"Idle Transfiguration: Instant Spirit Body of Distorted Killing!"
In a frantic burst of cursed energy, Mahito's body underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. He emerged from the writhing mass of flesh in a new, streamlined form—armored in a natural, obsidian-like plating, his forearms transformed into jagged blades, and a lizard-like tail lashing behind him.
"Kenjaku! Experience the power I perfected during the chaos in Shibuya!"
In this state, Mahito's cursed energy had reached a point of absolute density. His physical prowess was staggering; the hardness of his armored skin far surpassed the "Blood Scale" of Blood Manipulation.
"Stubborn to the end," Kenjaku said coldly, his expression unchanging.
As Mahito swung his arm-blade in a horizontal arc meant to cleave a man in two, Kenjaku met the strike with his bare palm, parrying the force with effortless precision.
The two blurred into a high-speed exchange of blows, the shockwaves of their impact stripping layers of earth from the corridor floors.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Mahito shrieked, his excitement mounting as his speed increased, seemingly on the verge of overwhelming the ancient sorcerer.
Yet, throughout the assault, Kenjaku remained detached, observing the flurry like a parent watching a child's tantrum.
"Enough!"
A sudden roar of command. An immense, crushing weight of gravity slammed into Mahito's back like a falling mountain. His momentum shattered, and he was driven face-first into the concrete with a bone-crunching thud.
Kenjaku looked down at him as one would look at a beetle. "If it weren't for your 'Idle Transfiguration,' a creature like you wouldn't even have the right to stand in my presence."
Mahito trembled violently. He forced his head up, blood leaking from his nose and mouth, but a savage, mocking grin still split his face.
"Oh... is that so..."
BOOM!
Mahito suddenly coiled and snapped upward, putting every ounce of his pent-up rage into a single, desperate fist aimed straight at Kenjaku's face.
Kenjaku, not expecting Mahito to burst through the gravitational suppression so quickly, was caught off guard. Even though he had reinforced his soul with cursed energy to prevent the transfiguration from taking hold, the raw kinetic force of the punch sent him spiraling back.
After skidding dozens of meters, Kenjaku finally dug his heels in and stabilized. Opposite him, Mahito threw his head back and laughed, his voice dripping with venom.
"Hahahaha! Kenjaku! How does it feel to be wounded by an 'insect'?"
Kenjaku's face darkened, his patience finally evaporated. He reached up, wiped the blood from his lip, and stared at the curse with eyes full of murder.
"Mahito, you have officially exhausted my hospitality."
He wove his hands into a complex seal, his voice chanting with a rhythmic, haunting resonance.
"Domain Expansion: Womb Profusion."
Mahito's eyes widened. He immediately opened his mouth, and the tiny hands within his throat began to weave their own counter-seal.
"Domain Expansion: Self-Embodiment of Perfection!"
Ten seconds later.
Mahito was crawling away across the floor, his armored skin shattered, his face a mask of primal terror. Behind him, Kenjaku followed at a leisurely pace, the killing intent in his eyes sharp enough to draw blood.
He fled, and the sorcerer pursued. It was the hunt of a wolf after a rabbit in the dead of winter.
Thud.
Mahito tripped and fell. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, staring up at the approaching figure. He tried to spit out transfigured humans from his gullet, only to realize he was completely empty.
"Don't come near me! Get away! Get away!" he screamed, his voice cracking as he clawed at the dirt, throwing fistfuls of debris at Kenjaku.
"A mere cursed spirit... what an unsightly end."
Kenjaku looked at the stitch-marks covering Mahito's body, then reached up and touched the stitches on his own forehead. A cruel, thin smile touched his lips.
"I've been curious for a long time. Why are you covered in these seams? Is there something special about the way you're put together?"
"I decided that when the time came to harvest the fruit of 'Idle Transfiguration,' I would take a pair of shears and open you up along those very lines."
He produced a pair of scissors from his robes—a cursed tool specifically forged to sever the connection between the soul and the flesh.
"Since you made me work so hard for this, I'm going to make sure you're properly 'rewarded.'"
As Kenjaku closed the distance, the scissors gleaming with a cold, spiritual light, Mahito's expression twisted into a silent, horrified plea.
"No... no... AHHHHH!!!"
The screams were agonizing, echoing through the hollow depths of the Star Corridor. At first, they were loud and piercing, then they faded into pathetic whimpers, and finally, there was only the sound of ragged, rhythmic breathing.
Ten minutes later.
The figure of "Mahito" stood up, but the eyes were different—ancient, calculating, and cold. He reached up and adjusted the stitches on his forehead. Nearby, the body of Haruta Shigemo lay discarded, his skull opened like a lid, the remnants of gray matter staining the floor.
"My first time occupying a cursed spirit's body... not bad at all."
The new occupant—Kenjaku—looked at his right hand.
"Idle Transfiguration."
The flesh of his hand rippled and churned, shifting from a palm into a blade, then a needle, then a drill. Kenjaku smiled with deep satisfaction.
Slowly, his entire form began to warp. The youthful, stitched appearance of Mahito dissolved, replaced by a man in a monk's traditional robes, with a face that looked merciful and kind.
This was Kenjaku as he had appeared a thousand years ago. He was a monk.
Kenjaku turned his gaze toward the inner sanctum of the Star Corridor and sneered. "Tengen, I wonder if you'll still recognize me after all these centuries."
The Star Corridor
"He's here."
Hakari Kinji, who had been sitting with his eyes closed, suddenly snapped them open. Behind him, perched on the edges of the shrine, Ryu Ishigori and Uro Takako opened their eyes simultaneously.
Below them, the barrier of the Star Corridor shattered like glass, and a single figure stepped through the dust.
"A monk?" Hakari muttered, his brow furrowed.
Uro Takako's voice was like ice. "It's Kenjaku. Look at the stitches on his forehead."
Ryu Ishigori cracked his knuckles, a hungry grin spreading across his face. "So our job is to take him down, right?"
Uro rolled her eyes. "Take him down? We're here to intercept him and protect the one called Tengen."
Ryu shrugged. "Isn't that just a fancy way of saying we kill Kenjaku?"
"Tch." Kenjaku let out a mocking laugh. "Kill me? With just the three of you?"
"I must admit, I didn't expect you two 'players' to side with the High School."
Ryu thought of the silver-haired boy, Yuta Okkotsu. "Let's just say we're fulfilling a request."
Uro's face flushed with rage. "Kenjaku! You lied to me! That boy, Yuta Okkotsu... he isn't a descendant of the Fujiwara!"
Kenjaku spread his hands with shameless indifference. "I said it was possible. It's your fault for being a brainless woman and not listening to the end of the sentence."
"You—!"
"Enough."
Hakari Kinji stepped forward, cutting off the argument. He looked at Kenjaku and grinned. "I don't have time for your old-school drama."
"You're Kenjaku, right? I hope you can give me enough 'fever' to make this worth it."
Hakari let out a boisterous laugh. "I hear you're Special Grade tier. In that case, I'm going all out from the jump!"
Hakari's fingers moved into a specific, rhythmic mudra—thumbs and index fingers touching, right hand raised, left hand lowered.
In an instant, a surreal, vibrant space expanded to swallow the room. The air was suddenly filled with the high-octane blast of J-Pop, neon lights, and the digital chiming of a slot machine powering up.
The Domain unfolded, its own BGM pumping through the air as Hakari swayed his hips to the rhythm. He pointed a finger directly at Kenjaku's chest.
"Let's gamble!"
"Domain Expansion: Restless Gambler!"
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