As dusk settled over the abandoned stadium, the wind swept dust and sand through the empty stands, its hollow howling like the cries of a dying beast.
Crisscrossing fissures split the concrete stands. The metal railings had rusted dark red, and the withered grass in the center of the field had been ground so fine by the wind that a step turned it to ash.
Kenjaku stood at the edge of the highest tier of stands. Faint black cursed energy spread like an invisible net, slowly rising along the stadium's outline before closing at the dome.
Tiny curse markings rippled across the transparent barrier walls like ripples spreading over water.
They locked every roar, tremor, and fluctuation of cursed energy inside this cramped space.
"The Curtain is ready."
Kenjaku retreated beside a pillar in the stands and folded his arms, speaking softly, his words reaching the man in the center of the field clearly:
"No one will notice, no matter how much noise you make. Go all out."
Sukuna stood in the center, the hem of his black clothes hanging motionless at his sides.
He slowly raised both hands as though gripping an invisible steering wheel. His low chant struck the concrete walls and rebounded with an ancient echo:
"Furube, Yura Yura.
Eight-Handled Sword, Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General, Mahoraga!"
The instant the final word fell, the space before him abruptly twisted.
A pitch-black fissure dissolved open in midair like a wound forcibly torn apart.
Deep within the fissure lay the chaotic backdrop of another dimension, from which a massive stone statue slowly rose.
Four enormous arms lay crossed over its chest, with the Sword of Extermination standing upright at its side. Dense black curse threads and yellowed sealing bandages covered its body from neck to ankles.
The statue's