A corrosive amalgam of regret and pure, undiluted hatred filled the Ju-On.
Emotions the evil thing expertly wielded as tools of torment but which now turned their venom inward—gnawed at the edges of its ancient, malice-twisted consciousness. This was the bitter, self-inflicted fruit of its own earlier, unchecked fury. In a fit of rage at the human puppets' sluggish obedience and low intelligence, the Ju-On had theatrically commanded Zoe Wright and the others to turn their blades upon one another, savoring the cruel, poetic symmetry of their mutual destruction.
Now, with the chilling clarity of a strategist who has just burned his own final map, the evil thing saw that act for the catastrophic waste it was. What a foolish, profligate extravagance their deaths had been! Had those precious human resources been preserved, their vitality held in the reserve, they could have been strategically sacrificed one by one, buying it not just one, but several crucial chances to recover from a mortal strike, providing multiple opportunities to endure and outlast Krogh Hanz's seemingly inexhaustible, relentless assault. Their immense value had been squandered for a mere moment of petty, theatrical malice, a decision that now tasted like ash and folly on its non-existent tongue.
The ghost-thing's baleful, hateful gaze lifted, fixing upon the lone swordsman who stood unbowed amidst the splintered ruins of the shrine. A silent tempest of uncertainty raged within its non-human core—a cataclysm of pure, incandescent fury clashing against a deep and profoundly unsettling confusion. This human, this Krogh Hanz, was a flawed, unpredictable elixir boiling over in its carefully calibrated crucible of malice, a violently discordant note in the grand, agonizing symphony of hatred the Ju-On had composed over countless years. The ghost being's will was a scripture written in countless layers of concentrated malice, a dark gospel that had subjugated legions, and yet it could not inscribe itself upon this man's soul. The evil's ghostly aura, a miasma that had eroded the foundations of thousand mighty sects and myraid toppled ancient clans, slid from his indomitable spirit like black rain from a pristine lotus leaf, leaving no stain, granting no purchase.
The void between the two wept with scattered Sword Intent of annihilated law. Each clash was not a sound, but a cancellation of silence, a scar upon the fabric of existence that bled raw, chaotic qi. Within this lethal arena, born from the hell, the entity known as Ju-on seethed.
It was a coalescence of absolute negation and hatred, a being forged in the lightless malice pits where karma curdles and hope goes to die. It was not a spirit of regret or vengeance, as some pitiable ghosts might be; it was the embodiment of the void that comes after endless despair, the entropy that claims all realms.
"T̸h̶i̶s̵…̵ ̵m̴a̸n̶…̴ ̴s̵h̴o̷u̷l̴d̷ ̴h̴a̷v̵e̸ ̶b̷e̵e̶n̴ ̴d̸u̶s̴t̸.̴ ̴H̷e̷ ̴s̷h̸o̴u̴l̶d̸ ̴h̶a̷v̷e̷ ̸b̶e̷e̵n̵ ̷a̸ ̵s̵c̶r̶e̷a̵m̸i̸n̴g̷ ̵s̸o̵u̸l̷-̸s̵t̶a̸i̶n̴ ̸u̷p̸o̶n̷ ̸i̸t̵s̴ ̵e̵s̸s̷e̵n̵c̴e̴ ̸a̶ ̶d̸o̸z̵e̷n̸ ̵t̶i̵m̶e̷s̴ ̸o̷v̷e̵r̶.̷"
(This… man… should have been dust. He should have been a screaming soul-stain upon its essence a dozen times over.)
Yet Krogh Hanz stood, a relentless titan of flesh and will, a walking heresy against the fundamental darkness Ju-on represented. He was an error in the universe's grand, decaying calculus, a variable that defied all prediction.
**D̴a̷m̶n̵ ̸t̴h̸e̴ ̷b̸o̶t̵t̷o̷m̷l̷e̴s̵s̸ ̸a̶b̸y̵s̴s̷!̶**
Damn the bottomless abyss!
The curse was a silent convulsion that rippled through the netherworld energies surrounding them. They were equals in measurable power—both at the peak of the Advanced Phase Foundation Stage, both wielding the peerless Sword Intent of the They-Above-All. Ju-on possessed the regeneration drawn from the endless gloom of the Earth Vein, a vast superiority that should have guaranteed a slow, grinding victory.
**S̷o̸ ̴w̷h̶y̴ ̷d̵i̸d̶ ̵t̷h̴e̷ ̴h̴u̸m̴a̷n̷ ̴m̸a̵n̴'̵s̸ ̴s̷t̸r̵i̸k̶e̵s̸ ̶n̵o̷w̷ ̷b̸i̵t̸e̶ ̴s̵o̴ ̵d̴e̷e̵p̴?̸**
So why did the human man's strikes now bite so deep?
Each swing of Krogh Hanz's sword was no longer mere sword art. It was a verdict. The energy it released carried a metaphysical weight, a finality that scarred not just Ju-on's ephemeral form, but the very essence of the void around them. Where Ju-on's power was consumption and decay, Krogh's was an annihilating light, a purging fire that felt… absolute. It was an otherworldly violation, a principle alien to the cycle of ruin Ju-on mastered.
Its form flickered, a chaotic storm of dark energy condensing its entire malevolent awareness onto the solitary figure. The question became a vortex, threatening the very coherence of its ancient, hateful purpose.
K̸r̴o̷g̴h̴ ̵H̸a̴n̸z̷!̸!̸!̸!̸!̸
The name was a psychic shriek into the trembling void, a cry that echoed through the realms of the damned.
"̴W̴h̵o̷ ̴i̵n̸ ̸t̸h̶e̵ ̸e̵n̵d̷l̴e̸s̶s̶,̴ ̷s̷c̶r̴e̸a̵m̵i̵n̸g̷ ̶a̷b̸y̶s̸s̷ ̸a̷r̵e̵ ̴y̷o̵u̵?̴ ̸W̶h̵a̶t̵ ̷i̴n̷ ̶t̴h̸e̸ ̴n̵i̸n̸e̶ ̷b̸u̷r̵n̴i̸n̴g̵ ̸h̸e̴l̷l̸s̶ ̶a̴r̴e̷ ̸y̶o̸u̷?̸"̷
Who in the endless, screaming abyss are you? What in the nine burning hells are you?
The air itself was ash and lament. His luxurious robes, once a symbol of his station within the sinister hierarchy of the demonic sect, were now scorched rags, clinging to a ruin of a body. His flesh was a horrific canvas of negation, blackened and cracked from the ghost's corrosive touch, the skin peeled back to reveal meat seared to the bone. He was a thing of meat and cinder, his physical form pushed to the absolute extreme, a hair's breadth from dissolution.
Yet, the demonic sect Sword Path cultivator stood firm.
And from within that ravaged shell, something blazed with an intensity that scorched the very despair Ju-on vomited forth. It was not the fiery aura of any righteous path, nor the bloody glow of the notorious demonic art. This was something else, something far more primal and terrifying to the ancient evil. This was the sheer, indomitable will of a human soul that refused to be extinguished.
Krogh Hanz was a man of a demonic sect, his hands stained with sins any righteous would weep to behold. But in this moment, against this absolute negation of all things, his humanity was not defined by morality, but by existence itself.
Something burnt deep within the man's eyes. It was a dazzling, pure, and utterly human spirit, and in that moment, Ju-on, the entity of utter evil, understood with a shock of cosmic dread that this mortality was far more dangerous than any ancient darkness it could ever wield. The man was not just a foe; he was an enigma wrapped in searing vengeance, a paradox that threatened to undo reality itself.
The sound that escaped Krogh Hanz was not one of weakness, but a visceral rebellion of his flesh against the indomitable will that commanded it. A violent cough wracked his frame, a torrent of blood flooding from between his gritted teeth. His hair, once perhaps a dark crown, was now a mantle of purest white, each strand a silent testament to the essence and years being burned away to fuel his final stand. His body was a husk, a crumbling vessel teetering on the very precipice of total collapse.
Yet, from this ruin, his eyes burned with an arrogance that could shame the heavens. His posture, though held together by sheer force of intent, radiated a high-handed confidence that mocked his own mortality. He was a sword on the verge of shattering, yet his edge remained sharper than ever, poised to deliver a killing blow.
It was then that the mountain itself cried out.
BLAST! BOOOOMMMM!
Two thunderous explosions, one from the distant valley of the martial arts arena and another, more devastating one, from the heart of Hanz Stronghold, ripped through the night. The concussions were not merely sound; they were the death rattle of a grand artifice. The very air, once thick with the oppressive gloom of the phantom array, shuddered and began to thin. The web of restorement energy that had fed the Ju-On was unravelling at its source.
A tremor of shock ran through the Ju-On's shadowy form. The Ju-On's core, a nexus of ancient hatred, quaked as it felt the Earth Vein—the array's lifeblood—shatter into a thousand chaotic streams. The perfect darkness it had woven was now bleeding light.
Sensing this seismic shift in the battle's foundation, a cold, triumphant smile carved itself onto Krogh Hanz's bloodied lips. It was the expression of a grand swordmaster who had just seen his opponent walk blindly into a checkmate set a hundred moves prior.
"The Earth Vein is shattered," his voice rang out, a resonant blade of pure disdain that cut through the dying echoes of the explosion. "The array is on the verge of ruin. You are doomed."
The final dregs of Krogh Hanz's life force ignited, not with a whimper, but with a roar that tore from the very depths of his being. It was a sound that defied his ruined throat, a guttural, world-breaking groan of pure, undiluted fury.
"Karrrr!"
It was more than a battle cry; it was an announcement. The era of this evil's dominion was over.
Shee-neh!
Shee-neh!
DDDIIIIIEEEEE!!!
The air did not simply part for his sword aura; it screamed as it was murdered. What had been dozens of shards now became hundreds, a blizzard of annihilation materializing in the space of a single heartbeat. They did not fly in a volley; they rained, a relentless, divine punishment from a vengeful god. The sky was blotted out, transformed into a swirling canvas of slaughterous crimson, each shard a brushstroke of absolute finality.
Krogh Hanz began to walk forward.
His body was a burnt offering, his hair a banner of frost-white flame billowing behind him. But his eyes were twin suns of high-handed disdain and absolute, unforgiving fury. He was a man, and he was a force of nature, and he was the judgment this abomination had so richly earned. With each deliberate, earth-cracking step, another swarm of sword aura shards blasted forth.
They were not mere projectiles. Each was a sliver of otherworldly law, an overwhelming comet of energy that carried the weight of a dying star. They did not just strike the Ju-On; they inscribed themselves upon its form. The ghost's body, a coalescence of millennia of malice, convulsed as the shards carved deep, each impact causing a cacophony of shrieks to erupt from the countless tormented faces that swirled within its essence. Their expressions contorted from hatred into pure, unadulterated horror, their forms evaporating under the purging light.
The annihilation was not contained. The sheer, scorching wind of each shard's passage annihilated the landscape. Ancient trees of the mountain woods did not splinter; they vaporized. The very rock beneath their feet was scoured away, leaving molten glass in its wake. It was not a battle; it was an erasure. Krogh Hanz advanced through the storm of his own making, a pillar of wrath walking calmly through the apocalypse he commanded, each step punctuated by the symphony of the Ju-On's screaming dissolution. This was a sentence being carried out.
The Ju-On's form, once a towering scourge upon existence, convulsed under the relentless downpour of crimson Sword Aura. Krogh was not giving it a clean death, but an unraveling. The evil thing shrieked and unleashed endless curse, a venomous wail woven from the very fabric of its hatred that tore at the soul more than the ears.
"N̴O̷!̵!̸!̸" the cry erupted, a cacophony of a million damned voices speaking as one. "Y̴o̷u̸ ̶b̶u̷t̴c̸h̵e̵r̵ ̵o̴f̵ ̸k̵i̵n̵!̸ ̵S̴l̷a̶y̴e̵r̶ ̴o̴f̴ ̵f̵r̸i̸e̵n̷d̵s̵!̴"
(You butcher of kin! Slayer of friends!)
"M̴a̵y̶ ̵b̶l̴a̸d̵e̸s̶ ̶t̷h̴a̴t̶ ̸s̸l̴i̴t̵ ̴y̷o̵u̶r̵ ̵k̷i̵n̶ ̸a̷n̶d̴ ̷k̴i̷t̵h̶,̸
T̴u̶r̸n̵ ̴i̶n̸w̴a̶r̵d̸,̷ ̵w̷r̸e̷t̸c̷h̵e̶d̸,̶ ̶o̵n̸ ̵y̵o̴u̵r̸ ̸p̶e̵t̶t̶y̵ ̵m̸y̵t̸h̸!̴
M̵a̷y̸ ̸e̶v̴e̴r̶y̴ ̵s̶o̴u̷l̶ ̵y̴o̴u̶ ̵d̵a̴r̵e̵d̵ ̸b̸e̸t̴r̵a̶y̸,̸
H̵a̸u̶n̷t̷ ̵e̶v̷e̴r̴y̶ ̷s̵t̷e̶p̴,̶ ̵a̸n̷d̷ ̴t̸r̷a̷p̴ ̶y̵o̷u̸r̸ ̷w̸a̵y̶!̸"
(May blades that slit your kin and kith,
Turn inward, wretched, on your petty myth!
May every soul you dared betray,
Haunt every step, and trap your way!)
"M̸a̴y̸ ̴t̶o̸w̷n̴s̵ ̵y̵o̴u̴ ̷r̶a̸z̶e̴d̸,̶ ̷a̶n̸d̷ ̷m̸o̷r̷t̷a̸l̵s̶ ̶y̴o̸u̵ ̸s̵l̷e̸w̴,̴
R̷i̵s̴e̶ ̸f̴r̴o̸m̴ ̴t̸h̵e̴ ̴e̸a̷r̴t̶h̸ ̶t̶o̵ ̵s̴l̴a̴u̶g̶h̶t̵e̸r̴ ̴a̶n̵d̵ ̸f̵l̸a̴y̸ ̸y̴o̸u̴!̷
M̴a̴y̶ ̷e̷v̶e̷r̶y̶ ̶d̷e̶a̷t̴h̶-̸c̷r̵y̶,̸ ̵e̸v̷e̸r̷y̸ ̸g̴r̶o̵a̷n̴,̷
C̵l̵a̶i̷m̵ ̵y̶o̴u̸r̸ ̸d̵a̴m̵n̶e̷d̴ ̷s̵o̴u̵l̵,̶ ̷a̸n̴d̴ ̸s̶t̷o̵m̶p̴ ̴y̷o̸u̴r̷s̵ ̷a̵l̶o̴n̴e̴!̶"
(May towns you razed, and mortals you slew,
Rise from the earth to slaughter and flay you!
May every death-cry, every groan,
Claim your damned soul, and stomp yours alone!)
Each accusation was a final, desperate strike, meant to poison Krogh's fate.
"M̴a̷y̴ ̶s̶h̵e̷ ̵y̸o̴u̵ ̷s̵c̴o̵r̶n̴e̴d̵,̶ ̵w̵i̸t̴h̴ ̶c̷o̵l̸d̶ ̷d̶i̴s̸d̴a̵i̴n̵,̷
B̴e̷ ̸c̸r̶o̴w̴n̴e̴d̵ ̴t̷h̸e̴ ̶q̵u̶e̴e̸n̸ ̵o̸f̸ ̴y̶o̶u̴r̴ ̸l̷o̵n̸g̸ ̷p̵a̵i̷n̷!̵
M̵a̵y̷ ̷e̶v̸e̴r̵y̴ ̴h̷o̷p̵e̴ ̶o̵f̷ ̵l̶o̴v̴e̸ ̷t̷a̷k̷e̵ ̵f̷l̵i̴g̸h̴t̸,̸
A̷n̶d̴ ̶l̸e̴a̵v̸e̶ ̷y̸o̸u̸ ̷i̵n̶ ̵e̸t̷e̵r̶n̵a̴l̸ ̶n̵i̷g̷h̵t̷!̸"
(May she you scorned, with cold disdain,
Be crowned the queen of your long pain!
May every hope of love take flight,
And leave you in eternal night!)
"B̷y̴ ̴m̵y̸r̷i̷a̶d̶ ̴v̸e̸n̸g̷e̷f̸u̵l̷ ̷s̸o̶u̴l̶s̴,̴ ̸t̶h̴i̷s̸ ̶m̷a̷l̴i̵c̷e̴ ̴c̴u̵r̴s̴e̸ ̵i̷s̴ ̷s̵p̸u̸n̷,̸
U̷n̵e̸n̴d̵i̵n̷g̶ ̶t̷i̴l̵l̶ ̵t̵h̶e̵ ̵s̸t̵a̶r̶s̵ ̵a̷n̸d̸ ̴c̴o̴s̷m̸o̵s̷ ̶u̸n̵d̴o̴n̸e̴!̴
N̵o̷ ̵p̷e̴a̷c̶e̷ ̷i̵n̸ ̶l̸i̷f̵e̴,̷ ̶n̶o̸ ̴r̵e̷s̷t̸ ̸i̴n̷ ̷g̶r̷a̸v̷e̸,̸
Y̴o̷u̵r̸ ̶n̴a̴m̶e̶ ̸b̵e̵ ̴r̶o̶t̶t̷e̴d̵,̶ ̶r̵a̸n̸k̵,̶ ̶a̴n̸d̵ ̶k̵n̷a̷v̵e̵!̴"
(By myriad vengeful souls, this malice curse is spun,
Unending till the stars and cosmos undone!
No peace in life, no rest in grave,
Your name be rotted, rank, and knave!)
The million cursed faces that writhed across its surface flared with incandescent hatred, their collective malice a last-ditch attempt to sear his spirit. But one by one, they were snuffed out. A shard of sword intent would slice through, and a dozen faces would contort into silent screams before dissolving into nothingness. The ghost's form twisted in exquisite agony, its substance writhing like a nest of severed snakes, its very coherence being annihilated slice by slice.
"Y̵o̷u̵ ̸w̸e̶r̴e̸ ̵n̵e̶v̷e̴r̵ ̶m̷e̴a̶n̷t̸ ̸t̶o̸ ̸t̴r̶i̸u̸m̶p̶h̷,̸ ̸n̵e̴v̴e̵r̸,̴
B̷o̸u̷n̵d̶ ̵t̴o̵ ̴f̸a̷i̸l̷,̶ ̸n̶o̵w̷ ̴t̷h̵e̶n̷ ̸a̴n̷d̸ ̶f̴o̸r̷e̶v̷e̶r̷!̸
T̵h̵e̷ ̷s̶a̸c̸r̵e̷d̷ ̵a̵b̵y̸s̶s̸,̷ ̷t̵h̸e̵ ̵H̸e̸a̸v̷e̴n̴s̵'̵ ̵c̵o̵r̶e̶,̸
S̶p̴i̸t̶s̴ ̵a̸t̵ ̴t̸h̴e̸ ̵f̵i̵l̵t̴h̷ ̶b̸e̴i̸n̸g̸ ̸y̶o̶u̷ ̴k̷n̴e̶l̴t̷ ̷b̶e̸f̵o̴r̴e̸!̴"
(You were never meant to triumph, never,
Bound to fail, now then and forever!
The sacred abyss, the Heavens' core,
Spits at the filth being you knelt before!)
"Y̴o̸u̴!̵ ̶A̸ ̵f̷a̵i̸t̴h̵l̴e̸s̶s̶,̸ ̸b̴l̶o̴o̷d̵y̷,̵ ̶h̴a̶t̶e̴f̸u̵l̷ ̵p̸e̵s̸t̸—̸
B̸e̴ ̵c̷u̴r̴s̷e̶d̷!̷ ̵B̵e̴ ̴s̵c̴o̵u̶r̵g̷e̴d̴!̴ ̴B̵e̴ ̸u̴n̵d̸e̸a̴d̶-̵r̴e̸s̷t̸!̴"
(You! A faithless, bloody, hateful pest—
Be cursed! Be scourged! Be undead-rest!)
Krogh Hanz watched, his expression a mask of cold finality, as his power severed the ghost's vitality. The dark energy that had given it form was carved away, piece by piece, until the towering malice was reduced to a shuddering, core-less wisp. The litany of hate faded to a desperate whisper, then to a hollow rasp.
The devastation was absolute. The mountain peak had been scoured clean, reduced to a plain of shattered stone and glassy, fused earth. In the center of this barren silence, beneath a sky still tinged with the bloody afterglow of annihilated sword aura, lay a piece of jade slip.
It was The Ju-On Dao Pillar.