Chapter Text
In one clean strike, the Getou creature severs the neck of the head of the Gojo clan heir and carelessly, throws it to the side on the ground. Whatever oxygen remaining in the blood and tissues connected to the brain after the fatal blow doesn’t last long. The Six Eyes bulges, the blue going on an almost unnatural shade, pupils contracted to a pinprick, mouth open in a silent scream tensing the chordal muscles and a brief, feeble attempt at reverse curse energy – but too little, too late – then it stills.
Choso watches dispassionately for a few more moments as the white haired head winds down a few meters away and comes to a stop at Mahito’s feet. There’s still an expression of pure fury painted on the face, he observes clinically, for all the good it served him.
The body – from the neck down, disappears in the depth of the Prison Realm, an unpleasant surprise for whichever unlucky soul set to open it up a thousand years in the future.
“Ho? That was fast!” Complains Mahito with a disappointed moue, crouching down and poking the forehead. “You could have let me have a go at him with my Idle Transfiguration.”
“And risk you fail at controlling him? There is no guarantee you’d be able to keep a grasp on his cursed energy,” says mildly the Getou creature, briefly inspecting his bloodied blade before sliding it swiftly in one of his large sleeves.
“We did it,” breathes out Jogo, wide singular eye still fixed on the decapitated head before a large grin spread all over his face. “We did it! The strongest sorcerer, the Six Eyes is dead, the dawn of a new world is beginning!” He crows out in a loud voice, cursed energy spiking in bloodlust.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Choso cuts in, a vague thought niggling at the back of his mind. “Then what was with the talk about sealing him alive, if you were going to kill him from the start,”
The impostor hums then says slowly. “Originally, I was planning to keep the Six Eyes a prisoner inside the Prison Realm, killing him would only induce the birth of a new bearer.” Idly, he adds, a pensive expression on his face. “However I do admit I hope to have a Gojo-bloodline vessel of my own, and upon further consideration, the benefits simply outweigh the risks: there is a still so much to be discovered about his Rikugan and its capabilities so really you have to forgive me for not wanting to rob the world of an exceptional ability that could be cultivated in a better setting.” Unsaid: cultivated through the Brain’s own means.
Right, makes sense, Chose supposes. Albeit, he only asked to to see whether the Brain creature had any other hidden agenda concerning the current Six Eyes. Whatever plans the impostor has for the future Six Eyes is of no concern to Choso. Now, that the biggest obstacle to their ambition is gone and no sorcerer is powerful enough to stand in their way, Choso is only interested in one thing.
“Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yuuji,” He says, voice low. The Getou creature had promised him the blood of his brothers’ killer and Choso will make sure to deliver.
“Wait, wait, that’s it?” Interjects Mahito, crossing his shoulders like an angry, spoiled human kid. Choso thins his lips in displeasure at being interrupted from his main objective since joining this whole bloodbath party. “I want more!” And with that, he kicks the head with enough force that a wet, squelching sound resonates.
They watch as the head bounces to and fro, Choso in boredom, Mahito in glee, Jogo in surprise and the Brain in amusement.
One of the eyes – much feared, much revered – is now gone.
Jogo, not one to be outdone, joins him and kicks the head with renewed enthusiasm. “That’s for Hanami, you fucking bastard!” He yells and the head is sent down in on one of the tunnels blasted apart by Gojo’s prior attack.
It rolls, rolls and rolls on before it disappears somewhere in the shadows, the sounds fading away.
For the first time since the whole Box trap, Choso feels the beginning of unease prickle at him.
He stares some more at where the head had disappeared from sight while Jogo and Mahito high-fives each other behind his back. For some reason, something about the situation bothers him but he can’t quite put his finger on the why. Gojo Satoru had been a threat of untold proportions to both curse users and cursed spirits, a walking death sentence on anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. The number of cursed spirits meeting their ends at his hands numbered in the thousands, Choso had seen his might during the battle and personally experienced the terrifying, oceanic weight of his cursed energy. The only reason they all survived is due to the sorcerer’s inability to put an unnecessary amount of people in harm’s way, and later on that one fraction minute of distraction at seeing his ex-best friend’s body. For all intent and purpose, Gojo Satoru’s death could go as far as be considered a miracle, if one was inclined to believe in such religious non-sense.
And yet, unease persists.
Glancing around, the only things noteworthy are the horde of Transfigured humans still wandering around. While Gojo had killed most of them, there’s still a significant amount of them, all steadily spreading out along the train tracks.
The longer he thinks about it, the more things feel inexplicably wrong.
“Now that the fun is over,” says the Getou creature, waving a hand and drawing their attention back to him. “Let’s get back to work now, shall we?
“Ha, I guess now the target is Sukuna’s vessel,” perks up Jogo, fire bursting from his miniature volcano in excitement.
Instinct blares at Choso.
“Yuuji-chan!” Exclaims Mahito, hands clapping in mock-joy. “Oh, do I have a score to settle – ”
It’s the last thing he says.
∞
The moment it - the event, the occurence, the disruption - happens, it’s felt by every single Jujutsu practitioner within the vicinity of three hundred kilometers radius.
Among them is one Nanami Kento.
But first, several things happen in quick succession:
Something detonates at the center of the Shibuya station.
The Curtain preventing the sorcerers from entering shatters, the vague of power brutally expanding and sending the closest objects flying outwards.
Each and every cursed spirits within fifty kilometers radius – regardless of their state, grades or abilities – dies instantly upon the first impact of the energy.
The second impact – which this time targets the sorcerers and curse users – is a shock to the system, a spiritual hit that sends the entire human body into haywire, there is no other way to describe it.
One moment, Kento is listening to the careful instructions listed to them by Ijichi and transmitted by the Windows strategically placed all around the Shibuya Station. The next, he is bending forward, unfettered terror buried deep into his guts screaming at him to getawaygetawagetawa –
It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.
It feels like rage.
Explosive, deafening-like in its intensity. It’s a chasm of madness. A horrible, gaping, yawning, cavernous depth that felt as though it would turn him inside out and swallow him whole. As if an inescapable void has opened up and devoured the fabric of humanity. Like the commencement of complete extinction.
And it’s watching them.
It sinks down on his back, constrict him under an indomitable pressure. Tears down layers after layers of impeccable control that Kento had built up for years, dragging step by step his deepest, darkest fears out in the open. He thinks of Haibara, bloodless corpse, eyes empty and for a brief incomprehensible moment wishes it should have been me. A malice so abyssal he feels like it’s carving a space in the marrow of his soul. His own heartbeat so loud he thinks it can hear it, a siren for it to come looking, jaws wide open. There was nothing he could hear, or smell, or taste anymore. No sensation to the air, nor the ground. And no color, either—as though even the grey of the ground, and the blue of the sky, and the green of the trees was the result of his eyes not being able to handle the true form of this space. He breathed—he thought he breathed—but there was no feeling of air moving in, nor out. It would not allow it.
He thinks he’s losing his mind, he thinks he already lost it.
Perhaps, he thinks with a distant sense of urgency, this is what the end of the world feels like.
Then it’s gone.
With a soundless popping snap, like vacuum unsealing, the strange world unmakes itself and Kento crashes back into reality, shocked into sensation all at once.
The whole ordeal lasted for less than a minute, an insignificant amount of seconds in the grand scheme of things and yet by the time it’s over, when it – the energy, the curse, the thing – recedes, Kento is left gasping, pale faced and hands shaking. The others aren’t any better, Ijichi at his side had dropped to his knees, hands pressed to his eyes, mumbling a litany of prayers.
Fushiguro, a few paces away, is gripping a handrail like a lifeline, a green tint taking over his complexion. He had called out his Divine Dogs as well as Orochi and Nue on pure reflex. Ino had hidden his face under his mask, the Auspicious Beasts summon on the tip of his tongue while his form had fallen half-way into a defensive stance.
He’s not the only one on the immediate defense, realizes shortly Kento as he glances down at his own white-knuckled grip on his tanto. He hadn’t even noticed drawing it.
“What – what the hell was that?” Ijichi croaks out, his face a white sheet.
“Holy fuck! That was a special grade curse right there! What if it’s Ryomen Sukuna – ” Ino stumbles back in sheer horror. “No offense, Nanami-san, but we’re gonna need more than back up for this one – ”
“Calm down, Ino,” Kento knows he should be the voice of reason, but even now, he cannot unclench his hand from the blade. It feels like at any moment now, the curse – or whatever it was – would come back and set its eyes on them.
“It’s not Ryomen Sukuna,” snaps Fushiguro, glaring at Ino. “His cursed energy doesn’t feel like this.”
True, admits Kento, he knows the feel of it and can recognize it on both sight and feel alone. The one time he had been subjugated to it during that unpleasant ordeal with the patch-face curse, it did not feel close to anything like this. And yet, there’s something tangibly familiar about it…
Crouching down next to Ijichi, it took a few seconds of shaking him for him to snap awake from his stupor.
“Ijichi-san, collect yourself, we are safe now,” Kento inadvertently tightens his hand on Ijichi’s shoulder, his own words feeling like a mockery because are they? Safe, that is. Whatever threat is lingering at the heart of the Shibuya Station, it is clear they are no match for it.
“I apologize, Nanami-san, it is just in all of my years of work as a Window, I never felt anything quite like this before,” Ijichi murmurs, slowly getting up and trying to regain his composure although the slight tremble of his hands betrays his shock.
Mind racing, Kento considers the ramifications of going forward: in one hand, there is three of them as well as the teams spread all around Shibuya. The Zenin team and Itadori’s team are both excellent in terms of power and durability. Mei-Mei, Zenin Naobito, Panda and himself should be theoretically be able to deal with it. Being backed up by the first and second years, all solid talents in their own rights, in a non negligible bonus either and Kento has enough trust in the students to know that they will be able to hold their own.
In the other hand, each time Kento recalls the feel of that surge of energy – all encompassing, all seeing, all ravenous –
There is only the certainty of death awaiting them.
If worse comes to shove, there is always Gojo –
And the thought momentarily roots him to the spot.
“Shouldn’t Gojo-sensei deal with it?” Fushiguro voices out the exact problem. And that is. A good point.
If any of the sorcerers present would be capable of dealing with this curse, it’d be Gojo. As a matter of fact, now that he thinks about it, Kento wouldn’t be surprised that the whole point of the Shibuya trap is to get Gojo to face against it. It’d be a powerful contender against him but also pretty pointless if it can’t get past his Infinity. He can’t picture Gojo losing anything that couldn’t overcome his Limitless and if it’s a battle of endurance, Gojo’s Rikugan would ensure that he wouldn’t run out of cursed energy no matter how many Domain Expansion he had to activate and therefore he would win by default.
Although…
If they manage to nullify his Limitless – and he’s unpleasantly reminded of the Star Plasma Vessel incident – they will have another problem entirely on their hands.
And yet, something feels amiss.
The fall of the Curtain is a major indication that something has probably gone wrong or is still going wrong somewhere in the station.
Gojo should be in the throes of battle with the curse, something of this magnitude should engage the strongest sorcerer in the world with full force and yet Kento can’t get a feel of one lick of any of his cursed techniques. The feel of Hollow Purple, for instance, is distinct and both he and Fushiguro should have perceived it by now.
But then again, with the civilians stuck in the station, he can suppose that Gojo is purposely avoiding destructive-wide attacks. A debatable supposition, considering the extent of the explosion earlier: he doesn’t think there is much left of any civilians within. The thought makes something curdle inside him.
That still doesn’t currently explain the damning silence coming from the Shibuya station.
Coming to a decision, Kento turns to his fellow sorcerers. Fushiguro has sent Nue to peruse the top of the station and Ino has taken up a perch on one of the trees to be on the look out for any incoming foes.
“We will stay on standby,” Kento announces, sliding his blade in its sheath. “We will first regroup with the other sorcerers and decide from there.”
“Considering the situation, I’d say that will be the wisest thing to do.” Ijichi says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I have my faith in Gojo-san but we don’t know enough about the situation to try and intervene. However, I’m afraid the higher-ups are not going to be pleased.”
Kento barely spares a thought to the Jujutsu council. They’re not the ones on the forefront of this battle.
“Gojo-sensei is strong enough to deal with whatever that was,” Fushiguro suddenly utters, a deep frown set on his face. “But it’s been, what, ten minutes now and there is still nothing.”
Which begs the question.
What the hell is Gojo doing?
∞
“Stop,” orders Sukuna, out of the blue.
Yuuji almost brains himself to the wall when he stumbles from the surprise at hearing the King of Curses speak at him in such a manner. Is it his imagination or did he sound a bit … tense?
Three minutes before the boundary surrounding the Shibuya Station drops down, Yuuji had launched himself running full head into one of the entrances.
“What? Why?” Skidding at a halt, Yuuji glances around, expecting something to come hurtling at him. Although, it’s definitely not a reason for Sukuna to warn him about. If anything, he would invite the attack himself.
Sukuna doesn’t answer.
“Something wrong, Itadori-chan?” Mei-Mei, a first grade sorcerer from what she said – and who is low key scary if Yuuji spends too much thinking about her tendency to answer her phone calls with the amount of money the other person has to pay in order to get the info needed from her, tilts her head at him. Ui-Ui, her brother(?) at her side, follows the motion.
Frowning, Yuuji opens his mouth to repeat his question at the curse within him.
Then he feels… something.
An explosion echoes somewhere inside the Shibuya station, sending shards of glasses flying everywhere. The sound is so loud Yuuji presses his hands against his ears on reflex.
Hissing, Ui-Ui is the first to drop down, followed by Mei-Mei who had just enough of a presence of mind to catch him before she too hits her knees on her way down, heaving loudly in unmitigated shock and cursed energy gathered in preparation for an invisible enemy.
Yuuji, somehow though, feels …. weird.
“What? What was that?”
Pouring his cursed energy in his hands in preparation for a Black Flash, Yuuji darts wild eyes around but he can’t see anything. There is literally nothing to see. No curse user, no cursed spirits, no fellow sorcerer –
But Mei-Mei is still down, crows surrounding her and her brother in a cocoon of protection, and they’re crowing so loud –
Sukuna’s cursed energy is furiously winding up inside his inner domain –
Animal instinct tells Yuuji something is stalking them, except no, not quite, rather it’s stalking him –
He tenses and unbidden, a puzzling thought briefly escapes him Gojo-sensei..? Then is quickly forgotten.
The weirdness doesn’t abate.
But it also doesn’t last long.
Whatever it was, eventually, fades away, leaving Yuuji deeply confused and Mei-Mei unsteadily getting back on her feet, her hands so tight around her ax Yuuji is briefly worried she’d accidentally break it.
“That, darling, is the sign of us needing to get the fuck out of here if we want to have any chance to see my future investments bear fruit,” Mei-Mei says, through clenched teeth.
“Nee-sama,” Ui-Ui whimpers, arms wrapped tight around her waist.
“Well, Itadori-chan, that’s my cue to go,” Mei-Mei asserts simply, lifting a perfectly manicured hand for a crow to land upon.
“Why? What happened?” Yuuji doesn’t understand. He knows something happened, that much is clear, but it didn’t feel … bad? For the lack of a better term, it just felt .. invading.
Mei-Mei’s one eye unhidden by her hair, blinks at him.
“That was a special grade curse that will give even the King of Curses himself a run for his money,” She says flatly.
“Watch your tongue, wench, lest you lose it,” hisses one of Sukuna’s mouths on his left cheek.
An unimpressed raised eyebrow is his only answer.
Out of habit, Yuuji slaps the mouth shut but he can still feel Sukuna bristle at the back of his mind.
“I’d say Gojo-san might have his hands full with this one and I’m afraid I’m not paid nearly enough to deal with whatever this is about to rain down on all of us.” Mei-Mei continues, the crow perched on her hand fluttering his wings nervously.
“So what now? What do we do? We’re still going in, right?” Yuuji can’t imagine doing anything else. If what Mei-Mei said is true, then Yuuji can only imagine the horrors inflicted by this curse on the people trapped inside.
Mei-Mei stares incredulously at him.
“Did you understand anything of what I just said now?”
Yuuji did. But that’s not a reason for him to back down from the incoming fight. Mei-Mei, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.
“This has become a matter of survival,” says Mei-Mei, exhaling quietly. “This feels like the birth of a special cursed spirit and from the looks of it, it’s in its infancy. I can barely imagine what it will be capable of, a few hours from now. Going in now is just asking for the Damocles sword hanging over our head to fall upon our neck.”
Yuuji doesn’t understand what a hanging sword has to do with anything but in his opinion, that’s not nearly considered a deterrent. “That’s just more of a reason to fight it – ”
Shaking her head, Mei-Mei raises a hand to stop him from speaking. “No, you don’t understand. Usually, new-born curses tend to operate on pure instinct and their first instinct is to eradicate anything on their path. But this one,” She trails off before going on. “If it wanted us dead, we’d be dead. Period. The fact that it’s letting us go means it’s going to toy with us. And those type of curses are the worst. You don’t walk unscathed from that kind. Or at all.”
Yuuji thinks of Mahito and the thought of another curse alike to it makes his blood boil.
“The only one who might stand a chance against it is Gojo Satoru and even then I wouldn’t put past it to have some pesky ability to turn the odds in its favor.”
At the sight of the stubborn frown on his face, Mei-Mei snorts, a wry smile on her lips. Ui-Ui, still wrapped around her, scowls at Yuuji.
“Like teacher, like student,” Then, extending a hand with the crow, she sets it upon Yuuji’s shoulder. “Fine, be that way. Let it not said that I left you to die when you’re the one willing to throw your life away like a fool.”
“Mei-Mei-san, if your brother is one of the innocents trapped inside the building, wouldn’t you still go in despite all the odds against you?” Yuuji asks seriously.
Mei-Mei watches him coolly.
“Who knows, he’d be the first to die so what would even be the point,” says Mei-Mei at last, brutally pragmatic but Yuuji can spy her arm slightly tighten around Ui-Ui.
“If it’s for Nee-sama, I would gladly die a thousand times over,” perks up Ui-Ui.
“Some things are just worth fighting for. There should be still people inside, we can’t just leave them there. And, and I trust Gojo-sensei, he won’t lose.” Yuuji won’t run away, he won’t. The image of Junpei flashes in his mind and his determinations renews.
“Well then, this is where we go on our separate ways. I will be sure to prepare a fitting grave for you if you ever have needs for one.”
Yuuji instead glances at the crow on his shoulder questionably.
“That’s Nana-chan,” Mei-Mei replies to the unvoiced question. “A minor sensor and a display window for me to survey what’s happening. It’s useless in a fight but it can direct you to the easiest way out if the necessity arises.”
Mei-Mei-san might be selfish but she is not as heartless as she has the world convinced.
Turning her back to Yuuji and with Ui-Ui still clinging on her, she makes one last hand wave.
“Good luck, Itadori-chan, you’re certainly going to need it.” And with that final say, she is gone.
∞
“So what do you think? Are we headed in for a trashing?”
Sukuna remains silent. But Yuuji doesn’t let go.
“Was Mei-Mei-san right? Is it as strong as you? Or maybe stronger – ”
Shut it, you worthless brat.
Ouch, hit a nerve.
For some reason, Yuuji doesn’t feel as scared as he should. Not to say that the warnings cautioned by Mei-Mei-san went in one ear and out the other but well, Yuuji doesn’t really think things are dire as they’re made out to be. Not to say he’s not heading into danger, that much is not up for debate, but something about that weirdness before … felt okay-ish. Yes, that’s the term he’s looking for, Yuuji decides, distractedly kicking a broken alcohol bottle away. Not quite okay because it didn’t feel right either. But also not so bad as to outright call it bad bad. Or, maybe Yuuji is just stupid. What sort of curses feels like that anyways, he wonders, is this something Gojo-sensei hasn’t covered in his lessons yet? Are there curses that use their cursed energy in such deceitful ways? Is Yuuji crazy for not feeling as alarmed as Mei-Mei, an experienced sorcerer who’s been in the field for more than a decade, feels?
“But then you felt it too, right? Mei-Mei-san said it’s probably a new born curse but it’s definitely different from that curse that you killed last time.”
Silence.
To be honest, it’s not like Yuuji has any desire to communicate with Sukuna either. But there’s something about the agitated feel of Sukuna’s cursed energy that has him on edge. So he keeps on needling him, in hope of Sukuna letting something slip.
“You know that one you killed before you tore my heart out? That one was awful, even when I didn’t know much about curses and stuff, it felt disgusting. But this one … doesn’t? Like it was playing with us. You know, like those baby dolphins that try to catch – ”
Your brain must have taken a damaging hit if you truly think that was the case.
Despite the disparaging words, there’s a calculating edge to Sukuna’s tone that Yuuji immediately dislikes.
But at least he got him to speak.
“What do you think then? You’re the King of Curses, that should be right up your alley, right?”
I think you ought to know your place, brat, and this may be just the last chance for you to learn it. I assure you, by the end of it, you’d beg me to take over your worthless self.
Right, of course. What did he even expect.
Sighing, Yuuji keeps on walking down the basement. Now that he’s looking closely, there are residuals of cursed spirits that seem to have been destroyed. Nanamin had taught Yuuji how to understand and differentiate contrastive-looking residuals and whether there’s any correlation between several residuals in the same place. It’s not easy and Yuuji had probably missed a bunch of details but he’s fairly confident that this must be the work of Gojo-sensei.
I hope he’s alright, Yuuji ponders upon the unlikely possibility of meeting Gojo-sensei half-way to his destination and comes to the conclusion that nothing is impossible with Gojo-sensei.
Jumping down from the Yamanote Line platform, Yuuji goes into a sprint straight through the train tracks. He’s taking something of a shortcut but it should lead to the center of wherever the explosion originated from.
Along the way, Yuuji is confronted with the sight of corpses everywhere. It sickens him. The bodies are strewn around, most of them looking like they were torn apart by an invisible force. There is a huge amount of blood seeping through the rubble and for a moment, Yuuji has to stop and take a calming breath. There is so much, so much death… Whoever or whatever has done this had done it in a savage frenzy. Any hope that the new curse might not as dangerous as he thought withers away at the unavoidable conclusion that this must be its work.
It’s not until he is getting closer to the Fukotoshin Line platform that Yuuji starts noticing the strange forms of said corpses.
Their shapes are abnormal.
And familiar.
Mahito.
His blood runs cold.
Those aren’t normal human corpses. Those are transfigured.
And they’re all dead.
With mounting confusion, Yuuji stops to glance around. Because now that he’s paying attention, it’s a bit strange that he still hasn’t been attacked since getting inside the station.
He doesn’t know what he’s been expecting but the ominous silence doesn’t help his imagination from running wild.
Then.
Nana-chan, the crow on his shoulder, screeches then flees.
The sound of a laugh echoes behind him.
Whirling around, Yuuji reacts by pooling cursed energy and he spares a thought of finally something I can do –
And promptly freezes.
At first, he doesn’t quite understand what he’s looking at. The sight registers in his mind but it doesn’t get processed, and he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand, that’s impossible because there’s no way –
Because this isn’t a curse. Or a curse user. He can recognize those eyes anywhere.
But it’s all wrong.
“Gojo-sensei…?”
Or, is he?
The creature smiles at him, iridescent blue eyes glowing in the dark and there’s so many of them on what can constitute as its body. Its hair is a wild length of white around its face. And its face – Oh, god – there’s a hole, a gap in the left side of the obsidian-black face – a cosmic gate of immeasurable depth to starlight flashing through it. Its humanoid body is tied to an unending mass of shadows steadily growing, elongating, twisting up like a tree of pure darkness forcibly formed into shape. Its tendrils – everywhere, nowhere, all at once – spreading itself along the walls, the ground, the air itself.
Strange smoke rises, and in the middle of it, something as dark as night, as deep as a still lake, as thin as a skeleton, emerges. The body moves in the form of a man made up of nothing but darkness and shadows. So monstrously tall, a steady, heavy presence to it that feels raw, sucking in everything around it, leaving no light at all. Event horizon made human, remade non human.
Gojo-sensei, or what used to be Gojo-sensei, or maybe never was Gojo-sensei... whatever it is, it’s seated indulgently up on a blood stained mountain of corpses and is looking straight at Yuuji.
“Hello, Yuuji-kun! Long time no see,” it(?) waves a clawed hand made of pure darkness. And its voice is so painfully familiar, Yuuji cannot breath. “It’s a bit of a mess here as you can see, but eh, they had it coming.” The chilling grin is not reassuring, but it is Gojo-sensei. It has to be Gojo-sensei. Yuuji can’t entertain any other outcome.
Yuuji bravely makes a step forward. Despite the terrifying shape of Gojo-sensei, there’s no hostility coming from him.
“Gojo-sensei? What – What, happened to you?” Yuuji isn’t sure if the term fits anymore but so far, he refuses to consider the possibility standing right before him. There’s a weight in his throat.
That, brat, is your sensei no longer.
Shut up!
“I guess I look a bit scary, don’t I? Trust me when I say I looked a lot scarier when I first awakened,” says Gojo-sensei. “I had to spend quite some time trying to tame my shape into something human brains can comprehend otherwise I would just drive you all insane. Well, quite literally this time.” And with that, he lets out a low-reverberating chuckle.
Yuuji very nearly steps back.
“Is Sensei gonna hurt me?” The question escapes him before he can stop it. He has no other way to phrase it. Yuuji doesn’t want to contemplate what this means. For him, for the Jujutsu world. For the unmentionable number of casualties he witnessed while passing through. He feels his heart break, crack apart, a devastation.
The grin falls from the face.
One second, Gojo-sensei is sitting – lounging, the undescripable limbs of pure nothingness holding particles of light, dust and iron – and the next, he’s standing right before Yuuji, a few inches separating them. Up close, Yuuji can feel what Mei-Mei and Ui-Ui must have felt, but muted as if Gojo-sensei is exercising great restraint in not letting the sheer wrongness pour out of him in droves. He smells ozone in the air, catches the flickers of violet energy scattering through. A tremendous wave of chaos is heaving beneath each passing moment, grappling for release.
He has to crane his head to look up, up and up at him. Gojo-sensei, towering and inhumane, looks down at him. Blue eyes roving over his face and hands coming up to his cheeks, cupping them in his fingers-alike, wide and long and so cold.
“Yuuji-kun,” says Gojo-sensei, tone undecipherable. “I should be asking you this, hm? Are you going to try and hurt your old favorite sensei?”
Yuuji blinks owlishly at him.
He feels warmth behind his eyes.
He thinks that’s an unfair question.
When it becomes clear that Yuuji will not respond, Gojo-sensei smiles a little, extending his fanged mouth unnaturally carving his face.
“I already knew what kind of answer Yuuji would have for me, yet I asked anyway. After all, I know what kind of person Yuuji is.”
That’s not true, Yuuji thinks distantly, because he himself doesn’t know the answer so how can Gojo-sensei claim to know something like that.
His cheeks are wet.
“Sensei,” says Yuuji quietly.
He stares away, lost. Chest tight, breath caught in his lungs, sorrow seeping into each of his cells at seeing this warped version of his teacher.
Above him, unnoticed, a starless void opens up, endless and consuming.
"Yuuji," says Gojo-sensei. His voice is still soft. "You do not need to fight this, it will be just like going to sleep. Your sensei is just so hungry," and at that, his voice dips, something aberrant makes an appearance, makes the words dissonant. "And Yuuji has always been a good boy for sensei, hasn't he? He will feed his dear sensei, won’t he?"
Tch.
Brat, you can either let me out right now or we’re both in for a troublesome time.
Yuuji isn’t listening anymore. The words tread through Yuuji’s mind without comprehension. He cannot seem to put together the pieces. They flicker past, meaningless noise.
He doesn’t think of running away and he should. He should.
Yuuji feels –
He feels -
He steps forward and not letting himself sway away from Gojo-sensei, he wraps his arms around him.
Gojo-sensei stills.
Pressed close against Gojo-sensei’s chest, Yuuji can feel no breath, no heartbeat; emptiness unformed. There’s no scent anymore – vanilla, sweets, memory of a man who saved him, taught him, kept him safe. His hands clench on viscous darkness, thick and ice-cold. No warmth, no softness left, a hollow shell made of the silence of a vacuum, an undone universe like Gojo-sensei had to unmake a bit of the world to fit himself back into it.
What else is he to do, in the face of Gojo Satoru? He cannot picture himself fighting, harming Gojo-sensei. He makes a noise in his chest at the idea, a distressed halted whine very nearly like a dog.
Above him, unnoticed, a starless void closes, sated and appeased.
A hand – rich-black, grasping, grasping, grasping – settles on top of his head. Cards its fingers along his hair, stroking him in slow firm sweeps from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. Another hand reaches out and wraps around his back, tight and oppressive. The beginning of a pledge, devotion untold, felt, delighted.
“Ah, Yuuji-kun, you’re not playing very fair,” a god of the Other hums, fond. “What is this sensei to do with you?”
Yuuji doesn’t answer. But he leans backwards and stares up at the Eyes of Gojo-sensei, engulfing blue watching him avidly. A lamb to the feast.
“Gojo-sensei is Gojo-sensei,” says Yuuji, determined. “I, I don’t want to hurt you, and I won’t.” Afterwards, he struggles to speak, grief lingering in the back of his throat, thinks of Junpei, humanity preserved, a second chance deserved. “I – we, we can figure out a way – ”
At the look on Gojo-sensei’s face, Yuuji falls silent.
At the back of his mind, the King of Curses snarls.
Gojo-sensei regards him for only a moment more.
“Yuuji,” he smiles at last, all teeth.
And it’s nothing if not a promise.
It starts, (un)like most love stories do, with a lonely heart, a hidden curse and the fall of a god.
Gojo Satoru dies quietly.
Then dies again.
(And again)
(And again)
In the space of not-being, an indeterminate limit is set. Achilles catches up to the tortoise, mathematical impossibility made alive. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
What happens at the beginning of his first death is hard to see as a comprehensive whole. Because memories, like stories, like myths, like legends, don’t always arrange themselves the same way when they are retold.
When Gojo Satoru – who was the strongest sorcerer in the world, who became a curse, who is now Other – thinks upon his first ending, it is only a sliver. A weakness he has permitted to burrow under his skin, if only because he knows it will be purged in the centuries to come. He is familiar with his first death, if only because he had died a thousand times since then. And he would die a thousand more. So it was nothing, to gaze into the abyss and to let the abyss gaze into him. Again and again, as many times as it takes.
When it, he – who was Gojo Satoru, the strongest; who is still Gojo Satoru but he is also not – thinks upon his first rebirth, it is a roaring. A perverse sacrifice, an offering of life and soul and heart. In exchange, he demands to be heard.
The Other answers.
It presses hard, unyielding, wrathful, threatens to extinguish him –
Gojo Satoru grits his teeth, soul aching, splintering. Belly empty, a gnawing, bottomless –
Reaching out for everything, all of it, all of it –
Gojo Satoru opens his mouth and says kneel.
It obeys.