The sound that came out of Itadori's throat wasn't his.
It was deeper. Rougher. Layered, like two voices trying to occupy the same space and only one of them winning. Ichigo watched in stunned horror as Yuji's body shuddered violently, spine arching as if something inside him was stretching its limbs for the first time in ages.
His fingernails lengthened with a sharp, wet scrape, darkening as they hardened into curved, purple claws. Veins stood out across his hands and neck, pulsing unnaturally. His posture changed too, slouching confidence replaced with something predatory, something that carried itself like the world existed solely to be torn apart.
He lifted his head slowly.
A grin split his face far wider than Yuji's ever did.
"Ohhh," the thing wearing Yuji's body purred, voice dripping with delight. "This is nice. A human body. Warm. Flexible. None of that cursed flesh nonsense."
Ichigo's skin crawled.
The thing inhaled deeply, like it was savoring the air itself. "Mm. I can smell them. Everywhere." Its eyes rolled lazily toward the city skyline. "Women. Children. All of them crawling around like maggots."
Megumi didn't hesitate.
He dropped into a stance instantly, feet planted, hands moving with practiced precision. The air around him shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Ichigo's instincts screamed so loudly it almost hurt. Whatever Megumi was about to do, it was dangerous. Desperate. The kind of move you only made when you were willing to die for the outcome.
Sukuna's eyes snapped to him.
That grin sharpened.
"Oh?" he said, amused. "Interesting."
Before anything could happen, Itadori's body went rigid.
His spine locked up, muscles trembling violently as his mouth moved again, voice snapping back to familiar panic. "What the hell are you doing?!"
His eyes darted wildly. "Why can't I move?!"
A beat.
Then, with a tone that was unmistakably him, Yuji added, "It's my body, dude! What do you expect?!"
Megumi didn't relax. If anything, his expression hardened.
"Under jujutsu regulations," he said grimly, "you're classified as a vessel for a special grade curse. That puts you under immediate execution."
"Eh?" Yuji said dumbly.
His body went taut again.
The shift was instant.
The grin returned.
And then Sukuna moved.
It wasn't fast in the way people usually described speed. It was absolute. One moment he was standing there, the next he was in front of Megumi, motion compressed into a single violent instant that Ichigo's eyes barely tracked.
Barely.
Ichigo saw it. His body reacted. His mouth opened to shout—
Too late.
Sukuna's fist drove into Megumi's gut with a sound like a cannon firing.
Blood exploded from Megumi's mouth in a crimson arc as his body folded around the impact, feet lifting off the ground. Ichigo winced hard, stomach twisting violently.
That's… that's not survivable, his mind screamed. His organs—
Megumi hit the ground hard, skidding across the concrete.
Sukuna grabbed him by the hair effortlessly, hauling him up like he weighed nothing. He inhaled deeply, eyes half lidded, savoring the moment.
"Ahh," he sighed. "I missed this. Adrenaline. Fear. That edge right before something breaks."
Ichigo swallowed.
Every instinct he had was screaming at him.
Run.
Hide.
You can't win.
This wasn't a Hollow. This wasn't even close. This was something else entirely. Something on a level that made his memories of power feel like dreams borrowed from another life.
He hesitated.
And hated himself for it.
Megumi was barely conscious. Yuji was trapped inside his own body. And Ichigo was standing there, useless again.
His scowl deepened. Teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
No.
He couldn't do this again.
He couldn't stand by and watch someone else get hurt while he froze. He couldn't live with that. Not after everything.
He started running.
Sukuna casually let go of Megumi, letting him drop to the rooftop like discarded trash. He straightened and adjusted his hair with a lazy flick of his fingers.
"If you take another step," Sukuna said mildly, not even turning around, "I'll slice you in half."
Ichigo skidded to a halt.
Every muscle in his body locked up.
His mind was screaming at him to move. To push forward. He'd fought gods. Monsters. Things that could shatter worlds. He'd stood against beings far worse than this.
Haven't you? a cruel voice whispered.
Doubt flooded in.
Doubt in his strength.
Doubt in his instincts.
Doubt in whether he was still that person at all.
Sweat poured down his back. His hands shook.
Sukuna wasn't even looking at him.
He was smiling at the city.
Ichigo's breath came fast and shallow.
If I stop now, he thought, I'll never forgive myself.
Better to die than live with this shame.
He ran.
Sukuna finally turned, eyes dull with boredom.
He lifted two fingers and flicked them casually through the air.
"Dismantle."
The cut came so cleanly that for half a heartbeat, Ichigo didn't feel it.
There was no warning. No sound he could register as danger. Just a sudden, impossible absence in front of him, like reality itself had been peeled back and rewritten. Then pain arrived all at once, catastrophic and absolute.
His midsection split open.
Not torn. Not ripped. Separated.
Blood burst outward in a violent spray, warm and overwhelming, soaking his uniform as the force of it lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward. Ichigo slammed into the rooftop hard enough to knock what little air he had left from his lungs, the impact rattling through bone and nerve alike.
For one horrifying, paralyzing moment, his mind fixated on a single thought.
This is it.
He waited for the unbearable sensation of weight shifting. For the awful, final reality of his organs spilling free, of his body finally giving up on holding itself together.
It didn't happen.
His vision blurred as he looked down, heart hammering wildly in his chest. His shirt was shredded, his abdomen carved open in a deep, brutal gash. Blood poured freely, slick and hot, soaking into the concrete beneath him, but somehow—somehow—his organs were still where they belonged. Barely contained. Barely intact.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
The pain wasn't sharp anymore. It was vast. All encompassing. Like his entire body had become a single open wound, nerves screaming in unison, begging for it to stop.
A shadow fell over him.
"Oh?"
Sukuna's voice floated down, curious. Almost pleased.
"That's impressive."
Ichigo coughed, a wet, choking sound as blood filled his mouth. He spat reflexively, red splattering across the rooftop as his hands shook violently, pressing uselessly against his ruined midsection. His fingers slipped in his own blood, slick and weak.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay down.
His body was done. Anyone with sense would've accepted it.
Ichigo Kurosaki had never been good at accepting things.
He dragged himself upright.
It was ugly. Clumsy. Pathetic. His legs wobbled beneath him as he forced himself to stand, spine screaming in protest. His vision swam, edges darkening, but he locked his jaw and took a step forward.
Then another.
Each movement felt like tearing himself apart all over again. His breath came in ragged, broken gasps, chest burning as if his lungs were full of fire instead of air. Blood dripped steadily from his fingers, leaving a trail behind him as he staggered toward Sukuna.
He didn't even know what he planned to do when he reached him.
Punch him?
Scream?
Die closer?
Sukuna watched him approach with detached interest, head tilted slightly, eyes half lidded. There was no urgency in him. No caution. No threat.
Ichigo wasn't an opponent.
He was entertainment.
Another flick of fingers.
"Dismantle."
Ichigo barely saw it.
The second cut ripped across his torso diagonally, deeper and wider than the first. His body convulsed as the force lifted him again, slamming him down hard enough that something inside him cracked audibly. The pain finally overwhelmed him completely, ripping a sound from his throat that wasn't even a scream anymore, just raw, animal noise torn free by sheer agony.
Blood poured out of him now in earnest, pooling beneath his body, soaking into the rooftop like the city itself was drinking him in.
He didn't get back up.
His limbs refused to answer him. His fingers twitched uselessly, strength gone, nerves firing wildly with no direction left to give them. Every breath was a battle, shallow and uneven, each one threatening to be his last.
The sky above him blurred, city lights smearing together as tears welled in his eyes without permission.
And then he broke.
Not quietly.
Not stoically.
Ichigo Kurosaki lay there bleeding out, and he wept.
His chest shook violently as sobs tore free of him, raw and uncontrolled, tears streaming down his face to mix with blood on the concrete. He didn't care anymore how it looked. Didn't care who saw.
He didn't understand how he'd ended up here.
How he'd gone from standing at the center of wars, from facing gods and monsters and fate itself, to dying on some nameless rooftop in a city he'd never wanted to be in. How everything he was had been stripped away piece by piece until this was all that remained.
A broken body.
A powerless man.
A fool who still thought he could protect people.
He was going to die here.
Alone.
No Renji shouting his name. No Rukia barking orders. No Orihime crying and begging him not to do something stupid. No Chad standing silently at his side.
No one.
And worst of all—
No Zangetsu.
The absence hurt more than the wounds.
The blade had always been there. Even when he hated it. Even when he doubted himself. Even when he was terrified.
Zangetsu had been him.
And now there was nothing.
His lips trembled as he forced them to move, blood bubbling at the edges as he whispered the name like a prayer.
"…Zangetsu."
It came out broken. Wet. Barely sound at all.
His throat tightened violently, another sob ripping free as his vision darkened further. Tears streamed down unchecked, his body shaking as despair crushed down on him like a physical weight.
Please.
The thought screamed inside him.
Please don't let it end like this.
His chest burned as he sucked in another ragged breath, voice cracking completely as he whispered again, desperation naked and unguarded.
"Please… just let me fight one more time."
The words felt childish. Hopeless. But he didn't care.
He wanted one more chance.
One more swing of his blade. One more moment of standing tall. One more victory, no matter how small.
"I want—" His voice broke entirely, a sob tearing through him so violently it hurt worse than the cuts. "I want to win!"
The edges of his vision collapsed inward.
Black bled into everything.
Sound faded. Pain dulled. The rooftop, the city, the world itself slipping away from him as consciousness finally gave up the fight his body no longer could.
Ichigo Kurosaki fell into darkness, clutching the echo of a blade that was no longer there.