Kamo Itsuki faced Uro's sudden manifestation with glacial calm. An enemy that could be eliminated preemptively was a problem solved. He simply watched her, his mind calculating, dissecting her as a specimen of flawed obsession.
His silence, his apparent disregard, acted as fuel on the fire of her indignation. The night air crackled with her rising fury.
Construction Technique: Black Tide!
With a sharp cry, Uro gestured. The liquid metal clinging to her form surged outward, morphing into a nest of sleek, octopoid tentacles that shot toward Kamo with piercing tips.
He didn't move. In response, his own blood erupted, forming identical crimson tentacles that met hers head-on. The clash was brief and brutal—Uro's metal constructs were shredded into dissipating droplets.
A cold, taunting smile touched his lips. "The finger I have isn't the only one, you know. Win against me, and they're all yours. But I doubt you can."
The confidence in his voice was the final insult. Uro's face contorted, cycling through rage and a demented, possessive fervor. "Men of this era are so ill-mannered! Is my Sukuna so irresistible to you?! Give me all of his fingers!"
"Since you love Sukuna so much," Kamo said, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement, "I'll let your Sukuna… play with you."
He flicked his wrist. Three figures materialized from the blood mist at his feet.
They wore the formal black robes of the Kamo clan, faces hidden behind ornate masks—a fox, a monkey, and a cat. Their presence was an immediate, unsettling pressure.
Uro stiffened. Their cursed energy… it was eerily familiar. It resonated with the same vile, potent frequency as Sukuna's, yet it was not him.
Before she could process it, the trio moved, fanning out to encircle her with practiced precision. Kamo stepped back, crossing his arms, a spectator to his own spectacle.
Enraged, Uro lashed out with her Black Tide again. The metal tentacles whipped forward.
The Fox-mask raised a hand. Twin blades of compressed air—a technique mimicking Dismantle—sheared through a tentacle.
The Monkey-mask stamped a foot. The ground erupted into a wall of solidified earth and cursed energy, blocking the assault.
The Cat-mask exhaled. A sphere of concentrated, blazing heat—an echo of Cleave's destructive principle—engulfed the remaining metal, melting it into inert slag.
Uro's eyes widened in genuine shock. The power they wielded… it wasn't just similar. It was derivative.
"What is this?!" she shrieked, whirling on Kamo. "How can they use Sukuna's cursed energy?!"
Kamo's smile widened. He was happy to explain, knowing the revelation itself was a weapon. "They are flesh puppets, crafted from my blood. Their power core… is a fragment of Sukuna himself. A finger, sealed within each one."
He had experimented with using the fingers as batteries, but the risk of loss was too great for permanent deployment. This, however, was a perfect opportunity for a field test—and a deeply personal torment for his foe.
"See? I keep my word. The fingers are inside them. All you have to do is take them." He paused, then produced three more withered fingers from the Blood Prison, letting them dangle from blood threads, including the one taken from the bridge. "I have more. But three puppets should be enough to handle you."
The provocation was absolute. He wasn't just fighting her. He was making her fight fragments of the very object of her worship, turning her obsession into her executioners. The battle on the Eighty-Eight Bridge was no longer a simple clash; it was a sadistic theater, directed by Kamo Itsuki.
The strength of each Sukuna-finger puppet was comparable to a Special Grade sorcerer. While they couldn't wield Sukuna's innate techniques, Kamo had carved potent, complementary abilities into their frameworks. Defeating Uro was not a question of if, but how efficiently.
"You filthy stray monkey!" Uro shrieked, her voice scraping the edge of hysteria. "I'll cut off your head and hang it in a latrine to dry for a thousand years!"
The revelation that Sukuna's hallowed fingers were being used as glorified batteries was the ultimate blasphemy. Her rage became a tangible force. Liquid metal exploded from her in a furious storm, lashing out at the three masked puppets with berserk intensity. Her mind held a single, bloody goal: retrieve the fingers, then flay the man who dared defile them.
But the puppets were relentless. They moved with a fluid, unnerving autonomy, weaving through her metallic onslaught. Their coordination was flawless, a silent hive-mind executing Kamo's will.
The Fox-mask danced through the air, its wind blades slicing her constructs apart.
The Monkey-mask stood immovable, earthen barriers rising to blunt her charges.
The Cat-mask was a blur of heat, its fireballs boiling her liquid metal into useless, solid clumps.
Her versatile, deadly Black Tide was being systematically dismantled—shredded by wind, smothered by earth, incinerated by fire. She was being outmaneuvered, out-thought by mindless dolls powered by her god's essence. The humiliation was acid in her veins.
"Damn you! Damn you! DAMN YOU!" Her curses became a ragged mantra as she fought, a furious beast trapped in a cage of her own making.
Suddenly, her frenzy crystallized into a cold, fanatical resolve. The madness in her eyes didn't fade—it sharpened.
"Fine! Let me show you! Let me show you the true depth of my love for Sukuna-sama!"
The liquid metal still swirling around her didn't attack. It retreated, flowing back over her naked form in a shimmering, silver tide. It didn't just cover her; it transformed.
It solidified into a suit of terrifying, organic armor—a chimeric masterpiece of entomological horror. It wasn't modeled on one insect, but a composite of the most lethal traits: the crushing leg structure of a locust, the needle-sharp stingers of a hornet, the lightning reflexes of a cricket, the scything forelimbs of a mantis. It was a suit of living weaponry, a testament to a twisted devotion honed over a millennium.
Her power spiked, the air around her warping with dense, malicious cursed energy. She was no longer just an angry sorcerer. She was a wrathful idol, clad in the armor of her obsession, ready to tear apart the blasphemers with her own hands. The game had just entered its final, most violent phase.