Chapter Text
You have never known defeat, nor felt the bitter sting of fear in battle.
Not even when you were dispatched to deal with the most horrifying and revolting of cursed spirits. Beings of such malicious nature, no one else would dare engage them.
But you?
You never once faltered.
You are formidable.
Fearless.
You were a child born with small hands, soft eyes, and a head full of unruly curls. But you were also a child born with something no one in the Jujutsu world had ever seen, or understood.
Positive cursed energy.
Yes, you were born with this intrinsic gift.
But it took years to grow into it.
Years to become a woman strong enough to wield it.
Years to sharpen your instincts and temper your spirit.
Years to become lethal.
This valiant path, thrust upon you far too young, was disciplined into your body and mind as something divine, a journey you were told you must forever tread alone.
You were forced to renounce any future not bound to violence.
Stripped of your family name.
Made to abandon desire.
To be prepared to shed your blood, sweat, and tears, all as a nameless, faceless being.
Brutal?
Perhaps.
Necessary?
They insisted.
Intentional?
Without question.
All to ensure you have no weaknesses.
And so it began.
Curses and curse users alike came to know of the divine guardian, the General, a name befitting the warrior responsible for sending hundreds of them back to whatever hell they crawled out of.
A title whispered from many lips across Japan, many who know and speak of your accomplishments as a sorcerer.
And yet.
No one but the monks who took you in and trained you as a child have ever seen your face.
Heard your voice.
Spoken your true name.
In body, mind, and soul, you are the General.
An unknown being.
A sword to be wielded and a shield to be raised against the curses that plague the empire.
And so, as time passed and your victories mounted, so too did the pleas for your aid.
Peasants and nobles alike sought you out, desperate and afraid.
And you answered every time.
Yet every night, when you finally close your eyes, it's never the grotesque faces of cursed spirits or monsters that plague your dreams.
No.
It's a human.
A woman.
Your mother.
But like a curse, it haunts you every damn night.
Almost as if your brain is trying to relive the faintest scraps of your memory, clinging to the last remnants of a little girl's past before the passing years erode them away into the General.
And tonight is no different.
The moment sleep takes you, you're eight years old again.
Staring up at your mother's battered face. Her lip is split and bleeding, an ugly purple bruise painting her left cheek, yet she’s smiling. Smiling as tears stream down her face while she gazes down at you.
A sudden clamor in the distance has her eyes widening.
Then everything happens at once.
She grips your wrist and yanks you from the bed, your tiny frame shivering against the rush of cold air.
And then you're running.
Your sleepy, groggy mind struggles to process what’s happening as she drags you down the hallway, panicked steps slapping against polished wood, until suddenly, you’re spilling out onto the engawa.
She hauls you down from the raised platform and into the open courtyard of your family’s estate. Your eyes start to water as the night wind whips against your face, the bottoms of your feet aching as you stumble to keep up.
The moment you enter the gardens, your mother slows, half jogging, half sneaking along the edge of the stony path. Slow enough anyway, that your attention starts to drift over the moonlit beds of flowers, until a faint splash of water attracts your gaze.
The koi pond.
The place where you spend many hours feeding and watching the fat scaled creatures swim around without a care in the world. And now you're left wondering if you will ever get to sit there again and enjoy their tranquil little world while yours falls apart.
Your gaze drifts back to your mother. Her head never stops turning, eyes darting over her shoulder as she casts fearful glances into the dark. Yawning, you rub sleep from your eyes, trying to follow her line of sight, confusion scrunching your features as you look where she looks.
"Mama, where are we..." you mumble, your voice rough with sleep.
"Hush, my child," she whispers. "We don’t have much time. Stay quiet, and trust me."
Your heart starts to race as you pick up the fear in her voice.
And the defiance.
Defiance born from the knowledge that she is protecting you from your own family, an unspoken truth about the bastards lurking within the shadows of this estate.
Bastards who crave power above all else.
Bastards willing to commit unspeakable atrocities to claim it.
But she knows.
She understands.
And for daring to speak against that cruelty, your mother has been beaten, on more than one occasion. Each act of violence driving her closer to the inevitable.
And so? She makes a choice.
She steals you away, arranging for you to be hidden so far into the mountains that no man, woman, or child will ever find you.
Somewhere remote. Somewhere forgotten.
This cursed place can search all it wants, you will never fall into their clutches again.
She struck a deal to ensure it.
However, the reality is that such an act of insubordination is one the clan will never forgive, one that will undoubtedly result in her life being forfeit for such betrayal.
But you are her only child.
And curse any monster that would dare stand between a mother and her child.
Your small fingers grip her hand tighter, frightened tears stinging your eyes as you sense her panic spiking. You let out a yelp as she suddenly veers off the garden path, ducking beneath the dark veil of a tree and wrenching you in close.
"Mama...?"
The sound is cut off as her hand clamps over your mouth, sealing the question on your tongue.
Her reasoning is soon justified as heavy, pounding footsteps follow, layered with raised voices and the unmistakable creak of leather plates as guards storm past your hiding spot.
"Find and kill Yumiko," someone barks. "Take the child alive!"
Your stomach drops.
Swallowing thickly, your limbs have long since gone numb, shivering from fear or the cold, you’re not sure which. Either way, you press your back tighter against your mother, feeling how rigid she’s gone with trepidation.
Only when the footsteps fade does she lean out from behind the tree, just far enough to look.
Just enough to be sure it's safe before she drops her hand from your mouth, leaving your lungs to greedily suck in oxygen.
You manage to gulp down a couple of deep breaths before she grips your hand painfully tight again, dragging you behind her as she ducks into the cover of the trees.
You stumble and trip through the underbrush, her grip the only thing keeping you from face-planting while she makes it look easy, navigating the uneven terrain with a grace born only of practiced steps. As you squint into the darkness, you can’t help but think she must have planned this.
Practiced this scenario over and over, until it was time to bring it to fruition.
Soon the trees open up, and you recognize that you’re approaching the northeastern border of the estate, confusion flickering across your features as your eyes land on something hidden in the tall wall.
A secret.
A side gate known only to your mother and the few trusted servants and builders tasked with its construction.
Yumiko slows as you draw closer, her eyes darting frantically from shadow to shadow like a rabbit searching for a fox.
Then, out of the darkness, a figure suddenly emerges.
You nearly jump out of your skin, her hand flying to your mouth to muffle the startled cry as she tenses up.
It takes but a few seconds before recognition softens the panic in her expression, a wave of relief relaxing the tension in her muscles.
You can't quite make out the stranger's face in the dim light, given it's obscured beneath a straw kasa. However, the first thing you do notice is how tall he is. The second, is that his lean frame is adorned in the black samue of a Buddhist monk. The plain robes contrasted quite boldly against the dark maroon patchwork of his haori.
The stranger takes a moment to incline his head in respect before removing his hat.
The moment he straightens and your eyes land on his face, you're struck with surprise at how young he appears for a monk. You're bias fed with the previous notions you always pictured monks as old and stoic.
Your brows furrow as your gaze drifts to another odd attribute, his long silver hair. He wears the strands in a partial topknot, leaving some loose and draping down his shoulders.
I thought monks were always bald?
You hope your face doesn’t betray your thoughts.
Speaking of faces, you’re quick to note that he’s actually quite handsome, almost regal in his charm, which further clashes with the image you’d always held of what a monk should look like.
But that thought is suddenly eclipsed when your attention is drawn to the most striking thing about him.
His piercing blue eyes.
They’re the most vibrant shade of blue you’ve ever seen. Truly, the only time you have ever seen such rich colour was in the great paintings adorning the walls of your father’s writing room, and even then, their palette could not rival the grandeur in his gaze.
"Yumiko-san," he murmurs urgently. "We must not linger any longer."
"Yes. I understand."
Your mother nods once before turning to kneel before you, her hands trembling as she lifts them, gently cupping your face.
"My little one," she whispers, her voice shaky as her eyes trace over your features, as though she fears forgetting even a single eyelash.
"My love, you must depart this very night." Her gaze flicks briefly to the monk before returning to you. "You are to go with this man to the northern mountains. Forget this life and begin anew."
"But Mama..." you whimper, your bottom lip quivering as tears trail down your cheeks. "Please, Mama, please. I don’t understand. I do not wish to go. I do not wish to leave your side." You cry out, your fingers tangling desperately into the silk of her kimono.
She offers you a wistful smile before drawing you into an embrace, resting her forehead against your shoulder as she clings tight.
"I know, my love," she whispers. "But this path is the only one left to us. You must not remain here any longer. There are too many dangers."
The sound of distant shouts closing in has her pulling back at once, her hands dropping to grip your shoulders as she whips her head around, eyes scanning the darkness between the trees.
She sucks in a breath through gritted teeth before quickly returning her gaze to yours, her fingers digging into your skin.
"Promise me, my love. After today, you will never speak our family name, nor tell anyone who you are. You must disappear." She bows her head, drawing in another deep breath before lifting it again.
"This monk will take you to his monastery. There, you will listen to his wisdom. He will guide you. He will teach you how to fight, how to survive." Her voice suddenly breaks as a weep slips out, tears spilling freely now.
"You must learn to fight, because, my love, your life was never meant to be an easy one."
You let out a soft yelp as she suddenly pulls you into another hug, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.
"I love you so much," she whispers. "You will always be my little guardian."
Something awakens in Yumiko in that moment. Her body stiffens as her expression hardens. She presses a swift kiss to your forehead and rises to her feet.
"Go now," she commands, waving her hand behind her in a tone so cold it feels as though she has become another person entirely. "And do not look back."
Before you can protest, the monk moves, scooping you into his arms and sprinting for the gate. You peer over his shoulder, watching as your mother slowly turns to face the approaching samurai.
The sleeves of her kimono ripple in the night wind as she stands tall, holding her head high.
Your heart pounds as you stare, your eyes widening while the air around her begins to shift, condensing until it glows with an almost ethereal light.
You know your mother is a sorcerer, but truthfully? It's like she wanted to shield you away from the Jujutsu world, to keep it far away from you, silencing your questions whenever you asked.
So to see it now?
It's a surreal vision, one that burns itself into your memory forever.
And in this moment, you can’t explain why your thoughts drift to your favourite painting, the one you once spent hours gazing at, memorizing every stroke of colour and detail.
The painting of the sun goddess, Amaterasu.
And right here, right now?
As you watch in awe while your mother stands tall, all you can see is the mortal embodiment of that divine image.
Then suddenly, the night’s darkness is torn apart by an eruption of light.
Yumiko raises her hands before her chest, palms aimed toward the guards. One by one, they draw their katanas, leveling their blades as sparks of electricity gather, crackling between her fingers.
She slides her feet apart, opening her stance as she concentrates her cursed energy, then thrusts her hands forward, releasing a thunderous blastwave of electrified light toward her kinsmen.
BOOM!
The men cry out in pain as the technique strikes like lightning, sending them soaring backward.
Wet cracks and screams soon tear through the air as armor splits and bones fractures, bodies slamming into rock, wood, and stone alike. Another wave of pressure follows, dirt spraying as trees explode into splinters and stone walls collapse into rubble.
Nearby buildings burst into flames, drenching the estate in an intense heat as the roaring crackle of fire is joined by the rhythmic march of reinforcements.
Yumiko holds her hands high above her head, gathering every ounce of her strength to concentrate her cursed energy into a blinding light. The guards curse, raising their arms to shield their faces as she buys you and the monk enough time to slip through the gate and vanish into the forest beyond.
"Mama!" you scream, sobbing as you reach toward the ray of light still burning high into the night sky, illuminating the shrinking outline of the estate.
Despite the added weight, the monk’s pace remains unhindered. His heavy steps crunch over dried leaves as he carries you swiftly across the forest floor, putting more and more distance between you and the light you refuse to take your eyes off.
You hear the soft trickle of water as you approach a stream, your eyes dropping for only a moment as you watch the monk navigate the wet, slippery stones to get across before lifting them again.
Instantly, your heart sinks.
Craning your head, your gut twists into a knot as you watch the brightness slowly fade to darkness.
Shock hits your system hard and fast as you come to realize one cruel, undeniable fact.
The only light you have ever known in this world, has been stolen from you forever.
***********************************************************************************
The next two weeks of travel pass in a blur, your mind trapped in a vicious cycle of exhaustion and grief.
On that first night after escaping the estate, you had ended up taking shelter in the forest, and it was in those quiet moments of rest, that you learned the monks name is Takeshi.
He’s what you can call an exuberant man, given that he never seems to tire, navigating each day with surprising speed for someone who has traveled such long distances on foot.
But he’s also kind, treating you with gentle patience when you lag behind and with compassion when you breakdown and cry, having witnessed your life turned upside down so horrifically.
He carries you when your sore legs can no longer keep up, and forages for food when your belly grows empty. All the while speaking to you in a low, soothing voice, describing to you with exceptional detail, the beautiful place that is meant to become your new home.
A grand shrine carved into the very mountainside, and within it, an Ancient Order called the Divine Gilded Monastery.
A sanctuary just for you.
While it sounds lovely enough in words, truthfully, you don’t really care. You’re too numb to picture it, too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
Yet your silence doesn’t deter him in the slightest. Some days, he drones on about what a great honor has been bestowed upon you. Other days, he talks about how unprecedented it is to be born with the ability to channel only positive cursed energy.
He really loses your attention when he starts preaching that you’re destined for great things, all because someone like you has never been heard of.
He keeps emphasizing it, over and over.
That you’re the first to have such a gift.
Gift? What gift?
I'm not a sorcerer. I'm nothing.
Nothing but alone.
So of course, when Takeshi keeps mentioning it, it goes in one ear and out the other.
But the reality is, in the Jujutsu world, rarity only ever breeds misunderstanding. You learned that truth the hard way when the higher ups of your clan passed judgment, deeming you unworthy of their bloodline for your inability to channel cursed energy, for your innate technique’s refusal to manifest.
Weak.
Pathetic.
The words you’ve often heard muttered under the breath of your kinsmen in passing.
So yeah.
This isn’t a gift, it feels more like a fucking curse.
You weren't abused physically per se, but you were shunned daily, treated no better than a mundane painting on the wall. Getting a few passing glances here and there, reminding some that you still exist, but soon forgotten as eyes focused on the more prominent, grandiose of art.
The talented sorcerers.
The gifted ones.
The pride of the clan.
But despite all that, whether it was the willful innocence of a child or the simple fact that your mother loved you, you never once harbored any resentment.
No anger.
No hate.
No malice.
Not even toward your father, who seemed to resent you the most.
You just existed, blissfully unaware in your small, mundane world that consisted of only you and your mother.
Every passing day on this long journey North, Takeshi’s enthusiasm seems to grow, his speeches become more eccentric.
Almost too fervent.
He explains how the monks have been tasked with training you at your mother’s request, in exchange for the assurance that you will be protected and your identity kept hidden.
Training...?
When you ask him to elaborate further, his astute gaze turns even more passionate, hands moving in animated gestures as he lays out your future to become the first weapon effective enough to strike down every cursed spirit in this age.
How your cursed energy is a unique gift, specialized for extermination.
You almost want to kick yourself for even asking as he rambles on, inundating you with details about honor and destinies. It doesn’t take long before your mind begins to drift, too tired and honestly growing bored listening to his pious speeches of duty.
And so, you just stare ahead, lost in your own mind as you think about everything that has happened to lead you to this point.
It’s only when Takeshi pauses, dropping to a knee to take one of your small hands in his and laces your fingers together, that you feel it for the first time in your life.
An unexplainable sensation that can only be described as a cold, tangible weight pressing down into your skin. It feels dark and ominous in its intensity, the hairs along your arm standing on end as goosebumps run amok.
Your body reacts by instinct.
Your eyes widen as you’re suddenly overtaken by a strange sensation, something surges through your limbs and channels into your palm. It feels warm and bright, almost like a steady, stabilizing flow through your veins.
The complete opposite to the feeling of whatever is coming from Takeshi.
Without warning, the ground begins to shake beneath your feet.
The earth splits open as giant fissures tear across the surface, something shifting and flickering within the darkness below.
A shrill shriek cuts through the air before two golden chains erupt from the cracks, striking fast at the perceived threat. They coil around Takeshi’s midsection and wrench him backward, slamming him into a nearby tree with a resounding crack.
Hissing, the chains tighten their hold, constricting further around his torso until his breath grows strained, each one more a struggle than the last.
You clamp your hands over your mouth in horror, eyes flying wide.
"I’m sorry!" you cry out in a panic, tears welling up. "I-I didn’t... I don’t...what do I do? How do I stop it?"
Your hands are shaking as you press the heel of your palms against your temples, watching helplessly as the chains constrict tighter and tighter. The tree trunk groans under the pressure, bark splintering and crunching as it begins to give.
You peer down where the chains had burst forth with a mix of awe and fear, unable to comprehend what is happening or how you did it.
That warm and comforting sensation you felt earlier?
Gone.
The last remnants of it fading out of your system as quickly as it came.
It starts to feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest as a panic attack sets in, your breaths coming too fast, too shallow, to the point of hyperventilating as your heart races wildly.
Takeshi, however, looks anything but afraid.
His eyes gleam with something bordering on manic, a broad grin spreading across his flushed face. Starved of breath, he chokes out a laugh, the strained sound rattling through the tree as the chains hold him fast.
"M-magnificent!" he chokes out, coughing between ragged breaths. His voice comes out hoarse as he forces a surge of his own cursed energy outward, snapping the links of your immature chains.
He stumbles forward a few steps, nearly falling on his face before he catches himself on his knees, lifting a hand to clutch at his side as he regards you with a look of pure, unadulterated euphoria.
"Oh, my child," he breathes, almost laughing. "Don’t you see? This is only a fraction of what I can teach you to hone, to perfect."
His excitement only seems to grow as he shuffles forward and drops to a knee, cupping your cheeks while gazing into your puzzled features with utter reverence.
"That," he says softly, "is your innate technique. You just used your cursed energy and concentrated it to manifest."
Your eyes dart around, confusion written plainly across your face as your brow furrows.
"But I don’t even know how I did that," you say quietly, sniffing once. "What if I can’t do it again?"
Takeshi gently strokes your tear streaked cheek with his thumb.
"That’s where I come in," he murmurs, coughing a few times before drawing in a breath. "When we reach the monastery, I’ll teach you to control it. How to summon it at will. How to expand on your strength." His smile widens as he lifts his chin. "You will learn Jujutsu sorcery and become the divine warrior you are meant to be."
He releases your face and throws his arms wide, head tipping back as a boisterous laugh rumbles out from his chest.
You simply stand there awkwardly, shifting your weight from foot to foot, eyes drifting over the rocky terrain as you grow more uneasy at his weird behaviour.
To fight?
He's going to teach me to become a Jujutsu sorcerer?
But I thought monks were pacifists...?
The thought barely finishes before your mother’s words rise to the surface, her voice echoing in your mind as she begged you to survive.
She wouldn’t have placed me in his care unless she trusted him completely.
Right?
Your mind spirals trying to rationalize everything that has transpired in such a short span. The entirety of it all is so overwhelming that you feel caught in a current you can’t fight, helplessly treading the water with no choice but to keep swimming or drown.
You lift your eyes and settle your gaze on Takeshi.
Sure, the monk is eccentric, very odd, and at times unnerving by any reasonable standard.
But you can’t deny that he’s treated you with nothing but genuine kindness.
And besides, you trust your mother, trust her instincts to protect you.
She put her faith in him, so perhaps I can too...
While you’re busy struggling to come to terms with your new reality, Takeshi is already looking at you in a very different light.
To him, you are hope.
Hope for embracing your destiny as the embodiment of a divine being, with the strength to finally smite the blight that ravages the land.
The godlike monster that sets villages aflame.
That murders and mutilates bodies.
That devours men, women, and children alike.
A disgraced sorcerer where hundreds, if not thousands, have already failed in their attempts to slay him.
The rising King of Curses himself.
Ryōmen Sukuna.
***********************************************************************************
Your eyes widen as you behold the grand mountain looming tall before you. At its base stands a massive archway, its thick wooden pillars stained in deep hues of saffron, framing the daunting rocky path beyond.
Sucking in a deep breath, you follow behind Takeshi, the muscles in your small legs already burning as you begin the long ascent, each strenuous step carrying you deeper into the heart of the mountainside.
Even though it’s still summer, the cool air bites at your skin through the holes and tears in your yukata, forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself. Shivering, you glance down in disgust at the only clothing you’ve had for the weeks of travel.
Takeshi had given you his haori on most nights, the heavy cotton a welcome comfort you wish you had right now. Especially since the strenuous trek up has you sweating, leaving the cold to settle in fast.
The thick scent of moss and damp earth fills your nostrils, your eyes watering against the gusts of wind whipping at your rosy cheeks.
As you approach to climb some stone stairs, your eyes dart around, mouth slightly agape as you take it all in. Your dirty feet ache with each step, your attention suddenly pulled forward towards another structure.
The monastery gateway.
The towering wooden frame grows more imposing the closer you get. Intricate carvings line its surface, scenes etched into the wood depicting an artists rendered vision of tranquility and rebirth.
Lotus flowers.
Cranes.
Phoenixes.
As you pass through the gates, a shiver runs down your spine, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end when you walk through...something.
You glance up at Takeshi, searching his face. He meets your gaze with a playful smile, leaning down close like he's about to tell you some grand secret.
"Ah, you felt it, didn't you?"
You nod your head with a puzzled expression as his smile widens, straightening back up to his full height.
"That, my dear, was a barrier," he says, gesturing around. "A special one that suppresses cursed spirits and conceals this place."
"How does one make something like that?" you ask, unable to hide the curiosity in your tone.
Takeshi chuckles, draping an arm around your shoulders, a look of dignified pride flickering in his eyes at your inquisitiveness.
"All in due time," he says softly. "Remain patient. Dedicate yourself to your studies, and I’ll open your eyes to the Jujutsu world. I’ll teach you these secrets, and more."
He squeezes your shoulder in earnest and guides you up the last of the stone steps, his hand settling between your shoulder blades as you pass through a second, smaller gateway that opens up into a vast courtyard.
Guided further into the monastery, a strange, almost surreal feeling settles over you while taking in the breathtaking beauty of the scenery.
This is to be your new home.
Your future.
The next few hours are a blur as Takeshi helps you get acquainted, granting you access to a hot bath in an onsen and providing fresh clothes. You smile faintly as your fingers brush over the white kosode, your gaze drifting to the red obi and the black umanori trousers laid out beside it.
When you step out, clean and dressed, Takeshi inclines his head and tells you this will be the standard attire for your training.
As you hand over your tattered yukata, it feels like you're shedding more than just cloth, like you're surrendering the last remnants of who you were.
The weak child.
The meek one.
The one who was nothing.
What remains is a sorcerer in training.
Someone who will finally matter.
Be something.
Something powerful.
***********************************************************************************
Bright and early the next day, you stand eagerly in the centre of the courtyard, shifting your weight back and forth like a restless little bunny.
The mountain air is crisp, your breath fogging as it nips at your ears, a chill running up your spine, not from the cold, but fear.
The hairs on your nape start to stand on end as your spidey senses pick up on a sudden, heavy presence. Your gaze sweeps across the dim grounds, the rising sun still too low in the sky to chase away the last stubborn pockets of darkness obscuring stone and wood.
But a sudden flicker of movement catches your eye.
Your head snaps toward the source of your unease as it takes shape, manifesting into the mighty form of Koji Yoshikiyo.
He’s a monstrous man.
To the point you’re convinced he must be part bear, or at least was one in a past life. He steps out from the shadows, forcing you to have to tilt your head back as he looms over your smaller frame.
Everything about him feels intense.
His attitude is on a short fuse.
Patience? Even shorter.
The only words you can scrape together to describe his presence are simple...
Intimidating.
And scary as all hell.
It only takes that first day for you to learn pretty quickly that his expectations are constantly rising, to the point of unattainable. Yet, somehow, instead of breaking you, it only motivates you to train harder.
In fact, the very first memory you have of him, is vivid.
You can still hear the sharp snap of his fingers as he beckons your shaking self forward, pointing to the ground in front of him.
"Show me your stance," he commands, voice gruff.
You comply, shuffling your limbs awkwardly into position. Your muscles tense as you try to mimic the postures you’ve seen in old warrior paintings, pulling too, from memory, the glimpses of samurai you used to sneak peeks at during their training.
You don’t even have time to blink.
Koji is already moving.
The world tilts as he swings his foot around, sweeping your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard, the breath slamming from your lungs as the back of your head cracks against the packed dirt with a loud, painful thud.
"Pathetic," he growls.
"Again."
Days blur into weeks, then the weeks turn into months as Koji drills you relentlessly in hand-to-hand combat.
Your body aches constantly, your skin coated in bruises layered over bruises. But muscle memory is starting to take hold, imprinting itself as you learn to react to the most subtle of movements, always tense, always ready.
You learn offence and defence. When to press an advantage, and when to pull back. You’re taught techniques for striking and counter-striking, how to use every piece of your body as a weapon.
Koji shows no mercy, and you learn to expect none.
His instruction drills into you the importance of reading your enemy, how to gauge their steps, their breathing, even their eyes, all so you can adapt and strike without hesitation.
There's no doubt that Koji's methods are brutal.
But they are effective.
Funnily enough, you’ve been training for months before you finally learn he was the one who insisted you drill in a white kosode. That way, you can see the amount of blood and use that to reflect on your failure.
Like I said.
A really charming man.
In fact, on that note, the only time you’ve ever seen him crack even the tiniest fraction of a smile, was the day you left a training session without so much as a single drop of blood on your kosode.
And to you?
That is a small gift, proof enough that something has shifted, that he no longer regards you as weak and pathetic.
He often says your future self will thank him.
Because as barbaric as his methods are, he repeats again and again that the foundations are what will keep you alive when everything else fails.
At the time, you assume he’s talking about cursed energy, referencing your still novice ability to wield it.
As the seasons change, so do the tides, bringing a new instructor to the training grounds.
Hidesato.
A lean and wiry man, his poise is reminiscent of a feline as he greets you. Your eyes are instantly drawn to his long, thin moustache, and you can’t help but picture the hairs as whiskers, especially the way they twitch when his lips move.
His movements are fluid and quick, like a predator stalking its prey as he approaches. You swallow thickly, staring up at his narrow features, nervous as all hell knowing this is the man about to take over your weapons training.
"A warrior must be one with their weapon," he purrs, shoving a kodachi into your hands before gesturing toward the wooden training post. "Now strike."
The weight of the blade feels foreign and awkward in your grip, your fingers tightening instinctively. The muscles in your core flex as you take your first swing, the cut sloppy as you struggle to blend your footwork with your strike.
Still, his keen eyes never leave you.
That’s the thing with Hidesato, he’s always watching your movements, like a cat stalking a mouse, tail swishing gingerly, eyes never losing focus from the hunt.
You can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to gauge how someone so small could ever hope to fulfill the role of a divine warrior.
Hidesato, however, proves to be far more patient than Koji, and nowhere near as abrasive. His tone always carries an underlying hint of amusement as he corrects your form.
"Relax your shoulders. Widen your stance. Tighten your grip," he instructs, tapping your elbow lightly with a wooden practice sword.
"Remember, little one, hesitation leads to failure, and failure leads to your demise in battle. But do not despair..." He steps around to stand in front of you, arms tucked neatly behind his back, a cheshire grin tugging at his lips.
"By the time I’m done with you, this sword will be an extension of your arm."
And yet again, like a hit of déjà vu, the hours blur into days, and the days into weeks as you practice perfecting your grip, your stance, your swing.
Hidesato is tenacious in his instruction, his own blade flashing like a blur as he demonstrates techniques and incorporates them seamlessly into your style. The long days see you learning how to parry, to feint, to strike, and most importantly...
Never hesitate.
Your arms burn constantly with exertion, your senses conditioned and hardwired to remain on high alert. And in the weeks that follow, as your skill improves, Hidesato begins introducing longer, broader blades, drilling you relentlessly on every aspect of swordsmanship.
Months later, throwing daggers come next, long, narrow kunai, each intricately detailed with a slim grip to maintain perfect balance and aerodynamic efficiency, the blade itself forged into a sharp arrowhead.
You snort, thinking what use is something so small?
That thought is put to rest on his very first demonstration.
Hidesato’s accuracy is both awe inspiring and terrifying, your mouth falling open as you watch him pin a leaf to a tree from fifty paces.
Daily, he drills a single concept into you.
Speed is your ally.
No matter the size or strength of your enemy, speed will always win.
Under his instruction, your throwing skills begin to grow. You learn to account for the wind, measure distance by sight, adjust for the weight of different blades, anticipate an enemy’s movement, all to deliver a maiming blow.
And through it all, over the years, Takeshi oversees your progress.
His lessons in cursed energy are the most challenging, but also the most rewarding.
You learn how to channel and condense your cursed energy into your core, how to manipulate it to call forth your technique at will, and even how to imbue your weapons with it.
You haven’t quite perfected your chain technique yet, but it’s close. For the first time, you finally understand the foundational theory behind it, how to control it, how it functions, how it responds.
But understanding theory alone isn’t enough.
To truly test it, you need to practice against a real cursed spirit.
So in the days that follow, Takeshi endures your pestering.
Relentlessly.
You trail after him like a thorn in his side, leaning in doorways, sitting far too close during meals, badgering him while he reads, or to his irritation, in lieu of your studies.
Each request is nearly the same, just more insistent.
More cocky.
"Just once," you urge.
"I can handle it," you promise.
"How else am I supposed to get stronger?"
Every time, he only smirks, his responses curt.
"No."
"You’re not ready."
"This isn’t a game."
But you don’t stop.
You pout. You sulk. You cross your arms dramatically and kick a stone across the grounds, groaning about how unfair he is, how you’ll never improve if he keeps you locked away like a baby.
At first, he ignores it.
Until one day, in your usual bratty manner, you beg and beg, and to your surprise...
He finally relents.
On one condition.
You start small with weak cursed spirits.
You still remember that day distinctly, can still hear the incessant droning of wings as Takeshi shows up carrying a small cage wrapped in layers of talisman seals, the wicked little creatures bouncing off one another inside.
He calls them fly heads.
With a big, cheeky grin, he breaks the seal and releases the grotesque little abominations. Your eyes narrow in disgust as the swarm buzzes around you, their insectoid bodies no larger than your palm, bulbous compound eyes set above spindly legs.
Their disproportionately small wings flutter frantically, but fail to lift their bloated forms no more than a few inches off the ground.
Quite pathetic, you think. That thought spurred on with the fact you can barely even sense any cursed energy.
And yet, despite all that, you’re excited. Finally, you get to test how well you can wield your own.
Takeshi stands off to the side, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, observing with an unreadable expression. Still, you can sense it, he might be even more eager than you are to see the months of training put to the test.
Closing your eyes, you draw in a deep breath, grounding yourself.
You focus on concentrating that familiar warmth into your core, nurturing it, letting it take flight to flow through you and gather into your palms.
Opening your eyes, you reach at your lower back, fingers grazing against the leather strap securing a row of kunai. You grip a dagger in each hand and begin imbuing them with your cursed energy.
The blades pulse in response, emitting a soft golden light as the energy merges seamlessly into the metal.
You are ready.
You flick your wrist in a motion so swift, it’s almost imperceptible, rivaling even Hidesato, as the first dagger slices through the air.
It strikes its target in a fraction of a second, piercing straight through one of the bulbous eyes of a fly head. The creature lets out a high pitched screech as positive energy clashes violently with the negative, triggering an immediate reaction.
The cursed spirit explodes with a wet splat before disintegrating completely, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of rotten smelling vapor.
Cocky from your success, you launch into a flurry of throws.
Your movements are effortless. Each slide, each dive and roll, each spin flows as fluid as water. Your throws blend into one another effortlessly, daggers cutting through the air and finding their marks with unerring accuracy.
Fly heads begin popping like grotesque balloons, their blackened innards splattering across the training ground.
As you dispatch the last of the cursed spirits, you turn to Takeshi with a triumphant grin. Sweat glistens on your skin, plastering your hair to your brow as you pant, your chest heaving with exertion.
"That was too easy," you boast, wiping a sticky, foul smelling glob from your cheek.
"I need something more challenging, these weak little pests barely put up a fight."
Takeshi regards you with amusement, stroking his jaw idly.
"Careful, my dear. Pride is a double edged sword."
He shifts, tucking his arms into his haori as you rest your hands on your hips, grinning up at him like a smug little goofball.
You can't help but feel triumphant at the indirect praise, yet beneath it, you can feel it, an itch for something more, something challenging.
"But sensei," you press, "how am I to become the warrior you speak of if I’m never tested against real threats? Surely, there must be stronger curses that need exorcising."
The look in Takeshi's eye shifts with an emotion you can't quite place.
Pride?
Enthusiasm?
Something darker...?
He tilts his head slightly, nodding to a thought only he can hear.
"Perhaps you’re right," he muses. "It may be time to raise the stakes, see how well you can think critically when it actually matters."
He pauses, letting his arms relax at his sides, his gaze narrowing as he studies you like a man still not entirely convinced.
You shift beneath his scrutiny, rocking your weight back and forth, clasping your hands behind your back.
"Very well," he hums. "Some villagers came by earlier to request our assistance with a cursed spirit that has been attacking their village."
Takeshi’s gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer, before a devilish smile curves his lips.
"We shall go together." He gestures vaguely. "This will be your first assignment. No more lectures, no more books, just you." He pauses, reaching for your shoulder. "And everything I’ve taught you."
You beam with excitement as Takeshi's expression suddenly hardens.
"Just remember what I told you earlier, overconfidence and pride, those are deadly foes." He gives your shoulder a light squeeze. "Never underestimate your enemy. That will be your first, and last, mistake." He pauses, cocking a brow.
"Because remember, my dear, the mightiest of trees can be felled by a persistent beetle."
You nod solemnly as he dismisses you.
Swallowing thickly, you turn away and begin the arduous task of cleaning the training ground, disposing of what remains of the cursed spirits.
As you reach down to pick up one of your kunai, you freeze in place, fingers brushing the cool metal.
I wonder...
What if I had been this strong that day with my mother?
Would things have been different?
Could I have saved her...?
Your thoughts are abruptly disrupted by the sound of Takeshi calling for you.
You turn to glance in his direction and find him already clad in his traveller’s cloak, gesturing for you with a simple wave of his hand. You curl your fingers around the last knife and straighten, only to pause again as an uneasy weight settles deep in the pit of your gut.
This is it.
No going back.
***********************************************************************************
Takeshi takes the lead as you set out from the monastery.
The journey has you trekking west on foot for a couple of hours, and he has zero qualms about filling the time with his accolades and critiques of your fly head 'battle'. He prattles on enthusiastically about your footwork, your imbuing technique, and of course, your confidence.
And yet, by the end of it?
You feel calm.
At peace.
Ready.
That is, until you reach the outskirts of the village, the air shifting instantly into something heavier, more insidious.
Takeshi explains that the black plague has afflicted this place, forcing the few remaining survivors, those who managed to avoid contracting the fatal pathogen, to flee for their lives.
What remains behind is a diseased cursed spirit, born from such despair.
He calls it a smallpox deity.
You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat. There's a smell, a distinct, sickly one. The type of rotting odour that makes the back of your throat itch, forcing you to cover your nose and mouth to keep from retching.
The village itself is a haunting sight.
Rows of abandoned huts stand dilapidated, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of neglect. Broken and overturned carts piled high with rotting bodies are left lining the muddy streets as smoke billows up from smouldering pits; where a failed attempt to cull the outbreak left the ground coated in ash.
The air is thick with the stench of rancid flesh and rot, a malodorous scent that clings to your skin and threatens to choke you.
You watch skeletal dogs slink between the shadows of the huts, ribs protruding sharply beneath mangy fur despite their bloated bellies, having only recently feasted on the remains scattered through the streets.
You keep your chin up, deliberately avoiding looking down. You really don’t want to see the faces frozen in agony, nor the skin and limbs riddled with pustular, blackened spots.
Takeshi glances down at you, astute eyes gauging your reaction.
"This will be your first real test, my dear," he says evenly. "Don’t disappoint me."
You nod, stilling your nerves as you focus on masking your expression, fingers tightening around the hilt of your tanto.
He is placing his trust in you.
And with that knowledge, you refuse to fail.
Remember, pride is a double edged sword.
The thought repeats itself in the back of your mind as you wander toward the main square.
But the closer you get, the harder it hits.
A suffocating kind of oppressive aura saturates the air, pressing in from all sides. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered before, clinging to the village as it envelops everything in it's decay.
Your heart races as a cold sweat breaks out across your brow, but Takeshi seems unbothered, resting a steady hand on your shoulder.
"Focus," he murmurs. "Remember your training and feel the energy around you. Watch its reactions and study its movements." He leans down, lowering his voice. "Then, when the opportunity presents itself, do not hesitate."
You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
The cursed energy within you responds instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs. When you open your eyes again, the world feels sharper, more defined, to the point where you can sense the lingering traces of despair hanging over this place like a shroud.
Hear the wails of pain.
The screams of terror.
Your heart aches.
Gods above...what hopelessness the villagers must have endured.
The thought silences as a sudden movement from the corner of your eye snatches your attention. When you turn your head, your breath hitches just as something massive and misshapen staggers out from behind a crumbling storehouse.
It’s a grotesque, globular mass of flesh, easily twice your height. Multiple arms and legs, of varying lengths and malformed shapes, jut out from its bloated body at impossible angles.
Dozens of multicoloured eyes roll in their sockets, blinking independently from one another as if trying to track you, though its gaze is unfocused.
And wrong.
Just plain fucking wrong.
Gods...
A nauseating stench of decaying flesh emanates from the creature in waves, so thick you can almost taste it. You gag, swallowing against the bile rising in your throat as you force down the urge to retch.
Takeshi digs his fingers deeper into your shoulder.
"Remember," he murmurs low. "This is what you've trained for, this is your purpose."
You nod once, a slight tremble in your hands from the rush of adrenaline as you step forward, semi-circling the space between you while quickly assessing the deformed monster.
The cursed spirit turns toward you, releasing a guttural groan that sends shivers racing down your spine.
Then it moves.
Its heaving body rolls toward you, grotesque limbs propelling it forward with surprising speed.
For a split second, your body locks in place, eyes widening as your pulse thunders in your ears.
The creature closes half the distance before you snap out of it, sucking in a shaky breath as your hands fly to your midback. You grip two kunai and focus fast, imbuing them with your energy.
As the spirit draws ever nearer, the disgusting details of its horrific form become more clear. Pustules ooze a sickly yellow fluid, and patches of its skin slough off as it moves. The eyes dart about wildly in different directions, with some fixing on you.
Alright...
Concentrate, I need to target its vulnerabilities.
Your gaze narrows.
Without wasting a second, you launch both kunai in rapid succession. The first blade slices through the air with a whistle, burying itself deep in one of the bloated eyes with a wet squelch.
A split second later, the second kunai sinks into another eye, and a violent clash of cursed energy erupts outward as the eyeballs explode from their sockets, spraying yellowish pus across the ground.
What the hell? It should have slowed it down.
It doesn’t.
Despite the direct hits, blows that would have obliterated lesser curses, you’re forced back a step as the spirit lunges. Stretching out its grotesque arm, elongated fingers twitching to grab you.
You manage to dodge just in time, feeling the air displace as the claws soar past overhead. Your body moves on muscle memory as months of training kick in, carrying you through the momentum. You roll forward, settling into a kneeling position, one hand braced against the ground for balance while the other is already reaching back for two more kunai.
The creature heaves its bloated mass to face you again, groaning as foul yellow slime oozes from the gaping holes where its eyes once were.
Gritting your teeth hard, you hurl two more knives, this time aiming for its main limbs.
Thwuck.
Thwuck.
The knives sink into its joints.
One second passes.
Then two, before a surge of your cursed energy follows.
The creature hollers in agony as its limbs explode in a spray of mangled flesh, blown clean off and splattering to the ground in a heap, twitching like severed spider legs.
You smile to yourself as its heavy frame collapses onto its side, dragging itself in circles.
I’ve taken out its mobility, now all I need is one clean shot to its core.
There! I'll go through one of the hollowed eye sockets.
The thought barely finishes before it groans again, deeper this time, more guttural.
A wet, snapping sound follows, and your gut drops as two more deformed limbs erupt from its repulsive body, replacing the ones you just severed. The creature turns, snaking them out toward a nearby hut, curling its claws into the edge of a door before ripping it right off the frame, lifting it before its bloated mass like a makeshift shield.
Your eyes narrow, focus locking in as you hurl another kunai with all your strength, aiming straight for one of the blown sockets, a direct access to its vulnerable core.
The colour drains from your face, eyes widening as, at the last second, the creature lifts the door. Your knife slams into the dilapidated wood and lodges there uselessly.
Wait.
Does it have intelligence...?!
Your breath quickens, heart racing as panic begins to bubble up. Your eyes dart to Takeshi on instinct, searching for guidance, fucking anything.
But the indifference on his face tells you he’ll offer none.
He stands a short distance away, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a cold, clinical interest.
Not concern.
Not impatience.
Assessment.
You’ve seen that look before.
He’s challenging you.
Testing your resolve.
Your training.
His voice cuts through the noise in your head, demanding of you.
Analyze your enemy and use your wits, silly girl.
You grit your teeth, gathering your thoughts into order as you assess the situation.
The kunai have been rendered ineffective.
The tanto at your hip could be an option, but it’s a shortened blade, and against a goddamn shield like that?
Useless.
It would put you well within reach of its other limbs, and it wouldn’t even break through.
I need another plan.
The smallpox deity heaves it's bloated mass forward as more arms erupt, its grotesque body pulsing like it’s laughing at you.
You curse under your breath as it sweeps an arm out for your head, forcing you to throw yourself to the side. You roll across the ground, stones digging into your palms as you scramble onto all fours, wrenching your head up.
Another limb lashes out.
Faster.
The muscles in your body ache as you dive forward, slamming your shoulder before pushing yourself back up, layers of sweat coating your body.
The world narrows into a blur of survival and instinct.
One step...two.
Duck.
Weave.
Air whooshes past your head as another limb swings just overhead, and you twist on reflex, pivoting low to avoid the strike.
Your stamina is depleting fast as the cursed spirit does not relent.
It batters at you without pause, invading every angle, every opening.
Growing faster.
Growing closer.
Until...
Whack!
One of its arms catches you in an ambush from the side, sweeping your legs out from under you.
Pain detonates through your body as you hit the ground hard. A sharp sting, then the metallic taste of blood floods your mouth where you bite down on your tongue.
You barely register it, there's no time.
Roll! Your mind screams.
Your muscles obey, throwing you sideways just as another massive limb slams into the earth where you’d been, sending dirt and debris spraying into the air.
Adrenaline floods your veins, keeping your body moving even as your thoughts spiral.
What do I do?
You clamber back up to your feet, every inch of your body aching in protest as your eyes lock onto the abomination.
Its limbs flail wildly, grasping at anything and everything within reach, lashing through the air like the arms of some monstrous octopus.
You feel it.
No.
You know it, if that thing catches you, that’s it, you're dead.
You suck in a ragged breath as your brain desperately scrapes together your options.
Alright.
Hand-to-hand combat is too dangerous.
Weapons aren’t efficient for this type of defence.
What else do I have?
What did Takeshi teach me?
Then it clicks.
Only cursed energy can kill a curse.
Of course.
Your innate technique.
The Chains of Adaptation.
You draw in a deep breath, sliding your feet into an open stance as you force yourself to focus amid the chaos. You drop to one knee, pressing a hand against the earth, fingers digging into the dirt as you fight to steady the frantic pounding of your heart.
Your cursed energy pulses violently inside you, clawing at your core, eager, ready to defend its master.
Too eager...
It’s unstable.
Untested.
You’ve never used this technique in battle before.
You must focus.
Channel it.
Control it.
Takeshi’s voice echoes in your mind.
Once it feels like so much pressure has built up inside your centre, you exhale shakily, unleashing it.
A surge of cursed energy pours through your fingertips and down into the depths below.
The ground begins to tremble, then crack, craters spider webbing across the surface. A moment of silence passes before a shriek pierces the air. Four golden chains erupt from the darkness, their links almost glowing as they pulse with positive cursed energy.
They slither across the ground toward your ankles like living, sentient serpents, hissing as they sense the cursed spirit’s presence.
The smallpox deity groans, two of its eyeballs rolling in their sockets before fixing on the new threat. Gurgling, it swings one of its longer arms toward your thigh.
The chains react instantly, striking out and intercepting the blow.
But then?
Pain.
Excruciating, searing agony tears through your body the moment the chains make contact, like the force is transferring straight into you.
You scream, clutching at your elbow as your knees buckle beneath the wave of pain. Panting through gritted teeth you glance down, your stomach twisting into a knot as you're greeted with a shard of bone peeking out of your shoulder.
It’s like you were struck directly.
Before you can even process the shock, another limb swings hard for you, but a second chain intercepts it.
And again, the pain hits.
Another debilitating wave washes through you, stacking on top of the first.
Your vision blurs.
Your ears ring.
Your body struggles to make sense of the agony, pain coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, impossible to localize, impossible to escape.
It hurts.
It hurts more than anything you have ever felt.
Takeshi stirs from his spot, uncrossing his arms as concern twists his expression. He moves quickly, waraji scraping against the ground as he closes the distance to intervene.
"Enough!" he barks.
You pick up on the spike of his cursed energy as he approaches closer, clearly with the intent to step into the fight.
"No…!" you choke out, voice strained. "Don’t! Please, let me finish this."
He hesitates, glancing between you and the cursed spirit, then stops a few paces back, holding himself in check.
It's a little comforting to know he's ready to step in at a moments notice.
Agony continues to wreak havoc through your body. It would be so fucking easy to crumple, to give up, but you force another breath into your lungs anyway, sweat pouring off you now, your vision blurring at the edges.
No.
This is your fight.
"I can do this," you whisper, more to convince yourself than anything.
You lift your head just as another arm lashes out, but this time, when a third chain intercepts it, there’s no backlash.
Nothing.
You don’t feel a damn thing.
And then something unexpected happens.
The cursed energy in the chains shifts, adjusting itself to the nature of the attack.
The third chain cinches tight around the limb, emitting a surge of positive cursed energy to react with the deity’s, an inverse, volatile reaction that crushes the arm beneath its links.
The chains have learned.
You narrow your gaze on the sight before you, breath hitching.
I understand now.
The first time, every first time, you have to take the hit. The chains have to feel the blow, let it pass through them, break against them, so they can understand it. Learn its nature. Learn how to counter it. Learn how to destroy it.
That’s the trade off, the price of adaptation.
The pain is yours to bear.
But once they learn...
They should become unstoppable.
Another wet, strangled groan erupts from the cursed spirit, as it reaches from behind the shield, aiming to snatch your ankle.
But this time?
All four chains surge forward with an unnatural speed, slithering around its makeshift defence. Three chains each target a limb, wrapping tight while anchoring to the ground, immobilizing it as a snake would it's prey.
The fourth chain targets its main body, winding around its torso and constricting tighter and tighter, pulsing with each breath you take, as if alive, responding to your will.
The creature writhes.
Its grotesque form thrashes against its binds as the chains burn into its flesh, scorching rotten skin with positive cursed energy.
The smallpox deity’s guttural cries fill the air, each one more desperate than the last.
Your jaw clenches as you lift your chin, your hand slipping away from your injured shoulder as you extend it before you, palm open and steady, facing the cursed spirit.
The chains respond.
Links shift and hiss, coiling tighter, vibrating against decaying flesh.
"I hereby sentence you to death," you declare. "You shall be granted a swift and merciful execution."
The creature thrashes in blind panic, dozens of eyes snapping toward you, narrowing all at once.
But you don’t even blink as your expression goes cold.
Gritting your teeth, you hiss out the command.
"Tear."
The chains shriek, snaking up its limbs to join the fourth, encircling its centre of mass. All four constrict into a strangling hold, the pressure building, until one by one, eyes start popping from their sockets, leaving behind oozing trails of yellowish pus.
The world narrows to this singular moment, with the pox deity struggling, locked in an unbreakable vice. Then, all at once, the chains shoot outward in every direction, ripping the creature apart.
The air explodes with the sound of tearing flesh as the cursed spirit’s body is torn into chunks. Blackened innards spill across the ground as blood sprays into the air, splattering across your skin, soaking into your clothes.
You blink thrice, watching as what remains of the cursed spirit soon disintegrates into nothingness right before your eyes.
Exhaling slowly, you lower your bloodied hand as the chains begin to slither back, sinking into the dark craters they emerged from, vanishing as if they had never existed at all.
The village falls silent once more, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant cawing of crows as they descend to feast on the dead.
You use the inside of your sleeve to wipe the blood from your lashes, wrinkling your nose to clear its passages. That tiniest bit of movement sends a flare of pain tearing down your arm.
You jerk with a sharp wince, glancing down as your hand clamps around your shoulder.
Right, it's broken...
You dig your fingers in with a hiss, stabilizing the fracture as best you can before lifting your head.
Takeshi is staring at you.
His face has gone pale, that usual calm and calculating demeanor visibly shaken. He makes no attempt to mask the shock as his gaze takes in the carnage surrounding you.
For the first time since you met him, Takeshi is completely and utterly speechless.
And for him? That’s fucking unheard of.
You did it.
You controlled your cursed energy, held your technique together. You annihilated the spirit. You proved, beyond any doubt, that your strength isn’t theoretical, isn’t potential.
It’s real.
It’s lethal.
Judging by the look on his face, even he wasn’t prepared for this much destruction, for how brutally efficient your positive cursed energy really is.
He doesn’t speak.
Just stares.
His astute gaze sweeps over the darkened smear of what’s left of the pox deity, then drifts over the fissures across the ground, before finally settling back on you.
You can practically hear the gears in his head grinding, pulling your technique apart, replaying it frame by frame, trying to understand exactly the mechanics of how it works.
He holds your stare, the corner of his lips twitching once before he grins.
The shock fades from his eyes, melting away into far more dangerous.
Pride.
Takeshi steps forward, shaking his head slightly as a breathy laugh slips from him.
"Well, young sorcerer," he murmurs, clearly amused. "I think you’re ready."
His eyes flick over the devastation one last time before settling back on you.
"Tomorrow," he continues casually, "we begin the most important concept of foundational theory. The very peak of Jujutsu."
He drops to a knee before you, his eyes softening as he reaches out and cups your cheek, seemingly unfazed by the questionable substances smeared across your skin.
"Domains," he finishes, his gaze flicking briefly to your shoulder.
He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the blood soaking through the fabric of your kosode and the blatantly obvious shard of bone protruding beneath it.
"But first," he murmurs.
"Tell me what you remember about healing."
***********************************************************************************
On the year of your twenty first birthday, Takeshi presents you with two gifts.
The first is a finely crafted Masamune katana, its blade long and razor sharp, carrying a subtle curve, clearly forged with the utmost proficiency. Light reflects off the steel as you lift it, testing the weight and balance, blown away by the sheer mastery of its craftsmanship.
As you rotate the sword in your palm, your eyes trace over the hilt, taking in the intricate details carved into the ox bone. It's finished in a deep black coating, the dark colouring contrasting beautifully against the silvered blade.
It is flawless.
And yet, it's the second object that truly draws your attention.
A Men Yoroi mask.
The facial armor is unlike anything you've ever seen, a fusion of elegance and power, its design embodying both the natural world and the celestial.
Takeshi reveals he had the mask custom crafted, its shape narrow and elongated, tapering down into a beak-like point that gives the face a distinctly avian profile. You can’t help but run your fingertips along its smooth surface, tracing over the matte finish that's subtly textured by raised structural lines.
Thin gold trim runs along the mask’s contours, tracing the brow ridge, the bridge of the nose, and the angular lines of the jaw. You brush your thumb down the narrow raised ridge running vertically down the centre of the mask, dividing the face in two.
The eye holes are long, narrow slits with the inside corners angled slightly downward toward the bridge of your nose, giving them the shape of a hawk’s gaze. The interior mesh is dark, clearly designed with the intent of obscuring your eyes from your enemies.
Emerging from the sides of the mask are four wings, two on each side. The upper pair is longer and curves upward, arching high beside the temples. The lower pair curves downward, fanning out wide and extending past the jawline. Each wing is made of layered metal feathers, individually carved with fine etched lines that run from base to tip.
Their finish is polished silver with subtle gold accents along select edges, matching the trim of the face.
As you don the mask for the first time and feel its cold weight settle against your face, you’re overcome with a rush of pride.
Finally, after years of training, your transformation is complete.
You’re no longer the scared little girl who fled her home in the middle of the night.
You are the General.
The Divine Guardian.
The bane of all curses.
Your past is nothing but an old dream, replaced by an unyielding sense of duty and purpose.
Takeshi chuckles, seeing the smile on your face as you remove the mask, running your fingers fondly along the metal edges of its wings.
"Many warriors name their yoroi masks for luck," he says idly, reclining back with his arms crossed. "Have you chosen one for yours?"
You drop your gaze for a moment as you consider his question.
For reasons you can’t quite name, your thoughts drift, finding their way to the sound of your mother’s voice. To the way she used to tell stories of fierce deities by lamplight, acting them out, lowering her tone as she imitated gods and monsters alike.
Her exaggerated expressions and acting skills would make you laugh until your belly ached.
But there was always one tale she never joked about. One group of deities she spoke of only with reverence and awe, a story that had fascinated you to the point of obsession the very first time you heard it.
The Uragas.
You blink once, lifting your gaze to meet Takeshi’s sly smile.
"I have the perfect name," you muse.
"Mahoraga."