Rain fell like tears from a blackened sky over Shinjuku, the droplets hissing as they hit patches of ground still smoldering with residual cursed energy. The air tasted of copper and ozone—that unmistakable aftermath of techniques too powerful for the world to contain. The battlefield—once a bustling district where salarymen rushed to catch trains and teenagers gathered in bright arcades—now lay unrecognizable. Buildings stood bisected, their innards exposed like anatomical models. Streets had fractured into jagged islands of concrete. Cursed energy hung so thick it bent light itself, casting prismatic halos around the few standing structures.
Amid this apocalyptic tableau stood the King of Curses. Blood spattered his form—some his, most not—drying in flaking patterns across stolen skin. Though inhabiteting Megumi Fushiguro's body, no one could mistake this presence for the quiet sorcerer. Sukuna's crimson eyes gleamed with satisfied malice. The intricate markings crawled across exposed skin like living tattoos, pulsing with each heartbeat. His aura of ancient malevolence seemed to corrode the very molecules around him, the rain turning to steam before touching his shoulders.
"You did well, Gojo Satoru." Sukuna's voice carried across the wasteland without effort, as if the devastation itself amplified his words. He gazed down at the bisected form before him, something almost like respect flickering briefly across his features. "I won't forget you for as long as I live."
The white-haired figure lay in two pieces on the shattered pavement
THE MERGER: PROLOGUE - SHATTERED VEIL
Rain fell like tears from a blackened sky over Shinjuku, the droplets hissing as they hit patches of ground still smoldering with residual cursed energy. The air tasted of copper and ozone—that unmistakable aftermath of techniques too powerful for the world to contain. The battlefield—once a bustling district where salarymen rushed to catch trains and teenagers gathered in bright arcades—now lay unrecognizable. Buildings stood bisected, their innards exposed like anatomical models. Streets had fractured into jagged islands of concrete. Cursed energy hung so thick it bent light itself, casting prismatic halos around the few standing structures.
Amid this apocalyptic tableau stood the King of Curses. Blood spattered his form—some his, most not—drying in flaking patterns across stolen skin. Though inhabiteting Megumi Fushiguro's body, no one could mistake this presence for the quiet sorcerer. Sukuna's crimson eyes gleamed with satisfied malice. The intricate markings crawled across exposed skin like living tattoos, pulsing with each heartbeat. His aura of ancient malevolence seemed to corrode the very molecules around him, the rain turning to steam before touching his shoulders.
"You did well, Gojo Satoru." Sukuna's voice carried across the wasteland without effort, as if the devastation itself amplified his words. He gazed down at the bisected form before him, something almost like respect flickering briefly across his features. "I won't forget you for as long as I live."
The white-haired figure lay in two pieces on the shattered pavement
The white-haired figure lay in two pieces on the shattered pavement. Rain collected in the hollow of his throat, spilling over in tiny rivulets that mingled with cooling blood. The legendary Six Eyes—now dulled to ordinary blue—stared lifelessly upward, catching raindrops as if crying in reverse. His outfit, once immaculate, now lay in tatters. The cut that had severed him was impossibly clean, as if the universe itself had been instructed to separate atoms that had always belonged together.
The cut that had severed him was impossibly clean, as if the universe itself had been instructed to separate atoms that had always belonged together
From their hidden location, the surviving jujutsu sorcerers watched. No one breathed. No one moved. Some part of each of them understood that they were witnessing the end of an era—the fall of a man they'd believed immortal, untouchable.
"This can't—" Yuta's words caught in his throat as bile rose. He swallowed hard, the taste of copper lingering as he bit the inside of his cheek. His cursed energy fluctuated wildly with his pulse, mirroring the tremors in his hands. "Gojo-Sensei said... he would win."
Beside him, Maki's knuckles whitened around her weapon. Three of her fingernails had broken to the quick, blood seeping into the handle's wrapping. Her face revealed nothing, but a muscle in her jaw ticked arrhythmically. "We need to stay focused," she whispered, though her own foot had already shifted forward instinctively. She forced herself to stillness. "Or none of us walk away from this."
A slow, deliberate clapping cut through the patter of rainfall, each impact like a gunshot in the unnatural quiet.
Sukuna's shoulders tensed before he turned. His eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from the shadow of a half-collapsed skyscraper. The newcomer walked with casual confidence through the debris, stepping over a severed power line that still sparked weakly. He applauded as if witnessing the finale of a symphony he'd conducted himself.
"Magnificent." Kenjaku's stitched scar puckered as his lips curved upward. He approached through the rain, each footstep deliberate. "Not for a single moment did I doubt you."
Sukuna exhaled through his teeth, shoulders slumping slightly
Sukuna exhaled through his teeth, shoulders slumping slightly. The gesture looked wrong on Megumi's frame—too ancient, too weary. "Your timing is impeccable," he remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm older than the voice he spoke it in. "As always."
Kenjaku's smile didn't falter, though something in his eyes shifted—the awareness of a predator standing against him. "Now then..." He gestured toward the remains on the ground, rainwater running along the scar tissue threading his forehead. "For our deal."
Despite visible annoyance, Sukuna approached the fallen sorcerer. Each step he took sent tremors of apprehension through the hidden observers. Fingers twitched toward weapons. Breaths held mid-inhalation. No one dared make a sound, yet each silently calculated if dying here would be worth the chance to wound the King of Curses.
"He's moving toward Sensei." Yuta's cursed energy began to swirl around him, raising the hairs on his arms, elevating the temperature of the air near his skin. A vein pulsed at his temple. "We need to—"
"Wait." Maki's grip on his arm felt like a steel trap. She'd moved so quickly he hadn't seen her reach for him. Her eyes never left the scene below, irises reflecting the crimson glow of Sukuna's eyes. "Look what he's doing."
With unexpected gentleness that seemed obscene coming from hands that had just killed, Sukuna knelt beside Gojo's body
With unexpected gentleness that seemed obscene coming from hands that had just killed, Sukuna knelt beside Gojo's body. His fingers hovered over the clean cut that had severed the sorcerer in two. Red-black cursed energy flowed from his fingertips, reconnecting tissues, vessels, and bone—reverse cursed technique performed with a precision that suggested genuine anatomical knowledge.
"What is he doing?" Kusakabe's whisper emerged ragged, scratching past a throat gone dry with fear. His cigarette—lit minutes ago but forgotten—burned down to his fingers. He didn't notice the pain. "Healing him? After killing him?"
"No." Higuruma didn't blink, his bloodshot eyes taking in every detail with a prosecutor's attention. The handle of his gavel creaked under his grip. "Something much worse than death."
Once the body was whole again, Sukuna extended a single finger. It trembled slightly—not from emotion, but from the precise control required. "Dismantle," he murmured. With surgical precision, he opened Gojo's skull, exposing the brain within. The bone parted cleanly, bloodlessly, as if it had never been meant to protect what lay inside.
"NO!" The scream tore from Yuta's throat before he could stop it, raw and primal. Cursed energy exploded around him as he lunged forward.
Maki caught him mid-stride, her body slamming into his with enough force to crack ribs of normal man. "It's too late," she hissed against his ear, her voice fracturing around the edges despite her control. Her eyes never left the scene below, tracking every movement. "If we tried to fight them both, we'd get slaughtered!"
"So we wait!?" Hakari's cursed energy flared like a furnace, his gambling domain itching beneath his skin. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold rain. "For that shitty brain to take over Gojo's body? To wear him like a fucking suit?"
"The situation demands it..." Higuruma's voice carried the weight of a thousand verdicts, each heavier than the last.
From their hidden observation post miles away, Yuji's fist connected with the wall beside the monitor. Concrete dust billowed outward, revealing twisted rebar beneath. A memory flashed—Nanami telling him that emotions were a luxury for jujutsu sorcerers. The irony burned.
"First Megumi..." His voice broke, the name itself painful to say, like pressing on a wound. "Then Sensei..." His next words emerged as a whisper, then built to a roar that cracked the damaged wall further. "How much more can they take from us?!"
On screen, Kenjaku approached the reconstructed corpse
On screen, Kenjaku approached the reconstructed corpse. The stitches on his forehead began to unravel of their own accord, wriggling like living threads. The brain—his true form, ancient and glistening—slithered free from its current host. The body dropped to the ground, empty and forgotten. The brain writhed its way toward Gojo's exposed cranium, leaving a mucous trail that steamed in the rain.
"We have to—" Yuji's eyes locked with Shoko's, the weight of shared history with Gojo hanging between them. "You were his friend longest. What would he tell us to do right now?"
"There's nothing we can do." Shoko's clinical tone fractured around the edges. Her fingers—steady through countless surgeries, through the worst injuries jujutsu warfare could produce—trembled visibly as she watched her oldest friend's body being desecrated. She gripped her wrist to still the shaking, nails digging half-moons into her own skin. "The distance is too great. By the time any of us could reach them..."
The brain disappeared into Gojo's skull. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The rain continued to fall. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then came the surge—a tsunami of pure cursed energy that knocked even Sukuna back a step. The air pressure dropped suddenly, ears popping painfully. The taste of metal flooded everyone's mouths. Those with innate sensitivity to cursed energy felt their skin crawl as if touched by a thousand invisible insects. The shockwave leveled what few structures remained standing, sending debris flying for miles. The very air seemed to fracture, reality itself struggling to contain such power. Like an overinflated balloon stretching past capacity, the boundaries between what was and what could be grew thin, translucent. And through those membrane-like barriers, other worlds pulsed with their own impossible physics.
As quickly as it had erupted, the energy stabilized, drawn back into the body like water into a sponge. Gojo's form rose slowly, moving with careful, deliberate motions—exploring its new vessel like a child trying on an adult's clothes, testing the limits, feeling the power.
When he opened his eyes, they were still the legendary Six Eyes—but now they belonged to someone else. The gaze that had once held warmth beneath its power now calculated coldly, seeing everything, understanding nothing that mattered.
"With that, our 'deal' is done." Sukuna's declaration cut through the aftermath like a blade, his tone holding the cold finality of a Binding Vow completed. "The Binding Vow is fulfilled."
Kenjaku flexed Gojo's fingers one by one, rolled his shoulders back, stretched his neck until it cracked. A smile spread across Gojo's face, but it wasn't Gojo's—it sat wrong on those features, ancient and sadistic where there should have been casual arrogance and kindness.
"Fascinating," he murmured, the word forming like he was tasting it. His eyes darted everywhere, processing information at speeds that would drive ordinary minds to madness. "So this is how the world appears through the Six Eyes. The information... the clarity..." He inhaled deeply, like a connoisseur sampling rare wine. "Exquisite."
From his vantage point, Kashimo's eyes narrowed, electricity crackling involuntarily across his skin
From his vantage point, Kashimo's eyes narrowed, electricity crackling involuntarily across his skin. "The cursed energy signature..." His voice caught, pupils dilating with a hunger centuries old. "Kenjaku—you sleezy bastard."
"He's adapting to it too quickly." Higuruma's analytical mind worked despite his horror. His thumb traced the edge of his gavel, an unconscious habit from his days in court. "No technique this complex should be usable this soon."
Sukuna eyed the possessed body dismissively, like a craftsman forced to work with substandard tools. "What's your plan now?" The question carried an undercurrent of threat—this alliance had never been built on trust.
Kenjaku chuckled, the sound jarring coming from Gojo's throat—too old, too knowing for the youthful voice. "Now..." He savored the word, tasting it like fine sake. "My friend... It is time for the new world to be born."
This declaration caught Sukuna's attention. His eyes widened slightly, genuine interest breaking through his carefully maintained disdain. He shifted his weight forward unconsciously, like a predator scenting prey.
"The cursed energy you two have expelled during this battle..." Kenjaku's voice rose with childlike excitement, the emotion obscene coming from Gojo's mouth. His hands gestured expansively, taking in the devastation around them. "The density, the purity, the sheer volume... More than sufficient..."
"Sufficient for what?" Sukuna asked, interest piercing through his usual contempt like sunlight through storm clouds, even though he already expected the answer.
"For the next phase, of course." Kenjaku stopped, turning to face Sukuna directly. Rain ran down Gojo's features, catching in eyelashes that would never again shield the eyes they'd once belonged to. "I must thank you both. It was extremely entertaining to watch two monsters fight without restraint. But now—" his voice dropped an octave, the sound sending vibrations through the shattered concrete beneath their feet, "—it's time to expand the scene."
Understanding dawned on Sukuna's face, realization spreading across his features like spilled ink. A slow, vicious grin revealed teeth too sharp for a human mouth. He recognized the scope of Kenjaku's ambition, and despite himself, was impressed.
"Kogane, add new rule." Kenjaku's voice carried giddily through the rain-soaked air. The childlike excitement in his tone contrasted obscenely with the gravity of his words. "The fabric of reality of Shinjuku arena shall thin... The 1000 points should be more than enough." His borrowed face lit with anticipation, eyes gleaming with a madness unfit for modern civilization.
"He's invoking the Culling Game rules." Horror dawned on Yuta's face, draining it of color. His mind raced through implications, calculations, possibilities—each worse than the last. "But he's changing them somehow."
"This is beyond the scope of the original game." Higuruma's legal mind raced to understand the implications, to find a precedent, a loophole, anything. His prosecutor's instincts screamed warnings he couldn't fully articulate. "He's expanding the parameters past anything we've seen."
A moment passed. Two. Three.
Nothing happened.
Sukuna's grin faltered, replaced by confusion that looked foreign on his features. He shot Kenjaku a questioning glance, calculation replacing certainty in his crimson eyes.
Kenjaku merely smiled wider, the expression stretching Gojo's face unnaturally.
"Now then," he said, walking toward the exact spot where Gojo's body had lain—the precise point where Sukuna's "Slash That Cut the World" had landed, where the fabric of reality had already been damaged, tissue-thin and vulnerable.
Recognizing the stance Kenjaku took, Sukuna instantly leapt backward, a primal instinct for self-preservation overriding arrogance. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, genuine alarm threading through his voice for the first time.
"Domain Expansion:" Kenjaku's voice held reverence as he spoke the words with Gojo's lips, the technique's name a sacrament on a stolen tongue, "Unlimited Void."
For a split second, infinity bloomed—every possibility, every reality existing simultaneously within Gojo's ultimate technique, now wielded by an entity who had dreamed of it for over a millennium
For a split second, infinity bloomed—every possibility, every reality existing simultaneously within Gojo's ultimate technique, now wielded by an entity who had dreamed of it for over a millennium. The sensation of infinite information crashed over space within range. Time stretched. Stopped. Reversed. Accelerated. Existed in all states simultaneously.
Then, as quickly as it had formed, the Domain collapsed.
But as the barrier shattered, cracks spread upward into the sky itself—not just the physical atmosphere, but the very fabric of reality. The fractures spread like a spiderweb, cosmic rifts opening to worlds beyond. The sound was impossible to describe—the universe itself screaming as it was torn open, a noise felt rather than heard, vibrating through bone marrow and tissue.
"What's happening?" Hakari's voice cracked as he shielded his eyes from the blinding light emanating from the cracks.
Yuji stared at the monitor in disbelief. The image flickered, distorted by the same energies tearing apart the sky. "The sky..." He couldn't finish the sentence, words inadequate for what he was witnessing. His voice emerged as barely a whisper, childlike in its fear. "It's breaking apart."
Through the cracks, glimpses of other worlds became visible—a massive ocean with millions on islands; a village hidden among leaves where shadowy figures leapt from rooftop to rooftop; a battlefield where warriors with impossibly spiky hair fired beams of energy; a city surrounded by a massive wall stormed by humongous humanoids. Each reality visible for just a moment, like watching television channels change at random.
Sukuna's eyes widened in a mixture of genuine shock and excitement as the boundaries between universes began to crumble. For the first time in a thousand years, the King of Curses felt something new—uncertainty in the face of a power even he hadn't imagined.
"The Merger begins..." Kenjaku whispered, his voice carrying despite its softness. He threw his head back—Gojo's head, white hair whipping in winds that came from nowhere and everywhere—and laughed. The sound echoed across dimensions, bouncing between realities, gaining distortion with each reflection.
And somewhere, in countless other realities, warriors, heroes, villains, and other entities looked up as their skies began to crack
And somewhere, in countless other realities, warriors, heroes, villains, and other entities looked up as their skies began to crack.
The Merger had begun.