Chapter 665: Throughout Heaven and Earth, I Alone Am the Honored One
Satoru Gojo's previously severed head rose from the depths of the ocean. Across his eyelids and brow, sharp, jet-black curse seals completed their deployment, looking identically to rows of closed, unaligned eyes.
Upon this skull, his silver-white hair began to grow frantically, mutating in a heartbeat into a massive cloak that whipped and roared in the gale. The stygian, crimson-black cursed energy wrapping his frame remained layout-wise, exceptionally distinct—even while pinned inside the restrictive parameters of [The Dominator of the Realm].
Beyond all shadow of professional doubt, cursed energy was explicitly a capability rooted in the Soul Plane. Witnessing Gojo's mutation, Kaito Shirogane's features broke into a sharp, deeply interested expression.
Creeeak, clatter...
Metaphysical chains violently punched out from the void to continuously lengthen. In the very next fraction of a second, his headless torso was forcefully dragged out from the dimensional fold by the iron tracks. Raising its palms, the body carefully received the head as if locking an unmatched, majestic sovereign crown down onto his neck plates.
Gojo executed a loose pivot of his neck, the ragged laceration lining his throat completely vanished from the logs. His smile split his face into a thoroughly warped, mutated mask. That unadulterated malice, multiplied across the negative emotional parameters of his cursed energy, exponentially and limitlessly skyrocketed into the atmosphere over the Atlantic Ocean, ceding zero restraint to the environment.
Kaito Shirogane sharply monitored his panel; a colossal concentration of high-tier spiritual entities anchoring the Underworld were actively breaching the spatial veil, forcefully drawn to materialize on the grid by the sheer density of this cursed energy.
A skeletal leviathan whale whose biological hull comfortably cleared the hundred-meter mark breached the ocean waves, lazily navigating across the stratosphere, while an infinite school of predatory fish and trans-dimensional birds—their unhinged jaws packed with rows of razor-sharp teeth—swarmed to form a dense huddle around Gojo's coordinates.
At this precise nexus of the campaign, Kaito felt as if his sensors were genuinely validating the exact narrative future anchoring his home universe: a timeline where had his own engine and Hakumen failed to successfully execute [The Taishan Fujun Rite], Satoru Gojo would have inevitably completed his absolute mutation to step onto the board as the undisputed Sovereign of Cursed Spirits.
That apocalyptic threshold of pure, unadulterated malevolence—a bloodthirsty tyranny that lusted to systematically and non-discriminatorily liquidate every single weakling on the grid—was layout-wise, entirely distinct from the baseline demeanor of a regular Satoru Gojo.
But cursed energy was hardcoded to operate precisely under a mechanical profile of this classification: the more monumentally stygian an individual's negative emotions grew, the more aggressively it catalyzed the output; the more extreme the internal terror became, the more flawlessly it generated a high-tier cursed spirit.
Existing as the absolute chosen vessel destined to carry the [Six Eyes], Gojo had been structurally marked since his birth to bear the narrative burden of the world's strongest sorcerer. His mere presence across the chronology automatically forced every single native cursed spirit and sorcerer to experience a profound wave of existential dread.
Omitting an ancient, primeval monster of Ryomen Sukuna's classification, he had smoothly evolved into the premier, absolute aberration of the modern sorcery realm.
Kaito Shirogane allowed his frame to lazily float backward through the air, his predatory focus intensely curious to measure exactly what threshold of destruction a Gojo operating under these specific parameters could output.
And more importantly, his sharp intuition identified an exceptionally rare, high-priority asset on the board!
Kaito narrowed his eyes. The Six Eyes anchoring Gojo's visual processing functioned structurally as a high-precision, rule-bending "external cheat" engineered specifically to cede the user absolute, flawless governance over the manipulation of cursed energy down to a sub-atomic level. Yet at this exact microsecond, the cursed energy fields surrounding the mutated Sovereign were violently rippling in a state of near-total, runaway riot.
This phenomena wasn't triggered because the Six Eyes had sustained a structural failure to govern the energy pool; rather, it was because Satoru Gojo... had decisively chosen to let go of the reins.
Yes. The Limitless—a technique that mathematically required the absolute, high-precision governance of the Six Eyes to safely channel—had historically forced Gojo to continuously, flawlessly lock down his cursed energy every single frame of his life to maintain his personal security.
But at this precise coordinate of his evolution, Gojo had entirely and flawlessly discarded that governance. He contentedly allowed his cursed energy to enter a state of total runaway riot, exactly as if he were allowing a spectrum of negative psychological parameters that had been forcefully compressed within his cells for far too long to violently detonate outward.
Beneath the hyper-accelerated visual tracking of Kaito's twin Mystic Eyes, his diagnostics cleanly mapped through the dense shroud of roiling cursed energy to lock onto Gojo's biological heart. The muscle group was currently executing an exceptional, terrifying threshold of contraction and subsequent volcanic expansion.
Every lone thud it delivered acted identically to an absolute, unrefined vent to unleash his deep-seated rage and absolute dissatisfaction;
Every single structural pulse forcefully drove his internal disgust over being lazily manipulated across a pre-programmed timeline by a petty Creator, pumping the sentiment alongside the sub-zero currents of his blood straight into every single coordinate of his biology.
Satoru Gojo was, in his unyielding core, an incomparably, monumentally arrogant individual. He proudly visualized his ego as the strongest under heaven, contentedly accepting the absolute destiny of an organism born to occupy the zenith of strength.
Subsequently, alongside a companion who could comfortably be categorized as a premier champion of his generation—Suguru Geto—his mind had generated a separate line of specialized benevolence that was hardcoded directly atop that baseline of pure arrogance.
If one analyzed Geto's ideological doctrine during their high school era as an alignment anchored by his personal growth from within the ordinary mortal masses—an absolute "Grand Righteousness" derived from standard institutional education, moral benchmarks, and peer-level human empathy—
Then the benevolence Satoru Gojo historically cede to the ordinary cattle was, in actual structural reality, nothing more than a high-priority, patronizing handout delivered from an absolute position of supremacy.
He had systematically deployed his assets to project "righteousness" onto the world with a flippant, thoroughly playful mentality.
Because he was the strongest, an absolute special entity born to purposefully fracture the balance of reality—an individual whose vessel capacity mirrored a true "Divine Heir"—he naturally held a unique insulation that completely unlinked his ego from the standard love-and-hate dynamics governing weak mortal humans.
Gojo casually labeled the higher corporate echelons of his world as rotten tangerines, and he refrained from offering a single line of professional objection when external assets categorized humans devoid of cursed energy under the archetype of monkeys. His historical decision to deploy his blades on the side of the jujutsu faction to suppress cursed spirits was merely an automated consequence of being born into a human shell, entirely unlinked from conventional morality or standard logic.
But the exact microsecond Suguru Geto executed his absolute, narrative defection, Gojo—trapped within a total, bone-crushing isolation that a Divine Heir lacked the capacity to ever bridge—was forcefully compelled to think deeply. He began to frantically calculate a solution to rewrite the parameters of his world, ultimately settling on a single strategic trajectory: to operate under the archetype of a Teacher.
His blueprint dictated "instructing" and nurturing a fresh cluster of elite individuals who possessed the vessel capacity to establish an equal line of communication against his agency, so they could jointly launch an absolute reformation to re-engineer the world...
Satoru Gojo tilted his head back, his loose silver hair heavily saturated with liquefied cursed energy mass, the strands pasted flat against his skin.
The Limitless had been completely and flawlessly dissolved; or to state it with absolute clinical candor, he had permanently discarded that hyper-vigilant methodology that dictated driving an active infinity barrier around his frame twenty-four hours a day out of an underlying sense of structural insecurity.
He had completed an upgraded evolution. He was strong. Incredibly strong. At this exact microsecond of the operation, his parameters were layout-wise, astronomically... Powerful!
Following his absolute Resurrection under the Mud of the Grail, his inner core had naturally developed a total, unyielding disgust for the mediocre, low-tier mortal cattle anchoring the timeline. He harbored a profound resentment toward the narrative destiny that had manufactured his supreme vessel solely to act as a security blanket for a collection of worthless monkeys.
This disgust had been continuously seeded and nurtured during his historical cycle trailing Kaito Shirogane's coordinates across the multi-faction corridors of the Infinite Dimension Space.
He had personally validated ordinary humans belonging to separate, hyper-advanced universes execute an independent choice to alter their destiny even when pinned directly under the weight of an unmatched, apocalyptic tier of violence.
But the specific mortals anchoring his home worldline—no, correction: those pathetic monkeys—had remained rigidly, mindlessly planted at their original coordinates since the dawn of chronology, outputting absolutely nothing but an endless, runaway stream of negative cursed energy to make the planet monumentally more filthy.
And tracking the chronicle detailed across the Millennium Bug's database, his ultimate end was nothing more than a failed, broken Divine Heir—entirely incapable of salvaging his world, and layout-wise, completely unable to safeguard his own life force.
Satoru Gojo thoroughly, intensely loathed his own archetype as well. Pinned under this combined, multi-layered disgust targeting the world, the Creator, the cattle, and his own ego, his cursed energy had finally executed a total structural mutation inside the stygian depths of the Underworld.
Thump!
Amidst the frantic roaring of his heart, a highly specialized, reality-defying energy wave began to exponentially scale outward from his core. That was an absolute, intertwined black-and-crimson light, radiating out from the void in heavy, concentric rings.
Directly behind his back, the output was so monumentally dense it forced the spatial architecture of the vacuum to ripple and buckle like a heavy ocean surface under a gale.
Satoru Gojo smoothly pointed his left index finger straight toward the heavens while his right hand locked onto the dirt—only to lazily drop both limbs in the next fraction of a second, snapping his palms together before his chest to execute a perfect, single hand seal.
The baseline of his home universe had been far too pathetically small, and the Creator who had hardcoded his parameters was layout-wise, entirely too low-tier to ever process the grander layout of the cosmos.
He had officially established direct entry into material Reality. A farcical, synthetic Divine Heir no longer held a single programmatic reason to project an arrogant line of benevolence onto the board.
From this microsecond onward, every single action his engine executed would be steered exclusively by his own un-attributed individual will... Satoru ~ Gojo!
Kaito Shirogane monitored the transformation, the corners of his mouth splitting into an exceptionally wide arc that practically replicated the anatomy of a predatory serpent. His clinical mind was on the verge of proactively delivering an absolute round of applause to validate Gojo's ascension.
An internal mutation of this classification had completely bypassed his tactical expectations. In fact, evaluating it through his historical comprehension of the [Heart]—
His diagnostics concluded that an aberration like Gojo was an asset who operated far too close to his own archetype, making it layout-wise, monumentally difficult for his cells to ever identify the precise location of the Heart.
Quite the contrary: it was those pathetically weak, broken, and desperately struggling ordinary cattle who could seamlessly look through the void to touch their true, unblemished essence.
Yet at this exact microsecond of the campaign, this newly ascended Sovereign of Cursed Spirits was methodically and beautifully demonstrating to his senses exactly how a Heart behaves when it contentedly embraces its unadulterated individual Ego.
[You have established direct contact with the Incomplete Spiritual Light · Throughout Heaven and Earth, I Alone Am the Honored One.]
In the very next fraction of a second, Satoru Gojo thrust both of his palms outward as if manually clamping his fingers around the invisible spatial coordinates of the atmosphere, before violently tearing his arms apart.
Roar!
A deafening, mountain-cleaving draconic shriek violently exploded through the stratosphere. Under Kaito Shirogane's grin-widening focus, the twin-headed black-and-white giant dragon was actually split cleanly down the center out of thin air, the black and white profound light fields anchoring its defense violently fracturing under the traction.
Kaito evaluated the stygian, black-and-crimson energy wave cleanly blockading the roiling black and white profound light from touching Gojo's skin, sharply perceiving that at this precise nexus of the operation, Satoru Gojo stood completely and flawlessly independent of the very laws of heaven and earth.
He was actively launching an absolute, unyielding verification to witness his own material Existence.
In other words, Gojo was finalizing his absolute Self-Observation, Self-Validation, and Self-Construction.
That was a wave of pure, entirely unconcealed and majestic Arrogance.
Gojo abruptly forced his neck around, his blue-white Six Eyes flaring with an exceptionally brilliant, blinding luster. His features were heavily contorted, his jaw unhinging into a wide, monstrously split grin.
"Let the two of us execute an exceptionally playful, blood-soaked slaughter... Master ~ yo!"
His vocal cadence was entirely bizarre, sounding as if his cognitive processing were a single frame away from triggering a total runaway breakdown—yet that intense wisp of pure, self-absorbed ecstasy caused Kaito's grin to expand past all historical thresholds, his own features twisting into a matching mask of pure cruelty.
At this exact microsecond of the campaign, Satoru Gojo had officially and completely secured his absolute validation.
Stripped entirely of the programmatic chains of a farcical Grand Righteousness, and completely refusing to allow his muscles to be bound by the system archetype of "The Strongest", Satoru Gojo had fully mutated into a wild predator completely intoxicated by the raw density of his own strength.
This was his absolute, unadulterated true Ego.
"Heh~ you absolute freak... clean work. Your current metric is exceptionally elite, Satoru Gojo!"
Kaito Shirogane let out an uninhibited, rapturous roar. He completely refrained from utilizing his historical, mocking label of Two-Point-Five Gojo to insult his general. In the very next fraction of a second, Kaito morphed into a blazing golden kinetic ray, pfft-ing straight through the structural torso of the white giant dragon.
He threw both of his arms wide, his left hand violently ripping a thick strand of gold-shifting draconic meridian tracks straight out from the flesh. Amidst the frantic, terminal wailing of the leviathan, Kaito's physical frame completely vanished from the grid. Before the concussive shockwave of a sonic boom could even complete its compilation across local parameters, the upper atmosphere was already entirely, flawlessly packed with an infinite array of his spectral afterimages.
Apex velocity multiplied across apex physical strength—this was explicitly the absolute definition of true, unyielding Power!
Across the opposite flank of the stratosphere, the Sovereign of Cursed Spirits let out a sharp, raspy chuckle. His physical frame violently accelerated to punch straight through the copied, low-priority variation of the infinity barrier protecting the black giant dragon's hull.
Twin tracks of metaphysical iron chains violently drove forward to cleanly impale themselves deep into Shadow's internal organs. Gojo immediately locked his fingers, forcefully driving both arms outward to execute a maximum-scale Repulsion blast from within her core.
Pfft!
Accompanied by a monumental column of golden draconic essence blasting across the atmosphere, he manually and unrefinedly tore the black giant dragon into two separate, shredded halves with his bare knuckles.
Tracking the reverse cursed energy's positive mass attempting to execute a rapid biological reconstruction from within the split dragon hull, Gojo locked his fingers into a perfect singular Hand Seal, his distorted, electronic-laced vocal cadence unhinging to articulate that familiar, yet entirely mutated name:
"Domain Expansion... Unlimited Void~"
The pitch-black barrier of his domain completed an instantaneous, sub-atomic compilation across local space—but in the very next fraction of a second, Gojo drove a lone hand to violently tear the dimensional architecture apart, forcing the enclosed pocket of reality to enter a state of total structural collapse right alongside the black giant dragon.
The leviathan rigidly froze mid-air, its system metrics permanently failing to execute a single motor response.
Gojo smoothly turned his neck around. Shifting his focus toward a separate quadrant of the sky several thousand meters away, a colossal cloud of pure gold draconic blood mist had just violently detonated outward across all coordinates.
The pristine white giant dragon had been manually, forcefully hammered into a pulverized matrix of cellular mush that was far more structurally destroyed than a standard biological meat slurry.
Absolutely zero coherent biological tissue or skeletal infrastructure remained on the map.
Evaluating the absolute wipe of the grid, Satoru Gojo executed a brief frame of cognitive hesitation, before his smile cleanly split into a vastly more exaggerated, monstrously contorted grin.
This absolute freak... had actually driven his knuckles to systematically pound that dragon down to the molecular level while completely, flawlessly overriding the continuous self-healing parameters of its positive energy regeneration loop?!
He truly is... an undisputed, absolute Monster, heh.
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