Meanwhile, atop the Twin Peak Hill.
The Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine was serene no more. The sacred silence that had endured for a millennium had been torn asunder, replaced by a ringing, hollow quiet that was far worse—the aftermath of absolute violence.
The grand hall lay in utter devastation. Where once stood torri gate now only jagged stumps remained. The air, thick and heavy, was a poisonous brew of clashing spirit essences—the ozone-sharp tang of unleashed lightning Dao Fulus, the coppery reek of spilled blood, and the chilling, sterile cold of profound sword aura.
The ground was a scarred wasteland of luxury stone and precious wood, now reduced to indistinguishable debris. The entire shrine was marred by scars and craters. Each mark whispered of a single, catastrophic impact, a blow of unfathomable power.
The Ju-On's influence, that ashen gray void world had long since fractured. Its fabric, a tapestry of nightmares and whispers, had been unable to withstand the onslaught of the cataclysmic combat. Now, its remnants were scattered like shards of a black mirror, each fragment oozing a thin, tenacious black mist that seemed to bleed into the very air.
Krogh stood amidst the devastation, his once-imposing robes now little more than tattered rags fluttering in the unnatural wind of his own making. Each labored breath tore from his lungs, crystallizing instantly into a plume of vapor that hung in the frigid air. A single, stark streak of blood marred his cheek, a testament to a near-miss that had shaved too close. Before him, the Ju-On did not so much stand as it existed, a nightmarish tapestry woven from stolen shadows, grave-mist, and the contorted, wailing faces of the countless souls it had consumed. Its entire form was a ghastly, rippling echo of Krogh's own stature and poise, a malevolent mirror held up to the swordsmaster. In its extended hand, a blade of solidified void pulsed with a perfect, chilling replica of Krogh's own formidable Sword Intent, a stolen power made manifest for a single, terrible purpose: his annihilation.
SLASH!
With a flick of his wrist that was almost casual, Krogh sent a searing crescent of pure, silver Sword Qi scything through the air, aimed to cleave this evil thing. Yet, before his own attack could even cross the distance, an identical crescent erupted from the Ju-On's shimmering form.
BANNNNNNGGG!!!
The two forces did not so much collide as they mutually annihilated a portion of the world between them, meeting with a sound that was less a crash and more the deep, fundamental tearing of reality at a seam. The concussive blast and shockwave that followed vaporized the gravel of the path beneath their feet and hit the giant bronze gates of the shrine's main hall with physical force, blasting them from their ancient, groaning hinges and sending them skittering into the darkness like discarded toys.
The battle then accelerated into a storm of impossible speed. They became twin blurs of motion, a devastating dance of action and perfect reaction. Krogh leapt onto the sagging roof of a subsidiary shrine, his feet touching the aged wood shingles for only a fraction of a second before he launched a volley of a dozen razor-sharp Sword Qi shards. The Ju-On was already there, perched on the opposite roof, its response instantaneous—a dozen shards of condensed, howling shadow leaping forth to meet them. The impacts detonated in a staccato rhythm of thunderous blasts, each explosion stripping the heavy timber beams bare and flash-evaporating the wood into plumes of deep, smoking dusk.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Thud! Bang! Crack! Boom!
Every refined sword move Krogh had spent a lifetime perfecting was anticipated by the evil thing; every subtle sword technique was stolen and thrown back at him with vile perfection. A sweeping, horizontal sword slash from Krogh that could level an entire forest was met not with a block, but with an identical, opposing wave of force. The resulting shockwaves collided not at their sources, but in the dead space between them, shearing the head from a massive bronze Buddha statue and carving a deep, smoldering furrow across the courtyard's stone foundation. The shrine complex itself was being reshaped and disassembled around them, its architecture falling victim to the brutal, elegant geometry of their conflict.
A slashing arc at Krogh meant to decapitate was dodged by a minuscule, fluid shift of the head; the missed Qi flew on, shearing through the trunk of a centuries-old pine, which groaned its death throes as it toppled and crashed through a bell tower, sending the great bronze bell plummeting down the mountainside with a continous, discordant, fading clangs.
They were, for all intents and purposes, perfect equals, locked in an infinite and deadly stalemate. Krogh's face was a hardened mask of grim focus, every muscle taut with strain and concentration. Across from him, the ghost's shimmering form rippled with a vile, silent parody of that same determination. This was no longer a battle of strength or skill, but a profound test of pure endurance. It was a war of attrition against an entity that felt no fatigue, a waiting game to see which fundamental element would break first: the living man's indomitable spirit, or the ghost's perfect, malevolent mimicry.
Finally, Krogh landed softly in the center of the ravaged courtyard, the epicenter of the destruction. He settled into a low, grounded stance, both hands held palm-out and ready. Across from him, in perfect, silent unison, the Ju-On settled into the exact same posture, its form mimicking the subtle shift in weight and balance. For a single, suspended breath, there was a deafening silence, broken only by the distant groan of wounded wood and the faint sizzle of cooling stone.
Krogh Hanz's garb hung about him in tatters, each rip and tear a story of a near-fatal evasion, the luxury fabric stained and stiff with coagulating crimson. His visage, however, remained a mask of unyielding resolve and confidence, though it was now deeply tempered by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
Upon the Ju-On's grotesque form, the densely packed, cursed faces that adorned its being had markedly diminished. Several had been utterly eradicated in the fury of the battle, leaving behind dark, empty voids that oozed with a palpable, ethereal malice. It was as if the very threads of the entity's existence were slowly unraveling, its stolen power being burned away blow by exhausting blow.
Krogh and the spectral horror recoiled in mirroring unison, the very air cracking with the force of their mutual, profound shock. Their voices, one a roar of imperious fury and the other a cacophony of grinding graves, overlapped in a single, dissonant chorus of disbelief that shook the foundations of the ruined shrine.
"H̸o̴w̸ ̵c̴o̴u̴l̸d̵ ̷t̴h̴e̸ ̸R̴e̴d̷ ̵R̷u̸n̴ ̸n̵o̸t̶ ̵b̴e̴ ̴i̸n̵ ̸y̴o̴u̵r̴ ̴h̵a̸n̷d̶?̸!̴" (How could the Red Run not be in your hand?!)
The Ju-On's form rippled, the countless tormented faces within its shadowy mass contorting in a unified expression of insidious, alien confusion. Its voice was not a single sound but a layered chorus of whispers and rasps, like stone grinding on living's bone deep.
"I̶ ̸s̵e̸n̸s̷e̵d̴ ̸t̴h̵e̵ ̸r̵e̴s̵o̴n̵a̴n̸c̸e̵ ̴o̴f̸ ̵t̷h̴e̸ ̴S̴w̴o̴r̷d̴ ̵o̴f̸ ̵R̴e̴d̸ ̸R̴u̵n̸ ̸a̸s̸ ̴i̸t̵ ̸d̸e̸p̸a̷r̸t̷e̸d̴ ̵t̵h̴e̶ ̷D̶r̸i̷f̴t̶d̴r̷e̷a̴m̴ ̵L̷o̵c̸h̸.̵ ̴Y̷o̴u̶ ̴c̷a̴l̷l̵e̶d̴ ̷i̴t̴ ̴f̸r̴o̷m̵ ̷t̴h̸e̴ ̸M̷o̴o̴n̶ ̵R̴e̷f̷l̴e̴c̵t̶i̵o̴n̷ ̸M̴i̴r̴r̷o̸r̸,̸ ̴a̴n̴d̵ ̴t̸h̶e̵ ̸s̵w̷o̵r̴d̵ ̴a̵n̵s̸w̸e̵r̶e̸d̸.̸ ̵W̶a̴s̴ ̶i̵t̶ ̴n̸o̴t̷ ̴d̷r̸a̷w̷n̶ ̸t̶o̸ ̸t̷h̴a̸t̶ ̴p̷l̷a̷c̴e̵ ̷t̶o̴ ̸a̸c̴k̵n̸o̷w̵l̵e̸d̸g̵e̴ ̴y̴o̶u̶,̶ ̴i̴t̵s̷ ̴h̸u̴m̷a̶n̷ ̸m̷a̴s̵t̸e̸r̵ ̸b̶y̵ ̴b̷l̵o̶o̵d̶ ̴a̸n̸d̸ ̸c̴o̵n̸q̷u̷e̴s̶t̵?̴ ̸S̴u̸r̸e̸l̷y̸ ̷t̷h̴a̷t̸ ̵w̵r̵e̴t̷c̵h̷e̴d̴ ̸f̸l̷e̷s̸h̸ ̴h̵u̵m̸a̴n̶,̴ ̵D̷o̴n̴o̸v̵a̴n̵ ̸V̵a̵l̶d̸e̷z̶,̴ ̷w̷a̶s̸ ̶s̸u̴b̸o̵r̴n̴e̴d̸ ̵b̶y̵ ̴y̴o̴u̴r̴ ̵p̷a̵t̴h̶e̵t̷i̶c̴ ̷h̸u̷m̶a̴n̸ ̸m̴a̵c̴h̴i̴n̴a̴t̴i̶o̵n̸s̷.̴ ̴H̵o̴w̸ ̴e̴l̵s̵e̵ ̴w̴o̸u̴l̴d̵ ̸s̷u̴c̶h̶ ̵a̴ ̸m̷e̷a̴g̵e̷r̸,̷ ̴i̵n̵s̴i̴g̸n̴i̴f̴i̸c̸a̵n̷t̴ ̴s̵p̴e̷c̴k̵ ̸o̸f̴ ̷f̴l̵e̸s̶h̵ ̸d̴a̶r̴e̷ ̴t̵o̶ ̵p̵r̴e̵s̴u̸m̴e̵ ̴t̴o̸ ̷u̷n̵d̴e̷r̷t̴a̵k̸e̷ ̷t̸h̴e̷ ̴a̵s̶c̵e̴n̷s̸i̵o̸n̷ ̸t̵o̵ ̷t̸h̴e̸ ̶F̴o̸u̷n̴d̶a̵t̶i̵o̸n̴ ̸S̵t̵a̸g̷e̷ ̸a̸t̷ ̴t̷h̶i̸s̶ ̵p̴r̷e̴c̵i̴s̷e̴,̸ ̴o̵r̴d̷a̵i̵n̶e̴d̶ ̷j̶u̷n̸c̷t̶u̵r̴e̶?̶"
("I sensed the resonance of the Sword of Red Run as it departed the Driftdream Loch. You called it from the Moon Reflection Mirror, and the sword answered. Was it not drawn to that place to acknowledge you, its human master by blood and conquest? Surely that wretched flesh human, Donovan Valdez, was suborned by your pathetic human machinations. How else would such a meager, insignificant speck of flesh dare to presume to undertake the ascension to the Foundation Stage at this precise, ordained juncture? The timing is too strange.")
Krogh's countenance darkened to a thunderous, stormy hue, his classically handsome features twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage at the mere suggestion. The air around him grew heavy with his contempt.
"What did you just utter? Donovan Valdez? That sniveling, talentless craven dares to establish his Foundation Stage now? You would have me believe that puling weakling is the mind behind this treachery? The architect of the Red Run's departure? Do not insult my intelligence, you wretched piece of retard phantasm! The Red Run is arrogance given form! It is fearless, uninhibited will forged in divine fire! It would sooner shatter the heavens than bow to a lesser will! Even if that Donovan Valdez withstood three of my sword's casual, dismissive strikes, the sword would only deign to converse with such a creature, to mock his weakness! It would never submit to him, and it would never, ever contravene my entrenched and absolute commands by abandoning the sacred Hanz Clan Treasury House of its own volition!"
The Ju-On paused, a wave of pure, uncomprehending shock momentarily stilling the malevolent energy that comprised its being. Then, it erupted. Its laughter was a malevolent, multi-throated cackle that tore through the ruins, the sound of a thousand damned souls screaming in perverse delight. "H̵U̸M̴A̶N̵ ̸A̸R̷R̶O̵G̴A̵N̴C̴E̵ ̵B̸L̸I̴N̴D̴S̸ ̴Y̶O̴U̴!̷ ̵I̵t̵ ̶m̴a̴t̵t̵e̴r̷s̷ ̴n̵o̷t̴!̸ ̸I̷t̷ ̴m̴a̷t̸t̴e̷r̸s̶ ̷n̸o̷t̴ ̸w̸h̴e̶t̶h̴e̵r̶ ̷t̵h̵a̷t̴ ̷s̸t̸r̶i̷p̸l̷i̸n̴g̴,̵ ̵t̵h̷a̷t̴ ̷i̷n̸s̶i̵g̸n̸i̴f̴i̵c̵a̸n̴t̴ ̴g̷n̵a̶t̸,̷ ̴o̴r̷c̵h̸e̷s̴t̶r̸a̵t̴e̶d̴ ̶t̵h̴i̴s̴ ̴o̴r̷ ̶w̶a̴s̷ ̵m̴e̸r̷e̵l̷y̵ ̵i̴t̴s̴ ̶u̴n̴w̸i̴t̴t̵i̵n̷g̵ ̵v̶e̵s̵s̴e̷l̶!̴ ̷I̴ ̴f̴i̶n̴d̵ ̸m̴y̷s̴e̶l̷f̵ ̴f̴e̵e̴l̶i̵n̸g̶ ̴a̴ ̷l̴i̴t̸t̴l̶e̴ ̶r̶e̵g̵r̵e̷t̶ ̷f̵o̶r̸ ̷h̵a̶v̵i̴n̷g̶ ̴s̶l̴a̷u̷g̸h̵t̸e̸r̵e̴d̸ ̷e̸v̷e̸r̶y̸ ̵h̴u̵m̴a̵n̴ ̴o̵f̴ ̴h̴i̴s̶ ̸m̵e̵w̵l̴i̵n̵g̴ ̷c̷o̸m̴p̶a̴n̵i̶o̵n̸s̶ ̵e̴a̴r̴l̴i̴e̵r̴.̸ ̸H̶e̷h̵e̴…̸ ̴A̴H̴A̴H̷A̶H̷A̸!̵ ̴I̴t̸ ̶s̶e̴e̴m̴s̸ ̴t̸h̴i̴s̴ ̷p̸a̷r̷t̷i̵c̸u̴l̶a̶r̵ ̵g̷n̷a̸t̴,̵ ̴t̵h̵i̸s̸ ̴D̴o̷n̵o̵v̵a̵n̵ ̵V̷a̴l̵d̵e̴z̴,̷ ̸h̷a̸s̷ ̴i̷n̵a̴d̷v̸e̷r̵t̸e̸n̵t̴l̴y̶ ̸r̴e̶n̵d̸e̷r̶e̴d̵ ̴m̴e̴ ̴a̴n̵ ̵i̵n̴v̴a̴l̸u̷a̵b̷l̵e̵ ̴s̴e̶r̴v̸i̶c̴e̴!̵ ̸H̵e̴ ̵h̶a̵s̴ ̷b̴r̵o̵k̴e̸n̷ ̵y̷o̵u̶r̵ ̵d̴e̴s̶t̵i̷n̵y̷,̷ ̴K̸r̸o̵g̷h̴ ̵H̴a̵n̸z̵!̶ ̵E̸v̸e̸n̵ ̴i̷f̷ ̵y̵o̷u̸ ̴c̵o̶u̵l̸d̷ ̶m̷u̷s̶t̵e̷r̴ ̸t̸h̵e̶ ̴s̷t̶r̴e̵n̸g̶t̶h̵ ̵t̷o̵ ̵a̷n̴n̴i̴h̵i̷l̴a̵t̷e̸ ̴w̶h̴a̴t̴ ̵r̵e̷m̸a̴i̵n̴s̵ ̴o̴f̸ ̸m̷e̶ ̴h̶e̵r̵e̵ ̴a̸n̵d̴ ̸n̷o̴w̶,̶ ̴y̴o̶u̵r̵ ̴p̵a̵t̶h̷—̶y̸o̸u̴r̶ ̵p̵r̵e̷c̵i̴o̴u̴s̷,̸ ̵v̸a̵u̸n̸t̴e̶d̵ ̴p̷u̵r̴s̴u̴i̵t̴ ̷o̸f̸ ̸t̸h̵e̸ ̴G̶r̷e̷a̶t̶ ̵D̶a̵o̶—̷s̵h̵a̵l̴l̷ ̷t̴e̷r̶m̴i̷n̵a̶t̶e̶ ̴a̸b̷r̴u̵p̵t̸l̴y̵,̷ ̷s̷e̶v̸e̶r̷e̵d̴ ̴a̴t̷ ̶t̵h̶e̶ ̸r̸o̸o̵t̸!̸ ̷Y̵o̸u̷ ̶w̶i̴l̴l̴ ̷b̸e̵ ̷b̵a̴r̷r̷e̵d̴ ̷f̸r̵o̴m̶ ̵f̶u̴r̴t̶h̸e̵r̴ ̵p̵r̶o̴g̶r̴e̶s̵s̷i̶o̴n̶,̶ ̷f̶o̴r̵e̴v̴e̷r̷ ̶b̷o̸u̶n̸d̵ ̴a̵n̵d̵ ̴h̶o̵b̶b̵l̸e̴d̸ ̷b̷y̷ ̴t̷h̸e̵ ̶i̴n̷e̶x̸o̶r̷a̷b̴l̸e̵ ̴c̸h̸a̸i̷n̵s̵ ̶o̵f̴ ̶a̷ ̴f̷a̴t̴e̴ ̷y̵o̴u̵ ̷w̵e̴r̸e̴ ̶t̵o̵o̶ ̷a̷r̸r̵o̴g̷a̴n̵t̴ ̷t̶o̸ ̵s̴e̶e̴ ̸c̴o̴m̷i̷n̸g̵!̷ ̷W̴h̷a̴t̴ ̸a̶ ̵b̷e̵a̶u̷t̴i̵f̴u̵l̶,̶ ̶p̸o̸e̴t̴i̴c̴ ̴e̴n̸d̶ ̴t̵o̸ ̶y̷o̸u̴r̵ ̴t̵a̴l̷e̸!̴ ̵I̶n̶ ̴t̸h̴i̴s̴ ̵f̵i̶n̴a̸l̴,̶ ̴u̷l̸t̷i̴m̶a̸t̶e̶ ̷c̴o̵n̷t̸e̴s̴t̴ ̴o̴f̵ ̴d̶e̴s̷t̵i̴n̵i̸e̷s̶,̷ ̴v̵i̷c̷t̴o̸r̷y̸ ̵h̶a̵s̴ ̵c̴h̷o̴s̸e̵n̵ ̸t̴o̵ ̸c̶r̸o̶w̴n̸ ̵M̵E̸!̴"
("HUMAN ARROGANCE BLINDS YOU! It matters not! It matters not whether that stripling, that insignificant gnat, orchestrated this or was merely its unwitting vessel! I find myself feeling a little regret for having slaughtered every human of his mewling companions earlier. Hehe… AHAHAHA! It seems this particular gnat, this Donovan Valdez, has inadvertently rendered me an invaluable service! He has broken your destiny, Krogh Hanz! Even if you could muster the strength to annihilate what remains of me here and now, your path—your precious, vaunted pursuit of the Great Dao—shall terminate abruptly, severed at the root! You will be barred from further progression, forever bound and hobbled by the inexorable chains of a fate you were too arrogant to see coming! What a beautiful, poetic end to your tale! In this final, ultimate contest of destinies, victory has chosen to crown ME!")
"SILENCE, VERMIN!"
Krogh's voice lashed out, a whip-crack of pure disdain that cut through the ghost's echoing laughter. His Dao Heart, an anvil of unbreakable will, did not falter; it instantly suppressed the tempest of alarm and distraction threatening to rise from the Red Run's disappearance. He looked upon the terrifying Ju-On not with fear, but with incandescent, high-handed scorn, as a god would look upon a particularly irritating insect.
"You are a waste of breath, a miasma of impotent bluster and pathetic posturing. To think I have wasted my divine effort on such a substance-less thing. You dare speak to me of winning and losing? You, who are but a faded echo, a stolen reflection teetering on the absolute brink of total annihilation and the complete dissolution of your stolen, pathetic Dao? How dare you presume to pontificate on triumph and defeat! Your opinion is less than nothing! Cease your prattling and face your oblivion with whatever shred of false dignity you can muster!"
The exchange of killing intent hung heavy, charged with the electricity of impending violence, as the ruins bore silent witness. Faint shimmer flickered at the periphery, remnants of the hall's protective wards dissolving into wisps. The ground beneath them, scarred by prior exchanges, bore craters filled with congealed essence, glowing faintly with residual power that pulsed like a dying heart. The Ju-On circled slowly, its cursed faces murmuring incantations in tongues long forgotten, weaving a malice web of mind torment designed to erode even the staunchest Dao Heart.
The ancestral shrine, now a theater of impending doom, pulsed with latent energies, the remnants of shattered barriers crackling like distant thunder. Shadows clung to the corners, elongated and writhing as if alive, feeding on the ambient despair that saturated the air. The Ju-On's form, a grotesque amalgamation of curses and spectral essences, emanated a palpable aura of malevolence, its remaining cursed faces leering with eyes that burned like coals from the abyss, promising torments beyond mortal comprehension. Krogh Hanz, undeterred, channeled his essence into a stance of unassailable poise, his sword intent coiling around him and suddenly erupted like a shining silver pillar pieced throught the heavy black clouds atop the sky.
The exchange of killing intent hung heavy, charged with the electricity of impending violence, as the ruins bore silent witness. Faint shimmer flickered at the periphery, remnants of the hall's protective wards dissolving into wisps. The ground beneath them, scarred by prior exchanges, bore craters filled with congealed essence, glowing faintly with residual power that pulsed like a dying heart. The Ju-On circled slowly, its cursed faces murmuring incantations in tongues long forgotten, weaving a malice web of mind torment designed to erode even the staunchest Dao Heart.
"I̵ ̸w̶i̸l̸l̷ ̵p̷e̴e̸l̴ ̶t̸h̵e̴ ̴l̸i̴f̴e̸ ̷f̷r̵o̴m̶ ̵y̴o̵u̸r̵ ̸b̸o̵n̴e̴s̷,̴ ̸n̴o̷t̵ ̴q̴u̵i̸c̴k̸l̴y̷,̶ ̵b̷u̷t̷ ̷i̵n̵ ̴s̴l̴o̴w̸,̴ ̸m̷e̴t̵i̶c̵u̴l̴o̴u̸s̷ ̵s̴t̵r̵i̴p̵s̷,̷ ̴a̴n̴d̸ ̵s̴a̴v̵o̵r̵ ̸e̴v̴e̷r̵y̴ ̵o̸n̴e̴ ̷o̴f̸ ̵y̵o̷u̸r̵ ̵s̴i̵l̴e̵n̴c̴e̸d̶ ̴s̵c̴r̵e̵a̸m̴s̴.̸" (I will peel the life from your bones, not quickly, but in slow, meticulous strips, and savor every one of your silenced screams.)
"M̸a̸y̴ ̷e̴v̷e̸r̵y̸ ̴b̵r̸e̵a̴t̴h̸ ̵y̷o̷u̵ ̸t̸a̵k̴e̶ ̴f̴r̴o̷m̷ ̵t̴h̴i̸s̶ ̸m̴o̴m̷e̵n̴t̷ ̴f̸o̴r̸w̴a̶r̸d̴ ̸b̶e̴ ̴f̴i̴l̵l̵e̸d̸ ̴w̸i̴t̴h̶ ̸t̷h̵e̴ ̴s̸h̴a̵r̵d̸s̸ ̴o̷f̶ ̵y̴o̵u̶r̴ ̷o̸w̸n̷ ̴s̵h̴a̵t̴t̶e̷r̸e̴d̴ ̴f̴u̶t̴u̴r̴e̸.̶" (May every breath you take from this moment forward be filled with the shards of your own shattered future.)
"I̸ ̴c̴u̵r̵s̴e̶ ̷t̸h̴e̴ ̸g̸r̸o̶u̴n̴d̵ ̴y̷o̴u̵ ̸w̸a̵l̶k̸ ̵o̵n̵ ̸t̴o̷ ̷r̸e̴m̵e̷m̴b̴e̵r̴ ̸y̴o̵u̵r̴ ̵s̴t̶e̴p̷s̵ ̶a̵n̵d̴ ̵r̷e̴j̷e̴c̷t̷ ̸y̵o̸u̶,̶ ̵s̴o̵ ̴y̷o̵u̵ ̸a̴r̴e̷ ̴f̶o̵r̴e̴v̵e̸r̴ ̸a̶ ̸s̴t̸r̶a̵n̵g̵e̶r̶ ̵i̴n̴ ̴y̷o̵u̷r̵ ̵o̵w̷n̴ ̷h̶o̴m̴e̸.̴" (I curse the ground you walk on to remember your steps and reject you, so you are forever a stranger in your own home.)
The Ju-On's malice laughter echoed once more, a sound that curdled the blood, infused with the essence of utter evil. Its form expanding as curses coalesced into tangible assaults, the air shrieking with the chore cries of the thousand damned.
"M̷a̵y̴ ̸t̶h̶e̵ ̴r̴o̷t̷ ̴s̴e̷t̵ ̴i̴n̴ ̸f̶r̷o̶m̴ ̶t̸h̷e̴ ̴i̶n̵s̴i̴d̷e̶,̴ ̶s̴o̶ ̴y̷o̴u̶ ̵w̴a̸t̶c̴h̵ ̵y̷o̵u̵r̷ ̴o̸w̷n̶ ̶b̴o̴d̸y̸ ̵b̷e̵t̸r̴a̷y̸ ̴y̴o̵u̵ ̸l̴o̷n̴g̴ ̸b̵e̸f̷o̴r̴e̶ ̸i̵t̸ ̴f̸i̴n̴a̴l̵l̷y̵ ̷f̴a̴i̴l̸s̷.̷" (May the rot set in from the inside, so you watch your own body betray you long before it finally fails.)
"I̴ ̴w̸i̴l̴l̵ ̴h̶o̶l̵l̷o̷w̸ ̵y̴o̶u̵ ̸o̸u̵t̷ ̴a̵n̵d̵ ̵u̸s̸e̷ ̸y̴o̷u̷r̶ ̶s̸k̷u̵l̴l̶ ̴a̶s̶ ̴a̷ ̷c̴u̴p̵ ̷t̴o̴ ̵d̴r̵i̶n̴k̶ ̷t̸o̵ ̸y̶o̴u̵r̷ ̶o̴b̴l̶i̸t̴e̶r̸a̴t̷i̸o̵n̴.̷" (I will hollow you out and use your skull as a cup to drink to your obliteration.)
"L̶e̶t̴ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̸w̶o̴r̸m̴s̶ ̵k̷n̴o̴w̴ ̸y̷o̵u̴r̴ ̵n̵a̷m̴e̵ ̶b̷e̷f̵o̶r̸e̴ ̸I̴ ̴d̴o̵,̸ ̴s̵o̶ ̶t̴h̵e̴y̷ ̵g̶r̶o̴w̷ ̴h̶u̴n̵g̴r̴y̶ ̴a̶w̵a̵i̸t̷i̶n̷g̷ ̵t̴h̴e̶ ̴f̷e̶a̸s̸t̴ ̵I̷ ̵w̴i̷l̴l̷ ̴p̷r̶o̴v̴i̶d̵e̸ ̴t̵h̵e̸m̵.̷" (Let the worms know your name before I do, so they grow hungry awaiting the feast I will provide them.)
From the very instant Krogh had severed his own tether to the Threads of Fate, the concept of retreat had been annihilated. The path behind him was not merely closed; it had been erased, the bridge burned not with fire but with an act of supreme, irrevocable defiance. He stood at the precipice he himself had chosen, a point of absolute no return. There was no withdrawal, no negotiation, no second chance.
To fail here was to render void not just a battle, but an entire existence—the countless epochs of relentless cultivation, the myriad victories where legendary enemies had perished beneath his sword, the legions of rival geniuses whose ambitions had drowned in the river of their own blood, all of it would be for nothing. His hard-won fame, his fearsome name, the future that was his rightful destiny, the legend tales that were still being written—all would be consigned to the void, proven as ephemeral as morning mist scattered by a indifferent sun.
Yet, in the face of this absolute, soul-crushing pressure, a profound and terrifying clarity descended upon him. To contemplate this ultimate truth was not to fall into despair, but to have every distraction, every fear, every shred of doubt scoured away. The ghost's endless stream of malice, its psychic curses that could unmake lesser souls, washed over him like a foul wind against a mountain of diamond; he acknowledged its presence only as one acknowledges a distant, unpleasant noise, and then he chose to ignore it.
This was the shining core of humanity when confronted with dread and doom: not the absence of fear, but the supreme act of will to focus entirely on the next necessary action in spite of it. A singular, glorious, and terrifying purpose dominated his entire being, burning away all else: the utter and complete extermination of the Ju-On.
PS:
Hello, lovely readers! Just delivered a fresh chapter for you. 📖
So... I had my first chemo session. Can confirm the weirdest side effect: a permanent metallic taste, as if I'm sucking on rusty coins. So strange! The tiredness is also real—a 'my-bones-are-made-of-sand' kind of heavy. Let's just say my bed and I have become very close friends.
I'll do my best to share more next week. Until then, have a fantastic and cozy weekend! 💕