Mere weeks had passed since Yuji had been kidnapped, and the heart of Shibuya had already changed.
Where fire once raged and towers toppled, the ruins now stood reassembled into something altogether more grotesque. The cleanup that should have restored the district had never begun.
Mahito had ensured it, purchasing vast swathes of land through puppeted contracts and proxies. The fractured council, too afraid to challenge him directly, let the district rot under his dominion.
But it was not rot. Not exactly.
Half-built structures jutted like bones from the skeleton of the city. Scaffolding twisted into shapes without logic. Golden banners draped across cracked towers, stitched with invented symbols that mocked the very idea of nobility.
This was Shibuya reborn, not as a city, but as a kingdom.
At its center loomed a throne of gold and obsidian, fused with the husks of collapsed buildings and corpses. A monument to dominance, gleaming even under gray daylight, impossible to ignore.
Mahito sat upon it.
His form had grown. Burly muscle shifted under pale stitched skin, seams exaggerated like a parody of scars. A black and gold yukata hung from broad shoulders, chest bare to flaunt a ribcage laced with cruel mockery. His once-filthy hair now shone like molten gold, combed back in a noble parody. His eyes, violet and cold, glimmered with amusement.
Around him stood his army. Fly Soldiers swarmed above in black clouds, transfigured horrors lined the streets in rows, humanoid yet wrong, limbs twisted, jaws sewn shut yet drooling. A display of cruelty as much as power.
And then the army parted.
Every soldier moved aside in perfect rhythm, creating a corridor down the boulevard.
Mahito's grin widened. He could taste the cursed energy already, sharp and heavy with pride. Ancient. Terrifying.
Sukuna walked the path without hesitation.
He wore the same black and white robes he had favored in Yuji's soul, traditional yet regal. His stride carried inevitability. His eyes, slit and crimson, burned with restrained fury. His aura pressed against the air like a storm, and cracks spread beneath his steps.
Mahito leaned his chin into his stitched palm. "Well, well. The King of a bygone age. Did you come to try reclaim your crown?"
Sukuna stopped at the foot of the plaza, gaze sweeping over throne and army alike. His lip curled. "All I see is a pretender. A boy who gathered weaklings and crowned himself King. You sit on a pile of corpses and think it makes you sovereign."
Mahito's laughter rang sharp, echoing through the hollow city. "Pretender? I made these weaklings with my own two hands. Every soldier, every stitch, is mine. Tools are tools, and there's no shame in craftsmanship." His grin widened. "Or are you still sore about our last meeting? One strike and down you went. Some King."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed. The memory burned. Never in his reign had he been humiliated so quickly. The wound still festered in his pride.
"You speak boldly for a corpse that does not know it is dead." Sukuna's voice was ice. His cursed energy flared, cracking the boulevard into a spiderweb of fractures.
Mahito's smirk didn't fade. "Oh? Then fight me. Let's see if you last longer than a heartbeat this time."
Sukuna moved.
In an instant he was before the throne, faster than any soldier could react. His hand speared forward, cleaving Mahito's chest in two, cursed energy ripping through flesh and bone. His body burst apart like overripe fruit.
Sukuna fired off around a hundred cuts with that small motion, turning the area in front of him into a blender, shredding apart both Mahito and his golden throne.
The army shrieked in unison, writhing in agitation. Sukuna stood unmoved, blood sizzling across his palm, his grin cruel. "So fragile. Your throne shatters with a touch."
But Mahito's voice still echoed, smooth and amused.
"That throne was just there to lure you out... Did you think that this is all there is of me?"
From the fragments of the burst body, threads of flesh writhed, reweaving, stitching themselves back into form. The strongest curse rose once more, unbothered, grin as wide as ever.
"You're not even speaking to my true body. Just a fragment."
Sukuna's smile thinned, crimson eyes narrowing. He hadn't expected the arrogance to be more than words. Yet the cursed energy he felt was real, potent enough to rival any Special Grade Curse, even more potent than all other versions of Mahito that he had seen.
Mahito spread his arms, his voice sharp with pride. "I was born to reshape, to devour, to grow. Every clone I create carries the power of a Special Grade. And I grow faster still. I devour curses, I devour souls, and as long as my self outweighs theirs, they are fuel. The blueprints erased, their essence mine. I am an assembly line of strength."
He leaned forward, violet eyes gleaming. "Even if you crushed a dozen of me, Sukuna, it would mean nothing. My throne doesn't break because I could already be anywhere and everywhere..."
The King of Curses glared, aura flaring so violently that soldiers closest to him cracked apart, bursting under pressure.
"You think yourself untouchable," Sukuna said, voice calm but lined with venom. "Then prove it. Face me with your true body, your full strength."
Mahito's grin split even wider. He didn't flinch under the storm.
"Not yet," he purred. "I won't accept any duel until all rivals are on the board. Gojo must be freed. Only then will I entertain you."
Sukuna's aura cracked another line through the plaza. "Can you afford to ignore me?"
Mahito tilted his head back and laughed, a sound both mocking and delighted. "Of course I can~ Can you afford it though? Letting me grow even further?~"
Then he leaned forward, smiling with quiet malice.
"Here's a deal, Sukuna. Free Gojo. Bring him to the board. Then come back to me. Only then will you see if your throne still stands."
The army growled, the air thick with tension. Sukuna's crimson eyes burned brighter, but he said nothing.
Mahito's smile lingered. A smile that promised war.