November 14, 2018 – Late Afternoon
The respite they sought in the hotel room was short-lived. A low rumble, vibrating through the concrete skeleton of the building, drew them to the shattered windows.
Looking down from their vantage point, the group witnessed an invasion. It wasn't Cursed Spirits or rogue sorcerers this time. It was the distinct, militarized precision of the United States Army. Helicopters cut through the smog of the barrier, deploying squads of soldiers onto the streets of Tokyo.
Initially, a wave of relief washed over the group. Yuji leaned forward, hope sparking in his eyes.
Yuji: "The military? Are they here to evacuate the civilians?"
But as they watched, the hope curdled into dread.
Through the scope of a scavenged pair of binoculars, Shin watched the soldiers work. They weren't setting up triage tents. They weren't establishing safe zones. They were hunting. Shin watched as a squad incapacitated a struggling Culling Game player—not with lethal force, but with tasers and tranquilizers. They didn't help him up. They bagged him. They threw him into the back of an armored transport like a sack of meat.
Shin lowered the binoculars, his jaw tightening.
Shin: "They aren't here to save anyone. They're arresting them."
Maki squinted, her enhanced vision piercing the distance.
Maki: "Arresting? No. Look at how they're handling them. That's not containment. That's collection."
The truth settled over them like a cold shroud. This wasn't an intervention to stop the Culling Game. It was a harvest. Kenjaku had sold the world a lie, turning Japanese sorcerers into a resource to be trafficked, studied, and exploited for energy.
The efficiency didn't last.
Four hours later, the sun began to set, and the shadows of Tokyo stretched out. The soldiers, trained for human combat, ran headfirst into the nightmare of the Jujutsu world. Panic erupted on the streets below. Gunfire echoed—sharp, frantic bursts that did nothing against spirits that lacked physical bodies.
Shin watched grimly as a massive, multi-legged curse tore through a platoon. The soldiers screamed, firing blindly at empty air, their minds breaking before their bodies did. A rare few soldiers seemed to possess the ability to see the curses—likely due to the high concentration of Cursed Energy in the colony—but seeing the monster didn't mean they could kill it.
By nightfall, the military presence had collapsed. The "rescue mission" had turned into a buffet for the curses. The streets were silent again, save for the wet sounds of feasting.
November 16, 2018 – The Hotel Room
Two days had passed since the massacre below. The air in the safehouse was stale, thick with the tension of waiting.
Maki had left early that morning.
Maki: "I'm going to Sakurajima. There's something I need to finish. A loose end with the clan."
She didn't elaborate, and Shin didn't press her. They were both monsters of the Zenin clan; they understood that some hunts had to be done alone.
Now, it was just Shin, Yuji, Takaba, Angel, and the recovering Megumi.
Megumi sat on the edge of the velvet couch, staring at his Kogane. His knuckles were white. Thanks to the efforts of Yuta Okkotsu and Kinji Hakari in other colonies, points had been transferred. Megumi finally had enough.
He didn't speak, but Shin could see the shift in his posture. The rigid tension that had held Megumi together since the start of the games finally unspooled. He tapped the screen, spending the points.
Rule Added: Players may invite non-players into the colony.
Megumi exhaled, a long, shaky breath.
Megumi: "It's done. Tsumiki can enter."
Minutes later, the heavy barricaded door of the suite creaked open.
Tsumiki Fushiguro stood in the hallway. She looked tired, wearing simple clothes, but she was smiling. It was the smile Megumi had been fighting for. It was the smile he had killed for.
Tsumiki: "Megumi."
Megumi stood up, his legs wobbling slightly. He took a step toward her. The relief on his face was heartbreakingly raw. He looked like a child again, not a sorcerer.
Shin stood by the window, watching the reunion. He knew he should look away, give them their privacy. He turned his back, intending to walk toward the mini-bar where Yuji was waiting.
But then, the air in the room changed.
It wasn't a sound. It was a pressure. A sudden, malicious spike of Cursed Energy that felt like a needle to the brain.
Behind him, a laugh erupted. It wasn't the soft, caring laughter of a sister. It was a cackle—sharp, ancient, and cruel.
Shin spun around.
Tsumiki was still smiling, but the expression had warped. Her eyes were no longer warm; they were predatory. She looked at Megumi not with love, but with the amusement of a child pulling the wings off a fly.
Tsumiki: "Sorry, Megumi-chan. I'm not your sister."
She tilted her head, the malicious aura flaring around her like a dark halo.
Tsumiki: "I am Yorozu."
The silence that followed was absolute. Megumi stood frozen, his hand halfway extended toward her. His eyes were wide, empty, unable to process the horror. The sister he had sacrificed everything to save was gone. Her body was just a vessel for another ancient player, another monster from the past.
Megumi's soul shattered. Shin could practically hear it break.
And in that moment of absolute despair, the worst possible thing happened.
Yuji Itadori, who had been standing by the counter, suddenly jerked. His head snapped up. But it wasn't Yuji's expression anymore. The warmth was gone. The confusion was gone.
In its place was the King of Curses.
Sukuna: "Enchain."
The Binding Vow activated. The tattoos spread across Yuji's skin in a flash of black ink.
Before Shin could even raise his staff, Sukuna moved. He didn't attack Angel. He didn't attack Shin. He blurred across the room, bypassing the defenses, and grabbed Megumi by the jaw.
It happened in a single heartbeat.
Sukuna ripped the pinky finger off his own hand—Yuji's hand—with a wet, sickening tear. Blood sprayed across the velvet couch.
Megumi, catatonic from the shock of Yorozu's reveal, didn't react. He couldn't. His spirit had hit rock bottom.
Sukuna jammed the severed, bloodied finger into Megumi's mouth and forced his jaw shut, forcing him to swallow.
Shin froze, his blood running cold. He knew the lore. He knew the plot. But seeing it happen—the sheer speed, the brutality, the violation—was different.
Sukuna let go of Yuji's body. Yuji collapsed to the floor, coughing, confused, back in control but missing a finger.
But Megumi didn't fall.
Megumi Fushiguro stood upright. He lowered his head, his hair shadowing his eyes. The tattoos—the marks of Ryomen Sukuna—began to agonizingly etch themselves onto Megumi's skin.
He raised his head. His eyes were red. A smile, wider and more terrifying than anything Shin had ever seen, split Megumi's face.
Sukuna flexed Megumi's hands, testing the new vessel. He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that shook the dust from the ceiling.
Sukuna: "Good. This is... much better."