The Ju-On's form seethed, a vortex of stolen malice and ancient hatred given shape, its voice shedding the last vestiges of borrowed humanity to become a roar of pure, undiluted evil. It was the sound of vast graveyard soil falling on a coffin, the rasp of thousand blades on living skull, the bottomless void of a hatred that had festered for eons.
"Y̵o̴u̵ ̶a̷r̴r̵o̴g̶a̴n̵t̴,̶ ̸b̴l̵i̴n̶d̵ ̷m̴o̵t̴e̶ ̴o̵f̴ ̶h̷u̴m̶a̵n̴ ̸f̴l̵e̶s̴h̵!̶" (You arrogant, blind mote of human flesh!)
The ghost thing shouted, the words not merely spoken but projected, a psychic assault meant to flay the soul. "A̴r̵e̴ ̶y̷o̴u̵ ̶u̴t̵t̴e̶r̴l̵y̴ ̷m̴a̵d̶?̴" (Are you utterly mad?)
"E̴v̶e̴n̵ ̶w̴i̵t̴h̶ ̴t̵h̴e̶ ̷R̴e̵d̴ ̶R̷u̵n̴'̶s̴ ̶d̴i̵s̴a̶p̵p̴e̶a̴r̵a̴n̶c̴e̵,̶ ̴u̵n̶d̴e̵r̴ ̶t̷h̴e̵ ̴a̶e̴g̵i̴s̴ ̶o̴f̵ ̷t̴h̶e̴ ̶N̴i̵n̶e̴f̵o̴l̶d̴ ̷M̴a̵l̶i̴c̵e̴,̶ ̷y̴o̵u̴ ̶a̴n̵d̴ ̶I̴ ̷c̴o̵u̴l̶d̴ ̶p̴e̵r̶s̴i̵s̴t̴ ̶f̴o̵r̴ ̷d̴e̶c̴a̵d̴e̶s̴ ̶u̴n̵e̴n̶d̴i̵n̶g̴—̶w̴h̵y̴ ̶n̴o̵t̴ ̶b̴i̵d̴e̶ ̴o̵u̴r̶ ̷t̴i̵m̴e̶,̴ ̶l̴e̵t̴t̵i̴n̶g̴ ̷t̴h̵e̴ ̶s̴h̴a̶d̴o̵w̴s̴ ̶l̴e̵n̶g̴t̵h̴e̶n̴ ̷s̴l̵o̴w̶l̵y̴?̶ ̴M̵u̴s̶t̴ ̶w̴e̵ ̶e̴n̷g̴a̶g̴e̵ ̶i̴n̵ ̷t̴h̵i̴s̴ ̶s̴u̵i̴c̴i̵d̴a̶l̴ ̷f̴r̵e̴n̶z̴y̴ ̶a̵t̴ ̷t̴h̵i̴s̴ ̶p̴r̵e̴c̴i̵s̴e̴ ̶m̴o̵m̴e̶n̴t̵?̴ ̶D̴o̵ ̶n̴o̵t̴ ̶f̴o̵r̴g̴e̵t̴,̶ ̴w̵i̴t̶h̴i̵n̴ ̶t̴h̵e̴ ̷H̴a̵n̶z̴ ̶C̴l̵a̴n̶ ̴E̵s̶t̴a̵t̴e̶ ̷s̴t̵i̴l̶l̴ ̶l̴i̵n̶g̴e̵r̴ ̶o̴t̵h̴e̶r̴s̴—̶y̴o̵u̴r̴ ̶f̴e̵l̶l̴o̵w̴ ̷s̴e̶c̴t̴ ̶c̴o̵m̴r̶a̴d̵e̶s̴.̶"
(Even with the Red Run's disappearance, under the aegis of the Ninefold Malice, you and I could persist for decades unending—why not bide our time, letting the shadows lengthen slowly? Must we engage in this suicidal frenzy at this precise moment? Do not forget, within the Hanz Clan Estate still linger others—your fellow sect comrades.)
"L̴o̵o̴k̶,̴ ̶i̴f̵ ̶w̴e̵ ̶k̴e̵e̴p̶ ̷t̴h̵i̴s̴ ̶u̴p̶,̴ ̶w̴e̵'̶r̴e̴ ̶j̴u̵s̴t̴ ̶p̴l̵a̴y̵i̴n̶g̴ ̶i̴n̵t̴o̵ ̷t̴h̵e̴i̴r̴ ̶h̴a̵n̶d̴s̴.̶ ̴T̵w̴o̵ ̶d̴o̵g̴s̴ ̶f̴i̵g̴h̵t̴ ̶f̴o̵r̴ ̶a̴ ̷b̴o̵n̴e̶,̴ ̶a̴n̵d̴ ̶a̴ ̷t̴h̵i̴r̶d̴ ̶r̴u̵n̴s̴ ̶a̴w̵a̴y̴ ̶w̴i̵t̴h̴ ̶i̴t̵.̶ ̴W̴e̵'̴l̶l̴ ̶t̴e̵a̴r̴ ̶e̴a̵c̴h̴ ̶o̵t̴h̵e̴r̴ ̶a̴p̵a̴r̶t̴ ̶a̴n̵d̴ ̶t̴h̵e̴y̴'̶l̶l̴ ̶s̴w̵o̴o̵p̴ ̶i̴n̵ ̶a̴n̵d̴ ̶t̴a̵k̴e̴ ̶e̴v̵e̴r̵y̴t̵h̴i̴n̶g̴.̶ ̴C̵a̴n̴ ̶y̴o̵u̴ ̶t̴r̵u̴l̵y̴ ̶s̴t̴o̵m̴a̶c̴h̴ ̶s̴u̵c̴h̴ ̶a̴n̵ ̶i̴g̵n̴o̵b̴l̵e̴ ̶e̴n̶d̵?̴" (Look, if we keep this up, we're just playing into their hands. Two dogs fight for a bone, and a third runs away with it. We'll tear each other apart and they'll swoop in and take everything. Can you truly stomach such an ignoble end?) A tidal wave of pure, unadulterated fury crashed over the Ju-On, utterly eclipsing its former cunning. The entity was consumed by a maelstrom of shock, visceral anxiety, and blinding anger.
"Y̴o̵u̴r̴ ̶d̴i̵s̴g̵u̴s̴t̵i̴n̶g̴ ̶f̴l̵e̴e̶t̴i̴n̶g̴ ̶h̴u̵m̴a̴n̴ ̶g̴l̵o̴r̵y̴ ̶i̴s̴ ̶a̴ ̷s̴p̵a̴r̶k̴ ̶a̴g̵a̴i̵n̶s̴t̴ ̶t̴h̵e̴ ̶e̴t̵e̴r̶n̴a̵l̴ ̶d̴a̵r̴k̵n̴e̶s̴s̴ ̶I̴ ̶e̴m̵b̴o̵d̴y̴!̶ ̴I̵ ̶a̴m̵ ̶t̴h̵e̴ ̶c̴u̵l̴m̴i̵n̴a̶t̴i̵o̴n̴ ̶o̴f̵ ̶e̴v̵e̴r̶y̴ ̶v̴i̵c̴i̴o̵u̴s̴ ̶b̴e̵t̴r̵a̴y̴e̶d̴ ̶o̴a̵t̴h̴,̶ ̴e̵v̴e̶r̵y̴ ̶e̴v̴i̵l̴ ̶m̴u̵r̴d̴e̶r̴ ̶d̴o̵n̴e̴ ̶i̴n̵ ̶c̴r̴u̵e̴l̴,̶ ̴e̵v̴e̶r̵y̴ ̶d̴r̵o̴p̴ ̶o̴f̵ ̶v̴e̵n̴o̵m̴ ̶e̴v̵e̴r̴ ̶s̴p̴i̵l̴l̵e̴d̴!̶ ̴T̵o̴ ̶b̴e̵ ̶b̴o̵u̴n̶d̴ ̶t̴o̵ ̶y̴o̵u̴ ̶i̴s̴ ̶a̴n̵ ̶i̴n̵d̴i̶g̴n̴i̵t̴y̴;̶ ̴t̴o̵ ̶b̴e̵ ̶u̴n̵m̴a̶d̴e̴ ̶b̴y̴ ̶y̴o̵u̴r̴ ̶h̴u̵b̴r̵i̴s̴ ̶i̴s̴ ̶a̴n̵ ̶o̴b̵s̴c̴e̵n̴i̵t̴y̴ ̶I̴ ̶w̴i̵l̴l̴ ̶n̴o̵t̴ ̶e̴n̶d̵u̴r̴e̴!̶"
(Your disgusting fleeting human glory is a spark against the eternal darkness I embody! I am the culmination of every vicious betrayed oath, every evil murder done in cruel, every drop of venom ever spilled! To be bound to you is an indignity; to be unmade by your hubris is an obscenity I will not endure!)
In this raw, primal state, the Ju-On completely abandoned its customary method of entreaty—that silken, deceptive allure it used to ensnare its victims. It even forgot to employ its most insidious tool: the utterly evil inflection it wielded to corrupt and twist human logic into pathetic, self-destructive knots.
In the whirlwind of motion and malice, Krogh and Ju-On clashed again and again. Their battle was a tempest that scoured the mountaintop. The Ancenstral Shrine was sundered completely, its peace annihilated. Vermilion-lacquered timbers of the torii gate splintered and crashed down. The main hall of the ancestral shrine exploded into a cloud of splintered wood and shattered tile, while the stone paving of the courtyard was carved with a web of deep, smoking gouges from the raking Sword Qi.
Time and again, Krogh's slash found its mark, shearing through the specter's form with devastating cuts that would have felled any mortal foe. And time and again, the thing that was Ju-On reassembled itself, its body twisting back together in a manner that defied nature and reason, a born of hatred pulled back onto its feet by invisible strings of curse.
"Cough, cough, cough..."
Following dozens consecutive slashes that rent the air with lethal precision, a wrenching, visceral cough tore itself from Krogh's chest. Each hack and slash seemed to pull another year from his dwindling reserves, his skin stretching taut over suddenly prominent bone, his proud stature beginning to bow under the cumulative weight of stolen time. The swordsman's already aging features accelerating toward decrepitude at a pace visible to the naked eye, lines etching deeper like cracks in ancient stone under relentless assault.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Bam! BAM! BAAAMMM!
A profound change came over Ju-On. Its earlier façade of frantic, imitative rage evaporated like mist. Now, its gaze was one of cold and malice cunning. Its sword intent, once a flawed mirror, now swelled, not merely matching Krogh's but deepening, becoming a palpable pressure that crushed the land and soil trembled under its form. It was no longer just a copy; it was the original, refined and amplified by the collective hatred of every soul Krogh had ever sent to the grave.
"Y̴o̸u̴ ̴s̵e̶e̴?̸" (You see?) The Ju-On taunted, taking a step forward on its perfectly reformed leg. "Y̴o̵u̷ ̴e̴x̵h̷a̵u̸s̶t̷ ̶y̵o̷u̵r̷ ̶S̴p̸i̴r̴i̷t̷ ̷E̵s̷s̴e̴n̴c̵e̵,̸ ̵y̶o̸u̷ ̵p̷o̶u̵r̷ ̷y̸o̶u̸r̴ ̸S̸w̴o̶r̴d̴ ̶A̸u̵r̸a̵ ̸i̵n̴t̶o̷ ̴t̸h̴e̷s̴e̷…̷ ̷e̵n̵t̵h̶u̷s̸i̴a̵s̸t̸i̴c̵ ̴d̸i̴s̵p̴l̷a̸y̴s̶.̶ ̷A̴n̸d̶ ̸f̷o̷r̴ ̴w̵h̴a̵t̵?̶" (You exhaust your Spirit Essence, you pour your Sword Aura into these… enthusiastic displays. And for what?) The ghost thing gestured to its unmarred chest. "A̶ ̶m̸o̸m̵e̵n̵t̸'̸s̷ ̷i̷n̴c̵o̴n̴v̴e̵n̴i̵e̵n̵c̴e̶.̷" (A moment's inconvenience.)
The dynamic of the battle inverted itself with cruel swiftness. Their Sword Qi met again, but now the shockwaves that juddered through Krogh's arm carried a new, sickening force. Ju-On did not just wield identical sword techniques; it layered them with vile curses that seeped through steel and skin alike, corroding Krogh's flesh and gnawing at the edges of his soul.
Where the specter had once been driven back, it now stood firm. Then, it began to advance. Its movements became more fluid, more brutally efficient, a storm of escalating violence. Each parry drained more of Krogh's strength, each clash echoed with the phantom screams of his past victims.
A perfect, mocking mirror of Krogh's own arrogance twisted on Ju-On's features into a smirk.
"T̴o̵ ̴s̴u̴g̴g̶e̵s̵t̵ ̷t̵h̶a̴t̵ ̵I̷ ̵w̴o̶u̴l̶d̴ ̸r̸e̴q̴u̶i̶r̷e̴ ̶a̴s̷s̸i̵s̵t̴a̵n̴c̵e̴ ̸o̴f̸ ̸E̴a̶r̵t̴h̵ ̷V̷e̷i̶n̴ ̵t̶o̴ ̶d̶e̶a̴l̷ ̴w̸i̵t̵h̶ ̸a̵ ̸n̴u̸i̴s̷a̴n̵c̵e̶ ̴w̸o̵r̵m̴ ̶s̵u̸c̶h̶ ̷a̴s̷ ̶y̶o̴u̷ ̵i̵s̴ ̶a̷n̴ ̸a̶f̴f̸r̵o̵n̶t̴ ̷t̴o̷ ̷t̷h̴e̴ ̴v̴e̷r̷y̸ ̸e̴s̴s̷e̸n̵c̴e̴ ̶o̵f̸ ̴m̴y̴ ̶S̵w̸o̴r̴d̵ ̶P̸a̸t̵h̶.̷ ̵I̷ ̴a̷l̴o̸n̵e̵ ̸a̷m̸ ̶m̷o̴r̷e̸ ̵t̶h̴a̵n̵ ̴s̴u̸f̵f̵i̴c̸i̴e̷n̵t̸ ̶t̴o̸ ̷n̸o̶t̸ ̶m̴e̷r̷e̸l̴y̴ ̴d̸e̸f̴e̸a̴t̴,̷ ̴b̸u̸t̶ ̷t̸o̴ ̶u̴t̷t̷e̵r̸l̴y̷ ̷a̴n̴d̸ ̶c̸o̴m̷p̴l̶e̴t̸e̷l̴y̸ ̸e̸r̷a̴d̴i̶c̴a̵t̵e̴ ̶e̷v̷e̴r̷y̷ ̴l̶a̴s̸t̵ ̵t̵r̸a̴c̵e̵ ̴o̸f̶ ̴y̴o̶u̵r̸ ̸e̸x̸i̴s̵t̷e̵n̶c̴e̷ ̴f̴r̴o̴m̶ ̸t̴h̴i̵s̸ ̴r̸e̸a̴l̴m̵ ̸a̵n̸d̵ ̵t̷h̴e̶ ̴n̵e̴x̴t̶.̴" (To suggest that I would require assistance of Earth Vein to deal with a nuisance worm such as you is an affront to the very essence of my Sword Path. I alone am more than sufficient to not merely defeat, but to utterly and completely eradicate every last trace of your existence from this realm and the next.)
It paused, allowing the grim promise to hang in the air, a death sentence delivered with theatrical flair.
"A̷n̷d̸ ̸s̶i̵n̶c̷e̷ ̸t̴h̸e̷ ̸i̴n̵e̵v̸i̸t̵a̷b̴l̴e̵ ̴b̷r̶e̷a̴k̴i̴n̸g̶ ̸o̶f̷ ̵t̸h̵e̷ ̷E̷a̸r̷t̷h̶ ̶V̶e̷i̸n̸ ̴w̷i̴l̷l̴ ̴p̶r̸o̷v̶i̸d̶e̸ ̵a̶ ̵s̵u̷i̶t̸a̴b̷l̸y̷ ̷l̶e̶n̶g̷t̴h̸y̸ ̵a̸n̸d̶ ̷a̵g̶o̸n̸i̶z̵i̸n̷g̵ ̸i̵n̶t̶e̴r̴v̴a̴l̷ ̸b̷e̶f̷o̵r̵e̵ ̶t̵h̴i̴s̶ ̴e̴n̵t̵i̵r̶e̶ ̶f̶a̶r̵c̷e̵ ̶c̴o̵n̶c̴l̷u̶d̷e̵s̵.̵.̴.̵ ̷i̶t̵ ̴a̵f̵f̴o̶r̸d̴s̸ ̷m̶e̶ ̵a̷ ̸m̴o̵s̵t̴ ̶d̷e̶l̵i̵g̷h̴t̴f̵u̴l̷ ̸o̷p̷p̵o̶r̵t̴u̸n̸i̴t̸y̸.̷ ̵I̷ ̴s̴h̵a̸l̵l̵ ̵n̷o̶t̶ ̴s̴i̵m̸p̴l̸y̴ ̸g̶r̶a̸n̷t̷ ̶y̷o̵u̴ ̶a̴ ̶s̴w̵i̴f̷t̴ ̷e̸n̷d̴.̷ ̷N̴o̵.̷ ̴I̴ ̴w̷i̵l̸l̷ ̵l̴u̸x̵u̵r̸i̷a̵t̵e̷ ̷i̸n̵ ̵t̶h̵e̷ ̵p̸r̸o̸c̶e̷s̶s̸.̸ ̴I̶ ̸w̷i̵l̶l̷ ̷d̴i̵s̵s̵e̶c̵t̸ ̶y̸o̴u̷r̵ ̴r̷e̴s̷i̵s̶t̴a̵n̴c̴e̴ ̴l̶a̴y̵e̴r̸ ̵b̴y̸ ̵l̶a̵y̵e̶r̵,̴ ̶u̷n̴r̵a̶v̴e̵l̸ ̵e̴v̵e̴r̴y̷ ̵f̴e̴e̵b̶l̵e̴ ̶t̷e̸c̴h̸n̵i̷q̸u̷e̶ ̴y̷o̴u̸ ̷m̷u̷s̸t̸e̷r̸,̸ ̶a̸n̷d̷ ̸t̴o̴y̷ ̴w̸i̴t̷h̸ ̸y̴o̶u̴ ̸u̷n̷t̴i̵l̵ ̵t̴h̸e̸ ̸v̴e̸r̵y̴ ̵c̷o̸n̸c̶e̶p̸t̶ ̸o̴f̴ ̴h̷o̴p̴e̶ ̴b̷e̵c̸o̸m̸e̸s̵ ̷a̴ ̵b̵i̴t̴t̶e̷r̷,̸ ̷f̵o̸r̵g̴o̶t̷t̸e̴n̸ ̵j̵o̴k̷e̷.̶ ̶A̵n̴d̴ ̴o̴n̶l̸y̴ ̸t̸h̴e̸n̴,̵ ̸w̶h̸e̷n̵ ̵y̶o̴u̴ ̷a̴r̵e̷ ̵u̴t̵t̷e̵r̵l̵y̴ ̴b̴r̸o̷k̵e̵n̴ ̶a̸n̶d̵ ̴s̴p̴e̵n̴t̶,̵ ̴w̴i̵l̴l̵ ̸I̷ ̵d̴e̵i̵g̴n̶ ̴t̴o̴ ̴l̵o̵o̵k̸ ̸u̶p̵o̴n̵ ̸t̸h̴e̵ ̶h̴o̴l̵l̴o̸w̶ ̸s̸h̶e̴l̷l̸ ̴o̴f̵ ̸w̷h̶a̶t̶ ̴y̵o̸u̵r̷ ̸h̸u̴m̴a̵n̴ ̴b̸o̵d̵y̸ ̵o̴n̶c̷e̸ ̸w̷e̵r̶e̸ ̶a̸n̴d̴ ̵s̵e̴e̷ ̵w̴h̷a̶t̴ ̴p̷a̷t̶h̴e̵t̵i̸c̷,̵ ̴i̵l̷l̴u̴s̵o̷r̶y̶ ̶r̵e̴m̷n̵a̴n̸t̴s̶ ̴o̴f̴ ̸s̴t̴r̴e̴n̵g̴t̴h̴ ̶y̴o̴u̸ ̶s̷t̴i̴l̶l̴,̵ ̶i̷n̸ ̸y̵o̵u̵r̶ ̸f̶e̷e̸b̶l̴e̴ ̶d̸e̷l̵u̵s̴i̶o̸n̶,̶ ̸b̷e̷l̶i̵e̵v̸e̵ ̵q̸u̷a̸l̸i̴f̸y̸ ̷a̴ ̸p̸e̴t̷t̴y̴ ̵h̴u̵m̴a̷n̸ ̸t̴o̶ ̸s̴t̴a̶n̴d̴ ̴i̶n̷ ̴m̴y̶ ̶p̸r̶e̴s̴e̶n̴c̴e̴.̶"
(And since the inevitable breaking of the Earth Vein will provide a suitably lengthy and agonizing interval before this entire farce concludes... it affords me a most delightful opportunity. I shall not simply grant you a swift end. No. I will luxuriate in the process. I will dissect your resistance layer by layer, unravel every feeble technique you muster, and toy with you until the very concept of hope becomes a bitter, forgotten joke. And only then, when you are utterly broken and spent, will I deign to look upon the hollow shell of what your human body once were and see what pathetic, illusory remnants of strength you still, in your feeble delusion, believe qualify a petty human to stand in my presence.)
Krogh charged again, fury fueling his decayed limbs. His arms lashed out not with the grace of a swordsman, but with the frantic, piston-like drive of a brawler throwing desperate punches. Yet from these raw, explosive movements, Countless Sword Qi erupted in an instant, a lifetime of honed sword intent unleashed in a brilliant storm of Sword Qi.
The Ju-On did not meet this flurry with equal fury. It moved with a chilling, economical precision, its Sword Qi was a flickering tongue of darkness that effortlessly shattered Krogh's determined and astonishing sword moves. It was not fighting to overwhelm; it was waiting, a predator exquisitely attuned to the faltering rhythm of its prey's life force. This torture was like holding a knife to the neck, forbidding the subject to exhale, forcing Krogh to burn his dwindling spirit to ash.
The moment came. As the one breath in Krogh's dantian was exhausted, a microscopic hitch in his flow, the Ju-On struck. A powerful, heavy, diagonal Sword Qi slash descended like a mountain fall!
Krogh twisted, taking the brutal impact on his back—a blow that cracked bone and sent him staggering. Yet in that same motion, with unbridled abandon, Krogh severed his left sleeve. Imbued with a fraction of his Sword Intent, the cloth did not flutter down; it solidified into a bolt, swift as an arrow, and pierced clean through the Ju-On's chest. Hidden within the fabric were his Sword Aura Shards, a contained blast of his very Spirit Essence.
This should have been the kill. This was Krogh's best chance. But as his eyes caught the spilling black cursed tar—the Ju-On's ghost blood—hitting the ground, he saw it writhe and stir with a vile, independent life. A cold dread, colder than any blade, pierced his heart. He knew something was amiss. Suppressing every instinct to press his fleeting advantage, he wrenched himself backward in a ragged retreat.
It saved his life.
The Ju-On turned, its face a mask of serene malice. From the soil where its black blood had fallen, a raging black Sword Qi burst upwards, a geyser of pure hatred. It mashed the earth where Krogh had stood a heartbeat before, tearing a shocking fissure twenty feet deep into the Shrine's heart. The black sword Qi missed its mark, but its momentum remained undiminished. It shot straight up into the sky, a spear of absolute darkness that pierced the heavens, shearing through the thick, oppressive black clouds to reveal the lurid, bloody eye of the moon staring down upon the devastation.
The desperate fight continued, but the terms of the engagement had shifted into a grotesque, one-sided economy of attrition. Every gash Krogh's blade tore through the specter's form, every shard of sword aura he expended to blast away chunks of its cursed flesh, was a permanent loss to him—a siphoned ounce of strength, a stolen breath of life. For Ju-On, these injuries were but temporary inconveniences.
Where the creature's black blood—that vile, sentient tar—splashed upon the ravaged earth, faint, phosphorescent lines pulsed to life beneath the soil. These were the Threads of Fate, the latent pathways of the mountain's spirit, now violated and corrupted. Through them, Ju-On drew upon the remaining Earth Vein essence, the very lifeblood of the Twin Peaks. The shattered stones around it glowed with a sickly green light as this stolen energy flowed into the specter, knitting its form back together with audible, squelching snaps of reality being violated. Its chest, pierced by the sleeve-bolt, sealed shut as if it had never been touched, the dark energy within it only magnified by the influx of power.
Krogh could only watch, his breath rasping in his hollow chest, his own body a map of deepening cracks. There was no wellspring for him to draw from, only a rapidly emptying vessel. Each parry against Ju-On's now-overwhelming blows jarred his bones, sending fresh waves of agony through his cursed system. He was fighting not just a ghost, but the land itself—a land he had defiled with his killings, and which now took its vengeance through this agglomerate of his sins.
The swordsman's movements, once sharp and definitive, became sluggish, his legendary sword intent now a guttering candle against the spectre's howling storm of hatred. He was a man trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands, each retreating step stained with the knowledge that his enemy grew stronger from the very ground he stood upon, while he himself crumbled into dust.
Ju-On did not so much move as it underwent a dreadful process of reassembly. To say the thing moved was to grant the action a grace it did not possess. This ghost Krogh Hanz unfolded into his errie new posture, a grotesque marionette pulled by strings of pure malice. And the voice—when it finally rasped into the stagnant air—was not produced by any lung or larynx. It was the sound of desiccation and finality, the grating friction of ancient stone sliding against dry bone, a noise that seemed to emanate not from a throat, but from a chasm deep within the earth itself.
"K̸r̸o̴g̷h̶,̸" (Krogh,) the thing scraped, the name sounding like a curse dragged over gravel. "Y̴o̵u̸ ̶d̵i̴s̸g̸u̸s̴t̸i̴n̷g̷,̷ ̵w̸r̴e̵t̴c̴h̴e̸d̵ ̸d̴e̵m̷o̸n̸i̴c̸ ̸c̴u̴l̵t̸i̴v̵a̴t̵o̵r̵.̵.̴.̴" (You disgusting, wretched demonic cultivator…)
The words were an accusation, but they carried the weight of a perverse liturgy. "H̴o̵w̸ ̷m̵a̷n̷y̷ ̷i̸n̸n̴o̵c̵e̴n̸t̸ ̴l̵i̸v̴e̴s̸ ̸h̴a̷v̴e̴ ̴y̷o̸u̵ ̶e̵x̸t̶i̶n̵g̷u̸i̴s̵h̵e̴d̶ ̸t̸o̷ ̷f̷u̴e̷l̴ ̴y̸o̷u̷r̴ ̸f̴e̴e̸b̸l̶e̶ ̴a̸s̴c̵e̸n̸t̸?̷ ̸H̷o̴w̴ ̴m̵a̵n̴y̵ ̵f̷a̸m̸i̴l̵i̵e̷s̶ ̸h̴a̵v̶e̵ ̴y̴o̷u̷ ̷r̸e̵n̵d̴e̸r̸e̴d̸ ̴i̵n̸t̴o̷ ̸n̸o̵t̸h̷i̵n̶g̴ ̵m̷o̴r̵e̴ ̷t̶h̷a̵n̷ ̵b̴l̸o̵o̸d̷ ̸a̶n̴d̵ ̵m̴e̴m̵o̴r̵y̸ ̸b̷e̵n̵e̴a̸t̸h̴ ̶y̵o̷u̶r̵ ̵r̴e̷l̵e̵n̷t̴l̵e̴s̵s̴ ̴a̴m̷b̵i̵t̷i̷o̸n̸?̸"
(How many innocent lives have you extinguished to fuel your feeble ascent? How many families have you rendered into nothing more than blood and memory beneath your relentless ambition?)
"Y̴o̵u̷ ̸a̸r̷e̵ ̷a̴ ̴d̷e̴m̸o̸n̵,̸ ̴a̴ ̸b̴l̵i̴g̴h̷t̷ ̸w̷o̵r̷t̵h̸y̵ ̴o̴f̴ ̵b̵e̷i̵n̴g̴ ̷s̷c̷r̵u̵b̸b̵e̴d̵ ̴f̸r̴o̴m̷ ̷e̸x̵i̴s̴t̸e̸n̴c̸e̷.̵ ̸T̸o̸d̵a̴y̷,̴ ̴I̴ ̴w̸i̴l̶l̶ ̶b̴e̸ ̵t̷h̴e̸ ̸i̷n̵s̵t̷r̴u̸m̴e̴n̵t̸ ̶o̷f̴ ̴a̸ ̸j̸u̸s̸t̷i̵c̷e̴ ̴y̷o̴u̵ ̸h̴a̵v̵e̷ ̴l̷o̴n̴g̴ ̵e̷v̸a̸d̴e̵d̵.̷ ̵I̶ ̵w̵i̵l̴l̷ ̷e̷n̵a̴c̷t̴ ̵y̴o̵u̵r̶ ̷u̴t̸t̴e̵r̸ ̸d̵e̵s̶t̶r̴u̵c̴t̸i̷o̷n̶.̴"
(You are a demon, a blight worthy of being scrubbed from existence. Today, I will be the instrument of a justice you have long evaded. I will enact your utter destruction.)
"I̸ ̷w̴i̴l̴l̸ ̸i̵n̸h̵e̷r̵i̸t̵ ̸a̵l̵l̷ ̴t̴h̵a̴t̷ ̴y̵o̵u̸ ̷a̶r̵e̴ ̷a̵n̸d̸ ̷a̴l̷l̸ ̸y̴o̸u̷ ̵h̸a̵v̷e̵ ̴b̸u̷i̴l̴t̷.̷ ̸I̴ ̸w̵i̷l̵l̵ ̴g̵a̵i̴n̴ ̵y̵o̷u̵r̵ ̴f̵o̵r̴b̴i̸d̸d̴e̷n̸ ̶t̸e̴c̵h̸n̸i̴q̵u̸e̶s̸,̴ ̷p̷o̵s̸s̴e̴s̵s̴ ̶t̵h̵e̷ ̷c̸u̶l̴t̸i̵v̸a̸t̵i̶o̴n̵ ̷y̴o̴u̸ ̴m̷u̸r̸d̴e̵r̴e̴d̸ ̵t̷o̴ ̵a̵c̸h̴i̴e̴v̴e̸,̷ ̵c̶o̴n̸t̷r̷o̴l̴ ̴t̶h̷e̶ ̵f̸u̸t̶u̵r̴e̶ ̴y̵o̶u̵ ̴e̸n̵v̴i̵s̵i̵o̴n̴e̷d̵,̶ ̴e̴n̵j̵o̴y̵ ̵t̷h̶e̷ ̴s̸t̸a̷t̷u̷s̴ ̴y̶o̴u̷ ̴c̴o̸v̶e̴t̶e̸d̷,̸ ̸a̷n̵d̵ ̶y̸e̵s̸,̸"
(I will inherit all that you are and all you have built. I will gain your forbidden techniques, possess the cultivation you murdered to achieve, control the future you envisioned, enjoy the status you coveted, and yes,)
It hissed, the rasp deepening into a vile, echoing chuckle, "I̴ ̴w̸i̸l̴l̸ ̸c̵l̴a̸i̵m̵ ̸a̸l̴l̷ ̶y̴o̴u̷r̸ ̸w̸i̴v̸e̸s̵.̷ ̷H̴a̴h̴a̷h̵a̸h̵a̸h̴a̵!̴" (I will claim all your wives. Hahahahaha!)