"Do you still want to fight?"
Maki looked down at the pale, trembling Naoya, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I was only dodging your attacks just now. If we keep going, I can't guarantee I won't accidentally split you in half."
To be scolded by the very "failure" he had spent years belittling was more than Naoya's pride could bear. Envy and humiliation boiled into a toxic slurry within his chest.
A frantic, murderous thought took root in his mind. Should I order the "Hei" to execute her right now?
As for her two companions, he could kill them too and frame it as a Cursed Spirit ambush. The Hei answered only to him; there would be no leaks. They were all Semi-Grade 1 or higher—killing three students would be difficult, but far from impossible.
Naoya lifted his head, his eyes crimson with a manic bloodlust.
"Take this! Wait—huh? You guys are here too? Get over here and help me!"
The sudden appearance of Atsuya Kusakabe, katana in hand and locked in a fierce exchange with a Special Grade curse, shattered the tension.
The unexpected intrusion broke Naoya's concentration. He stood up, his face a mask of cold fury. "We're leaving!"
The Hei followed silently as Naoya stormed away from the temple grounds.
Kusakabe blinked, looking completely exasperated. "Hey! Wait! Don't just walk away! A little help here?"
Maki watched Naoya's departing silhouette with a complex expression before turning back toward the fray. "Kusakabe-sensei, we'll help you!"
"Oh, thank god! You guys are the best students ever! By the way, can I count this one toward my quota? I only need one more before I can officially slack of—cough—I mean, finish the mission!"
Maki sheathed her spear and rolled her eyes. "In that case, do it yourself, Sensei."
"Wait! I was kidding! Maki! Panda! Toge! Don't leave me! I was joking! Come back and help me...!"
Hokkaido
Suguru Geto stepped onto the scorched, blackened earth, surveying a landscape that looked like a slice of the inferno.
Piles of charred corpses formed grotesque hills. At the peak of the tallest mound, Jogo sat silhouetted against the moon, his cloak fluttering in the searing wind.
Seeing Suguru, Jogo's mouth twisted into a jagged grin. His cursed energy flared, heat waves distorting the air around him.
"You finally showed up? I've been waiting a long time for this!"
Suguru began to walk forward at a leisurely pace. "So, you're Jogo. The one who controls fire? I heard you had a run-in with Satoru..."
"SHUT UP!"
The mere mention of Satoru Gojo made Jogo's skin crawl. The memory of having his head physically ripped off by the Six-Eye user was a psychological scar that refused to heal.
But as he looked down at Suguru Geto, his confidence returned.
Suguru looked around, curious. "Oh? Are you planning to face me head-on? I assumed your goal was to delay us—hit-and-run tactics, guerilla warfare."
Jogo let out a cold laugh. "That was the plan. But wouldn't it be better if I just ended you right here?"
"I may have lost to that monster Gojo, but I refuse to believe that you are on the same level as the Six Eyes!"
In his heat-of-the-moment arrogance, Jogo completely ignored Kenjaku's warnings. He wasn't trying to prove his greatness; he was trying to reclaim the dignity he had lost. Everything Satoru Gojo took from him, he intended to take back from Suguru Geto.
"Hyoo-hoo!"
With a shrill cry, Jogo launched himself into the air, his fist wreathed in roaring flames as he dived toward the earth.
Suguru stepped back with practiced grace.
BOOM!
The impact cratered the ground, sending spiderweb cracks rippling through the landscape like a localized earthquake.
Seeing his target evade, Jogo pressed the assault, his fists blurred in a dance of combustion. Suguru parried and dodged, his body coated in a thin layer of cursed energy to repel the searing heat.
They fought from the town center to the outskirts, leaving a trail of destruction that looked like it had been carved by a bomber squadron. Jogo grew more excited with every passing second. His confidence was peaking.
He had measured his opponent. Geto's cursed energy was massive, and his martial arts were top-tier, but he lacked that "absolute" feeling of Satoru Gojo's infinity.
As for the Cursed Spirit Manipulation Kenjaku had warned him about...
Heh! Just a swarm of trash-tier spirits. A game of numbers. Jogo's technique specialized in wide-area destruction; a swarm of weaklings was exactly what he was built to counter.
It seemed the title of "Strongest" was mostly hype. Likely just a strategic designation because of the sheer volume of spirits he could command. In the world of the truly powerful, such baggage was a luxury. True strength relied on the self!
"If this is all you have, then die!"
Jogo leaped back, preparing to unleash a massive-scale technique to incinerate Geto and whatever army he intended to summon.
"Wait!" Suguru interrupted.
"What now?" Jogo barked.
Suguru rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking somewhat apologetic. "Could we... keep fighting with just physical strikes for a little longer? I'm almost there."
Jogo froze. "What?"
"I said," Suguru repeated patiently, "let's keep brawling for just a few more minutes. I'm almost finished setting it up."
FWOOSH!
Magma erupted from the volcano-like vents on Jogo's head and ears. He was beyond livid.
"You bastard! What kind of nonsense are you babbling? Are you mocking me?!"
"Sigh." Suguru shook his head. "Fine. I'll do it myself."
Suddenly, Suguru's speed exploded. He was in front of Jogo before the curse could even blink.
"Wha—Oof!"
A heavy fist buried itself in Jogo's stomach. Before he could be sent flying, Suguru grabbed his collar and yanked him back.
What followed was a relentless, high-speed pummeling. Jogo saw stars as blow after blow rained down on him. But through the pain, he felt something strange—Suguru's hands weren't just hitting him; they seemed to be probing his body, tracing the flow of his energy.
"Done!"
Suguru delivered a final kick that sent Jogo tumbling away.
Jogo scrambled to his feet, gasping for air. "You... you..."
He stopped dead.
Suguru stood a few meters away, his hands glowing with a strange, malleable cursed energy. He was kneading the energy like clay, molding it into a familiar shape.
Jogo's single eye went wide with horror.
Right before him, Suguru Geto had manifested a perfect copy of... Jogo.
The duplicate stood tall, identical in every detail down to the volcanic head, though its eyes were hollow and vacant.
Jogo's entire body began to shake. His rage reached a literal boiling point, his vents spraying fire like a firework display.
"YOU BASTARD! YOU FILTHY TRASH!"
"YOU DARE USE ME AS AN EXPERIMENT?!"
"I'LL ROAST YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOUR SOUL TO THE DOGS!"
"Maximum: Meteor!"
Jogo unleashed his most destructive technique. A gargantuan, flaming celestial body materialized in the sky, hurtling toward the earth with apocalyptic force.
"What a powerful technique," Suguru mused, looking up. "A shame that the 'echoes' I create with Grant can't utilize Maximum Techniques or Domain Expansions."
He wasn't disappointed. Maximum Techniques were the height of a sorcerer's understanding of their own soul; it wasn't something a mindless puppet could replicate.
"But stealing the 'Flames' is more than enough. Now then..."
As the meteor descended, Suguru pointed a finger toward the sky.
"Maximum: Uzumaki!"
A pillar of concentrated spirits spiraled upward, colliding with the meteor in a clash that birthed a mushroom cloud of ash and fire. The earth for miles around groaned under the pressure.
Jogo stared through the smoke, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Suddenly, several silhouettes burst through the haze, charging at him.
He blinked. It was more "Jogos."
"What? How is this poss—GUH!"
One of the "Jogos" slammed a fist into his gut, doubling him over. Before he could recover, the pack of "Jogo Babies" swarmed him, commencing a very literal, very "righteous" beatdown.
"You... ugh... stop... bastards..."
Jogo couldn't even finish a sentence. These copies couldn't use his domain, but their physical strength and basic flame output were identical to his own. How do you fight five versions of yourself?
Suguru walked forward calmly. "As expected of a Disaster Spirit. Copying five of you consumed nearly half of my cursed energy."
"Only... half?"
The battered, bruised Jogo felt a cold wave of despair.
He had thought Suguru Geto would be the "easy" one. Why was he in another high-level lobby?
"I'm out!"
Jogo desperately fumbled for a cursed object—a vajra-like ritual tool. He slammed it against the ground. The tool shattered, releasing a blinding white light that warped and twisted the space around him.
Suguru frowned, firing a blast of cursed energy at the light, but the attack simply rippled through the distorted space like a pebble in a pond.
A second later, the light faded. Jogo was gone.
Suguru stepped forward, picking up the scorched fragments of the ritual tool from the empty ground.
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