The multiversal battlefield trembled under the clash of beings beyond all hierarchy. Fractals of existence twisted in agony, timelines unraveling like fragile silk. Shadow and light collided in patterns no mind could comprehend — yet Kyuroto Mitsuyo stood calm, his eyes reflecting infinite possibilities.
Mathro, still radiating authority beyond omnipotence, unleashed torrents of power capable of erasing entire conceptual frameworks. His dagger carved through hyperdimensional layers, threatening to collapse all that Kyuroto had meticulously controlled.
Kyuroto did not flinch.
"Then let's end this," he said again, voice steady, carrying neither mockery nor malice.
With that, Kyuroto's shadow clones erupted in numbers beyond comprehension — an infinite sea stretching across realities, each clone a perfect extension of his will. They moved faster than hyperdimensional light, defying all notions of speed, beyond any measurable scale. Each clone wielded his katana with flawless mastery, every strike a combination of martial arts, probability manipulation, and paradoxical threads.
He activated Thread Overload, his ultimate auxiliary technique: probability threads intertwined with every possibility, paradoxical loops folding reality back onto itself. Each strike was no longer a single attack, but an infinite series of outcomes playing out simultaneously across multiverses.
The katana in his hand glowed beyond dimensional limits. It cut not just flesh or space, but concepts — slicing through cause and effect, dismantling the structure of authority Mathro wielded. Martial arts blended seamlessly with outerversal manipulation, each motion a choreography of inevitability.
Mathro countered with his true full form, authority stretching beyond transcendence itself. He swung his dagger, attempting to pierce through infinity, yet Kyuroto's shadow clones intercepted every trajectory before it could reach him. Explosions erupted, beyond fiction, yet Kyuroto was unaffected. Each shockwave, each universe-shattering strike, was calculated, absorbed, and folded back into the battle plan he had orchestrated from the shadows.
Kyuroto advanced, each step fracturing reality with silent grace. His katana moved like a river of inevitability, slashing through dimensions, threading timelines, and striking with the precision of a master strategist.
"Your authority cannot bind what already exists beyond all concepts," he murmured, voice calm, carrying the weight of infinity.
With a final motion, Kyuroto's clones converged, forming a singular, unstoppable strike. Reality itself bowed before the calculated inevitability of his katana. Probability threads snapped, paradoxical loops closed, and the battlefield trembled under the force of his fully unleashed auxiliary techniques.
Even Mathro, beyond omnipotence and transcendence, felt the impossible weight of control — the inevitability that comes not from arrogance, but from mastery, foresight, and the absolute precision of an outerversal mind.
The war of infinities had escalated. The final threads were being woven. And at the center of it all stood Kyuroto Mitsuyo, the Whisper of Infinity, calm, composed, and untouchable.
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