The cult hall reeked of incense and cheap liquor. Once, this place belonged to a devil-worshipping gang, a pitiful congregation that cut themselves in the name of blood contracts. Now, the idols had been shattered, their banners replaced by black cloth marked with a single sigil: the twisted spiral of Suguru Geto's cursed energy.
The gang members knelt on the floor, trembling. Their leaders had already been fed to curses, screams echoing until silence made obedience absolute.
Geto stood at the front, hands clasped as though in prayer.
"Do you understand now?" he asked softly. "Your gods are nothing but your own fear given shape. Monkeys fear guns—so the Gun Devil comes. Monkeys fear darkness—so a Darkness Devil stirs. Every monster you kneel to is a reflection of your weakness."
He stepped down from the altar, his eyes scanning the crowd. The curses slithered behind him, a grotesque retinue. A devil knelt at his side, bound in chains of cursed energy, its body twitching with resistance it could not break.
"I have no need for gods," Geto continued. "I consume them. I have no need for monkeys who birth them, either. Your only value lies in service. Money. Flesh. Fear. You collect these, and I will protect you from being devoured. Fail, and you join the feast."
The hall remained silent. No one dared breathe too loudly.
Geto smiled, serene and terrifying.
"From this day, you are my curse-collecting monkeys. You will drag the weakest into my jaws. You will spread my word through your cities and alleys. And in time, there will be no free devils—only mine. No free humans—only mine. No fear but the fear of me."
The gang bowed as one. Fear bound them tighter than any contract.
---
Later, in the dim quiet of a ruined church, Geto reflected on this new world. His robe sleeves brushed against the pew as he sat, curses nesting around him like obedient animals.
"So this is the truth of devils," he whispered. "Born from fear. Fed by monkeys. A parasite cycle that never ends. The same endless exorcism and consumption, but filthier. Uglier."
He closed his eyes, recalling the bitter taste of swallowing curses back in his own world. Vomit soaked in rags—that was how he had once described it. But here? The flavor of devils was sharper, purer. Fear distilled into flesh.
"I will correct this world," he declared to the silence. "Monkeys will be erased. Devils will be collared. Sorcerers… my family… will stand as kings."
His smile widened, but his eyes glistened. He thought of Mimiko and Nanako. Of the sorcerers he once dreamed of protecting. Of the world Gojo had told him to endure, and the path he had chosen instead.
This time, there would be no endurance. Only conquest.
And so the word spread through the underworld. A Black Priest who commanded devils. A cult that devoured other cults. A man who promised protection at the cost of freedom.
The empire was no longer a whisper. It was a shadow stretching across Tokyo.