly punched a hole through the uppermost piece of the wall before being transformed to dust and flung into the sky with a tremendous, roaring shockwave.
When the dust finally began to clear, a gigantic, burning crater sat in the heart of the destruction.
At the center of the crater, Kafma was still standing.
His chitin armor was nearly entirely gone, burned black and tearing away from his bleeding, wounded flesh. His wings were destroyed, reduced to burning stumps. He was coughing up dark, green-tinted blood, his respiration a sloppy, rattling gasp.
But he was still breathing. He was still standing.
Gojo drifted down into the crater, landing lightly on the charred earth.
He gazed at the broken soldier, his brow furrowing in real, furious uncertainty.
"Why?" Gojo said in a surprised tone. "You know you can't win. You know you're going to die. Why do you keep standing up?"
Kafma let out a feeble, bloody chuckle, his legs trembling as he pulled his head up to meet Gojo's gaze.
"Because..." Kafma wheezed, his chest heaving. "A tool... does not stop working... until it is fully broken. That is... my role."
Gojo's eyes narrowed. The word tool echoed in his thoughts, provoking a sudden, powerful feeling of nausea that made his stomach twist.
"It seems becoming comrades in any alternate reality was never even a possibility to begin with."
He raised his hand again, the space surrounding his palm beginning to twist as he prepared to crush the entire area into a single, miniscule point.
"Let's end this."
"Not so fast——!!"
Before Gojo could even turn his head, the dark sole of a boot smashed down near his face. The attack seized unceremoniously on the invisible barrier of the Infinity, stopping a fraction of a millimeter from Gojo's cheek.
The sheer force of the contact rippled through the air, throwing up a little gust of wind, but Gojo didn't even flinch.
Gojo snapped his arm out, his fingers seeking to seize the intruder's leg.
But to his surprise, the attacker possessed a startling, almost unnatural level of flexibility. With his spine curving backward like a flexible bridge, the golden-haired youngster narrowly escaped the hold, his hands gripping the flat face of the stone wall they stood on to pivot.
Twisting his body midair, the youngster bared his sharp fangs.
Gojo clenched his palm, pushing outward just as a sudden, gigantic stone pillar erupted from the ground in an attempt to crush him. The Limitless met the stone, and the pillar was instantaneously smashed into a fine cloud of gray dust.
Through the swirling wreckage, the round blue ball of Gojo's cursed technique drew the remaining rubble into the void, clearing his line of sight.
Gojo took a slow, deliberate step forward.
"Hah... y'white-haired bastard," the teenager snarled, landing in a crouch on the edge of the crater. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his nose, his green eyes flashing with a wild, confident spark. "As stupidly strong as always, even when y'look like a pint-sized brat."
Gojo hesitated, tilting his head. "...You know that old me, huh?" He reached up, casually scratching the back of his head. "So damn annoying."
"I sure do," the teenager growled, baring his jagged teeth in a vicious grin. "What're you doin' anyway, aye? Y'lose all your memories, and now yer too good for all of us? Standin' on the wrong side of the wall like a damn guard dog?"
"You don't know the start of it, so don't even start," Gojo mocked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Regardless... who are you?"
The golden-haired youth paused, peering at him.
The sneer on his face only grew as he balled his palm into a fist and pounded his thumb hard into his own chest.
"Garfiel Tinsel, the Gorgeous Tiger! The strongest shield there is!"
"Well, that's one hell of a nickname, huh?" Gojo rolled his eyes, his tone oozing with sarcastic sarcasm.
Garfiel took a singular, heavy step forward, the ground beneath his boot breaking under his raw, physical weight. His grin was sharp, wild, and utterly unafraid, even as a cold perspiration trickled down his temple.
He understood exactly what kind of monster he was standing in front of but didn't allow fear to control him.
"Yeah," Garfiel hissed, his green eyes latching onto Gojo's with a determined look. "So don't you go 'n forget it a second time, y'damn white-haired bastard!"