Chapter 10. The Final Boss

I couldn't believe my eyes as I stepped into the Core. At the center of the chamber pulsed a heaving mass of highly condensed, higher form of cursed energy. I could finally feel it, and I now fully grasped what Gojo meant when he said our situation was worse than it looked.

The energy was oppressive, making every breath a struggle. It felt like it demanded I bow before it if I wanted to survive.

Unlike most cursed wombs, this core resembled a distorted, grotesque heart, beating with a dreadful sense of extreme power and domination. My skin prickled as if pierced by a million tiny needles.

However, the cursed womb wasn't the only feature in this expansive chamber of the World Hunger Dungeon that resembled an elongated, circular hall. There was a sight that should have felt more threatening than the concentrated cursed energy.

They numbered in the hundreds, probably, each taking on different shapes, sizes, and forms. They stared at us as if they had been waiting for us to arrive.

"Are those..." Words started to fail me as my eyes darted back and forth. "The Generals?!"

They all stood strategically around the core, but at a set distance with an opening behind them. Each opening had its own uniquely grotesque form, just like the sphincter muscle we had walked through.

None spoke directly at first, glaring at us with anticipation. The atmosphere became foreboding with a sense of doom.

"You have learned quite a lot in just a few hours, Jamal," Gojo spoke with charisma, hiding any sense that this might be our last moment of steady breathing. "I can't wait to see you throwing that punch."

Gojo gestured at the cursed womb, signaling that it would be my final test to the 'perfect punch'.

A voice, deliberate and measured, emerged from the core of the chamber. However, the words came across as if spoken in reverse, twisting and distorting before coalescing into coherent speech within our minds.

"If you had known what's best for you and the world... you would never have tried to reach this Core..."

The Generals remained motionless, their imposing presence heightening as the voice continued, conveying a genuine message. Each of them emanated a distinct aura, and I made a mental note to remember their appearances and what they represented.

"But since you are already here... it shows that you are prepared to die for your cause... and your death in these sacred grounds will be honored, Satoru Gojo."

"Ah, you recognize me," Gojo retorted with boldness, his charisma evident even in the face of adversity. "And you, another of World Hunger's Generals."

"You should fear me..." the voice demanded.

"Hahaha," Gojo responded confidently, dismissing any attempt to intimidate him. "To me, you're merely another unregistered special-grade curse, prolonging the inevitable exorcism."

"How unwise of you... to think you can belittle the powers of the Divine..."

"If it's so powerful, why are you speaking from the confines of its Domain?" Gojo inquired, his calmness and confidence empowering me. Gojo spoke as if he could see the unseen general.

"I will make sure you are exorcised along with whatever abomination you are hoping to birth from that cursed womb," Gojo declared firmly.

"To do that, you will have to first exorcise all of the generals... most of them are ancient..."

"As far as I'm concerned, they were nothing more than Fourth Grade Curses before this energy emerged," Gojo asserted. "Even if they try to run, I will make sure that none of them will survive."

"Hm... Very well... Generals, eliminate Satoru Gojo..."

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As the generals closed in, a commanding voice sliced through the air, seizing our attention.

"You bear the markings of the Six Eyes," the general declared, his gaze fixed on Satoru Gojo. "I've waited four hundred years for this moment of revenge."

'What's your deal? Malnutrition personified?' I couldn't resist a smirk as I observed the scene. Despite his lofty words, the general resembled nothing more than a weathered scarecrow, his skin clinging tightly to his bones, dressed in tattered rags. And that gait of his? It was like he had wandered in from a Wild West show.

Despite his diminutive stature, he sported an oddly round belly, which looked almost comical against his gaunt frame. And then there was the mace he wielded, a massive thing that seemed utterly out of place in his frail hands.

As I pondered the situation, it occurred to me: this guy probably struggles to lift his own spoon, let alone that mace.

'Don't judge a book by its cover,' the old adage came to mind, and so, I straightened my expression.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Get out of my way, Kwashiorkor !" Another distinct-looking general pushed the wrinkled curse aside. "I will be the one to kill the Gojo heir."

"No, I will be the one to kill him," a skeletal general interjected, resembling an ancient dinosaur. "I'll get revenge for my beast that he exorcised earlier."

"It probably looked like slimy bones too," I mumbled, noticing an oozing a slimy substance from the pale bones of the dinosaur-like curse.

"Easy now," Gojo said with a dangerous tone. "You'll all have time to meet your end by my hands. No rush."

With a nod from Gojo, I knew what I had to do. I focused all my attention on the cursed womb, blocking out the looming threat of the special-grade Generals surrounding us.

"I have to give it everything I've got," I affirmed to myself as I closed the distance between myself and the cursed womb.

Despite the unnerving presence of the Generals, I pushed aside my fear and directed my focus solely on the cursed womb.

Without warning, I stumbled over an unseen obstacle on the solid ground, sending me tumbling to the floor. While it wasn't uncommon for strange occurrences to happen in this environment, I had been certain there was no obstacle in my path.

"Where did that dry root come from?" I mused aloud, rubbing my sore knee. To my right, the clash of power echoed as Gojo did what he did best.

"Where do you think you're going, monsieur?" A strange voice with a French accent questioned as the ground beneath me began to unravel.

"Would you mind sparing me a drink, boisson?" The curse rose from the ground like a series of dry roots, growing higher with each second. "I'm thirsty, assoiffé."

As a face manifested with a twisted, eccentric expression of excitement and anticipation, it added. "Blood will cure me, flétrissant. Mahhahahah...."

A leaf fell from its towered tree-like structure, withering even before it hit the ground.

Just as Withering lunged towards me, another pair of curses emerged from the ground before me, their voices intertwining in an eerie song as they rose. Linked together, each bore a twisted aura, one darker than the other.

The darker of the two wore a grin stretching from ear to ear, while the other donned a crown of mushrooms and fungus. They resembled twisted jesters, poised to enact their macabre performance.

Blocking Withering's advance, they declared, "We are better suited to harm him, Monsieur Withering."

With no hint of politeness, they announced, "My brother Rot and I, Decay, claim him as our prey."

Cackling and twirling around each other, they continued, "Yes, he is ours to torment."

"But which of us shall have the honor?" Rot, the darker one, asked, eyeing Decay with a wicked gleam.

"The honor of watching him rot," Decay replied, fixing me with a chilling gaze.

"No, he is mine to decay," Rot interjected, his grin widening.

With a spiteful shout, Monsieur Withering demanded, "Get out of my way, you wretched excuses for curses! flétrissant."

"He is mine to drink, boisson," Monsieur Withering asserted, sparking a heated banter among the curses.

Seizing the opportunity, I slipped past them, almost tiptoeing to avoid detection, my heart pulsating with a blend of relief and excitement.

"That's what you get for having more special-grade curses than the lower levels," I mused to myself as I made my escape. "Each one thinks they're better than the other."

Interestingly, most of the other generals had also embroiled in battles among themselves, each vying for dominance and the chance to claim victory over the others.

'Fighting for who will kill Gojo?' I wondered, noticing Gojo calmly observing a theatrical performance put on for his entertainment.

"Stoppp... you imbeciles...!" the voice from earlier interjected, cutting through the commotion with authority. "Many of you are natural enemies... especially in the presence of nutrition..."

The voice continued, its tone surprisingly understanding given the circumstances. "I understand the challenge of cooperation... but World Hunger will not tolerate such disarray in its birth chamber..."

"Refocus your efforts on defending your respective domains against the incoming invaders from the outside world..." the voice commanded. "Only the superior generals are to remain here... The rest of you, leave the chamber immediately..."

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C/N: I don't know how you will take this, but that voice commanding the generals is someone you know from canon: a curse (special grade), one that will be key to driving the plot with Kenjaku.

Early access in patreon. Current chapter - chapter 18. patreon.com/cursedmillennial.