Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

“Revenge?” Vox grinned, revealing sharp teeth. “How many of our people have they killed in their annual ‘cleansing’? Now it’s our turn.”

He stretched out a hand, and a live broadcast of Heaven immediately appeared on the screen—angels were running before the broken gates, clearly in chaos.

854 >>

"Look at them. They're afraid. These angels, how pathetic how cowardly and weak they are! In life, they were lambs we trampled on at will, and in death, they deserve only to be abused by us!"

Just as Vox was making his arrogant remarks, the wind suddenly stopped.

The air in the entire Ring of Pride seemed to be sucked out in an instant, and then poured back in, crushing down from the dome with a suffocating pressure.

Vox's monitor began to flicker, displaying static that shouldn't have been there. The cameras and detectors he'd deployed to every corner of Pentagram City started capturing images of things that were previously unobservable.

"What--"

Thunder tearing the sky

A white beam of light shot down from the crack in the sky, covering half of the Five-Pointed Star City in diameter, and crashed into the ground with a deafening roar. Buildings within a radius of hundreds of meters were twisted, shattered, and turned to dust in the shockwave, and countless demons who couldn't escape were vaporized before they could even scream.

The giant screen in Hell Square shattered, plunging the image into darkness.

Vox rushed to the edge of the observation deck, staring intently at the direction where the white beam of light had fallen. That area, once the most bustling commercial district of Pentagram City, was now just a giant, still-smoking crater, its asphalt boiling at the edges, and twisted steel bars protruding from the soil like rows of messy tombstones.

"Impossible..." His voice was distorted, like an old television with a poor signal, "How could those angels possibly have such a—"

A beam of white light rose from the giant crater.

No, that's not right.

That wasn't light—it was a pair of wings. Pure white, each feather shimmering with a metallic sheen.

Then came the second pair. The third pair, with its six wings spread out, resembled the reflection of a burning city in the night sky.

A figure emerged from the center of that light, enveloped in a visible holy light that caused the surrounding air to hiss piercingly. He was nearly two meters tall, his long platinum-gold hair floating in the windless sky, and he held a burning sword forged from solidified light in his hand, each swing leaving a burning mark in the air.

The moment his footsteps touched the earth of hell, countless cracks spread outwards along the street, as if the fallen city itself shrank before him. From the cracks flowed a gray gas, not the usual sulfurous smell of hell, as if time itself was bleeding.

He looked up at the top of the V Tower.

There was no anger, no hatred, not even a scrutiny of the enemy in those eyes. There was only one thing in those eyes: judgment.

The Vox system overheat alarm went off incessantly.

"Who the hell is that?" Valentino's cigarette slipped from his fingers, and he took a step back, then a second, then a third.

He didn't answer. His lips moved slightly, perhaps in prayer, perhaps in command—no one could hear clearly. But hell heard something: a horn sounded.

A horn, seemingly from nowhere, pierced the sky of hell. It was a sound more ancient than any music, an attack more deadly than any weapon. The demons who heard the horn covered their ears and fell to their knees, screams rising and falling. Some bled from their seven orifices, some their bodies began to disintegrate, and some tore at their own skin in a frenzy.

Vox didn't understand what was happening, but his instincts told him that this being didn't belong to the Heaven they knew. This wasn't one of those exorcist angels who came to Hell every year in white robes to do their annual cleanup.

“Say it again.” He stared at Vox and said calmly.

"what do you?"

Vox doesn't know how he regained his voice, but he made a decision—perhaps the worst decision of his life.

His image stabilized on the screen, his expression returned to a smile, and that sharp crease reappeared at the corner of his mouth. He turned on all the channels, and the entire Ring of Pride still received VoxTek's signal.

“You made a mistake,” Vox said, echoing back at Michael. “This is hell. Here, I’m in charge.”

The six-winged angel stared at him indifferently, like an adult looking at a child who dared to defy the laws of heaven and earth.

"You say...you decide?" He raised his sword.

A white light shot out from the tip of the sword, not pointing at the V Tower, but at the energy chamber of the giant angel cannon behind the V Tower.

Lucifer's cage. The beam struck the energy core, causing Lucifer inside to groan. The golden runes erupted with blinding light before shattering. Lucifer tumbled from his restraints onto the platform, panting heavily, but feeling no joy whatsoever.

"Do you think that by imprisoning a fallen person and using his power, you can challenge Heaven? You can challenge the authority of God?"

The light converged, and the air began to distort. In the hellish sky, the clouds swirled wildly, forming a gigantic vortex, its center directly facing the angel's head.

854>>>>

"Fire! Fire! Kill him!!!" Vox screamed hysterically.

The cannon began to automatically recharge—and then it fired.

A beam of light, thicker than when the gates of Heaven were blasted open, shot out from the cannon's muzzle and hurtled straight toward the six-winged angel. It was Lucifer's angelic power, his magic compressed, amplified, and poured out in its purest form.

A pillar of light powerful enough to tear apart heaven engulfed him.

From the V Tower, Valentino saw the beam of light that struck the ground illuminate half of hell, the shockwave crushing buildings within a radius of several kilometers into fragments, and dust and flames rising up, obscuring the dome.

"Is it resolved?" he asked in a low voice.

V-Vox did not answer; he was waiting for data transmission, for sensor feedback, and for the other party's life signal to disappear from the screen.

Five seconds, ten seconds, thirty seconds.

The dust began to settle, but the angel remained standing in the same spot.

He didn't retreat an inch, not even moving his feet. A transparent aura surrounded his body, deflecting and scattering the beams of light from the angel cannon, splitting them apart like a river encountering a reef. His clothes were perfectly wrinkle-free, not a single hair was out of place, and not even a speck of dust clung to his sword.

He was unharmed.

The angel lowered his head and glanced at the charred circular area at his feet—the only evidence that something had struck him. Then he looked up towards the top of Tower V.

A new emotion appeared in those eyes.

It wasn't anger, it was impatience, like an adult finally getting tired of a child's mischief and preparing to give him a good beating.

Vox's heart—if he had one—stopped beating.

The angel raised his hand, and the next moment—

Light comes from chaos.

Endless light enveloped the entirety of Hell, and within this boundless radiance, Hell began to crumble, while the voice of the archangel resounded in the ears of the sinners.

"You ask who I am? Let me tell you, these are all my names—"

"I am the King of Holy War, the Exorcist, the Guide of the Dead, the Guardian of the Gates of Heaven! I am the Lord of Light, the Guardian of Eden, the Sleepless One!"

“I have countless names, just as the wind has countless names, and death has countless ways! My sword burns with the flames of the Lord, and my wings come from the first dawn of creation! I am the Father, the Lord of hosts, and my Master is the Son of Savior!”

"I am—Michael!!!"

The moment the name was uttered, sinners began to scream. They knelt down and frantically begged God for mercy with all the prayers they had learned in life, even though they themselves were not sure if they deserved to be heard, or they tried to run into the shadows of the building, looking for any possible cover.

But none of this could stop the light from completely engulfing the entire hell!

For seven days and seven nights, light enveloped hell, and even more so heaven.

The omnipresent light filled every corner of the universe, igniting every filth.

When the light fades and all things return to nothingness, neither heaven nor hell, nor the human world, remains.

Everything starts anew.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

P.S.: This side story is what I would have written if it were a shorter version. It's an IF timeline story, and this is the only one. As for the other Adam who appears after he dies, it's too repetitive, so I'll skip it.

855

574. [Jujutsu Kaisen] Shibuya Incident: The Imaginary Crimson King

"A newly awakened warlock? Interesting..."

The nightmare was stolen, the consultation was colorful, the bridge was shackled, the bureau was trusting, the worm was bubbly, the badger was lucky, the fish was pine, the Ψ was from Φ.

Calling it a "coincidence" isn't quite accurate. At this very moment, every inch of air inside Shibuya Station is filled with the remnants of a curse. The cyborgs deployed by real people are indiscriminately slaughtering and forcing humans to advance to the fifth underground level. The fear and cursed power of ordinary people here are spraying everywhere like a burst abscess.

In this environment, any new and unstable fluctuations of magical power are like fireworks in the dark, extremely conspicuous.

However, this curse power is clearly the curse power that comes from awakening a spell, rather than the negative energy that suddenly mutates under the inaction of a real person.

The text appears to be a jumbled collection of characters and symbols, possibly from different sources. A direct translation isn't meaningful without further context or clarification.

He walked through the messy central street, stepped over several mangled human remains, and stopped at the entrance of a dead end.

He saw the girl.

A high school girl. Sixteen years old. Black hair, her uniform was a common style in the Kanto region; he couldn't remember which school she attended and didn't care to. She was slumped against the wall, her legs trembling, her hands covering her head, muttering to herself.

"You can't see me, you can't see me, you can't see me."

interesting.

The text appears to be a jumbled collection of characters and symbols, possibly from a corrupted or incomplete document. It doesn't form coherent sentences or paragraphs. A direct translation wouldn't be meaningful.

The way her magical power flows within her body is very peculiar. Unlike combat-type mages who concentrate their power in their limbs and abdomen, or sensory-type mages who gather it in their brain regions, her magical power flows entirely to the occipital lobe of her cerebral cortex, which is responsible for visual processing, and the prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for imagination and memory.

These two areas are operating at high intensity simultaneously, forming an exceptionally clear circuit of magical energy.

It's not the type that enhances eyesight. He'd seen far too many techniques for enhancing eyesight, and the distribution of magical energy was completely different.

She can see things, or rather, she has always been able to see things, but her body has developed a physiological habit of "ignoring" them for a long time—her sympathetic nervous system is in a state of low-intensity, sustained excitation; her adrenaline secretion pattern indicates chronic stress disorder; and her amygdala in her brain is abnormally active. These physiological indicators piece together a complete picture.

An ordinary girl who can see curses has survived for over a decade in this cursed world by pretending not to see them.

And that technique awakened when she could no longer pretend she couldn't see it—

Liao Yangzhang saliva gulp Γ,  brother  Gou knock step Gang knock certain pool take  Cong Hui shun Chou ⒚ hui sui   juan sword  zhi  juan all vulgar  J jiao yong ,  ruo you xian   jing huan  mao shou dao song Φ tomb po dan,  Suo easily 'read' the operating mode of her technique.

Her spells are generated on a circuit between her occipital and prefrontal lobes. This circuit is activated whenever her brain processes visual fear information. As a result of this activation, her spells automatically generate a concrete form based on the "fear images" stored in her brain.

It's not a traditional shikigami summoning. The magical power circuit of shikigami summoning is generated in the lower dantian, and it needs to be infused with magical power into a certain medium (paper, shadow, animal) to take shape. Hers is not.

Her physical form is created directly from the brain's "memory," bypassing any medium, and fabricated out of thin air using magical power. It is not like the spellcasting technique, which transforms spellcasters into spheres that can be devoured and stored for later manipulation and use.

Artificial curse spirits.

No—it should be an imaginary curse spirit.

Liao Jian Nao Yi Qiao 10 5 Xian Sha

There are very few spells in this world that can create curses out of thin air. A real person's "transformation through non-action" requires touching the soul, and one's own "spirit manipulation" requires capturing and then controlling the spirit. But this little girl's spell directly materializes the "imagined terror" from her own brain's fears.

In theory, the upper limit of this technique is infinite. As long as she believes in a certain being as powerful as possible, and as long as her fear of a certain image is real enough, she can create it.

"interesting."

The iliac training alliance party, the sour ravine, the slow-moving ravine, the ...

He needed to confirm one thing: whether her technique could only create things she feared, or whether it could create anything she believed existed.