How Can Artists Draw Sukuna Malevolent Shrine Step By Step?

The moment Sukuna unveils 'Malevolent Shrine' in 'Jujutsu Kaisen', it feels less like a flashy power-up and more like a narrative earthquake — everything suddenly shifts. I was reading late, sipping coffee, when that chapter flipped my expectations: it wasn't just that Sukuna could cleave people in half with terrifying precision, but that his technique ignored the usual domain rules. That break from the established mechanics makes the technique function as a plot device that forces the world to react, re-evaluate power hierarchies, and push characters into impossible choices. On a storytelling level, the shrine does three crucial jobs. First, it externalizes Sukuna's philosophy — absolute, terrifying authority over space — so the threat becomes immediate and visual. Second, it raises stakes in a way mere power scaling can't: when a villain's technique defies the system, protagonists must innovate morally and tactically, not just train harder. Third, it accelerates character arcs. Yuji, Megumi, and others are pushed to confront what they will sacrifice, who they'll trust, and how they'll live with the aftermath of surviving something so inhuman. Beyond the immediate fight choreography, the shrine also deepens themes. It plays into ideas about sovereignty and ritual (a “shrine” implies worship and territory), and it sets up long-term consequences for alliances and politics inside the sorcerer world. Personally, scenes with 'Malevolent Shrine' left me breathless — it's the kind of plot device that makes a series feel bolder and more dangerous, which I love, even if it keeps me up at night worrying about my favorite characters.

There’s something deliciously ancient about how Sukuna’s Malevolent Shrine came to be, and I like picturing it as a technique born from a life (and afterlife) so huge it warped the rules around it. In-universe, the short explanation is that Malevolent Shrine is Sukuna’s own innate technique taken to its ultimate form — it’s his Domain Expansion, but it behaves unlike most Domains. Sukuna was a legendary figure from the Heian period who became the King of Curses; over centuries his cursed energy and technique persisted inside those twenty fingers, so when he gets enough power back in the present he can manifest that technique on a massive, almost divine scale. What really sets Malevolent Shrine apart — and hints at its origin — is the way it doesn’t rely on a strict barrier like other Domains. Instead of enclosing space it essentially rewrites the geometry of the area with Sukuna’s slashing, surgical effect. That tells me it grew out of a technique meant to assert sovereign control over the environment (fitting for a ‘king’), refined across ages until it could operate more like a territorial law than a boxed arena. Fans and characters in 'Jujutsu Kaisen' treat it with a mix of awe and dread because it’s both precise and indiscriminate: surgical cuts applied as if Sukuna’s will carved reality. To me, that image — a centuries-old curse turning spatial rules into an extension of personal rule — is the clearest origin story we get, even if the manga leaves some ritual or historical detail tantalizingly vague.

There’s a weird thrill I get rewinding the Sukuna scenes in 'Jujutsu Kaisen' and watching the Malevolent Shrine unfold frame by frame. As a longtime fan who downs scenes like snacks, I notice how animators turn a few dramatic manga panels into a living, breathing catastrophe: they stretch beats, add micro-motions to debris and clothing, and play with silence so the moment lands. The manga gives you a set of iconic poses and brutal compositions; the anime has to gift those poses movement without losing impact. That means careful storyboarding, bold key poses, and deliberate timing—sometimes slowing a moment for horror, sometimes speeding through a devastating impact to sell force. Technically, the shrine itself becomes a character. Artists pick a consistent color palette—sickly reds, muted blacks—and layer textures, particle effects, and crumbling geometry. I love when a 2D line-art domain is married to 3D camera shifts: the domain’s boundary can sweep across the screen, revealing victims in staged tableau shots. Sound and score are half the trick too; nothing kills the atmosphere faster than music that doesn’t match the tone, so the edit often leaves gaps where the sound designers put bone-deep SFX. Voice acting choices for Sukuna—slight pauses, sinister cadence—also guide animators’ facial timing. The coolest part is how teams protect the scene’s readability. With so much on-screen destruction they’ll simplify background details, exaggerate silhouettes, and use motion blur tastefully. I always end up rewatching, pointing out frames to friends, and being blown away by how many tiny choices—camera angle, a dust particle’s trajectory, a single eyebrow twitch—combine to make Malevolent Shrine feel like a mythic force, not just a flashy attack.

Watching Sukuna unleash his Malevolent Shrine hit me like a gut-punch — not just because of the violence, but because of how everyone around him reacted in that moment. In the pages/frames of 'Jujutsu Kaisen' you can literally feel the air change: seasoned sorcerers go quiet, younger ones freeze, and even the hardened veterans who’ve seen cursed spirits do reckless things exchange looks that are half disbelief, half calculation. The distinctive part is the mixture of visceral fear and professional respect; they recognize this isn’t a normal Domain Expansion you can blunder into countering with brute force or a cheap barrier. Some tried to buy time, some tried to flee, and some tried technical counters — desperate evasions, coordinated distractions, or throwing out defensive techniques to protect civilians. The scene shows how people split on instinct: protect the crowd first, then try to disrupt Sukuna’s rhythm if possible. For many sorcerers it was clear that standard counters might not be enough because Malevolent Shrine slices reality in a way that makes simple shielding unreliable. That realization led to a cascade of tactical shifts — more emphasis on misdirection, trap setups, and, sadly, hard choices about who they could realistically save. On a personal level I found the reactions human more than heroic. There’s a strain of grief woven through the tactical chatter in those panels and scenes: the sorrow at lives lost, the quiet curses for not being able to do more, and the sting of knowing the world suddenly got smaller because one being decided to show his full power. It changed how many characters planned afterward — more urgency to seal, to train, and to prepare for the idea that some battles aren’t about winning in the moment but surviving to fight another day.

That first time the Malevolent Shrine erupted on-screen, I was on my sofa with a half-cold mug and my cat staring like she’d been summoned too — it felt less like a power move and more like a statement about what power does to people. For me, the shrine carries this brutal symbolism of absolute sovereignty: it’s not just an attack, it’s an enforcement of will. When 'Sukuna' uses that technique it reads like a ruler stamping out everything beneath him; the space itself becomes proclamation that some lives are expendable. I still get goosebumps thinking how intimate that is — the shrine rearranges reality and forces characters into a moral spotlight. Beyond raw dominance, the shrine is a dark mirror. For Itadori it’s the ghost of agency — a reminder that his body houses another will. For the sorcerers who watch it unfold, it’s a crystallized fear of what unchecked power looks like, and a challenge to their ideas of justice. It also inverts religious imagery: shrines are supposed to preserve and protect, but this one desecrates. I’ve chatted about it late into the night with friends who cosplay; we kept circling back to how the Malevolent Shrine is radiantly awful, a ritual that reveals who people are when the world compresses into survival. I keep returning to it because symbolically it refuses neat answers. It dramatizes the series’ big questions about sacrifice, who gets to decide life and death, and the horror of being made small by someone else’s empire — and honestly, that tension is why I can’t stop thinking about that scene.

I still get goosebumps thinking about that scene where the shrine just... appears and everything in its area gets sliced with surgical certainty. For me, Malevolent Shrine isn't just a flashy move—it's Sukuna turning his raw cursed energy and technique mastery into a literal battlefield rule. Where most techniques rely on hitting a moving target through speed or prediction, the shrine imposes Sukuna's will on space itself: within that radius his slashes become inevitable, precise, and massively amplified. It’s like he writes a law for that zone and the world has to obey it. Mechanically, it does a few important things at once. It removes the need to track or out-speed opponents because the shrine’s effect applies across the whole area, which both denies retreat and prevents dodges that rely on small positional shifts. It also synergizes with his cutting techniques—things like his cleave/dismantle feel like they become absolute inside the shrine because the shrine dictates where and how the cuts manifest. That means more guaranteed damage and far fewer openings for counters. In battles shown in 'Jujutsu Kaisen' the shrine also lets Sukuna control tempo: he can force enemies into predictable states, punish teleport and quick movement, and carve the battlefield so allies or civilians can be spared or isolated. I love thinking about the tactical depth—it's not just power, it's territory control delivered as a lethal artform—and it fits Sukuna’s personality perfectly: elegant, remorseless, and terrifyingly efficient.

I still get chills thinking about the scene where Sukuna fully shows what 'Malevolent Shrine' can do. If you want the clearest, book-accurate reveal, look during the Shibuya Incident arc — the technique gets its big, cinematic demonstration roughly in the early-to-mid 120s of the manga (so expect it around chapters in the 120–125 area depending on translations/editions). That’s where Sukuna isn’t just toying with opponents anymore; he lays down that unique, non-traditional ‘domain’ that slices up the battlefield in a way other techniques don’t. Before that big reveal you’ll see signs and setup: Sukuna’s power spikes, the tone of the fight changes, and smaller scraps hint at how brutal his special technique will be. After the initial appearance the manga revisits and references its mechanics in subsequent chapters during other major clashes — so if you skim only that one chapter you’ll get the visual awe, but reading the surrounding chapters gives you the strategy, reactions from other sorcerers, and the consequences for the plot. If you’re reading on official platforms like VIZ or MANGA Plus, check the chapter titles and the Shibuya Incident listings to find the exact pages in your edition.

If you love the dramatic flair of Sukuna’s Malevolent Shrine, you’ll find tons of merch that leans hard into that iconic visual. I’ve got a shelf full of pieces showing the shrine’s radiating lines — scale figures that freeze Sukuna mid-attack, acrylic dioramas with the shrine’s carved patterns as a base, and tabletop resin statues that glow under an LED light. My favorite is a mid-sized statue that includes a removable shrine backdrop; it makes my display look like a little cursed battlefield. Beyond figures, there are wall scrolls and posters that print the Malevolent Shrine in full spread (great above a desk), plus oversized mousepads and desk mats for people who want the shrine looking busy while they game. Enamel pins, keychains, and phone charms are everywhere too — they’re perfect for adding a subtle shrine motif to a bag or lanyard. For one-off or custom shrine models I’ve turned to independent artists on commission; it’s pricier but you get a unique piece that fits your shelf aesthetic. If you’re hunting, check both official stores and artist alleys at cons, and keep an eye out for listings that explicitly say ‘Malevolent Shrine’ in their descriptions — that usually means the art highlights the technique’s full design.