novelbin Chapter 150 150: The God of Slaughter!
Chapter 150 150: The God of Slaughter!
The Transfigured Humans came through the tunnels like a tide.
Thousands of them - bodies warped by Silas Drake's Mahito into shapes that had stopped being human in any meaningful sense, moving with the specific, horrible purposefulness of things that have been pointed at a target and released. They poured onto Platform B5 through every access point simultaneously, filling the station with a sound that had no clean description.
Mahito wove through the flood with casual ownership, his eyes fixed on the man in the blood-stained white suit. "I know Gojo Satoru is different from the boy Itadori. He's cold. He accepts a certain degree of sacrifice to win." The voice was thoughtful, almost academic. "But with the body count rising this fast... can your 'certain degree' still hold, Satoru?"
Jogo, his remaining arm pressed against his side, felt something close to hope for the first time since Hanami had ceased to exist. "Cast Unlimited Void right now and you kill everyone - us and the humans together. But you won't. Because you don't want their blood on your hands. Think. Be confused. Just give me one minute."
The camera held on Gojo for a long moment.
His head was slightly lowered. The silver hair cast a shadow across his face. The platform was filling with screams and the sound of people being killed by things that had once been people, and Leo Vance's Gojo Satoru stood in the middle of it and was very still.
Then he raised his hand.
Index finger and middle finger crossed - the seal that anyone who had watched two seasons of this show knew on a cellular level.
His eyes, when they lifted, were a mountain pool in winter.
"Domain Expansion."
A beat. The audience held its breath.
"Unlimited Void."
The station turned inside out.
The void enveloped everything - the platform, the crowd, the spirits, the blood on the floor and in the center of it, Gojo became a blur. Not fast. Beyond fast. The camera's frame rate was a suggestion he was ignoring. His hair blew directly backward from the speed of his own movement. He looked, in the high-fidelity lighting of the domain, like something the word "beautiful" hadn't quite been built to describe.
0.2 seconds. The time Gojo Satoru set based on pure intuition.
Unlimited Void lasting 0.2 seconds will not render non-sorcerers comatose. It will not leave permanent neurological damage.
In those 0.2 seconds, approximately half a year's worth of information floods into every human mind in range. Every person on Platform B5 loses consciousness where they stand.
The narrator's voice cut through the chaos with the clinical calm of a broadcast insert, and the audience felt the specific chill of watching a man calculate the exact margin between saving people and destroying them, and land precisely on the right side of it.
The Domain faded. The void closed. What remained was Gojo Satoru, standing in the silence, and the work.
Harrison Reed's Office.
"He's counting," Victoria Hale said quietly.
Harrison Reed looked at her. He had known Victoria professionally for years, and he had learned to pay attention when she said things in that particular tone.
"With the Six Eyes," she continued, not looking away from the screen. "He knows exactly how many are left. He's already planned the route."
On screen, Gojo moved through the unconscious crowd of civilians with a precision that looked, from above, like choreography. Every step placed. Every swing of energy directed at a target that wasn't a person. The Transfigured Humans were being disassembled with the methodical efficiency of someone completing a task they have already completed in their head.
Yara had stopped eating her takeout approximately six minutes ago. The container was still in her hands. She appeared to have forgotten it existed.
In exactly 299 seconds after the Domain closed, approximately one thousand Transfigured Humans had been exorcised. Every surviving civilian on Platform B5 would return to normal life within two months. This is the precision of the Honored One.
The internet was not handling the aesthetics of the situation responsibly.
[He's been doing this for FIVE MINUTES and he still looks like that. What do you mean he's tired. He's not allowed to be tired. He looks like art.]
[The panting. The hair. The blood. I'm filing a formal complaint with Leo Vance as a human being for what he has done to me personally.]
[Leo Vance really said: let me portray the most powerful person in this story at his most exhausted and his most beautiful simultaneously. And then he DID it.]
Platform B5. Afterward.
The station was quiet in the way stations get quiet when something enormous has just finished happening.
Gojo stood in the center of it, the last echoes of exertion moving through him. His hair hung straight down, the usual silver now darkened at the edges where the blood had caught it. Half his face was stained in the specific deep red that only comes from proximity to a great deal of it. His breathing was audible - not ragged, but present. Earned.
He looked, the global live-chat agreed with unanimous and somewhat unhinged conviction, catastrophically handsome.
He also looked, to anyone paying attention to something other than the aesthetics, like someone who had just run through the hardest thing he was going to face today.
He was wrong about that. But he didn't know it yet.
From the shadows at the far end of the platform, something moved. A shape - small, cubic, organic in a way geometric objects shouldn't be. It cleared the darkness and landed on the tracks two meters in front of him, and the Prison Realm's surface rippled with the specific, living quality of something that had been designed for exactly this moment and had been waiting.
Its surface opened.
The eyes appeared.
Leo Vance's Gojo stared at the object. The Six Eyes ran their calculation. The result came back in the fraction of a second that calculation takes when you have them.
He understood what it was.
He understood what it meant.
He understood the timing - 299 seconds of effort, every reserve spent at precision output, the Transfigured Humans cleared but not without cost and he understood that the people who had planned this had planned for exactly this. The clock. The specific state a man would be in after running for five minutes at full output in a closed space.
The silence on the platform stretched.
From somewhere in that silence, a familiar voice arrived. Warm. Unhurried. Carrying, despite everything, the unmistakable texture of someone he had known for twenty years.
"Yo."
"Gojo."
Leo Vance's head turned very slowly.
[Oh no.]
[Oh no oh no oh no.]
[I know that voice. The whole world knows that voice.]
[The Prison Realm is open. Geto is right there. Gojo just fought for five minutes straight. This is the worst possible combination of factors.]
[Episode ends here. It ends RIGHT here. I know it does. I've been dreading this for six episodes and it's here!]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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