Sukuna returns to his Domain.
The shrine is quiet, but not still. Something pulses beneath the surface—an echo of the pact he forged. The cursed girl's mark now binds her to him, and with it, a thread of his own energy stretches beyond his control. It winds through the void like a whisper, like a vein, like a question.
He feels it.
A tug.
A presence.
He snarls.
"This is weakness," he mutters. "Connection is a chain."
But the bond doesn't break.
He tries to sever it—his cursed energy flares, slicing through the air like lightning. The walls tremble. The mist recoils. Yet the thread remains, resilient. Not because of her strength, but because of his choice.
He chose this.
And now, it changes him.
The shrine's walls begin to shift. Murals of conquest blur. Statues crack. Altars flicker. His Domain, once a monument to isolation, begins to reshape itself. The architecture warps—not from damage, but from doubt.
He walks through the halls.
Each step feels heavier.
He sees visions—memories not his own. The girl's past. Her pain. Her fear. Her hope. The pact has opened a door, and now her soul bleeds into his. Her childhood. Her first curse. Her first loss. Her first vow.
He hates it.
But he can't stop it.
Outside the Domain, the cursed girl trains. Her power grows, erratic but promising. She moves with fury. She learns with hunger. She speaks his name—not with reverence, but resolve.
"I'll be more than your shadow," she says. "I'll be your equal."
Sukuna watches from afar.
He should crush her. End it before it festers. Before it infects him. But he doesn't.
Instead, he begins to wonder.
What if power isn't just domination?
What if meaning lies in the bonds we choose?
The thought is poison.
But it lingers.
He returns to the throne—now cracked, half-buried in mist. The obsidian is cold. The bone is brittle. He sits, eyes closed.
And for the first time, he dreams.
Not of blood.
But of change.