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"Even if this his Cursed Tool happens to throw a wrench into our Jujutsu techniques, there's no need to panic. By coordinating our attacks, we can effectively neutralize the disruptive effect of that technique."
Darko smoothly slid off a pair of pristine white gloves, revealing hands that bore an uncanny resemblance to ancient, weathered wood – a testament to the passage of time and the secrets they held.
Upon these weathered hands, an intriguing amalgamation of shadowy black and deep purple Cursed Energy elegantly intertwined, giving birth to an atmosphere heavy with a sense of gravitas that seemed to thicken the very air around them.
Concurrently, Miroku's prowess came to life as he beckoned forth an impressive array of gleaming blades from concealed pockets within his attire. These arcane weapons hovered in the air under his command, each blade seemingly ready to answer his every directive.
A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of Darko's lips, his eyes narrowing as he took in Madara's seemingly tranquil façade. It was a façade that belied the turbulence beneath. Madara's veneer of composure was no match for the astute observation of Darko. The latter's voice carried a chill as he let out an almost imperceptible snort, his attention shifting to Miroku, a silent understanding passing between them.
"Let's team up and hit him at once!"
Answering the unspoken agreement, Darko swiftly vanished from his initial position, launching his assault on Madara with a semicircular path that resembled the flight of an arrow slightly off its mark.
At the exact same moment, on the opposite side of the battleground, Miroku deftly activated his technique once more, propelling a formidable barrage of nearly twenty Jujutsu-infused blades, all moving in perfect harmony.
In an astonishing display of synchronization, the dual-front attack closed in on Madara's position in the blink of an eye.
Strangely, Madara's response was anything but what was expected – he seemed to stand firm, his demeanor unfazed and his posture relaxed.
Neither a shield of defense nor a dance of evasion marked his actions.
With a measured calmness, he gently pried open his heavily-lidded eyes, revealing the depths of his three-tomoe Sharingan, a scarlet realm where his surroundings were mirrored.
Within this crimson expanse, Miroku's malevolent grin and Darko's unyielding resolve found a surreal echo.
"Boom—"
The narrow alleyway exploded with an eruption of sound and force, a violent symphony that painted the air red.
The resulting shockwave and blast sent a billowing plume of crimson mist swirling through the confined space.
A dense curtain of smoke, thick and all-encompassing, joined forces with a swirling dance of dust particles, effectively shrouding both Madara and his shielded companion, Riko, who stood positioned just a step behind him. This unforeseen development ignited a surge of concern within Misato's chest, a palpable worry that manifested in her furrowed brow and anxious gaze.
"Riko, are you alright?" The words, laced with genuine worry, cut through the smoky veil, carried by Misato's urgent voice.
"Ah!"
The air was split by a sharp, piercing scream, a sound that seemed to pierce even the density of the shroud that veiled the ongoing scene.
Meanwhile, Miroku's grin of triumph had barely managed to manifest on his face, quickly snuffed out as the tableau unveiled by the dispersing smoke and dust dramatically altered his emotions.
"Darko?"
The surprise and incredulity in Miroku's voice was palpable, his belief in the effectiveness of their coordinated attack momentarily shaken.
"How can this be? We definitely struck you together, Darko."
Darko, the trusted comrade and partner-in-arms to Miroku, now lay sprawled in a vulnerable sprawl at the very feet of Madara, an unexpected twist in the narrative.
His form bore an uncanny resemblance to a creature of thorns and spikes, the result of his body having become a canvas for the multitude of razor-sharp blades that had struck him.
The tableau painted a grim picture, one washed in crimson and adorned with Darko's own lifeblood, a poignant testament to his pain and suffering. The chilling clarity of his agony was etched in every gory detail, a haunting sight that sent shivers down the spine.
Darko's senses were engulfed in an unceasing onslaught of agony, each pulse of pain a relentless reminder of the dire situation he found himself in.
Summoning a reluctant resolve, Darko lifted his head, fixing his gaze on Madara – a figure that, by all logic, should have succumbed to their fierce clash just moments before, during the intense confrontation with Miroku.
"Why are you coming out of this unscathed?"
Darko's bewilderment was palpable. He had felt it – the undeniable sensation of his arcane hands making solid contact with Madara's form. Adding to that, the vivid memory of Miroku's subsequent onslaught of blades, which had appeared to transform Madara into a haunting spectacle, akin to a hedgehog caught amidst lethal spikes.
Yet, in the span of what felt like a mere heartbeat, the person who had been hurled to the ground by their combined force and then subjected to Miroku's unrelenting attack had somehow transformed into Darko himself.
The perplexity of this transformation was overshadowed only by the searing pain radiating from his chest, a brutal echo of the neural feedback that only manifested when his own technique rebounded onto him.
"What gave you the impression that I relied on a Cursed Tool?"
Madara's demeanor remained infuriatingly composed. His gaze swept over the fallen forms before him, as though they were not individuals but mere specks on the canvas of his grand design. The universe seemed contained within his aloof stare, yet its inhabitants appeared insignificant, much like ants in comparison.
Transfixed by the sight of Madara, who had undergone a transformation that seemed to elevate him into an entity surpassing the dimensions of the very sky, Darko's mental haze began to dissipate, replaced by a slow and dawning comprehension.
In this singular moment, the weight of the formidable power they were confronting crashed over him with bone-chilling clarity.
A mixture of disbelief and shock painted Darko's expression as he stammered out, "You... you..."