The hand sign locked.
For the briefest moment, the ruined street held its breath.
Then the world folded.
Space compressed inward around Wasuke Itadori Jr., the air bending as if reality itself had been forced to kneel. The broken buildings that surrounded the battlefield did not vanish; they changed. Their silhouettes stretched and sharpened, the concrete surfaces paling until they resembled the weathered stone of an ancient shrine.
Torii gates rose where lampposts had stood. Cracked asphalt split apart into geometric rings, each layer forming a ritual boundary around the center.
Above them, the sky dimmed into a cold, muted gray.
A vast hall without walls.
A shrine without doors.
A court with no escape.
This was Domain Expansion: Court of the Living Shrine.
Unlike the open slaughterhouse of Ryomen Sukuna's Malevolent Shrine, this domain did not exist to annihilate everything inside its boundary.
It existed to judge.
The Court of the Living Shrine functioned according to a system of sentencing. Every entity inside the domain was measured instantly, their hostility, their intent, their will to continue violence.
Then the shrine issued a verdict.
There were three levels of judgment.
The first: Warning.
The second: Suppression.
The third: Execution.
Iori Okkotsu had already crossed the first threshold.
The moment the domain stabilized, the shrine rendered its sentence.
Level Two — Suppression.
And the punishment began.
Invisible slashes appeared throughout the domain like rain.
Not launched.
Not thrown.
Simply manifested.
Thin, precise lines carved through the air and across Iori's body, each strike shallow but relentless. Blood opened along his arms, his ribs, his legs.
They were not meant to kill.
They were meant to break.
To dismantle resistance piece by piece until the target could no longer continue fighting.
Iori stood within the storm of blades, Samehada resting loosely in his hand.
A slash cut across his cheek.
Another across his thigh.
Another across the back of his shoulder.
His body jerked with each impact but he did not retreat.
Instead, he moved forward.
Straight toward the center of the shrine.
Straight toward Wasuke.
Another slash opened across his ribs.
Then another across his calf.
Still he advanced.
His Heavenly Restricted body moved with terrifying efficiency, muscles responding instantly despite the constant damage. Where sorcerers relied on cursed energy to reinforce themselves, Iori relied on something else entirely—
raw, perfected physicality.
Wasuke watched him approach.
'He's ignoring the sure-hit.'
That alone would have been impressive.
But what unsettled Wasuke more was the stubborn certainty in Iori's posture.
As if the punishment meant nothing.
As if pain was irrelevant.
The distance closed.
Iori lunged.
Samehada flashed forward in a brutal diagonal arc aimed directly for Wasuke's collarbone.
Wasuke shifted sideways at the last instant, catching the blade between his palms before it could bite deep. The impact cracked the shrine-stone beneath his feet.
The two locked for a heartbeat.
Then Iori twisted.
The sword slipped free and swept low. Wasuke jumped back as the blade cut through the ground, sending a shockwave through the ritual rings of the domain.
Another slash from the shrine carved across Iori's back.
Blood sprayed.
He ignored it.
Their fight erupted into motion.
Wasuke moved first.
His body flowed into a sequence of jujutsu martial techniques. Sharp, disciplined strikes refined through years of training. Elbow. Palm. Knee. Each movement controlled, efficient.
Iori answered with swordsmanship that bordered on surgical precision.
Samehada turned every opening into a lethal threat.
Steel rang against reinforced limbs as Wasuke parried with forearms and redirected strikes with practiced leverage. When he moved, it was like water around stone, never meeting force head-on when it could be redirected.
But Iori's blade never stopped.
A slash across Wasuke's shoulder opened flesh instantly.
Cursed energy surged inward.
Reverse cursed technique sealed the wound before the blood could fall.
Another slash followed, this time across his side.
Wasuke gritted his teeth.
Again, reverse cursed technique repaired the damage in seconds.
The domain continued its punishment.
Invisible blades carved across Iori's body with relentless rhythm. Blood ran down his arms. His breathing grew heavier.
Yet he pressed forward regardless.
A horizontal cut from Samehada forced Wasuke backward. Iori stepped in after it, blade whipping upward toward the throat.
Wasuke ducked beneath it, driving his shoulder into Iori's chest and sending both of them crashing through one of the shrine pillars.
Stone shattered.
They rolled across the ground before separating again.
For a moment the two men simply stared at each other.
The shrine continued its judgment.
Another series of slashes carved across Iori's back and thigh.
This time his body faltered.
Just slightly.
But Wasuke noticed.
Iori took a step forward again.
Then another.
The shrine punished him with every movement.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
Blood ran freely down his arms now, dripping from his fingertips onto the pale stone floor of the domain.
Still he raised Samehada.
Still he advanced.
But the cuts were accumulating.
His speed slowed.
His footing became heavier.
The suppression sentence had finally begun to do its work.
Another slash tore across his abdomen.
This time Iori staggered.
The sword dipped.
His breathing came out ragged.
Wasuke stepped forward.
The shrine responded immediately.
A wave of slashes descended at once, carving across Iori's torso and shoulders.
The Heavenly Restricted body that had endured so much finally gave in.
His knees hit the stone.
Samehada slipped from his hand and clattered against the floor.
Silence fell inside the domain.
The slashes stopped.
The shrine had delivered its verdict.
Wasuke released the mudra.
The torii gates dissolved.
The shrine stone cracked apart.
The gray sky vanished.
Reality rushed back into place as the domain collapsed.
The two of them stood once more within the destroyed Kyoto street.
Buildings leaned dangerously. Windows had been blown out. The asphalt had been carved into deep trenches from their fight.
Iori knelt in the center of it all, breathing heavily, blood staining his clothes.
Wasuke walked toward him slowly.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The battle had drained him too.
But the outcome had been decided.
When he stopped a few feet away, his voice carried clearly through the ruined street.
"Iori-san."
Iori didn't answer.
His head hung low.
Wasuke's eyes narrowed.
"Now tell me clearly," he said.
"Who's making you do this?"
The question hung in the air.
Then the sky darkened.
A massive shadow swept across the street.
Wasuke's head snapped upward.
Something descended from above with terrifying speed.
A curse spirit.
Its body resembled a grotesque bird, wings spanning the width of the street. Black feathers like jagged blades covered its body, and its beak curved downward like a hooked scythe.
Before Wasuke could react, the creature dropped.
Its talons closed around Iori's body and lifted him off the ground.
"What—!"
Wasuke moved instantly.
A slash from Shrine tore upward toward the creature.
But his body lagged.
The exhaustion from the domain and repeated use of reverse cursed technique weighed on him just enough.
The bird twisted its wings.
The slash grazed its feathers instead of severing them.
One powerful beat of its wings blasted wind through the ruined street.
Debris exploded outward.
The creature rose into the sky with Iori in its claws.
Wasuke watched it disappear between the buildings.
His jaw tightened.
His tongue clicked against his teeth.
"Dammit."