1
White Void, Crimson Thrones
Chapter 1: The Abandoned Shrine
Satoru Gojo was bored.
This wasn't an unusual state for the seventeen-year-old prodigy. When you're born with the Limitless and Six Eyes—cosmic powers that render most challenges laughably trivial—boredom becomes your most persistent adversary. Today, that familiar ennui had driven him far from Jujutsu High's watchful gaze to explore an abandoned mountain shrine during his well-deserved school break.
The path to the shrine wound through ancient forest, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy and casting shifting patterns on the overgrown stone steps. Gojo took them two at a time, flip-flops clacking against worn stone with each casual bound. No normal human could have navigated the treacherous, moss-slicked stairs with such nonchalance, but Gojo was far from normal.
"Might find something interesting," he had told Shoko before departing, adjusting his dark sunglasses with that infuriating smirk that suggested he needed no permission from anyone. "Maybe even a grade-one curse. That'd be fun for, what, five minutes?"
Shoko had merely sighed, already calculating what medical supplies she might need when—not if—he returned causing trouble again.
The final torii gate marking the shrine's entrance leaned precariously, half-collapsed and strangled by decades of creeping vines. Vermilion paint peeled from ancient wood like scabs from an old wound. A small wooden placard hung from one rotting beam, its faded characters spelling out a warning Gojo promptly ignored.
"'Danger. Do not enter by order of the Jujutsu High Council,'" he read aloud, voice echoing in the empty forest. "Well, now I definitely have to check it out."
The shrine stood in dignified decay—a forgotten relic of Japan's spiritual past. Its weathered buildings formed a traditional complex that might once have housed dozens of priests and pilgrims, now home only to dust and shadows. The main hall's roof had partially collapsed, allowing a single beam of sunlight to pierce the gloom like a divine spotlight.
Gojo slid open the creaking door to the inner sanctum, dust motes dancing in shafts of afternoon light. His white hair caught the glow, creating a halo effect around his perpetually hidden eyes. Even here, alone, he wore his signature dark sunglasses—not because of sensitivity, but because filtering the Six Eyes' constant analysis of cursed energy made existence marginally more bearable.
"Hello?" he called out playfully, voice echoing through abandoned halls. "Any curses home? I'm here to exorcise you... or whatever."
His voice bounced back from empty rooms, the silence speaking of decades of abandonment. Most people would find the atmosphere eerie, perhaps even oppressive. Gojo found it merely quaint—a dusty museum piece rather than something to fear.
The floorboards protested beneath his weight as he wandered deeper, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his expensive black hoodie. For all its abandonment, the shrine held few signs of supernatural activity. No residual cursed energy clung to the walls, no malicious intent lingered in dark corners. Disappointing, really.
The inner sanctum stood eerily preserved compared to the rest of the complex. Faded silk banners hung from ceiling beams, depicting cosmic patterns and celestial arrangements that predated modern astronomy. Dusty ritual implements lay undisturbed on lacquered tables—bronze censers, jade figurines, silk-bound scrolls whose ink had long since faded.
"Boring," Gojo muttered, prodding a ritual bell with one finger. "Not even a minor haunting. Who puts warning signs on regular abandoned buildings?"
That's when he felt it—a faint but distinct resonance beneath the tatami mats in the center of the room. Something pulsed with power, but it wasn't cursed energy. It felt... different. Older. As if it predated the very concept of jujutsu.
"Well, well," Gojo murmured, lifting the dusty mat with the tip of his foot to reveal worn floorboards beneath. "What are you hiding?"
With minimal effort, he ripped up several ancient planks, revealing something unexpected—a glowing magic circle carved directly into the stone foundation beneath. The circle was intricate—geometric patterns interwoven with symbols from multiple mystical traditions, some that even Gojo, with his extensive jujutsu education, couldn't identify. At its center lay ten distinct nodes arranged in a complex pattern.
"Huh," Gojo said, crouching down to examine it more closely. "Not jujutsu. Some kind of summoning ritual? Ancient stuff."
He traced a finger along one of the glowing lines, feeling energy respond to his touch like a sleeping cat stirring at human contact. The circle wasn't powered by cursed energy but wasn't entirely alien either. It felt like something parallel to jujutsu—a different application of fundamental universal forces that Gojo found academically interesting.
Sunlight from the broken roof caught his white hair as he leaned closer, casting a shadow across the circle that seemed to make the lines pulse more intensely. Dust swirled around him, disturbed by his breath and movements after decades of stillness.
"Bet it just spits out some old skeleton or weird ghost," he joked aloud, standing up and stepping directly onto the circle's center with deliberate irreverence. "Or maybe it's just fancy floor lighting. Rich people love that stuff."
As his feet touched the central node, the entire array ignited with blinding golden light, responding to his presence with startling eagerness. The shrine around him seemed to dissolve, reality fracturing like splintered glass. The boundaries between dimensions, normally imperceptible to ordinary humans but visible to Gojo's Six Eyes, began to warp and fold.
"Okay, this is new," he admitted, standing perfectly still as cosmic forces swirled around him. His Limitless automatically activated, the infinity between him and harm expanding to protect him from whatever was happening. Most people would panic. Gojo was merely intrigued.
The circle expanded outward, becoming a pillar of light that shot through the shrine's collapsing roof. Ten distinct streams of energy split from the pillar, each a different color—crimson, gold, azure, emerald, violet, silver, obsidian, lavender, moonlight silver, and radiant amber. Each beam seemed to reach across time and space, latching onto something—or someone—and pulling.
"This... might be a problem," Gojo said, his casual tone belying the unprecedented phenomenon occurring around him. The energies were reaching beyond normal dimensions, beyond even what his Limitless typically interacted with.
Space cracked. Time rippled. The very fabric of reality bent around the decaying shrine.
Then came the first arrival.
From a swirl of crimson light stepped a woman of small stature but overwhelming presence. She wore an elaborate red dress trimmed with gold, her blonde hair styled in an unusual updo adorned with a laurel wreath of precious metals. Her emerald eyes sparkled with imperial authority as she surveyed her surroundings, taking in the dilapidated shrine with visible disappointment before finally settling her gaze on Gojo with keen interest.
"Umu!" she declared, striking a theatrical pose with one hand extended skyward and the other pressed to her chest. "I, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Fifth Emperor of Rome, have answered your summons! Rejoice, for I shall bring glory and artistry to this..." she paused, looking around at the crumbling shrine with evident distaste, "...this rather unimpressive stage!"
Before Gojo could respond, the golden beam materialized into another woman—this one clad in blue and silver armor that gleamed despite the dim light. A regal sword hung at her side, radiating power even in its sheathed state. Her blonde hair was pulled back severely, and her emerald eyes carried the weight of leadership and ancient battles.
"Servant Saber, Artoria Pendragon," she stated formally, her voice calm yet commanding. Unlike Nero's theatrical entrance, she stood with perfect military posture, assessing Gojo with the measured gaze of a seasoned general. "I ask of you—are you my Master?"
The azure light coalesced next, forming a woman unlike any Gojo had ever seen. She possessed multiple arms—six in total—each holding different weapons ranging from ancient tridents to ornate swords. Her beauty was terrible and magnificent, her skin a deep blue and her eyes containing what appeared to be swirling galaxies. Power radiated from her like heat from the sun, making the air around her ripple with divine energy.
"I am Durga," she said simply, her voice resonating on multiple frequencies simultaneously, creating an otherworldly chorus. "Protector of the cosmos, destroyer of demons. Strange—this summoning does not follow the usual pathways of divine manifestation."
The emerald light twisted unnaturally before forming into a woman with pale skin and dark, flowing robes embroidered with arcane symbols. Her beauty was cold and deadly, her calculating eyes examining Gojo with unnerving intensity that seemed to peel away layers of his being.
"Morgan le Fay," she introduced herself, her voice carrying ancient magic in every syllable. She took a step forward, head tilting slightly as she studied him. "Interesting. The threads of fate around you are... nonexistent. How peculiar. All beings are bound by fate's tapestry, yet you exist outside its weave."
The violet beam brought forth a woman with two swords at her hip, dressed in a strange fusion of traditional Japanese clothing and Western elements. Her vibrant personality seemed barely contained within her physical form as she bounced on her toes, looking around with enthusiastic curiosity.
"Miyamoto Musashi!" she announced cheerfully, immediately drawing both blades and pointing one at Gojo. "You look strong! Really strong! Fight me! I've been seeking worthy opponents across all dimensions, and you have an interesting aura!"
From the silver light emerged perhaps the most immediately eye-catching figure—a woman of impossible beauty wearing little more than jewelry and strategically placed fabric. Her black hair cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, and her red eyes gleamed with divine arrogance. She didn't simply stand; she hovered several inches above the ground, golden ornaments tinkling musically around her.
"Bow before the goddess Ishtar," she commanded, her voice melodious yet imperious. "Ruler of Venus, patron of love and war. Hmm, you're rather handsome for a mortal, I suppose. Not entirely unworthy of my manifestation."
The obsidian light materialized into a woman with sharp, predatory features dressed in military attire that seemed to blend feudal Japanese elements with something more modern and sinister. A cape of crimson flowed behind her, and a military cap sat at a jaunty angle on her head. What stood out most was her expression—a maniacal grin that spoke of battlefields and conquest.
"Oda Nobunaga," she declared with a bark of laughter, surveying Gojo with the eye of a general assessing a potential ally or threat. "The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven! Ha! I sense chaos in you, boy! You're a warlord born in the wrong era! Those eyes hide destruction—I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one!"
As if this weren't enough, the lavender beam formed into a tall woman with flowing purple hair and a maternal yet somehow unsettling expression. She wore elaborate armor but carried herself with graceful poise, her movements fluid and controlled.
"Minamoto no Raikou," she said softly, bowing slightly. Her voice was gentle but carried an underlying steel. "I have come to serve... and protect." Her eyes lingered on Gojo in a way that might have made a less confident person deeply uncomfortable—possessive, almost hungry, yet wrapped in a veneer of motherly concern.
The moonlight silver ray coalesced into a woman with short blonde hair and crimson eyes that seemed to catch the light in an inhuman way. She wore a simple white blouse and purple skirt that appeared strangely modern compared to the others, but her presence felt ancient and primal.
"Arcueid Brunestud," she introduced herself with a curious smile that revealed just a hint of fangs. "This is... unexpected. You're not the usual type to call upon the True Ancestors. What an interesting human you are—I can smell power in your blood."
Finally, the radiant amber beam materialized into a woman of breathtaking beauty and overwhelming arrogance. Her golden armor was minimal yet impressive, covering strategic areas while leaving much of her flawless skin exposed. Golden hair cascaded around her like liquid precious metal, and her ruby eyes regarded everything around her as if it were beneath her notice.
"I am Gilgamesh, King of Heroes," she announced, her voice musical yet imperious. "Who dares summon me from my garden of delights? Speak, mongrel, and explain this insult!"
Ten women of impossible power and divine presence now stood in a circle around Gojo, each radiating enough strength to level mountains or destroy cities. The shrine's wooden floor creaked ominously beneath the weight of their combined presence, dust swirling around their feet as ancient energy patterns rippled across the decaying structure.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Gojo looked at each of them in turn, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses. Then he did something none of them expected.
He smiled—that insufferable, cocksure grin that drove his teachers to despair and his enemies to rage.
"Wait. You're all strong?" he asked, his voice brimming with delight rather than fear. "Cool. Want takoyaki? There's a great stand about twenty minutes from here."
The ten divine beings stared at him in various states of shock, confusion, and indignation. The dust swirled around them, catching the shaft of sunlight from the broken roof, creating a surreal tableau of modern teenager facing mythological powerhouses.
"Mortal," Ishtar began, her voice dangerously sweet as she floated closer, jewelry jingling with each movement, "do you understand who stands before you? The collective power in this room could reduce your island nation to ash."
"Yeah," Gojo replied with a casual shrug, hands still in his pockets. "Ten really strong women who probably want explanations I don't have. But I'm hungry, and everything's better with takoyaki. So—food first, cosmic mystery later? Or would you prefer to stay in this dusty old shrine arguing about how important you all are?"
Nobunaga burst into raucous laughter, slapping her thigh with uninhibited glee. "I like this one! He fears nothing—not even gods! That's the spirit of a true conqueror!"
"Insolence," muttered Morgan le Fay, though her eyes sparked with interest. "Though I must admit, it's been centuries since anyone spoke to me without trembling. Refreshing, in its way."
Musashi lowered one sword but kept the other pointed at Gojo. "Food, then fight?"
"Food, then whatever," Gojo agreed, already turning toward the exit. "But fair warning—the fighting thing might disappoint you. Most people find it pretty one-sided."
"Such confidence!" Nero proclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Reminds me of myself! I shall allow you to feast me, worthy subject!"
As Gojo reached the doorway, he suddenly felt resistance—as if invisible chains were pulling him back. At the same moment, all ten women flinched in unison, expressions ranging from surprise to outrage.
"What is this?" demanded Artoria, her hand instinctively gripping her sword. "Some manner of magical restraint?"
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed dangerously, glowing with inner fire. "A binding? Me, the King, bound to a mere mortal? Release this spell immediately, or face consequences beyond your comprehension!"
Gojo turned back, genuinely puzzled for perhaps the first time in years. "Huh. I didn't do this." He pressed a finger to his temple, activating his Six Eyes to their full capacity. The world around him shifted into layers of energy and force as he analyzed the mystical bindings connecting him to each of the ten women. "Seems like there's a range limitation. You can't go more than... what, 150 meters from me?"
"Impossible!" roared Ishtar, her floating intensifying as her anger grew. "No mortal magic could bind a goddess! I who command Venus itself!"
"And yet," observed Durga with surprising calm, adjusting her multiple arms to a more comfortable position, "here we are. These bonds are ancient—older than your jujutsu, young one. They draw on fundamental principles of cosmic balance."
Gojo nodded, still examining the connections. "They're not curses, not blessings, but something in between. Ancient magic that predates modern classifications. The circle acted as both summoning and binding ritual."
"We are... tethered to this boy?" Raikou asked, her motherly tone tinged with something darker as she glided closer to Gojo. "How... interesting. Perhaps this is fate's way of giving me another chance at proper motherhood."
"Not just tethered," Morgan added, her magical senses probing the connection with scholarly precision. "We appear to be anchored to this reality through him. Without this link..."
"We'd fade away," finished Arcueid, looking more curious than concerned as she examined her own hand as if expecting it to become transparent. "How fascinating. I haven't been summoned like this since... well, ever."
"At least I've been summoned to a world with a worthy master," Artoria observed stoically, studying Gojo with renewed interest. "I sense tremendous power within you, even if your demeanor lacks proper dignity."
Gilgamesh scoffed. "Worthy? This disheveled youth? I think not."
"Actually," Musashi interjected, sheathing her swords with fluid grace, "I'm starting to think he might be really special. My battle instinct is never wrong, and it's screaming that this kid could be dangerous. Like, end-the-world dangerous if he wanted."
Gojo clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the abandoned shrine. "Great! So we're all friends now. Forced friends, but still. Takoyaki? I'm guessing none of you have modern currency, so this one's on me."
"This mortal is either the bravest or the most foolish I've encountered," Gilgamesh declared, but there was a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice.
"Why not both?" suggested Nobunaga with another bark of laughter. "The best warlords are always a bit mad! That's why they change the world!"
As they reluctantly followed Gojo out of the shrine, none of them noticed the magic circle beneath the floorboards slowly fading—its purpose fulfilled, its power now transferred to the bindings between them. Nor did they notice the ancient scroll tucked into a hidden compartment beneath the circle, its text glowing faintly with a prophecy that had waited centuries to be fulfilled:
"When the Void Master calls forth the Crimson Thrones, the barriers between realms shall weaken. The Devourer of Worlds stirs. Only united can they prevent the ending of all things."
But prophecies, like takoyaki, would have to wait. For now, ten divine women were about to experience their first encounter with modern Tokyo—and modern Tokyo was about to experience Satoru Gojo with a divine entourage.
Chapter 2: Takoyaki and First Impressions
The forest path down from the mountain shrine would have been treacherous for normal humans—crumbling stone steps slick with moss, overgrown roots creating natural traps for the unwary. For this particular group, however, such mundane obstacles hardly registered.
Gojo led the way, hands in pockets, flip-flops somehow navigating the treacherous descent with casual precision. Behind him processed his bizarre entourage, each handling the terrain in ways that spoke volumes about their nature.
Artoria and Raikou moved with disciplined, military precision, never missing a step. Musashi bounded ahead at times, then circled back, treating the entire descent as a playful exercise. Ishtar simply floated above the stairs, refusing to soil her divine feet with earthly contact. Gilgamesh proceeded with imperial expectation, as if the very ground should flatten itself before her. Morgan glided with unnatural grace, barely seeming to touch the stones at all. Nero dramatically posed at every picturesque turn, treating the mountain itself as her personal stage. Durga's multiple arms occasionally steadied her on the uneven ground, though she hardly needed the assistance. Arcueid moved with predatory grace, her movements fluid and economical. Nobunaga stomped down with gleeful abandon, occasionally kicking stones for the simple joy of destruction.
"So," Gojo called back over his shoulder as they descended, "weird question, but what exactly are you all? Like, specifically? I'm getting different vibes from each of you."
"You summon entities of immense power without knowing what you called forth?" Morgan asked, one elegant eyebrow raised. "How characteristically human."
"Technically, I didn't summon anyone," Gojo corrected. "I just stepped on an old magic circle. The summoning happened automatically."
"We are Heroic Spirits," Artoria explained formally. "Legends given form, drawn from what some call the Throne of Heroes—a place outside time where the souls of history's greatest figures reside."
"Speak for yourself," Ishtar interjected haughtily. "I am a genuine goddess, merely borrowing this form for mortal comprehension. My true divine self would blind your mortal eyes and dissolve your puny mind."
"And I," added Durga with serene confidence, "am an aspect of divine cosmic power. What your culture might call a goddess, though that term is limiting."
Arcueid smiled mysteriously. "I'm something else entirely. A True Ancestor—what you might consider a perfect vampire, though that term doesn't quite capture the essence."
"And I'm just the greatest swordsman to ever live!" declared Musashi cheerfully, patting her twin blades. "No divinity needed!"
"While I," Nero proclaimed dramatically, striking yet another pose that nearly caused her to miss a step, "am the embodiment of artistic imperial glory! Umu! The people's beloved Emperor!"
Nobunaga cackled. "And I'm the one who burned it all down! The Demon King who united Japan through blood and fire!"
"I simply protected the imperial line," Raikou added softly, though her eyes held an intensity that belied her gentle tone. "A mother to the nation, a sword against its enemies."
"A mother with rather extreme methods," murmured Morgan, who then introduced herself properly. "I am a sorceress queen, weaver of fates and breaker of kingdoms. Though in this form, my powers are... somewhat constrained."
Gilgamesh had remained uncharacteristically quiet during these introductions. When Gojo glanced back questioningly, she merely stated, "I am the original hero. The first legend. All who came after are mere footnotes to my glory. That should suffice."
Gojo absorbed this information with surprising equanimity. "Cool. So I've got the who's who of mythological heavy hitters tethered to me. That's gonna make school interesting."
"School?" repeated several voices in various tones of confusion.
"Yeah, I'm still technically a student," Gojo explained as they reached the bottom of the mountain path and emerged onto a more maintained hiking trail. "Jujutsu High—special school for sorcerers like me. Though I think attendance might become complicated with ten legendary figures following me around."
"You would prioritize education over the cosmic implications of our summoning?" Morgan asked incredulously.
Gojo shrugged. "Education, no. But the school's got resources and information we might need. Plus, I've got exams coming up."
"What exactly is this 'jujutsu' you practice?" inquired Artoria, her strategic mind already seeking to understand this world's power structures.
As they walked along the path leading toward civilization, Gojo explained the basics of jujutsu sorcery—cursed energy, techniques, the existence of curses as manifestations of negative human emotions. The group listened with varying degrees of interest.
"So your world faces threats from these 'curses,'" Durga summarized thoughtfully. "Manifestations of humanity's darker nature given form and malice. Not unlike the demons I was born to combat."
"Similar concept, different cosmology," Gojo agreed. "Though our strongest curses can get pretty apocalyptic."
"And you fight them? A worthy cause," Artoria nodded approvingly.
"I mostly annihilate them," Gojo corrected with casual confidence. "They don't usually last long enough to be considered a fight."
"Such arrogance," Gilgamesh commented, though her tone held a hint of recognition rather than criticism. "Is it justified?"
Gojo just smiled, the expression both charming and somehow unsettling. "Guess you'll find out eventually."
The path gradually widened as they approached civilization, transitioning from forest trail to paved road. Signs of human habitation became more frequent—maintained gardens, the occasional house set back from the road, power lines crisscrossing overhead. Several of the summoned women observed these modern developments with varying degrees of curiosity or disdain.
"Your era has strange aesthetics," Nero commented, eyeing a particularly garish vending machine glowing with electric light. "Though I appreciate the bold use of color!"
"What powers these lights without flame?" Raikou asked, examining a streetlamp with suspicion.
"Electricity," Gojo answered. "Captured lightning, more or less."
"You've tamed lightning?" Ishtar seemed personally offended. "That's a divine domain!"
"Humans are resourceful," Arcueid commented with ancient patience. "Given enough time, they claim every domain, divine or otherwise."
As they neared a small commercial district at the base of the mountain, a problem became increasingly apparent—their group attracted attention. Passersby stared openly at the ten women whose appearances ranged from merely unusual to literally otherworldly. A woman with six arms and blue skin, another hovering above the ground, several in ancient armor or regal attire—they were the definition of conspicuous.
"We should consider appropriate attire for this era," Morgan observed pragmatically, noting the stares. "Our current appearances draw unnecessary attention."
"Nonsense!" declared Nero. "An emperor always stands out! The people should gaze upon my glory!"
"The people are taking pictures with their phones," Gojo pointed out, nodding toward several teenagers not-so-subtly aiming their smartphones at the group. "Which means this'll be on social media in about five minutes."
"Social... media?" Artoria's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Let's just say information travels faster in this era than any of yours," Gojo explained. "And ten mythological figures suddenly appearing in Tokyo is exactly the kind of thing that would cause problems."
They reached a small shopping district, where a humble takoyaki stand occupied a corner spot. The vendor, an elderly man with weathered features and an easy smile, looked up as they approached. To his credit, his professional demeanor only wavered slightly at the sight of such an unusual group.
"Welcome!" he called cheerfully. "What can I get for you today?"
"Eleven orders of your best takoyaki, old man!" Gojo replied with equal cheer. "Special occasion."
The vendor's eyes moved from Gojo to his extraordinary companions, then back to Gojo. "Uh... cosplay event nearby?"
"Something like that," Gojo replied with his trademark grin. "Ladies, pick your flavors. My treat."
"You presume to treat the King?" Gilgamesh's voice carried that unique blend of amusement and offense that only true royalty could master. She stood with perfect posture, one hand on her hip, golden armor catching the afternoon sunlight.
"You have modern currency?" Gojo countered, raising an eyebrow above his sunglasses.
Gilgamesh opened her mouth, closed it again, then crossed her arms with a "hmph" that somehow managed to seem regal despite its childishness.
Nero pushed forward, examining the menu with theatrical intensity, leaning so close that her elaborate headdress nearly knocked over the condiment bottles. "What manner of culinary delight is this 'takoyaki'? Does it befit an emperor's palate? I shall be the judge!"
"It's octopus balls," Gojo explained, leaning casually against the counter.
"WHAT?" exclaimed several voices in unison. Ishtar looked particularly horrified, while Nobunaga burst into delighted laughter.
"Not like that," Gojo clarified, chuckling. "Balls of batter with octopus pieces inside. Traditional street food. Trust me, it's good."
Musashi had already sidled up to the counter, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "I'll try all the flavors! A warrior must experience everything life offers! In my journeys across dimensions, food has always been one of the greatest pleasures!"
"Classic octopus for me," Artoria stated formally, as if ordering in a royal banquet hall rather than a street stall. Her dignity remained unshakable even in this unfamiliar setting.
The vendor, recovering his composure somewhat, began preparing their orders with the practiced efficiency of a true master. "You kids heading to that anime convention at the big hall?"
"No," Gojo replied at the exact moment Nero declared, "Yes!"
They exchanged glances—Gojo's amused, Nero's confused.
"Yes," Gojo corrected smoothly. "Big costume contest. These ladies are... very method actors."
"I am no actor!" protested Ishtar indignantly, her jewelry jingling as she gestured dramatically. "I am genuinely divine! Mortals used to build temples and offer sacrifices just for the possibility of my favor!"
The vendor laughed good-naturedly. "That's the spirit! Your costume is amazing—the floating jewelry is a great touch. Some kind of magnetic trick?"
Ishtar looked ready to disintegrate the man on principle, her eyes flashing dangerously. Durga placed a restraining hand on her shoulder—all four of her right arms moving in perfect synchronization to gently but firmly hold the goddess back.
"Peace, sister goddess," she murmured with cosmic patience. "Different world, different customs. His ignorance is not malicious."
"Incredible prosthetics," the vendor commented appreciatively, nodding at Durga's multiple arms as he flipped takoyaki with practiced precision. "You must have spent months on those. The movement is so natural!"
Meanwhile, Arcueid was examining a vending machine with intense curiosity, her crimson eyes reflecting in the glass as she studied the various drinks inside. "The variety of beverages in this era is astounding," she commented to no one in particular. "And they're all... contained? Preserved?"
Morgan had positioned herself slightly apart from the group, observing modern Tokyo with calculating interest. Her gaze lingered on power lines, traffic signals, and the smartphones in people's hands. "This world's magic is different," she murmured. "Systematized. Democratized. Interesting approach."
Raikou had somehow produced a handkerchief and was dabbing at a nonexistent speck on Gojo's cheek, her motherly instincts apparently transcending dimensional boundaries. "You should take better care of yourself," she scolded gently. "A young man needs proper grooming."
"I'm seventeen, not seven," Gojo replied with mild exasperation, though he allowed the fussing with surprising tolerance.
"In my day, warriors were not considered men until twenty," Raikou continued, seemingly unable to help herself. "Though you have exceptional power for one so young."
Nobunaga had wandered slightly away (as far as the binding would allow) and was examining a parked motorcycle with predatory interest. "What magnificent steel horse is this? Its potential for conquest is obvious!"
Gilgamesh observed everything with imperial detachment, occasionally making small noises of either approval or disdain, though it was difficult to tell which. Her arms remained crossed, her posture perfect, her expression suggesting she was enduring rather than experiencing this new world.
"Here you go," the vendor announced proudly, presenting the first tray of perfectly golden-brown takoyaki, topped with bonito flakes that waved gently in the heat. "Careful, they're hot inside."
Musashi immediately grabbed one and popped it whole into her mouth, then let out a muffled yelp as she burned her tongue. "Hof! Buf deliffious!" she managed around the scalding food, eyes watering but expression delighted.
Artoria approached hers with the solemnity of a sacred ritual, cutting one precisely in half with a knife the vendor provided, waiting exactly ten seconds for it to cool, then sampling it with measured dignity. Her eyes widened slightly—the only indication of her pleasure.
"Acceptable," she pronounced, which Gojo was beginning to understand was high praise from the stoic king.
Raikou took her tray and immediately began separating an extra portion. "You should eat more," she told Gojo, her motherly instincts apparently encompassing nutrition. "Growing boys need proper sustenance."
Morgan observed her takoyaki with scientific scrutiny before taking a precise bite. "Interesting. The culinary arts have evolved significantly since my time. The texture combination is quite sophisticated for street food."
Arcueid approached eating with the curious enthusiasm of someone experiencing food for the novelty of it. "The texture is fascinating! The outside crisp, the inside soft, and then the chewy octopus in the center—a journey of sensations!"
Nobunaga had commandeered an entire bottle of sauce and was liberally dousing her portion until they were practically swimming. "More flavor! Everything should be bold! Life is too short for subtlety!"
Gilgamesh, meanwhile, had finally deigned to try one, holding it delicately between two fingers as if it might soil her royal hands. After a single bite, she paused, momentarily forgetting her aristocratic facade as genuine surprise flickered across her features. She finished it with slightly more enthusiasm than her regal bearing should allow.
"It... does not offend my palate," she concede
Chapter 2: Takoyaki and First Impressions (Continued)
"It... does not offend my palate," Gilgamesh conceded, reaching for a second piece with slightly less reluctance. "For commoner fare, it possesses a certain... complexity."
Only Ishtar remained standoffish, eyeing the street food with divine suspicion. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mixture of curiosity and disdain as she hovered slightly above the ground.
"Mortals eat such things?" she asked haughtily. "In my temples, they offered only the finest—"
"—yes, yes, finest wines and sacrifices," Gojo interrupted, leaning against the stall with casual irreverence. "But here's the thing about divinity—if you can't appreciate the simple stuff, what's the point of all that power?"
The goddess stared at him, genuinely taken aback by his philosophical challenge. Several of the other women paused their eating to observe this exchange, surprised by the sudden depth of Gojo's question.
"An interesting perspective," Durga noted quietly, her multiple arms gracefully managing her own tray of takoyaki. "Many gods lose touch with the simple joys their worshippers experience."
Ishtar's eyes narrowed. "You dare lecture a goddess on divinity, mortal?"
"Not lecturing," Gojo replied with an easy smile. "Just suggesting that maybe godhood isn't just about being worshipped but understanding what makes life worth living for those who worship you. Like takoyaki."
With deliberate movement—theatrical enough to make Nero nod appreciatively—Ishtar finally selected one takoyaki and bit into it daintily. Her expression remained neutral for precisely three seconds before a reluctant flicker of pleasure crossed her features.
"It's... acceptable," she finally declared, though the speed with which she consumed the remainder suggested more enthusiasm than her words conveyed.
As they ate, Gojo observed them all with analytical interest. Behind his sunglasses, his Six Eyes allowed him to see beyond physical appearance to the core of what these beings truly were. Each radiated power on a scale he'd rarely encountered—different from cursed energy but no less potent. If anything, several of them seemed to contain more raw power than any Special Grade curse he'd faced.
"You're staring," Morgan observed without looking up from her food. "Though I suppose with those hidden eyes, you always are."
"Hard not to look," Gojo replied with uncharacteristic honesty. "You're all... fascinating. Different energy signatures, different metaphysical structures. Like looking at ten different versions of how power can manifest."
"And what do those special eyes tell you about our predicament?" Morgan inquired, her tone suggesting she already had theories of her own.
Gojo popped another takoyaki into his mouth before answering. "The binding spell connecting us is old. Really old. Predates modern jujutsu by centuries, maybe millennia. Multi-layered, with fail-safes I can't fully analyze yet."
"Can you break it?" demanded Gilgamesh, setting down her empty tray with royal precision. "I refuse to remain tethered like a common pet. The King grants audience by choice, not compulsion."
"Working on it," Gojo replied, tapping his temple thoughtfully. "But there's something else. The spell isn't just binding you to me—it's binding you to this reality. Break it wrong, and you might not go home. You might go... nowhere."
A somber silence fell over the group, broken only by the sizzle of the vendor's grill as he prepared more takoyaki. Even Nobunaga's perpetual grin dimmed slightly.
"Nowhere?" Arcueid repeated softly, her crimson eyes reflective. "I've existed in the spaces between realities. 'Nowhere' isn't empty—it's worse. It's everything at once, tearing at your essence."
"Well!" Nero clapped her hands sharply, dispersing the gloomy atmosphere with imperial authority. "If we are to be companions on this grand stage, we should make the most of it! What entertainment does your era offer, young Satoru Gojo?"
"How do you know my name?" Gojo asked, genuinely surprised. "I never introduced myself."
"The summoning ritual provided basic information," Artoria explained, methodically finishing her last piece of takoyaki. "Your name, your status as a... 'jujutsu sorcerer,' whatever that may be, and your role as our anchor."
"Huh," Gojo mused, tilting his head slightly. "And did it explain why you were summoned in the first place?"
Ten pairs of eyes stared back at him with varying degrees of confusion and surprise.
"You mean... you don't know?" Arcueid asked, her head tilting in a manner reminiscent of a curious predator. "I assumed you performed the ritual deliberately."
"Nope," Gojo said, popping the 'p' sound with casual irreverence. "Found the circle by accident. Thought it was just leftover junk from some failed experiment. Definitely didn't intend to summon ten legendary women from across time and mythology."
"This is most irregular," Morgan stated, her brow furrowing as she traced arcane patterns in the air with one elegant finger. "Summoning rituals of this magnitude require clear intent and purpose. The power necessary to bridge multiple mythic structures simultaneously..."
"Unless," Durga interjected, her cosmic gaze growing distant as she looked at something beyond mortal perception, "the intent came from elsewhere. The ritual may have been prepared long ago, waiting for the right catalyst."
"And that catalyst was this chaos-bringing boy!" Nobunaga exclaimed, throwing her head back in delighted laughter. "Perfect! The universe has a sense of humor after all! I like worlds with a sense of drama!"
"The universe rarely jokes," Ishtar countered sourly, having finally deigned to settle her feet on the ground. "There must be purpose behind this convergence of power."
Musashi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet while demolishing her third serving of takoyaki, suddenly straightened. "Someone comes," she observed, her hand instinctively moving to her sword hilt. "Someone powerful, though differently than us."
Gojo felt a familiar presence approaching—one that made him straighten slightly from his usual slouch. The others noticed the change in his demeanor immediately.
"A friend or foe?" Artoria asked quietly, her own hand drifting to her concealed weapon.
"Complicated," Gojo replied with a small smirk.
Around the corner walked a tall young man with dark hair and a stern expression, wearing the uniform of Jujutsu High School. His eyes widened fractionally at the sight of Gojo surrounded by ten otherworldly women, before his face settled into a mask of resigned exasperation.
"Gojo," he said evenly. "Care to explain?"
"Suguru Getō!" Gojo greeted with exaggerated enthusiasm, throwing his arms wide as if to embrace his friend. "What a surprise! Just showing some... foreign exchange students around Tokyo."
"Foreign exchange from where exactly?" Getō asked dryly, his eyes scanning the group with the practiced assessment of a trained sorcerer. "Olympus? Camelot? The Heian period?"
"You know, little bit of column A, little bit of column B," Gojo replied vaguely, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.
"This one has power too," observed Raikou, studying Getō with maternal scrutiny. "Different from yours, but substantial. Your friend carries darkness within him."
Getō's eyes narrowed at her assessment. "And you would be?"
"Minamoto no Raikou," she introduced herself with a formal bow. "Guardian of the imperial line and slayer of demons. Your aura suggests familiarity with similar work."
"What have you done?" Getō asked quietly, turning back to Gojo. His voice carried that mixture of resignation and exasperation reserved exclusively for dealing with Satoru Gojo.
"Why does everyone assume I did something?" Gojo complained, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I was just exploring that abandoned shrine on Mount Takao—"
"The forbidden one?" Getō interrupted sharply. "The one specifically marked off-limits by the higher-ups?"
"Was it? Didn't notice the signs," Gojo said with transparent innocence that fooled no one.
Morgan chuckled softly. "He reminds me of Merlin—selective awareness of rules."
"Not helping," Gojo muttered to her before turning back to Getō. "Look, it wasn't intentional. I stepped on an old magic circle, and suddenly—" he gestured grandly at the ten women, "—divine ladies everywhere."
Getō pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that suggested he was fighting off a tension headache. "The higher-ups sent me to find you. There's been a massive spike in unusual energy around Tokyo. Now I see why." He gestured broadly at the ten women. "You've somehow summoned entities from... where exactly?"
"Various divine realms," Durga answered before Gojo could speak. "I am from what you might call the Hindu cosmology, though such human categorizations barely touch the complexity of the cosmic structure."
"Camelot," supplied Artoria simply, her posture straightening even further at the mention of her kingdom.
"The Throne of Heroes," added several others simultaneously.
"I am a True Ancestor," Arcueid offered with a friendly smile that somehow made her look more predatory. "The closest thing to a perfect vampire."
"Ancient Rome!" Nero declared dramatically. "Where I reigned with artistic brilliance unmatched by any emperor before or since! Umu!"
Getō looked increasingly pained with each introduction. "And now they're... what? Eating takoyaki?"
"Everything is better with food," Gojo pointed out reasonably, patting his stomach with satisfaction. "Even potential cosmic disasters."
"This is not a joke, Gojo," Getō said sharply, lowering his voice and stepping closer. "Do you have any idea what the higher-ups will do when they find out about this? Entities this powerful suddenly appearing in our world—they'll mobilize every available sorcerer to contain or eliminate the threat."
"They can try," Gilgamesh remarked casually, inspecting her nails with supreme indifference. "It would be amusing to watch your mortal 'sorcerers' break themselves against my treasury."
Musashi's eyes lit up at the prospect. "A battle royal? That sounds fun!"
"No one's eliminating anyone," Gojo said, his voice suddenly losing its playful edge. The change in tone was subtle but unmistakable—a glimpse of the terrifying power lurking beneath his carefree facade. "These ladies are under my protection now."
"And bound to you, apparently," Getō observed, his analytical mind quickly grasping the nature of the mystical tethers connecting Gojo to each woman. "The higher-ups will see this as an unprecedented security risk. One Special Grade sorcerer suddenly linked to ten unknown entities of massive power? They'll declare this a state one emergency."
"Then we just won't tell them," Gojo suggested with a shrug.
"They already know something happened," Getō countered. "That's why they sent me looking for you. It's only a matter of time before they figure out the details."
As they argued, the ten summoned women observed their interaction with varying degrees of interest. To beings who had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations or commanded vast armies, this disagreement between teenagers might have seemed trivial. Yet there was something compelling about the dynamic between these two young men—one chaotic and boundless, the other structured and principled.
"They remind me of Arthur and Lancelot," Artoria commented quietly to Morgan.
"Let us hope their friendship ends less tragically," Morgan replied dryly, a shadow passing over her features.
"I sense genuine concern beneath his stern exterior," Durga observed, her cosmic perspective allowing her to see deeper layers of emotion. "This young man fears for his friend, not just the consequences."
"Bah! Politics and bureaucracy," Nobunaga snorted dismissively. "The same in every era. When faced with true power, their only response is fear and suppression."
"Your hierarchical concerns are irrelevant," Ishtar announced suddenly, addressing both young sorcerers with divine impatience. "What matters is why we were summoned. The universe does not allow such crossings without purpose."
"Agreed," said Durga, her multi-armed form straightening as she gazed skyward. "I sense a disturbance in the cosmic balance—something that required our specific intervention."
"Maybe you were summoned to help me overthrow the jujutsu establishment," Gojo suggested with a grin that was only half-joking. "They could use a good shaking up."
"This isn't one of your rebellious fantasies, Gojo," Getō admonished, though a reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "This is serious."
"I'm always serious," Gojo replied, adjusting his sunglasses. "I just make it look fun."
"What exactly is this 'jujutsu' you keep mentioning?" Musashi inquired, her curiosity piqued as she stepped between them. "Is it similar to the swordsmanship techniques of my era? Do you fight with blades or pure energy?"
Before either young man could answer, a thunderous crack split the air. Above Tokyo, the sky rippled as if reality itself was being torn—a phenomenon visible even to ordinary humans. Pedestrians stopped and pointed upward in alarm as a massive distortion spread across the heavens, colors shifting in patterns that human eyes were never meant to process.
"That's... not good," Gojo observed unnecessarily, his casual tone at odds with the sudden tension in his posture.
"Their arrival has destabilized something," Getō said urgently, staring upward. "The barrier between our world and others is weakening."
The distortion spread like cracks in glass, fractal patterns of cosmic disruption bleeding across the formerly blue sky. Within the fractures, glimpses of other realities flickered momentarily—landscapes of fire, realms of endless ice, domains of pure conceptual mathematics.
Durga's expression grew grave as all six of her arms moved through complex gestures, reading the cosmic energies. "It is as I feared. Our presence here—beings from different mythic structures all converging in one point—is straining the fundamental laws that separate realities."
"Well, can't you just go back?" Getō asked, his practical nature seeking the simplest solution.
"We cannot," Artoria stated flatly, her voice carrying the finality of absolute certainty. "The summoning ritual that brought us here appears to be one-way. We are bound to this world through him." She nodded toward Gojo.
"And if you tried to forcibly break that bond?" Getō pressed.
"The backlash would likely destroy this entire city," Morgan answered calmly, as if discussing the weather rather than apocalyptic destruction. "Perhaps more. The energies involved in our summoning are... substantial."
The takoyaki vendor, who had been listening to this increasingly bizarre conversation with mounting confusion, finally spoke up. "Um, should I close early today?"
"Probably a good idea," Gojo agreed, handing him far too much money with a casual flick of his wrist. "And maybe take a vacation. Somewhere far away. Like Hokkaido. Or Australia."
As the vendor hurriedly packed up his stall, shooting worried glances at both the strange group and the disturbing sky, Nobunaga threw her head back and laughed. "I like this world already! Chaos from the very beginning! When do we fight? What's our first conquest?"
"Hopefully never, and nothing," Getō muttered, though his expression suggested he didn't believe his own words.
Above them, the distortion in the sky pulsed again, sending visible shockwaves across Tokyo. The cracks widened momentarily, and a distant, hungry howl echoed through the breach—a sound that belonged to no earthly creature. In the distance, the distinctive wail of emergency sirens began to rise.
"We should move," Gojo decided, suddenly all business. "Somewhere less public while we figure this out."
"Where exactly do you plan to hide ten divine women?" Getō demanded, gesturing at the group that was attracting increasingly panicked attention from passersby.
Gojo thought for a moment, then smiled—that particular smile that always filled Getō with preemptive dread. It was the smile that had preceded the infamous "Kyoto Incident," the "Classroom 3-A Disaster," and the never-to-be-spoken-of "Principal's Koi Pond Catastrophe."
"I know just the place," he said cheerfully. "And you're going to help me, Suguru."
"I am not getting involved in your chaos," Getō stated firmly, crossing his arms.
"Too late," Gojo replied, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You're already here. Besides, would you rather leave me unsupervised with them?" He gestured to the ten women, each powerful enough to level Tokyo in their own way.
"He makes a compelling argument," Arcueid noted with amusement. "I can't imagine the destruction this one could cause with divine encouragement." She nodded toward Gojo with something that looked disturbingly like approval.
Getō looked at the ten women—each radiating power beyond normal comprehension—and then at Gojo, whose chaotic tendencies were legendary even among sorcerers.
"Fine," he conceded with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. "But when this inevitably goes wrong, remember that I tried to stop you."
"That's the spirit!" Gojo exclaimed, clapping him on the back with excessive force. "Ladies, follow me. We're going to my family estate."
"You're taking them to the Gojo clan compound?" Getō asked incredulously, lowering his voice to a hiss. "The conservative heart of the jujutsu world? The stronghold of the very higher-ups who would most want to contain this situation?"
"Exactly," Gojo confirmed with mischievous glee. "Last place anyone would expect me to go willingly. Perfect hiding spot."
"Or the perfect place to trigger an internal war within the jujutsu society," Getō muttered.
"That works too," Gojo replied cheerfully.
"Your friend has wisdom," Morgan commented to Getō, falling into step beside him as the group began to move. "Though not enough to counter his recklessness. An interesting dynamic."
"We've been balancing each other since childhood," Getō admitted reluctantly. "Though lately, I find myself playing the voice of reason more often."
"Every king needs a rational advisor," Artoria noted, joining their conversation. "Someone to temper impulse with wisdom."
"He's not a king," Getō objected.
Artoria's gaze followed Gojo, who was now animatedly explaining something to Musashi and Nobunaga, his hands gesturing wildly as the two warriors listened with fascination.
"Perhaps not in title," she conceded. "But power recognizes power. And his sits upon him like a crown, whether he acknowledges it or not."
As they departed the commercial district, following Gojo's lead toward the train station, none of them noticed the shadowy figure watching from a nearby rooftop—a figure whose grotesquely malformed body seemed to shift between human and something else entirely. It observed the group with hungry interest before dissolving into the shadows, carrying vital intelligence to powers that had been waiting centuries for this precise moment.
In its wake, it left a small, pulsing tumor of cursed energy—a seed that began to grow, feeding on the residual divine power that lingered in the air where the group had been.
The prophecy was unfolding exactly as written. The Void Master had called forth the Crimson Thrones.
And somewhere beyond the thin veil of reality, the Devourer of Worlds stirred from its ancient slumber, sensing the first opportunity in millennia to break through into a realm ripe for consumption.
Chapter 3: The Gojo Family Estate
The train ride to the Gojo family estate proved to be an adventure in itself. Modern public transportation was an entirely new experience for most of the summoned women, and their reactions ranged from fascinated to suspicious to outright hostile.
"This metal serpent moves without horses," Nobunaga observed, pressing her face against the window as Tokyo's urban landscape rushed by. "The strategic advantages are obvious! One could move entire armies in days rather than months!"
"It's so... close," Ishtar complained, trying to maintain her divine dignity while sandwiched between everyday commuters who were doing their best to pretend the strange group didn't exist. "These mortals are breathing my air!"
"I've seen similar conveyances in other worlds," Arcueid noted calmly, seemingly unbothered by the crowds. "Though the technology differs, the concept remains consistent across realities—efficient mass transportation."
Artoria stood rigidly by a pole, one hand firmly gripping it while the other rested on her concealed sword. Her posture remained perfect despite the train's movement, her eyes constantly scanning for potential threats among the ordinary passengers.
Musashi had struck up a conversation with a bewildered salaryman about his tie. "The fabric is so smooth! In my era, silk was reserved for the highest nobility. Now even common warriors wear it to battle!"
"It's... for the office," the man corrected weakly, looking desperately toward the next station.
Raikou had somehow acquired a handkerchief and was wiping a smudge from Getō's face despite his attempts to politely evade her motherly attentions. "Young men should present themselves properly," she insisted. "Especially one with such noble features."
Morgan and Durga stood in quiet conversation near the doors, comparing notes on the metaphysical structures of this reality versus their own. Their discussion occasionally utilized terminology that caused nearby electronic devices to malfunction.
Nero had appointed herself the center of attention, regaling a captive audience of uncomfortable commuters with tales of Roman glory. "And then I, the Emperor, performed my own composition for the assembled masses! They wept with joy for seventeen hours!"
Gilgamesh had simply commandeered a priority seat, her imperial bearing so overwhelming that an elderly woman had voluntarily given up her spot. She sat with perfect posture, regarding the other passengers as if they were mild curiosities in her royal museum.
Gojo and Getō stood in the middle of this chaos, the former clearly enjoying the spectacle while the latter looked increasingly desperate for the journey to end.
"We should have taken taxis," Getō muttered, watching as a child pointed at Durga's multiple arms while his mother hurriedly shushed him.
"And miss all this?" Gojo gestured expansively. "Besides, I'm not sure regular taxis could handle the metaphysical weight. Did you know Gilgamesh there weighs approximately seven tons according to my Six Eyes? Something about 'carrying the weight of humanity's first civilization' literally."
"You're enjoying this far too much," Getō observed with resignation.
"Obviously," Gojo agreed cheerfully. "It's not every day you accidentally summon ten mythological powerhouses who can't go more than 150 meters from you without metaphysically imploding. The universe has a sense of humor."
"The universe has a vendetta against common sense whenever you're involved," Getō countered.
Their banter was interrupted by the train's announcement system. "Next stop, Yotsuya Station. Please mind the gap when exiting."
"That's us," Gojo announced to his divine entourage. "Ladies, we're getting off here. Try not to destroy anything on the way out—Japan's pretty strict about public property damage."
As they exited the train—to the visible relief of the remaining passengers—Gojo led the group through the station and toward one of Tokyo's more exclusive residential districts. The urban landscape gradually shifted from commercial buildings to traditional estates hidden behind high walls and ancient trees.
"Your dwelling is in this direction?" Artoria inquired, falling into step beside Gojo.
"The Gojo family compound," he confirmed. "Been around for centuries. Very traditional, very stuffy, very powerful. Everything I try to avoid, usually."
"Yet you return now," she observed. "With us."
"Strategic thinking," Gojo tapped his temple. "They'll never look for me where I'm supposed to be. Plus, the compound has extensive libraries on ancient jujutsu techniques. Might find something about your summoning ritual."
"You are more calculating than you first appear," Artoria noted with something like approval.
"Don't tell anyone," Gojo replied with a wink. "Ruins my brand."
After fifteen minutes of walking, they arrived before an imposing gate set in a high stone wall that stretched in both directions. Ancient trees towered behind it, their branches reaching skyward like protective sentinels. The gate itself bore the Gojo family crest—an intricate design that seemed to shift subtly when viewed directly, a visual representation of the Limitless technique.
"Home sweet home," Gojo announced without enthusiasm. "Everyone be on their best behavior. Or don't—could be entertaining either way."
"This residence has power," Durga observed, her cosmic senses detecting the layered barriers surrounding the compound. "Many generations of protection woven into its very foundations."
"The Gojo clan has been around for a thousand years," Getō explained. "Each generation adds new protective techniques."
"A proper fortress," Nobunaga approved, assessing the defenses with a warlord's eye. "Though I still say it needs more archer positions."
As they approached the main gate, two clan guards snapped to attention. Their formal demeanor cracked the instant they recognized Gojo, transitioning from respectful alertness to barely concealed dread.
"Satoru-sama," one managed, bowing stiffly while shooting a desperate glance at his colleague. "We... weren't expecting you."
"That's the point of surprises," Gojo replied, spreading his arms dramatically. "Is the old man home?"
"Your honorable grandfather is hosting a clan meeting in the main hall," the guard informed him reluctantly, eyeing the extraordinary group behind Gojo with growing alarm.
"Perfect!" Gojo's grin widened to disturbing proportions. "Everyone I need to shock in one convenient location."
The guard's eyes darted nervously between the ten extraordinary women and Getō, who offered only a resigned shrug in response. "Sir, protocol requires that we announce any... guests."
"Announce away," Gojo waved magnanimously. "Tell them Satoru has brought friends. That alone should give them a collective heart attack."
As the flustered guard hurried ahead to deliver this alarming news, Getō pulled Gojo aside.
"This is a terrible idea," he hissed. "The Gojo clan elders are the most conservative faction among the higher-ups. Bringing unknown entities directly into their stronghold—"
"Exactly why they'll never expect it," Gojo interrupted. "Besides, my grandfather has been nagging me about 'continuing the bloodline' for years. Thought I'd show him I'm taking his advice seriously."
Beside them, Raikou perked up noticeably at the mention of bloodlines, her eyes taking on a disconcerting gleam.
"You're not seriously suggesting—" Getō began, alarm evident in his voice.
"I'm suggesting nothing," Gojo corrected with a mischievous grin. "Just enjoying the chaos that's about to unfold. Come on, it'll be fun."
"Your definition of 'fun' typically correlates with my definition of 'disaster,'" Getō muttered, but fell into step as they passed through the gate.
Inside, the Gojo compound revealed itself as a masterpiece of traditional Japanese architecture. Immaculately maintained gardens surrounded elegant buildings connected by covered walkways. Cherry trees in full bloom scattered pink petals across stone paths and ornamental ponds where koi swam in lazy circles. Despite its beauty, the entire compound radiated power—layers upon layers of barriers, wards, and protective jujutsu woven into the very fabric of the place.
"Impressive," Morgan acknowledged, her sorceress senses appreciating the intricate magical construction. "Your family has a sophisticated understanding of spatial manipulation and protective enchantment."
"The Limitless technique runs in the family," Gojo explained. "Though I'm the first in centuries to be born with both the Limitless and Six Eyes together. Makes me special." The last part was delivered with mock modesty that fooled no one.
"And insufferable," Getō added under his breath.
They followed a stone path toward the largest building at the center of the compound. As they walked, servants and clan members stopped to stare, expressions ranging from shock to horror to fascinated curiosity. None dared approach directly, but Gojo could feel the compound buzzing with alarmed activity as word of his arrival—and his companions—spread rapidly.
"Your kinsmen fear you," Durga observed, noting the reactions their group provoked.
"Not me specifically," Gojo replied. "More what I represent. Change. Unpredictability. A challenge to their comfortable hierarchies."
"Ah," Nobunaga nodded with understanding. "A revolutionary in a traditionalist family. I recognize the dynamic well. My own clan thought me quite mad until I conquered half of Japan."
"I have no interest in conquering anything," Gojo clarified. "Too much responsibility. I just want the freedom to do things my way."
"Freedom often requires conquest first," Gilgamesh remarked unexpectedly, breaking her long silence. "True liberty comes only through power."
"A bleak perspective," Artoria countered, "but not entirely without merit. Systems resist change until forced."
Before this philosophical debate could continue, they arrived at the main hall's elaborate entrance. Two more guards stood at attention, their posture impeccable despite the obvious tension in their expressions.
"Satoru-sama," one began formally. "The council is in session and has requested—"
"That I wait patiently outside until they're ready to see me?" Gojo interrupted cheerfully. "Sorry, not happening." With casual disregard for protocol, he pushed past them, sliding open the ornate doors with a dramatic flourish. "Honey, I'm home!"
The room beyond fell into stunned silence. Arranged on ceremonial cushions sat twelve elderly men and women, all wearing traditional Japanese formal attire. At their head sat an imposing figure—an elderly man whose white hair and striking features marked him clearly as Gojo's relative. Despite his age, power radiated from him like heat from a furnace.
"Grandson," the old man said evenly, his voice betraying neither surprise nor anger, though his eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of the extraordinary entourage. "How unexpected."
"Grandfather," Gojo replied with a mocking bow. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important. Just brought some friends home for dinner."
The old man's gaze moved deliberately from one supernatural woman to the next, his experienced eyes clearly recognizing that these were no ordinary visitors. When he finally spoke again, his voice remained calm, but with an undercurrent of steel.
"I see you've been busy at that forbidden shrine. The one specifically sealed by the founding families three centuries ago."
Gojo's smile dimmed slightly. "You knew about it?"
"Of course I knew," his grandfather replied with a dismissive wave. "I am the head of the Gojo clan. There is little concerning ancient powers that escapes my notice."
"Then perhaps," Morgan interjected smoothly, stepping forward with regal bearing, "you might enlighten us as to why such a powerful summoning circle was left intact rather than destroyed."
The old man's eyes fixed on her with new interest. "And you would be?"
"Morgan le Fay," she introduced herself with a slight incline of her head. "Sorceress Queen of Avalon."
"I see." The clan head's expression remained unreadable. "To answer your question, Lady Morgan, some tools are too valuable to destroy, even when dangerous. The circle was sealed, not eliminated, because our ancestors believed a time would come when it might be needed."
"Needed for what exactly?" Gojo pressed, his casual demeanor slipping slightly to reveal genuine curiosity.
Instead of answering directly, the old man rose to his feet with surprising grace for his age. "This discussion is not for the council chamber. Follow me to my private study." He glanced at the assembled elders. "The meeting is adjourned until tomorrow."
The council members rose, bowing respectfully to their leader while shooting anxious glances at the supernatural visitors. As they filed out, one elderly woman paused beside Gojo.
"Your grandmother would have appreciated the dramatic entrance," she remarked dryly. "She always said you inherited her sense of theater."
"Aunt Tsuyu," Gojo acknowledged with genuine warmth. "Still terrorizing the accountants?"
"Someone must keep the books balanced," she replied with a small smile before continuing on her way.
The clan head led their unusual procession through a series of corridors to a more secluded building at the rear of the compound. Sliding open a set of traditional doors revealed a spacious study lined with ancient scrolls, rare books, and artifacts of obvious jujutsu significance.
"Please, be seated," he offered, gesturing to an arrangement of cushions around a low table. "I will have tea brought."
"Skip the hospitality, old man," Gojo said, though he did drop casually onto one of the cushions. "What do you know about the summoning circle?"
His grandfather's eyes narrowed slightly at the disrespect but chose to ignore it. "More than you, clearly, since you activated it without understanding its purpose."
"Wait," Gilgamesh interrupted, her imperious voice cutting through the family tension. "You claim your ancestors preserved this summoning ritual deliberately? For what purpose?"
The old man turned to regard her fully. "And you would be?"
"Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, ruler of Uruk, first and greatest of kings," she declared without a hint of modesty. "Answer my question, elder one. I tire of mystery."
Rather than being offended by her tone, Gojo's grandfather seemed almost amused. "Even in my extensive studies, I never expected to address the King of Heroes directly. Truly,