A beam of light erupted from his body.

  The sheer force sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Buildings trembled. The sky cracked.

  For a moment—everything stopped.

  Then—the power surged.

  Tamashkii energy poured from him in unstoppable waves. The very world itself seemed to distort, as if rejecting the existence that Kuroda had now become.

  Ren’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid.

  Yumi’s fmes flickered uncontrolbly, reacting to something far beyond her comprehension.

  Ryuko… stilled.

  The first time he had ever hesitated.

  Akira’s jaw clenched. He had faced monsters before. But this? This was something worse.

  Kuroda slowly lifted his hand.

  He flexed his fingers, watching the raw power dance between them.

  “Incredible.”

  And then—he ughed.

  Low, cold, growing into something dangerously euphoric.

  The sound of a man who has finally obtained everything he has ever wanted.

  “All this time, I have been reaching. Cwing at the veil separating man from divinity.”

  “The Chūkan? That was never meant to be a pce for the stagnant souls who worship their own weakness.”

  “It is not a sanctuary for the unworthy. It is a throne—a throne that none of them ever deserved to sit upon.”

  He exhaled, the very air vibrating from the force of his presence.

  “And yet, I was forced to watch from below. To watch lesser beings squander power they did not deserve.”

  “The Ten Households… those Elders… parasites, clinging to tradition.”

  “But now… now, I have surpassed them all.”

  He lifts his gaze, golden irises burning with something beyond human.

  “I am no longer bound by the same frail limitations as you.”

  He gestures toward them—toward Ren, Yumi, Akira, Ryuko—toward all of them.

  “You struggle against me with your futile little resistances, convinced that your wills, your so-called ‘bonds,’ will carry you to victory.”

  “But you don’t understand, do you?”

  He takes a step forward.

  The ground beneath his feet fractures.

  The sky above them trembles.

  The entire world itself seems to reject his very existence.

  “There is no battle to be won here.”

  “This is not a fight. This is not a war.”

  “This is simply… a correction.”

  “For too long, the weak have been allowed to exist alongside the strong.”

  “The Chūkan was a mistake.”

  “The Ten Households were a mistake.”

  His gaze sharpens, his voice thick with disdain.

  “You—”

  ”—you are a mistake.”

  He spreads his arms slightly, as if embracing the very concept of his own ascension.

  “I will rectify these errors.”

  “There will be no more ‘Ten Households.’”

  “There will be no more Chūkan ‘peacekeepers.’”

  “There will be no more meaningless divisions between the strong and the weak.”

  “There will only be one household… Mine.”

  He lets the words settle, watching their faces—watching the weight of his truth sink into their bones.

  “I will lead this world to its rightful salvation, and in doing so, I will cim my seat upon the throne of Heaven itself.”

  His smirk widens. His voice drops to a chilling whisper.

  “And when I arrive at the gates of the Chūkan…”

  “I will not kneel.”

  “I will not bow.”

  “I will not ask for entry.”

  The very air warps around him.

  His aura surges.

  His power builds—relentless, overwhelming, monstrous.

  “No…”

  “I will tear those gates from their hinges and make that realm my own.”

  His ughter rings through the air—unshaken, unwavering, absolute.

  And then—a beat.

  His eyes narrow, golden irises gleaming with something beyond mortal comprehension.

  “And those who refuse to kneel? Those who refuse to serve?”

  A pause.

  Then—his voice drops to a whisper, edged with finality.

  “They will be culled.”