In this deathly silent space, dozens of meters below the surface, completely sealed off by the bizarre barrier of the Prison Realm...
The air itself seemed to freeze at this moment.
"Im... impossible!"
Kenjaku's right hand still gripped his own throat uncontrollably—the manifestation of the great cause and fury erupting from the depths of Suguru Geto's soul.
But his bloodshot eyes stared in absolute horror at the red pillar of light that had suddenly appeared before him.
'That guy... he was clearly supposed to have been exiled!'
'And how can the soul in this body still be struggling?!'
A thousand years of planning.
Even when facing Satoru Gojo, the strongest of the modern era, he had never been so discomposed.
But now.
The greatest variable, one that even his script could not predict, had not only returned alive but brought with him an aura more terrifying than ever—one that seemed capable of burning through karma itself!
What drove him to even greater despair...
Was that this body of a Special Grade Cursed Spirit Manipulator, which he had meticulously prepared for the Culling Game and believed to be under his total control, had chosen this exact moment to rebel!
'Could it be... that he changed something in the past timeline?!'
Kenjaku's thousand-year-old brain whirred frantically, trying to find even a single flaw.
But he had no time left.
Because that red pillar of light moved.
Whoom—!
No sound traveled; there was only the roar of space being forcibly torn apart by some ultimate speed.
It was too fast.
So fast that even the prideful dynamic vision of the Special Grade Cursed Spirit Jogo, who was watching from the sidelines ready to intervene, could only capture a lingering dark red line in the air!
'What kind of speed is this?!'
Jogo's single eye widened. The volcano atop his head seemed to stop erupting out of sheer terror.
'This guy... doesn't he have no cursed energy?!'
In the millisecond of Jogo's shock...
Yoru's figure had already crossed that vast distance like a teleportation, appearing directly in front of Kenjaku!
[THUNDER BREATHING, FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH - GODSPEED]!
In this limit-breaking state with the [SLAYER MARK] and [TRANSPARENT WORLD] active...
Yoru had pushed the already lightning-fast Thunder Breathing to a pinnacle he himself had never reached before!
No wasted movements.
No unnecessary flourishes.
Clang—
The Special Grade Cursed Tool, burning with extreme heat so intense that the space around the blade distorted...
Shiranui!
With a terrifying pressure that felt as though it could sever anything in the world, it was held steady against Kenjaku's neck, where veins bulged due to Suguru Geto's resistance.
The scorching heat charred the cursed-energy-reinforced skin the moment it touched, releasing the pungent smell of roasted meat.
"You..."
On the face wearing the features of Suguru Geto, a look of unmaskable despair and fear finally emerged.
He could clearly feel it.
If that blade moved forward just one more millimeter...
This body he had gone through so much trouble to possess, along with his true form—the brain hidden beneath the skull—would be completely vaporized in an instant!
But he didn't dare move.
Because the killing intent locked onto him was so pure and terrifying!
It felt as if he were being stared down by an Asura from ancient myths; he couldn't even summon the thought of resisting!
"Why aren't you laughing anymore?"
Yoru tilted his head slightly, his red eyes burning like twin fires as he looked down coldly at the thousand-year-old schemer.
His voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed through the silent underground space like a death sentence.
"Weren't you laughing quite happily just now while holding that pathetic box?"
As he spoke, Yoru's gaze slowly drifted down to the bizarre cube Kenjaku was clutching in his left hand.
Prison Realm.
Inside was the world's strongest jujutsu sorcerer.
And the comrade Yoru had crossed through time and space, paying any price, to rescue.
A dangerous chill flashed through Yoru's eyes, but he did not immediately swing his blade at the box.
Because he knew very well.
The sealing rules of the Prison Realm were extremely specific; trying to destroy it by physical force...
Not only might it fail to break the seal, but the collapse of spatial turbulence could directly harm Satoru Gojo, who was 99% sealed inside.
"Are you afraid?"
Kenjaku seemed to sense Yoru's hesitation, and a hideous smile stretched across his distorted face.
"You don't dare cut this box, do you?"
"Because you know that if you swing your blade, Satoru Gojo inside will be buried with it!"
He was like a drowning man grasping at straws, frantically trying to find a way to turn the tables in his desperate situation.
"So what if you're fast?"
"As long as the Prison Realm is in my hands and Satoru Gojo remains sealed, the ultimate winner of this game is still me!"
Kenjaku laughed manically while trying to circulate his remaining cursed energy to activate some escape technique.
However, facing Kenjaku's clownish barking, Yoru simply shook his head expressionlessly.
"Have you misunderstood something?"
Yoru's right hand, gripping Shiranui, suddenly twisted!
Swish!
A flash of blade-light.
It didn't strike the Prison Realm, nor did it aim directly for Kenjaku's head.
Instead, from an extremely tricky and completely unpredictable angle, he delivered a backhanded slash!
Spurt!
Blood sprayed wildly!
"Aaaaaaah!"
Kenjaku let out a scream even more shrill than before, staggering back several steps.
His left hand, which had been death-gripping the Prison Realm, along with half his ear...
Had been cleanly sliced off by Yoru's effortless strike!
Clatter.
The severed hand, along with the eerily glowing Prison Realm, slammed heavily onto the cold concrete floor.
"Who told you I was going to cut the box?"
Yoru slowly sheathed his blade. In his red eyes, a heart-stopping mix of mockery and arrogance flickered.
"I just thought that having your hand holding it was quite an eyesore."
He looked down at the Prison Realm rolling on the ground, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"As for you..."
Yoru looked up, his gaze locking back onto the Kenjaku who was frantically retreating while clutching his severed ear.
"Haven't you always prided yourself on being infallible, treating everyone like pawns on a chessboard?"
"So now, face me—a Sword Saint who can forcibly tear up your script."
"And face the Suguru Geto inside you, who has crawled back from hell because of my intervention and is now frantically tearing at you."
Yoru approached Kenjaku step by step, the tangible pressure causing the surrounding space to tremble violently.
"Do you have any more trump cards to turn this around?"
A dead end.
Kenjaku looked at the man before him who resembled a descended God of Slaughter, then felt the will of Suguru Geto inside him—violently counterattacking and even attempting to strip him away entirely.
For the first time, a look of truly human despair appeared in his eyes.
He knew.
This chess game spanning a thousand years...
Because of the variable named Yoru...
Had completely collapsed!