Chapter 1269 - q

Chapter 27 – You Are My Special

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"Are we going to be stepping into warzones every time we go somewhere new?" Petra asked.

I couldn't blame her.

We stepped through the portal and into ruin.

A smoking crater dominated the street ahead of us. Asphalt had been peeled back like torn skin. Steam rose in slow, twisting columns. Every building in sight had its windows blown out, glass scattered across the pavement like frost. The air smelled of dust, concrete, and something faintly metallic.

We hadn't arrived quietly.

We had arrived in the middle of a catastrophe.

"Shibuya," Natasha said, scanning the skyline. "I went to our version for a mission a few years ago. The layout's familiar. Not identical, but close."

"The Shibuya Incident, huh?" I muttered.

Of course.

I would have preferred to arrive earlier. Before the barrier went up. Before the start of Yuji's story, ideally. But this was workable.

Knowing the timeline, the devastation made sense. Sukuna had already fought Jogo. The city had already been carved apart. The situation for the sorcerers had likely deteriorated beyond salvage.

But Shibuya still stood.

Which meant Sukuna hadn't deployed his full domain against Mahoraga yet.

If Jogo was dead, that fight would be starting soon.

A plan crystallized instantly.

"Petra," I said, turning to her, "I want you rescuing any sorcerers you can find while you search for Kenjaku. There's an emergency treatment station somewhere near the edges of the barrier."

A little goodwill with the local power structure would make things easier. And it cost us nothing to help. Besides, I knew Petra. She would have done it anyway.

"I got it," she said.

And then she was gone, vanishing in a blur that left the air snapping in her wake.

I turned to Natasha and Wanda.

"You know the plan," I said. "I'll engage Sukuna."

"We'll handle Kenjaku," Natasha replied, already shifting into mission mode.

Wanda's eyes flickered faintly red as her senses expanded outward, feeling for distortions, for cursed energy spikes, for anything that didn't belong.

A roar rolled across the ruined district, deep enough to rattle broken glass.

I quickly expanded my senses.

Two presences flared against my awareness, both immense. Violent. Focused on each other. They were almost as strong as I was without activating Devil Trigger. That was… concerning. But not unmanageable.

Mahoraga wasn't what worried me. His adaptation had terrifying potential, but only if you let it breathe. I had no intention of trading blows or testing boundaries. If I engaged him, it would be immediate annihilation. No experimentation. No escalation ladder.

Sukuna, though…

Sukuna was different. He wasn't just powerful. He wasn't just skilled. He was a master of cursed energy in every application. He understood the system at a foundational level and bent it accordingly. If overwhelming force alone were enough to beat him, he would never have earned the title King of Curses.

That said, I could still handle him. Between the raw offensive supremacy of my Power of Destruction and Devil Trigger – stronger now than when I had first acquired it, refined through training and combat – I had more than enough firepower to kill him outright.

Bringing him in alive would be trickier, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had the perfect plan for that.

I gave the girls one last look before I took off.

The battle escalated even as I closed the distance. By the time I arrived, nearly an entire city block had been reduced to debris. Concrete ruptured under impact. Buildings collapsed as if made of sand. Cars were flung aside by shockwaves alone, and every time one of them casually broke the sound barrier, another wave of shattered glass cascaded through the streets.

In the center of it all stood Ryomen Sukuna.

He stood at the edge of a crater, relaxed, almost bored.

At the bottom lay Mahoraga, on his back, massive body partially embedded in pulverized earth. Cuts across the shikigami's white skin were already sealing shut. The strange wheel behind his head turned slowly.

Adaptation in progress.

Not for long.

Time to make an entrance.

I folded forward and dove feet first. The impact when I hit Mahoraga's chest was catastrophic. The ground gave way beneath him entirely as I drove him deeper, a fresh crater forming under the force. Dust and debris exploded upward in a choking cloud.

I remained planted on his torso for a fraction of a second – just long enough – before pushing off.

I didn't use magic. Just strength. The gust of wind from the motion alone blasted the dust away in all directions, clearing the battlefield in an instant.

Sukuna's grin widened.

"And what is this now?" he asked, amusement threading through his voice.

Beneath me, Mahoraga twitched. The wheel turned. I floated upward, hovering just above the shikigami's rising form, and extended a hand. It took a single heartbeat to release a concentrated pulse of Power of Destruction. I widened it deliberately. Not enough to engulf the entire district. But enough that the ground beneath Sukuna's feet disintegrated as the wave passed through, forcing him to leap away or be caught in it.

The pulse struck Mahoraga full on. There was no explosion. No spectacle.

Just absence.

The divine general ceased to be before he even had a chance to begin adapting. When the light faded, nothing remained in the crater but emptiness and a faint distortion in space where something immense had once stood.

I lowered my hand slowly.

Sukuna landed lightly on a fragment of broken roadway, eyes fixed on me.

"You interrupted my fight," Sukuna said, voice calm and edged with promise. "I'll kill you for that."

I laughed.

"I'd like to see you try."

I dropped to the ground directly in front of him. I was just tall enough to look down slightly. I saw it immediately. He didn't like that.

So I stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough that he had to tilt his chin upward to maintain eye contact.

"So you are the infamous King of Curses," I said, letting the title drip with mockery. "I'm not impressed."

"Oh?"

He moved without warning. His fist shot forward, aimed straight at my stomach – fast enough to turn most opponents into paste.

It met my palm.

The impact cracked the air like artillery. A shockwave rippled outward, flattening what little remained standing nearby. The ground fractured beneath our feet.

I didn't move an inch.

"Like I said," I replied calmly, fingers tightening around his knuckles. "Not impressed."

His grin widened.

Sharp.

Predatory.

"Maybe you'll make good entertainment after all," he said.

"You want to fight me?" I let incredulity color my voice. "I was under the impression you preferred slaughtering weaklings. Thought you were too much of a coward to fight anyone strong."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You sure do enjoy running your mouth."

I tilted my head, studying him as if considering a purchase.

"Tell you what," I said.

I released his hand and spread my arms, fully open. Exposed.

Inviting.

"Swear a binding vow with me. Right now."

The air between us tightened.

"You fight me," I continued, "with full intent to kill. No holding back. No games."

I leaned in slightly.

"And when I win –"

"If," he cut in, voice low, eyes gleaming with something darker now.

"When," I corrected without hesitation. "You follow my orders for one month."

The grin slipped.

Not gone.

Just sharpened.

"You would dare try to give me orders?"

I sneered openly.

"I thought that was your philosophy," I said. "The strong dominate. The weak submit."

I stepped forward again and pressed a single finger against his chest.

"Or was that just something you tell yourself when you're butchering those too weak to fight back?"

The air seemed to freeze.

For a heartbeat, the entire ruined district held its breath.

"You won't run away," Sukuna said, and this time there was no amusement in his voice. Only edge. "I'm going to enjoy taking you apart."

"Works for me," I replied lightly.

And then I felt it.

Something shifted deep within my soul. My demonic power twisted – not violently, but precisely – reshaping itself into something structured. Ordered. Ancient. It resembled the framework devils used to forge contracts… but denser. Absolute.

Invisible chains coiled around my essence.

They did not bind my body.

They bound my intent.

I instinctively understood the consequences. Breaking this would not simply hurt. It would punish. Not physically. Fundamentally.

So this was what a binding vow felt like.

And just like that, my plan succeeded.

Capturing Sukuna alive had always been the hardest part of this mission.

He was strong enough that containing him by force alone would be troublesome. Even if I subdued him, he still had his binding vow with Yuji. He could resurface at inconvenient moments. I would need to monitor him constantly until delivery.

But now?

Now there was a leash.

Above all else, Ryomen Sukuna was prideful.

He would forgive neither insult nor disrespect. He lived by the creed of strength. Might justified everything. If I wanted him to accept submission – even conditionally – it couldn't be coerced. It had to be earned in a way that left no room for denial.

So I structured it carefully.

First, I erased Mahoraga in a single strike. That earned his attention. Second, I mocked his title. Questioned his legacy. Framed him as a bully preying on the weak. That earned his irritation.

I looked down on him.

Sukuna did not merely enjoy being feared. He demanded to be acknowledged. To be treated as supreme. And I denied him that.

Sukuna hated being dismissed.

"Go ahead," I said quietly, lowering my stance just a fraction. "Give me your best shot. See how that goes."

Sukuna smirked.

Then the world blurred.

We exchanged two dozen blows in a single second. Punch. Kick. Elbow. Knee.

Each collision detonated the air between us. Shockwaves tore down already-ruined walls and sent slabs of concrete skidding across the streets like paper. The asphalt beneath our feet spider-webbed and collapsed from the repeated impacts.

Every strike carried enough force to pulp reinforced steel. Without demonic reinforcement, my bones would have shattered.

A straight punch snapped his head back – cartilage crunching as his nose broke – only for him to step in seamlessly and drive a knee into my abdomen hard enough to crater the ground behind me. The impact forced the air from my lungs in a violent rush.

I pivoted, caught his follow-up kick against my forearm, twisted–

Yanked him off balance–

And drove my fist into his stomach in the half-heartbeat before he recovered.

He responded with a headbutt.

I met it with my own.

Skull slammed against skull.

The crack echoed like gunfire.

A thin line of blood ran down both our foreheads.

I grinned.

Maybe it was the Dante template bleeding through. Maybe it was simply the reality of pushing myself against someone who could actually push back.

But I was beginning to understand why some people loved to fight.

The adrenaline.

The clarity.

The way the world narrowed to movement, timing, breath.

Every twitch mattered. Every micro-adjustment meant the difference between landing clean and eating a counter.

It was intoxicating.

Fun.

Across from me, Sukuna's grin widened to match mine.

With every exchange – every blocked elbow, every grazing strike, every perfectly timed counter – he was experiencing something rare.

Not prey.

Not a fragile sorcerer clinging to a gimmick.

Not a desperate shikigami buying time.

A peer.

Someone who could match him strike for strike.

The ground beneath us gave way entirely as we collided again, both of us driving the other back a dozen meters in a spray of shattered concrete.

He laughed.

Not mockery.

Not cruelty.

Genuine exhilaration.

"Yes," he said, eyes blazing. "This is how it should be."

He felt alive.

So did I.

Sukuna lifted a hand casually and flicked his fingers.

The air screamed. Invisible slashes tore toward me, carving shallow lines across my skin before I fully registered what had happened.

I pushed demonic power into my eyes.

The world shifted.

The distortion lines became visible – thin fractures in the air itself, racing toward me faster than bullets. I twisted aside as the next barrage came, letting them shear past my shoulders and ribs, feeling the displaced air tug at my clothes.

My turn.

Power of Destruction gathered at my fingertips, compressing into razor-thin edges. I slashed the air in response, clawing downward. Lines of annihilation ripped forward.

They met his cuts midair.

Where they touched, Sukuna's slashes simply ceased to exist – unmade before completion. My attacks continued through the empty space, racing toward him. His eyes narrowed slightly. He shifted, almost clearing the path.

Almost.

One line grazed his face. A clean segment of his cheek vanished, erased with surgical precision.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

Then he laughed.

"That," he said, voice low and delighted, "is a very interesting technique."

I smiled back.

"Let me show you another."

When I first chose the Dante template, I hadn't been entirely certain how his signature styles would manifest. In the games, they were as much mechanics as lore – distinct modes of expression for the same power set.

Reality had translated them differently.

Swordmaster turned out to be exactly what the name implied. It wasn't a supernatural amplification so much as a crystallization of expertise. Absolute familiarity with melee weapons. Instinctive angles. Impossible recovery speeds.

There were tricks bundled within it – infusing demonic power into a blade with seamless efficiency, projecting magical copies of my sword for brief moments, extending reach in subtle ways – but none of it was something I couldn't have reverse-engineered on my own.

If I'd had a full arsenal of devil arms, it likely would have scaled further.

But with only Devil Sword Dante at my disposal, Swordmaster mostly manifested as something simpler.

Skill.

Gunslinger had potential.

The style translated into instinctive mastery over firearms as magical conduits. I could infuse guns with demonic power to amplify them far beyond mundane limits. I could create bullets from nothing, lace them with spells, alter their properties mid-flight. Any firearm could act as a catalyst, a focusing tool for more complex effects.

It was elegant.

It was versatile.

I didn't need it.

With the Power of Destruction, I already possessed a ranged option superior to any conventional projectile. If I wanted beams, I had them. If I wanted piercing shots, explosive bursts, tracking lines, I could form them directly from energy with greater efficiency than routing them through a barrel.

Infusing bullets with annihilation was redundant when I could just create annihilation itself.

So I passed the practical tricks to Natasha.

Gave her Ebony and Ivory.

Let her turn the style into something that actually complemented her.

Then I shelved it.

Trickster was similar.

Dante's "teleportation" turned out not to be teleportation at all. It was speed. Ridiculous, perception-breaking speed. The kind that made even high-level demons question whether space itself had bent.

I learned how to channel demonic power into my muscles and nervous system to replicate it. Burst movement so fast it looked like blinking between positions.

Valuable, certainly.

But it wasn't true spatial displacement.

In actual high-level combat, there was a difference between extreme velocity and instantaneous relocation. One could be predicted and intercepted. The other rewrote positioning entirely.

Trickster gave me the former.

I still lacked the latter.

Royal Guard, though–

Royal Guard was the one I'd expected the most from.

And it was both the most valuable and the most disappointing.

I learned how to condense and harden my demonic power into layered defensive shells. How to time that hardening with incoming impact to drastically reduce damage. How to flare it outward at the moment of contact to turn an enemy's force back against them.

In practice, it made me extraordinarily difficult to hurt.

In theory, it allowed me to negate attacks if timed perfectly.

But reality was harsher than gameplay.

Hardening my aura did not make me invulnerable.

Perfect timing did not grant absolute immunity.

If an attack exceeded my current threshold, it would simply break through. If I attempted to "perfect block" something far beyond my weight class, my guard would shatter under the strain.

Royal Guard was not a cheat code.

It was skill expression.

And skill still had limits.

When combined – and unlike the games, I could layer them seamlessly – they painted a clear picture.

Dante was absurdly skilled. Swordmaster's offense. Trickster's acceleration. Royal Guard's defense. All of it could overlap. Blend. Flow. I wasn't at his level yet. Not truly. Even with relentless training, imitation only went so far.

But training in isolation was nothing compared to battle against a master. And with Martial Talent sharpening my perception, letting me absorb patterns and refine them into my own, every exchange with Sukuna was an education.

In that regard, he was perfect.

I let Devil Sword Dante manifest fully in my hands. I had long since outgrown the need to activate Devil Trigger just to draw out its true edge. The blade thrummed, demonic power coiling along its length like a living thing.

I leveled it toward Sukuna.

He felt it.

The shift in pressure.

The change in intent.

His lips parted–

But I was already gone.

Trickster acceleration tore the air apart as I appeared inside his guard, blade screaming forward to pierce his heart.

He was the most feared sorcerer in history, and it showed. In the infinitesimal span between my appearance and the point of impact, he reacted. His hands snapped up and clamped down on the blade.

Hundreds of microscopic slashes manifested along his palms, intercepting the edge repeatedly – layer upon layer of cutting force preventing my weapon from slicing cleanly through.

It slowed the demonic blade.

It did not stop the power behind it.

The crimson echo of the blade extended past the physical edge – a projection of demonic force – and drove through his reinforcement, punching into his torso. For a brief moment, I saw it. The wound parted wide enough to expose muscle and organ beneath.

Deep.

Fatal to most.

Sukuna's grin never faltered.

And even as I watched, the flesh began to knit.

Reversed cursed energy flowed through him, stitching tissue back together with eerie efficiency. The sensation brushed against my senses – strange. Not holy in the angelic sense Millicas remembered, but adjacent. A polarity inversion. Positive born from negative. Neutral.

The wound sealed in seconds. Not as immediate as my regeneration, which erased injury at the moment of cause removal. But close.

Useful.

Extremely useful.

I was looking forward to recruiting Shoko even more now.

I tore the blade free in a rising arc. Summoned swords erupted from Devil Sword Dante's edge, spectral copies screaming toward Sukuna from impossible angles.

He adapted instantly. The first two he avoided without effort, reading their trajectory before they fully formed. The next pair twisted mid-flight at my command, angling for his knees and shoulder–

He shifted again.

Not perfectly.

But enough.

He was learning.

I brought the flat of my blade down like a guillotine.

It struck his crossed arms with the force of a collapsing building and drove him straight into the ruined street. Asphalt detonated beneath his feet, the impact carving a fresh trench through already-broken ground.

He refused to buckle. Even as I leaned in, increasing pressure, he held.

Then he slipped.

Under.

One hand shot up, bracing against my forearm to redirect the blade's weight just enough to slide past the centerline. The other flicked outward.

A storm of slashes detonated at point-blank range. They crisscrossed over my torso, shoulders, ribs. Flesh parted in a dozen shallow lines – but none bit deep. My durability and demonic reinforcement stopped them from reaching anything vital, and regeneration erased the damage almost as fast as he could create it.

He followed with a straight punch aimed at my face.

At the last possible instant, I hardened.

Royal Guard flared.

Royal Release.

His force amplified, compressed, and rebounded back into him in a violent backlash.

His head snapped sideways, and that was my opening. I seized him by the throat and launched upward.

We tore through the air, Devil Sword Dante dissolving into demonic embers as I freed my hand. I needed mobility now, not reach.

Sukuna did not waste the position. Suspended in my grip, he hammered at me relentlessly. Elbows into my ribs. Knees into my abdomen. Short-range slashes carving sparks from my reinforced skin. Each blow carried lethal intent.

For every strike he landed, I returned one.

A fist to the jaw.

A knee to the spine.

A headbutt that cracked the air like thunder.

We rose higher. Shibuya spread beneath us in fractured grids and smoking scars. And then I noticed them. A cluster of figures on a distant rooftop. Most I didn't recognize at a glance. Two I did.

Aoi Todo stood out immediately – massive frame, tan skin, posture coiled with excitement even from this distance. Beside him, battered but standing, was Kento Nanami.

Relief flickered through me.

Nanami had been one of my favorites, back before the Company. Seeing him upright instead of broken was… good. Petra must have found him after Jogo's attack and gotten him to the emergency station in time.

A blur joined the group. Petra. She wasn't alone. A teenager was in her arms. Megumi Fushiguro, if I had to guess.

Good.

They were moving quickly.

Sukuna's hand shot up and clamped around my throat. His other hand moved in a short, precise motion. The next slash cut through me like I wasn't there.

Not skin.

Not muscle.

Through the demonic reinforcement itself.

It parted my hardened aura like heated wire through silk, bit into flesh, and began carving cleanly through my neck. I recognized it instantly.

Dismantle.

For a fraction of a second, something dangerously close to panic flared in my chest. Was I about to test whether my regeneration could rebuild an entire body from a severed head?

The thought barely finished forming before reality answered.

The cut reached halfway through my neck, but by then the damage it had done had already finished healing. Flesh reknit even as it was being separated. Muscle reattached. Blood vessels sealed. Bone reformed.

Sukuna's eyes widened a fraction.

I spat blood into his face.

Then I twisted. Momentum built in a tight spiral as I spun midair, dragging him along with me before releasing at the apex. He shot downward like artillery.

He struck the ground hard enough to create a new crater inside an old one, the impact blasting rubble in every direction. It wouldn't do much. At this level, concrete and steel were softer than our own bodies. But it bought me time.

Time to escalate.

My first instinct was simple. End it. A focused blast of Power of Destruction would erase him before he could regenerate. But that defeated the purpose. I needed him alive.

So I reached for something heavier.

A spell circle bloomed above me, intricate lines of demonic script weaving themselves into existence. The air trembled as I poured power into it – more than I had wielded when I first awakened as Millicas. The circle thickened. Deepened. Layered upon itself.

Below, in the heart of the crater, cursed energy surged violently as Sukuna rose again.

His eyes locked onto me through dust and rising heat.

And he smiled.

I brought my hand down.

The spell circle discharged.

Lightning fell.

Not a thin spear.

Not a jagged strike.

A pillar.

A colossal bolt crashed from the sky like divine judgment, the sound alone splitting the air for kilometers. It engulfed Sukuna completely, swallowing the crater in incandescent white.

He moved to dodge–

And almost made it. If he'd had all twenty fingers, if his output and reserves were at their absolute peak, he might have slipped the targeting window. But he didn't.

The bolt caught him center mass. It drove him into the earth with catastrophic force. Asphalt liquefied instantly, bubbling and spitting under temperatures that would have vaporized reinforced steel. The surrounding ruins glowed faintly red from residual heat.

Sukuna roared.

Half pain.

Half exhilaration.

The sound tore through the district like a challenge to the heavens.

I fed more power into the circle.

The lightning intensified, compressing, thickening, drilling downward as if trying to punch through the planet itself. Electricity wrapped around him in blinding coils, crawling over muscle and bone.

A normal person would have ceased to exist. Even I wouldn't have walked away clean from a direct hit like that.

Sukuna endured.

His cursed energy surged violently as he forced reinforcement to its absolute limit. He flooded himself with reversed cursed energy, positive energy knitting tissue back together even as lightning flayed it away.

Skin charred.

Muscle blackened.

Then restored.

Then burned again.

He tried to step forward through it. The attempt failed. The pressure was too much. For several long seconds, he was pinned – forced to endure rather than dominate.

After a few more moments, I cut the flow.

The lightning thinned, then vanished. Smoke poured from the crater. Heat shimmered in waves. Sukuna remained standing.

Barely.

His body was blackened and cracked in places, faint arcs of residual electricity dancing across his skin. Reversed cursed energy worked furiously to restore him, but the effort was visible now. Costly.

He tilted his head upward slowly. His eyes locked onto me. And he laughed.

Low.

Ragged.

Ecstatic.

"Yes…" he breathed.

He crouched.

Then he jumped.

The shattered wasteland beneath him fractured further as he launched upward, propulsion born purely from reinforced muscle and monstrous output.

I didn't retreat. I accelerated forward to meet him, fist drawn back.

We collided.

Two impacts landed at once.

My fist connected first. Driven by superior momentum and the advantage of flight, I smashed it across his face. Bone cracked. Air detonated. The force sent him rocketing back toward the earth like a meteor. He twisted midair, correcting instantly, landing in a low stance with a manic grin carved across his ruined features.

I didn't see it.

Because something else happened. Even with my perception stretched thin – time slowed to syrup, every particle hanging suspended – I had only the faintest warning.

A spike of instinct.

A scream from my senses.

Danger.

His fist met mine.

Black lightning split the night.

The impact forced its way through my durability from sheer power. My head snapped violently to the side. I felt my skull cave inward, bone collapsing under force that eclipsed everything he'd shown so far. My right eye burst in its socket despite Royal Guard flaring at the last instant. Pain detonated through my nervous system.

For a fraction of a second–

I blacked out.

When awareness returned, it did so in fragments. My eye regrew mid-spin, vision reassembling itself as the world whirled around me in streaks of ruined cityscape.

Black Flash.

The realization settled instantly. A perfectly timed distortion of cursed energy, amplifying impact exponentially.

He was already there when my vision stabilized, not willing to give me even a single moment to recover.

A hammering blow struck my midsection before I could fully reorient. The force bent my body around it and launched me downward in a perfect mirror of what I had done to him minutes earlier.

The ground did not survive. I tore through layers of shattered concrete, asphalt, and support structure like a drill. The surface collapsed inward, and I continued down through rebar and debris before finally punching through into open space.

When I stopped, I was standing in darkness. Dust drifted lazily through broken fluorescent light. The rumble of distant destruction echoed faintly above.

A subway tunnel.

Concrete cracked around my feet.

He was on me instantly. Two blows came in rapid succession. I barely managed to parry the first and redirect the second, my arms numbing from the force behind them. He had changed.

Faster.

Sharper.

Denser.

Knowing that a Black Flash boosted output to one hundred and twenty percent was one thing. Feeling it from Ryomen Sukuna was something else entirely. The air itself felt heavier around him, cursed energy humming at a higher frequency.

I sensed the third strike a fraction of a second before it landed and tried to flare Royal Guard, demonic power hardening in anticipation. It didn't matter.

The second Black Flash detonated against my abdomen.

It tore through my defense like it wasn't there. The impact folded me in half, air and blood exploding from my lungs as my feet left the ground. Before I could recover, his knee crashed into my face. Bone crunched. I released a shockwave of demonic energy blindly, forcing space between us as the tunnel walls cracked from the backlash.

I staggered, breathing hard.

"S-So that is the Black Flash, huh?" I muttered between breaths.

Sukuna's grin was monstrous now. Exultant. His eyes gleamed with unrestrained delight.

"I only ever landed three during my life," he laughed.

He flexed his fingers slowly, studying them as if reacquainting himself with an old lover.

"And now…"

Cursed energy surged around him, stabilized, refined.

"I doubt the brat will be able to take back control anymore."

He looked back at me.

"So be honored," he said lightly. "I will remember you after I kill you."

I spat blood onto the cracked subway floor. Regeneration surged, knitting torn muscle, sealing ruptured vessels, reshaping fractured bone. My breathing steadied. Power stirred deeper within me. The fight was doing something.

Pushing me.

Instinct sharpened. Timing refined. Demonic energy cycling more efficiently through my body. The Son of Sparda template responding to genuine pressure in a way sparring never could.

Evolution through combat.

Even knowing I could end this if I escalated fully, part of me didn't want to.

I wanted to see how far he could push me.

How far I could rise in response.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told you before, Sukuna," I said, straightening slowly.

Demonic power coiled around me, denser now. Sharper.

"I'd like to see you try."

Chapter 28 – Hail To The King

​

The world gave way to our clash.

The air between us warped and shuddered, the pressure of our movements distorting the night like heat rippling above a furnace. Dust lifted from the shattered streets and hung suspended for a moment before being blasted outward by the shockwaves of our passing.

Each blow shattered the sound barrier several times over, striking with the force of an artillery strike against a body that just refused to give even an inch. The thunder of our impacts rolled across the ruined district in violent pulses, echoing through broken buildings and empty streets. Windows that had somehow survived the earlier destruction finally gave way, shattering outward in glittering cascades as the pressure waves tore through them.

Between one second and the next, several dozen blows were launched, countered, and adapted to. Fists blurred into afterimages, the air itself screaming as limbs carved through it faster than the eye could track. Impacts overlapped so rapidly they blended into a continuous roar, a relentless storm of force that battered the surrounding landscape.

And we were only getting faster.

For Sukuna, it was the two Black Flashes he had landed. Even an increase of a few percent to his output was massive. The cursed energy surrounding him had grown denser, darker, the invisible pressure radiating from his body making the air feel thick and heavy.

One hundred and twenty percent was enough to turn a mostly even fight to an overwhelming beatdown. The difference was subtle in theory but monstrous in practice. Every strike now carried just that little bit more weight, every movement shaved away a fraction of hesitation, every impact pushing closer to the threshold where flesh and bone would simply fail.

But it wasn't just that.

I could sense how his cursed energy flowed more smoothly now, faster and more efficiently. The currents of it wrapped around his body like a living thing, no longer stuttering or colliding with themselves. It surged through him with perfect timing, reinforcing every motion, sharpening every blow.

And it was clear he was still adapting to it.

Each blow was stronger, each defense harder, each movement faster. The rhythm of his combat shifted constantly as he refined the output in real time, polishing already terrifying skill into something even more lethal. What had once been devastating strikes were becoming something closer to inevitabilities.

For me, it was my template.

I had trained it extensively since I bought it, but training can't compare to a real fight. Controlled practice had its limits. There was always a safety net, always a margin where mistakes could exist without consequence.

Here, there was none.

When every mistake was punished without a hint of mercy or restraint, I was forced to stop making any. Hesitation vanished under the threat of instant destruction. My body learned faster than thought could keep up, instincts sharpening under the relentless pressure.

My blows, counters, and dodges came faster as Sukuna pushed me. Movements that had once required deliberate thought began to flow automatically, linking together into seamless chains of offense and defense. The pattern of the fight evolved with every passing second.

Skills I had been struggling to improve before sharpened, evolving in real time just to keep up. Timing tightened. Footwork grew cleaner. My guard adjusted without conscious command as my body learned the exact angles needed to survive strikes that could flatten buildings.

Both my devil and demon halves thrived in the crucible of battle, and my talents drank eagerly from the man who turned violence into an art form with his mastery. Every exchange was a lesson written in pain and impact, every collision another fragment of understanding forced into place.

We were both smiling through the pain and blows that would have pulped lesser men.

Sukuna loved the challenge, the thrill of finally fighting an equal when he was used to slaughtering those who couldn't hope to match him blow for blow like I was. His grin only widened with every successful strike I blocked, every counter that forced him to adjust, every moment where the fight refused to tilt decisively in his favor.

I found that the feeling of sharpening myself against someone who would tolerate nothing but perfection spoke to me, of pushing past my limits and finally being allowed to stretch after spending so long restrained. The pressure of the battle stripped away everything unnecessary, leaving only the pure act of combat and the relentless drive to become better than the man trying to kill me.

I sensed his next Black Flash a heartbeat before it landed, the shift in his cursed energy giving it away. Instinct took over. Demonic power surged through my body and concentrated at the exact point of impact, my ribs tightening as the energy flooded there in a desperate reinforcement. Even so, the strike crashed into me like a meteor.

The world lurched.

The blow detonated against my guard with a concussive shock that rippled through my entire torso. Pain burst through my chest as the impact drove the air from my lungs and sent cracks of force through my bones. Even with the reinforcement, it was barely enough to keep my ribs from shattering again under the monstrous force of Sukuna's Black Flash.

I retaliated immediately. Half a dozen summoned swords materialized in the air around him, already mid-swing as they appeared. Steel flashed in the dim light as the blades descended from every direction at once, their angles carefully chosen to seal every escape. They closed in on Sukuna like the jaws of a trap, converging to cut him apart before he could slip free.

He moved like water. The first two blades passed through empty air as he twisted aside, his body bending with unnatural precision. The next pair came down a fraction of a second later, and he answered them with raw power, cursed energy flaring violently around his hands as he caught both swords mid-arc. The metal shrieked under the strain as his fingers clamped down on them.

But the last two arrived a moment later. They drove cleanly through him from opposite sides, impaling his torso with brutal force. Steel burst out his back as the blades pinned him in place, and Sukuna spat a mouthful of blood that scattered across the ruined floor.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped back, and a spell circle erupted into existence beneath him, lines of crimson light carving themselves into the asphalt in an instant before the formation completed.

The circle ignited. A towering pillar of fire exploded upward from beneath Sukuna, roaring into existence with a thunderous rush of heat and light. Flames surged like a volcanic eruption, devouring everything in their path as they shot upward through the building.

Concrete cracked.

Steel screamed.

The inferno burned so hot that the ceiling simply ceased to exist, melting and tearing apart as the flames punched through it. Chunks of debris disintegrated as they were caught in the blaze, and in seconds the inferno had carved a jagged hole straight through the structure.

Above us, the night sky was once again exposed.

Sukuna barely slowed. With a snarl of amusement, he shoved the two swords he had caught aside, letting them clatter away as he forced his body forward. The blades still impaling his torso tore free as he moved, ripping through flesh and muscle as he charged straight through the pillar of fire.

Even as I fed more power into the spell, the inferno intensifying into a blazing column that warped the air around it, his silhouette pushed through the blaze. His skin charred and peeled under the heat, muscle blackening as the flames consumed him.

Cursed energy flooded his body, flesh knitting together even as it burned away, regeneration fighting the inferno moment by moment as he burst out of the flames and closed the distance between us in a blur.

I braced myself, demonic power rising to meet him.

He slipped under my guard by the smallest margin. His fist drove upward into my chin with explosive force. My teeth slammed together hard enough to make my skull ring, and the blow launched me off my feet. The world spun as the impact hurled me upward toward the open sky.

Air rushed past me. I forced myself to recover mid-flight, twisting my body just in time to avoid the follow-up strike that tore through the space where I had been an instant earlier.

I seized the opening.

My hand shot out and caught his arm. Using his own momentum, I twisted and hurled him upward, sending Sukuna flying higher into the night above the shattered building.

He spun through the air with effortless control. By the time he finished the rotation, he was already facing me again, suspended against the backdrop of the stars. Blood still streaked across his torso where the swords had pierced him, but his grin was wide and feral.

He laughed. Cursed energy gathered around him as he raised his hand, preparing to unleash another storm of slashing attacks.

I didn't bother dodging. The invisible blades tore through the air toward me, but they shattered harmlessly against my rapidly improving defenses as I pushed forward, demonic power roaring through my body with growing intensity.

The gap between us vanished in an instant. Devil Sword Dante screamed through the air as I swung, the blade carving a blazing arc straight toward the King of Curses.

He caught the blade, his hand clamping onto the flat of the sword as though it were nothing more than a bar to vault from. Using it as a platform, he flipped upward in a blur of motion, his body twisting through the air as he brought his leg around for a devastating overhead kick meant to split my skull open.

I flared Royal Release at the last possible moment. The counterforce detonated through the contact point, and I felt it ripple up through his limb, the recoil of the technique slamming into him with his own power. The bones in his leg snapped under the reflected force.

But Sukuna didn't hesitate.

He leaned into the momentum of the exchange, using his grip on my blade and the recoil of the counter as leverage. His body twisted in the air with predatory precision, and before I could react he yanked Devil Sword Dante from my grasp entirely.

The sudden loss of weight in my hand registered an instant before his legs shot forward.

Both of his feet slammed into my chest in a brutal double mule kick that drove the air from my lungs and sent me rocketing backward toward the shattered ground below. I twisted midair and recovered quickly. When my boots touched the cracked stone again, I skidded only a few feet before stopping.

He landed smoothly, standing several feet away, perfectly balanced despite the mangled leg that had already begun to heal, his attention fixed on the weapon now resting in his hand. His fingers slid along the blade with slow curiosity, turning it slightly as the metal gleamed in the moonlight.

"I've never seen a cursed tool like this," he said, studying it with open interest.

His gaze lifted to meet mine, amusement dancing behind his eyes.

"I'll make good use of it."

I didn't waste a second responding.

I lunged. The ground cracked beneath my feet as I launched myself forward, and Sukuna moved at the exact same moment, closing the distance with predatory speed. My fist shot toward his face, a straight punch aimed to cave in his jaw. But with the greater reach of my own weapon now in his hands, he would have impaled me first.

So I dismissed it.

His eyes narrowed the instant the blade vanished from his grip, the sword dissolving into a burst of crimson flames that scattered into the air like embers. But by then the window to react had already passed.

My fist connected.

The impact snapped his head violently to the side, blood spraying from his mouth as the force of the blow began to launch him backward through the air. He barely moved a foot before my hand shot forward and clamped around his leg like a vice. With a violent jerk I hauled him back toward me, dragging his body through the air until he was horizontal beside me.

Then I brought my other fist down.

The overhead hammerblow smashed him straight into the ground. The impact detonated through the broken terrain with a thunderous crack, stone shattering outward as his body carved a crater into the surface. The force of the strike left him stunned for the barest fraction of a second.

It was all I needed.

I dropped down on top of him and began raining blows into his face.

One punch.

Two.

Three.

Each strike landed with bone-jarring force, my fists slamming into his guard and slipping through whenever it faltered. The sound of flesh and bone colliding echoed through the ruined battlefield as I drove him deeper into the crater.

He tried to twist out from beneath me, attempting to slip under my center of gravity and escape. I didn't let him. My grip tightened, pinning him in place as I forced more power into my body, demonic energy flooding through my muscles as I focused entirely on increasing my physical strength.

The ground beneath us cratered further with every impact. Stone fractured. Dust and debris erupted outward in violent bursts. The surface began to collapse under the relentless force of my blows as the shockwaves rippled through the surrounding terrain.

Still, I kept striking.

Heavy, brutal punches smashing through his guard one after another, each impact shaking the earth beneath us as I hammered him into the ground.

Finally, I stopped. My fists lowered slightly, shoulders rising and falling as I drew in slow breaths. The crater around us had deepened with every strike, the floor shattered into fine gray powder that drifted lazily through the air. Broken fragments of concrete and stone lay scattered in every direction, the battlefield barely recognizable after the sheer violence of the exchange.

Sukuna lay at the center of it all.

"Had enough?" I asked between breaths.

In hindsight, I should have kept going.

Sukuna was too proud to let anything short of death stop him. If I truly wanted to force him to submit without killing him, I would have needed to overwhelm him completely, to push him so far past his limits that continuing simply wasn't possible. As long as our battle remained one between equals, one where victory still felt within reach, he would never stop trying to kill me.

So I was caught completely off guard when he suddenly moved.

One moment he was on the ground beneath me.

The next he surged upward in a single fluid motion, planting a vicious kick straight into my stomach.The blow slammed into my guard but still drove the air from my lungs, forcing me back a step as pain flared through my abdomen. Instinct snapped back into place instantly, demonic power surging through my limbs as I recovered my footing.

My guard rose again.

My body coiled, ready to continue the fight.

But Sukuna didn't attack.

Instead, he straightened slowly, brushing dust from his shoulders as though we had merely finished sparring rather than leveling half the battlefield. Blood still ran from the corner of his mouth, his face bruised and split in several places, yet his grin only widened.

"You really are something," he said, laughter rumbling low in his chest. "Nobody has pushed me this far before."

"I'm just getting started," I replied, keeping my stance tight, eyes locked on every movement he made.

Whatever he tried next, I would be ready.

"Good," he said.

The word came out almost eagerly.

"Because I'm about to show you true jujutsu."

His hands moved. The gesture was precise and deliberate, fingers sliding into a familiar configuration.

A handsign.

Every instinct I possessed screamed at once.

I tensed.

"Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine."

The words fell from his lips like a death sentence.

Around us, the world changed.

His cursed energy exploded outward in an instant, expanding violently across the battlefield like a spreading storm. The air thickened with it, the pressure slamming into my senses as the environment itself warped under the weight of his power.

A suffocating miasma flooded the area.

The ground trembled.

Then the earth beneath Sukuna erupted.

Bones burst upward through the shattered terrain, pale and jagged, twisting together as they rose. They formed a grotesque structure, a demented throne built from countless skeletal fragments that clawed their way out of the soil.

The structure lifted him high above the battlefield.

He stood upon it like a king upon his altar, the skeletal mass spreading behind him like a shrine to slaughter itself.

From his elevated perch, Sukuna looked down at me.

Our eyes met across the ruined ground.

He smiled.

"Die."

Pain bloomed across my body.

Thousands of invisible blades carved through me all at once, slashes erupting across my body in a relentless storm. Flesh split open from shoulder to hip, from throat to ankle, crisscrossing in a lattice of cuts so dense it felt like my entire body was being shredded apart one layer at a time.

I grit my teeth, forcing the pain down as demonic power surged through me. Energy flooded across my skin, hardening my defenses, reinforcing muscle, bone, and sinew in an instant. My regeneration responded just as quickly, flesh knitting together as fast as it was torn apart. Blood that had barely begun to spill was already sealing back into living tissue.

But the slashes kept coming. Sukuna's attacks tore through my defenses with sheer, overwhelming volume. There were too many of them, appearing faster than I could process, each cut landing before the last had even begun to close. My regeneration fought desperately to keep up, tissue repairing itself over and over again in rapid succession, but the damage was simply too constant.

I tried to adapt. A sphere of destructive energy flared into existence around me, a violent barrier meant to erase anything that entered its range. Normally it would have reduced incoming attacks to nothing, annihilating them before they could reach me.

It did nothing. The slashes weren't traveling through space. They weren't moving toward me at all. They simply appeared. Even my last resort against domains – unleashing a wave of destruction large enough to shatter the barrier itself – was useless here.

Sukuna's domain didn't have a barrier.

For a brief moment, I considered teleporting away. He couldn't keep this up forever. Even monsters like Sukuna had limits, and while he was supposed to be able to open his domain more than once a day, I had no intention of giving him the chance to prove it. If I disengaged now, waited for the technique to collapse, I could return and finish the fight on my terms.

A tactical retreat. But the moment the thought formed, the chains around my soul tightened. Cold. Restrictive. Unyielding. I had sworn a binding vow to not to run away. And apparently, even a temporary retreat counted.

Breaking it was possible, but the backlash would be catastrophic. Not to mention it would completely ruin the plan I had built this entire fight around.

Across the battlefield, Sukuna moved again. Even within the grotesque throne of bone that formed his shrine, his movements were relaxed, almost casual. His hands shifted, forming another gesture, cursed energy gathering at his fingertips as he prepared something new.

Flames condensed in his palm. They twisted and sharpened, forming into the shape of an arrow made entirely of fire, the heat radiating outward even from across the domain. My senses warned me of the danger. I felt a faint twinge of disappointment.

I had been enjoying the fight. Every exchange with him had forced me to push further, adapt faster, grow stronger.

But I wasn't stupid enough to risk a real threat.

I straightened slightly despite the storm of slashes tearing through my body, demonic power beginning to gather deeper within me.

If he wanted to escalate…

So would I.

My Devil Trigger answered eagerly when called, reshaping my body to better handle the flood of power pouring through me. When I first used it, the sensation had been overwhelming. Like I was being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time, every nerve screaming as my body struggled to contain something far greater than it had ever been meant to hold.

That feeling was still there, deep under the surface. But as I mastered it, the transformation had begun to change. The chaos faded, the pain dulled, until what remained felt… natural. Comfortable. Like slipping into my true skin.

Dante refused to use it unless he absolutely had to. For him, it was a reminder of the demonic blood in his veins, something he kept at arm's length in order to embrace the human side of himself. I didn't have the same hang-ups. If anything, I felt more comfortable like this than I did in my base form.

Power surged through every part of me, dense and overwhelming. My senses sharpened, my muscles tightened with effortless strength, and the air around me trembled under the pressure of my aura.

Sukuna's slashes didn't stop. But they changed. Where they had carved through my body before, they now shattered against my skin like glass striking steel. The invisible blades scraped across me harmlessly, leaving nothing more than shallow scratches that vanished almost instantly.

My regeneration surged, devouring the damage he had already inflicted. Flesh sealed. Bone mended. Muscle reformed. Within a single heartbeat, it was as though the previous barrage had never happened.

Even the aura of Sukuna's cursed energy seemed to recoil from me now, the oppressive miasma of his domain pulling back slightly as if instinctively avoiding something far more dangerous.

"Too late for last resorts!" he laughed, voice echoing through the warped shrine around us.

His arm rose.

The arrow of flame burned brighter as he aimed it directly at me.

"Fuga!"

I raised a single finger. A beam of pure destruction erupted from its tip, a thin line of annihilation, condensed to the point of absolute lethality. It struck the flaming arrow before it could even begin to detonate, swallowing the technique whole. The fire vanished instantly, erased so completely it was as though it had never existed in the first place.

The beam continued forward faster than Sukuna could react. It carved a thin line across the side of his head before dissipating somewhere beyond the shrine behind him.

A warning.

A single inch deeper and it would have taken his skull with it.

I lowered my hand.

"It's over," I said.

"You lost."

Sukuna's mouth opened, the beginning of a response already forming. No doubt he was about to tell me the fight wasn't finished yet, that he still had more to show me, more tricks to pull out before admitting defeat.

He never got the chance.

I was already moving. In less than a blink, I slipped inside his guard, my hand snapping forward and locking around his throat. His body jerked as he tried to react.

Too slow.

His hands slammed into me, fists driving into my ribs and stomach with the kind of force that would have pulverized concrete. Cursed energy flared as he slashed at me point-blank, invisible blades scraping across my skin again and again.

None of it mattered.

Even his Dismantle only managed to cut the surface, shallow wounds that closed almost immediately.

His struggles intensified as he realized it.

"Let me put this in terms you will understand," I said calmly, tightening my grip just enough to keep him pinned.

"Your Black Flash increases your output by one hundred and twenty percent."

I met his eyes.

"The first time I accessed this form, it increased my power by roughly five hundred percent."

I paused for a fraction of a second.

"Now? Somewhere in the ballpark of two thousand percent."

The moment I transformed, the fight had stopped being one. Before, while I had been stronger, it was still a battle between near equals. Sukuna could hurt me. With enough luck, enough cleverness, maybe even enough persistence, he might have found a path to victory. Not an easy one. But a possible one.

After my transformation, that possibility disappeared.

The gap between us had become too large.

So large that he couldn't even touch me unless I allowed it.

I saw the moment realization began to creep into his expression.

His eyes widened slightly.

Disbelief.

Maybe he thought I was lying. Maybe he assumed there was some hidden cost, some backlash waiting to cripple me the moment this form ended. Something that would drag me down and restore the balance between us.

Either way, I doubted words alone would be enough to make him surrender. So I stopped talking. Instead, I focused my will.

Demonic power gathered around me, thickening in the air like an invisible tide. Normally, pushing killing intent onto someone like this would be useless. Sukuna could sense energy just as easily as I could, and against someone of equal strength the effect would be negligible at best.

But we weren't equals anymore. Not even close.

I directed the pressure toward him. His reaction was immediate.

His pupils blew wide.

His breathing turned ragged.

His heart began hammering violently against my hand.

Panic started to take hold.

The King of Curses would have sneered at the very idea of fear. He would have laughed at it, mocked it, crushed it beneath his heel like everything else. But this wasn't something he could argue with.

This was instinct. Something ancient and primal buried deep in the back of his mind. Every part of him was screaming the same message.

Absolute danger.

Unavoidable death.

And as much as he would insist otherwise, Sukuna was still human.

His struggles slowed, then stopped. Primal terror locked his body in place, the certainty that he was face to face with a predator so far above him that resistance had become meaningless freezing his muscles completely.

His will fought back desperately.

But in the end, there was only one possible outcome.

His body gave up before his pride did.

And the King of Curses passed out.

The chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I felt this was the perfect place to stop.

So ends the battle of Millicas vs Sukuna. I had a blast writing it, and you guys seemed to like it better than the Endbringer fight so it seems I'm improving. Also, as someone pointed out, the power scaling might have been a little wonky with this one.

I'm going to be honest. I'm going for what makes a fun story over consistent power scaling. Not that I'm going to throw it out of the window, but I might use my DM privileges to fudge some rolls if I think it works better for the story.

Also, my initial plan was for DT to be a much bigger multiplier than just 20x, but I didn't want to make Millicas into a T10 that easily. Currently, he's only a planet buster because is PoD lets him ignore durability, and he can just let physics do most of the work. And, as seen with Scion(who wasn't even planet-sized), it isn't a casual thing.

A Phenex Devil of his exact same tier would be significantly stronger, because they wouldn't have the PoD propping up their tier by a good bit. As it stands, Millicas is a high T7 in base, very high T8 in DT. Or, in DxD terms, he's a Satan-class devil who can transform into a Super Devil for a limited amount of time. He's technically stronger than Sirzechs in DT, but would probably still lose due to experience and his energy running out from throwing around T8 attacks and maintaining DT.

Btw, how interested would you guys be in a Rating Game-style tournament between the Contractors who made builds under the same restrictions as Millicas and created their own peerages?

I like the idea, and I do enjoy having the Company play a part in these stories as long as it is a minor role, but I seem to be in the minority for that one. So please let me know if that is something you'd want to see in the story.

Interlude: I Haven't Used It Since The Heian Era!

​

I was being chased.

Something moved through the darkness behind me. Something vast and hungry, made of shifting shadows that refused to take a proper shape. No matter how far I ran, it remained just out of sight, close enough that I could feel its breath against the back of my neck.

Hot.

Wet.

Predatory.

Inhuman growls echoed through the void around me, low and eager, the sound vibrating through my bones. Claws scraped across my back every time I slowed even slightly, sharp enough to tear through flesh. Blood ran down my spine in slow, warm rivulets, dripping into the endless dark beneath my feet.

I ran faster.

It didn't matter.

No matter how quickly I moved or how far I went, it remained there, one step behind me, patient and relentless. Waiting for the moment I faltered. Waiting for the moment I stopped.

Because the instant I did, it would tear me apart.

Part of me snarled at the thought.

Turn around.

Fight.

Kill it.

I could feel the impulse burning through me like a raging fire. A savage urge to stop running, to whirl around and rip the creature apart with my bare hands. To tear chunks of flesh from its body and devour them. To crush it beneath my heel until nothing remained but blood and broken bone.

To dominate it.

But I couldn't.

The brat's body – my body – betrayed me.

I could still feel the cold clinging to my limbs, the terrible weakness that had crept in when our eyes met. My muscles locked up, refusing to obey the commands my mind screamed at them to follow.

My heart hammered violently in my chest, each beat loud enough to drown out my thoughts. My lungs burned as I struggled to breathe through the suffocating dread pressing down on me.

And beneath it all was the certainty.

Absolute.

Unavoidable.

I was going to die.

At his hands.

It didn't matter that I was Sukuna, the King of Curses.

It didn't matter that I had faced countless sorcerers across the ages and slaughtered them all.

It didn't matter that death itself had never frightened me.

None of that mattered.

All I could do was run.

Even as my pride roared in fury within my chest. Even as my mind screamed at me to stop, to turn around, to fight. My body ignored me completely, fleeing through the endless dark like a terrified animal while I struggled helplessly against it.

Finally, I tripped. My foot struck something slick and wet beneath me, and the next moment I was crashing down onto the ground. The impact splashed liquid across my hands and chest, hot and thick.

The smell hit me a second later.

Copper.

Rot.

Blood.

My blood.

For a moment I just stared at it, my hands sinking into the dark puddle beneath me as it soaked into my fingers.

I tried to stand.

My limbs refused to cooperate. They felt slow. Heavy. Clumsy, like they belonged to someone else. My muscles trembled uselessly as I pushed against the ground, failing to lift myself more than a few inches before collapsing again.

Fine. Then I would use cursed energy.

I reached for it instinctively, calling upon the power that had obeyed my will for centuries.

Nothing answered. The emptiness that met my command felt wrong. Hollow. Like trying to move a limb that had already been severed.

A snarl rose in my throat.

It came out as a whimper.

No.

No!

I was Sukuna.

I did not whimper.

I roared in the faces of my enemies. I crushed them beneath my heel and listened to their screams as they died.

The ground trembled beneath me. Something enormous stepped closer. A presence loomed overhead, so vast it pressed down on my senses like a mountain. I forced my head up, trying to see what stalked me through the darkness.

My eyes refused to settle on a single shape.

One moment it looked like a wolf.

Then a tiger.

Then a bear.

Then something far larger and more grotesque than any of them.

The shape twisted and shifted every time I tried to focus, my mind rejecting the sight as though it couldn't process what stood before me.

Its breath washed over me.

Rotten.

Fetid.

Hot enough to burn.

The stench filled my nose and throat, choking the air from my lungs as I began coughing violently. Each breath scraped against my chest like broken glass.

Then I heard it.

Laughter.

Low.

Warped.

The realization hit me like a blade through the gut.

It was enjoying this.

Enjoying the fear.

Enjoying the sight of me scrambling helplessly in the dirt like a pathetic weakling.

Rage exploded inside my chest.

But my body still refused to move.

A single claw reached down. It brushed across my neck almost gently, the motion so light it should have barely broken the skin.

The cut opened anyway.

Blood poured out instantly, far more than such a shallow wound should have allowed. It streamed down my throat and chest in thick, choking waves.

I coughed again.

This time blood flooded my lungs. Each desperate breath dragged more of it inside, drowning me from within as I clawed uselessly at my own throat. I tried to stop the bleeding. Tried to force cursed energy into the wound.

Nothing worked.

The laughter grew louder.

My movements became more frantic as panic took hold completely. My hands slipped in the pool beneath me, slick with blood that refused to stop flowing.

There was too much of it.

My head burned like it was on fire. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping inward as the world began to fade.

I tried to scream.

What came out was a broken sob.

The last thing I heard before everything went black was his voice.

Calm.

Certain.

"You lose."

I woke with a sharp gasp.

Cold sweat clung to my skin, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as the remnants of the nightmare faded. For a moment I didn't move, my heart still hammering as if the claws were about to close around my throat again.

Reality returned slowly.

I was lying on a slab of broken debris, jagged concrete digging unpleasantly into my back. The air around me was thick with smoke and dust, the bitter taste of it coating the back of my throat. Somewhere in the distance, ruined structures creaked as they settled after the devastation of our fight. Above me, the sky stretched wide and clear through a massive hole torn in the surrounding ruins.

And he was there. Sitting casually on the remains of a broken bench, watching me.

"Finally, you're awake," he said, resting one arm on his knee as if we were simply passing time. "I was starting to wonder if I'd put you in a coma."

I pushed myself upright, slowly rising to my feet. Every instinct screamed at me to be cautious as my eyes locked onto him.

He looked completely untouched. Not a single mark remained from our battle. His cursed energy sat around him like a calm ocean, and his body showed no trace of the punishment I had dealt him earlier.

His damned regeneration had erased everything.

Even his clothes, which I distinctly remembered shredding apart during the fight, looked immaculate again, as if they had never been damaged at all.

Rage coiled in my chest.

I wanted to attack him.

To crush him.

To rip him apart piece by piece and paint the ruins with his blood.

But I didn't move.

Because he had won.

He had beaten me.

The thought tasted bitter, like poison on my tongue, but I couldn't deny the truth of it. No matter how much I despised him, no matter how deeply my pride screamed against the idea, strength recognized strength. And his was undeniable.

I would kill him.

Just not now.

I would prepare.

I would grow stronger.

And when the time came, I would slaughter him and feast on his flesh.

My mind drifted briefly to the boy with the Ten Shadows Technique. The one whose body I had planned to claim. With it, I would have gained the means to bypass Infinity and finally kill Satoru Gojo.

But after seeing this man fight…

I wasn't so sure anymore.

Of course I would be stronger than the Zen'in boy if I took his body. That was obvious.

But would I be strong enough to defeat him?

"You will follow me," he said calmly.

His voice cut cleanly through my thoughts.

"You will not attack anyone unless I tell you to."

The moment the words left his mouth, I felt it.

The binding vow tightened around my soul like chains being pulled taut. Invisible pressure clamped down on my will, a reminder of the agreement I had been forced into.

One month.

For one month, I would have to follow his orders.

The humiliation burned like acid in my chest.

But I could endure it.

I would watch him.

Study him.

Learn every weakness he possessed.

And when that month was over…

I would prove that I was the strongest.

"What is your name?" I asked.

If nothing else, he had earned the honor of being remembered by me.

"Millicas," he replied simply. Then he pushed himself off the broken bench and stretched his shoulders like someone finishing a casual workout instead of a battle that had leveled half the district. "Now come on. I have places to be."

I grunted and fell into step behind him.

We walked through the ruins our battle had created. Entire sections of buildings had been carved away by shockwaves and techniques, leaving jagged skeletons of concrete and steel behind. Fires still burned in scattered pockets, sending thick columns of smoke into the night sky. In the distance, weakened structures finally gave in to gravity, collapsing with heavy crashes that echoed across the district.

I glanced around at the destruction.

The brat would have been horrified by this.

Not that it mattered anymore. Even after I had passed out, he hadn't managed to take control again.

Soon, figures came into view ahead of us. A group of sorcerers stood among the debris, clearly waiting. I recognized several of them immediately. The brat's friends. The ones who had fought alongside him earlier.

A few others stood among them as well. Faces I didn't recognize. But they felt… similar to Millicas.

The moment we approached, tension rippled through the group. Their stances shifted, cursed energy flaring instinctively as they sensed me. It didn't take long for them to realize the truth.

I wasn't the brat.

Fear flickered across several faces. Killing them all would have been more entertaining. Watching their hope collapse the moment they realized what stood before them would have been delightful. Instead, I settled for enjoying the terror that crept into their eyes.

A woman with long red hair stepped forward first. She walked straight up to Millicas and kissed him.

"I was worried there for a moment," she said softly.

Millicas laughed, scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away," he admitted. "But it's all good now."

Two more women stepped forward immediately afterward, both of them throwing their arms around him in relieved embraces.

I sneered.

"If you want them," I said flatly, "just beat them down and take them. This kind of affection is pathetic."

Millicas turned to look at me. The spike of fear that shot through my chest was immediate and visceral, the memory of that overwhelming presence clawing its way back into my mind.

I crushed it ruthlessly.

"I need you alive," he said calmly. "Not unharmed." His eyes held mine, completely steady. "So unless you want to spend the next month as a limbless torso flopping behind me," he continued, "I recommend you shut up."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I clicked my tongue and looked away.

Millicas turned back to the group as if the conversation with me had already been forgotten.

"Did you get Kenjaku?" he asked.

My attention sharpened immediately.

Kenjaku. So the ancient sorcerer had survived long enough to reach this era after all. That was… interesting. Very interesting.

The brown-haired woman in the group nodded.

"We did," she said. "His mental defenses were good, but I managed to put him to sleep."

Millicas gave a small nod of approval.

"Keep watch over him," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had some way to slip away."

She nodded again, clearly already expecting that possibility.

"Did any of you run into Mahito?" Millicas continued.

One of the others – a silver-haired woman – spoke up.

"I saw him escaping with a white-haired boy."

Ah.

So Uraume had gotten away.

Good.

Replacing a loyal servant was always such an inconvenience.

Millicas sighed quietly.

"He'll pop up eventually," he said. "Besides, with Gojo free and his allies dead, he shouldn't be too big of a problem."

He paused, something clearly occurring to him.

"Speaking of which," he continued, glancing around the group. "Did you find the Prison Realm?"

The red-haired woman stepped forward again.

With a small motion of her hand, an object appeared in the air before her. Interesting. A storage technique, perhaps.

The object she produced was unmistakable. A cube. Dense with cursed energy.

"Do you think you can open it?" she asked.

Millicas took the cube from her hand and examined it for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly in concentration.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then his power moved. A pulse of deep red energy spread across the surface of the cube. But it wasn't quite the same power I had seen during our battle. This energy felt… different. Quieter. More controlled. It seeped into the cursed object rather than smashing against it.

The cube reacted instantly. The grotesque eyes covering its surface twitched, then turned red for a brief moment as the foreign energy invaded it. The structure of the object began to destabilize, cracks spreading across its surface like fractures in glass.

Then the entire cube began to dissolve. The cursed energy that made up its form unraveled rapidly, disintegrating into fragments of fading light.

A flash erupted from the center of the dissolving object. And when it faded, a tall figure stood where the Prison Realm had been.

White hair.

A black blindfold.

An unmistakable presence that radiated effortless confidence.

Satoru Gojo was free.

His eyes immediately locked onto Millicas. Even without seeing them fully, I could feel the shift in the air the moment he focused. The blindfold didn't hide the intensity behind it. His attention sharpened instantly, the same way mine had earlier.

He sensed it.

Danger.

"That was quick," he said lightly.

Then his gaze shifted to me. Recognition came immediately.

"I guess Yuji lost control, huh?" he said. "He's going to be a mess after this."

"He's not going to be much of anything," I sneered. "I'm in control now. Permanently."

Millicas shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry about Yuji," he said calmly. "But please don't attack Sukuna. I need him alive."

The white-haired sorcerer tilted his head slightly.

"What for?"

"That is none of your concern," Millicas replied. "All you need to know is that soon enough, he won't be your problem anymore."

I watched the exchange carefully. Whatever he was planning, it clearly involved me. But if his goal had simply been to kill me, he had already had the opportunity during our fight. Which meant he wanted something.

"And Yuji?" Gojo asked carefully.

Millicas frowned slightly.

"I was under the impression that your plan was always to have Yuji eat all twenty fingers before killing him so you could be rid of Sukuna," he said. "That's pretty much what will happen."

Satoru Gojo met Millicas's eyes evenly.

"That is assuming I let you kill my student."

Millicas sighed.

"Look, Gojo, I'm going to be honest with you," he said. "If we fight, you will lose."

He raised one finger.

"I'm completely immune to mental attacks," he said. "So Unlimited Void won't work on me."

A second finger joined the first.

"I'm durable enough that nothing short of your Hollow Purple can do any real damage," he continued. "And I regenerate fast enough that I'm confident I could walk even that off."

Then a third finger rose.

"Your only real advantage is the Six Eyes' efficiency," he said. "And even after fighting Sukuna, I still have more than enough in the tank to pressure you until even that stops being enough."

He stared at Gojo flatly.

"Even your precious Infinity wouldn't save you," he added. "I'm very good at manipulating space. I'm pretty sure I could turn it off if I tried hard enough."

Then he created a small orb of that red energy in his hand.

"And this erases everything," he said casually. "Including space."

That was very interesting information.

"So since, unlike Sukuna, I don't need you alive," he continued, "I could just blast you with a big enough attack that there wouldn't be anything left for Reversed Cursed Technique to heal."

The orb vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"But I don't want to kill you," Millicas said. "You seem like a nice enough guy, and I try not to kill people for no reason."

He paused for a moment, considering something.

"Besides, if I killed you, I'd have to kill the higher-ups of jujutsu society before they let Japan collapse in the name of tradition," he added. "And considering how often jujutsu sorcerers die, I doubt you'd have the manpower to deal with curses after a purge like that."

His shoulders lifted slightly in a casual shrug.

"So please, work with me here," he finished. "What happened to Yuji is a shame."

His gaze didn't waver.

"Don't make the situation worse."

The two men stared at each other in silence. The air between them felt heavy, thick with the promise of violence that hadn't quite happened yet. Even without cursed energy flaring openly, the pressure was unmistakable.

Around us, the sorcerers had tensed. Several of them subtly shifted their footing, ready to intervene the moment the situation turned ugly. Hands hovered close to weapons or prepared techniques, eyes flicking nervously between the two strongest figures present.

Millicas' companions, on the other hand, remained calm. They watched the standoff quietly, their expressions far less worried than the others. If anything, they looked mildly curious, like they were observing a tense negotiation rather than the potential start of a battle that could devastate the entire area.

The silence stretched.

Seconds passed.

The tension only grew heavier.

Finally, someone moved. A tall, tanned man wearing dark sunglasses stepped forward and approached Gojo.

"Satoru," he said quietly. "Don't."

Gojo didn't respond immediately. He continued staring at Millicas for another long moment, the invisible weight of his attention pressing down on the battlefield.

Then, slowly, he stepped back.

I opened my mouth, already preparing a cutting remark about the so-called strongest sorcerer backing down. The sharp look Millicas shot me shut that idea down instantly.

He turned his attention to the brown-haired woman from earlier.

"Do you think you could get the location of the fingers Kenjaku hid out of him?" he asked.

She nodded without hesitation.

"Give me an hour."

As the brown-haired woman walked away to begin her work, Millicas turned and approached the group of sorcerers.

They watched him warily. Most of them had instinctively gathered together, forming a loose cluster as he drew closer. Shoulders tight, cursed energy humming just beneath the surface, eyes tracking every step he took.

Weaklings. They huddled together the way frightened animals always did when they sensed a predator nearby. It was pathetic. None of them would have survived long during the Heian era.

Off to the side stood one of them who looked particularly pitiful – a white-haired boy clutching the stump where his arm used to be. Blood had been hastily wrapped, but the scent still lingered faintly in the air.

Millicas stopped a few steps away from the group.

"I'm not going to attack any of you," he said evenly. "I was only here for Sukuna and Kenjaku."

"And we're supposed to believe you?" a brown-haired girl shot back immediately. "Where the hell did you even come from?"

Millicas chuckled softly.

"America, technically," he said. "And I get that you're scared, but I don't mean any of you any harm."

"Except for Yuji," she snapped.

Millicas rolled his eyes.

"This was always going to be Yuji's fate," he said. "It's what Kenjaku created him for."

The group stiffened.

"What do you mean, created him for?" a voice asked from behind them.

Gojo had moved closer again, watching the exchange carefully.

Millicas glanced at him.

"Kenjaku's technique – brain transplant – allows him to take over the bodies of other sorcerers," he explained. "He took over the corpse of Yuji's mother, Kaori Itadori, and gave birth to Yuji to create a perfect vessel for Sukuna."

For a moment, nobody spoke.

The implication settled over the group like a weight.

Millicas continued.

"He's been doing experiments like that for centuries," he said. "Noritoshi Kamo? That was Kenjaku."

Recognition flickered across several faces.

"The Cursed Womb Death Paintings," the brown-haired girl said quietly.

Millicas nodded once.

"His plan was to use Suguru Geto's Cursed Spirit Manipulation to absorb Mahito, then Tengen," Millicas said. "After that, he would use Idle Transfiguration to merge every human in Japan with Tengen."

The brown-haired girl frowned.

"Why?"

Millicas shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "Honestly? I think Kenjaku would do it just to see what happens."

That answer didn't make the group any more comfortable.

His gaze drifted across them until it landed on the white-haired boy standing off to the side, still clutching the bandaged stump of his arm.

Millicas tilted his head slightly.

"That's Inumaki, right?" he asked. "Why didn't any of you heal him?"

The atmosphere shifted again.

"Outputting the positive energy generated by the reversed cursed technique is hard," Gojo said, his tone noticeably sharper now. "Restoring other people's limbs is even harder."

Millicas nodded slowly.

"And Shoko can't do it," he said. "Good to know."

Then he turned toward me.

"Heal him," he ordered.

My teeth ground together. Helping anyone was offensive enough. Helping one of these weaklings was worse. But the binding vow wrapped around my soul tightened immediately, leaving no room for refusal.

"What makes you think we'd trust Sukuna to heal him?" Gojo said, stepping directly between us.

Millicas didn't seem concerned.

"He swore a binding vow that he would obey me for a month when I beat him," he said calmly. "He's harmless."

Harmless!?

Me!?

The insult burned hotter than anything else he had said tonight.

I was going to enjoy killing him. Maybe I would even let him live long enough to watch me feast on those women he kept so close.

Millicas paused, considering his own words.

"Well," he amended, "as harmless as he can be, anyway." He said. "But I plan to keep him on a tight leash."

Gojo's attention shifted to me again.

Even behind the blindfold I could feel his focus sharpen, his cursed energy coiling beneath the surface like a spring ready to snap.

"Is that why you're trying to find the remaining fingers?" the brown-haired girl asked.

Millicas nodded.

"I need him at full power," he said simply.

Then he turned back to Gojo.

"Speaking of which," he added casually, "I'll need you to hand over that finger you hid."

Gojo didn't move.

"And if I don't?" he asked.

Millicas shrugged lightly.

"I'm not leaving until I find it," he said. "And I doubt Sukuna will agree to any more binding vows with me."

He glanced in my direction briefly.

"So that means I've got about a month before he becomes your problem just as much as mine."

Millicas met Gojo's gaze again.

"So," he said evenly, "are you going to let him heal your student?" He gestured vaguely toward the white-haired boy. "Because I'm trying to be nice here. Plus, I'm pretty sure it's at least partially my fault he lost his arm in the first place. I didn't need to let the battle drag on as long as I did."

The brown-haired girl frowned.

"So why did you?"

Millicas shrugged.

"Training only helps so much," he said. "And as I'm sure your teacher could tell you, once you pass a certain level of power, finding fights that genuinely push you to your limits gets… difficult."

The implication hung in the air.

Gojo remained silent for a few seconds, still watching me carefully. Even without seeing his eyes, I could feel the calculation behind that blindfold.

Finally, he stepped aside.

I walked forward toward the injured boy. Up close, I could see the tension in his posture. He watched me carefully, shoulders tight, but to his credit he didn't retreat. He stood his ground despite knowing exactly who I was.

Interesting.

I grabbed the stump of his arm. A faint grimace crossed his face as I pressed my hand against the ruined limb and began channeling positive energy. Reversed cursed energy flowed through the wound, spreading rapidly through damaged flesh and bone.

The healing work done earlier had been sloppy. Whoever attempted it had failed to complete the reconstruction, leaving jagged tears through the tissue where the process had stalled. The skin split open again as my energy forced the regeneration to continue properly.

Then the damage vanished.

Muscle rebuilt itself.

Bone extended.

Flesh reformed seamlessly until a fully restored arm hung from his shoulder once more.

I released him.

"I'll take this back after I kill them both," I sneered.

The boy's face paled immediately. He instinctively stepped back, clutching his newly restored arm as if afraid it might disappear again.

Millicas didn't react to the threat.

"Now go heal Nanami," he said, pointing toward a blond man standing further back in the group. "Maki too."

I glanced toward them.

The blond one looked half-dead, leaning heavily against a chunk of broken concrete. Half of his body was covered in thick scar tissue, the flesh twisted and uneven as if it had been burned down to the muscle and only barely forced to heal. One of his arms was gone entirely. His remaining eye stared at me steadily, while the other was hidden behind a crude eyepatch that had clearly been thrown together in a hurry.

The girl beside him wasn't in much better shape. Her skin was a patchwork of poorly healed burns, dark and uneven scars crawling across her arms, neck, and part of her face. Like the man beside her, she had also lost an eye. The ruined socket was covered by a bandage that had already begun to stain through.

Pathetic.

"I knew you insects were worthless," I said with open contempt as I walked toward them. "But to not even be able to manage something this simple?"

I laughed softly.

"Truly pathetic."

I approached the blond one first. I placed my hand against what remained of his shoulder and began channeling positive energy. He grunted as the healing process tore through the scar tissue. Flesh split open as the old damage was forcibly undone, the uneven layers of healing unraveling so the body could rebuild itself properly.

Despite the pain, he didn't move. He simply watched me. I returned the stare, saying nothing. I didn't need to bother with threats.

They all knew what would happen once the month was over.

Muscle reformed. Bone extended outward from the stump of his shoulder, rebuilding itself piece by piece. Nerves, veins, and skin followed in rapid succession until a fully formed arm hung where the empty sleeve had been.

I released him without a word.

The girl came next. Her injuries were uglier but simpler. The burns across her body had healed badly, leaving thick patches of twisted scar tissue behind. Her missing eye continued to bleed.

I worked quickly. Scar tissue split and peeled away as the positive energy forced her body to regenerate properly, replacing the damaged flesh with new skin. The process was efficient and brutal, undoing the flawed healing in seconds.

I finished and stepped away immediately. I had no interest in spending a moment longer than necessary helping these weaklings.

Behind me, Millicas continued speaking with Gojo and the brown-haired girl.

"I'm not sure if the Culling Games will happen with Kenjaku out of the picture," Millicas said. "Still, that's something to keep an eye on."

"You sure seem to know a lot about Kenjaku's plans," Gojo replied with a thin smile. "Care to share how?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Millicas said.

"Try me."

Millicas stared at him for a moment, expression flat.

"Your world was an anime in my previous life," he said. "I don't have perfect information because I never read the manga, so I'm mostly working off a few spoilers I picked up."

Gojo stared at him, his eyes narrowing slightly beneath the blindfold.

Millicas shrugged.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me," he said. "It doesn't really matter anyway. Kenjaku is handled and so is Sukuna. The only thing you have to worry about is Mahito."

By the time I finished healing the two and walked back toward the group, the brown-haired woman had returned.

"I got him talking," she said.

"I know where the fingers are."

Millicas nodded once.

"Then let's go."

Apparently, people really didn't like the idea of a Rating Game tournament between Contractors. A lot of you mentioned how it would involve NTR. That really wasn't what I had in mind, and I'll never add NTR to any of my stories, but I can see where you guys are coming from.