The sky had become a silent motion picture. Not a single sound of the titanic struggle reached the world below, yet both the gods of Izumo and the Yōkai felt their hearts tighten. Even those who understood nothing of the mechanics of the battle sensed that the outcome would dictate their very fates.
The beautiful woman's eyes radiated light like the sun, yet mortals could now gaze directly at them. But even the simplest soul wouldn't call her "kind," not with the rolling waves of crimson that surged with every swing of her arm and every silent scream. Only the Yōkai and gods with exceptional sight could discern the truth: that was no red tide; it was a sea of blood and gore.
And so, they prayed. They prayed that the light—the presence they couldn't see clearly but was undoubtedly battling this monstrous woman—would prevail.
From time to time, powerful gods and Yōkai, overestimating their own strength, took to the skies to intervene. Yet no matter how much they desired to lend their aid, they found themselves unable to even approach the periphery of the storm.
Yakumo Yukari watched it all with a clarity others lacked. She, more than anyone, knew who that flickering light was—the one that repeatedly pierced the giant woman's defenses like a comet, only to be swallowed by endless waves of meat. It could only be one person.
As the battle intensified, fear spread to the mortals who couldn't see the details. The moon, which should only appear at night, had eerily manifested in the sunless daytime sky. But even scarier was the state of the moon itself: it was crumbling.
Like a biscuit with a bite taken out of it, the moon was down to three-quarters of its size. Even that remaining portion was being steadily eroded, whittled away piece by piece by the aftershocks of the battlefield.
Mortals knelt tremblingly on the ground, burying their heads between their knees, as if not looking would make it all go away. Only a handful of the bold dared to crane their necks, peering at this mythological spectacle.
The false world was breaking.
For all living beings born and raised within the box of Ashihara no Nakatsukuni, the box—at once vast and suffocatingly narrow—was finally shattering. They were finally seeing the true nature beneath the things they once took for granted.
It began with Takamagahara. Though it bore the name of a divine sub-world, it was merely an organ of the greater whole. As Amaterasu unreservedly drove the entire world into action, Sū ěr heard that sound again—the sound of a world breaking.
This time, it was Ashihara no Nakatsukuni's turn.
On this flat, square world far larger than Takamagahara, cracks finally appeared. They tore through high mountains and valley floors; seas and lakes dipped into bottomless abysses. The fractures expanded, shattering the world step by step, resolute and inexorable.
Sū ěr had once hesitated to hold back, but after witnessing Amaterasu madness, he was certain of one thing: this god could not be allowed to live.
If he lost because he held back, no one in Ashihara no Nakatsukuni would survive anyway. As Amaterasu herself said, once she became the "fruit," she would breach the barrier between worlds and head to a new, broader reality.
Mhm... as if I even have the luxury of holding back.
BOOM!!!
Like a small ship caught in a storm on the high seas, Sū ěr felt himself tossed by waves of fury, pushed to his absolute limit.
"Why! Why!! WHY!!!"
For so long, the divine power had never reacted to her. Even when she tried to forcibly infect or corrupt it with her own energy, it hadn't budged an inch. But seeing those powers—which she had painstakingly gathered from the outer wall—vanish so easily into Sū ěr palms made Amaterasu rage burn hot enough to consume her.
And perhaps, there was jealousy.
This rage devoured her reason, making her already unstable form, warped by her deviant ascension, even more fragile. Consequently, her instinctual, unpredictable attacks were impossible for Think to forecast, let alone Sū ěr.
He had no sympathy for her. He could barely look after himself, and he didn't even know if he could hold out until Tet sensed the resonance and responded.
In this world where both were competing for control, Amaterasu currently held the lion's share. Under the cover of her overwhelming attacks, she was eroding Sū ěr connection to the world. Sū ěr didn't even dare to sever that connection to save himself.
In this battle of one against a world, if he lost his last link to the world, Amaterasu could move the entire weight of reality to crush him—just as he had once easily crushed those Yōkai and gods.
Only now, standing on the receiving end, did Sū ěr truly feel the helplessness his past victims had felt. And Think mutated power was useless against attacks that covered the entire field of vision.
She was too "small." She couldn't deal enough damage to Amaterasu hollow, titanic form to sway the battle. She knew her own impotence, and could only watch, anxious and enraged, as Sū ěr swayed in the tide of Amaterasu making.
For the first time, Think had a thought: Whether it's that Tet or anyone else—even that pink-haired bird-man—I just want someone to show up.
The "pancake" moon finally looked pleasant to Sū ěr for once. It used its own body to shield him from Amaterasu pouring torrent, at the cost of being reduced to less than half its size. Along with it, Tsukuyomi's corpse... Sū ěr apologized silently in his heart.
It was hard to say if Amaterasu assault slowed because she saw Tsukuyomi's body on the far side, but the goddess was currently half-weeping, half-laughing.