The temple stands atop Mount Kuragami, cloaked in mist and reverence. It's the oldest jujutsu sanctuary in Japan, guarded by generations of elite sorcerers. Its walls are etched with protective seals. Its halls echo with prayers meant to keep curses at bay.
Sukuna walks through the front gate.
He doesn't sneak. He doesn't hide. He walks.
Monks rush to intercept him, their chants rising like a tide. They summon barriers, unleash talismans, call upon ancestral techniques. The air thickens with sacred energy.
Sukuna breathes it in like incense.
"You built this place to keep me out. That was your first mistake."
With a flick of his wrist, he shatters the outer barrier. The seals rupture like glass. Cursed energy floods the temple grounds, warping the architecture, twisting the air into a suffocating haze.
The monks fight valiantly.
One summons a dragon of light. Another manipulates sound to fracture Sukuna's senses. A third tries to seal him with a forbidden chant that costs him his life.
None of it matters.
Sukuna moves like a storm. His four arms dance with blades and flame. His two mouths chant overlapping incantations, layering techniques in ways no sorcerer has ever imagined. He doesn't just overpower them—he dismantles their legacy.
Stone statues crumble. Sacred scrolls burn. The dragon of light screams once before being devoured by a cursed maw Sukuna conjures mid-air.
By nightfall, the temple is ash.
But Sukuna doesn't leave immediately. He walks through the ruins, collecting fragments of cursed relics, absorbing knowledge from shattered altars. He's not just destroying—he's evolving.
Then he senses it.
A familiar presence. One he once trusted.
Rinzen.
A former ally. A scholar of forbidden arts. The only sorcerer who ever stood beside Sukuna without fear. He appears from the shadows, robes torn, eyes filled with regret.
"You've gone too far," Rinzen says. "This was sacred."
Sukuna tilts his head.
"Sacred is just another word for fragile."
Rinzen attacks.
Their battle is not like the others. It's personal. Brutal. Beautiful. They clash across the ruins, cursed energy colliding in waves that reshape the mountain itself. For a moment, it seems Rinzen might win.
But Sukuna hesitates.
Just once.
And Rinzen strikes.
A blade of pure cursed light pierces Sukuna's chest. It doesn't kill him—but it marks him. A wound that doesn't heal. A betrayal that doesn't fade.
Sukuna retaliates with fury.
Rinzen dies with a whisper on his lips:
"You were meant to be more than this."
Sukuna stands alone.
The temple is gone. His ally is dead. And the wound in his chest pulses with something unfamiliar—not pain, but memory.
He looks to the horizon.
"Let them come. Let them all come."