Chapter 1: The Crimson BirthThe Heian era breathes blood and brilliance. Beneath silk robes and golden shrines, curses fester like rot beneath polished wood. Sorcerers walk among nobles; their hands stained with unseen battles that keep the world from collapsing into madness.But tonight, under the Crimson Moon, everything changes.A child is born in a village that will vanish from history. His mother dies screaming, her body torn apart from within. Midwives flee. Temple bells ring in reverse. And the sky—oh, the sky—bleeds red, mourning the arrival of something unnatural.They name him Ryomen Sukuna.Not out of reverence. Out of fear.He emerges with two faces. Four arms. Eyes that do not blink. Silence clings to him, swallowing sound. Elders call him a demon. Priests try to burn him. But the flames bend away from his skin, as if fire itself refuses to touch him.By five, Sukuna sees curses. By seven, he commands them. By ten, he's already killed three wandering sorcerers who attempt to exorcise him.He doesn't speak until twelve. When he does, both mouths move in unison."You call me a curse. But I am the truth you fear."Clans whisper. Is he a vessel? A god? A mistake?The jujutsu elders send assassins. Sukuna sends their heads back in baskets woven from their own hair.He builds a shrine from bones. He carves his name into the sky with cursed energy so thick it turns birds to ash mid-flight.Yet he isn't cruel for cruelty's sake. He spares children. He feeds the hungry. He teaches those who listen. But his mercy is unpredictable lightning that sometimes kisses the earth instead of splitting it.One day, a wandering monk approaches him."You are powerful," the monk says. "But power without purpose is a curse."Sukuna smiles. Both mouths curl in opposite directions."Then let me be the greatest curse this world has ever known." Chapter 2: Sorcerer SupremeThe boy grows into a storm.By thirteen, Sukuna no longer learns jujutsu—he rewrites it. He studies ancient scrolls, tears them apart, and reconstructs techniques with his own twisted logic. Where others bind curses, he bends them. Where others purify, he corrupts.He sits cross-legged in a cave of obsidian, surrounded by cursed spirits that whisper in languages older than death. His fingers trace sigils into the stone, each one pulsing with raw, unstable energy. He doesn't flinch when they explode. He laughs.The sorcerer clans begin to take notice.The Kamo clan sends an emissary. A proud man with a bloodline technique and a sword carved from his ancestor's bones. He kneels before Sukuna, offering alliance.Sukuna rips the sword from his hand and drives it through the man's chest."I don't kneel. I don't ally. I consume."Word spreads. Sukuna is no longer a child. He is a force of nature wrapped in flesh. The jujutsu elders convene in secret, debating whether to name him a calamity or a god. They settle on neither. They call him "The Aberration."But Sukuna doesn't care what they call him. He's building something.In the ruins of a forgotten temple, he crafts his first Domain. It's crude, unstable—a swirling vortex of bone, flame, and ink—but it holds. Inside, time bends. Gravity twists. Curses sing.He names it Malevolent Sanctuary.It's not yet the perfected version that legends will speak of. But it's enough to draw attention.A trio of elite sorcerers descend upon him. One wields shadows. One manipulates sound. One controls blood. Together, they are meant to be unstoppable.They last seven minutes.Sukuna dissects their techniques mid-battle, mimics them, and turns them against their owners. He doesn't just kill them—he learns from them. Absorbs them. Evolves.After the battle, he sits atop their corpses and carves a new symbol into his chest—a mark of supremacy. Not granted. Taken."If jujutsu is a language," he says, "then I am its scream."The clans retreat. The elders panic. And somewhere in the capital, a young Gojo ancestor watches the sky darken and wonders if the Six Eyes will be enough.Sukuna doesn't look back.He walks into the heart of Kyoto, alone, and declares war on the jujutsu order. Chapter 3: The Twin BladesSukuna stands beneath a thunder-split sky, surrounded by stone pillars etched with ancient jujutsu seals. The air hums with tension. Cursed spirits gather in silence, drawn by something primal. They sense it: a metamorphosis.He's preparing for the ritual.Not one taught by masters. Not one written in scrolls. This is a rite born from madness and ambition—a self-inflicted evolution.He carves a circle into the earth with his own blood. Each stroke pulses with cursed energy. The ground trembles. The spirit's recoil. Even the bravest among them dare not cross the threshold.Sukuna kneels at the center."Power must be earned. Pain is the price."He plunges his hands into his own chest.The scream that follows is not human.Bones crack. Flesh splits. His body contorts, reshaping itself under the pressure of his will. A second face emerges from his cheek, eyes wide and unblinking. Two more arms burst from his sides, trailing blood and flame.The pain is exquisite. The transformation divine.For hours, he remains in the circle, his body writhing, his cursed energy surging like a tidal wave. The seals around him shatter one by one. The sky darkens. Lightning strikes the earth in spirals.When he rises, he is no longer a man.He is a weapon.Two mouths speak in harmony. Four arms move with surgical precision. His cursed energy no longer leaks—it radiates, thick and suffocating. The spirit's bow. The earth itself seems to recoil.He tests his new form.With one hand, he summons flame. With another, he conjures blades. The third hand manipulates gravity. The fourth—his favorite—tears open a rift in space, revealing a glimpse of his evolving Domain."This is what it means to ascend."The jujutsu world reels.Elders call emergency councils. Clans fortify their barriers. Rumors spread of a sorcerer who defied biology, who reshaped his soul to match his ambition.But Sukuna doesn't care for rumors.He walks into the capital again—this time not to declare war, but to demonstrate it.He slaughters a hundred in a single night. Not out of rage. Not out of cruelty. Out of necessity. Each kill refines his technique. Each death sharpens his blades.By dawn, the city is silent.And Sukuna, standing atop the ruins, whispers to the wind:"Let the world remember this shape. Let it tremble."Chapter 4: The Temple MassacreThe temple stands atop Mount Kuragami, cloaked in mist and reverence. It's the oldest jujutsu sanctuary in Japan, guarded by generations of elite sorcerers. Its walls are etched with protective seals. Its halls echo with prayers meant to keep curses at bay.Sukuna walks through the front gate.He doesn't sneak. He doesn't hide. He walks.Monks rush to intercept him, their chants rising like a tide. They summon barriers, unleash talismans, call upon ancestral techniques. The air thickens with sacred energy.Sukuna breathes it in like incense."You built this place to keep me out. That was your first mistake."With a flick of his wrist, he shatters the outer barrier. The seals rupture like glass. Cursed energy floods the temple grounds, warping the architecture, twisting the air into a suffocating haze.The monks fight valiantly.One summons a dragon of light. Another manipulates sound to fracture Sukuna's senses. A third tries to seal him with a forbidden chant that costs him his life.None of it matters.Sukuna moves like a storm. His four arms dance with blades and flame. His two mouths chant overlapping incantations, layering techniques in ways no sorcerer has ever imagined. He doesn't just overpower them—he dismantles their legacy.Stone statues crumble. Sacred scrolls burn. The dragon of light screams once before being devoured by a cursed maw Sukuna conjures mid-air.By nightfall, the temple is ash.But Sukuna doesn't leave immediately. He walks through the ruins, collecting fragments of cursed relics, absorbing knowledge from shattered altars. He's not just destroying—he's evolving.Then he senses it.A familiar presence. One he once trusted.Rinzen.A former ally. A scholar of forbidden arts. The only sorcerer who ever stood beside Sukuna without fear. He appears from the shadows, robes torn, eyes filled with regret."You've gone too far," Rinzen says. "This was sacred."Sukuna tilts his head."Sacred is just another word for fragile."Rinzen attacks.Their battle is not like the others. It's personal. Brutal. Beautiful. They clash across the ruins, cursed energy colliding in waves that reshape the mountain itself. For a moment, it seems Rinzen might win.But Sukuna hesitates.Just once.And Rinzen strikes.A blade of pure cursed light pierces Sukuna's chest. It doesn't kill him—but it marks him. A wound that doesn't heal. A betrayal that doesn't fade.Sukuna retaliates with fury.Rinzen dies with a whisper on his lips:"You were meant to be more than this."Sukuna stands alone.The temple is gone. His ally is dead. And the wound in his chest pulses with something unfamiliar—not pain, but memory.He looks to the horizon."Let them come. Let them all come." Chapter 5: The Curse CrownedThe world trembles.Sukuna's massacre of the temple sends shockwaves through the jujutsu order. Clans unite. Rivals forge alliances. Even the most reclusive sorcerers emerge from hiding. They don't come to reason with him.They come to end him.Sukuna watches from a cliffside, the wind tugging at his robes. His wound from Rinzen still burns—a reminder that even gods bleed. But he doesn't retreat. He waits.They arrive in legions.Twenty of the strongest sorcerers of the Heian era. Each one a master of their domain. Each one prepared to die. They surround him, chanting in unison, weaving a sealing technique older than language.Sukuna smiles."You think numbers matter?"He unleashes his full power.His Domain Expansion—Malevolent Shrine—erupts across the battlefield. It's no longer crude. It's divine. A temple of flesh and bone, floating in a void of cursed energy. Inside, rules bend. Life breaks. Time stutters.He kills five instantly.But the others adapt. They sacrifice limbs, memories, even years of their lives to fuel the seal. One offers his soul. Another offers his bloodline. Together, they form a cage not of steel, but of concept.They don't kill Sukuna.They divide him.Piece by piece, they tear his soul into fragments. Each one is bound to a severed finger, sealed in cursed wax and buried across the land. His body disintegrates. His Domain collapses. His name becomes taboo.But his eyes remain open.As the final seal closes, Sukuna whispers through the void:"You delay me. You do not defeat me."Centuries pass.Wars rage. Empires fall. Sorcerers forget. But the fingers remain—hidden, cursed, waiting. Each one pulses with dormant power. Each one whispers to the world.And then, one day, a boy named Yuji Itadori swallows one.Sukuna stirs.Not fully awake. Not fully free. But aware.He watches through Yuji's eyes. Feels the boy's heart. Tests the boundaries of the vessel. The world has changed. The jujutsu order is reborn. But the fear remains.Sukuna smiles from within."Let the age of curses begin again." Chapter 6: Awakening in FleshThe boy swallows the finger.It's a moment of desperation. A cursed spirit towers over his friends, its grotesque form pulsing with malevolence. There's no time. No options. Yuji Itadori grabs the severed, wax-sealed finger and forces it down his throat.The world stops.Then it shatters.Sukuna awakens.He surges through Yuji's veins like wildfire, his cursed energy erupting in a spiral of crimson and black. The cursed spirit that threatened them turns to flee—but it's too late. Sukuna's grin splits across Yuji's face."How quaint," he says, stretching within the boy's body. "A vessel with a spine."With a flick of Yuji's hand, the cursed spirit is obliterated. Not exorcised. Erased.Sukuna laughs.It's the first time he's felt anything in centuries. The air tastes different. The world hums with technology and tension. Sorcerers wear strange uniforms. The cities are taller. The curses are weaker.He hates it.Yuji regains control, panting, horrified."What… was that?"Sukuna watches from within, amused. The boy is strong. Not just physically—spiritually. He resists Sukuna's influence with a will that borders on absurd."You swallowed me," Sukuna whispers. "Now you carry me."Yuji doesn't respond. He's too busy trying to understand what he's become.Later, in a holding cell beneath Jujutsu Tech, Gojo Satoru stands before him."You're the vessel," Gojo says. "For Ryomen Sukuna."Yuji flinches. The name feels heavy. Ancient. Wrong.Sukuna chuckles."They fear me still. Good."Gojo explains the situation: twenty fingers scattered across the world, each one a fragment of Sukuna's soul. Yuji is the only one who can contain them. The plan is simple—find them, consume them, and die.Yuji agrees.Sukuna doesn't."You think I'll let you kill me?" he hisses. "You think I'll go quietly?"He begins testing the vessel. Whispering in dreams. Twisting emotions. Tempting Yuji with power.But the boy resists.Every time.Sukuna grows curious. Why does this child fight so hard? What drives him? What breaks him?He watches Yuji save strangers. Fight curses. Cry over death. Laugh with friends.It's disgusting.It's fascinating.One night, Sukuna takes control for a moment—just a flicker—and carves his name into a cursed wall."I am awake," he writes. "And I am watching."The sorcerers panic. Yuji apologizes. Gojo tightens security.Sukuna smiles."Let them fear. Let them prepare. I am not a relic. I am reborn." Chapter 7: The Boy Who LaughsSukuna watches.Yuji Itadori stands over a corpse—a cursed spirit that once wore the face of a child. Blood drips from his knuckles. His breath comes in ragged bursts. His eyes shimmer with something Sukuna hasn't seen in centuries.Grief.And then, Yuji laughs.Not a joyful laugh. Not a cruel one. It's the laugh of someone who's broken and refuses to shatter. A laugh that says, I'm still here. I'm still fighting.Sukuna is intrigued."You laugh at death," he whispers from within. "Are you mad, or magnificent?"Yuji doesn't answer. He doesn't even hear him. But Sukuna feels the boy's heart—steady, defiant. It pulses with resolve, not fear.Later, in the training yard, Yuji spars with Megumi Fushiguro. His movements are clumsy but improving. He learns fast. Too fast. Sukuna watches every punch, every dodge, every moment of hesitation."You're adapting," Sukuna murmurs. "You're becoming dangerous."He begins testing the vessel again.During sleep, he floods Yuji's dreams with visions—temples burning, friends dying, the world drowning in cursed energy. He whispers promises of power, of control, of vengeance.Yuji wakes screaming.But he doesn't break.He trains harder. Fights smarter. Laughs louder.Sukuna grows restless."Why do you resist?" he asks one night, manifesting in Yuji's mental domain—a throne of bone and flame.Yuji stands before him, fists clenched."Because I'm not like you."Sukuna rises from his throne, towering, monstrous."You will be."They clash in the dreamscape. Sukuna doesn't use his full power—he doesn't need to. He's testing. Probing. Yuji fights with desperation, with fury, with heart.And for a moment… Sukuna falters.The boy lands a blow.It's weak. Symbolic. But it stings.Sukuna laughs."You amuse me, brat. Keep fighting. It makes your fall more entertaining."Back in the real world, Yuji wakes with a nosebleed and a smile.He's not afraid.Sukuna watches, silent.He's beginning to understand: Yuji isn't just a vessel. He's a challenge. A contradiction. A boy who laughs at death and dares to defy a god.And Sukuna—Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses—has never been more curious. Chapter 8: The Curse ArchiveTokyo hums with cursed energy.Not the kind that screams. The kind that whispers—low, constant, buried beneath concrete and neon. Sukuna feels it through Yuji's skin. The city is alive with fear, grief, and secrets.He follows the scent.Late one night, while Yuji sleeps, Sukuna slips into a dream deeper than memory. He walks through corridors of bone and ink, past doors sealed with forgotten sigils. He's not in Yuji's mind anymore.He's in his own.At the end of the corridor, a door opens.He steps into a chamber beneath Tokyo—real, ancient, hidden from the jujutsu order. The walls are covered in murals of his face, his shrine, his battles. Candles flicker. Incense burns. And they kneel.His cult.They are few now. Emaciated. Eyes hollow. But their devotion is intact. They chant his name in a language no longer spoken. They offer blood. Teeth. Memories.Sukuna watches them with mild disgust."You survived," he says. "Barely."The high priest crawls forward, robes tattered, voice trembling."We preserved your relics, my lord. We await your return."Sukuna steps past him, examining the altar. His severed fingers—replicas, not real—rest in glass cases. Scrolls detail his techniques, his battles, his philosophy. Some are accurate. Most are laughable."You worship a shadow," he says. "I am the storm."He raises a hand. Cursed energy floods the chamber. The weaker cultists collapse. The stronger ones scream. The high priest bleeds from the eyes but continues chanting.Sukuna pauses.There's value here. Not in their faith—but in their desperation."You want purpose?" he asks. "I'll give you one."He carves a new sigil into the altar—a command, not a blessing. The cultists will become his eyes. His hands. His pawns."Find my fingers. Spread my name. And if you fail…"He gestures to the wall. A cursed spirit slithers out—one of his own design. It devours the weakest cultist whole."That will be your reward."The high priest bows lower."We serve."Sukuna turns to leave.Back in Yuji's body, he wakes with a jolt. His hand twitches. His mouth tastes of ash.Yuji doesn't notice. He's too busy worrying about the next mission.Sukuna smiles."Let the boy play hero. I have work to do."Chapter 8: The Curse ArchiveTokyo hums with cursed energy.Not the kind that screams. The kind that whispers—low, constant, buried beneath concrete and neon. Sukuna feels it through Yuji's skin. The city is alive with fear, grief, and secrets.He follows the scent.Late one night, while Yuji sleeps, Sukuna slips into a dream deeper than memory. He walks through corridors of bone and ink, past doors sealed with forgotten sigils. He's not in Yuji's mind anymore.He's in his own.At the end of the corridor, a door opens.He steps into a chamber beneath Tokyo—real, ancient, hidden from the jujutsu order. The walls are covered in murals of his face, his shrine, his battles. Candles flicker. Incense burns. And they kneel.His cult.They are few now. Emaciated. Eyes hollow. But their devotion is intact. They chant his name in a language no longer spoken. They offer blood. Teeth. Memories.Sukuna watches them with mild disgust."You survived," he says. "Barely."The high priest crawls forward, robes tattered, voice trembling."We preserved your relics, my lord. We await your return."Sukuna steps past him, examining the altar. His severed fingers—replicas, not real—rest in glass cases. Scrolls detail his techniques, his battles, his philosophy. Some are accurate. Most are laughable."You worship a shadow," he says. "I am the storm."He raises a hand. Cursed energy floods the chamber. The weaker cultists collapse. The stronger ones scream. The high priest bleeds from the eyes but continues chanting.Sukuna pauses.There's value here. Not in their faith—but in their desperation."You want purpose?" he asks. "I'll give you one."He carves a new sigil into the altar—a command, not a blessing. The cultists will become his eyes. His hands. His pawns."Find my fingers. Spread my name. And if you fail…"He gestures to the wall. A cursed spirit slithers out—one of his own design. It devours the weakest cultist whole."That will be your reward."The high priest bows lower."We serve."Sukuna turns to leave.Back in Yuji's body, he wakes with a jolt. His hand twitches. His mouth tastes of ash.Yuji doesn't notice. He's too busy worrying about the next mission.Sukuna smiles."Let the boy play hero. I have work to do."Here's the full, detailed version of Chapter 10: The Mirror of Morality, continuing in present tense. This chapter takes a more introspective turn, as Sukuna confronts a cursed spirit born from his own buried emotions—forcing him to face echoes of his past.Chapter 10: The Mirror of MoralityThe cursed spirit waits in silence.It doesn't hunt. It doesn't scream. It simply exists—deep within the forest ruins of Aokigahara, where the air is thick with sorrow and the trees lean like mourners. Sorcerers avoid this place. Even curses steer clear.But Sukuna is drawn to it.He feels the pull through Yuji's body—a thread of cursed energy unlike any other. It's familiar. Intimate. Wrong.Yuji sleeps. Sukuna slips into control.He walks alone through the forest, the moon casting fractured light through the branches. The cursed spirit emerges slowly, its form shifting like smoke. It doesn't attack. It doesn't speak.It wears Rinzen's face.Sukuna freezes."You're not him," he says.The spirit tilts its head. Its eyes are hollow, but its presence is heavy—like guilt made flesh. It mimics Rinzen's voice, soft and steady."You were meant to be more."Sukuna snarls."I killed you.""You buried me."The spirit lunges.Their battle is quiet. No explosions. No spectacle. Just raw, intimate violence. Sukuna fights with fury, but the spirit matches him—not in strength, but in memory. Every strike reminds him of the past. Every dodge echoes a moment he forgot.The wound in his chest pulses.The spirit conjures illusions—Rinzen teaching him forbidden sigils, laughing over firelight, bleeding beside him in battle. Sukuna roars, slicing through the images, but they reform."You carry me," the spirit says. "Even now."Sukuna falters.Just once.The spirit strikes—not with claws, but with truth. It shows him the temple. The betrayal. The hesitation. The moment he chose power over purpose.Sukuna stumbles.He's not defeated. But he's shaken.He unleashes his Domain—brief, unstable—and erases the spirit. Not with rage. With silence.The forest stills.Sukuna stands alone, breathing heavily. The wound in his chest glows faintly, then fades."Regret is a curse," he whispers. "And I refuse to carry it."But as he returns to Yuji's body, something lingers.Not pain.Not guilt.Memory.Chapter 11: The Sorcerer's GambitThe barrier is thin tonight.Gojo Satoru sits in meditation, his Six Eyes glowing faintly beneath his blindfold. Around him, the air warps—his Limitless technique humming like a heartbeat. He's not in battle. Not yet.He's entering Sukuna's domain.Not the physical one. The mental one.A gamble.Inside Yuji's mind, the space shifts. Sukuna's throne looms in the center of a vast, broken temple. The walls bleed cursed energy. The sky is black. The floor is bone.Gojo steps forward.Sukuna watches from his throne, amused."You're bold," he says. "Or stupid."Gojo smiles."I've been called both."They don't fight—not with fists. Not yet. They talk.Gojo studies the domain. It's ancient, chaotic, beautiful in its brutality. Every detail reflects Sukuna's soul—fractured, defiant, divine."You built this," Gojo says. "But you never left it."Sukuna rises."I am this."They circle each other like predators.Gojo speaks of balance. Of protecting the weak. Of power as responsibility.Sukuna laughs."Power is truth. Everything else is decoration."Gojo doesn't flinch."Then why do you hesitate?"Sukuna pauses.The question cuts deeper than expected."I don't.""You do. You spared that child. You hesitated with Rinzen. You made a vow with Yuji."Sukuna's eyes narrow."You think that makes me weak?""I think it makes you human."The word hangs in the air like poison.Sukuna lunges.Their clash is brief—mental, metaphysical. Gojo's Limitless bends the space around them. Sukuna's cursed energy floods the domain. They trade blows of thought and memory, not technique.Gojo lands a strike.Not physical. Philosophical."You were feared because you were powerful. But you were remembered because you were more."Sukuna roars.The domain cracks. Gojo is ejected, his body jolting in the real world. He gasps, sweat dripping down his face.Sukuna sits alone again.But the throne feels colder."You fight for balance," he mutters. "I fight for truth."And yet… the words linger.Chapter 12: The Finger HuntThe hunt begins.Sukuna no longer waits for fate. He moves.Through Yuji's body, he senses the scattered remnants of himself—his fingers, sealed and buried across Japan. Each one pulses faintly, calling to him like distant drums.He answers.Yuji sleeps. Sukuna slips into control, just for moments. Enough to whisper. Enough to command.He reaches out to cursed spirits—not the mindless ones, but the clever, the ambitious, the broken. He offers them purpose. Power. A chance to serve the King of Curses.Most flee.Some kneel.He sends them across the country—into temples, vaults, ruins. They retrieve his fingers, one by one. Each return strengthens him. Each fragment restores a piece of his soul.Yuji feels it.The pressure. The weight. His body aches. His dreams darken. He doesn't know why, but he knows something is wrong.Gojo investigates.He finds traces—cursed energy signatures that match Sukuna's, but warped. He confronts Yuji."You're changing," Gojo says. "And not just physically."Yuji nods."I feel him. More than before."Sukuna listens.He's amused. The boy is perceptive. But not enough.In secret, Sukuna begins crafting a map—a mental lattice of his remaining fingers. He knows where they are. Who guards them. What must be done.He sends a spirit to Kyoto.Another to the mountains of Nagano.A third to the underwater vault beneath Sendai.Each mission succeeds.Each finger returns.He's halfway whole.Yuji collapses during training. His cursed energy fluctuates wildly. Shoko examines him—his soul is fraying, stretched thin. The elders grow nervous."If he consumes all twenty," one says, "we won't be able to kill him."Gojo disagrees."We'll kill Sukuna. Not Yuji."Sukuna laughs."You'll try."He watches the sorcerers scramble. Watches Yuji struggle. Watches the world prepare for a storm it cannot stop.And he whispers to the wind:"Soon."Chapter 13: The Thousand-Year DuelThe air shifts.Sukuna feels it before anyone else—a ripple in the cursed energy of the world. Ancient. Familiar. Dangerous.He pauses mid-step, eyes narrowing."He's returned."The name comes unspoken. A memory etched in blood.Raizan.The only sorcerer who ever stood beside Sukuna as an equal—and once, as an enemy. A master of celestial techniques, Raizan wielded cursed energy like a blade of light. Their last battle carved a canyon into the earth.Now, he walks again.Reincarnated. Reforged. Wearing a new face, but carrying the same soul.Raizan appears in Kyoto, cloaked in silence. Sorcerers sense him and scatter. He speaks only once:"I seek Sukuna."Sukuna answers.They meet in the ruins of the old temple—the one Sukuna burned centuries ago. The sky darkens. The wind dies. Even curses flee.Raizan stands tall, his eyes glowing with celestial flame."You've grown darker."Sukuna grins."You've grown slower."They clash.The battle is not just physical—it's mythic. Cursed energy tears through the landscape. Sukuna's Domain pulses with malevolence. Raizan counters with a technique that bends gravity and light, folding space around his strikes.They trade blows that shatter mountains.Sukuna summons blades from every direction. Raizan deflects them with radiant shields. Sukuna splits the earth. Raizan walks on air.Yuji watches from afar, hidden, trembling."He's not just fighting," Gojo says beside him. "He's remembering."The duel stretches into hours.Raizan lands a blow—deep, precise. Sukuna bleeds. He laughs."You still know me."Raizan doesn't smile."I know what you could've been."Sukuna roars.He unleashes his full Domain—Malevolent Shrine, perfected. The temple reforms in midair, its walls dripping with cursed scripture. Raizan counters with his own Domain—Celestial Vault, a sphere of light and silence.The domains collide.Reality bends.In the end, Sukuna stands victorious.Raizan falls, his body fading, his soul unraveling."You win," he whispers. "But you've lost something."