The city was changing.
At first, whispers. A Black Priest who consumed devils. A cult that devoured other cults. A sigil scrawled across walls and alleys, burned into flesh as a brand.
Now, it was no longer whispers.
Tokyo's underbelly bent under his weight. Entire gangs wore the spiral mark willingly, fearful of what happened to those who didn't. Small-time devil contracts were abandoned—why barter your organs to some fickle beast when you could kneel beneath a man who commanded them all?
Suguru Geto sat in the ruins of a subway station, elevated on a broken pillar like a throne. Curses coiled at his feet, devils writhed in chains, and men knelt in rows, heads bowed to the concrete.
"Monkeys once prayed to gods of fear," he said, his voice echoing through the hollow tunnel. "But gods are fragile. Curses can be consumed. Devils can be collared. And humans…"
He gestured, and a chained centipede curse slithered forward, tearing a disobedient man in half before retreating like a loyal hound.
"…humans can be replaced."
The silence that followed was not reverent—it was terrified. Exactly as it should be.
Yet as he gazed over his congregation, Suguru felt the ghosts pressing in again. Kishibe's bloody grin. Riko Amanai's fleeting smile. Mimiko and Nanako brushing his hair, asking questions about books he pretended to read.
They were chains. But they were his chains.
And he would rule with their weight.
---
Later, alone in the tunnels, Toji's worm surfaced, coughing up cursed tools with a wet slurp. Playful Cloud clattered against the stone, followed by a serrated blade that still dripped with Kishibe's blood. Suguru wiped it clean, studying his reflection in the steel.
"Gojo carried nothing," he murmured, eyes dark. "That's why he was strongest. Kishibe carried everything and laughed. That's why he refused to break."
He slid the blade into his robes, lips curving faintly.
"And I—I will carry, consume, and weaponize it all. Not the strongest. Not the most defiant. The only king."
The swarm stirred as though in agreement, their shapes slithering into the shadows like soldiers awaiting command.
Suguru closed his eyes, and for a fleeting second, he saw Gojo again. That unshakable smile. That detachment.
"Someday," he whispered, "I'll drag you into this kingdom too. Even if I have to build it on corpses."
Above him, the subway ceiling rumbled with the tremor of devils moving through the city. His kingdom was no longer a dream. It was a living, breathing thing.
The First Kingdom of Fear had been born.
And its priest was ready for war.