Cursed scripture rained from the sky. Burning sutras spiraled overhead like divine landmines. The forest itself was screaming in binary — Monk doctrine clashing against Asher's wordless pressure, twisting space into something blasphemously sacred.
The Crimson Communion didn't run.
They flinched, ducked, cursed — but stayed.
Spillglass hid behind an overturned cart, flask in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other. "So, uhh, is this like—normal? For church?"
"Shut up and breathe less," Juno growled, face streaked with ink. "You're attracting the fire."
Flint roared somewhere off-screen, clearly having fun. A Kyoto student screamed in the distance. Thorne wiped blood off his lip, eyes glowing faintly — like his grief was close enough to taste.
"Is this a war now?" Junpei asked.
"No," Thorne said. "This is a reckoning."
Juno moved first.
Cursed debris flying. Sutras falling like cursed snow. She blinked and a scripture beam nearly sliced her in half.
She froze — not out of fear, but focus.
Her pupils split, fracturing like mirror glass. Her breath steadied.
Time slowed.
She stepped left. Duck. Roll.Three seconds into the future, a cursed root lunged.She sliced it before it even moved.
"One future. One payment."
A nosebleed. A flash of her younger self, crying in a confessional.Vision gone.
Back in real time, she blinked hard, cursed blood dripping from her eyes.
Thorne grabbed her shoulder.
"You good?"
"I just bought us ten seconds."
"Cost?"
"I'll cry about it later."
A sutra exploded behind them. Juno yanked Thorne behind a rock.
"Don't just sit there. Use it."
Thorne stared down at the crushed wood around him. A broken Kyoto staff. A snapped photo frame. Ash.
He placed his palm on the suture in his back.
Resonance.
Pain. Betrayal. Rage.The cursed memory screamed into his hand.
His curse technique clicked.
He pulled the cursed remnants together. Metal twisted. Wood boiled.A hammer formed — old, cracked, leaking steam from the grip.
"Not perfect," he muttered.
"Good enough," Juno said, breathing heavy.
Thorne stood, cursed weapon in hand, eyes empty.
"I know how this guy died."
"Then make it count."
Above them, the Monk's disciples began to descend — floating, chanting, weapons glowing.
Flint screamed from behind a tree, "I'M ON FIRE AND I'M NOT EVEN MAD ABOUT IT!"
Juno and Thorne stepped into the clearing, side by side.
One seeing death seconds before it came.
One swinging with death echoing in every strike.
The disciples didn't stand a chance.
From the treetops, a figure watched.
Sister Marrow?
No. Not yet.
But someone noticed the Communion was evolving.
The Monk paused mid-prayer.
Asher smiled faintly, lighting another smoke.
And below, Spillglass finally took a swig.
His aura started to shift.