The place Kenjaku chose was not a battlefield, nor a ruin born of recent destruction.
It was worse.
An abandoned underground transit hub beneath what used to be a commercial district—sealed off years ago after repeated cursed infestations.
The air itself felt old, heavy with residue that clung to the lungs. Emergency lights flickered weakly, painting the concrete in dying shades of red.
Izana arrived first.
He did not come alone.
Behind him walked his generals—silent, disciplined, their presence bending the cursed atmosphere around them.
Even injured, even with one arm bound beneath layers of cursed reinforcement, Izana's aura pressed outward like a slow, inevitable tide.
The floor beneath his boots fractured with every step, hairline cracks spreading despite no visible effort.
Kenjaku arrived moments later, his footsteps light, almost casual. Beside him moved the Disaster Curses.
Jogo burned quietly, flames suppressed but restless. Hanami's roots creaked against the ceiling.
Mahito smiled far too wide, eyes crawling over Izana with fascination rather than fear.
Dagon lingered like a deep pressure, unseen water pressing against the walls of reality itself.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Jogo clicked his tongue.
"…So this is him."
Mahito tilted his head. "Interesting. Really interesting. His cursed energy density is… abnormal."
Kenjaku's eyes narrowed—not in concern, but in intrigue.
Dense. Vast. Refined.
Izana's cursed energy did not explode outward like Gojo's overwhelming presence, nor did it feel endlessly deep like Yuta's reserves.
Instead, it was compressed, layered, controlled—like a star held together by sheer will.
Utility radiated from it.
Adaptability.
The kind of cursed energy that could be reshaped endlessly without losing efficiency.
Kenjaku smiled.
"So it's true," he said calmly. "Your pool rivals Yuta Okkotsu's. And in terms of application… you may even surpass Satoru Gojo."
One of Izana's generals stiffened at the name.
Izana himself did not react.
"Flattery," Izana said flatly. "You didn't bring the Disaster Curses here to compliment me."
Mahito chuckled. "Sharp too. I like him."
Izana's remaining hand clenched.
"I lost this arm fighting your era's symbols," Izana continued, his voice low. "I am not interested in alliances born of convenience."
Kenjaku folded his hands behind his back. "Then let's be honest."
He gestured outward.
"The modern era is rotting. Its systems are collapsing under their own contradictions.
Heroes rely on symbols. Sorcerers cling to balance. Both believe strength alone preserves order."
His gaze hardened.
"And now all three pillars are gone."
A silence followed—heavy, suffocating.
Kenjaku went on. "Cursed energy is evolving faster than ever. Low-grade curses are adapting.
Special-grades appear weekly. Humans panic. Governments panic. And soon—"
He smiled wider.
"—they will beg for annihilation."
Izana studied him for a long moment.
"You want to erase the modern era."
"I want to end stagnation," Kenjaku replied smoothly. "And you want the same thing."
Jogo snorted.
"We burn everything."
Hanami's voice rumbled softly. "Return the world to natural balance."
Mahito laughed. "And reshape humanity!"
Izana finally spoke again.
"You're all nuisances," he said coldly. "But you're correct about one thing. This era worships weakness disguised as hope."
One of his generals stepped forward. "My lord—"
Izana raised his hand, silencing them.
"I will not bow to you," Izana said to Kenjaku. "Nor will Night Sky become your pawns."
Kenjaku inclined his head. "Of course not."
A pause.
"Then this is a truce," Izana finished. "A convergence of intent. When the modern era falls, we settle what remains."
Kenjaku smiled, satisfied.
The world shifted.
Elsewhere, chaos unfolded without pause.
Ren's blade tore through the curse before it could scream, the body dissolving into ash mid-air. Another lunged from the side—Ren didn't even look. A pulse of cursed pressure crushed it instantly.
Too fast. Too brutal.
"Ren—stop."
Mirai's voice cut through the aftermath.
Ren froze.
The street around them was shattered. Storefronts collapsed. Civilians stared in terror, some running, others frozen in shock. This was supposed to be a containment mission. Instead, it looked like a disaster zone.
"You're losing control," Mirai said, stepping between him and the civilians.
"I did what was necessary," Ren snapped. His cursed energy flickered violently, reacting to his anger. "These things are everywhere. If I hesitate, people die."
"And if you don't," Mirai shot back, "they die anyway."
Ren clenched his fists.
"I can feel it," he said through gritted teeth. "Something is watching us. Studying us. Ever since they died, it's like the world is testing how far I can go."
Mirai's expression softened—but her stance didn't.
"That's exactly why you have to stop."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Gojo and All Might didn't carry everything alone because they were strong. They did it because they chose restraint."
Ren looked away.
"I don't know if symbols matter anymore," he muttered.
Somewhere else, Midoriya watched a news broadcast showing another city in flames, hands trembling.
Yuji sat alone, staring at the floor, Sukuna's laughter echoing faintly in his skull.
Nanami adjusted his tie in the ruins of a mission site and spoke quietly to no one in particular.
"This is how the world ends," he said. "Not with one disaster—but with exhaustion."
And far beneath the city, two forces shook hands over the corpse of the modern era.