One Piece: Dungeon Shop. Scamming Garp, Reward: Eight-Tails Jinchuriki-Chapter 349: The Maw of the Infinite: Katakuri’s Descent

Chapter 349: Chapter 349: The Maw of the Infinite: Katakuri’s Descent

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Chapter 349: The Maw of the Infinite: Katakuri’s Descent

The air around Muzan Kibutsuji had been thick with the scent of ozone and impending death. Katakuri stood like a monolithic shadow, his focus absolute, his [Mochi Ginchaku] primed to rain down a thousand-fold destruction. But before the first blow could land, the very fabric of reality groaned.

Twa-ang—!

The sound was sharp, dissonant, and impossible. It didn’t travel through the air; it resonated directly within the marrow of their bones. It was the pluck of a biwa string, cold and authoritative.

The earth beneath them didn’t just break; it dissolved. The solid soil of the forest rippled like a disturbed reflection in a pool of ink. From the depths of the shifting ground, countless shoji doors—weathered, ancient, and stained with the patina of centuries—burst upward like the teeth of a subterranean beast. These were the gateways to a realm that defied every law of physics.

The Infinity Castle had opened its mouth to swallow them whole.

"What is this madness?!" Brulee’s voice cracked with terror. The ground beneath her small feet vanished into a yawning chasm of darkness. She reached out, her fingers clawing at empty air as she began a terrifying descent into the void.

"Brulee!"

Katakuri’s world narrowed to that single, reaching hand. His perfection, his strength, his very identity was built upon the foundation of being the shield for his siblings. To see her fall was to feel his own soul being torn asunder. His reflexes surpassed the speed of thought. His right arm liquefied into a torrent of ivory mochi, surging downward like a white gale, weaving through the floating debris with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.

I have her, he thought. I just have to pull her back.

Twa-ang—!

The biwa sang again, and the world twisted. The space between his outstretched fingers and Brulee’s hand didn’t just grow; it fractured. It was a spatial paradox—a distance of inches became a chasm of miles in the blink of an eye. His mochi arm was forcibly redirected by an invisible fold in the air, missing her by a hair’s breadth as the castle’s geometry shifted with malicious intent.

"NO!"

Brulee’s final, terrified scream was abruptly severed as a set of sliding doors slammed shut with the finality of a tombstone.

Katakuri stood for a heartbeat in the air, suspended by sheer momentum. In that silence, his heart didn’t beat—it hammered with a cold, incandescent fury. The sister who had looked up to him, the one who had seen the "real" him and loved him regardless, was gone.

"Kibutsuji... MUZAN!"

The name left his throat as a primal, guttural roar.

BOOM!

The sky didn’t just darken; it bowed. A colossal wave of Conqueror’s Haki exploded from Katakuri’s body, a physical manifestation of his towering rage. The pressure was so immense that the air itself turned a bruised purple. Every tree within a hundred-meter radius was pulverized into fine dust in an instant. The falling spatial doors staggered, their motion momentarily frozen by the sheer weight of his willpower.

But the laws of this alien dimension were relentless. Gravity reasserted its claim, and Katakuri’s massive, five-meter-tall frame was dragged down into the throat of the dark abyss.

—————

Sensory overload followed. Gravity became a suggestion, not a rule. Katakuri landed with a heavy thud, his boots cracking the polished wood of a floating platform. When he rose, he was greeted by a sight that would have driven a lesser man to madness.

The Infinity Castle was a labyrinth of impossible architecture. Thousands of pavilions, balconies, and rooms hung suspended in a vast, starless void. Staircases led to ceilings; corridors turned into pits. The only light came from flickering lanterns that cast long, dancing shadows against the dark cedar wood. It smelled of old paper, cold incense, and the stagnant air of a crypt.

"Brulee..."

He didn’t care for the scenery. He ignored the dizzying heights and the inverted halls. He pushed his Observation Haki to its absolute limit, his mind projecting outward like a radar. He searched for the specific heat of her spirit, the familiar cadence of her fear.

Nothing. The spatial distortion of this place acted like lead shielding, scattering his senses.

Damn it! The rage he had tried to suppress boiled over. He reached up, tearing away the thick, fringed scarf that concealed his lower face. He no longer cared about appearances. His jagged, shark-like jaw and protruding fangs were bared to the cold air, his breath coming in jagged, heated hisses. If I cannot find her... I will dismantle this entire dimension piece by piece.

"Hoo... now that is a face only a mother could love."

The voice was light, airy, and dripping with combat-born adrenaline. Katakuri’s head snapped upward.

Perched on the underside of a floating balcony above him was a man who looked more like a living painting than a warrior. His skin was pale, mapped out in intricate blue tattoos that looked like the veins of a demon. His hair was a shock of vibrant pink, and his golden eyes glowed with a predatory hunger. Etched into his pupils were the characters for Upper Rank 3.

"What an incredible aura," Akaza said, his grin widening to reveal sharp, white teeth. He dropped from his perch, landing soundlessly on the platform. "You look like a monster, big guy, but your fighting spirit... it’s like a furnace. Tell me—are you a swordsman? Or something better?"

Katakuri didn’t speak. He slowly gripped the hilt of his nodachi, the blade singing as it was drawn. Immediately, a slick, oily layer of pitch-black Armament Haki flowed over the steel, making the weapon look like it was forged from obsidian.

"Get out of my way," Katakuri’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. "I am in no mood for games, ghost. Tell me where she is, or die."

"I don’t care about whatever girl you’re looking for!" Akaza laughed, his body tensing into a perfect martial arts stance. "I only care about this! The peak of strength!"

BOOM!

Katakuri didn’t wait. He moved. The platform beneath his feet shattered as he propelled himself forward, his five-meter frame moving with the speed of a falling star. He didn’t even use his sword—he threw a single, straight punch infused with Armament Haki. The force of the strike was so great it created a localized vacuum, the air screaming as it was displaced.

Akaza’s eyes widened. He barely managed to leap backward, the shockwave of the punch nearly shearing the skin from his face. The pavilion behind him simply ceased to exist, pulverized into splinters.

"Whoa! That destructive power..." Akaza landed on a swaying beam, his chest heaving with excitement. "This heat! This pressure! You’re not like the Hashira. You’re something else entirely! You almost remind me of Him!"

"I am asking you one last time," Katakuri said, his crimson eyes glowing with a murderous light. "The girl. Where is she?"

CRACK!

He released another pulse of Conqueror’s Haki. The lanterns nearby flickered and died. The wood groaned under the spiritual weight. Akaza felt his knees buckle for a split second, his instinctual "compass" screaming at him that he was in the presence of a predator far higher on the food chain.

What is this? It’s not a Blood Demon Art... it’s pure, unadulterated willpower?! Akaza’s heart raced. He had lived for centuries, but he had never felt a "spirit" so heavy it could physically crush the environment. "Incredible! I don’t give a damn about a girl! I want you!"

He kicked off, his body becoming a pink blur.

"[Technique Development - Destructive Death: Compass Needle]!"

A massive blue snowflake expanded beneath his feet. Within this field, Akaza was a god of perception. He could feel every twitch of Katakuri’s muscles, every shift in his "fighting spirit." He targeted Katakuri’s throat, his fist moving fast enough to ignite the air.

"Since you won’t talk..." Katakuri didn’t move his feet. He simply watched the demon approach. To Akaza, it looked like a suicidal lack of reaction. To Katakuri, the world was moving in slow motion. He saw the "shadow" of Akaza’s fist seconds before it arrived.

"...then I’ll tear the truth out of your throat."

Just as Akaza’s fist was about to make contact, Katakuri’s neck didn’t just move—it dissolved. A perfect, circular hole opened in the middle of his throat, the mochi flowing around the incoming strike like water around a stone. Akaza’s fist passed through empty space.

"What?!"

Akaza’s brain stalled. His Compass Needle had told him exactly where the strike would land. The target hadn’t dodged; the target had simply ceased to have mass where the blow was aimed.

Before he could pull back, Katakuri’s neck solidified, and a massive, black-clad fist slammed into Akaza’s solar plexus.

"[Super Strength Rice Cake - Power Mochi]!"

BOOM!!!

It wasn’t a punch; it was an execution. Akaza felt his spine nearly snap. His internal organs were mashed into a pulp in a single millisecond. He was launched like a projectile, smashing through three separate pavilions before disappearing into a cloud of dust and debris hundreds of meters away.

What... what kind of monster is this?! Akaza spat out a lung. His body is like a liquid, but his strike... it’s harder than any metal I’ve ever felt!

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