"What a hassle," Taisai Tensei sighed, listening to the distant roars of the Cursed Spirits. "Why didn't I notice those so-called Cursed Spirits before?"
It had been years since Taisai Tensei awakened his memories, yet he had never encountered creatures like these. A large part of the reason lay within his own transformation—his body altered by Yamato and Ryūjin Jakka. Ordinary people might overlook it, but Cursed Spirits could clearly sense the overwhelming power within him, and so, driven by primal instinct, they stayed far away.
Now he stood silently on the rooftop's edge, eyes closed.
Within his perception, the city below unfolded as a constellation of lights—black for Cursed Spirits, red for Cursed Users, blue for Jujutsu Sorcerers and one half-blue, half-red light belonging to Yuji Itadori.
Taisai Tensei rested his hand on the Yamato. Then, in a single, fluid motion—he drew, swung, and sheathed. No flash, no tremor, no spectacular blast. Just a calm, ordinary sword swing.
Yet, in that stillness, Tokyo itself seemed to convulse. An invisible wave rippled outward from him, spreading across the city like the breath of a sleeping god.
Cursed Spirits—whether mindless husks or Special Grade monsters—froze in place, caught by an unseen grip. Cracks split across their bodies, black Cursed Energy boiling within, and one by one, they burst like overfilled vessels, reduced to shreds of flesh before dissipating into black mist.
Down on the streets, a giant Cursed Spirit lunged toward a fleeing human—only for its head to cleanly detach mid-motion, the cut so smooth it gleamed like glass. It never even had time to roar before it collapsed into nothingness.
Even the Cursed Users weren't spared. Those preparing to strike against the Jujutsu Sorcerers suddenly felt a coldness crawl from their feet to their skulls. The next instant, their bodies fell apart—precisely sliced, blood painting the pavement like scattered ink.
On a distant rooftop, Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro froze mid-conversation. The shockwave in the air made their skin prickle. They rushed to the ledge—and below, the chaos was gone. Cursed Spirits, players, enemies… all reduced to silence.
Itadori swallowed hard. "Is it… Nero?"
He could feel it—the sharp, impossibly clean cuts. He knew this sensation. He'd felt it once before, deep inside himself, when Sukuna's Cursed Technique and Domain were crushed effortlessly by Taisai Tensei.
"It should be," Megumi replied quietly, his eyes narrowing.
"That barrier must've been broken by him too, right?"
"Besides him, who else could?"
Itadori sighed. "Megumi, if we'd asked him for help earlier, maybe we wouldn't have had to fight so hard."
Megumi hesitated, then smirked faintly. "Yeah. Probably."
Itadori perked up. "Then do we even need the Angel? Couldn't Nero just split open the prison realm himself?"
Megumi rolled his eyes. "It's not that simple. The prison realm is a Special Grade Cursed Object—its structure isn't normal. Forcing it open from the outside could tear the internal seal apart and scatter it into countless false spaces. No one could tell which one's real."
"Tch, that's annoying~ but Nero's strong enough, right?"
Megumi frowned, thoughtful. "Even if he could, the question is—would he? And if he did, it might trigger something worse. Power like that doesn't come without risk."
"And we don't even know where he is," he added. "Or if he still cares about our side at all."
Itadori pouted. "Man, what a waste. The guy shows up once, wipes out everything, and just disappears again."
Megumi clapped his shoulder. "We stick to our plan. Find the Angel. Her Cursed Technique nullifies everything—maybe even the seal. That's the safer route."
"Yeah, yeah~" Itadori muttered. "But when this is over, I'm finding Nero myself. I'm gonna ask him how to get stronger."
Megumi just shook his head. "One problem at a time, Itadori."
Below, the battle-scarred city was finally quiet. Sorcerers emerged from hiding, tending to the wounded, gathering survivors amid the ruins.
And far away, in the Tombs of the Star—
The once-holy dome was torn open like paper, fragments of barrier glimmering faintly as they fell like dying starlight. Yuki Tsukumo slumped on the ground, Reverse Cursed Technique fading from her skin. Her body had healed, but her spirit trembled. She stared up at the gash in the sky, voice barely a whisper.
"The Culling Game barrier… gone? Was that him?"
Tengen's form hovered beside her, his inhuman face carrying a rare gravity. After a long silence, his voice came out low and uncertain:
"It should be. That power— I've never felt anything like it. It's almost—" He trailed off, searching for the word.
"Like a shinigami" Choso said quietly.
Both turned to him, startled, but neither refuted it. They couldn't. It fit too well.
"What do we do next?" Yuki murmured.
Tengen's gaze drifted through the ruined dome toward the far horizon. "Release Gojo Satoru. The seal is broken. Sukuna still exists."
Yuki gave a small, wild laugh. "What's the big deal? Even if Sukuna's at full power, that 'shinigame' could slice him in half with one swing."
"A god wouldn't bother," Choso said, his tone cold.
Yuki's grin faded.
"If Kenjaku hadn't touched something he cared about," Choso continued, "he'd have stayed a silent observer. Even if the world burned."
Tengen closed his eyes. He didn't argue. Because Choso was right. Power doesn't always bring salvation. Especially when it belongs to a god—more unlikely for god of death.
The palace fell into silence—only the soft fall of barrier dust echoing like fading ash.
—
Meanwhile, in the High Council chamber, the air was suffocating. Paper screens lined the walls, shadows of old men flickering behind them.
"Kento Nanami," an aged voice rasped. "He contacted Nero before. What was his report?"
Another answered dryly, "Not interested." That reply alone was enough to silence the room again.
Finally, someone spoke, trembling. "Then… how should we view Nero?"
"View?" A sneer followed. "No. We should be asking how he views us."
No one laughed. No one dared. The eldest voice finally spoke again, tired but absolute. "Treat him kindly. If he asks anything of us agree unconditionally."
No one objected. No one breathed. Because in front of a being who could erase every anomaly within Tokyo with a casual swing, power and pride were worthless.
Life itself was a fragile privilege. And against a god of death who might act—or not act—on a whim, even hope was a luxury.
Then came the new topic.
"What about Gojo Satoru and Yuji Itadori?" an old woman's voice hissed. "Itadori's return proves Yuta Okkotsu deceived us!"
"Agreed," another snapped. "As Sukuna's vessel, Itadori must be executed immediately!"
"Seconded!"
"Must be eliminated!"
The frenzy grew. Kenjaku was gone, but fear demanded a new target. Finally, the eldest voice again: cold, final.
"Execute immediately. Dispatch Yuki Tsukumo and Kento Nanami. Assemble all available Sorcerers. Encircle and kill Yuji Itadori."
A tense silence followed. Every veteran in the shadows knew—it was less a mission and more a trap. Yuki Tsukumo, defiant by nature. Kento Nanami, ruled by fairness. Both unpredictable. Both untrustworthy.
The real goal wasn't the execution. It was to test loyalty. And to make sure no one freed Gojo Satoru.
The verdict was sealed. The steps of an attendant faded away, carrying death orders under flickering candlelight.
—
Yuki Tsukumo tucked away her phone and laughed softly. "Encircle and kill the kid, huh? And me as the leader? How entertaining."
Choso's crimson eyes gleamed. "What will you do? Itadori is my brother."
Yuki stretched, bones popping, grin widening. "Do? Obviously… I'll 'encircle and kill' him. Let's go!"
Her laughter echoed across the shattered palace, wild and defiant.
Tengen said nothing. Choso merely turned his gaze away, already understanding.
The higher-ups might think they held the reins—but in truth, every piece on the board was already moving on its own.
The hunt had begun. But who the true prey was—remained to be seen.
And somewhere far above Tokyo, the god with the sword stood beneath the fading moonlight—eyes closed, unmoved by all of it.