Chapter 18: *snort* plz spare my life… plz

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His eyes stretched wide, capturing the immensity of the figure before him. The sheer force emanating from this new iteration of Madara seemed to bear down on Darko, a heavy weight that compressed his chest and sent his breathing into erratic spirals.

His chest rose and fell in a dramatic rhythm, the searing pain that had previously consumed him momentarily forgotten in the wake of this overwhelming realization.

And suspended directly above Madara's head was a single Jujutsu blade, an object that initially appeared to have been meant for Miroku's utilization. But, a stark incongruity lay in the number of blades present – they exceeded what Miroku's attack should have logically yielded.

However, the astonishing twist came as these blades of various shapes and sizes began to converge and meld together in midair. The resultant fusion gave birth to a deluge of cutting edges, an overpowering cascade that descended upon the exact location where Darko's form had collapsed.

In an ephemeral span of time, Darko's body became engulfed by this torrential barrage, a tempest of sharp implements that seemed to erase his presence within its consuming force.

As the torrential onslaught faded, Darko's presence seemed to have been wiped from existence.

In the aftermath, there lingered only a remnant of Darko's battle attire, clinging precariously to the edge of an abyss-like chasm, a somber relic that whispered of his recent presence.

"What kind of abomination are you?"

From a cautious distance, Miroku's fear gripped him fiercely, causing his body to slump to the ground. His once-crisp combat uniform now clung damply to his form, soaked with the sweat that streamed down his round face, a testament to his tumultuous emotions.

Enveloped by an unrelenting sense of dread, his outstretched finger quivered uncontrollably as it aimed toward Madara, a physical manifestation of his anxiety.

"Indeed, you're right—"

Madara's gaze remained unwavering, fixed on Miroku, his words enunciated with calculated clarity.

"The whole group of you can't even hold my gaze."

As the echoes of his statement reverberated through the space, a palpable resonance accompanied their words, as if the impact of the truth they carried resonated beyond the mere sound.

A colossal palm, a manifestation of the merging black and purple Cursed Energy, emerged as a looming specter within Miroku's field of vision, its sheer enormity dominating the scenery.

A pungent and potent scent seemed to emanate from Miroku's lower extremities, an involuntary reaction to the overwhelming dread that had engulfed him.

Reacting with a mixture of survival instinct and desperation, he channeled every fragment of strength his Technique could muster, fortifying his defenses in a last-ditch effort. In a blur of motion, he spun around, his body propelled by an adrenaline-fueled burst of speed that exceeded any he had ever achieved, a desperate bid to escape the imminent danger.

"Please, I beg you, spare my life... boom!"

Terror held Miroku in its clutches, a fear so intense that tears welled up and streamed down his face, his voice quivering and fading into the background amidst the deafening roar that followed.

Gradually, after a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on.

A hushed stillness returned to the alley, like a heavy shroud settling over the once-chaotic scene, as if it were silently erasing all traces of the tumult that had transpired moments before.

A heavy silence hung in the air, a palpable stillness that seemed to encapsulate the aftermath of the chaotic events. The scene of destruction surrounding them, with debris scattered haphazardly and signs of upheaval evident, all seemed to converge towards the epicenter of Madara's three-tomoe Sharingan.

In the wake of the tumult, Madara's gaze shifted, fixating upon the prone forms of Miroku and Darko, both lying amidst pooling pools of blood. Remarkably, his expression retained its usual dispassion, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had unfolded.

From the very inception of this confrontation until its inevitable culmination, the positions of the individuals involved remained stubbornly unmoved, as if orchestrated by an unyielding hand of destiny.

And yet, what was even more perplexing was the scene within the confined alleyway. Despite the magnitude of impact and devastation that should have logically followed, no visible remnants betrayed the chaos that had transpired. No traces lingered to offer a hint of the colossal forces that had clashed or the aftermath that should have resulted.

"What just happened?"

Misato's features contorted with a mixture of confusion and disbelief, mirroring the puzzlement that had taken root in her mind.

Initially, those two Curse Users had presented an image of resolute confrontation, poised on the precipice of launching an all-out assault against Madara. The tension in the air was palpable, electric with the anticipation of imminent conflict.

However, in a heartbeat, the entire dynamic shifted. Their eyes, though fleeting, seemed to exchange a wordless agreement with Madara before the abrupt pivot that followed. Their sudden turn against each other was a jarring turn of events that defied expectation.

What was even more astonishing was the intensity of their attacks. There was no sense of coordination, no sign of teamwork. Their strikes bore the mark of a deeply-rooted animosity, a rivalry so fierce that it propelled them to turn on each other with an almost frenzied determination, as if each was determined to obliterate the other.

Strikingly, neither Miroku nor Darko seemed interested in self-preservation. Instead of defending themselves, they chose to embrace the path of mutually assured destruction, willingly subjecting themselves to the barrage of each other's Jujutsu-infused onslaughts.

In a span of time so brief it seemed almost surreal, both Miroku and Darko succumbed to the wounds they had inflicted upon themselves, their life forces ebbing away amidst the sea of crimson that surrounded them.

"Just insignificant dust, pale shadows in comparison to my powers." Madara's voice cut through the aftermath, dripping with a dispassionate superiority that seemed to emphasize the vast gulf between his strength and theirs.

The faint utterance acted like a lifeline, pulling Misato's consciousness back from the hazy depths of her bewilderment.