From Megumi Fushiguro's perspective, time seemed stretched and distorted by invisible forces. He watched Yuji Itadori, a companion always filled with passionate blood and a broad smile, close his eyes for an extremely short, almost illusory moment after saying, "Please."
The eyelids lifted.
Those familiar, blue eyes, clear as the sky, always burning with enthusiasm and determination, were gone.
In their place was a pair of crimson eyes, like solidified blood, with vertical pupils like vipers lurking in the abyss. Within the pupils, there was no reflection of light, only violence, playfulness, and absolute indifference, as if watching ants drift through the endless currents of time.
It was clearly the same face, even the familiar curve of the lips vaguely recognizable, but the "sense of existence" of the whole person had undergone a shocking transformation.
If the ordinary Itadori was a burning flame, hot and bright; then the being controlling this body at that moment was an eternal black ice, a bottomless pool of blood. Just standing there, the invisible coercion it emitted made Megumi Fushiguro feel his breath catch, his cursed energy falter, and the depths of his soul instinctively tremble.
It was Sukuna.
The King of Curses had indeed taken over this body.
Megumi Fushiguro's heart nearly stopped, his pupils contracting from intense fear. He wanted to retreat, to form a seal, to do something, but his body seemed nailed down by invisible shackles. He could only watch the "familiar yet unfamiliar" figure with horror.
"Itadori" (Sukuna) didn't even glance at Megumi Fushiguro, as if he were just a background or an object of no current interest. His pair of crimson vertical pupils were locked straight ahead, at the special-grade cursed spirit in the black robe that had just delivered a lethal blow and seemed to have stalled due to some inexplicable release of the attack.
Then, "he" moved.
No flash of light, no eruption of cursed energy, no earth-shattering momentum.
It was like an illusion, a skipped frame in a picture.
Megumi Fushiguro only felt a blurring of the crimson figure in his field of vision.
The next moment, Sukuna was like a ghost, appearing directly in front of the black-robed cursed spirit, almost nose-to-nose, out of thin air! The dozens of meters that had originally separated them seemed never to have existed.
Teleportation? No, it was pure physical speed exceeding visual capture! Even more sinister than the movement under Mr. Gojo's "Blue" technique!
The two red glows beneath the black-robed cursed spirit's hood suddenly flared! An unprecedented sense of crisis flooded its cursed consciousness like a tsunami. It wanted to retreat, wanted to merge with the domain, wanted to attack...
A left hand, belonging to a teenager but covered in strange black lines, was already as gentle as a lover and as irresistible as iron tongs, lightly placed on its right shoulder, covered by a tattered black robe.
It was cold to the touch, and as heavy as a mountain.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely at that moment, or perhaps compress into an insignificant point.
Sukuna's crimson pupils flickered with almost bored indifference. He didn't even use his other hand.
Just his left hand on the cursed spirit's shoulder, five fingers slightly inward, curving.
Buzz—!
No loud noise, no bloody, tragic flying.
Only a very faint hum was heard, as if it could pierce the soul, as if space itself was being torn apart.
At the center of the contact point of Sukuna's left hand, countless slashing trajectories—extremely thin, black as ink, yet capable of absorbing all light—burst out noiselessly! They weren't cut from the outside, but as if they had life, they instantly penetrated and spread throughout the cursed spirit's entire body, simultaneously exploding from every node of cursed energy and every inch of its existing structure within!
The tall body of the black-robed cursed spirit suddenly stiffened.
Then, before Megumi Fushiguro's wide eyes, against the backdrop of the world beginning to collapse—
The cursed spirit, far stronger than ordinary special grades and which had just brought them the shadow of death, was like a piece of mango carefully processed by an invisible chef. Along the trajectories of those black slashes, it instantly and evenly disintegrated and split into dozens of "chunks of flesh," all roughly the same size, with edges as smooth as mirrors!
A limited edition "cursed spirit mango."
Not a drop of juice (the cursed spirit's core was destroyed the moment it was cut), and no death throes.
Those chunks of flesh, before they could even fall, quickly weathered and dissolved into the air, turning into the most original particles of cursed energy, returning to the sky and earth.
Only one thing withstood the terrifying attack and fell from the pile of dissipating cursed spirit debris.
It was a finger, about the length of an index finger, as black as ink, radiating powerful, malevolent, and intense cursed energy fluctuations.
Sukuna's finger.
Evidently, this special-grade cursed spirit had somehow absorbed and fused with this finger, thereby gaining power and special cursed techniques far beyond its own kind. This was also a significant reason why it could partially evade the barrier's suppression, mature rapidly, and possess a domain.
Sukuna didn't even glance at the disintegrating remains of the cursed spirit. His crimson eyes watched the falling finger, and he casually reached out and firmly caught it in mid-air.
Without a moment's hesitation, even with a hint of "finally found something decent," he put the pitch-black special-grade cursed object—which any sorcerer would have avoided—into "Itadori's" mouth and swallowed it with a single gulp.
Gulp.
The sound of swallowing was particularly clear in the quiet, collapsing domain.
Sukuna turned his neck, making a soft crack, and a flicker of satisfaction passed through his crimson eyes. He could feel the cursed energy inside his body growing, intensifying.
"One... two..." He silently counted in his mind. Counting the one Itadori had swallowed earlier (the root), the one Satoru Gojo had later "force-fed" Itadori from somewhere, the one he had just swallowed, and the one inside the sea urchin-head kid from somewhere unknown...
"Four." Sukuna smiled inwardly. Although it was still far from the full twenty fingers, the power of four fingers was enough for him to do a lot of things—at least, he no longer had to stay in his domain watching the show most of the time.
"Hmph, this cursed spirit... wasn't a complete waste." Sukuna's crimson pupils swept over the spot where the cursed spirit had finally vanished. From his perspective, even without the boost from this finger, this cursed spirit's power was much higher than an ordinary special grade. If he were to use his own "fingers" as a rough unit of power measurement, this cursed spirit would have the equivalent of at least four or five fingers.
But even so, standing before him, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, it was still as vulnerable as a chicken or dog. From teleporting close, to lightly using his left hand and turning it into a block of mango with a "Dismantle" slash—the entire process was smooth, and the opponent hadn't even been able to put up a decent fight.
This was the crushing of absolute power and rank.
Moreover, a cursed spirit, condensed from negative emotions, has a certain natural and attribute disadvantage when facing a top-tier sorcerer who has mastered Reverse Cursed Technique (which can generate positive energy).
Swallowing the finger was part of restoring his power. Sukuna's mood seemed to improve slightly. But then, as if sensing something, his crimson eyes slightly turned, sliding to the periphery of the crumbling domain, towards the shadow of the still-not-fully-recovered Youth Palace building.
The casual satisfaction on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a playful expression mixed with mockery, impatience, and a deeper coldness.
"Heh..."
Suddenly, Sukuna let out a cold laugh, his voice echoing in the empty hall with undisguised contempt. He raised his voice slightly and mockingly called out to the invisible air around him, or more precisely, to the "gaze" he had sensed hiding behind the shadows and ruins:
"You've been here all along, yet you're still going to hide like a mouse in a gutter?"
His gaze seemed to pierce through the ruined walls, seeing beyond those beings who had been spying on this battle and the terrifying aura of Sukuna's "appearance," but didn't dare to approach.
"What? Are you so afraid of that bastard Zen'in Genji that you've become these ghostly gazes that don't even dare to show your faces?"
He directly named the name, his tone full of provocation and extreme disdain for those "hiding."
The three words "Zen'in Genji" seemed to have some magical quality, causing the air in the space to freeze for a moment. Even Megumi Fushiguro, barely holding on in the distance, was shocked by this sudden mention of the name.
Sukuna's words trailed off, their afterglow still flickering among the destroyed ruins.
A brief dead silence.
Then, about ten meters in front of Sukuna, in a relatively intact open space where the dim moonlight filtered in through a window, the air rippled like water waves.
No sharp surge of cursed energy, no terrifying scene of spatial tearing, only an extremely natural appearance, as if she was meant to be there.
A woman quietly appeared.
She was wearing a magnificent and complex twelve-layered kimono, its base a dark purple, embroidered with dark gold butterflies and mandala patterns, flowing with a quiet and ominous luster in the moonlight. Her long hair was like a waterfall, dark as night, tied up with a delicate tortoiseshell hairpin, a few strands falling along her neck.
Her appearance was beautiful, her skin as white as the finest porcelain, her brows and eyes delicate and picturesque, her lips a light cherry-pink. But within those slightly raised phoenix eyes flowed not charm, but an inhuman depth and indifference born of endless years.
She stood quietly, incompatible with the collapsed and chaotic ruins around her, like a noble lady stepping out of an ancient painting, or a fairy condensed from the dark night.
The woman raised her slender, jade-like hand, elegantly covering the corner of her mouth with her wide sleeve, slightly bowing to Sukuna's crimson vertical pupils (Itadori), performing a flawless ancient salute.
Her voice was like a jade chime, soft and tactful, but with a strange, temperature-less calm:
"Guanyin, Your Highness."
She used the ancient and reverent name for Sukuna.
"It has been a thousand years since I last saw you. This humble one… has missed you dearly." When she said "missed you dearly," her tone remained flat, not a trace of sincerity, as if it were just routine and necessary courtesy.
Sukuna looked at the woman in the kimono who had suddenly appeared before him, radiating an unpredictable aura. There was no surprise on his face, only a knowing sense of "of course" and a deeper impatience. He waved his hand, the movement as casual as shooing away a fly.
"Don't come to this booth," Sukuna's voice was hoarse, with undisguised directness and malice. "What should I call you? A rat that doesn't dare to see the light?"
The woman didn't get angry at Sukuna's sharp sarcasm but laughed softly, her smile perfect yet fake.
"Just call me 'Fujiwara,'" she lowered her sleeve to cover her lips, looking at Sukuna with her deep eyes, and seemed to see a more distant and feared figure beyond him. "After all… that lord has a bad impression of me and other cursed spirits."
She paused, her tone still calm, but with a hint of subtlety and complexity:
"He won't even give us a chance to speak. If I didn't hide, for fear of being 'met' by him… I don't want to face that god's wrath."
The "lord" and "god" in her mouth undoubtedly referred to Zen'in Genji.
Hearing this, the mockery in Sukuna's crimson eyes grew even stronger. He sneered and looked "Fujiwara" up and down:
"Heh… At least you have some self-awareness, knowing that you're something that shouldn't be seen."
He paused and spat out two words full of contempt:
"Foolish woman."
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