The guardian barrier in Nagoya pulsed steadily, its surface reflecting the afternoon sky like a placid lake. Inside, Geto Suguru sat beside Kamo Itsuki's clone, resting after the morning's work. The Cursed Spirits attracted by the barrier had been dealt with—absorbed, specifically, into Geto's newly empty collection.
It had been years since he had felt this particular void. Kenjaku had taken everything, devoured every Cursed Spirit Geto had spent years collecting. The absence had been... uncomfortable. Like missing a limb, like silence after a lifetime of noise.
So he had absorbed indiscriminately. Weak spirits, strong spirits, useful and useless alike—all of them found their way into his storage. Quantity over quality, for once.
The problem was the taste.
Under Kamo Itsuki's modifications, absorbing Cursed Spirits had become less like swallowing broken glass and more like drinking coffee. Smooth. Palatable. Even pleasant.
But too much coffee, even good coffee, left a bitter aftertaste.
"Itsuki." Geto leaned back, staring at the sky. "Can you change the taste of the Cursed Spirits? I'm getting tired of coffee."
Kamo's clone raised an eyebrow. "Sure. What flavor do you want? This is just a clone, but I can manage that much."
With Kamo Itsuki's current abilities, he could fundamentally alter the nature of Cursed Spirits themselves—change their taste at a conceptual level. But that required his main body. A clone could only modify Geto's perception, his sense of taste.
For Geto's purposes, it was the same.
"Clear water," Geto said after a moment. "Tasteless. I won't get tired of it, no matter how many I absorb."
"Done."
The clone's hand rested on Geto's shoulder, and the world shifted—subtly, imperceptibly. The phantom taste of coffee faded. In its place, nothing. Clean. Neutral. Perfect.
Geto breathed out. "Much better."
He looked at the sky, at the empty space where the super cursed womb had hung earlier. "How is Kenjaku? Has your main body dealt with him?"
"The main body went to handle it. I don't know the result yet." The clone pointed upward. "But the cursed womb is gone. That's a good sign."
"Your main body must have moved it. Too dangerous to keep over Japan."
"It was always the plan. The battle, when it comes, will be... destructive." The clone's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "Better to have it elsewhere."
Geto was quiet for a moment. "A cursed womb formed from the cursed energy of everyone in Japan. Do you have confidence?"
"Maybe." The clone's lips curved. "I don't know what Kenjaku created. But I have preparations. I always have preparations."
"At this point, I can only leave it to you." Geto's voice was soft. "If you can't handle it, no one else has any hope."
The clone did not respond. There was nothing to say.
The earth trembled.
Not the gentle sway of a natural earthquake, but a violent, purposeful shaking—as if something beneath the ground was pushing upward, trying to break through.
"Earthquake?" Geto rose, his hand already reaching for the spirit-slaying sword at his side.
"Not an earthquake." Kamo's clone was already moving, pulling Geto toward the barrier's interior. "Enemy Cursed Technique. Coming fast."
They crossed the barrier's threshold just as the world erupted.
Magma.
Not the slow, viscous flow of a volcanic eruption, but a geyser—a column of molten rock and superheated gas that blasted upward from beneath the guardian barrier, engulfing it in an instant. The flames roared, consuming the sky, turning day to twilight. Smoke boiled upward, thick enough to blot out the sun.
Buildings that had stood for decades folded. Walls crumbled. Glass shattered. The shockwave flattened everything within a hundred meters, leaving only the guardian barrier standing—a perfect dome of light in a sea of destruction.
Inside, Geto watched the flames wash over the barrier's surface. He did not flinch.
The barrier did not crack.
Kamo Itsuki had applied the principles of the Limitless Cursed Technique to its construction. The flames approached, but they would never reach. The closer they came, the slower they moved, until they simply... stopped. Piled against the barrier's surface like waves against an infinite shore.
The eruption subsided.
From the smoke, a figure emerged.
He was old—or at least, he looked old. One eye gleamed from a weathered face, the other lost somewhere in the scars that crossed his features. A volcano grew from his head, its crater still smoking, still glowing with residual heat. His body was small, almost frail, but the power radiating from him made the air itself tremble.
Jogo. Special Grade Cursed Spirit. Born from humanity's fear of the earth—of volcanoes, earthquakes, the ground opening to swallow them whole.
He looked at the guardian barrier. At the two figures standing within it. At the clone of Kamo Itsuki, who regarded him with calm, unreadable eyes.
"Your barrier," Jogo said, his voice crackling like cooling lava, "is annoying."
Kamo's clone smiled. "I get that a lot."
Jogo's single eye narrowed. "I will break it."
"You can try."
The earth beneath them began to sing.
The three-section staff materialized out of nowhere, its middle segment slamming into Jogo's face with the force of a freight train.
Geto Suguru had not been idle during his rest. While absorbing Cursed Spirits, he had also been experimenting with the techniques he had extracted over the years—the ones Kenjaku had not stolen, the ones stored deep in his memory rather than his collection. One technique in particular had caught his attention: a simple ability, almost useless in most circumstances, but devastating when applied correctly.
The first attack on any target dealt ten times critical damage.
Geto had been saving it for something special.
Jogo's body flew backward, crashing through the building behind him, through walls and support beams, coming to rest in a cloud of dust and shattered masonry. His single eye was unfocused, his consciousness flickering. The blow had cracked something in his skull—not bone, but the fundamental structure of his cursed energy.
Before he could rise, Geto was there.
The three-section staff came down again, and again, and again. Jogo raised his hands, cursed energy condensing in his palms, raising their temperature to match the magma flowing through the volcano on his head. He caught the staff between his palms.
The shockwave incinerated everything within twenty meters.
Chairs turned to ash. Tables exploded. The walls behind them caught fire, the flames spreading hungrily across the dry wood. But neither combatant noticed. They were locked in a battle that transcended the building around them.
Geto's staff moved like water—flowing, unpredictable, deadly. Each strike aimed at a different angle, a different opening, a different vulnerability. Jogo dodged, weaved, countered. Flames erupted from his palms, but Geto was never where the flames landed. The building took the damage. The building burned.
'He's fast,' Jogo thought, retreating step by step. 'Faster than I expected. And that staff—'
Geto's next strike caught Jogo's arm. The impact numbed it, sent shockwaves through his shoulder, made him stumble.
'He's using techniques. Multiple techniques. Attached to his weapon.'
The realization came too late. Geto had landed four strikes. He was winding up for the fifth.
*「第五撃・五倍臨界」
Fifth Strike: Fivefold Critical. *
The staff came around in a sweeping arc, its speed blurring, its power building. Jogo raised both arms to block.
The impact shattered his guard. His arms went numb. His feet left the ground. He flew backward, through the building's outer wall, into the open air beyond.
He landed hard, rolled, came up with flames already gathering in his palms.
Geto emerged from the building's smoke, the three-section staff spinning in his hands, his expression calm.
"You're still standing," Geto observed. "Impressive."
Jogo's single eye blazed. "I've barely started."
He raised his hands, and the volcano on his head erupted.
*「蛍火」
Cinder Flies. *
The insects poured from his crater—mosquito-nosed, purple-bodied, their wings humming with cursed energy. They swarmed toward Geto, dozens of them, each one a tiny bomb waiting to detonate.
Geto's staff became a blur. He blocked the first wave, the second, the third. The impact of each insect sent vibrations through his arms, told him everything he needed to know about their destructive potential.
'These could hurt. If enough of them hit.'
"Die."
Jogo's command was simple. The Cinder Flies surrounding Geto exploded.
Flames engulfed the area. Lava splattered across the ground, setting everything it touched ablaze. The shockwave cratered the earth and sent debris flying in every direction.
Jogo allowed himself a smile.
'He's done.'
The smoke cleared.
Geto Suguru stood in the center of the blast zone, his clothes singed, his hair dusted with ash—but unharmed. The three-section staff was still in his hands. His eyes were still calm.
'He blocked them. All of them.' Jogo's smile faded. 'How?'
Geto didn't answer. He was already moving.
Jogo's hand shot out, catching Geto's lower back as he passed. Flames erupted from his palm, engulfing Geto in a pillar of fire that reached toward the sky.
'Now.'
"Now," Geto said.
His staff came around, catching Jogo across the temple.
Jogo's world went white. He felt himself falling, felt the flames sputter and die, felt Geto's hand on his collar, holding him upright.
"That technique you just used," Geto said, his voice conversational, "the one where you set your hand on me and released flames. I've seen it before."
He leaned close, his breath warm against Jogo's ear.
"I extracted it from a Cursed Spirit, years ago. It's one of my favorites."
Jogo's eye widened.
Geto's palm pressed against Jogo's lower back.
"Let me show you how it's done."
Flames erupted.
Jogo screamed.