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Chapter 3: The Gojo Family Estate (Continued)
"Even in my extensive studies, I never expected to address the King of Heroes directly. Truly, my grandson has outdone himself this time." The elder Gojo turned back to the assembled group, his weathered features settling into a more serious expression. "To answer your question, the ritual was preserved for an eventuality our ancestors foresaw—what they called 'The Convergence.'"
"The Convergence?" echoed Durga, her multiple arms shifting position as she leaned forward with interest. "Explain this concept."
The elder Gojo moved to an ancient cabinet in the corner of the study. From it, he withdrew a scroll case made of dark wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl symbols that seemed to shift under direct observation. As he returned to the table, Satoru noted something unusual—his normally impassive grandfather's hands trembled slightly.
"This document has been in our family's keeping for seven centuries," the old man explained, carefully opening the case. "It was entrusted to us by a being who claimed to exist beyond conventional time. We were instructed to preserve both this prophecy and the summoning circle until specific cosmic conditions were met."
"Let me guess," Satoru interjected, leaning back on his cushion with affected nonchalance. "Those conditions happened to coincide with me stumbling into that shrine?"
"Not coincidence," his grandfather corrected sharply. "Inevitability. The prophecy specifically mentions 'the void master with eyes of six realms' as the catalyst."
"That's... uncomfortably specific," Getō remarked, exchanging a concerned glance with Satoru.
The elder Gojo carefully unrolled the scroll on the table. The parchment was impossibly well-preserved, the ink still vibrant despite its age. The text was written in a script that seemed to change languages depending on who was viewing it—each person saw it in a form they could understand.
"'When the barriers thin and worlds collide, the Devourer shall sense its opportunity,'" he read aloud. "'The Void Master with Eyes of Six Realms shall call forth the Crimson Thrones—ten pillars of power from beyond the veil. Without them, all realities shall become sustenance for the Great Hunger that dwells between dimensions.'"
"The Devourer of Worlds," Durga whispered, her cosmic eyes widening in recognition. "An ancient entity that feeds on collapsed realities. I had thought it mere legend, a story to frighten godlings."
"Evidently not," Morgan observed dryly. "Though such cosmic threats often begin as myths before proving themselves quite real."
Satoru leaned forward, his usual smirk replaced with genuine curiosity. "So what exactly is this 'Devourer'?"
His grandfather continued reading: "'The Devourer is neither god nor demon, but entropy given consciousness, hunger given purpose. It has consumed seventeen realities before being contained by the Combined Pantheons at great cost. Its prison weakens when barriers between worlds thin, allowing it to extend tendrils of influence into vulnerable realities.'"
"Great," Satoru sighed dramatically. "So I accidentally activated an emergency summoning ritual designed to fight a multidimensional cosmic horror. Tuesday gets more interesting by the hour."
"You could show more concern," Artoria admonished, her regal features set in a serious expression. "If this text speaks truth, all reality faces an existential threat."
"Concern doesn't solve problems," Satoru countered with a shrug. "Power does. And from what I'm seeing, we've got plenty of that in this room."
Nero clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "Exactly! What glorious theater this shall be! The Emperor of Rome against a cosmic devourer! My greatest role yet!"
Gilgamesh, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. "I find it curious that specific heroes were summoned. My legend spans countless alternatives across the multiverse—why this particular gathering of powers?"
The elder Gojo nodded approvingly at the question. "The prophecy addresses this as well: 'Each Throne bears an aspect the Devourer cannot comprehend—together they form a concept beyond its grasp.'"
"What concept?" Ishtar demanded imperiously. "As a goddess, I embody many divine principles."
"That," the old man admitted, "the prophecy does not specify. It seems we must discover this ourselves."
Musashi, who had been fidgeting with increasing restlessness, suddenly stood up and stretched. "All this talk of prophecy and cosmic horror is giving me a headache. I understand things better through action." She pointed dramatically at Satoru. "You. Fight me. Now. I want to see this 'Limitless' technique firsthand."
"Now isn't really the time—" Getō began.
"Actually," interrupted the elder Gojo with unexpected approval, "witnessing my grandson's abilities might provide insight into why he specifically was chosen as the catalyst."
"Seriously?" Satoru's eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. "You want me to spar with the legendary Miyamoto Musashi in the family dojo? You usually lecture me about restraint and property damage."
"The circumstances are... extraordinary," his grandfather replied with dry understatement. "Besides, the dojo was reinforced after your last 'training accident.'"
Nobunaga leapt to her feet with boundless enthusiasm. "A demonstration of power! Excellent! I shall judge which fighting style would be most effective on the battlefield."
"I too would observe this contest," Artoria added with more dignity but equal interest. "To understand our anchor's capabilities."
As the group moved through the compound toward the dojo—a separate building of impressive proportions—Arcueid fell into step beside Satoru.
"They don't understand what you are, do they?" she asked quietly, her crimson eyes studying him with ancient perception.
"What do you mean?" Satoru replied, genuinely curious.
"I can sense it," she explained, her voice pitched for his ears alone. "The gap between infinity and zero. The conceptual weight you carry. Even among special existences, you are... unique."
Satoru's usual smirk softened into something more genuine. "Takes one to know one, True Ancestor."
"Indeed," she agreed with a small smile. "The others see power. I see potential that even you haven't fully grasped yet."
The dojo itself was a study in traditional Japanese austerity—polished wooden floors, sliding paper doors open to a stone garden, and walls adorned only with the Gojo family crest. What wasn't traditional were the reinforced barrier techniques visibly woven into every surface, glowing faintly to Satoru's Six Eyes.
As the others arranged themselves around the perimeter, Musashi stepped into the center, drawing both swords with fluid grace. "No holding back," she instructed, her playful demeanor shifting to focused intensity. "Show me the power that makes gods wary."
"If you insist," Satoru replied, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket. With them gone, his piercing blue eyes were revealed—eyes that seemed to contain more depth than physically possible, as if looking into infinity itself.
What followed was less a sparring match and more a demonstration of fundamental differences in power. Musashi moved with superhuman speed and precision, her dual blades creating a whirlwind of lethal steel that would have overwhelmed any ordinary opponent. But Satoru simply stood still, hands in his pockets, as every strike stopped millimeters from his body—caught in the infinity between her blade and his skin.
"Fascinating," Durga commented, her multiple arms crossed as she observed. "He doesn't manipulate space so much as he manipulates the concept of distance itself."
"It's annoying is what it is," Musashi complained, increasing her speed to supernatural levels, her blades becoming nearly invisible to normal perception. Still, they touched nothing but the endless void of Limitless.
"Want to see something cool?" Satoru offered casually. Without waiting for a response, he extended one finger toward Musashi. "Inverted Spear of Heaven."
A needle-thin beam of blue energy shot from his fingertip. Instead of moving outward in a straight line, it bent in physically impossible ways, circling around Musashi's perfect defenses before stopping just short of her neck.
"I lose," she acknowledged with a delighted laugh rather than disappointment. "Absolutely magnificent! A technique that negates distance itself—no wonder you were chosen!"
From his position at the edge of the dojo, the elder Gojo nodded thoughtfully. "The Six Eyes allow him to perceive the fundamental nature of reality. The Limitless allows him to manipulate it. Together, they make him uniquely suited to combat an entity that exists between dimensions."
"That doesn't explain why he needed us," Raikou pointed out reasonably. "If his power is so formidable, why summon divine assistance?"
"Because power alone is insufficient," Morgan answered before the elder could speak. "This 'Devourer' consumes realities. It operates on a conceptual level beyond mere force."
"Exactly," confirmed the elder Gojo. "The prophecy suggests the Devourer has one fundamental weakness—it cannot comprehend certain abstract concepts. Each of you embodies something essential to creating a conceptual framework the entity cannot devour."
"Love!" declared Nero dramatically, striking a pose. "I clearly represent divine love and artistic passion!"
"Justice and righteous rule," suggested Artoria more soberly.
"Maternal protection," offered Raikou with serene confidence.
"Conquest and ambition," Nobunaga added with a predatory grin.
"Divine femininity and celestial power," Ishtar proclaimed haughtily.
"Perhaps," the elder Gojo interjected carefully, "we should not rush to simple interpretations. The concepts needed may be more complex than single virtues."
Before the discussion could continue, a servant appeared at the dojo entrance, bowing deeply. "Honored Elder, forgive the interruption. There is an emergency call from Jujutsu High School. Multiple breach events are occurring throughout Tokyo. Special Grade curses are manifesting at an unprecedented rate."
The atmosphere in the dojo shifted instantly from philosophical to tactical. Getō stepped forward, his expression grave. "It's starting already. The weakened barriers between dimensions are allowing cursed energy to concentrate more potently."
"Not just cursed energy," Durga added, her cosmic senses extending outward. "I can feel rifts forming—small tears in reality where the Devourer's influence is beginning to seep through."
"Well then," Satoru said, replacing his sunglasses with a flourish, "looks like we get to test our teamwork sooner than expected."
"You propose to combat these manifestations directly?" his grandfather asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Got a better idea?" Satoru challenged. "We can sit around theorizing about cosmic concepts, or we can go punch some curses and close some rifts. I know which sounds more productive."
"For once, I agree with your impetuous approach," the elder conceded. "Direct engagement may provide insights we cannot gain through contemplation alone."
"Great!" Satoru clapped his hands together. "Team Void and the Crimson Thrones are on the case!"
"We are not calling ourselves that," Gilgamesh stated flatly.
"Too late, I already decided," Satoru replied with his trademark grin. "Getō, where's the nearest breach?"
Getō consulted briefly with the servant before answering. "Shinjuku. Multiple Special Grade manifestations near the station. Civilian casualties already reported."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Nobunaga demanded eagerly, materializing a rifle-like weapon that definitely hadn't been visible a moment ago. "Let's hunt!"
"One moment," interrupted Morgan, her expression thoughtful. "If we're venturing into public, perhaps we should consider less... conspicuous appearances."
"An excellent point," agreed the elder Gojo. "Ten supernatural entities accompanying my grandson would attract precisely the kind of attention we don't need."
"I can assist with that," Morgan offered, beginning to weave complex patterns in the air with her elegant fingers. "A simple glamour to make us appear as ordinary humans to those without magical perception."
"Absolutely not," objected Ishtar immediately. "I refuse to diminish my divine radiance!"
"Would you prefer to explain to curious humans why you're floating?" Arcueid asked reasonably. "Modern society has specific protocols for dealing with the supernatural—most involving laboratories and experiments."
Ishtar hesitated, clearly disliking both options. "Fine," she eventually conceded. "But know that I do this under protest."
Morgan completed her spell with a final gesture. Shimmering energy cascaded over each of the divine women, not changing their actual appearances but adding a perceptual filter for ordinary humans. To those without magical senses, they would now appear as conventionally attractive but unremarkable women in modern clothing.
"This feels strange," Musashi commented, examining her unchanged-yet-changed self. "Like wearing invisible clothes over my real clothes."
"The glamour affects perception, not reality," Morgan explained. "You remain exactly as you are—observers simply interpret your appearance differently."
"Ingenious," Durga approved. "Though I would be curious to see how my multiple arms are perceived."
"Probably as a fashion statement," Satoru suggested with a grin. "Tokyo sees weirder things on a daily basis. Now, let's go curse hunting!"
As they prepared to depart, the elder Gojo approached his grandson privately. "Satoru," he said quietly, "despite your cavalier attitude, I trust you understand the gravity of this situation."
"Worried about me, old man?" Satoru teased, though with less edge than usual.
"Concerned for all reality," his grandfather corrected. "The prophecy was quite clear about one detail—should the Devourer fully manifest, not even your Limitless would be sufficient to stop it."
"Good thing I've got ten divine powerhouses who can't get more than 150 meters away from me, then," Satoru replied with forced lightness.
The elder's expression remained serious. "There was one final line in the prophecy I did not read aloud: 'The Void Master shall be tested beyond limit and reason. His greatest strength and greatest weakness shall be one and the same.'"
"Cryptic," Satoru observed, though a tiny furrow appeared between his brows. "Any idea what it means?"
"I had always assumed it referred to your power," his grandfather admitted. "Now, I'm less certain."
"Well," Satoru said, his usual smirk returning, "guess we'll find out the fun way."
As they rejoined the others, Getō was already organizing their departure. "I've contacted Shoko," he informed Satoru. "She's bringing transportation to the main gate."
"Transportation for eleven people?" Satoru questioned skeptically.
"A school bus," Getō clarified with a hint of embarrassment. "It was the only vehicle available on short notice."
"Perfect!" Nero exclaimed with unwarranted enthusiasm. "A chariot worthy of my imperial procession!"
"More like a clown car for cosmic entities," Gilgamesh muttered, though she followed as they headed toward the compound entrance.
At the gate, they found not just Shoko waiting with a Jujutsu High minibus, but also an unexpected addition—a tall, blindfolded man leaning casually against the vehicle.
"Gojo," the newcomer greeted with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. "Getō called for backup. Said something about you collecting divine women like trading cards."
"Toji Fushiguro," Satoru replied, genuine surprise in his tone. "Didn't expect the higher-ups to deploy the Sorcerer Killer for this."
"They didn't," Toji clarified. "I volunteered when I heard the chaos you were causing. Couldn't miss the show."
As introductions were quickly made, Toji studied each of the divine women with obvious interest despite his blindfold. When presented to Durga, he gave a respectful nod. "Six arms. Efficient. I approve."
"He cannot see cursed energy," Satoru explained to the confused group. "Yet he's one of the most dangerous jujutsu sorcerers alive."
"Not a sorcerer," Toji corrected automatically. "Just a man with good tools and better instincts."
"He's being modest," Shoko interjected dryly as she leaned out the bus window. "He's killed more Special Grades than anyone except Gojo here. Now, are we going to Shinjuku, or should I just wait while you all exchange compliments?"
As they boarded the bus—an undignified but practical solution to their transportation needs—Arcueid paused beside Toji. "Interesting," she murmured. "A perfect void in a sea of energy. You're like a black hole in the magical spectrum."
"Been called worse," Toji replied with a crooked smile.
The unlikely group—ten divine women, three jujutsu sorcerers, and one exceptionally dangerous normal human—departed the Gojo compound bound for Shinjuku, where the first battle against the Devourer's influence awaited.
None of them noticed the subtle distortion in reality that followed in their wake—a ripple effect caused by so much conceptual power moving in concert. Nor did they see the shadowy observer on a nearby rooftop, whose form seemed to flicker between human and something vastly more disturbing.
"The pieces move as foreseen," the figure whispered to itself, its voice containing multiple overlapping tones. "The game begins."
Chapter 4: Shinjuku Showdown
Shinjuku Station at rush hour was normally chaotic enough—thousands of commuters flowing through one of the world's busiest transit hubs with the organized precision that characterized Tokyo's urban efficiency. Today, that precision had collapsed into panic.
The Jujutsu High minibus pulled up two blocks from the station, unable to get closer due to abandoned vehicles, emergency service cordons, and fleeing civilians. Even from this distance, the group could see the problem clearly—a massive distortion hanging in the air above the station plaza, like a wound in reality itself. The tear shimmered with unnatural colors, pulsing in rhythms that hurt the eyes to follow. Around it, multiple Special Grade curses had already materialized—grotesque amalgamations of negative human emotions given physical form.
"Well," Satoru observed cheerfully as they disembarked, "this looks fun."
"You have an unusual definition of 'fun,'" Artoria remarked, her invisible armor materializing as Morgan's glamour adjusted to accommodate combat preparations.
"Plan?" Getō asked concisely, already preparing cursed techniques of his own.
"Simple," Satoru replied, stretching casually. "I'll handle the rift. The rest of you deal with the curses. Try not to cause excessive collateral damage—there are still civilians in the area."
"You propose to address the dimensional tear alone?" Durga questioned, her multiple arms already manifesting divine weapons.
"It's kind of my specialty," Satoru explained. "Spatial manipulation, infinity, all that good stuff. The curses are honestly more your department."
"Bold words," Gilgamesh commented, golden portals beginning to open around her. "Let us see if your confidence is justified, Void Master."
"Wait," Morgan interrupted sharply. "Before we engage, understand that these manifestations may not be mere curses. If the Devourer's influence is bleeding through, they could be hybrid entities—part curse, part extra-dimensional predator."
"So hit them harder," suggested Nobunaga pragmatically, her rifle materializing in her hands. "Until they stop moving."
"Works for me," Toji agreed, drawing a cursed blade from within his jacket.
Before they could organize further, the decision was made for them. One of the larger curses—a writhing mass of faces and limbs that stood nearly twenty feet tall—noticed their arrival and charged, buildings crumbling in its wake.
"Scatter!" Satoru commanded, and the group split apart with supernatural coordination.
What followed was unlike anything Tokyo had ever witnessed, though thankfully most civilians saw only destructive forces being countered by what appeared to be specialized emergency responders—Morgan's glamour working overtime to interpret their divine abilities in terms modern humans could process.
Artoria and Musashi moved in perfect tandem, their blades slicing through cursed flesh with precision that spoke of centuries of mastery. Where Artoria was methodical and efficient, Musashi was creative and unpredictable—together forming a swordsmanship duet that reduced curses to dissolving fragments.
"Three o'clock!" Musashi called, and without looking, Artoria pivoted to intercept a snake-like entity attempting to flank them.
"Your left flank is open," Artoria observed calmly, her invisible sword cleaving through corrupted space.
"Only intentionally!" Musashi replied with a grin, using the apparent vulnerability to bait another curse into a devastating counter-attack.
Meanwhile, Ishtar and Gilgamesh had taken to higher ground, raining divine projectiles from opposite buildings. Their similar powers led to unexpected competition rather than cooperation.
"Eight curses eliminated!" Ishtar announced proudly, conjuring a massive energy sphere.
"Twelve," countered Gilgamesh coolly, summoning yet more weapons from her golden portals. "Quality over quantity, goddess of limited imagination."
"How dare you!" Ishtar seethed, redirecting her attack to obliterate a particularly massive curse with excessive force. "Nine!"
On the ground, Raikou moved with the grace of a dancer and the lethality of an apex predator, her massive weapon cleaving through multiple enemies with each swing. Her expression remained serene, almost motherly, even as she bisected monstrosities twice her size.
"Such unclean entities," she commented disapprovingly, as if discussing wayward children rather than cosmic horrors. "They simply need proper guidance." Her blade punctuated this "guidance" by removing three cursed heads simultaneously.
Nobunaga had transformed the battlefield around her into what could only be described as a war zone, her rifles materializing and firing in continuous sequence, cursed entities dissolving under her barrage. "This is living!" she cackled with unrestrained glee. "Bring more! The Demon King hungers for battle!"
To everyone's surprise, Nero had proven remarkably effective, her crimson sword trailing theatrical flames as she danced through enemies with imperial flourish. "Witness the glory of Rome!" she proclaimed, each strike accompanied by dramatic posing that somehow failed to diminish her combat effectiveness.
Arcueid moved like living mercury, her form blurring as she simply dismantled curses with bare hands, her crimson eyes glowing with predatory satisfaction. "These creatures," she observed to no one in particular, "taste of both familiar corruption and something... alien. Fascinating combination."
Durga's multiple arms wielded multiple divine weapons simultaneously, each strike precisely calculated to sever the connection between the curse and its extra-dimensional power source. "They are anchored to multiple realities at once," she explained between attacks. "Sever the anchor points, and they collapse."
Morgan remained slightly removed from direct combat, her hands weaving complex patterns that altered the fundamental properties of space around key curses, making them vulnerable to her companions' attacks. "Target the confluences," she directed, highlighting weak points with arcane markings. "Where realities bleed together, they are vulnerable."
Toji and Getō worked with the seamless coordination of longtime comrades, the former's physical prowess complementing the latter's cursed techniques. Where Getō would identify and expose weaknesses, Toji would exploit them with brutal efficiency.
"Behind you," Getō warned without looking.
Toji was already moving, his cursed tool slicing through the approaching threat. "Counted on it," he replied calmly.
At the center of this divine battle royale, Satoru Gojo approached the dimensional rift directly. With his sunglasses removed, his Six Eyes analyzed the tear in reality with perception beyond human understanding. What he saw troubled even his usually unshakable confidence.
The rift wasn't just a tear—it was a constructed portal, deliberately engineered from the other side. Something with intelligence and purpose was systematically weakening the barriers between dimensions.
"Interesting approach," he murmured to himself, raising his hands toward the distortion. "Let's see how you handle this."
Focusing his Limitless technique, Satoru began to manipulate the very concept of boundaries around the rift. Where the tear sought to connect two points in different realities, he imposed an infinite distance between them—forcing the connection to stretch across an impossible gap.
Inside the rift, something responded to his interference. A presence vast and hungry became aware of him specifically. Through the distorted opening, a tendril of pure conceptual wrongness extended toward him—not a physical appendage but a probe of alien consciousness.
"Hello to you too," Satoru greeted it with characteristic irreverence, even as he intensified his technique. "Sorry, but this reality's not on the menu."
The tendril recoiled from the infinity he imposed, but rather than retreating, it adapted—changing its approach from direct intrusion to something more subtle. The air around Satoru began to crystallize with mathematical patterns that shouldn't exist in three-dimensional space.
"Clever," he acknowledged. "Trying to establish a mathematical bridgehead instead of a physical one."
From behind him, Morgan called out a warning: "Gojo! It's attempting to bypass conventional spacetime! Your infinity has limits against conceptual mathematics!"
"Everything has limits," he called back with a grin. "Even limitlessness. That's the paradox."
Focusing his technique differently, Satoru began to treat the mathematical intrusion not as a spatial problem but as a logical one. Instead of imposing infinity, he created a recursive loop—forcing the alien mathematics to fold back upon themselves in an endless tautology.
The response was immediate and violent. The rift convulsed, the alien presence recoiling from this unexpected defense. For a moment, it seemed Satoru had succeeded in forcing it to retreat.
Then the tear expanded dramatically, its edges lashing out like whips of distorted spacetime. One caught Satoru across his defenses, sending him flying backward into a concrete wall with enough force to shatter it completely.
"Gojo!" several voices called out in alarm.
Emerging from the rubble with only minor scratches, Satoru dusted himself off casually. "Okay, so it can adapt. This just got interesting."
"You have a strange concept of 'interesting,'" Artoria commented as she moved to his side, her invisible sword held ready.
"Says the ancient king fighting alongside the Emperor of Rome against cosmic horrors," he countered with a smirk.
"He has a point," Nero conceded, appearing on his other flank with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Though even my artistic sensibilities find this scenario extreme."
The rift pulsed again, and this time what emerged was more defined—a creature that seemed to exist in multiple states simultaneously, its form shifting between different nightmarish configurations with each movement. Where a head might be expected, it possessed a swirling vortex of eyes, mouths, and sensory organs from species that had never existed in this reality.
"That," observed Durga as she joined them, "is an avatar of the Devourer. A small fragment of its consciousness given semi-physical form."
"Small?" questioned Toji as he backed toward them, eyeing the thirty-foot monstrosity.
"Cosmically speaking, yes," Durga confirmed.
The avatar surveyed the battlefield with its multitude of eyes, seemingly assessing the unusual gathering of powers arrayed against it. When it spoke, the sound didn't come from any visible mouth but resonated directly in their minds.
"INTERESTING COLLECTION," it communicated, the concepts behind its words causing minor nosebleeds in those less accustomed to cosmic contact. "THE PROPHECY MOVES AS ANTICIPATED. YET INCOMPLETE."
"It knows about the prophecy," Morgan realized aloud. "This was expected."
"PATTERNS WITHIN PATTERNS," the entity continued. "YOUR SUMMONING WAS FORESEEN. ACCOUNTED FOR. PART OF THE GREATER CONSUMPTION."
"If you foresaw us," Gilgamesh called out imperiously, golden portals opening around her in increasing numbers, "then you should have foreseen your defeat!"
A sound like reality tearing emanated from the avatar—something approximating laughter. "DEFEAT IS A LINEAR CONCEPT. I EXIST BEYOND LINEARITY."
"Enough talk," Satoru decided, stepping forward with hands raised. "Blue."
The concentrated attack of cursed energy shot toward the avatar with perfect precision—only to vanish completely upon contact with its shifting form.
"JUJUTSU. QUAINT. ENERGY BASED ON HUMAN NEGATIVITY. DELICIOUS BUT INSUBSTANTIAL."
"Try this then," Durga suggested, her six arms moving in complex patterns. Divine energy of a completely different nature coalesced into a blazing sphere that she launched toward the entity.
The avatar absorbed this attack as well, though with visible effort. "DIVINE ENERGY. RICHER. SUBSTANTIVE. BUT LIMITED BY CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORKS I HAVE ALREADY DEVOURED."
"It's learning from each attack," Getō realized. "Adapting to each energy type we use against it."
"Then we use everything at once," Nobunaga suggested with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. "Overwhelm its ability to adapt!"
"No," Morgan countermanded. "That's exactly what it wants—to experience all our powers simultaneously so it can develop comprehensive countermeasures."
The avatar's form rippled with what might have been amusement. "THE SORCERESS UNDERSTANDS. CLEVER. BUT TEMPORARY. ALL DEFENSES ARE FINITE AGAINST INFINITE HUNGER."
Satoru stepped forward again, head tilted in curious assessment. "You keep talking about infinity and concepts. Let's test your understanding of those ideas."
Before anyone could stop him, he activated his Domain Expansion—"Unlimited Void."
The world around them transformed instantly. Infinite information flooded the space within his domain, overwhelming the senses of everyone caught within it. To his allies, protected by their connection to him through the summoning, it was manageable—disorienting but navigable. To ordinary curses, it would be paralyzing.
The avatar, however, seemed to expand within the domain rather than being constrained by it. "FASCINATING. YOU MANIPULATE INFORMATION AS INFINITE. YET STILL BOUND BY CONCEPTUAL LIMITATIONS OF YOUR REALITY."
Within the domain, the entity began to change—absorbing and processing the infinite information faster than should have been possible. It was learning, adapting, evolving in real-time.
"This isn't working," Arcueid observed calmly. "It's using your domain to accelerate its understanding of our reality's fundamental laws."
Satoru immediately collapsed the domain, returning them to normal space. The avatar, however, had changed—its form now more cohesive, more adapted to their reality's physical laws.
"GRATITUDE, VOID MASTER. YOUR DOMAIN HAS BEEN MOST EDUCATIONAL."
"Well, that backfired," Satoru admitted with unusual frankness. "New plan needed."
The avatar began to advance, each step warping the physical space around it. "I HAVE TASTED ENOUGH OF THIS REALITY TO BEGIN PROPER CONSUMPTION. YOUR RESISTANCE HAS BEEN INFORMATIVE BUT ULTIMATELY FUTILE."
As it reached toward them with limbs that seemed to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously, Artoria suddenly stepped forward, her invisible sword held high.
"I invoke the concept of the rightful king's protection," she declared formally. "This domain is under my sovereignty and not yours to take."
To everyone's surprise, the avatar hesitated, its reaching limbs pausing in mid-extension. "SOVEREIGNTY... PROBLEMATIC CONCEPT. KINGSHIP IMPLIES LEGITIMATE DOMINION. LEGITIMATE DOMINION IMPLIES COSMIC LAW TRANSCENDING CONSUMPTION."
"She found something it can't easily process," Morgan realized aloud. "Quick—reinforce the concept!"
"The Roman Emperor claims this territory as part of her divine stage!" Nero added, stepping beside Artoria with theatrical flourish. "All who enter perform by my permission alone!"
The avatar's form rippled with what appeared to be discomfort. "IMPERIAL DIVINE RIGHT... CONFLICTING SOVEREIGNTY... CONCEPTUAL CONTRADICTION..."
Understanding dawned across the group simultaneously—each divine woman represented a concept or principle that, when properly combined, created a framework the Devourer couldn't easily assimilate.
"I claim maternal protection over all within my sight," Raikou declared, her serene expression belied by the deadly precision with which she held her weapon. "None may harm those under a mother's care."
"As Demon King, I declare conquest over this territory," Nobunaga added with predatory glee. "Its fate is mine to determine, not yours to consume!"
One by one, each divine woman added her conceptual declaration, creating an overlapping framework of seemingly contradictory principles—sovereignty, divinity, protection, conquest, artistry, maternal care, chaotic freedom, perfect order—each claim reinforcing a complex conceptual lattice around their position.
The avatar began to retreat, its form destabilizing under the conceptual assault. "UNEXPECTED COMPATIBILITY OF INCOMPATIBLE CONCEPTS. THE PROPHECY... MISLEADING... NEED RECALIBRATION..."
With a sound like reality tearing itself apart, the entity withdrew into the rift, which began to collapse in on itself. As it disappeared, a final message resonated in their minds:
"THIS ENCOUNTER... INFORMATIVE. ADJUSTMENTS WILL BE MADE. THE HUNGER REMAINS. WE WILL MEET AGAIN WHEN THE FINAL THRONE MANIFESTS."
The rift sealed itself with a thunderclap of displaced air, leaving behind only scorched pavement and lingering distortions in the fabric of reality.
For a moment, silence reigned over the battlefield. Then:
"Final Throne?" Getō questioned, looking around at their group. "I count ten of you already."
"The prophecy mentioned nothing about an eleventh throne," the elder Gojo had stated earlier.
"It wouldn't," Morgan realized, her expression troubled. "If there's a final piece deliberately hidden from both sides..."
"A wild card," Satoru concluded, his usual smirk returning despite the seriousness of the situation. "Something neither
Chapter 4: Shinjuku Showdown (Continued)
"A wild card," Satoru concluded, his usual smirk returning despite the seriousness of the situation. "Something neither we nor the Devourer fully understands. I love cosmic mysteries with last-minute plot twists."
"This isn't one of your games, Gojo," Getō admonished, though without real heat. The battle had left even his usually composed demeanor slightly frayed.
Around them, Shinjuku Station lay in partial ruins. Emergency services were already responding to the aftermath, though Morgan's glamour continued to shield the true nature of what had occurred. To ordinary observers, it appeared as though a localized earthquake or gas explosion had caused the damage.
"We should withdraw before the authorities establish a complete perimeter," Toji suggested pragmatically, already sheathing his cursed tools. "Explanations would be... complicated."
"Agreed," Artoria concurred, her invisible sword vanishing as she resumed a more civilian posture. "Strategic retreat is prudent."
As they made their way back toward the minibus, Musashi fell into step beside Satoru, her usual boundless energy somewhat subdued by the encounter.
"You fought well," she offered, studying him with newfound respect. "That domain of yours—it's unlike any technique I've encountered across multiple dimensions."
"Thanks," Satoru replied, unusually modest. "Your swordsmanship isn't too shabby either. Maybe you can give me lessons sometime."
Musashi brightened immediately. "Really? You'd want to learn the blade? I thought you were entirely committed to your fancy infinity techniques."
"Versatility matters," he shrugged. "Besides, I've always wanted to try dual-wielding. Looks cool."
"It is cool!" she agreed enthusiastically. "Though it took me decades to master properly. The balance between offense and defense, the coordination between hands, the way each blade must complement rather than mirror the other—"
"And she's off," Nobunaga interrupted with a good-natured eye roll. "Once she starts talking about swords, she never stops. Like me with cannons."
"Speaking of which," Satoru inquired, "where exactly did those rifles come from? One moment your hands were empty, the next you're running around with antique firearms."
Nobunaga grinned, materializing a rifle briefly before dismissing it again. "My Noble Phantasm—Demon King of the Sixth Heaven. I can manifest the weapons that helped me unify Japan. Though technically, the original weapons were much more primitive. These are more like... conceptual upgrades."
"Fascinating," Morgan commented, joining their conversation. "Your legend has evolved beyond historical fact, incorporating the concept of 'modern warfare' retroactively into your capabilities."
"Legends are living things," Durga added from behind them, her multiple arms now reduced to a more conventional two to avoid undue attention as Morgan's glamour strained to compensate. "They grow and change as humanity's understanding evolves. What was once a divine bow becomes a rifle when society's concept of 'ultimate weapon' changes."
They reached the minibus, which Shoko had somehow managed to keep intact despite the chaos. She leaned against the door, casually smoking a cigarette with the unflappable demeanor of someone who had seen too much strangeness to be easily impressed.
"So," she greeted them dryly, "cosmic horror defeated? Reality saved? Or should I keep the engine running?"
"More like round one complete," Satoru replied, dropping into the front passenger seat with casual grace. "The big bad retreated but promised a rematch. Very dramatic exit. Almost theatrical."
"Properly theatrical exits require better lighting and musical accompaniment," Nero critiqued, boarding the bus with imperial flair. "I could offer consultation on dramatic timing if needed."
As the others filed into the vehicle, Gilgamesh paused beside Shoko, studying her with unexpected interest. "You are remarkably composed for a mortal witnessing divine battle."
Shoko shrugged, extinguishing her cigarette. "I regularly patch up this idiot," she nodded toward Satoru, "after he does something impossible and breaks himself in the process. Cosmic entities are just Tuesday at this point."
"I like her," Gilgamesh declared to no one in particular before claiming a seat at the very back of the bus—a position that somehow still managed to seem throne-like through sheer force of imperial presence.
Once everyone was aboard, Shoko pulled away from the devastation, navigating through side streets to avoid the growing emergency response. Inside the bus, the unlikely allies processed their first engagement with the Devourer's avatar.
"I find it troubling that the entity expected us," Artoria observed, her regal features set in serious contemplation. "It spoke as though our summoning was part of some larger design."
"Classic villain monologuing," Satoru dismissed with a wave. "They always claim to have planned everything."
"No," Morgan countered, her eyes distant with calculation. "Its surprise was genuine when our conceptual frameworks created resistance it couldn't immediately overcome. That part wasn't anticipated."
"So what was?" Getō pressed. "What aspect of this situation benefits a cosmic horror?"
A thoughtful silence fell over the group. It was Raikou who finally spoke, her maternal instincts lending her a different perspective.
"The binding," she suggested softly. "Our connection to the Void Master. Perhaps that serves some purpose we don't yet understand."
"That's... unsettlingly plausible," Toji admitted. "Ten incredibly powerful entities suddenly tethered to one of the strongest sorcerers alive—that's a vulnerability as much as a strength."
"You think I'm being manipulated into serving as some kind of cosmic lightning rod?" Satoru asked, sounding more interested than concerned by the possibility.
"Or a focus point," Durga elaborated, her cosmic perception reaching beyond normal understanding. "Your Limitless technique manipulates infinity—a concept the Devourer clearly finds relevant to its own nature."
"It said something about the 'final throne,'" Arcueid reminded them, her crimson eyes reflective. "As if our gathering was incomplete."
"Which brings us back to the question," Ishtar interjected with divine impatience, "who or what is this eleventh throne? And why was it not summoned with the rest of us?"
No one had an immediate answer. The bus continued through Tokyo's streets, the setting sun casting long shadows across their troubled faces.
"We should return to the Gojo compound," Getō suggested eventually. "Your grandfather might have insights we lack, especially regarding this 'final throne' concept."
"Actually," Satoru countered, his expression shifting to something more serious than his usual flippant demeanor, "I think we need to go back to where this started. The shrine."
"The abandoned shrine where the summoning circle was located?" Toji clarified. "You think there are more answers there?"
"I only gave it a cursory exploration before triggering the circle," Satoru admitted. "There could be more information—scrolls, artifacts, additional rooms we missed."
"A sound strategy," approved Artoria. "Return to the source of the mystery."
"Can we eat first?" Musashi asked hopefully. "Fighting cosmic horrors works up an appetite."
"I concur," Gilgamesh declared unexpectedly. "I require sustenance. Perhaps more of those 'takoyaki' spheres."
Satoru grinned. "The King of Heroes has developed a taste for street food. This dimension trip is already changing you."
"Do not presume familiarity, mongrel," Gilgamesh retorted, though without her usual imperial heat. "I merely wish to further sample your era's culinary achievements for anthropological purposes."
"Of course," Satoru agreed with mock seriousness. "Very scientific of you."
"I know an excellent ramen place near the foot of the mountain," Toji offered unexpectedly. "Small, family-owned. They won't ask questions about strange customers."
"Ramen?" several voices inquired simultaneously.
"Oh, you're all in for a treat," Satoru promised. "Shoko, change of plans. Take us to Toji's ramen spot, then the mountain shrine."
"Anyone going to check if I'm okay driving you around all night?" Shoko asked dryly.
"Are you?" Satoru countered.
"Obviously," she sighed. "Someone has to keep you alive through whatever apocalyptic nonsense you've stumbled into this time."
As Shoko adjusted their route, the conversation in the bus shifted toward lighter topics—a collective, unspoken agreement to process the battle before facing whatever came next. The divine women, many of whom had spent centuries or millennia in isolation from ordinary human experiences, found themselves surprisingly engaged by simple questions about modern Tokyo.
"So these 'vending machines' truly dispense food and drink without human intervention?" Nero marveled. "In Rome, we had aqueducts bringing water to the city, but nothing so convenient as beverages available at the touch of a button!"
"Wait until you see smartphone apps," Satoru replied with amusement. "You can have entire meals delivered to your location without speaking to anyone."
"Truly this era has achieved remarkable convenience," Artoria acknowledged. "Though I question whether such ease fosters proper character development in the populace."
"Says the king who had servants for everything," Morgan needled with sisterly familiarity that surprised those who knew their mythological relationship.
Artoria actually smiled slightly. "A fair critique. Perhaps in this life we both might learn the value of self-sufficiency."
This unexpectedly cordial exchange between legendary enemies caused several eyebrows to raise. Noticing their surprise, Morgan shrugged elegantly.
"Eternity is too long to maintain old grudges," she explained. "When you've existed in the Throne of Heroes for centuries, perspective shifts."
"Some grudges are worth maintaining," Ishtar objected, glancing meaningfully at Gilgamesh.
"Still upset about that rejection, goddess?" Gilgamesh taunted with imperial satisfaction. "Millennia later, and your divine pride remains bruised."
"You ungrateful, arrogant—" Ishtar began, floating slightly in her agitation.
"Ladies," Raikou interrupted with gentle authority, "perhaps we could save divine conflicts for after we've addressed the cosmic horror attempting to devour reality?"
Both goddesses subsided, though the glares they exchanged promised future confrontation. Satoru watched this interaction with undisguised amusement.
"You know," he observed to no one in particular, "for legendary beings of immense power, you're all surprisingly... human."
"Is that disappointment I hear?" Arcueid asked with knowing amusement.
"Fascination," Satoru corrected. "I grew up hearing about gods and heroes as these perfect, untouchable existences. It's interesting to see you argue about ramen and vending machines."
"Legends are built by historians and poets," Durga explained wisely. "They capture deeds but rarely the texture of being. Even divine entities experience personality, preference, and yes, pettiness."
"I am not petty," Ishtar objected petulantly.
"Your three-century flooding of Mesopotamia over a perceived insult suggests otherwise," Gilgamesh commented dryly.
"They deserved it," Ishtar muttered, crossing her arms.
The bus turned onto a narrow street lined with small, traditional establishments. Lanterns cast warm light across wooden facades as evening settled over the city. Toji directed Shoko to a tiny restaurant nestled between a flower shop and a bookstore, its entrance marked only by a faded noren curtain.
"This is it," Toji announced as Shoko parked nearby. "Best tonkotsu ramen in Tokyo, and the owner minds his own business."
As they disembarked, Satoru hung back slightly, allowing the others to enter first. Getō noticed and paused beside him.
"Something on your mind?" he asked, recognizing the rare thoughtful expression on his friend's face.
"Just processing," Satoru admitted, watching as the divine women filed into the small restaurant with varying degrees of dignity and enthusiasm. "Twenty-four hours ago, my biggest concern was avoiding the next boring assignment from the higher-ups. Now I'm responsible for ten mythological powerhouses and potentially saving all of reality."
"Worried?" Getō inquired with mild surprise.
"Nah," Satoru grinned, his customary confidence returning. "Just appreciating the upgrade in my problem portfolio. Much more interesting than exorcising run-of-the-mill curses."
"Only you would consider a cosmic horror an 'interesting upgrade,'" Getō sighed, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
Inside the ramen shop, an elderly proprietor was taking the unusual group in stride, his weathered face betraying only minor surprise at the diverse customers suddenly filling his tiny establishment. The restaurant consisted of just twelve seats at a counter facing the open kitchen, forcing the group to squeeze in shoulder-to-shoulder.
"Specialty is tonkotsu," the old man informed them gruffly. "Miso and shoyu also available. That's it."
"Tonkotsu for everyone," Toji decided before anyone could complicate the order. "Trust me."
As bowls of steaming ramen were prepared with methodical precision, the divine women observed the process with varying degrees of interest. Musashi practically vibrated with anticipation, while Gilgamesh affected regal boredom that couldn't quite conceal her curiosity.
When the bowls arrived—enormous portions of rich, cloudy broth filled with noodles, sliced pork, soft-boiled eggs, and green onions—reactions were immediate and diverse.
"By Jupiter's beard!" Nero exclaimed after her first taste. "This humble soup surpasses the finest culinary creations of my imperial kitchens!"
"The balance of flavors is exquisite," Artoria commented with genuine appreciation. "Complex yet harmonious."
Musashi had already devoured half her bowl with enthusiastic slurping. "SO GOOD!" she managed between mouthfuls.
Even Gilgamesh seemed impressed, though she maintained her dignity while eating with delicate precision. "Acceptable," she declared, which from her was practically a standing ovation.
Durga approached the meal with philosophical interest. "The bone broth contains the essence of life itself—sustenance rendered from sacrifice. Poetic on multiple levels."
Ishtar picked suspiciously at the unfamiliar food before cautiously trying a spoonful of broth. Her eyes widened in surprise. "This... this is divine! What magical technique creates such flavor?"
"Eighteen-hour bone simmer, proper skimming, controlled temperature," the shop owner answered matter-of-factly while preparing more noodles. "No magic. Just patience."
"Sometimes the most profound achievements require no supernatural power," Morgan observed, clearly enjoying her own portion. "Simply dedication to perfecting a craft."
As they ate, the conversation naturally turned back to their situation, but with the relaxed quality that good food often brings to tactical discussions.
"So," Toji began between bites, "what exactly are we looking for at this shrine?"
"Information about the eleventh throne," Satoru replied. "And maybe why the Devourer seems to have anticipated our summoning."
"Perhaps the prophecy your grandfather showed us wasn't the only one," Artoria suggested thoughtfully. "If there were multiple predictions..."
"Then different factions might have access to different pieces of information," Nobunaga concluded, displaying surprising strategic insight beneath her chaotic exterior. "Classic intelligence scenario—no single group has the complete picture."
"The question remains," Durga interjected, setting down her spoon with precise movement, "why was this 'final throne' not summoned with the rest of us? What makes it different?"
"And who—or what—could it be?" Arcueid added. "If ten of us represent concepts the Devourer struggles to understand, what concept would be powerful enough to be deliberately hidden from everyone?"
A thoughtful silence fell over the group, broken only by Musashi requesting a second bowl with unabashed enthusiasm.
"Maybe it's not about power," Raikou suggested quietly. "Perhaps it's about unpredictability. Something neither side can account for because its nature is fundamentally random."
"Chaos magic?" Morgan considered, tapping her elegant fingers against her bowl. "Possible, though pure chaos entities are rare even among the pantheons."
"Or," Ishtar proposed with uncharacteristic seriousness, "it's something so fundamental to reality that its involvement cannot be directly prophesied without creating a paradox."
Getō looked up sharply. "Like a keystone concept. Remove it from reality's architecture, even conceptually by naming it in prophecy, and the whole structure becomes unstable."
"That... actually makes sense," Satoru acknowledged, his expression thoughtful. "If the eleventh throne represents something truly fundamental, naming it directly could create a self-referential loop that damages reality itself."
"So we're searching for an unnamed, possibly conceptual entity that's fundamental to reality but somehow compatible with your summoning circle," Toji summarized dryly. "Should be easy to spot."
Satoru grinned. "Exactly. Just look for the glowing cosmic question mark."
As they finished their meal—Musashi somehow managing to consume three full bowls—the shop owner approached with uncharacteristic hesitation.
"Pardon," he said quietly, addressing Satoru directly. "But are you by chance connected to the Gojo family?"
Satoru's posture shifted subtly to alertness, though his expression remained casual. "What makes you ask?"
The old man reached beneath the counter and produced a small wooden box, aged and polished by decades of handling. "A woman left this here nearly forty years ago. Said someone matching your description would come with a group of unusual companions. Said to give you this when that happened."
An expectant hush fell over the group as Satoru accepted the box. It was simple but elegant, crafted from cherry wood with no visible hinges or lock, just a seamless construction that suggested master craftsmanship.
"Did she give a name?" Satoru asked, examining the box carefully with his Six Eyes.
"Called herself a traveler," the shop owner replied with a shrug. "Paid me well to keep the box safe. Been sitting in my storeroom all these years."
"A woman from forty years ago knew we would be here," Getō stated the obvious implication, tension evident in his voice. "That's..."
"Impossible?" Arcueid suggested with a knowing smile. "Time is far more flexible than humans typically understand."
Satoru continued studying the box, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "It's not cursed or trapped," he finally declared. "But it's definitely not ordinary either. The wood exists in multiple states simultaneously—quantum uncertainty rendered physically manifest."
"Schrödinger's box," Morgan observed with professional interest. "Until opened, it contains all possibilities simultaneously."
"Should you open it here?" Toji asked pragmatically. "If it's something dangerous..."
"If it was meant to harm us, there are easier delivery methods than a forty-year waiting period," Satoru reasoned. With uncharacteristic care, he placed the box on the counter and rested his hands on either side.
"Here goes nothing," he murmured, before channeling a precise amount of his Limitless technique into the quantum-uncertain wood.
The box responded to his power, its structure shifting like a complex puzzle reconfiguring itself. Seams appeared where none had existed before, and with a soft click, the lid separated slightly.
Satoru opened it fully to reveal a single item nestled on dark velvet—a simple paper origami crane, folded from what appeared to be ordinary white paper. Nothing about it suggested supernatural significance or cosmic importance.
"A paper crane?" Nobunaga questioned incredulously. "We faced a reality-devouring cosmic entity, and the mysterious time-traveling woman left us arts and crafts?"
"There's more to it," Durga stated with certainty, her cosmic perception focused on the seemingly mundane object. "Its simplicity is deceptive."
Satoru carefully lifted the origami crane, holding it in his palm. The moment he touched it, the paper began to glow with a soft inner light. The crane unfolded itself with impossible grace, the paper reshaping into a perfect flat sheet. On it, written in flowing script, was a single sentence:
"The final throne is not to be summoned, but born from the void."
Then, as mysteriously as it had transformed, the paper refolded itself into the crane configuration and went still, the glow fading as if it had never existed.
"Born from the void?" Getō repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Not summoned," Artoria emphasized, "which means it doesn't exist yet, at least not in the form it will ultimately take."
All eyes turned to Satoru—the Void Master himself.
"Don't look at me," he protested. "I'm not planning on giving birth to anything, metaphorically or otherwise."
"Perhaps it's not about biological creation," Morgan suggested thoughtfully. "The void often represents potential in mystical traditions—the space where something new can manifest."
"A catalyst rather than a creator," Durga agreed. "The conditions that allow for emergence rather than direct creation."
The shop owner, who had been listening to this bizarre conversation with admirable composure, finally cleared his throat. "There was one more thing," he added. "The woman said you should bring the crane to the shrine at midnight. Said it would 'find its way home' whatever that means."
Satoru checked his phone. "That gives us just over three hours. We should get moving."
As they paid for their meal—Satoru leaving a tip substantial enough to cover the owner's decades of box-keeping—Gilgamesh approached the counter last, studying the old man with unusual intensity.
"You kept faith with a stranger's request for forty years," she observed. "Rare loyalty in any era."
The shop owner shrugged. "A promise is a promise."
"What's your name?" she asked unexpectedly.
"Takeda Hiroshi," he replied, surprised by the question.
Gilgamesh nodded once, the gesture somehow imbued with royal significance. "Takeda Hiroshi. Your name enters my treasury of memory. Few mortals earn such distinction."
Before the confused but pleased shop owner could respond, she swept out after the others, her bearing unmistakably regal despite her modern appearance under Morgan's glamour.
Outside, as they boarded the minibus once more, Musashi nudged Gilgamesh playfully. "Look at you, acknowledging a commoner. The modern era is softening your royal edges."
"Loyalty transcends class distinctions," Gilgamesh replied with unexpected seriousness. "It was the quality I valued most in Enkidu."
The name clearly carried emotional weight, creating a momentary vulnerability in her usually impenetrable imperial facade. Sensing this, Musashi backed off, responding with uncharacteristic sensitivity.