"I remember feeling
your touch for the first time,
so soft it turned my bones into flowers.
People are like that, I've learned,
our hearts memorize them.
Some people take root
inside the marrow of our bones
and grow there."

—Pavana पवन

Unnamed Shore, Unnamed Time

From an aerial view, one might mistake her for a soaked piece of cargo, curled as she is on the rocky beach. The sea heaves and sighs against the shore, the tide rushing in.

That's what wakes her, and she jerks and twitches, coughing and gasping for breath and coming up on trembling, unsteady arms, her hair bedraggled, her skin soaked and salted by the brine of the sea. She feels like one, enormous bruise, and for a moment, she wants to collapse again.

She blinks, swaying as she comes up to sit on her knees, as the waves wash upon the shore, the morning sun becoming oppressively bright to her eyes, which feel as sensitive as a newborn's. The sea's voice feels too loud, and she crawls further inland, her hands cold and numb to the rocks beneath her palms.

She is so cold. The kind of cold that never leaves the bones, her body shivering around her soul like it is struggling to contain it. It is struggling to contain it.

Little by little, she regains strength, and as she leaves the shore, she realizes what has happened to her.

So, this is the price.

The world is still new—she can still smell the sulfur of the First Flame, but it is fading. How long was she on this nameless shore before her soul was shoved into this body? She can feel how her soul strains against the borders of her body, not used to being so small and weak. She can feel an ache in her bones, a chill in her marrow, and she shivers. She tries to remember the warmth of that sacred place that was her home, and her blood beats in her ears as the memories slip through her mind like sand through her fingers.

Over time, she learns the limits of her body, the breadth of her strength. What was stripped from her was access to the vitae of the other realms. She can no longer hear the music of the universe. She can no longer understand the creatures she encounters. She is no more than a naked and frightened mortal.

No. No, the long life and eternal youth is molded into her is hers still, this much they have allowed her.

But she is chained to Samsara, trapped on the eastern spoke of the Wheel. Forced to begin anew. This is her punishment.

This is the price for the knowledge she has given mankind.

Zenin Estate, December 19, 2018

Winter sinks its teeth into its already nasty bite as the year approaches its end. During this time, humanity the world over prepares for the holidays, enjoying that idyllic little stretch until New Year's Eve. In another time, Nadja may have been amongst those humans, blending in with them, pretending to be cheerful; decorating, singing, basking in the artificial joy of a holiday younger than her, but with roots in her own origins.

"You're violating your restriction," Sukuna murmurs, his tone somewhat mystified while they lay amidst the cushioning support of pillows, blankets, and futons arranged to accommodate Sukuna's massive frame. Nadja is stitched to his side, her eyes heavy-lidded and blurred with pleasure, and a soft, grateful smile on her face.

"Yes," she whispers, her tone equally mystified that she would dare such a thing. "But you already solved the riddle of me and know why I'm here. So long as I do not end your life, my mission is still active. I still have a chance to redeem myself."

Sukuna chuckles. "Only part of it. There's more, isn't there? Why is my death the key to your redemption?"

Nadja's hand is captured in his own, and he brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles and fingers as if they are precious treasures to savor. Gone is the violence of their reunion, replaced only by the pleasant warmth of their old familiarity. The coin of their anger is spent, and only pleasure remains.

"I didn't know it would be you," Nadja murmurs, turning her head to press her lips against the curve of one of his shoulders, tracing the black band of cursed ink on its contours. "I wasn't told much, only that I'd know when we crossed paths. And I knew when I saw you that night. I just…I didn't expect you to be so…"

Sukuna grins at her knowingly and she tries to swat him for the unspoken joke he's making with his eyes, but he still holds her hand captive. Her smile is warm, and for a moment she forgets everything but this.

"I fell in love with you," she says softly, and she feels the tension ripple through him, sees the telltale signs of him beginning to shutter himself, but she presses onward. She has to, now, to make up for all she didn't say a thousand years ago. "Your curious and cunning mind, your strength of course, the way you…the way you carry yourself with this unshakeable sense of self. Grace, dignity, and pride in spades. And you are so beautiful to me. And yet, I saw you were capable of infinite gentleness and compassion, in your own way. I had met many before you, but none like you. And I knew when I saw you, that I never would again."

Sukuna smirks. "Ah, you are sentimental, then. A foolish notion, Daughter of Heaven. Though I appreciate your flattery."

Nadja sits up, sucking her teeth in irritation. "Do you honestly feel like you must keep up this pretense here of all places? It is just the two of us, Sukuna. You need not pretend to be heartless in an attempt to belittle and hurt me. You asked why I was sent to kill you, and I'm telling you why I haven't been able to do so."

Sukuna watches her with shrewd eyes.

"And do you love me still? Even after all I have done and all I plan to do? To you? To your compatriots?"

Nadja breathes deep. "Sukuna, I can't kill you, a thousand years later. Do you really need to ask?"

"No," Sukuna replies, his gaze unblinking, its weight making Nadja feel like her skin is too tight for whatever is inside of her. "But I want to hear you say it."

Nadja takes in a shaky breath.

"I love you," she whispers, the words are like a secret she can no longer keep; one both of them have always known. And then the words are coming of their own volition, the scar tissue of a thousand years torn asunder to bleed the wound anew, raw and aching and vulnerable and real. "I always have. I never stopped. And I don't think I ever will. In every lifetime I will probably love you. Four arms, two arms, no arms. Sukuna, you are—"

She doesn't get far, as he tugs her down to kiss her soundly, until she is breathless with laughter, until his grin is imprinted on her skin as surely as the tattoos that mark him.

"Go on," he says, as he maneuvers her beneath him, spreading her legs around his waist, his lower hands gripping her hips, while he plants his upper hands on either side of her. Nadja can feel the blunt tip of one of his cocks probing for entry, but she's not ready yet.

"Sukuna…" she whispers, though she's not sure for what. Sukuna grins down at her.

"I…" Her voice sounds so small, and she wishes she had a weapon. For the first time, she is truly unarmed before him. She wishes she had the conviction to raise a blade against him. But she doesn't and he knows it. He has her dead to rights, and she just confessed that she is still in love with him. And he hasn't said whether or not he feels the same. But they both know the truth.

One of his hands reaches down, grips his cock tightly, pumping it slowly before dragging the bulbous head up and down the seam of her pussy until he feels her grow slick. He growls in satisfaction when she relaxes under him, shivering and groaning from the sensation. The tongue of his lower mouth slips out, soaking her cunt until she's so slippery he can slide into with ease.

"One of a kind," he murmurs as he slips inside her warmth, finding little resistance as he stretches her until he's hilt-deep. She moans like she's wounded, and he drops down to his upper elbows to cage her in, kissing her forehead and then her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and then her lips. There, he lingers, refusing to move, relishing the feel of her breathing and shuddering beneath him. His eyes glow in the dim bedroom, and she breathes against his mouth, lips parted as his tongue snakes between, tasting her.

"You're something of an enigma yourself, Daughter of Heaven," Sukuna teases, trying his damndest to ignore how her cunt tightens its grip on his cock like a wet, velvet fist. He resists the urge to push her legs back onto the mattress and plow her until she can feel him in her throat.

"D-don't call me th-that…" She stammers, hands grasping at his forearms, nails digging into the densely corded muscle as his pace becomes a bit more demanding. She's still sensitive and overstimulated, so getting to her first climax feels like a stumble over the finish line for her, taking her by surprise while Sukuna strokes her through it. He doesn't stop, and Nadja struggles for breath, trying desperately to hold onto the sentient parts of herself that are dissolving beneath the relentless thrust of his hips.

In every lifetime…

Sukuna does not tell her that he loves her, but it's there: imprinted in every kiss, every groan, every mark he leaves on her skin with his teeth. The way he holds her close and whispers the filthiest words in the most tender voice, as if telling her to come for him is a benediction and not a command. And she comes apart, sundered from herself, surrendering to him as she has longed to do from the moment she saw him.

In every lifetime…

Nadja feels the pact on her soul weigh heavy like chains, even as Sukuna's thrusts become ragged and stuttered. His expression is shuttered from her, his eyes distant, and he comes with a guttural sound that shakes her bones, driving himself to the hilt as he empties himself inside of her, spent and sated.

In every lifetime…

Pierce the heart of the heartless.

Sukuna rolls them over, and Nadja lays atop him in utter stillness, limp and panting for breath. His chest rises and falls beneath her, his heart beating a strong fever cadence in her ears. War drums in the hollow cavity of his chest. The heart she is supposed to pierce with her Executioner Blade, which lies forgotten amidst the pile of suedes and sheaths beyond her reach.

I love you.

Nadja feels something snap within her, a sound like a chain breaking, and shuts her eyes against the sudden threat of tears. How can she hope to kill this man when she no longer feels the need to prove herself to the ones who gave her this mission?

"Sukuna," she whispers, and his answering hum sound pleased and sated. "What is your goal for all this?"

Sukuna stills beneath her, and she feels unsure for the first time. A pair of hands tighten their grip on her rear, and she knows there will be bruising.

"Look at me." The command brooks no room for protest and Nadja responds by sitting up to look at him. For a man who hates to be looked down upon, he does not seem to mind. Even so, all four of his eyes are on hers, the crimson glittering like faceted rubies, his expression one of deadly calm.

"Sukuna—" He silences her with another look.

"I will do as I please," he says. "Until my life is taken, or I expire of old age. Time has no meaning for me as a curse, just as it never had meaning for you as an immortal."

Nadja shakes her head. "But what is the point of all this violence? My love do you not see that things could be different now? You can choose another path."

Sukuna stares at her.

"Why would I want to?"

Tears prick Nadja's eyes. She has to try. Maybe there will be no need to draw her sword, or to hope that their daughter can put him down for good. She shuts her eyes, willing the tears to stay, but her lashes are wet, and Sukuna can see his obstinate stance has wounded her. Something in his gut twists and squirms like maggots in a corpse. He reaches up with one hand, cups Nadja's face, his thumb catching a single tear that escapes her moist lashes.

"Please," she whispers. She knows she's going to beg. "Take another vessel, let Megumi go, you have a chance to do something different. The world that cursed you no longer exists, my love. Why isn't this enough?"

Sukuna sucks his teeth.

"I will have you," he says. "And I will have my vengeance. I am a curse, Nadja. It is my purpose."

Nadja is angry, now. More at what was done to him to make him this way than anything.

"You are not a curse!" She snaps and from the way his gaze sharpens and one of his hands twitch in a familiar gesture, she knows she's overstepped. The pain of his technique opens a small wound in her side. Blood trickles down, sliding over every slalom before landing on his belly. His secondary mouth opens, the massive tongue sliding out to lap at the droplets. Nadja hates herself for finding it…arousing.

"What am I, then?" He taunts.

Nadja glares at him, tears gathering in her eyes again.

"You're a man, Sukuna. You are one of a kind. The most powerful sorcerer I've ever met. A veritable virtuoso of jujutsu. Your gifts could change this world for the better. Why continue on this path when everyone who has ever cursed you is already dead? You don't have to carry it anymore, my love."

My love.

Sukuna has longed to hear her say those words, and he hates that the first time he hears them in sincerity is when she is begging him not to do what he has always done. It scrapes at his nerves, but his heart beats heavy in his chest. He hates it, hates this, but knows that there is a price for being greedy. There's always a price. She knows this as so few do, being the divine creature she is trapped in this body.

He is silent in the wake of her plea, can see the tears in her eyes. He has never seen her weep in sorrow before.

He thinks about the poison writhing inside him, thinks of a conversation he had with her long ago. He loves her, but even that will eventually be sacrificed on the altar of what he is. The God of Hida, and its most fearsome bane.

"Go back to them," he tells her, and hates himself for every word that leaves his mouth. "If we survive all this, we will continue this discussion."

Nadja laughs despite her tears, and he smiles easily for having made her smile this once.

Sukuna's lower eyes slip to the wound he made. It's healed, leaving only dried flecks of blood. One of his hands kneads up her side, giving her waist a generous squeeze.

"And if we don't?" She whispers, and Sukuna's eyes meet hers.

"Then I will find you on the Wheel, Nadja," he says, and grins that secretive and malicious grin. "You were made for me, after all."

Shibuya 109 Building Rooftop, December 24, 2018

The morning of Christmas Eve dawns overcast and gray, a dry and crisp wind threading through Tokyo's spire-ridden heart, whistling across the wasteland of Shibuya, and moaning through the abandoned streets of the city. Satoru takes in the unnerving quiet of the city, unblinking, his face an impassive effigy of stillness and concentration, his haori and scarf whipping around him.

When he'd initially chosen this day, he had been thinking of Suguru, and it had taken time for him to realize that he had one foot entrenched in the past, one of his Six Eyes always looking backward. It wasn't until his birthday, and his talk with Nanami that he realized he could no longer afford to look back. It wasn't until he finally looked around him that he realized he could look forward. He no longer needs to look behind him, waiting for a comforting presence that will never come.

He has to move forward. After all, there is a future with love waiting for him. His students are watching. The world is watching. Destiny's hand has never been heavier on his shoulders. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp, algid December wind, relishing the sting in his nose and eyes. At his back, three of the people he wishes to protect stand at the ready: Utahime, whose soft eyes are hardened with determination, her cursed energy building; Gakuganji, who tunes up his guitar with ease, rheumy eyes clear and focused and lucid; and then there is Sundari, whose four arms are stretched in preparation, each of her four hands in a different mudra, her body held in the statuary of a one-legged pose—a veritable embodiment of Nataraja.

"When you're ready," Satoru says to Utahime.

The ritual the four of them undertake is one they have been planning since Satoru got the lay of the land and the date of the challenge, weaving it day after day with cursed energy. Each of them, a thread in a greater tapestry set to be unveiled on this day. Satoru looks forward, raises his voice in a chant not heard in centuries.

Together, they weave a melody of cursed energy. Ijichi's veil holds, but Satoru can sense the strain in him. He has poured all of himself into this moment, and Satoru trusts no one else to accomplish this opening gambit.

He does not stand alone. He never will again.

All Six Eyes are open, and the world around him is transformed. He can see the very fabric of cursed energy in the air, can chase its dark and glittering threads to their source. He can pull it apart, weave it together, compounding it upon itself unto infinity.

Technique Amplification: Blue.

Sundari's voice harmonizes with Utahime's, all four of her eyes flaring and unblinking.

Technique Reversal: Red.

Gakuganji's fingers strum a wailing chord that threads the infinity between both orbs.

"Nine Ropes.
Polarized light.
Crow and Declaration.
Between Front and Back."

Satoru's voice rings with a power that makes the very air tremble in anticipation for the leashed power gathering like a storm at the tips of his fingers. Threading beneath him is Sundari's haunting harmony, sung from the mouth on her belly, weaving like balanced koi with Utahime's powerfully clear and bright voice.

Hollow Technique: Purple.

And all at once, the world releases its breath as Ijichi's barrier dissolves. For a brief instant, the entire city is engulfed in violet light, so bright that no cameras could get a photo of what exactly happened that day.

Satoru watched with wide and predatory eyes as his attack rushed across the city, carving an impossible swathe through Shibuya, heading straight to Shinjuku. He can see Sukuna, can see the steady and malevolent flower of destruction that is his cursed energy, and the pinprick of his lackey at his rear.

He can almost make out Sukuna's smug smirk as he dodges at the last possible second. Satoru knows what he's up against when he manages to take off two of Sukuna's arms. It's a hell of an opening gambit, and he's still got plenty of cursed energy to spare. He was just hoping Purple would finish this quickly.

Ah, well. He is the strongest, after all.

Satoru doesn't look back, even as he vanishes, making his way to Shinjuku. He finds Sukuna, surveying the damage Purple left in its wake, and healing his severed arms. Satoru isn't prepared for how big he is.

Well, Sundari is tall…it makes sense that she took after her—

"Just so we're clear," Satoru says with a grin. "You're the challenger here."

Sukuna grins back like a predator scenting blood. "Alright, punk. Let's see what you've got."

Amplifying Satoru's power had barely tapped Sundari's cursed energy reserves, but she still feels the strain of pouring so much of herself into a bolstering technique. She is better suited to destruction than support. Takes just as much energy but feels more fun for her. She'll have to commend Utahime for being able to do this and still be standing after. The elder sorcerer with the guitar isn't so bad either, though he looks at her like she's Sukuna himself.

Ah, well. She's known not everyone will take her presence as a welcome one. Still, without Satoru here as a buffer, she has to confront these prejudices head-on, and she's never backed down from a challenge.

"You stare at me any harder and you'll burst into flames, Gakuganji," Sundari says, amused as her lower eyes catch his glare again as they make their way back to the rest of the group.

"Only after you and your accursed father have been exorcized, no doubt," he fires back with equal venom. Sundari chuckles darkly.

"You guys are going about this all wrong if you still think he's a curse," she retorts, rolling her eyes. At Utahime's sharp look, Sundari turned out all four of her hands.

"You could have spent more time picking me and mom's brains instead of glaring at me, just saying," Sundari says. "But mom already explained when she got back: Sukuna's incarnated. Whatever he did to turn himself into a cursed object seems like a set thing, so…not a curse! Otherwise, Megumi's shikigami would have killed him."

She meets Utahime and Gakuganji's shocked expressions.

"You guys never wondered how the fuck he did it?" Sundari asks incredulously. "Oh. Satoru mentioned that jujutsu society is very…insular, even amongst yourselves. Wow, I bet all that shit in Shibuya could have been avoided if you guys talked to each other and shared knowledge more, huh?"

And with that, Sundari takes her leave. She finds the rest of what remains of 'jujutsu society' arrayed in a viewing room. Mei Mei has been contracted to stream the showdown between Satoru and Sukuna via her cursed technique. Sundari initially protested the idea, but Satoru insisted.

She still thinks it's foolish.

"Hikmat-san," Yuji greets with a wave. Sundari smirks.

"Just Sundari, Yuji," she corrects. "What's up? Has Satoru won, yet? He promised he'd wrap this up as quick as he could."

Not only is Satoru not winning, but he's scrapping. Sundari watches as her father and her…well, she guesses she can call him her boyfriend…thinking about this gets weird for her so she focuses on the fight as objectively as she can. Satoru is so fast, and she's fought him enough that she can practically feel their breaths in sync. She can feel his movements, and if she focuses enough, she can almost predict his explosiveness.

But her father is the same way. She can see it, even if the others can't. The older sorcerer, Kusakabe, is onto something, and Sundari knows that his mind is chasing the same conclusion: Satoru and Sukuna are nigh evenly matched.

"Have you seen my mother anywhere?" Sundari asks Yuji, who shakes his head. Sundari sucks her teeth. How cowardly of her: she can't even bring herself to watch Sukuna's defeat, one she could have avoided had she done her job right the first time.

Sundari stops herself short, her anger cooling immediately. No, that isn't fair to her mother. She can't imagine being forced to be the executioner of someone she loves. She can't imagine ever having to do something like that to Satoru, or any of the students she's come to adore and respect since coming to know them.

And Nadja has loved Sukuna for a thousand years. Sundari counts her very existence as proof of that, otherwise, Nadja could have killed her too. Still, they have a duty to this world, and she has a vow to consider, and right now the man she loves is trying to find a way to circumvent it and Sundari knows…

…she knows it's not enough to thwart the will of Heaven itself.

Satoru has trained all his life for this moment.

Every single thing that has shaped him, was for this: his destiny.

Sukuna is the jujutsu world's "unfinished business" only because none have ever been strong enough to destroy him. Satoru knows why he was born, has watched the unfathomable pattern of the universe unfold before his Six Eyes. He has grasped it at the very brink of death, the glittering edge of fate that seldom few ever got to see without fully dying.

He has been to that place, the thin, bright line betwixt life and death, and know his destiny snarls in his face with two faces, two mouths, four eyes, and four arms.

Sundari was meant to cross his path, and he was meant to hone his diamond edge against her in preparation for this.

Four arms. He can handle that. Reach and flexibility. He just pours more into his speed; his mind is a slipstream of instinct and impossible calculus.

He can't think of her right now, but he does anyway. Sundari and her four arms. Sukuna has more cursed energy behind his strikes than her, but their physiology is the same and thus, bound by the same rules.

Four eyes—Satoru has fought his daughter and learned the limits of her enhanced perception and perspective. Yes, he knows where Sukuna's blind spots are.

The second mouth. Sundari has told him it does not strain the heart or lungs. It can chant indefinitely while the second set of arms makes mudras. Alright, he can take that apart when he finds an opening. At least temporarily.

He has to find a way to keep Sukuna from being able to heal. That's the definitive factor. If he cannot replenish himself, then it becomes a war of attrition. And that is a war that Satoru will inevitably win due to his limitless cursed energy reserves.

It's when he sees the strange wheel cresting behind Sukuna's head that he realizes there is one thing he could never have prepared for.

A long time ago, Satoru was told about the origin of the bad blood between his clan and the Zenins. In his mind, the Zenins were almost to a one pieces of absolute shit, and most of them not nearly strong enough to run in yolk with him anyway [until Toji, and later Maki]. Still, the story of their fabled inherited technique was one passed down through the generations of both clans as it had once changed the trajectory of their bloodlines forever.

Until he was born, of course.

And because Satoru does not believe in coincidence—only the spokes of the wheel that are Fate and Destiny—he understands what the universe has tasked him with…and what that means for Megumi as well, whose soul is barely a dim flicker in his eyes, hidden deep within the monster that has consumed him. Sukuna is just armor, and Satoru will pull him piecemeal from his charge like any other curse clinging so viscerally to life long after their time is done.

The halo-like wheel crowning Sukuna glows and twitches, and then turns once.

Something in the universe tilts away from Satoru, but it's so subtle that he almost mistakes it for vertigo. But no, his Six Eyes are telling him something is changing, shifting. He focuses on Sukuna, seeking to damage him beyond repair. The wheel is twitching again, but not glowing.

What the hell is going on?

He tries to remember the intel he was given. Nadja hadn't mentioned anything about this, but Sundari had mentioned Megumi summoning a powerful shikigami with a similar apparatus above its head. She'd gotten Megumi to safety in Shibuya while Sukuna fought and destroyed it, negating the subjugation ritual. And if he wears this apparatus now, that can only mean…

Satoru shifts tactics immediately. He wishes that Sundari had stayed and fought that shikigami, but he knows that this must be the same ability that killed the Limitless Six Eyes user four centuries prior. And in turn, the Ten Shadows user must have also been killed, likely by the very shikigami they summoned to end the fight. No one was ever able to figure out how because once the Ten Shadows user perished, the shikigami was dismissed. No one knows what it fucking does. But Sukuna seems to, and that's troubling.

There is no such thing as coincidence.

Sukuna has tamed whatever thing lay at the end of the Ten Shadows, and he's using it for something Satoru cannot figure out.

"What will your last words be, I wonder?" Sukuna asks as they lock themselves in a stalemate, their cursed energy lashing against the borders of one another's defenses like warring storms. "Shall I tell them to Sundari for you?"

Satoru grins, unflappable in the face of shit talking. He invented that.

"I don't know," Satoru says. "She's not big on long, dramatic good-byes. She did give me a good luck kiss and told me to hurry up and kill you, though."

Satoru's Six Eyes are running on all cylinders, and his awareness is nigh omnipotent. He can see in all six directions, and as their fight tears through Shinjuku, he feels something he's only ever felt when sparring Sundari: joy. There is something utterly joyful in being able to revel in the full of his power. Since he was freed from the Prison Realm, he's felt like a horse that has shaken loose its bridle, and he never intends to be yoked again.

The very concrete around them shatters with every blow, and Sukuna's smile is as manic and wild as his own. He sees where Sundari gets it. All that cursed energy, and nowhere to unleash it. Satoru is the perfect match for either of them, because what is the Limitless good for if not enduring relentless cursed energy like this?

It's when the wheel turns again that Sukuna's smile turns from manic to smug.

And the first blood drawn from Satoru shocks him to momentary stillness as Sukuna flicks two fingers in a careless gesture. The flesh on his neck opens up, and blood spurts from the shallow wound. Satoru feels his mind attempt to go back to a time long past, threatening to lock his limbs and freeze his body, but he's trained for this.

That fight is over. Move.

The world rushes back into focus and sound, and Satoru summons his domain at the same time Sukuna summons his.

Sundari sees Gojo's blood spray through the screen, and her breath gets trapped in her lungs. For a moment, everyone is silent because no one in the room has ever been able to get past Satoru's Infinity ability. Sundari has never been able to figure out how to utilize domain amplification and innate technique in order to utilize both effectively, but as she watches both sorcerers open their domains, she realizes that her father is quite simply on an entirely differently level.

A virtuoso, she'd jokingly referred to him as when she was explaining to Satoru why her training was more rigorous. For all her power, she did not inherent her father's ingenuity when it came to jujutsu. What she is, she fought and bled for in every way one can for such knowledge without compromising themselves. She wagers her father didn't have it easy in his time either, not to mention curses were much stronger back then.

She can't argue any of that.

What she can argue is that the wheel on his head—the one belonging to Megumi's shikigami—is kind of fucking cheating.

"Your thoughts betray you, girl," a voice says at her side. Sundari looks up. A stranger, one newly acquired in the wake of the Culling Games, Hajime Kashimo. Of all assembled, he is the only incarnated sorcerer that seems mostly on their side. When confronted by Satoru, his only desire was to face Sukuna should the Honored One fall, and Satoru agreed. Since then, his behavior—while harsh to some—has been tolerable.

Sundari knows his interest in her is an extension of his desire to battle her father. Foolish.

"Then perhaps you should consider minding your business as everyone else seems able to do," Sundari retorted, awarding him only a flicker of her lower eyes to his younger, incarnated body.

"When this is over, and if we both survive, perhaps I will test the mettle of the Princess of Curses," Kashimo says with a derisive little chuckle. Sundari resists the urge to roll her eyes. Not only from the title he's bestowed upon her, but from the fact that he thinks he can survive a bout with her father and challenge her shortly after. Even Satoru would not be so foolhardy.

"You'll find me less likely to adhere to whatever antiquated protocols you ancient sorcerers seem so keen on bringing back in the modern era," Sundari says—her only warning to him. "If we both survive this, you go back in the box you came out of, and free the mortal whose body you've stolen. If you're a good sport about it, I won't even destroy whatever cursed object you've been hiding in."

When Kashimo stalks off, muttering something about 'Sukuna's insolent whelp', Sundari smiles.

Where the hell is her mother? It's been an hour already, and the domain clash between Satoru and Sukuna has reached a pinnacle. She's never seen such brazen displays of power. Domain clashes are usually the final step to victory but both opponents have equally refined domains. Sundari is secretly glad she explained to Satoru how she manages to cast her domain with no barrier.

Whatever she managed to say must have run through all the filters of his brain for him to figure out an open-barrier domain. It's a nigh-impossible feat, but Satoru, like her father, is more in-tune with the borders of his own soul, which he now understands to be truly limitless.

She watches and wants to cheer when Sukuna is stunned into stillness, overtaken by the Unlimited Void. Sundari remembers asking Satoru once what it was like to be on the receiving end of it, and he refused to show her, not knowing how it would affect her abilities if he unleashed such power. It had been enough for them to simply walk hand in hand, marveling at the beauty of his soul made manifest around them.

Satoru's fist plows into Sukuna's chest in a shower of black sparks, and Sundari wonders why her heart seizes in surprise and sorrow as blood trickles from her father's mouth. All four of his eyes flutter and Sundari's breath catches in her throat.

The others are excited, dissecting the fight as if this is some sort of sporting event and not a battle upon which their fates all hang by a single thread. They are so certain that Satoru has secured a decisive victory after such a devastating blow. Sundari stares at the screen when the sparks fade.

Satoru's hand is covered in blood, it drips from his fingertips. Sukuna coughs wetly.

"Lookin' a little rough there, old man," Satoru taunts, sounding winded. Sukuna doesn't glare at him, but grins through his bloodied teeth, giving Satoru a savage smile that makes the Honored One's blood chill only slightly. Sukuna reaches up, touches the cavity in his sternum.

He cannot open his domain.

But, neither can Satoru, if the trickle of blood from his nose is any indication.

"You're in pretty rough shape yourself, punk," Sukuna says, and they spill into motion again.

The crown spins and spins, glows and glows.

Satoru still hasn't figured out what it's doing.

He hits Sukuna in the chest again in a shower of black sparks, sending the monster staggering back. Sukuna falls to one knee and Satoru prepares to finish him off, offering a silent apology to Megumi. He's so goddamned tired, and he knows if he doesn't muster a Hollow Purple, now, it's only a matter of time before Sukuna regains his advantage. They've clashed domains no less than five times and Sukuna was only stunned for a moment before recovering.

That damnable crown on his head has something to do with it.

Two pairs of hands emerge from his shadow and seize him by the arms. Satoru is so shocked he momentarily forgets himself, his Infinity activating instinctually.

There's a sound like metal being torn as a blade shears through the barrier of his technique and severs his arm.

Satoru manages to leap out of the way before the blade can do more damage.

Towering over him is what he understands to be the shikigami Sundari described in Shibuya. The wheel…the crowning wheel…Satoru searches the archives of his memory, but his brain is burning from the strain of his reversed curse technique overwriting the damage. He's got the gist of what this shikigami must be doing, but that blade is nasty business.

He'll need to take out Sukuna and the shikigami in one shot if he hopes to limp out of here with his head on his shoulders.

Sukuna smiles, still on one knee as the battle begins in earnest.

Satoru once again wishes that Sundari had been present for Sukuna's battle with this shikigami. At the very least, he can know what it does, but as the fight continues, he comes to understand what it is: adaptation.

He has to destroy it.

The war for attrition grows desperate, only because he feels his cursed energy output decrease. The black flashes he unleashed help, but he cannot risk opening his domain again as he cannot replenish what he'll lose if he does.

And it may very well kill him, but Sukuna likely already knows that. Not that it matters…he has other tactics.

He summons Blue and Red, sending them away toward Sukuna. The King of Curses shields himself accordingly, sending Red far and wide, apparently missing its target.

Mahoraga steps in to block Blue, and Satoru smirks because it is at maximum output.

The shikigami is torn apart, and the crown on Sukuna's head dissolves. Even so, he is still alive, and he has what he needs to destroy this little upstart. No, that does not do this battle justice.

Red swings back around as Satoru closes in, distracting Sukuna just long enough to trigger its delayed detonation. Sukuna tumbles forward, and Satoru readies another attack, leaping and catching him around the waist with both legs, unleashing a series of punishing blows. One of Sukuna's hands catches Satoru's fist, and Satoru points up.

"Bang." He says, and unleashes Red again. He can only do this so many more times, but this fucker is the hardest he's ever fought. Even his training with Sundari hasn't prepared him for being pushed this far.

They break apart in the detonation, and Satoru activates his Infinity again, catching his breath. When the dust settles, Sukuna is still standing, but there is a fury in his eyes fed by tinder a thousand years gone by.

He makes a gesture, gathering his cursed energy to the singularity of his being. Satoru's eyes are bright and alert, and he ignores the painful pulsing in his skull as he registers just how vast Sukuna's power is.

Ah, Sundari, he thinks, readying himself as he heals his severed arm. I'm sorry we won't get to do everything I promised. Fuck, am I really doing this right now?

Sukuna took aim, and Satoru saw the cursed energy of a large slash heading his way. He smirked, but his smirk faded when he saw Sukuna's expression: a hunger there, an eagerness, and anticipation of something.

Something's off.

There's a strange peace that settles over the ruined battlefield, as the slash grows closer to claim his life. He can see Sukuna's eyes grow wide, and the ruin of his face where Red hit its mark. The clouds scuttle across the sky, and Satoru is reminded of his final battle with Toji Fushiguro.

Toji?

No, Satoru sees her as she seems to shadow-step in front of him. He hears the hiss of steel as her sword, a blade so bright it looks like the sun itself, derails from its sheath. Satoru sees the cursed energy radiating from the sword like a beacon. He knows what it can do, but he's never seen Nadja use it.

She brings the blade up in a cross-body swing and there's a metallic screech as the very will of the divine and what Satoru now understands to be the very will of the profane clash against one another. Sukuna's cursed technique splits in two as Nadja's sword explodes in a shower of divine sparks.

Satoru manages to duck even as the slash passes him by.

"Nadja…" Satoru murmurs.

Sukuna's eyes are wide as he gazes upon her.

Nadja's hands are burned beyond recognition, the flesh sizzling from the impact of the block she wasn't sure would land. But then, blood spills from her mouth, and there's a terrible pain in her chest.

"Sukuna…I'm…" she gurgles, looking at him as she slides to her knees, her upper body severed from her lower half as she crumples to the ground.

"Nadja!" Satoru cries and Sukuna hesitates for the first time.

There's silence on the battlefield, now, and some cold and terrible emptiness that takes its place. Sukuna watches Nadja's body, hoping against hope. He's killed her before, she'll reconstitute in moments. How foolish of her to try and defend that punk! But he expects no less. After all, they have a conversation to finish.

Satoru is kneeling at Nadja's side, his eyes reading for anything, something denoting life, something denoting the divine resurrection he knows is her birthright and punishment. Sukuna lives and so the peace of death will elude her until he dies.

He looks up, finds Sukuna standing over him.

Nadja doesn't move, and her blood seeps into the dust, into the shattered concrete, pooling around her broken body.

Sukuna is silent as he kneels, a pair of his hands taking both halves of her, and Satoru doesn't stop him. It is enough for one day. In a blink, the King of Curses is gone, and Satoru is left alone and injured, staring at the darkening stain of divine blood spilled in the name of protecting him.

Jujutsu Tech, Tokyo Campus, December 24, 2018

Sundari is numb in the wake of what they've all witnessed. They all are, because the battle did not end in victory for either side. Satoru lives to fight another day, but so too does Sukuna.

"We should strike at him now, while he's injured!" Kusakabe grouses, breaking the warbling tension in the air. Sundari is silent.

"There's no telling if we can even beat him as he is, now," Utahime argues. "And with Gojo injured, we've lost one of our biggest advantages over him."

Kusakabe sucks his teeth. "His daughter is with us, isn't she? And according to Gojo isn't she just as powerful?"

Sundari can't hear them. She's staring at the blank screens on the wall, watching as Satoru limps off the battlefield, away from the bloodstain where her mother once lay. There's a loud buzzing in her ears, high pitched and keening.

The room goes silent again and all eyes turn to her.

She blinks slowly and regards all of them.

"I'll go," she says, and her voice sounds hollow to her ears. "And if I'm not back before a reasonable amount of time, assume I'm dead."

She turns and leaves, but not before running into Satoru in the courtyard. He staggers a little, and there's a scar on his arm where he's healed it from being severed. He takes one look at Sundari, and he understands.

"Sundari," he says, coming to her, drawing her into his embrace. If he has no energy for little else, he will find it for this. "I didn't know…"

Sundari shuts all four of her eyes tightly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She can't afford to think of that, right now.

"I have to go, Satoru," she whispers, not trusting her voice to be any higher than this. Satoru holds her tightly, as if he seeks to keep her here, but she knows that he almost died this day. A rare occurrence for one such as him.

"I know," he says back, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Be careful."

"Do you think you have the energy to…" she ventures. Satoru blinks and then immediately understands.

"Yeah…" he breathes. "Yeah, I can."

He makes a circle around Sundari, painting the sutra of teleportation around her. He knows where Sukuna is, and he hopes he can get Sundari close enough to make her journey easier.

"Good luck," he says to her. "I love you."

"I love you too," she says as he claps his hands together and she vanishes, leaving a small crater where she once stood.

Satoru continues his journey inside, welcomed by his students, but feeling the sour taste of failure in his mouth. He only hopes Sundari can succeed where he's failed. He can only hope vengeance doesn't cloud her judgment.

A foolish thing, to hope against hope. But he has faith in his goddess.