The world was dying quietly.
The sky, once a canvas of blue or gray clouds, was now just dark. Not the darkness of night, but a spiritual eclipse caused by something immense and unnatural. Gnarled, monstrous branches of a tree stretched everywhere, consuming the upper atmosphere, covering almost thirty-nine percent of the entire planet. It was a massive, living barrier, and it was the sign of a horror beyond anything modern sorcerers had ever faced.
Underneath this colossal shadow, the true cost was visible. Scattered across the landscape below, humans were trapped in a sap-like substance dripping from the tree branches. The sticky material wrapped around them, tightening and hardening. Each person, whether they were a weak sorcerer or a normal person (sorcerer or not), was being drained—the siphon was pulling their cursed energy directly into the great, monstrous plant.
The very atmosphere radiated gloom and doom. The air felt empty, too thin, as if the life force had been sucked out of the wind itself. The ground was cold, stripped bare by the spiritual famine.
"Damn it."
The words were spit out of the mouth of a young man standing in the desolate scene. He looked impossibly out of place with his surrounding. His body was drenched in sweat, but his stance was steady—better than anyone else still standing. He was Gojo Satoru. He possessed silver hair and a bright blue eye that could get someone immersed with one look. The focus in that single eye was frantic, straining against the chaotic energy field that assaulted his senses. His other eye, however, was permanently shut with a scar over it. It was a jagged, dark line that ran across his face, a brutal memory of how the war had begun. Despite the injury, he still looked incredibly composed, cool overall, as if the scar was a make over. He was, undeniably, one of the most handsome men in anime, and currently, he had a wry smile on his lips—a shield against the terrifying pressure.
Gojo kept his gaze fixed on the enemy: the person casually sitting on the lower branch of a huge tree, hundreds of meters tall.
The figure was mesmerizing and terrible. It was the figure of a young man at the tree branch, but he was clearly no longer human. He had pale white skin, almost like marble. Two little horns curled slightly at his forehead, giving him a demonic yet serene appearance. His main eyes were purple and held strange circles within them—a terrifying vision of the Rinnegan. At his forehead, he also had an eye red in color with nine magatama revolving slowly. This third eye was the source of the immense pressure, the control point for his world-ending technique. A little branch of the huge tree pierced into his body, barely visible, acting as a direct cable to channel the world's stolen energy. He was utterly relaxed, carrying an indifferent and confident demeanor.
This was Madara, the Sage of Curses, and he had won.
"Madara, don't look down on me!"
A loud shout came out from behind Gojo, thick with rage and frustration. Instantly, a figure at blinding speed appeared above the being called Madara. This person had his two arms poised for a punch. Shockingly, this person had four arms. It was Sukuna, the King of Curses, completely restored to his true, terrifying form. Even faced with annihilation, his instinct was pure, overwhelming destruction.
The Sage didn't even lift a finger to defend. "it's Useless Sukuna," Madara said Flatly as his purple eyes gave off a low glow. His power was total, effortless. "Shira tensei," he whispered.
An invisible, crushing shock wave from his body pushed Sukuna away. It was the absolute repulsion force of the Six Paths, a power that answered force with supreme dismissal. Sukuna crashed back to the ground, landing meters away with legs drawing two deep lines on the ground as he fought to stop his momentum. Sukuna's roar was swallowed by the heavy air, a sound of fury, not pain.
Madara slowly absorbed the impact's residual energy, feeling the vast cursed energy in his body—an energy that belonged to the entire world now. He stood up to his feet on the wooden branch, finally ready for the next phase.
"it's time," he said, causing everyone else to tense up.
This was the end. The final stage of the Infinite Nirvana ritual was beginning. The synthesis would soon complete, and the dream would claim the last survivors.
Near instantly, a shout filled with grievance cut through the silence. "why?"
The voice came from the ground below. Madara took his time to look at the people in front of him. The last stand was pitifully small: a one eyed Gojo, Tengen, the now-raging fully resurrected Sukuna, Kenjaku (who was watching Madara, not the sorcerers), and a few others still standing. Madara looked straight towards the source of the question just now, a young man in his teen maybe with pink hair.
Madara focused on him. "Yuji Itadori, why you ask, isn't that obvious already," he replied, his voice still flat and lacking warmth.
Yuji gritted his teeth as he heard that indifferent voice. He knew he was powerless against this god, yet he had to speak for the world. "this isn't the right way," Yuji managed to reply.
Madara gave an indifferent snort and cold snort. "right or wrong doesn't matter, what's matters is that the goal is accomplished."
He turned his head away from Yuji, dismissing the human's morality as irrelevant. He addressed everyone present in his flat, low and indifferent voice:
"Your chaos is meaningless, Sorcerers. Your 'King' is a slave to his appetite. My peace is absolute. Witness the quiet perfection of true existence."
The sheer arrogance of the claim was unbearable. Sukuna's fury finally erupted, louder than any attack. "Peace?! I will shred this world before I suffer your eternal stagnation!" Sukuna roared in response. He would rather see the world burn than submit to this forced order.
"you might be called the sage of curses but such peace, isn't true peace," Gojo said softly, looking cool as always, though his one eye was strained to its breaking point. Gojo offered the final philosophical defense: the value of free will, even in suffering.
Yuji's fists were clenched, that said his stance—he represented the remaining resistance. He stood ready, fueled by righteous anger.
Madara smiled—a cold, distant expression that held no humor. He opened his arms, inviting the final conflict.
"It seems I'll will take you all for one final dance, come let's to our hearts content."
The air thickened. Gojo met Sukuna's eye. A silent, terrifying agreement was passed between the greatest savior and the greatest destroyer. This was the moment. The final dance had begun.
A thousand years ago...