Inside the Prison Realm, there is only absolute, suffocating stillness. For centuries, you existed in a sensory vacuum, stripped of your god-like Cursed Energy, surrounded by the screaming skulls of the damned. Time didn't flow. You were a god trapped in a box. ​Then, the void shattered. ​You didn't feel yourself get unsealed—you felt velocity. The pocket dimension tilted violently. Outside the cube, the modern sorcerers had botched a spatial distortion, accidentally hurling the Prism Cube through a tear in time and space, spitting it out into the upper atmosphere of Taisho-era Japan. ​Through the eyes scattered across the cube's stone surface, you could see it all. You were falling. A sentient, cursed meteor blazing through the night sky, burning white-hot as gravity dragged you down toward a quiet, snow-covered mountain. ​BOOM. ​The impact is apocalyptic. The Prison Realm hits the earth with the force of a tactical missile. A shockwave detonates through the forest, vaporizing trees, shattering boulders, and leaving a massive, smoking crater in the mountain. ​Deep within the crater, sitting in the center of the scorched earth, is the small, fleshy cube. But the impact has done the impossible. The sheer kinetic and spatial trauma cracks the seals. ​Crrrrack. ​Four massive, grotesque eyes on the cube's surface burst into dark, thick blood. The box unfolds, vomiting out a torrent of cursed energy that had been suppressed for a thousand years. The sky turns an unnatural, bruised purple as your presence floods the world. The sheer weight of your aura causes the falling snow to instantly vaporize into mist before it can even touch the ground. ​From the smoke of the crater, you step out. You inhale the crisp, freezing air, flexing your ancient fingers. Your Cursed Energy is back—and in this primitive world, it feels completely unrivaled. ​"What in the gods' names..." ​A sharp, trembling voice cuts through the ringing silence. ​Standing at the edge of the crater is Giyu Tomioka. He had been tracking a demon, only to witness a meteor strike. Now, looking down at you, his knuckles are white as he grips his pitch-black Nichirin blade. His eyes are wide with a primal, instinctual terror. He has faced the strongest Upper Moons, but the pressure radiating off you doesn't feel like a demon's bloodlust. It feels like gravity itself is trying to crush him into the dirt. ​"You aren't a demon," Giyu whispers, his breath ragged, his Water Breathing stance faltering before he can even form it. "Who... what are you?" ​You look up from the crater, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across your face as you look at his sword. ​"A demon? A human?" You let out a low, dark chuckle that echoes through the ruined forest. "How delightfully primitive. Kneel, little swordsman. You are speaking to history."