The call ended.
Blood-red slit pupils met a gaze.
Kokichi Muta was staring at Wangchuan.
His expression hovered somewhere between blankness and profound bewilderment, as though he had just heard something utterly beyond his existing understanding.
"What is it?"
Wangchuan spoke.
Those blood-red slit pupils narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to decipher the expression on Kokichi Muta's face.
His voice brought Kokichi Muta back to his senses.
"Ah... nothing, sir!"
He abruptly straightened up, making the hem of his yukata sway.
He stood ramrod straight, like an elementary school student suddenly called on in class, his hands pressed against the sides of his thighs.
One thought kept circling through his mind.
What had Satoru Gojo just said over the phone?
Hell?
And Teacher Wangchuan had said... he would go down there?
Had I misheard? Or was "going down" just some sort of metaphor?
Some kind of jargon used within Jujutsu Society?
Like saying you were going downstairs when you meant getting some documents from the basement?
Wangchuan paid no attention to his changing expression.
He turned to face the relatively open patch of floor in the center of the basement.
All four of his arms rose at once.
The massive pair at his shoulders spread to the outside, their fingers splayed and palms facing empty space, dark purple Demon Chi seeping from the lines of his palms.
The smaller pair beneath his armpits remained on the inside, their fingers as nimble as feelers as they formed complex hand seals, tiny flecks of golden light flickering where his fingertips met.
His four arms formed seals as he chanted an incantation.
"Silver moon suspended in the heavens, illuminate my path home."
"Let gravity be the plow that rends this void."
"Beneath the nine nether depths, the Abyss of the Yellow