"Two domains?"
The sight of Kenjaku standing at the nexus of two clashing metaphysical worlds sent a shockwave through both sides. Even Souma Gojo, with his knowledge of the future, couldn't help but marvel. Back in his previous life, many fans had theorized that Kenjaku might possess multiple domains given his history, but witnessing it in the flesh was a different matter entirely. The depth of the ancient sorcerer's scheming and his sheer potential were staggering.
Sukuna cast a sidelong glance at his ally, his gaze uncharacteristically complex. Even the King of Curses hadn't been privy to this trump card. Hiding it that deep, you old fox, he thought with a flick of his eyes.
Souma snapped out of his surprise almost instantly, his hands rising to weave a new seal. "Two domains or ten, it doesn't matter. You think that's enough to stop me?"
"Domain Expansion: The Stainless Realm!"
A blinding halo of light erupted from Souma's palms. But this time, the domain did not manifest as a massive, obsidian sphere. Instead, it was violently compressed, shrinking down until it was a tiny, shimmering orb no larger than a glass marble resting on his fingertip.
"Condensing a domain into this form and throwing it like a Hollow Purple... bet you haven't seen this move before!"
Souma smirked and flicked the marble. Satoru, Geto, and the others watched in awe. To manipulate the vast architecture of a domain with such precision—turning a conceptual space into a handheld projectile—required a level of control over cursed energy that bordered on the divine. If others were merely riding the waves of their domains, Souma was the ocean itself, bending it to his will.
"What?!"
Kenjaku's face paled. He had thought that by revealing his dual domains, he would be the one dictating the rhythm of the battlefield. Instead, Souma had just rewritten the rules of engagement.
The marble-sized Stainless Realm streaked through the air. It lacked an intimidating roar or blinding special effects; it looked like nothing more than a quiet, black pebble. Yet, the pressure Kenjaku felt was immense. Sweat poured down his face as the tiny orb entered his space.
"Hah!"
Kenjaku roared, slamming his palms together. The techniques of Womb Profusion and Vajra Descent converged simultaneously, attempting to crush the tiny intruder. But the orb reacted like a coiled spring. The moment it met resistance, it detonated outward. The "Stainless Realm" expanded with the force of a supernova, its golden light washing over the darkness.
In an instant, Kenjaku's dual domains melted away like snow under boiling water.
When the light faded and the onlookers could finally open their eyes, they were greeted by nothing but a colossal, smoking crater. Kenjaku and his allies had vanished, leaving only a haunting echo of a voice vibrating in the air.
"Ten days from now. Shinjuku. The final battle!"
In a Hidden Underground Sanctum
Jogo and Mahito leaned against each other for support, their forms tattered and weak. Sukuna stood a few paces away, arms crossed and expressionless, with Uraume standing dutifully behind him.
Suddenly, the air rippled with cursed energy, and a figure stumbled out of the shadows.
"Cough... hack... a little help here..."
Sukuna's eye twitched as he gestured to Uraume. The subordinate stepped forward, looking entirely reluctant, and propped up the shambling remains of Kenjaku.
The Kenjaku before them was a ghost of his former self. His eyes were sunken, his skin was sallow and clinging to his bones, and his golden hair had turned a dull, lifeless gray. He looked like a man who had been worked to death in a frozen wasteland and then dragged through a meat grinder.
Even Sukuna had to ask, "Are you still among the living, Kenjaku?"
"Barely," Kenjaku whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "Maintaining two domains at once... especially against a monster like Souma Gojo... I'm lucky my soul didn't shatter on the spot."
Sukuna let out a cold laugh. "You're full of surprises, old friend. Simultaneously deploying two domains is a feat even I haven't bothered to master."
Kenjaku wisely kept his mouth shut, maintaining an expression that suggested he was far too close to death to engage in banter.
"Tch!" Sukuna snorted, turning his back on them. "Out of my way, curse." He kicked Jogo aside with effortless disdain and walked into the darkness.
"You bastard..." Jogo hissed under his breath. Mahito, who had recovered slightly, placed a steadying hand on Jogo's shoulder and shook his head. They both knew Sukuna's temperament; if Jogo snapped, Sukuna was just as likely to kill his own teammate as he was the enemy.
Jogo growled, his gaze falling to the stump of his left arm. He tried to surge his cursed energy to regenerate the limb, but the flesh refused to knit. The wound remained cauterized and cold.
"What is this?"
Mahito stepped in, his eyes narrowing. "Let me try."
"Idle Transfiguration!"
Mahito's technique worked by reshaping the soul to dictate the form of the flesh; it was a healing method that bypassed the limitations of traditional Reverse Cursed Technique. Yet, even under the touch of Mahito's hand, Jogo's arm showed no signs of returning.
"This is a wound inflicted upon the very blueprint of your soul," Mahito said, his voice heavy. "Even my technique can't restore what has been fundamentally erased."
"A soul-targeting attack?!"
Kenjaku's eyes sharpened at the realization. A cold shiver ran down Mahito's spine. That strike from Satoru Gojo's Inverted Spear—it hadn't been meant for Jogo. It had been aimed at him.
Souma Gojo definitely knows, Kenjaku thought, his mind racing. He knows how vital Mahito and Idle Transfiguration are to the merger. He's not just fighting us; he's systematically dismantling my win conditions.
It was a suffocating feeling. No matter what Kenjaku planned—whether it was Yuji, Mechamaru, the fingers, or the Prison Realm—Souma was always there, standing in the way like he had read the script of the world itself.
Mahito looked at Kenjaku, a flicker of murderous resentment crossing his face before he masked it.
Jogo, ever the purist, looked at his missing arm with a somber resolve. "Why are they so obsessed with targeting you, Mahito?"
Kenjaku, hiding his true intentions, offered a half-truth. "They likely see your massive potential. They want to pluck the bud before it blooms into something they can't handle."
Jogo nodded, accepting the logic. To him, compared to the monsters on the Gojo side, Mahito's growth was the only thing that offered them a sliver of hope. He looked at the shadows where Dagon and Hanami had once stood, a deep sadness washing over him.
"Dagon is gone. Now Hanami is gone too..." Jogo placed his remaining hand on Mahito's shoulder. "But that's alright. It doesn't matter if I fall next."
"Mahito, you must survive. You were born from the collective malice and grudges of humanity. Your potential is the greatest among the four of us. As long as you live, our cause lives."
"As long as humans exist, you will keep growing. There is no ceiling for you."
Jogo looked at the cauterized stump of his left arm, his voice ringing with a tragic, ironclad conviction.
"The one laughing in the wilderness a hundred years from now... it doesn't need to be me. I don't regret losing this arm to save you, Mahito."
"Because I have bet my left arm on the future!"
Read The Full Story at: Patreon.com/zefyrus