The cursed forest went dead silent.No birds. No spirits. No whispers. Just pressure — like something holy was watching from inside your bones.
The Monk stepped through the fog, robes trailing like stained banners of forgotten scripture. His blindfold fluttered as if reacting to divine winds only he could feel. Every footstep bloomed cursed lotus beneath him — bleeding petals that evaporated in prayer.
Kyoto's students froze.
Momo's grip on her broom tightened. "That… that's not part of the event."
Mechamaru's sensors overloaded for a second. "Unregistered cursed priest. Not from any school."
Todo flexed. "Then we crush him."
"Idiot, no," Mai snapped. "That thing's beyond our bracket."
Crimson Communion stood still. No more dumb banter. No screams. No carts.Just silence.Even Spillglass didn't move.
Then, through the cursed branches, a flame sparked — soft, steady, defiant.
Father Asher, still lighting his cigarette, stepped from the opposite side of the field.No blindfold. No fanfare. Just tired eyes and faith too raw to preach.
The Monk stopped.
Asher exhaled smoke and muttered, "Didn't think they'd actually send you."
The Monk tilted his head. "You abandoned the Doctrine."
"You turned it into a weapon."
"You turned it into a joke."
Their voices didn't rise. But the air cracked around them — cursed pressure folding into sacred geometry. The battlefield warped. Trees bent inward. The sky trembled.
Junpei whispered, "They know each other?"
"Yeah," Juno said, dead-eyed. "Religious trauma speedrun time."
Thorne was already prepping a barrier. Flint? He just whispered, "This is gonna be metal," and started grinning.
The Monk stepped forward, staff humming with cursed scripture.
"I have come to erase false prophets. This cult of grief, this Communion of sin — it will be purged."
Asher didn't move.He took one more drag.
"Then bring the fire, saint."
The sky split.It was not metaphor.
In a flash of cursed light, the Monk raised his staff — and the world bent toward it.Cursed chants spilled from his mouth like divine poison, warping the ground into burning sutras. Every syllable carried weight. Names. Judgments. Spiritual laws older than jujutsu itself.
A beam of golden-black light fired — straight at the Communion.
Flint dove. Juno warped. Junpei grabbed Spillglass mid-ramble.Thorne's barrier cracked on impact — shattered like glass under dogma.
They barely survived.
Then the wind shifted again.
Asher stepped forward. No barrier. No chant.
Just one word.
"Repent."
The cursed scripture around the Monk shattered like glass under that single word.The battlefield screamed. Trees reversed their rot. Ash blew in reverse.
Asher raised his hand — two fingers glowing with pure cursed communion energy.
"You don't purify pain by erasing it," he said."You share it. You drink it. You carry it."
He snapped his fingers. The ground breathed.
A cursed sigil bloomed under the Monk's feet.
The Monk floated up, unfazed. "Your theology is flawed."
Asher laughed once — hollow, quiet."It's not theology anymore."
He flicked his cigarette into the wind.A massive cursed wave surged upward — not from him, but from the Communion.
Every fragment of grief they'd forged… reacted.
Weapons screamed. Blood memory boiled.Even Thorne's broken Epitaph shard glowed faintly.
The Monk narrowed his eyes beneath the blindfold.
"You've built your religion on rot."
Asher smiled like a ghost."Rot fertilizes. You'll see."
The sky cracked again.The Monk raised both arms.
And from behind him, dozens of cursed disciples appeared, eyes glowing, mouths chanting.
From behind Asher — nothing. Just his broken kids, standing beside him anyway.
They were already enough.