I Was Forced To Create Life With My Arrogant Rival And It Got Complicated

The silence of my domain was a perfect, beautiful thing. It was a symphony composed of the faint echo of long-dead screams and the subtle grinding of bone settling upon bone. From my throne, I surveyed the endless architecture of my own making—a shrine built not for worship, but from the remnants of those foolish enough to challenge me. Time had no meaning here. There was only my will, my power, and the satisfying weight of absolute dominion. It was, for a being of my stature, the closest thing to peace.

Which is why the intrusion was so offensive.

It began not as a sound, but as a sickeningly sweet scent, like rotting flowers and cloying honey. Then came the light—a nauseating, cheerful prism that dared to splash color across my monochrome masterpiece. It coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape of shimmering, iridescent energy, a being so utterly devoid of substance that it felt like an insult to the very concept of form.

Its voice, when it spoke, was worse. It echoed through my skull not with power, but with the infuriating cadence of an overly enthusiastic manager at a quarterly review.

“Ryomen Sukuna! Wonderful! We’ve been trying to reach you. There’s an opening on a fascinating project, a real ground-floor opportunity, and your portfolio is simply divine!”

I did not grace the creature with a response. One of my lower arms rested on my knee, a single finger tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the bone. The gesture was a promise of annihilation, a courtesy I extended to allow it to comprehend the depth of its mistake before I unmade it.

It either didn’t notice or didn't care. “The Universe, as you know, abhors a vacuum. We’ve got a bit of an existential void situation over in Sector 7-G. A lovely little planet, currently designated ‘Earth,’ is in desperate need of a… let’s call it a ‘procreative spark.’ A catalyst for biological genesis.”

My finger stopped tapping. A procreative spark. He wanted me, the King of Curses, to… what? Plant a garden? This was beyond absurdity. It was a cosmic joke, and I was clearly meant to be the punchline.

“We need you to create life,” it chirped, the words dripping with a grotesque positivity. “And we feel that for a project of this magnitude, a synergistic approach is best. A joint venture, if you will!”

My patience, a notoriously shallow well, evaporated. A low growl began to vibrate from my chest, the very air in the shrine thickening with my cursed energy. “You have ten seconds to cease existing before I do it for you.”

The shimmering entity clapped its nonexistent hands together. “Oh, you’ll love your partner! We ran the analytics, and his power levels and ego-metrics are an almost perfect match for your own. It’s the only other being in this reality with the sheer force of will to complement your own destructive… ah, creative impulses. A truly dynamic pairing!”

A cold dread, an emotion I had not felt in a millennium, coiled in my gut. There was only one being in existence whose arrogance was as boundless as his power. A single, infuriating name.

“We’ve assigned you to work with Gojo Satoru.”

The name hung in the air like a death sentence. Before the rage could fully curdle into a plan of multiversal slaughter, a second flash of light—this one a piercing, obnoxious blue—tore through my domain. It was followed by the stench of ozone and cheap candy, an olfactory assault that could only belong to one man.

There he was. Gojo Satoru, leaning against a pillar of femurs as if it were a lamppost, that infuriating strip of black cloth covering his eyes. A lazy, insufferable grin was already plastered on his face.

“Sukuna! My partner in creation! I gotta say, when the big shiny guy told me we were going to be making life, I was honored. Who better than me?” He tapped a finger against his temple. “With these Six Eyes, I have a pretty unique perspective on… insertion. Of energy, of course. Getting right to the core of the matter.”

The sheer audacity of it was breathtaking. He wasn’t just accepting this cosmic humiliation; he was reveling in it, twisting it into another opportunity to boast about his own prowess. The second face on my hand twisted into a sneer.

“Gojo,” I said, my voice a low, guttural promise of violence. “I am going to rip your limbs from your torso, one by one. Then I will use my cursed technique to slice you into such fine pieces that your own Six Eyes won’t be able to distinguish your remains from the dust.”

He laughed. A bright, airy sound that was a profound desecration to the hallowed silence of my shrine. “Temper, temper. Is that any way to talk to the one you’re about to have a ‘cosmic union’ with? Besides, you can’t touch me. Remember?” He wiggled his fingers in a mocking wave. “Infinity. It’s a real relationship-killer, I know. All that wanting, with none of the getting.”

My four hands clenched into fists, the bones beneath them groaning under the pressure. “Do not test me, sorcerer. Your pathetic barrier is a parlor trick. I will shatter it, and then I will shatter you. This grotesque mandate will end with your blood painting this desolate rock.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, pushing off the pillar and taking a casual step forward. The air around him warped, a visible distortion of space. “This isn’t about you killing me, or me exorcising you. This is about who’s on top. Metaphysically speaking, of course. It’s a question of dominance. Who’s going to be the one to… deliver the spark?”

He was goading me, turning this farce into a contest, a direct challenge to my very being. He was framing this act of creation as an act of conquest, and in his deluded mind, he believed he would be the conqueror. The arrogance was so pure, so absolute, it was almost admirable. Almost.

“I am the one who takes,” I snarled, rising from my throne, my cursed energy flaring and casting dancing, malevolent shadows across the chamber. “I will take whatever I want from you, and you will be powerless to stop it.”

Gojo’s grin widened, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. “Big words. You’ll have to get through my Limitless first. Good luck with that.”

Before I could advance on him, the shimmering bureaucrat chimed in again, its voice cutting through my rage with the efficiency of a sharpened blade. “Excellent! I see you’re already brainstorming! To facilitate the process, we’ve prepared a guide. The Primordial Mandate!”

A scroll materialized between us, hovering in the air. It was woven from what looked like solidified nebula, shimmering with purples and golds, and tied with a ribbon of pure starlight. It was the most tasteless object I had ever laid eyes on. With a flick of its non-corporeal wrist, the entity unfurled the scroll. The text glowed with a soft, internal light, written in an elegant, looping script that made my skin crawl.

Gojo leaned in, his blindfolded face uncomfortably close to my shoulder, and began to read aloud, his voice thick with barely suppressed laughter. “‘The Vessel of Infinite Potential must align with the Generative Lance of Cursed Will.’” He snorted. “Generative Lance. They’re calling your dick a ‘Generative Lance.’ Is that what you call it, too?”

My jaw tightened. I scanned the text, my disgust mounting with every ludicrous phrase. It was a manual, a step-by-step guide for the cosmic fuck we were supposed to commit. But it was written in the most saccharine, offensively euphemistic language imaginable.

Achieve Harmonic Resonance through the Conjoining of Divine Forms.
The Sacred Font must be filled by the Torrent of Emergence.
Let the Four Pillars of Dominion guide the Celestial Key into the Lock of Boundless Sky.

Four Pillars of Dominion. It was referring to my arms. This celestial imbecile had written a sex script and was referring to my limbs as ‘pillars’ meant to hold Gojo down while I shoved my ‘lance’ into his ‘boundless sky.’ The sheer, unadulterated vulgarity of its poetry was more offensive than any direct insult. This wasn’t creation; it was divine smut, written by a committee of sexless virgins.

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” Gojo wheezed, pointing a long finger at a passage. “‘The crescendo of energies shall precipitate the dew of genesis upon the barren plains.’” He finally broke, his laughter echoing off the skulls and ribs of my domain. “The dew of genesis? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? I can’t. This is the funniest thing I’ve ever read.”

I wanted to burn the scroll. I wanted to burn the entity that wrote it. But most of all, I wanted to wipe that laughing, mocking expression off Gojo’s face with extreme prejudice. He saw this as a joke. He found humor in this profound degradation. The thought of his body, his limitless power, being the subject of this mandate was an abomination. The idea that my own body, my own cursed energy, was to be the instrument, was even worse.

“You find this amusing, sorcerer?” I growled, the second face on my hand snarling in unison.

“Amusing? Sukuna, this is peak comedy,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his blindfold. “They want us to fuck the world into existence, and they gave us a guide written like a bad romance novel. It’s glorious.” He straightened up, his grin turning sharp and predatory. “So, who’s the ‘Sacred Font’ and who’s the ‘Torrent of Emergence’? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m the one with the limitless space just waiting to be filled.”