"Sukunahikona?"
Yoru chewed the piece of gum that was nearly reduced to mush, his teeth grinding with a creak.
The taste was sickeningly sweet, like half a bottle of sugar had been poured straight down his throat. It was so cloying that it made his whole body tense.
He leaned his head toward Jigen, who only had half his body left.
That guy had been acting like he owned the place just moments ago, but now Yoru's gravity field had pinned him deep into the mud pit. Half his face was smeared with black mud, making him look no different from a coal miner.
"Shrinking and enlarging objects? Making everything bigger or smaller?"
Yoru sneered.
His Mangekyō Sharingan was red enough to seem ready to drip blood, casting an eerie glow through the dim temple.
"It might be useful for petty theft, but trying that crap in front of me now? Don't you think that's a little too low-rent?"
"Don't try to play tricks with me!"
Yoru suddenly raised his foot. The sole, still carrying rust and dead skin flakes from the battlefield, came down viciously on Jigen's trembling right hand.
With a sharp crack, the sound of shattering bones rang especially clearly through the deathly silent underground chamber. The stale stench of blood rushed straight into their noses.
"Argh—!"
Jigen let out a short howl, like a wild cat whose tail had been stepped on.
His mud-caked face was filled with the despair of someone utterly suppressed and stripped of all dignity.
Those eyes that had once carried the arrogance of the Ōtsutsuki Clan were now full of pleading tears and saliva mixed with mud.
"It's useless, Isshiki."
Yoru lowered his voice and stared at his sweat-soaked forehead. His tone was as cold as a steel blade scraping against