Kyuroto Mitsuyo moved through layers of reality that didn't exist yet, stepping on timelines that had never happened. At 1% of his 1,000,000% power, he was already beyond death, beyond nothingness, beyond concept itself, yet the thrill of the hunt filled him with a rare sense of purpose.
The threads of his parents' killer wove themselves into impossible knots, stretching across paradoxical dimensions and pre-existence shadows. Every time Kyuroto approached, the killer split, fracturing into forms that defied logic and understanding, as if trying to hide within the very fabric of concept.
"Clever," Kyuroto whispered, tracing a thread that existed before the notion of existence. "But cleverness is meaningless against the Whisper of Infinity."
He extended his katana, a blade shimmering with all timelines, realities, and probabilities at once. Each swing didn't just cut space—it severed possibilities, erased contradictions, and anchored causality itself.
The killer fled into a pre-creation void, a place where no being could exist, no system could track, no omnipotent power could reach. Yet Kyuroto's presence followed, threads bending space, probability, and narrative itself to locate a single hidden truth.
"You thought erasing yourself would save you," he said softly, his voice carrying across the void. "But you cannot erase what never truly began. You cannot hide from the one who exists before all beginnings and all endings."
Suddenly, the threads formed a lattice around the killer, each line representing a possibility, a lie, a forgotten act of betrayal. Kyuroto didn't strike; he simply observed. Every micro-movement, every probability shift, every faint mark of pre-existence revealed the killer's identity bit by bit.
A whisper echoed through infinity: a sound that had never been written, never existed, yet was heard by him alone.
"I am here," Kyuroto said, his eyes glowing. "I see all your threads. I see every shadow you hid in. And soon… you will face the reckoning you thought impossible."
As he tightened his focus, the threads began pulling the killer toward him, a convergence of all realities, probabilities, and paradoxes into a single, inescapable point. Even the outerversal constructs and concepts beyond fiction bent subtly, acknowledging his authority.
In the silence before confrontation, Kyuroto felt the weight of his parents' deaths, the echo of injustice, and the calm of inevitable victory.
The stage was set. The impossible hunt had reached its apex.