Chapter 61: “Rakhara, Servant of a Broken God”

Rakhara descended slowly.

Not falling. Not flying.

The fractured sky bent itself to his presence, the裂 widening just enough to let him pass. With every step he took through the air, the world groaned, buildings creaking as if they were breathing under too much weight.

Gojo felt it immediately.

This was different from before.

“This pressure…” Raika muttered, lightning flickering uncontrollably around her fingers. “He’s not holding back anymore.”

Rakhara landed a few meters away, boots touching cracked asphalt. The ground caved in beneath him, spiderweb fractures racing outward.

He straightened, cloak of corrupted spirit energy settling around his shoulders like a living thing.

“So,” he said calmly, eyes locking onto Gojo. “You finally stopped running.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. He studied Rakhara closely now that he stood so near. Up close, the corruption was obvious. Veins of black energy crawled beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with the裂 above.

But beneath that—

He looked tired.

“You didn’t always look like this,” Gojo said quietly.

Rakhara’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve seen it.”

The world shifted.

Without warning, the air rippled, and the broken city dissolved into something else.

A memory.

The fairies stiffened, instincts screaming, but Gojo felt no hostility. Only weight.

They stood in an ancient spirit sanctuary, white stone pillars rising into a clear sky. The air was clean. Calm. Balanced.

A younger Rakhara knelt at the center, armor unbroken, eyes full of conviction rather than madness.

Before him stood a sealed altar.

The Evil God Fairy, dormant, bound in chains of light and shadow.

“He was not called ‘evil’ then,” Rakhara’s voice echoed, layered with the past. “He was called the God of Correction.”

The younger Rakhara bowed deeply. “Grant me the strength to save them,” he pleaded.

Gojo watched villages appear beyond the sanctuary. Burned lands. Collapsing realms. Spirits tearing each other apart over territory and power.

“They were dying,” Rakhara continued. “Because balance alone was not enough. Balance allows suffering as long as it evens out.”

The memory shifted again.

Rakhara stood among ruins, holding a child who dissolved into spirit dust in his arms.

“I believed,” Rakhara said, voice tightening, “that salvation required control.”

The altar cracked.

The God responded.

Not gently.

Chains shattered. Power surged. The sanctuary collapsed in fire and shadow.

The memory darkened.

Rakhara screamed as corrupted energy poured into him, burning away hesitation, replacing devotion with certainty.

The vision shattered.

The broken city snapped back into place.

Rakhara stood before Gojo again, breathing heavier now.

“I gave everything,” he said. “My name. My future. My doubt.”

Gojo clenched his fists. “And you lost yourself.”

Rakhara’s lips twitched. “No. I removed weakness.”

“You replaced it with obsession,” Gojo shot back.

Silence stretched between them.

Behind Gojo, Anzu trembled softly. “He… he really believed he was saving people.”

“He still does,” Mizuki said quietly.

Rakhara straightened fully now, eyes burning with renewed focus.

“You’ve seen it,” he said to Gojo. “You know the truth. Balance is cruelty disguised as order.”

He raised a hand toward the裂.

“When the Evil God awakens fully, choice will end. Suffering will be corrected before it begins.”

“And people will become puppets,” Gojo replied.

Rakhara smiled thinly. “Peace has a cost.”

Gojo stepped forward.

“So does control.”

The air exploded.

Rakhara moved first, faster than sound. Space folded around his strike, a blade of corrupted spirit energy aimed straight at Gojo’s chest.

Hikami shouted. “GOJO!”

But Gojo didn’t dodge.

He planted his feet.

The Spirit God stirred—not roaring, not surging—but aligning.

Gojo raised his arm.

The blade struck.

The impact shattered the ground for blocks in every direction. Shockwaves tore through buildings, glass pulverizing into dust. Wind screamed. Lightning cracked. Fire was snuffed out instantly by the force.

Gojo slid back, boots carving trenches into the asphalt, but he stayed upright.

Rakhara stared.

“…You blocked it.”

Gojo exhaled slowly, arm shaking. “Barely.”

Rakhara laughed, sharp and genuine for the first time. “Good. Show me.”

He attacked again.

This time, the clash was brutal.

Rakhara’s power struck like a collapsing star, every movement tearing at reality itself. Gojo countered not with overwhelming force, but timing, redirecting, stabilizing the chaos instead of feeding it.

The realm screamed.

The裂 widened, then snapped back violently with every exchange.

The girls watched in stunned silence.

“He’s not overpowering him,” Raika whispered. “He’s… resisting.”

“Like a dam,” Arashi said. “Not a flood.”

Rakhara slammed his fist into Gojo’s guard, sending him skidding across the ground. Gojo rolled, coughing, but forced himself up.

“You’re holding back,” Rakhara snarled. “Use it. Become what you are!”

Gojo wiped blood from his lip.

“No.”

Rakhara’s eyes widened in fury. “Why?!”

“Because you were wrong,” Gojo said, breathing hard. “Salvation without choice isn’t salvation.”

The Spirit God pulsed softly within him.

Not commanding.

Supporting.

Rakhara roared, unleashing a wave of corrupted power that split the sky further, the Evil God Fairy stirring violently behind the裂.

The realm shook on the brink of collapse.

Gojo braced himself, light steady, unwavering.

This was no longer a misunderstanding.

No longer ideology.

This tension had to break.

And as the first true clash echoed across realms, one truth became clear to everyone watching:

This fight would decide more than who won.

It would decide what kind of world survived.