Agony.
It was not the pain of flesh being torn apart, but of a soul being brutally compressed.
Every heavy blow Itadori landed felt like a red-hot branding iron pressed directly against the surface of his soul, sizzling.
Itadori's fists, wrapped in that savage cursed energy especially effective against curses and capable of harming souls, were Mahito's natural bane.
They were directly shaking the foundations of his "soul's form."
This is bad...
Mahito's consciousness wavered between sharp pain and a gradually spreading numbness.
He tried to transform, tried to use Idle Transfiguration to fashion limbs to fight back or a passage to escape, but the relentless rhythm of their combined assault left no opening.
Kento Nanami's precise cursed energy strikes blocked his movements.
Junpei Yoshino's attacks, clumsy yet filled with resolute hatred, disrupted his judgment, while that clone of Madara Uchiha...
Though he seemed to be using only taijutsu, every attack struck precisely where it was most uncomfortable, most awkward.
It was like a dance.
Like an invisible fence, he kept Mahito firmly pinned beneath Yuji Itadori's frontal onslaught.
This feeling...
His lungs burned, and every breath tasted of rust.
His vision began to blur, darkness creeping around its edges.
His body grew heavier, and the cursed energy he had once controlled as easily as his own limbs became sluggish and unresponsive.
Another heavy punch from Itadori slammed into his flank. He heard the sharp crack of his ribs breaking, and his organs felt as though they had shifted.
Blood surged uncontrollably from his mouth, running warm over his chin and dripping onto the cold ground.
Death...?
The word carried a strange weight, appearing in Mahito's thoughts with such clarity for the first time.
He had been born from human fear and hatred, taking pleasure in toying with souls and