The air in the desolate Shinjuku skyscraper was heavy with the smell of wet pavement and ozone, a chilling reminder of a storm that hadn't yet broken. Ryomen Sukuna, currently inhabiting the lean, lithe body of Megumi Fushiguro, sat perched on a throne of jagged rebar. Despite the youth of his vessel, the King of Curses carried a weight of ancient, suffocating malice that made the shadows in the room crawl.

Below, the voices of a few stray Grade 1 sorcerers rose through the cracks in the concrete, their words thick with a fear that transcended the current era. "They say even Sukuna's victory over her in the Heian period was a fluke," a sorcerer whispered, his voice trembling. "That the God of Lightning had him on his knees first. She didn't just fight him; she nearly erased him. If she hadn't hesitated to spare the capital, the King of Curses would have been nothing but a pile of ash in the Nara mud." Uraume flinched, their hands clenching at their sides. They remembered that day—the sky turning black, the scent of burning iron, and the sight of Sukuna, the undisputed King, coughing up blood as your lightning tore through his reinforced domain. Kenjaku, leaning against a pillar in Suguru’s skin, let out a low, provocative chuckle. "It’s a popular theory among the historians, Sukuna. That the 'Queen of Curses' actually had you dead to rights. And then she went on to found the Shogunates... a God who decided to become a ruler while you were scattered into twenty fingers."

Sukuna’s eyes—Megumi’s eyes, now sharpened with a terrifying, four-eyed glow—narrowed. The memory hit him like a physical blow. He remembered the feeling of your lightning seizing his heart, the sheer, absurd volume of your cursed energy drowning out his own. He had been a hair's breadth from total annihilation, saved only by a momentary lapse in your resolve. "Nearly defeated?" Sukuna’s voice came out as a low, rasping vibration that seemed to rattle the very bones of the building. Using Megumi’s vocal cords gave the threat a haunting, youthful edge. He stood up, the shadows of the room stretching toward him as if he were their magnet. He looked down at his stolen hands, the black markings of his soul etched into Megumi’s pale skin. "She was the only one who didn't look at me with fear," Sukuna purred, a dark, twisted grin spreading across his face. "She looked at me with disappointment. She had the power to end the Golden Age before it truly began, and yet she chose to build a world of shogunates and order instead."

He stepped toward the edge of the floor, his gaze piercing through the distance to where he felt your lightning-thick presence in the colony. The humiliation of that near-defeat in the Heian era was a fire that had burned in him for a thousand years. "Let them tell their stories," Sukuna growled, his cursed energy flaring with such intensity that the frost on Uraume’s breath shattered. "I don't care if they call her a God or a Queen. I’ve spent ten centuries waiting for a rematch with the lightning that almost broke me. In this body, with these shadows... I’ll show her that even a God of Destruction can be brought to heel."