A Black flash was not just a strength multiplier. It struck at the very essence of a being. It touched upon concepts that the human mind found hard to grasp. The immutability of the quintessence of a person.
The world froze in the aftermath of that single hit. The crackling sound of cursed energy still resonated through the clearing, echoing like a gunshot. Kenjaku's body convulsed midair, his limbs seizing as the aftershock of the strike coursed through him. For a brief moment, the raw, unfiltered pain was the only thing keeping him conscious before he crashed unceremoniously.
The air was heavy with the scent of burnt flesh and ozone. Smoke rose in thin wisps from Kenjaku's charred form as he spasmed in the distance. The skin along his torso and arms was a patchwork of seared flesh, his body hunched over as he gasped for air. His face was an unrecognizable mass of blistered meat, eyes weeping blood and ichor.
Despite the horrific injuries, Kenjaku grinned. It was a raw, deranged grin that showed far too many broken teeth.
"Oh... Oh, now that was a surprise," he croaked, voice strained yet undeniably gleeful. Enough to pull Jiki's attention from Kashimo.
Somehow, despite all the damage gotten from both the black flash and his Amaterasu, Kenjaku still had enough consciousness to talk, even if he was still missing his eyes. Those same eyes were slowly reforming in their sockets. That was when Jiki understood, Kenjaku had been completely focused on converting his curse energy from negative to positive, and had been running the reverse curse technique from the moment Jiki hit him with the Amaterasu.
His sharingan were pinpricks of red and black in a sea of white. His understanding and comprehension bolstered as the Mangekyo spun at ridiculous speed, the tomoe merging and twisting into the fuma shuriken pattern. Every nerve in his body thrummed with adrenaline, and his cursed energy erupted around him like a tempest. He could almost hear Satoru whisper in his ears.
"A Black Flash was an uncontrollable and unpredictable phenomenon that happened when cursed energy was applied to a physical hit within 0.000001 seconds. It distorted space, a sudden compression as the user's cursed energy turned black from the sheer precision and impact. I can't explain it with more than technical details but once you finally land one." His cousin's hand steepled as he looked at him with a grin. "You'll know what I mean."
"You're too distracted, brat." Jiki turned to face his other opponent.
Kashimo was battered. Burn scars lined his forearms, and his clothes were half-charred, but he was still on his feet. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Despite the gashes and burns, despite the damage covering his body, he grinned at Jiki with that same feral, manic gleam in his eyes.
"You think that little fire trick was enough to take me down? You got another thing coming, kid."
Jiki didn't respond. His pupils were dilated. Satoru was right. They way he and Nanami had done their best but the way they described it never really got across what it felt like. He didn't blame them. After going through it himself, he understood. It was like trying to explain what he saw with the Sharingan to someone with regular eyes.
He used to think he understood cursed energy. That it was just a more volatile version of chakra. He wasn't wrong, but it wasn't that simple either. Then Jorogumo came along and gave him a deeper explanation, a breakdown of cursed energy from a special grade curse's point of view. Those words had sparked a moment of clarity in him. Back then, he thought he fully understood it.
He was wrong.
None of his past experiences prepared him for the enlightenment that came with a Black Flash. He knew it was temporary, this undeniable feeling of omnipotence and understanding, but it didn't matter. He had always been a fish in water when it came to cursed energy control and optimization, but now, for these few minutes when he knew he'd be in the zone, the connection ran deeper than ever.
So deep that he healed a delicate, complicated organ like his Sharingan in seconds. Reflexively. Without focus. Without effort.
He felt like he was high off opium, he could feel his output shoot up to 120%. The only other time he'd felt something close was when he unsealed Jorogumo for the first time, to interrogate her about how to separate Yorozu from her unwilling host.
But this was more. With the understanding sparked by the Black Flash, this sudden, blinding insight, he tried to hold onto it. Tried to internalize it. According to Satoru, this moment of clarity was fickle and fleeting, elusive and intense, but maybe, just maybe, with it... he could try. He clenched his fist. The ground beneath him cracked and splintered from the force. His body was a coiled spring, ready to launch forward and tear something apart.
But he didn't.
Instead, he let the tension bleed from his limbs. He relaxed, then slowly brought his hands together. The sign came instinctively. Like he knew it. Like he had always known it. Ever since his fight with Tamamo no Mae, where he'd touched the edge of something deeper, an understanding of her essence, of the structure behind her cursed technique. That knowledge had been buried in him since then. Dormant.
Now he knew he could reach it. Knew, he could pull it off. All he had to do was try.
Kenjaku's freshly regenerated eyes widened. He understood exactly what was happening. More than anyone, he knew what came after the kind of clarity and control a Black Flash could bring. Enlightenment. A flash of near-omniscience over cursed energy that turned instinct into precision.
He screamed.
Real fear bleeding into his voice for the first time since the fight started. Panic overtook composure. He clawed his way across the cratered ground, dragging himself forward even as he focused everything he had into his reverse cursed technique. Chunks of muscle and torn flesh knit back together as cursed energy surged through him, but it wasn't enough. He had been fast to expand his domain, fast enough that a portion of his body remained intact, unlike what happened with his previous vessel against Geto and Jogo.
But if Gojo Jiki finished what he'd started, that quick thinking wouldn't save him. Not this time. His body was too far gone. His output was shattered. He wouldn't even be able to begin tearing it down.
"Stop him, Kashimo! He'll kill us both!"
Jiki's eyes widened, pupils finally shrinking into near-invisible dots. The Mangekyō spun, barely visible in the sea of white. His hands came together, left thumb on top, two index fingers raised. The Ram sign. The one he used for his most familiar Jutsu's. Then he reversed it. Shifted the alignment. Changed the intention behind it, and then he whispered,
"Domain-"
Kashimo reacted instantly. He raised his hand and fired, eyes wide in alarm. A bolt of lightning cracked through the air and Jiki's left hand erupted in smoke and searing pain.
He staggered back, eyes dropping to the limb. It hadn't exploded so much as burned. Badly. The skin had shriveled, blackened, and split. The fat beneath had melted away, and the whole arm looked shrunken like it had been flash-fried. Like lightning had hit him. He stared at it, face blank.
How? Why?
Then it finally clicked for him. The electric charges that had stubbornly latched onto his body like relentless glue, the same charges he had struggled to fully dispel. That was exactly what the reincarnated sorcerer had used. Kashimo had been deliberately manipulating those scattered, diluted currents, funneling them with precise control onto a single limb, then using that point where the charges were concentrated, he he fired off the lightning, and watched as it was attracted to the spot the charges were concentrated, making it a sure hit attack.
The explosion was enough to completely disrupt Jiki's attempt at a domain expansion. He frowned as his gaze locked onto his injured hand. A sharp irritation burned inside him. That had been his moment. His opportunity. And he had come so close to pulling it off. It was maddening to be interrupted now when he was this near.
"Don't take your eyes off me!" Kashimo bellowed, finally bridging the gap between them. With a desperate roar, he swung his staff down in a crushing hammer strike aimed squarely at Jiki's head. But Jiki didn't flinch, didn't even turn to acknowledge the attack. He was too deep in the zone, his mind focused elsewhere. Instead of reacting in the usual way, he willed his curse energy to respond, flexing unseen metaphysical muscles, igniting the spark that burst forth from his core, centered in his stomach, and sent them straight to his eyes once more.
Never before had his cursed energy flowed so smoothly, so efficiently, with such overwhelming control. He refused to call out the technique by name, refusing to give it form or shape with words. Instead, a burst of red spectral bones manifested along his side, rapidly forming into a sturdy ribcage that absorbed Kashimo's hammer strike with effortless ease.
Then, almost instantaneously, a hand shot out from his collarbone area, propelled with incredible speed. The still-forming limb, thick with the same red-reinforced bones, slammed into Kashimo with a dismissive slap as if it were swatting down an irritating insect. The force sent the reincarnated sorcerer hurtling backward, crashing into a half-demolished building.
Was this what Satoru always felt like? This pure, unyielding power?
Jiki glanced down at his ruined arm. The flesh was charred and useless, his nerves fried beyond repair. He couldn't feel a thing. But it didn't matter. It would take him long seconds to heal it. Yet they would be seconds where variables could prop up. Then a fresh thought came to mind.
Did he really need both hands to accomplish what he intended? Satoru had always managed to activate his domain with only a single hand, proving it was possible. Which meant what it required was an incredibly fine control over cursed energy, something only the Six Eyes could truly master. Jiki locked his focus onto the one remaining uninjured hand. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his fingers into a modified single ram seal hand sign.
In that moment, powered by the enlightenment born from hitting a Black Flash, coupled with memories from a past life as a shinobi, someone with deep familiarity and fluid mastery over crafting and adapting hand signs on the fly, his natural talent and control over cursed energy, as well as the Mangekyo Sharingan. They were all Multiple coincidences and unplanned variables that led to a rush of lightning electrifying every nerve as Gojo Jiki began to pull off the near impossible.
He saw everything in slow motion.
Kashimo had already recovered from the last blow, but his staff had been thrown off along the way, discarded. He was blitzing toward him again, determined to engage him in close quarters again and stop the inevitable at any cost. But this time, it was already too late. Both he and Kenjaku were too deep within his range.
A Domain Expansion was paradoxically both a remarkably simple creation and yet the absolute pinnacle of Jujutsu sorcery. The requirements were few but strict, and only a handful of sorcerers could ever hope to meet them.
Complete mastery of an innate curse technique. Exceptional control over one's cursed energy. Perfect construction of an impenetrable barrier. And most importantly, flawless embedding of one's technique into the very fabric of that barrier.
Put plainly, it boiled down to two things: creating a barrier and imbuing your unique cursed technique into it. For many sorcerers, the construction of the barrier itself was difficult but manageable; it was a hurdle that most sorcerers could overcome with rigorous training and experience. The real challenge, the true stumbling block for most, was embedding their cursed technique into that barrier, making the barrier a living extension of their technique rather than a simple shell.
Gojo Jiki however was an anomaly, and something else entirely. His problem was fundamentally different, something no other sorcerer had ever suffered. He lacked an innate technique, at least not in the way typical sorcerers had innate techniques.
His awakening or his reincarnation, had somehow erased the part of his brain that should have housed one, or perhaps this body he now inhabited was never meant to bear a technique in the first place. Whatever the cause, it was a problem so deep and fundamental that even Satoru Gojo himself could never have helped.
But now, at this very moment, blessed by the sparks of black lightning that crackled around him, he finally understood. The pieces that had eluded him for so long suddenly clicked into place. Merging that clarity with the enlightenment he had gained from Tamamo no Mae was the next step. And finally, with barely more than a whisper, he spoke the words that had escaped him for so long:
"Domain Expansion."
He could feel it beginning to form beneath his feet. The black void of the barrier unfurled like ink, an Ink that spread out over the cracked stone beneath him, spreading relentlessly, flowing outward. It moved in all directions, swallowing the shattered school grounds, the crumbling buildings, and even the air itself. It ensnared Kenjaku and Kashimo before either could react or escape. Then the darkness curved upward, folding into a perfect dome that sealed them inside, trapping them in an unbreakable cage.
That was when the second phase began.
Unlike most, Jiki had options. With the aid of the clarity born from his recent enlightenment, he could have called upon multiple techniques. But instinct took over, drawing from the technique that had carried him through his past life. An Idea born of the mad dreams of Uchiha Madara and Obito. He didn't embed some simple innate jujutsu technique. No, he embedded something more fundamental to him. Tsukuyomi.
"Heavenly Delusion."
The moment it took hold, the domain locked into place. The darkness was pushed to the edges of the domain, as the horizon was lit up by a black sun that hung ominously in the sky. Though he didn't invoke it directly, the presence of Amaterasu was undeniable, bringing light to the darkness below. His unwilling guests were greeted not by the familiar world they knew but by something far worse.
Blood soaked the ground in every direction, pooling and spreading endlessly beneath their feet. It splattered the surrounding walls and shattered buildings. Every drop was perfectly recreated. It was a damning scene born from memories that refused to fade. The blood had already dried and caked into the surroundings, painting macabre patterns onto the ruined older Japanese architecture.
Beneath his feet stretched a street, a street that branched endlessly like the limbs of a tree, with a main thoroughfare stretching far into the distance. But Jiki found himself unable to move forward, unable to take a single step down the familiar yet horribly twisted path, not with the scene that accompanied it.
Rows of bodies lay along the street. Eyes wide open and vacant, mouths slack and silent. They all stared at him, judging. They were all Familiar faces. Men, women, children, all victims of an atrocity etched deep into his soul. His first sin.
The Uchiha Massacre.
Jiki didn't speak. There was no need. This was the moment that broke him, the memory that never left him. The moment that stayed with him and shaped his path forward till his dying breath by his brother's hands. "Your Domain is a non-lethal one then? Like an old school sorcerer," Kenjaku whispered with fascination, voice cracked and dry. Only then did Jiki turn to face the two men behind him.
Kenjaku still looked like a scorched corpse. How he was even moving remained a mystery, but Kashima appeared more alert, his stance tight with tension at his presence inside the barrier. His hand was stretched out, like he ached to grab something, but he said nothing.
"If this is a non-lethal Domain, then there should be rules. You can't—"
"Wrong."
The word hit like judgment, and before Kenjaku could finish, his body spasmed and with a scream his leg twisted violently behind him, tendons snapping like ropes under tension. Kashimo moved instinctively to attack, but in the space of a blink, he found himself bound to a cross. His limbs were tied with ropes that looked deceptively fragile, yet they didn't budge, no matter how violently he strained against them.
The moment a target fell under Tsukuyomi, nothing else mattered. But unlike a mere illusion, in a Domain-embedded Tsukuyomi, where lies and truths blurred, there was no escape. No time limit. No strain on the caster. In this space, Gojo Jiki was God.
Kenjaku forced himself upright with visible effort. Blood oozed from his ruined leg as he muttered, "New Shadow Style: Simple Domain."
A pond of blue spread beneath him as the technique activated, as he tried to create some measure of sanity in Jiki's domain. But it was pointless. He wobbled to his feet, found a stance on one leg, and gave Jiki a strained, sardonic smile.
"I've made a pretty big miscalculation, haven't I?"
Jiki didn't answer with words. He couldn't do anything to Kenjaku while he was inside the simple doman, but the solution to that problem was disgustingly simple. He tilted his head slightly, then he moved.
In a blur, he vanished. The next instant, he was inside Kenjaku's Simple Domain. All he had to do was drag him out. He clamped his palm over Kenjaku's skull and, with raw force, ripped him from his own technique. He dragged the surprised sorcerer bodily across the domain. The back of Kenjaku's head carving a brutal furrow into the ground, until Jiki stopped several meters away.
He stood over the ruined form, then leaned in and whispered, "Yes. You have." Then he let go.
In the next instant, time snapped. Not backward, but sideways. Reality reasserted itself, his domain acting upon them. and Kenjaku found himself bound to a cross beside Kashimo, his arms and hands were completely restrained, fingers pinned and useless, unable to form seals for even the simplest counter.
Kenjaku eyes where still wide in shock, he slumped against the restraints as he let out a self depreciating chuckle, his eyes drifted across the scenery. "For a first-time Domain," he said, voice calmer now, "this is… pretty refined, I'll admit."
His fear had faded. He looked almost resigned.
His gaze wandered across the blood-soaked landscape, the endless corpses, the dried crimson painting the buildings and sky. He took it all in slowly, like he was trying to memorize the horror.
"Although," he added, voice quieter, "the mindset required to create such imagery..."
Only then did the burned husk turn fully to Jiki again.
"...What sort of things are going through that head of yours, Gojo Jiki?"
Jiki gave the bound sorcerer an unreadable look, but his own gaze soon drifted. He hadn't meant for this to surface. He hadn't wanted it. But the Domain had chosen, and now the memories walked alongside him.
The figures lining the road made his stomach twist. He recognized them, and with each recognition was an accompanying memory. The scentless air felt heavy and metallic with blood. He fought the rising nausea and tore his eyes away, forcing himself not to look too closely. He couldn't risk seeing them. Two shapes he couldn't afford to recognize. Two faces that would shatter him if he did.
His voice was cold and low when it finally broke the silence.
"I told you I was going to kill you, didn't I." He said, changing the topic.
Kenjaku managed a grim smile, but something behind it faltered. The fear he had discarded, the calm he had wrapped himself in, began to unravel once again.
"Yes... you did. I just didn't expect—"
The rest caught in his throat as he immediately vomited a mouthful of blood. There was a hollow sound, soft and wet as a depression formed in his chest. Kenjaku's head tilted down slowly. His brow creased, in confusion. There had been no movement. No technique called. No gesture or curse. Jiki hadn't even raised a hand.
He had simply willed it. And now, Kenjaku looked down to see that he was missing his heart.
The silence pressed in. Kenjaku looked back up at him, the mockery of a smile still fading from his lips. There was no time to process what was happening. No time to even feel angry, there was just barely masked horror etched into his burnt face.
The ancient body hopping sorcerer stared into Jiki's eyes and unlike what he expected, there was no anger or triumph at defeating his enemy. All he saw was an emptiness. Stone cold apathy, and the fear and horror returned all at once, crashing through Kenjaku's spine like ice water.
"No. No. No!" Kenjaku screamed, his voice rising in panic. In that final moment, the truth crashed over him. He was going to die here.
Centuries of struggle, of surviving, of manipulating fate itself just to see what came next, were gone. All his planning, all the lives he'd stolen and molded into puppets for his game, all to reach the dawn of something truly new. Something interesting. Something fun.
And now, just as it was finally about to begin… it would end. He was going to die here, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.