Nura Rikuo's teeth were clenched so tightly, it was a wonder they hadn't shattered. The fire blazing in his eyes could have incinerated the man before him.
"Enchō—! You bastard!"
"Is that all your words are good for, Nura Rikuo? Hurry up and make your decision."
Enchō remained perfectly composed, folding his fan with practiced grace. The character 件 (kudan) gleamed ominously across its surface.
"Let us go, or half the people in this city will be dragged to hell with us."
"Don't be ridiculous, Enchō!"
Rikuo's voice trembled with fury, but not with panic.
"Letting you go would only cause more chaos and death—maybe even worse than this!"
"So, you'd rather be the one to slaughter all those innocent people?"
Enchō smiled faintly, tapping the fan against his palm.
"Just as we foretold."
"Don't even think about trying to detain me. Even if you manage to kill every last member of the Hyaku Monogatari Clan, you only have ten minutes. Ten minutes before I end it myself. And when I do, the bombs detonate. Not just innocent civilians—your own people, your own fighters… they'll all die with us."
As Rikuo stood, paralyzed between impossible choices, a clawed hand—nails green and tips black—rested gently on his shoulder.
"You two seem to be having quite the interesting conversation. Would this humble monk be allowed to join in?"
"Limbo?!"
Rikuo was startled—first because Douman had approached unnoticed, and then, with growing hope, because of who he was.
"Can you do something about the bombs spread through the city?"
"A solution? Didn't dear Enchō already give us the answer?"
Douman waved a hand, looking utterly bored.
"Just reduce the yōkai with bombs inside them… to dust. Not even ashes left behind. Problem solved."
"Don't joke around, Limbo!"
Rikuo's voice was sharp.
Completely erasing a yōkai was easier said than done—it was nearly impossible.
"A joke? You wound me, truly. While it's true this humble monk enjoys the occasional harmless prank, like watching someone trip over their own foot or lose a limb or two… I'm completely serious this time."
Douman gave a melodramatic shrug.
"Alas, there's no helping it. Time to let results speak louder than words."
He paused, tapping his chin.
"Hmm… shall I use a Noble Phantasm? No, no—that would turn the entire city into a cursed wasteland. A bit excessive… Ah! I've got it. That one should do nicely."
Light sparked in his eyes. Then—
He brought his hands together.
Middle and ring fingers extended. Index and pinky curved inward.
A Yama hand mudra—Abe no Ariyuki recognized it instantly. A Buddhist seal of King Enma.
And then, the curse descended.
"[Domain Expansion—Malevolent Shrine]."
And so—the world went dark.
Not just the usual darkness before dawn. This was absolute.
No stars. No city lights. No moon. The black swallowed everything.
Behind Douman, a shrine rose from the ground—formed not of wood or stone, but of bleached bone.
The black domain spread across all of Tokyo.
Human or yōkai, none could escape.
And then came the blades—like rain, like madness.
"[Malevolent Shrine] has two types of slashes. The basic strike—[Dismantle], and the curse-calibrated one—[Cleave], which adjusts force according to the target's cursed energy."
"But since I want to exclude humans this time, I'll tweak the calibration. Instead of cursed energy, let's use yōki as the determining factor."
"Your subordinates might get caught in the crossfire… That could be fun, but 'he' asked me to minimize casualties. Tch. A bother—but an order is an order."
Douman sighed, almost regretful.
"To be more specific, I'll modify the criteria to target only those yōkai with a specific kind of yōki. Luckily, all the Hyaku Monogatari yōkai originate from Sanmoto Gorōzaemon, meaning their energy source is homogenous. That gives me a lot of room to work with."
Back in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, Douman had never met Sukuna himself. But he had seen the fingers. Studied the domain expansions. Understood the curse energy.
And now, with Ashiya Douman's spiritual foundation, he'd reverse-engineered everything.
Including Sukuna's domain—[Malevolent Shrine]—and then perfected it.
His range exceeded even Sukuna's. His control? Near surgical.
And it all happened in less than a blink.
Across Tokyo, the yōkai of the Hyaku Monogatari—whether attacking humans, hiding in crowds, fleeing, or fighting—were all struck.
Fingers. Arms. Shoulders. Heads. Chests. Legs.
One after another, their bodies disintegrated—cut down by invisible blades, scattered into particles too fine to see.
Every last one of Sanmoto's yōkai—erased.
Only when not a trace remained did Douman finally retract the domain.
He turned back to Rikuo with a warm, courteous smile.
"There. Problem solved. Aren't you just shocked by this humble monk's versatility? The looks on your faces—so delicious~ Fufufu…"
He cackled—a grotesque, skin-prickling laugh that echoed through the air.
---
Somewhere far below, deep underground.
A narrow, blood-veined tunnel twisted like roots. The walls blinked with grotesque eyes.
Footsteps echoed.
"Mmm… such awful taste. Honestly, even this humble monk finds it a bit hard on the eyes. Doesn't quite align with my aesthetics."
Douman stepped over a pulsing artery, face twisted in his usual insincere grin.
He dragged a limp body behind him.
Sanmoto's Brain. Breathless, lifeless—more like garbage than corpse.
Not that Douman planned to throw it away.
"This humble monk is an environmentalist, after all. Reduce, reuse, recycle."
"Like turning plastic bottles into sandals… or swapping my footbath water with that fox Seimei's mouthwash. You know. Responsible living."
"So let's squeeze every last bit of value out of you, shall we? No need to thank me. It's just who I am~"
After capturing Sanmoto's Brain, Douman had brought him here—deep into the hidden stronghold beneath Tokyo. A place where the Hyaku Monogatari stored the fear they stole from the Nura Clan.
Now that Douman had found it, it belonged to him alone.
For Sanmoto, returning from hell was the only goal.
To accomplish it, he'd even cooperated with another prisoner of hell—Abe no Seimei.
His Left Eye had lingered beside Hagoromo Gitsune, trying to manipulate her.
The entire operation of the Hyaku Monogatari had been in service of this resurrection—at least, that's what Sanmoto believed.
Deeper in, Douman finally reached the core.
A giant samurai armored in black stood still, cradling a yōkai tea kettle that pulsed with foul energy. All the fear gathered by the Hyaku Monogatari flowed into it.
This vessel was Sanmoto's rebirth—his new body.
The plan had been elegant: spread fear through Tokyo, funnel it into the kettle, and when Sanmoto revived, he'd carry with him the collective curse to destroy Nura Rikuo.
But thanks to Douman's meddling—it had failed.
"Still… this humble monk isn't heartless."
Douman turned to the limp Sanmoto.
"You turned yourself into a yōkai, split into dozens of pieces, cut deals with hell's residents, manipulated giants like Hagoromo Gitsune… Mmm~ your will to survive is truly inspiring!"
He wiped away a crocodile tear.
Then burst into laughter.
"Really… you're even worse than a cockroach! Hahahahaha!"
Then—he stopped.
Smiling again, like a kind uncle.
"So, let this humble monk fulfill your wish. Let me complete the final step of your plan."
"Though what comes next… is no longer your concern~ Hehehe."
---
"Rikou-sama!"
A voice rang out, clear and concerned.
Oikawa Tsurara finally reached the rooftop, her eyes locking onto Rikuo immediately.
"Rikou-sama! Are you hurt? You can't keep charging ahead like this—you're going to give us all heart attacks!"
She practically burst into a flurry of scolding.
"You worry too much, Tsurara. I'm fine… And Enchō has been dealt with."
After Douman had nullified Enchō's final trump card, the mastermind had been left with nothing.
Rikuo cut him down without hesitation.
As for Abe no Ariyuki—Douman had sealed him in a technique, saying he still had uses.
Rikuo had no reason to argue. He didn't know who Ariyuki was, and Douman had saved the city.
That alone earned him some trust.
Tsurara arrived just as the tension broke.
She gazed at Rikuo's smile, and her own face softened into a dreamy grin.
"I knew Rikou-sama would pull through!"
"Honestly, most of the credit goes to Limbo."
Rikuo shook his head and turned to Douman.
"If it weren't for him, Enchō probably would've escaped… Hey, Tsurara—are you all okay? I'm sorry I left you behind."
"No, no! We're fine!"
Tsurara waved her hands frantically.
"I don't know why, but all the yōkai around us just… disintegrated! We didn't know what happened, but we rushed here as fast as we could!"
Blushing, she added softly:
"Really, we're the ones who should apologize. We're supposed to protect you… and yet it's always you charging into danger…"
"Who said that?"
Rikuo turned his back, resting the blade on his shoulder with that classic, cocky grin—the one that made girls squeal.
"Just having you behind me is all I need. Carrying everyone's hopes—that's what gives me strength."
"Rikou-sama~!"
Tsurara's eyes sparkled with literal heart shapes.
Douman, meanwhile, stood quietly to the side, watching.
He said nothing—but for the record, he was firmly part of the Rikou × Tsurara fan club.
The RikouTsu faction.
"Rikou-sama!"
The shout came from below—recognizably a Nura Clan member.
Rikuo smiled.
"Aotabō! You—"
"Rikou-sama, watch out!"
A massive figure leapt overhead.
A fist the size of Douman's head came barreling toward him, wreathed in ferocious wind.
For once, Douman was stunned.
What the hell?
What are you, some crazed shipper from another fandom? One of those lunatics who stans Rikou × Yura or Rikou × Kana and came to pick a fight?
---
T/N: BRO USED MALEVOLENT SHRINE WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT
future wiwse here uhh if i get anything wrong LMAO uhh sorry if i dont change it i dont read comments anymore tbh, maybe join discord.gg/wisetl to shout at me to change it!
90% of working
"Translator chained me here and told me to write something clever. Consider this your mandatory reminder that if you enjoyed the chapter, you can toss your precious Powerstones into the void—every 100 of them forces out one extra chapter, like wringing blood from a stone. 100 = 1, 200 = 2, 300 = 3… you get the picture."
"If you're feeling dangerously generous (or just want to peek ahead), there's also a Patreon: patreon.com/wisetl. Allegedly, it's "voluntary support," but let's not kid ourselves—you're here for early chapters."
"That's all. Now leave me be." —Angelica Ainsworth