The Honored One, Chapter 69

He stared upward at the monstrous shape descending through torn clouds. Its shadow swallowed the daylight, darkness bleeding over the city below. A vessel immense and silent, crafted in that very familiar blocky and over designed imperial aesthetic, with all the eagles and lightning bolts and the towering cathedrals and all the weird stuff. Satoru squinted, spat blood on the charred pavement. Watched a moment more, waiting for guns or curses to rain from its bulk. Nothing came. Just its slow descent, inevitable, undeniable.

"Nope," he said quietly. Turned and limped on. The ship hung heavy in the sky, blocking out the pale sun, but he did not look back again.

His bones still protested despite the steady thrum of Positive Cursed Energy. With each step his limbs twitched and shook. Blood trickled from a half-closed cut along his temple, tracing the hollow of his jaw. The fortress's corridors stretched before him in crooked tunnels, twisted and half-collapsed by the battle's fury. He made no effort at subtlety now. Raised his palm and felt the violent pull of Red against Blue, forming a swirling singularity of Hollow Purple. The air around it shivered, dust and rubble pulled toward its hungry center.

He aimed down the hall and let the cursed sphere fly. A white-violet bolt cracked like lightning, boring straight through wall after wall, each barrier bursting apart into dust. Steel girders peeled back as though melted; stone vaporized in clouds of choking powder. Beyond lay darkness and, perhaps, the treasure he sought.

Stepping forward, he brushed the ashes from his torn cloak, eyes narrowed. Infinity cloaked him again, muffling footfalls and quieting his presence, though he doubted stealth mattered now. The halls around him echoed with distant screams, the clash of distant curses. The ground shook from an exterior explosion. The hordes of Genestealers were still running amok, it seemed and were still taking advantage of the lull caused by the biggest Hollow Purple Satoru had ever unleashed. The Devourers would regroup, however. Sukuna's sons. Cold-eyed giants armored in contempt. They'd come for him soon enough. He'd given them reason enough to hurry. But they also had a whole city to take care of.

That… made him pause for the briefest of moments. Why oh why would the Devourers allow such a blight to grow underneath the largest and most populous city of their home planet? Did they not know about it? Impossible. They knew. They allowed it. But, what for? Sure there was- ah, of course. Survival of the fittest. The Devourers were just following Sukuna’s general mandate and, by allowing a Genestealer infestation, they likely believed that they were strengthening their people. 

Fair enough. That sounded like it would be effective. 

He passed beneath an archway carved with rune-work older than empires. The runes glowed dimly, green light sputtering in weakening pulses. Definitely of alien origin. They offered no resistance. No traps. No defenses. Just this fading echo of power. He moved on, winding down passages half-lit by failing sconces, stepping over shattered Men of Iron that sparked and twitched.

A final corridor opened into a vast chamber. A treasury vault stretching away beneath a vaulted ceiling of sculpted obsidian. Rows upon rows of artifacts glittered in glass cases or lay piled carelessly across marble tables. Golden relics, glowing gems pulsing gently, blades forged from unknown alloys etched in unreadable scripts. He stepped slowly among these treasures, his eyes scanning carefully, wary of any lingering trap.

At the chamber’s center stood a raised dais carved from black stone. It hummed with a strange rhythm, vibrating through his chest, ringing in his bones. Above it hovered the artifact—a sleek oblong, smooth as glass yet dark as night. It bore faint etchings along its surface, lines of emerald glowing softly like veins pulsing in time with the dais. The size of his arm, it hung suspended as though awaiting a hand to take it.

He paused a moment, narrowing his eyes. Let Infinity surge, searching for hidden snares. Nothing stirred. No wards activated, no curses uncoiled. He took another cautious step forward, gaze fixed upon the hovering relic.

"Too easy," he murmured. He circled the dais slowly, examining every angle. Its surface shimmered, smooth, unblemished. The artifact remained motionless, quietly pulsing its eerie rhythm. He ran fingers through his matted hair, sighing quietly, then reached out.

He waited one heartbeat. Two. Then simply plucked it from the air. His hand closed around its cool, unyielding surface, smooth and heavy. The dais beneath gave no protest. The artifact’s glow continued, uninterrupted. He raised it slightly, turned it in his grip, examined its etched runes. Nothing changed.

"Well," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "That was easy."

He tucked the artifact carefully beneath his cloak, securing it within the fabric’s folds. For a moment he stood still, waiting for alarms or sudden ambush. The room remained silent save the distant sounds of chaos. No attack came. No trap was sprung. Weird.

Satoru exhaled slowly, glancing once more at the vault’s contents. Gold, silver, crystals shining bright enough to dazzle. All untouched. He had what he came for. No need to linger. He turned toward the blasted entrance, stepping carefully across broken marble.

A distant tremor shook the chamber, loosening dust from overhead rafters. The fortress groaned beneath him, as though waking from deep slumber. He heard the sound of footsteps—heavy boots approaching from the corridors he’d left behind. Familiar echoes. The Devourers had found their footing again.

"Time to go," he whispered, flexing fingers once more.

He drew breath, letting cursed energy coil tight in his chest, ready to shape another Hollow Purple. He moved swiftly back toward the breach, glancing once more skyward through a broken ceiling tile. The great ship hung motionless, silent as a blade, its shadow swallowing whole districts.

He smiled faintly, eyes glinting beneath the drying blood.

Not his problem. Not today.

Satoru felt the air press inward, as though the walls themselves leaned closer. A pulse of cursed energy flooded the corridor, far beyond the signatures he'd felt before. Dust sifted down in drifts from the ceiling. Then the roof above split with a deafening crack, beams snapping like tinder. A figure dropped through the opening, landing in a crouch that buckled the floor.

He rose to his full height—eight feet if an inch—armor the color of dark wine with battered edges. A fur cloak trailed behind him, crowned with bleached skulls, each attached by thick cords of braided sinew. They rattled softly when he moved, a quiet, savage music. His face was old, the flesh weathered, white beard hanging to his chest. No helmet, no mechanical limbs or shining augmetics, just deep-set eyes and lines etched by millennia of war.

He carried a wooden cane in one massive fist, a rod of polished ebony carved with simple runes. No bolter. No sword or knife. Only that cane and the ancient weight of his presence. Satoru steadied himself, letting Infinity stir around him in a gentle swirl, prepared for whatever might come next.

The old warrior took a step forward, boots grinding shards of rubble. Cursed energy radiated from him in waves that set the air trembling, a magnitude that dwarfed anything Satoru had sensed in this fortress so far, exceeding the monstrous reserves of the Ryomen Sukuna he’d fought in his lifetime, possessing more than twenty times the Cursed Energy reserves. The Devourer’s presence thrummed against Satoru’s defenses, enough to test even his boundless reserves. 

“So, you’re the one who’s been giving us such a hard time,” the giant said, voice deep as distant thunder. He tapped the cane once. Dust rippled from the impact, drifting around his ankles. His gaze took in the carnage that trailed behind Satoru—shattered plating, broken stone, the remains of Men of Iron—and returned calmly to Satoru’s face.

Satoru watched the old man’s eyes, saw no fear there, only a cold acceptance. The skulls on his cloak swayed, trophies of countless battles. Then the warrior planted the cane on the floor, knuckles tightening around the worn handle, waiting to see what Satoru would do next. “I am Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto, Lord-Commander of the Devourers. And I am your death. You have proven yourself a worthy foe, Curse User. And, for that, I would have your name.” 

Satoru raised a brow and grinned and flared his Positive Energies and flooded his body, forcibly regenerating through the internal damage he’d sustained. Not ideal and it was definitely gonna bite him in the ass later, since he’d never had the best efficiency with RCT, but he needed the healing. “I am Satoru Gojo. Billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.” 

Yamamoto raised a brow. “Are you?” 

Satoru sighed and slumped. “Only one out of three, unfortunately.” 

They moved in the same instant, a blur of speed that tore the air around them in shreds. Corridors shuddered, dust blasting from the cracks in the walls. The first collision came with a thunderous shockwave, rattling the fortress to its foundation. Metal groaned as entire support pillars shifted. A swirl of debris spun around the epicenter, then they vanished.

They reappeared a heartbeat later in the remains of a side hallway, fists crashing once more in a bright flash. The impact forced broken beams to splinter further, the floor under them fracturing into spiderweb cracks. Then both figures vanished again, leaving only a gust of swirling ash in their wake.

On their tenth clash, they materialized in a ruined atrium, mid-strike. Satoru caught a glimpse of the old man’s cane spinning aside, an afterimage of swirling domain energy coiling around the man’s knuckles. Satoru realized at once—Domain Amplification, deployed in the sliver of time between breath and blow. The old Devourer’s mastery so fine that even Infinity faltered, forced to bend in that microscopic moment.

They broke apart, boots sliding across scorched marble. Satoru lifted a forearm, wiping stray blood from his lip. The old man, Yamamoto, stood tall with a slow exhale, domain energy crackling like invisible lightning around his gauntlets. Across the battered floor, shattered stone glowed with residual heat.

Satoru glanced at the faint shimmer of Infinity swirling around him, tested it, saw the gap exploited by the old man’s technique. His grin twitched, breath coming fast. 

“Nice trick,” he said, voice echoing in the ruined space.

Yamamoto said nothing, only raised his arms in a slow, steady arc. His cane unraveled with a whisper of twisting metal, revealing a long blade that caught the dim light. Heat rippled from him, the very air warping in shimmers. The floor around his feet began to steam, moisture hissing away in droplets that sizzled against molten stone.

Satoru flexed his fingers, Infinity shimmering close to his skin. A small Blue Singularity hovered above his left palm, swirling with compressed power. Each spark of cursed energy made the surrounding rubble shift and slide. He let out a low, pleased chuckle.

“How about we stop dancing,” he said, voice bouncing off the broken walls. “And actually fight.”

Yamamoto’s response came swiftly, “Reduce all of creation to ashes—Ryujinjakka.”

Flames erupted, roaring through the ruins in a tidal wave of white-hot brilliance. Metal supports twisted like wax, walls turned black before dissolving into drifting embers. The corridor erupted in a chorus of crackling heat. The fortress groaned, beams sagging from the inferno. The explosion of Cursed Energy was so voluminous that every person in the entire planet would’ve felt it. 

Satoru cackled as tongues of fire hammered his Infinity, sparking with frustrated fury. The heat pressed in, too intense for an ordinary man to endure, but each ember died mere inches from him, blocked by that shimmering barrier. He threw his head back, laughter echoing off the scorched ceiling.

“Now, that’s more like it,” he said, stepping forward while charred debris rained around him. He could see Yamamoto through the wall of flames, the old man’s silhouette outlined in burning light. The sword in his hands burned as bright as a fiery star, spitting arcs of flame that raked the chamber’s edges.

The fortress interior became a furnace, stone and metal melting and becoming molten rivers. Ancient pillars cracked and collapsed in showers of sparks. Satoru felt the place tremble. The building might come down on them any moment, though neither seemed to care. They stood in the heart of a collapsing world, each daring the other to come closer.