Nanako and Mimiko stopped, their faces twisted with unwillingness. Every instinct screamed at them to run to Geto Suguru's side. But Ieiri Shoko's words carried weight—they had learned to trust her judgment.
They stayed.
Their eyes, however, never left the direction where Geto had fallen, burning with desperate hope.
Kanon was different.
She stood frozen, not from fear of the monster's size or menace, but from recognition. Deep within her soul, something screamed.
Kenjaku.
That familiar, terrible presence—the one who had worn her face, stolen her life, pretended to be her companion—radiated from the leviathan like heat from a fire. Her perception, honed through years of connection to him, couldn't be wrong.
The chaos dragon was Kenjaku.
And Kanon's perception was correct.
This was Kenjaku's masterpiece. His final gambit.
Months ago, when he had confronted Geto Suguru, victory was never his goal. He had studied Cursed Spirit Manipulation meticulously, searching for loopholes, weaknesses, cracks in its absolute control.
He found one.
When a Cursed Spirit was swallowed, it was forced into contract—but only if its consciousness was extinguished. Kenjaku had made a binding vow with himself: sacrifice his ability to reincarnate, to ever return after death, in exchange for soul strength enough to maintain awareness within Geto's stomach.
Then he let himself be defeated. Swallowed. Absorbed.
Inside Geto Suguru, he was not a mastered spirit—he was a spy. A saboteur. And because Cursed Techniques are imprinted on the body, his partial access to Cursed Spirit Manipulation let him influence Geto's actions.
When Geto tried to use Maximum: Uzumaki to extract Kenjaku's techniques, Kenjaku evaded. Then he slipped into the space where Geto stored his Cursed Spirits—and began to feed.
Using Uzumaki's power, he devoured them one by one. Accumulating strength. Waiting.
Today, when the super barrier activated and Sukuna's fingers pulsed with power, Kenjaku made his move.
He tried to seize Geto's body completely. The initial pain Geto felt was that struggle.
But Geto Suguru's will had been forged in years of leading the Bansei Cult. Destroyed but not broken, he had found peace—and with it, mental fortitude Kenjaku hadn't anticipated.
The battle for control stalemated. Kenjaku realized: even if he won, the risk of backlash remained. Too dangerous.
So he withdrew. Emerged. And revealed his true form.
Leviathan—born from his original goldfish Shikigami body, swollen with the power of every Cursed Spirit he had consumed within Geto Suguru.
Now he hung in the sky, all chips pushed to the center of the table.
Leviathan roared.
The sound was not merely noise—it was a signal. A call.
Across Japan, the Sukuna fingers buried at the barrier's nodes responded. Ancient cursed text blazed to life on their surfaces, writhing like living things. Cursed energy surged from them in torrents, resonating with Kenjaku's cry.
The barrier that was meant to contain Cursed Spirits... was now singing a different song.
And somewhere in Tokyo, Kamo Itsuki felt it. His eyes narrowed.
'Kenjaku. You absolute fool.'
He was already moving.
The rules twisted.
Where the barrier was meant to gather Cursed Spirits for extermination, it now gathered energy. Where it was meant to recycle free-floating cursed power, it now extracted.
Not from sorcerers—they could resist, could shield themselves. But ordinary people? Those who had never learned to control the cursed energy that flowed through every human?
They were helpless.
Across Japan, in streets and homes and offices and trains, people collapsed. Pedestrians crumpled mid-step. Office workers slid from their chairs. Parents fell beside their children. Millions upon millions, unconscious before they hit the ground.
Then came the light.
Faint at first—barely visible wisps rising from their bodies. But as seconds passed, the streams grew brighter, thicker, coalescing into ribbons of cursed energy that wound upward like luminous serpents.
The ribbons converged. Wove together. Formed something vast and terrible in the sky above Japan.
A cursed womb. Massive. Pulsing with stolen power. Gestating something that had no business existing in the world of the living.
Kenjaku—now Leviathan—hovered before his creation, crimson eyes blazing with triumph.
He had spent a millennium scheming. Had been reduced to a goldfish, a parasite, a swallowed spy. Had sacrificed his very soul's future on a binding vow.
And now, finally, it paid off.
Kamo Itsuki's barrier. Kamo Itsuki's fingers. Kamo Itsuki's vision—all turned against him, repurposed for Kenjaku's grand design.
The cursed womb pulsed, drawing strength from millions of unconscious bodies.
Whatever emerged from it would be... something new.
In Nagoya, Ieiri Shoko reached Geto Suguru's side. She saw his collapsed form, the fading traces of Kenjaku's emergence, the chaos above.
In Tokyo, Gojo Satoru's smile vanished completely. For once, the strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely concerned.
In Osaka, Tsukumo Yuki stared at the sky, calculations racing through her mind.
And everywhere, ordinary people slept, their cursed energy feeding a nightmare.
The final battle was no longer coming.
It had already arrived.
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