The world trembles.
Sukuna's massacre of the Temple of Sealed Light sends shockwaves through the jujutsu order. Clans that once warred over bloodlines now unite. Rivals forge alliances. Even the most reclusive sorcerers—those who vanished into mountains and myths—emerge from hiding.
They do not come to reason with him.
They come to end him.
Sukuna watches from a cliffside, the wind tugging at his robes. Below, the valley stretches wide and empty—a battlefield waiting to be named. His wound from Rinzen still burns, a scar etched into his chest, pulsing with cursed memory. A reminder that even gods bleed.
But he doesn't retreat.
He waits.
They arrive in legions.
Twenty of the strongest sorcerers of the Heian era. Each one a master of their Domain. Each one prepared to die. They wear armor woven from talismans. They carry weapons carved from ancestral bones. They chant in unison, weaving a sealing technique older than language—older than death.
Sukuna smiles.
"You think numbers matter?"
He unleashes his full power.
His Domain Expansion—Malevolent Shrine—erupts across the battlefield. It is no longer crude. It is divine. A temple of flesh and bone, floating in a void of cursed energy. Its walls pulse like a heartbeat. Its altars bleed. Inside, rules bend. Life breaks. Time stutters.
He kills five instantly.
Their bodies disintegrate. Their souls scream. Their techniques unravel.
But the others adapt.
They sacrifice limbs, memories, even years of their lives to fuel the seal. One offers his soul. Another offers his bloodline. A third carves his name from existence, becoming a concept instead of a man. Together, they form a cage—not of steel, but of meaning.
They do not kill Sukuna.
They divide him.
Piece by piece, they tear his soul into fragments. Each one is bound to a severed finger, sealed in cursed wax and buried across the land. His body disintegrates. His Domain collapses. His name becomes taboo.
But his eyes remain open.
As the final seal closes, Sukuna whispers through the void:
"You delay me. You do not defeat me."
The world exhales.
The clans mourn. The temples rebuild. The jujutsu order is reborn.
But the fear remains.
⏳ Centuries Pass
Wars rage. Empires fall. Sorcerers forget. The age of curses fades into legend.
But the fingers remain.
Hidden. Cursed. Waiting.
Each one pulses with dormant power. Each one whispers to the world. They are not relics. They are seeds.
And then, one day, a boy named Yuji Itadori swallows one.
Sukuna stirs.
Not fully awake. Not fully free. But aware.
He watches through Yuji's eyes. Feels the boy's heart. Tests the boundaries of the vessel. The world has changed—cities rise where temples once stood. Sorcerers wear uniforms instead of robes. But the fear remains.
He senses it in the way they speak his name.
In the way they don't.
Sukuna smiles from within.
"Let the age of curses begin again."