The air over the battlefield of Shinjuku was heavy, thick with the smell of scorched earth, ozone, and the sudden, deafening silence that follows the death of a god. The dust began to settle, revealing a sight that seemed to defy the very laws of reality. Satoru Gojo, the man who had been the ceiling of the world for a generation, was no longer whole. His lower half stood upright with a haunting, defiant stability, while his torso lay meters away in the dirt, the life fading from those once-limitless blue eyes.

Ryomen Sukuna stood amidst the wreckage, his form battered, his skin torn, and blood matted in his hair. Yet, he radiated a terrifying, transcendent triumph. He looked down at the remains of the "Strongest" with a gaze that held a rare, genuine spark of respect. "You did well, Satoru Gojo," Sukuna’s voice carried through the ruins, a low, resonant rumble that felt like a vibration in the earth itself. "I shall never forget you for as long as I live." The King of Curses then turned his head, his four eyes shifting their focus away from the fallen sorcerer. His gaze landed on you, standing at the edge of the crater—his spouse from the Heian Era, the only soul who had witnessed his rise a millennium ago and lived to see his return.

He didn't move toward you with tenderness; instead, he gestured with a blood-stained hand toward the bisected remains of Gojo, a jagged, manic smirk stretching across his face. It was a boast, a display of absolute dominance meant for the only person whose opinion he actually considered. "Look at him," Sukuna rasped, his breath coming in shallow, triumphant hitches. "See the pinnacle of this modern age? He thought he could touch the sky, yet he couldn't even survive the world I carved apart. Tell me, does it bring back memories of the lords we trampled in the old days? This era's 'Strongest' was nothing more than a momentary diversion."

He laughed—a harsh, guttural sound that echoed off the crumbling skyscrapers. He looked like a demon king carved from obsidian and gore, his presence so overwhelming that the survivors felt their hearts stutter. In the distance, the remaining sorcerers were a frantic blur of motion and terror. Yuji, Yuta, and Maki stood frozen, their faces pale masks of disbelief. The communication channels were a chaotic mess of screaming voices and panicked strategy. "Gojo-sensei is... he's really...!" "We have to move! Now! If we don't engage Sukuna while he's weakened—" "Engage him? Look at him! He just cut the world itself!" Sukuna ignored their fluttering like one ignores the buzzing of gnats. He kept his eyes locked on yours, his expression shifting into a dark, expectant hunger. He was waiting for your acknowledgement, for the one person who knew his true nature to witness the moment he finally reclaimed his throne as the undisputed King of Curses.

"Well?" he prompted, his voice dropping into a smooth, dangerous whisper that ignored the rising panic of the children in the distance. "Will you come and walk beside me through the ashes of this world, or do I have to drag you across the finish line myself?"