Ichigo woke with a violent, involuntary gasp.
Air tore into his lungs as if his body had forgotten how to breathe, his back arching sharply off the rooftop before slamming back down against the concrete. The impact barely registered. Pain existed, distantly, like an old memory rather than something happening now.
Something else arrived first.
It crept in at the edges of his awareness, thick and unfamiliar, heavy in a way that made his skin prickle. It was not reishi. He knew reishi. He had lived in it, breathed it, shaped it for years. This was not that.
It was also not reiryoku.
And yet.
It brushed against something deep inside him that recognized it instantly.
Ichigo sucked in another breath, slower this time, and the sensation intensified. The air around him felt wrong. Dense. Pressurized. Like standing at the bottom of a deep body of water where the weight was constant and inescapable.
Then the energy surfaced.
It bled out of him, not in a clean release, not in a focused surge, but in a raw, uncontrolled exhalation of presence. It spilled from his body in visible waves, a deep, malignant crimson that clung to the air like smoke and heat combined. The color was not bright. It was dark, heavy, saturated with intent.
The rooftop shuddered.
At first it was subtle, a low vibration humming through the concrete beneath his back. Then the vibration deepened, turning into a sustained tremor that ran through the building's structure. The sound followed a moment later, a deep groan rising from below as support beams strained under pressure they were never designed to withstand.
Ichigo's fingers twitched.
Instinct took over.
He flexed.
Not muscle.
Presence.
The same unconscious motion he had performed countless times before when releasing spiritual pressure. The same internal shift, the same widening of something deep inside him.
The effect was immediate.
The crimson energy detonated outward.
The air screamed as it was displaced, a concussive wave ripping across the rooftop and beyond. Windows in nearby buildings exploded outward in rapid succession, glass bursting into glittering fragments that rained down onto the streets below. Streetlights flared violently, burning white-hot for a split second before popping and dying, plunging entire blocks into darkness.
Birds fell from the sky.
Mid-flight, wings locked, bodies dropping straight down as if the sky itself had rejected them. Feathers scattered through the air, caught and shredded by the pressure rolling outward from Ichigo's body.
The night recoiled.
Sirens wailed briefly in the distance before cutting out all at once, their electronics overwhelmed. Power lines snapped, sparks arcing wildly as they fell. The air itself felt poisoned, thick with something ancient and furious that made it difficult to breathe.
Ichigo pushed his palms against the ground and rose to his knees.
The energy did not lessen.
It intensified.
It rolled off him in dense, visible layers, curling around his shoulders and back like living smoke. The pressure was no longer expanding evenly. It surged in pulses now, each one heavier than the last, each one pressing down on the environment with suffocating intent.
The building beneath him began to crack.
Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the rooftop, spreading outward from where Ichigo knelt. Concrete crumbled at the edges, chunks breaking free and tumbling into the streets far below. The structure groaned again, louder this time, as if protesting the continued existence of something so heavy on its back.
Ichigo drew in another breath.
The energy answered.
It surged higher, thicker, the crimson hue darkening until it was almost black at its densest points. The air around him warped visibly, bending light and sound alike. Heat rippled outward, distorting the skyline beyond the rooftop.
This was not release.
This was overflow.
Ichigo rose to his feet.
For a brief moment, his body protested. Old wounds screamed in delayed response, nerves firing wildly as memory caught up with reality. Then the sensation vanished entirely.
The cuts across his torso sealed.
Flesh pulled together with decisive force, knitting itself closed as if the idea of injury was being rejected outright. There was no lingering warmth, no soothing sensation. Just finality.
Ichigo straightened fully.
The crimson energy pouring off him spiked again.
It wafted upward in thick columns now, coiling and folding in on itself like storm clouds given form. The pressure expanded vertically, crushing downward at the same time, creating a suffocating dome around him.
Megumi dropped to one knee several meters away.
His hands slapped against the rooftop as his stomach revolted violently, bile spilling onto the cracked concrete. His breath came in short, panicked gasps, eyes wide and unfocused as the pressure bore down on him from all sides.
"This… isn't…" he muttered, voice shaking, unable to finish the thought.
Sukuna did not move.
For the first time since manifesting, he was utterly still.
His grin froze mid-stretch, arms still spread wide as if welcoming destruction. The crimson light reflected in his eyes, and something unreadable flickered there. Surprise. Recognition. Hunger sharpened to something closer to reverence.
Ichigo took another step forward.
The ground buckled beneath his foot.
The energy surrounding him thickened again, rolling off his body in such volume that it felt less like an aura and more like a storm given will. The sky above seemed lower now, pressed down by his presence alone.
His school uniform began to change.
The fabric darkened gradually, threads reweaving themselves with quiet intent. The black deepened into something heavier, richer, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Pale lines traced themselves along the sleeves and chest, precise and geometric, intersecting at sharp angles before flowing into more jagged, irregular patterns near the hem.
The collar rose slightly, framing his neck with a rigid edge that suggested armor without becoming it. The sleeves tightened along his arms, fabric clinging closer as if shaped by his movement rather than stitched. At the same time, sections of the uniform loosened and flowed, trailing faintly in the shifting pressure like fabric caught in a constant wind.
The crimson energy licked across the altered fabric, crawling along the pale lines and causing them to pulse faintly in time with his heartbeat. Each pulse sent another wave of pressure outward, the environment responding violently every time.
Ichigo barely noticed.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From relief.
Something solid formed in his palms.
No light.
No sound.
Just weight.
Then another.
Twin blades resolved into existence as if they had always been there, edges cutting cleanly through the air around them. One was longer, heavier, its surface dark and uneven, radiating restrained violence. The other was shorter, sleeker, marked with pale lines similar to those on his uniform, glowing faintly as if charged with contained force.
Ichigo stared down at them.
His breath hitched hard in his chest.
The world seemed to narrow, the chaos fading into background noise as his fingers tightened around the hilts. The weight was perfect. Familiar, yet undeniably different.
Real.
Present.
Tears welled up in his eyes without warning, blurring his vision as he laughed once, breathless and broken. He swallowed hard, forcing the sound down as his grip tightened.
"You're here," he whispered.
The energy around him surged in response.
It flared violently, the crimson mass expanding outward in a massive wave that flattened everything within reach. The rooftop buckled further, entire sections collapsing inward as the building finally gave way under the strain.
Behind him, Sukuna's laughter erupted again.
But this time it was not mocking.
It was ecstatic.
Wild, unrestrained laughter tore out of him as he threw his head back, eyes wide and almost bulging, veins standing out across his face. He spread his arms even wider, chest heaving as the pressure washed over him.
"Yes," he breathed, voice trembling with excitement. "That's it."
He leaned forward slightly, gaze locked onto Ichigo like a starving man staring at a feast.
"That pressure… that hunger," Sukuna said, laughter breaking through his words. "You're finally interesting."
Ichigo lifted his head.
The cursed energy coiled tighter around him, massive and suffocating, pouring off him in such volume that the rooftop looked impossibly small by comparison. The sky above distorted, clouds tearing apart as if pushed away by sheer presence.
He took one steady breath.
The air cracked.
Ichigo rolled his shoulder once and rested the longer blade across it, the familiar weight settling in like it had always belonged there. The balance was different from what he remembered, heavier in a way that felt honest, but the gesture came naturally all the same. Muscle memory did the work for him. He did not think about it. He did not need to.
A grin crept across his face before he could stop it.
It was small at first, restrained, almost disbelieving. Then it widened, slow and unmistakable, the kind of smile that only appeared when everything finally clicked into place. When the noise in his head went quiet. When his body and intent aligned so perfectly that doubt simply had nowhere left to exist.
Across from him, Sukuna stared.
His face was blank, carved smooth into something unreadable, but the crinkle at the corners of his eyes never faded. It was there, sharp and keen, like a predator watching something interesting test its footing.
Ichigo flexed again.
Not his muscles.
His presence.
The cursed energy pouring off him surged outward in response, thick and oppressive, washing across the rooftop in a visible wave. The air buckled. Loose debris skittered away from his feet. The pressure rolled outward like a tide, heavy enough to make the night itself feel compressed.
Sukuna clicked his tongue.
"You're wasting it," he said lightly. "That much output, unfocused. Sloppy."
Ichigo glanced at him sideways, still grinning. "I've got enough to spare."
Sukuna's lips curved.
The smile he returned was slow, deliberate, full of promise.
Without warning, the air split.
There was no chant. No gesture. No buildup.
A wordless dismantle tore through the space between them, invisible and absolute, aimed cleanly at Ichigo's torso.
Ichigo did not move.
He flexed again.
The cursed energy around him condensed instantly, drawing inward just enough to harden, to thicken, to resist. The dismantle struck and dispersed, its force breaking apart against the density of Ichigo's output like a blade hitting reinforced steel.
When the distortion cleared, all that remained was a shallow scratch across his chest.
Ichigo looked down at it.
Then back up at Sukuna.
He tilted his head slightly, curious rather than offended. "Is that all?"
Sukuna's smile did not falter.
He was already moving.
The rooftop shattered beneath his feet as he launched himself forward, the distance between them collapsing in an instant. Ichigo shifted his stance and swung the great sword down in a brutal arc, the sheer mass of it forcing the air to scream as it descended.
Sukuna did not retreat.
Thousands of miniature dismantles erupted between them, razor-thin slashes firing in rapid succession. They struck the descending blade again and again, each one carving space, each one pushing back just enough to halt the sword's momentum. The air filled with shrill distortion as steel met invisible force, sparks of cursed energy bursting outward with every impact.
Ichigo's eyes widened.
'Clever.'
Sukuna slipped through the narrow opening created by the clash, his movement fluid and precise. He appeared inside Ichigo's guard for a fraction of a second, close enough that Ichigo could feel his presence press against his own.
Too close.
Ichigo twisted, bringing the shorter blade up instinctively, but Sukuna was already there. His hand brushed Ichigo's torso, fingers light and deliberate, like a surgeon marking a point of incision.
"Cleave," Sukuna said softly.
The word landed like a verdict.
Ichigo reacted without thinking. His consciousness was pulled away from his body, he was watching his own body.
He drew the cursed energy inward, not outward, pulling it tight along his veins. The pressure collapsed toward his core, then surged through his circulatory pathways in an instant. Pale lines ignited beneath his skin, glowing faintly as the energy reinforced him from within, strengthening flesh and bone simultaneously.
"Blut Vene."
The cleave struck and skidded across reinforced resistance instead of tearing through it, the force dispersing in a violent ripple that shoved Ichigo backward rather than opening him up. Sukuna leapt away at the same time, another dismantle snapping through the space he had just occupied to cover his retreat.
They separated, distance reestablished.
Sukuna laughed quietly. "I can't wait to dissect you."
Ichigo steadied himself, feet grinding against cracked concrete. The cursed energy around him surged again, thicker now, heavier, the pressure rolling outward in waves that made the skyline tremble.
"You're about to lose," Ichigo said calmly. "I can't hold back anymore. They're getting impatient, I don't blame them."
He raised both swords.
The cursed energy responded explosively.
It roared outward, no longer leaking but erupting, a massive crimson storm tearing free of him in all directions. The rooftop groaned in protest as entire sections collapsed inward, unable to withstand the sheer density of presence bearing down on them. The air distorted violently, light bending and snapping as if reality itself was straining under the load.
Ichigo crossed the twin blades before him.
The longer sword angled downward, heavy and final. The shorter blade aligned against it, precise and steady, the pale lines along its surface blazing brighter as the energy synchronized between them.
He drew in a deep breath.
The world seemed to pause.
The cursed energy compressed inward, folding back toward him, coiling tight as if preparing to be unleashed in a single, catastrophic motion.
"GETSUGA JŪJISHŌ!"
The name tore out of Ichigo's throat like a challenge hurled at the sky itself.
Both blades came down and crossed in a violent, decisive arc, cursed energy detonating at the point of convergence. It did not fire like a beam. It tore forward, a massive cruciform wave of crimson-black force ripping through the air with a shriek so loud it drowned out the city below.
The heavens split.
Clouds above the city were carved apart as if a god had dragged a blade through the sky, the night opening in jagged lines that glowed faintly before collapsing inward. The pressure wave followed a heartbeat later, thunder cracking outward as the atmosphere violently corrected itself.
Buildings down the block did not merely crack.
They sheared.
Entire facades were sliced clean off, concrete and steel screaming as they collapsed inward. Windows did not shatter. They vanished, pulverized into glittering dust carried away on the shockwave. Streets buckled. Asphalt peeled upward like paper. The attack carved a glowing scar straight through the cityscape, continuing far beyond sight, leaving ruin in its wake.
The world screamed.
And then it went quiet.
Ichigo stood at the epicenter, blades lowered slightly, cursed energy still rolling off him in heavy, oppressive waves. The destruction behind him did not register. He did not look back. He did not care.
For the first time in his life, that truth settled cleanly in his chest.
He did not fight to protect.
He fought for himself.
For the rush in his veins. For the clarity that came when everything else fell away. For the way his heart hammered in his chest and his blood sang with purpose. The selfishness of it did not disgust him.
It exhilarated him.
He had never felt better.
Ahead of him, Sukuna stood untouched.
Not a scratch.
Not a speck of dust on his clothes.
He had moved, of course. The moment the attack had been unleashed, he had already stepped aside, slipping out of its path with lazy precision. Now he stood several meters away, hands tucked casually into his pockets, head tilted as he surveyed the destruction.
He whistled.
Low. Long. Appreciative.
"Impressive," Sukuna said lightly. "You've got potential."
His eyes slid back to Ichigo, interest dimming almost immediately.
"But you're terrible at jujutsu."
Ichigo said nothing.
"That attack," Sukuna continued, tone almost instructional, "I could see it coming miles away. No subtlety. No restraint. You practically announced it to me. Amateur."
He sighed, bored now, and rolled his shoulders. "I might have overestimated you."
Ichigo ignored him.
He lowered his gaze slightly, focusing inward instead.
This energy. This cursed energy, as Sukuna called it. It was nothing like what he was used to. Reiryokyu had been instinctive. Responsive. Reishi had flowed like breath itself.
This felt like sludge.
Heavy. Resistant. Sticky.
It lagged through his body, responding a fraction of a second slower than his intent. Every attempt to shape it sent a dull pressure through his skull. The back of his eyeballs ached as if someone were pressing thumbs into them from the inside. A headache bloomed sharply, splitting his thoughts down the middle.
Ichigo clenched his teeth.
Focus.
He forced the cursed energy downward, dragging it through his body toward his legs. It resisted, thick and stubborn, like moving through deep mud. His vision swam. His temples throbbed violently.
Then it clicked.
The energy aligned. It felt easier to manipulate for all of his complaining about it not being reishi, he felt like he could instinctively make it malleable. Ichigo wondered if his Quincy abilities awakened; that blut vene technique, that was all Zangetsu. It felt like his body was hijacked for a moment, and taught how to use it.
Ichigo's feet barely touched the ground.
The world slid.
One moment, he was standing fifteen meters away.
The next, he was right in front of Sukuna.
No sound. No flash. No distortion like flash step or sonido. The distance simply ceased to exist, collapsed under the weight of his intent. The ground beneath his feet did not crack because he had not pushed off it.
He had glided across reality itself.
The technique left a faint pressure vacuum behind him, air rushing inward an instant too late.
His blades were already crossed, momentum carried forward, edges screaming as they aimed cleanly for Sukuna's neck.
"Sturmtritt," Ichigo breathed.
Storm step.
A bastardized echo of everything he had ever been, dragged into something new.
For a split second, Sukuna's eyes widened.
Then the world stopped.
Not froze.
Stopped.
Ichigo felt it immediately. Resistance where there should have been none. His blades slowed, then halted entirely, suspended inches from their target as if pressing against an invisible wall.
"What?" Ichigo snarled, pushing harder.
The pressure did not budge.
Instead, an infuriatingly cheerful voice filled the space around him, light and grating and entirely too close.
"My, my," the voice said. "How did you go under the radar, carrot top?"
A tall figure stood between Ichigo and Sukuna now, as if he had always been there. White hair. A ridiculous smile. Hands raised casually, two fingers extended toward Ichigo's blades, holding them back with effortless ease.
Ichigo's irritation spiked instantly, sharp and visceral.
He already hated this man.