As the thunderous echoes faded and the veil of smoke and dust thinned, the two figures came back into view, hovering unscathed over the apocalyptic tableau. Below them, Mount Fuji was halved, a smooth, smoldering crater where its iconic summit had been.
Inside the observation bunker, Geto Suguru stared at the monitors, his usual composure fractured. His eyes were wide, his voice a low murmur of stunned realization. "I didn't expect… they've reached this level." A flicker of rueful self-assessment passed through him—he'd been too mired in teaching, his own progress stalling.
Beside him, Ieiri Shoko bit her lip, her clinical detachment utterly gone. "This is disaster-level destruction. It's terrifying." Her role as medic felt almost laughable now. If an exchange of that magnitude couldn't be healed by their own Reverse Cursed Techniques, nothing she could do would matter.
Nanako and Mimiko clutched each other's hands, their faces pale. "Is this… what Special Grade sorcerers are?" Nanako whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and awe. Mimiko could only nod mutely, her eyes glued to the screen, her small mouth agape.
Yet, at the epicenter of the carnage, the two combatants were pristine, not a hair out of place.
"You're awfully impatient. Opening with Hollow Purple," Kamo chided, though a fierce light danced in his eyes. "If this were the real thing, you'd be public enemy number one."
"Half of that destruction is on you, so don't act all high and mighty," Gojo shot back, pouting. His gaze, however, was sharp and analytical. "You've been holding back. Besides that 'Blood God Descent,' you've got that up your sleeve?" His Six Eyes still couldn't parse Kamo's technique. Was that truly just Blood Manipulation? Since when could it do that?
"Blood God Descent requires preparation. You weren't about to give me the time," Kamo shrugged, a playful challenge in his tone. "Want to wait? I'll summon it, and then we can really go at it."
"Not a chance. I'm not confident I'd win if I gave you that opening," Gojo refused flatly, remembering the oppressive, divine menace of Kamo's Shikigami from the Special Grade assessment. That was a complication he didn't need today.
Simultaneously, identical grins spread across their faces—not of mockery, but of pure, unadulterated exhilaration. This was the fight they'd both craved.
"Now it's my turn to lead, isn't it?" Kamo's eyes narrowed to slits.
In the next instant, he vanished from his position.
*Red Scale Leap: Extreme.* His body became a crimson blur, accelerating to speeds that ripped the air apart with a sonic crack.
*Blood Manipulation: Blood Robe.* The crimson garment he wore hardened, its surface shimmering with dense, defensive cursed energy, becoming an armor of solidified blood.
*Blood Manipulation: Supernova.* Nine orbs of condensed, volatile blood materialized around him, orbiting like deadly planets, primed to detonate.
He closed the distance to Gojo in a heartbeat, a multi-layered onslaught incarnate.
"Bring it on!" Gojo remained floating, arms crossed, a picture of lazy confidence. But his mind raced. Why this approach?
He knew the two ways to bypass Infinity: a Domain's sure-hit effect, or a Domain Amplification field around the attacker. His Six Eyes, while clouded around Kamo's core, clearly detected no Amplification field enveloping him. And Kamo had just used multiple innate techniques in succession—impossible if he was maintaining a Domain.
So how did Kamo Itsuki plan to touch him?
The answer came not as a technique, but as a strategy. The nine Supernova orbs didn't fly at Gojo. Instead, they shot past him, forming a tight, nine-point ring in the air behind the sorcerer.
Kamo himself didn't throw a punch. He stopped just short of Infinity's neutral zone, his blood-armored fist pulled back.
The orbiting blood beads pulsed.
And then, in perfect, micro-second synchronization, they *imploded*.
Not an explosion outwards, but a catastrophic, directed gravitational collapse inward, right at the point in space where Gojo Satoru floated.
The very fabric of space, already stressed from their earlier clash, warped violently. For an infinitesimal moment, the immutable law of Infinity—the convergence of an infinite series—was forced to contend with a singularity.
It wasn't about overpowering Infinity with energy. It was about distorting the mathematical space in which it functioned.
In the split-second window where Infinity's perfect defense stuttered, forced to recalculate within a warped coordinate plane, Kamo Itsuki's blood-armored fist, propelled by Red Scale Leap, shot forward.
It wasn't a blast of energy. It was a simple, devastatingly physical punch, aimed directly at Gojo Satoru's smug face.
The battlefield fell silent for a single, breath-held moment. The prelude was over. The real fight had truly, finally begun.
The other method was a special-grade cursed tool, like the Inverted Spear of Heaven that Fushiguro Toji had wielded. Gojo knew Kamo possessed it and had been wary of its nullifying edge. But Kamo carried no weapon now.
So how did he plan to land a hit?
The answer came with brutal, elegant simplicity.
Kamo was upon him in a flash of crimson. The nine Supernova orbs didn't fire outward. Instead, they imploded.
Not an explosion, but a catastrophic, localized gravitational collapse. The nine blood beads, positioned around Gojo, detonated inward, warping space itself at the precise coordinate of Infinity's calculation. For a nanosecond, the flawless, infinite series that formed Gojo's defense was forced to contend with a singularity—a mathematical paradox it wasn't designed to process.
The defense stuttered.
In that imperceptible window, the nine bloodlines—not beams, but ultra-dense, threaded needles of compressed blood—shot forth. Their initial velocity, aided by the spatial distortion, was transcendent.
Gojo's Six Eyes saw it a fraction too late. A primal, electric dread shot through his spine—his instincts screaming a warning his perception had missed.
The bloodlines pierced the momentarily faltering Infinity.
Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-thud!
Nine precise, devastating punctures. Gojo's body jerked violently as the lines tore through limbs and torso, spraying a mist of crimson into the volcanic air. The impact was less an explosion and more a surgical, brutal violation.
"How—?!" Shock, raw and unprecedented, flooded Gojo's widened eyes. His mind, faster than light, raced past the pain. Space manipulation? Not the spear... he warped the coordinates themselves!
Instinct trumped analysis. Before Kamo could press the advantage, space around Gojo folded.
Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.
He didn't teleport away; he used Blue's attractive force to violently yank himself out of his current position, creating a hundred meters of distance in a blink. The moment he reappeared, his body was already awash in the cool, greenish glow of Reverse Cursed Technique, flesh knitting and organs reassembling at a visible, furious rate.
Kamo didn't give chase. Instead, he shot backward, putting his own distance between them. His hands were already moving through a complex series of seals, his voice dropping into a sonorous, archaic chant that seemed to vibrate the very air. Cursed energy, thick and ancient, began to churn around him like a gathering storm.
Blood Manipulation: —
He didn't finish the name aloud, but the intent was clear. The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive. The sky above the shattered volcano began to darken, not with smoke, but with a deep, blood-tinged shadow.
Gojo Satoru, his wounds already sealing, wiped a trace of blood from his mouth, his earlier smirk gone, replaced by a razor-edged focus. The game had changed. The rules were being rewritten in real-time.
Kamo Itsuki was not just attacking him. He was preparing to summon a god.