"So, will you help me create others?" I asked softly.
The fox only tilted its head, then gave the faintest nod. The movement was almost human, as if it truly understood my words.
"Good," I muttered, exhaling slowly. Again I reached deeper into the core of my technique. But this time, the cursed energy flowed differently, no longer a raging torrent tearing me apart. It was smooth, natural, effortless. Like breathing. Completely under my command.
I shut my eyes and let the image form in my mind, shaping the energy with intent. When I opened them again, there was no violent backlash. No collapse. No further destruction.
Instead, standing before me was a cursed spirit, tall and terrifying. It looked like a humanoid demon forged from fire and charred flesh. Its skeletal face was twisted into a sharp-toothed grin, eyes glowing with a molten red-orange hue. Flames burst from its head like a crown of burning wrath, while its muscular, blackened body pulsed with fiery veins that seared and cracked the air around it.
One clawed hand reached upward, gripping fire like it was solid. The other extended forward, long and jagged, almost daring me to test its strength. Behind it, the air shimmered dark and smoky, filled with swirling embers, as though the spirit itself had walked out of an inferno.
It did not kneel. It did not bow. Yet I felt its subservience—its acknowledgement of me—through the bond of cursed energy tying us together.
Turning slightly, I glanced at the wolf. "From now on, your name will be Shin'en-Ōkami—the Abyss Wolf."
Then my eyes fell upon the new one. "And for you, Shakunetsu-Ma—Demon of Scorching Heat."
"CLAAANGGG."
The sound tore through the silence like steel splitting. My creations faded instantly as I dismissed their forms, vanishing as though they had never been there. But I knew better. They weren't gone only unsummoned. At any moment, I could call them back.
"CLAAANGGG."
I staggered slightly, not from the sound but from the sudden dent in my reserves. My cursed energy had dipped sharply. And yet… it was already recovering, faster than I expected and an astonishing rate.
I smiled faintly. My choices had been good. The wolf spirit would sharpen my jujutsu as a whole, strengthening both precision and efficiency. The heat spirit, meanwhile, was raw offense and destruction—versatile, adaptable, devastating.
"CLAAANGGG."
I raised my right hand. A sphere of fire bloomed above my palm, burning white at the center. The air around me warped instantly. Heat cracked against the silence as if space itself wanted to split.
Another feature of my technique: whatever I bestowed upon my spirits, I could wield myself. Their powers were mine, with or without summoning them. And should I summon them, I could strike in unison, overwhelming an enemy with numbers and raw force. True, it cost more energy… but as long as my reserves restored at this rate, it wouldn't be a problem.
"CLAAANGGG."
The sound rang again, sharper, closer. I clicked my tongue. "Aye, that's it—where the fuck is this sound coming from?"
The flames vanished from my hand as I dispelled them, eyes lifting toward the direction of the noise. At once, I felt it: a surge of cursed energy, heavy and hostile. The source was inside the factory.
"This is a bad idea…" I muttered. My lips curled faintly. "But if fate has decided, then who am I to turn away?"
I began to walk. My boots struck steel with a hollow, resonant clang. Each step echoed louder than it should have, bouncing off the walls in the silence.
The polished section of the factory stretched before me, gleaming under pale overhead lights. Yet the shine was sterile, lifeless, more like a hospital than a place of work.
Automobile frames lay scattered about, their shadows long and broken under the lights. Machinery parts cluttered the floor—some stacked neatly, others tipped over as though pushed. A loose bolt rolled across the floor when my foot brushed past, its tiny rattle unnervingly loud.
The silence was thick, oppressive. I moved deeper.
Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying gently. One creaked against its hook. There was no wind.
The air smelled of rust and oil, but beneath it lingered something else. Heavy. Wrong. My cursed energy prickled in response, as though warning me.
I turned a corner into the wide central hall.
And there it stood.
The cursed spirit.
It loomed, a massive figure built from twisted steel and dangling chains. Its body was jagged, a brutal construction of overlapping metal plates resembling shattered armor. A skull-like mask of dull steel served as its face, and from the hollow sockets burned molten orange eyes that cut through the dark.
Its arms tapered into claw-like extensions of bent iron, each movement trailing the drag of chains that scraped and sparked faintly across the floor. The sound was slow, deliberate, like the tolling of some terrible bell.
It was humanoid in form, but no part of it felt human. It was like machinery given life, cursed with rage, given shape by centuries of hatred.
The atmosphere pressed down like a furnace. Rust and scorched metal filled the air, stinging the back of my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to stay alert.
The spirit hunched forward, a predator at rest, as if deciding whether to strike. Its restraint made it worse—because restraint meant intelligence.
I froze
"Oh… shit."