Chapter Text
Passing through the barrier was always a strange sensation. Like being submerged underwater for a moment, then suddenly thrust back to the surface. Yuji couldn't remember how many times he'd felt this.
The Inhuman Makyo greeted him with a suffocating cursed energy, so dense he could easily run his hand over it and feel it on his fingertips. Yuji took a deep breath and relaxed. The air outside the Inhuman Makyo felt too sterile. Too reminiscent of the hospital he'd frequented too often over the past few decades.
Or the morgue.
He doesn't go to the morgue that often.
But here, it was like walking through a meadow somewhere in the middle of a forest. The air, thinned by cursed energy, felt clean and pleasant. Perhaps it was the cursed part of him that was to blame. Lately, he'd felt more like a curse than a human, or even something in between.
The curses, if any had tried to approach the barrier, didn't appear in his path. They're not intelligent, of course. But Yuji comes here so often, hunts here for so long, that the cursed spirits appear with a simple instinct — to leave him alone and run as far away as possible. He doesn't know what to think about it.
Even the curses have decided to abandon him!
Yuji would have laughed if this had happened thirty years ago. Now, laughing at such things is increasingly difficult for him.
He continues along the former city streets, stepping over cracks in what used to be asphalt. The wind howls, seeping through the ruined buildings. The ruins of a once-beautiful city always welcome him. Yuji is no longer sure which world he truly belongs to. But as he walks and fights curses — is he a sorcerer? Or a same curse, deciding that he stands above others?
Yuji memorizes places. Places that existed here "before" and became nothing "after." A flower shop, from which the sweet scent of flowers still wafts. Across the street, an electronics store lurks, and right next to it, a restaurant they often frequent. He crosses the road, finding himself in front of a staircase leading up. There are many such rural places in the suburbs of Tokyo. He remembers these words.
And only now do he understand them, as he stops in front of a small shrine.
Curses don't touch this place. It belongs exclusively to him. He doesn't even remember why this shrine in particular? At some point, he simply noticed it — the cursed spirits avoided this place. They crawled away when he walked toward it. They never pursued him when he climbed up to the shrine. Perhaps he had inadvertently carved out a place for himself in this cursed town. Found his own territory, as one of its inhabitants.
And for this to be a shrine?
How ironic!
He allows himself a chuckle as he steps over the table of offerings. There are more stones, bones, and branches on the table since the last time. Yuji never puts it away — where would he throw it? The interior, as always, is dusty, but not dirty. There's enough space and things to sleep for a few days and then leave. This place is only good for sleeping. For naps, or for moments when he just want to stop and catch his breath. Moving forward without looking back is good. But even Yuji, with his stamina, needs rest.
It's surprising that this shrine has become a place of rest.
He wraps himself in his sleeping bag — though it has long ceased to have any effect — and allows himself to close his eyes, forgetting the rest of the world for the duration of his sleep.
Yuji rarely allows himself to dream. He knows his soul; he can immerse himself in a state of rest where nothing will happen. Sometimes he doesn't. However, this time was different. Yuji clearly remembers forcing himself to sleep. So why does he taste rotten soap on his tongue? Why does he feel like he's standing on something hard? Why does he smell blood?
Why does he feel like he's lost control of his body?
"I always knew that... moonlight... is best felt... in the flesh!"
He feels his arms being lifted against his will. His head being thrown back to enjoy the fresh night air.
What the hell is going on now? Is he under the influence of a technique? Did someone attack him in the Inhuman Makyo? Did someone manage to sneak up on him?
But it doesn't make sense.
...especially since this scene is all too familiar. The feeling of not owning your body, though it's faded over time, isn't entirely forgotten. He's missing something. What was the last thing he did before ending up here? Yuji was definitely in that small shrine in the Inhuman Makyo. So... where is he now?
"Hmm," the intruder lifts his hands to his face, and Yuji notices a detail that shouldn't be true. His left hand has five fingers. Claws adorn the fingers, and cursed markings line his wrists. His field of vision is strangely widened, as if he's looking through more than one pair of eyes. And his body... feels too tight, as if he's wearing a T-shirt two sizes too small.
"Ah, what an interesting body," the familiar voice continues to comment. Echoes of a past that should have been lost forever in history. "Who would have thought such a vessel could exist!..”
Vessel.
No way.
He refuses.
Just as someone who has suffered a serious hand injury picks up a pen again to remember how to write, Yuji literally tears into the soul that surrounds him, pushing it back with all his might. He tears through his own body to bring it under complete and absolute control.
His cursed energy, no longer contained, flares uncontrollably. Yuji sways and almost falls backwards, managing to pull away from the edge of the roof just in time. His own body feels different. Too short, less flexible, and weakened. A body that hasn't yet been through battles and trainings. His attempts to reduce the output of his own cursed energy fail. He can barely stand. It feels as if the soul (or souls?) is too heavy for his body to support. Yuji is forced to bend over, bracing his hands on his knees, and catch his breath.
His senses are too dull. It feels like earplugs in his ears — every sound he used to hear as if it were right there is muffled. He finds himself having to listen. The smells aren't as strong as they should be. He sees blood on his sneakers. He can only faintly smell it. And his body... feels wrong. It's as if his cursed energy hasn't yet settled into every cell, hasn't made him who he was.
Yuji feels an all-too-familiar and wrong presence in his body.
"Ha-ha, this is wrong," even his voice is muffled and hoarse, yet at the same time higher, young. Still with the same rotten taste on his tongue. "Everything feels wrong."
Yuji sighs and slowly turns his head toward another presence. His instincts, belonging to his cursed part of existence, tell him there's someone else beside him. A human.
A sorcerer.
He freezes.
Because right in front of him is Fushiguro. Young. Unscarred. Frozen with pure terror and the pressure of cursed energy. His hands are trying to form the sign to summon the tenth shikigami of his technique. Yuji knows this hand sign all too well. But in any case... Fushiguro won't be able to complete the summoning due to paralysis.
"Oh, Fushiguro..." Yuji exhales, partially emerging from his stupor and the comprehension of such a confusing situation. His eyes register another oddity: it's too dark here. Even the countryside is now too bright. As if humanity is trying to compensate for the forever-faded Tokyo. And here? Dark. The space is illuminated only by residual cursed energy and a few distant sources.
"Are you... injured? You need to go to the hospital."
The idea came spontaneously. As if instinctively. He can use the Reverse Cursed Technique, right? But something tells him he shouldn't have that ability yet.
Yuji raises his hands in an open gesture, indicating he doesn't intend to attack. Fushiguro's cursed energy is a complete mess. Every time he takes a single step, the young sorcerer tries to force his body to move, to get away — to get away from the danger that is now himself. He considers knocking out the younger version of his friend and dragging him to the hospital, but he cuts off his thoughts and turns his head sharply, sensing a new source of cursed energy. Dense, voluminous, well-controlled, and familiar.
"I'd prefer if you took three — no, five — steps back from my student," Gojo-sensei says as soon as he appears on the roof. He approaches Fushiguro, but his eyes never leave him. The blindfold is clearly dangling around his neck. Gojo smiles. His eyes — not so. "Well?"
"Ah, yes...of course," Yuji does as he's told. He's still swaying from the awkwardness of his body, but he takes more or less even steps back, keeping his hands up. He keeps them visible, showing that he has no intention of making signs with them. Gradually, he begins to get used to the situation.
Before him is a younger version of his friend. His teacher stands next to him. Alive. And inside Yuji...the distinct feeling of Sukuna's soul.
If this is some kind of curse — or even a sorcerer trying to fool him with his technique — then they're not going to survive. But if that's true...
...damn, time travel isn't so impossible?
"Megumi, where's the cursed object?" Gojo, despite asking Fushiguro a question, doesn't turn his head. He doesn't even relax. Even though Yuji did as he was told — of course — the most powerful sorcerer of this time isn't taking his eyes off him. He even feels the Six Eyes technique reading his cursed energy. He feels the space around Gojo and Fushiguro distort, as the latter places his hand on his shoulder.
"If you're talking about the expired finger," he begins cautiously when he realizes Fushiguro can't answer the question. "Then I ate it. I didn't like it." He can't get used to his voice. It's too...high.
"How dare you talk about my fingers like that?"
"Oh, no. It was so bad that I'm hallucinating," Yuji says, slapping his head without thinking. "Do these... cursed objects of yours cause schizophrenia?"
"You ate this and now you hear a voice in your head," the future sensei repeats, his lips widening with each word. "Hm, boy," he lets go of Fushiguro's shoulder, but instead hands him a package, which Fushiguro immediately clutches, holding it close. As if something like that could protect him.
Gojo approaches him lazily — as lazily as possible — but without making any sudden movements. Not when he raises his hand to touch his chin — another reminder of how short Yuji is now. Not when he brings his face closer to inspect his body.
"Don't let him do that!"
"Your cursed energy makes it almost unnoticeable, but you've truly merged." Gojo pats his shoulder when Yuji makes no move to pull away. As if he could ever distance himself from this man. "Do you know what a commotion you caused? First, the wave of the manifested object rolled through, and then the explosion! I bet everyone felt it. Who would have thought you were the cause?" He narrowed his eyes. "And besides that...your cursed energy literally screams that you have two cursed techniques."
"Two?! Wait, that...that's absurd?"
"It's absurd, I agree with my schizophrenia." Yuji doesn't look away, looking directly at Gojo, but without challenging him. He's still trying to figure out if this is real, even with all the evidence before him. "Until this evening..."
"Until this evening, you haven't seen cute monsters lurking in corners, alleyways, under the bed," the sorcerer nods in agreement, as if explaining simple things to a child. Which is true, but also not. "Perhaps the finger was the cause of your awakening? But that's not so important right now. Tell me, can I talk to your schizophrenia? That's Sukuna, by the way. Would you mind letting him out for a minute?"
"I don't know which of us is crazier — me with the voice in my head, or you, who knows the name of voice in my head." He shrugs, beginning to enjoy Sukuna's irritation, which nevertheless suggests a trace of curiosity. Yuji feels that Sukuna literally lashing out at the mental bars of the cage that is his soul. "I can, I think. He was just saying something about moonlight."
Yuji sighs, closing his eyes. He hears Gojo encouraging him, and relaxes. He knows that with Sukuna's current level of power, he can't do anything. He just needs to watch him for a minute, making sure he doesn't do anything. Yuji voluntarily relinquishes control, forcefully pushing Sukuna to the surface, as if trying to push him out of the water.
The next moment, he hears Sukuna's voice. He feels him speaking through his mouth.
"Two techniques, you say?"
To Yuji's surprise, the King of Curses doesn't even glance at Gojo, preferring to examine his body. He feels Sukuna's cursed energy envelop him, passing through him, trying to grasp the very essence, to pull to the surface the technique he once acquired in one of the most vile ways.
The next second, he hears laughter.
"The Kamo clan?" his bodymate says, almost enthusiastically. "Tell me, sorcerer, how many generations did it take them to remove the technique's restriction and learn to convert cursed energy into blood?"
Damn it, Yuji should have known this was how it would end.
Yuji is almost surprised that Gojo doesn't react to Sukuna's words. But then he understands why – Sukuna is gathering his cursed energy and drawing the technique from the depths of his own body. Spheres of blood appear before Sukuna's hands, which he condenses to a size suitable for using Piercing Blood. As if Yuji would allow it.
He was told to let Sukuna out for a minute.
Nowhere was it said that he shouldn't interfere with the process.
Using his own cursed energy and the soul power he's been familiar with for decades, he closes the non-existent door through which Sukuna is drawing his techniques. The blood spheres shimmer as Sukuna struggles to use the technique. Unfortunately for him, he loses. The spheres fall to the floor, dissolving, while the King of Curses stands dumbfounded, staring at his hands.
"You! How dare you interfere?" Sukuna almost recoils, channeling his cursed energy again to activate the technique. But the door is already closed and securely locked. "How are you doing this?"
"Nobody forbade me from interfering," Yuji uses his own mouth to speak. Though his bodymate resists — at best, he only manages a snarl. "That looked dangerous, man. Let's not do that?"
"Oh, wow," the third participant in their conversation whistles, watching the cursed energy battle within the same body. "You can partially limit him even when you transfer control of the body. But, hmm, the amount of cursed energy has certainly decreased significantly due to the change in control."
Oh yeah, Yuji almost forgot that Gojo says everything to your face, without hiding it. Surprisingly, Sukuna doesn't argue, likely sensing the difference. But that doesn't stop him from abandoning the technique and switching to hand-to-hand combat. Of course, he makes good use of his body, pushing off the floor, using the maximum strength and speed currently available.
To his dismay, he's fighting Gojo Satoru.
He dodges every blow he tries and kicks him with all his might into the wall. Sukuna takes advantage of this, ripping out chunks of the wall and hurling them back with all his might. Infinity stops them, preventing them from getting close to Gojo and Fushiguro. This is exciting. Yuji doesn't want to admit that it's exciting for him too...
But time is running out. As Sukuna prepares to use the Shrine to attack, Gojo ends the countdown, raising a finger toward him.
Yuji claws at the control again with all his might, tearing it away, throwing Sukuna into the depths of his soul.
"What are you, kid?!" is the last thing he manages to shout as Yuji finally regains control.
He almost wants to laugh and tell him to go ask Kenjaku. But never mind, he'll have another chance.
Yuji no longer tries to control his cursed energy. His control, honed over the years, allowing him to blend in with the crowd of non-sorcerers, was gone. The cursed energy he'd acquired with fingers and his brothers now flowed calmly from him, weighing down on him like something heavy. Hah, what would his future sensei think of this? He looked more like a curse than a human.
But even better this way.
It would be strange if someone just learning sorcery could control his cursed energy. Yuji wasn't so foolish as to expect Gojo to teach him in that case. However, what if he showed up as a complete and utter novice?
"It's still strange, okay?" He addresses no one in particular and doesn't expect an answer.
Gojo approaches him, clapping his hands like a child who's received the birthday present he's been dreaming about all year. Perhaps Yuji is aided by his experience now, or perhaps by his ability to recognize emotions through soul observation, but... he sees a wild glint in the Strongest's eyes, undisguised excitement and curiosity. He sees the mad grin that usually appeared during battles. Yuji always knew that Gojo also saw something unusual in him, something interesting to study. Now he is fully convinced.
"You've truly regained control. Should I say that's amazing?" He approaches him again and claps him familiarly on the shoulder. But Yuji still feels that thin layer of infinity wrapped around his arm. "Is something wrong with your body? Do you have any desires, like eating human flesh?"
Yuji resists the urge to say that the question sounds strange, considering he ate a human finger before. Perhaps this wouldn't be the most appropriate joke, even if it was meant to calm himself in this very unusual situation.
"My only wish is to wake up. But I suppose this isn't a dream," Yuji nevertheless examined his body —stretched his arms, tried moving his leg. He tried to listen to Sukuna, but surprisingly, he was silent. Although Yuji could feel him watching. "Nothing, but... Hm. I can feel him, that's all."
He didn't need to clarify who this "him" was. Gojo would understand perfectly well.
"That's all? Good," he began to bring his fingers to his forehead. "I can't wake you, but I can send you to sleep."
Yuji could have dodged.
He didn't.
The first thing Sukuna clearly senses when he returns to his domain is the difference in the amount of cursed energy and the power of the souls. His vessel's body is certainly durable, no doubt about it. But it's also so young, so supple, so capable of being strengthened. He has no access to the thing's cursed energy, but even so, inside this body, he feels it. Vast quantities, uncontrollable. The vessel's power was sealed, his mind tells him, and his finger broke that seal.
Kenjaku.
This is clearly the work of the parasitic sorcerer. The vessel wouldn't have had any reason to eat the finger if it had the power to protect itself. And it would have had that power if it hadn't been stripped of its cursed energy and techniques. But he miscalculated.
It's almost comical.
Kenjaku miscalculated.
Because the second thing he knows for sure is that he has two soul fragments out of the twenty sealed in his fingers. Which means one of the fingers was already sealed in the body, and the release of such a quantity of cursed energy simply broke the seal. But even this one-tenth of the soul seems so small compared to what had been in the body since birth.
He received a beautiful vessel containing a technique from one of the three clans, the one whose restriction had been removed. The problem is, the vessel resembles a cage. But that's... a thought for later.
His domain greets him with deathly silence. A lake of blood spills at the foot of his throne. A shrine built on bones sprawls in the center of this place. Right in the vessel's heart. He throws his head back, and his eyes narrow. Of course. Ribs, too numerous for a human body, replace the ceiling of the space. They stretch back and forth for a great distance. They still reveal themselves to be the bars of the cage that is the thing.
Sukuna is still looking around, because if the vessel was knocked out, then its subconscious should have found the entrance here. He kept the door to the domain open, almost trying to lure the vessel's consciousness here. But if it wasn't here, then either the vessel was powerful enough to reject the invitation, or...
He rose from the throne, descending into the bloody lake, walking alongside the skeletal cage.
...his vessel already had its own domain.
How intriguing.
When Kenjaku had once approached him with the offer of being sealed within cursed objects, he had described the very state of incarnation within a vessel using his own technique as an example. A willless body in the hands of an immortal entity, granting access to its innate technique if the opportunity presented itself. He hadn't promised a technique, though. He had said it would be as it came. He still assumed that after incarnation, it would be possible to find a new body that wouldn't crumble.
Well, he'd obtained the technique. And a body with its own will, strong enough not to lose its mind and disappear.
It's a new concept, though. Two souls in one body, capable of coexisting in harmony enough to keep the body whole. Either another of Kenjaku's experiments, or a side effect of the artificially created vessel. Or both. It would have been impossible to find a vessel for him. Sukuna knows better; he's too powerful for such a situation. But how was the vessel created? One finger was sealed within itself, obviously. But was there something else?
He laughs.
The incarnation had confronted him with something interesting. For now, it was enough to alleviate his boredom.
While he was pondering the situation, he reached what could be called a boundary. There was no distortion or barrier. The bloody lake began to freeze until it was completely covered in a thick layer of ice. In place of bones, fragments of buildings began to appear. A seamless transition. It was as if there was no boundary between souls, but rather one simply seamlessly merging with the other.
Sukuna stood on a layer of ice and finally saw.
What had once been a bloody mist dissipated, revealing a ruined city, covered in snow.
The information he drew from the vessel's knowledge told him that these strange structures were houses being built in this era. He had already partially seen them when he controlled the body. Strange ropes connecting some of the buildings, entwining the ribs, supporting some of the debris — power lines. Something that conducts electricity, making the lights glow and the appliances work.
He sees a pattern — he watches how these very wires converge toward a single point — the center of this city. He looks down — even though he's standing on ice, he sees a crack. A bloody stream, just wide enough for one person to walk along, like a path. Blood flows along the stream, from the center to the edge, where it flows into his own bloody lake.
Sukuna crouches, resting his hand on the snow-covered ice. He wipes away the snow, revealing an incredibly transparent surface. Beneath the ice, it's still red. Still blood, crusted. He raises his head again, looking around. Everything is covered in the same snow. It doesn't shine, doesn't stand out. It doesn't make everything white. It makes everything faded, as if sleeping.
The domain already exists, but it still sleeps.
He grins, rising. The most logical thing would be to follow the bloody stream to the center, but that should be saved for last. Sukuna doesn't deliberately choose a direction; he simply walks toward something that seems interesting. Something that will help him solve the riddle that is his vessel.
This space, which is the home of the inner domains — In fact, it's more like an embodiment of their souls. So, the inner image of the soul can tell him what this vessel is. Reveal its inner essence. So Sukuna simply walks toward the first skeletons of buildings visible nearby.
And then he notices something else.
Along the edges of the bloody trail are mounds of snow. Something buried so completely that it's simply become a snowdrift. He stops again and bends down to brush away a layer of snow. A white paper lantern appears before his eyes. These are usually sent down the river on a certain day of the month. He tries to pick it up and realizes it's frozen into the ice. But a glow emanates from within, as if a candle was still burning.
Sukuna surveys the surroundings. There are too many of these snow mounds, but they line up in rows that run parallel to the trail.
...floating through the blood toward the center?
Lanterns could mean many things. Lanterns floating on something?
Souls.
The ruins of a city and a gathering of souls heading toward the center. He begins to piece together a puzzle that's too intriguing to leave alone.
The first debris is simply some kind of store. Shelves, flower pots. Broken glass and broken walls, as if something large had crashed into them. But his gaze is drawn to small details—claw marks on the walls, dents as if punched, and neat cuts that hint at how this section of the wall was severed.
Sukuna smiles.
He moves on.
Something that looks like a street, then an intersection. Only through the vessel's knowledge does he come to a simple conclusion: this isn't the true scale of the city. Something scaled down enough to be visible from the center.
A repetition of what was before. The same dents, the same claw marks, the same depressions, the same cut scars. Somewhere he again encounters lanterns—dented, broken. Some draped over debris, extinguished. At the same time, he quickly adapts to the vessel's life before Sukuna incarnated within it. An inhuman force haunting the vessel from birth. Instincts unnatural to humans. Alone among peers, friendly yet lonely. Violence coursing through veins instead of blood. Surrounded by people who need to be protected. Not out of good intentions, though it appears so.
He looks at the domain again.
He listens to the vessel's nature, its body, its instincts.
Sukuna laughs. Harshly, with dark amusement, as he understands.
It's not human.
It can't be called human, it still can't be called a curse.
It's still human, it's still a curse.
How intriguing!
The vessel probably didn't understand why it had no so-called friends. It drew the line itself. As a human, it was drawn to those around it. As a curse, it considered them part of its territory. Violence stalking those who disturbed the peace of its territory. This city is its, these souls inhabiting this place are also its. Skeletons of buildings, still belonging to this creature, but destroyed by the attacks of others.
But the city stands, which can only indicate that the vessel itself desires it to stand.
Sukuna has seen enough. Now all that remains is to look at the owner of this domain.
He raises his head, quickly orienting himself by the wires. If he's right, they all intertwine and converge at the center of the domain, meaning he only needs to follow their directions. As he passes the building, he runs his own claw along the wall, leaving a deep scratch.
Sukuna is certain he's been walking in only one direction, roughly parallel to the bloody trail, but is surprised to find himself back on it. Does the domain itself want him to enter through the front door? Or is it an invitation from the owner of this place? Either way, it's too tempting to refuse.
As he moves toward the center, the buildings become taller and, most importantly, more coherent. More power lines have appeared, finally converging at a single point like a web. When Sukuna almost reaches the center, he freezes, because...
...the center of this city is the Shrine.
Atop the ruins of buildings, each supporting pillar seemingly mimicking stone steps, rises an exact replica of his own Shrine. Though the foundation is the same, there are no jaws in the gaps; instead, blood seems to flow from the center, which is the source of the bloody trail and the lake. The roof of the temple is decorated with six paper lanterns, smoldering but not yet extinguished.
In the very center of the Shrine, a ledge is visible — or rather, a platform, slightly raised above the floor. There he sees the apparently dormant vessel. But what immediately catches his attention is the color of the hair. Pink.
He climbs this strange semblance of steps, much faster than he planned. Everything is beginning to clear in his head, but he needs to understand exactly what this creature truly is. Pink hair, the Shrine, one soul smoothly flowing into another. Now, as he stands at the very entrance, Sukuna sees it.
The vessel sleeps, curled into a ball, its arm tucked under its head. Something white has been placed beneath it, as if to soften the surface. But here… something doesn't add up. This is definitely the body's owner — Sukuna senses it — but the soul is older than it should be. It's stripped to the waist — surely Sukuna himself has torn off the top layer. But its body — what in the old days would have been called signs of survival, scars adorn its body — thin and unnoticeable, pale and lingering, dark and deep. Like a reminder, like a promise. And its face…
Sukuna saw himself reflected in the ice. As an incarnation, he adapts to the body he incarnates into. He considered the pink hair a sign of his incarnation, just like his cursed marks. But what he was certain of was the face of a teenager. Yes, with its cursed marks and everything else that marked it — him — the vessel's face looked older than its years. He knew exactly what a vessel should look like.
But this? The face was more like that of a youth who had fought without rest for too long and had finally found peace. Scars — one split its brow, another at the corner of its mouth — told of this creature's battles. Dark circles under its eyes, telling of the creature's wanderings. And yet, this face — it was as if he were looking into a mirror. Features that echoed his real face. Hair carelessly combed back in the style he usually wore. And the curved scars under its eyes, mimicking his second pair of eyes, are proof that this thing is a vessel.
With this last revelation, the puzzle finally came together.
Sukuna chose the path of solitude even before he was born, absorbing his twin brother in his mother's womb. It was more of an instinct, the one that gave him the power with which he became famous as the King of Curses. But now, looking at the soul before him… had his twin voluntarily surrendered, sparing them both the fate of being incomplete separately?
When the body dies, where does the soul go? Did his twin desire a new reunion, the reason he wandered from reincarnation to reincarnation in search of it? Did he chase the fingers in his endless pursuit? How many times has he been reborn? How many battles has he fought, that he bears scars in his soul?
How many times has he tried to continue the bloodline, and how many of Kenjaku's experiments has he participated in, to become one with him once again? And now, finally created as the perfect vessel, with Sukuna's finger sealed as a beacon, his soul had finally found what it had been chasing.
What had he gone through to become a being trapped on the border? Was he trying to adapt to Sukuna, who considered himself a curse... only to become a curse himself? This devotion — for what?
Sukuna devoured his half, gaining power. His half, a millennium later, devoured his half to regain that power.
Ah — they were always cursed, weren't they?
A laughter lodged in his throat like a bone. Kenjaku, with his experiments, had crossed the line and paid the price. Now two souls were once again in one body.
Now it makes sense why he didn't immediately sense the second technique, for this technique is something they share as one. The Shrine in the flesh.
Sukuna steps forward, almost touching his twin's soul, and crouches. His hand involuntarily reached for the vessel's face, tracing a claw across the scar above his eyebrow. It was that a mistake that had caused the boy to snap his eyes open, waking up. Sukuna didn't even have time to pull his hand away, frozen once again upon seeing the vessel's eyes.
Red greeted him, along with the same distorted spiral shape he always saw in the reflection.
For a moment, neither of them moved, frozen, staring at each other, until the vessel pushed his hand away, slowly rising and stretching. As if he weren't standing before the King of Curses in his own domain. He fully stood up and and noticed the very discrepancy he'd previously ignored. The vessel's soul was a head and a half taller than his body, meaning his brother was now taller than him, and it was he, Sukuna, who had to look up.
"You're kind of... short," he said, instead of the voice he'd heard on the roof, this one was deeper and much older. "Sukuna?"
"Your soul doesn't match your body, vessel," Sukuna realizes he's ignored any verbal insults directed at him several times since his incarnation. Although they were all more like statements of fact, but still.
"Itadori Yuji," the vessel narrows his eyes and his voice drops even lower, as if in warning.
Aha, Sukuna chuckles to himself, he clearly dislikes the role of a mere vessel. But that's right. He's more than just a vessel. At least he knows the name. Itadori Yuji. Not Ryoumen. But that's understandable; sorcerers wouldn't allow such a thing. Itadori. If he understands the spelling correctly, there's one among the characters meaning "tiger." It fits. But Yuji... he wants to laugh again. After all, his own name, Sukuna, is far removed from who he is.
"And how old are you, Itadori Yuji?" He takes a step toward one of the columns supporting the shrine, leaning against it. The vessel follows him with his gaze, but does nothing.
"Fifteen," he didn't miss the way the young man hesitated before naming his age. Ah, but perhaps this body really is fifteen.
"And how long have you been fifteen?"
"Ah," he smiles that tired, understanding smile, though it's hard to call it a smile. The corners of his lips lift just slightly, and one of them tugs at the scar, turning it more into a smirk. "I'd already forgotten."
The boy's unconscious body falls into his arms. The teenager's weight presses down on him, but Satoru ignores it, focusing on the cursed energy. Instead of settling into a dormant state when the user falls asleep, the vessel's cursed energy grows in monstrosity, like a living being. It envelops the body in a protective barrier. It moves more by instinct than by will.
No wonder.
When he was still young and curious, he loved studying the old records his clan had stolen from others. Not out of necessity, as the future clan leader, but out of pure, innocent curiosity. Satoru found it then —what he remembered because of its deformity. The creation of the Kamo clan's hybrids, which is never mentioned because the sorcerer society, concerned with its reputation, decided to bury it forever.
He found them then. In those Tengen Tombs. Not immediately, but when he grew older, using a routine checkup as an excuse. He saw embryos ripped from a girl's womb. The pulsing of cursed energy sealed in flasks. His Six Eyes remembered well the feel of flesh that was one-third cursed.
And now, a century and a half later, in his arms lies a boy whose flesh, imbued with his own cursed energy, is only half human. A hybrid again, a member of the Kamo clan again, given the boy's mastery of Blood Manipulation. And the vessel of the King of Curses, like the final nail in the coffin of his future.
When Satoru felt that explosion of cursed energy, no longer contained within the boy's body, he thought some special grade had opened a domain. That explosion sent reverberations that rippled farther. He's sure both the sorcerers and the curses felt it. He's sure the higher-ups are already trying to contact him, so he can sort out the situation.
He then bolted, oblivious to what was happening around him. Because Megumi was there, searching for Sukuna's finger. Satoru had been prepared to see many things — some curse user engaging his charge, a cursed spirit eating a cursed object and evolving — but not this scene, where a teenager, roughly Megumi's age, was trying to approach him.
His eyes told him this boy was a monster. But he knew better, seeing only a boy disoriented and lost in the situation.
"So, Megumi," he turns his head to his charge, who has more or less recovered. No longer frozen in terror, he's managed to stand up and even come closer. Well done. "I see the result of your search. What happened before I came?"
"When we came here," he sees Megumi's gaze fixed on the boy. "The seals were broken. He ate the finger, otherwise the cursed spirit would have consumed it."
He paused, clenching his jaw before looking up.
"Gojo-sensei, can you save him?"
Satoru barely restrained his laughter. And it was Megumi who, just minutes ago, couldn't move under the oppressive force of the boy's cursed energy. And now he's asking to save his life? Oh, but there was no need to ask. A half-curse, mastering the Kamo clan's technique and capable of containing the King of Curses. Such an existence must be allowed to survive.
"That won't be a problem," he replies. "Considering he possesses Blood Manipulation, the Kamo clan will be involved. Come, I'll teleport us to one of my clan's houses and go intimidate the higher-ups."
Satoru reaches out, grabbing Megumi by the shoulder. Space distorts around them as they find themselves in a room in one of his clan's houses. He has many such houses, in various cities. One in Sendai. Servants immediately run up to them, and Satoru gives them simple instructions — take Megumi to a doctor, bring a large number of seals, and contact the higher-ups and the Kamo clan's leader for a general meeting. He doesn't look at his charge again. He comfortably slings the boy over his shoulder and walks toward the basement.
Every house has a room like this — completely covered in seals, call for restraint — something or someone. He sat the boy down on a chair and binds his wrists tightly behind his back. He secures them with a rope nailed to the floor. But even the talismans on the walls, the floor, the ceiling — even the cursed rope and seals — can't fully cope with this volume of quiet malice.
Soon, a servant arrives. Satoru sees him shrink under the muffled pressure and flinch when he meets his gaze, handing over the seals. He thoughtfully unfolds a thin strip of seals in his hands, more like a long bandage than paper. He wraps it around the boy's body, remembering what happened on the roof.
This boy looked him straight in the eyes.
Even when Satoru asked him what’s going on, even when he studied him with his technique, even when he examined him up close — the boy never broke eye contact. He didn't flinch, didn't feel any discomfort.
The vast majority of sorcerers aren't capable of that.
When the last layer of the talisman was secured to the boy, the room finally began to breathe easier. They brought him another chair and a small file with information about the boy. Megumi knew what to do. It wasn't hard to find information about a person, given their full name. Satoru leaned back in his chair and began to read. It was just basic information, a drop in the ocean, but it could still help. He skimmed through the information.
The boy's name is Itadori Yuji.
Fifteen years old.
After the basic information comes something that would be of interest to sorcerers.
He wasn't involved in any sorcery, didn't appear at exorcism sites, and wasn't spotted by windows in the area. Next comes a description of his physical records. Speed, strength, agility. All of this, demonstrated for all to see as part of his studies. He looks at the records. An image of Maki immediately pops into his head.
Now that's interesting.
A brief summary of his family.
There are already some questions. His mother and father are missing. His father wasn't a sorcerer. It's difficult to say anything about his mother — there's too little information about her. That will have to be verified. Yuji was too young to know anything about his parents, so he'll have to ask someone who knows for sure. His grandfather, for example.
He reads the last line. The words written there make him squeeze the paper so tightly it tears.
Itadori Wasuke.
Died today, a few hours before the boy became the vessel of the King of Curses.
What bad luck.
He looks at the boy again. He's sleeping peacefully — as peacefully as it's possible to sleep while tied up in a basement. The cursed energy, suppressed by numerous talismans, no longer rages so fiercely. He can leave him here for a while. Satoru doesn't think it will take long to decide what to do with the boy. Besides... he, like Yuji, has too many aces up his sleeve.
He leaves the basement, closing the door tightly. He doesn't tell anyone where he's going — is that necessary? He knows his destination well; he's been there too many times. Satoru forms a familiar seal and disappears into the warped space.
He doesn't like Kyoto. It's too traditional. Power has been in the hands of traditionalists for too long. Isn't it time for a new generation to take over?
The meeting room still greets him with its stale, smoky air. He senses the higher-ups trembling behind their screens, because Satoru hasn't yet put on his blindfold. He notices the current head of the Kamo clan standing to the side, a chair prepared for him. This man is lucky his son inherited the clan's technique; otherwise, he would have been torn apart by his own relatives long ago.
"Gojo Satoru, we hope that you have investigated the case of the missing cursed object and the explosion of cursed energy of this magnitude?"
How official. How pompous. He only sighs at the words of one of those old men... the one on the left?
"Of course!" he immediately announces joyfully. "The point is, Ryoumen Sukuna was incarnated in a vessel..."
He hears murmurs and cries of horror, calling for immediate execution.
"...and that explosion of power emanated from the awakened vessel of Ryoumen Sukuna, who is able to control him within his own body."
"Explain yourself," he immediately hears a voice from the central screen.
"It's as I said. Itadori Yuji — the boy who embodied the King of Curses — awakened as a sorcerer at the moment of incarnation." Satoru's smile widened as he listed the facts. "This explosion is his cursed energy, finally released. He still has control of his body. He can still switch places with the King of Curses, but even so — without complete control of his body — he still can forbid the use of the technique. And he regains control in literally a second. Isn't that a miracle?"
"If that's true," the Central Elder's voice trembled, though he tried to hide it. "This monster must be executed immediately."
"Unfortunately, neither you nor I have the right to decide that." He clapped his hands, attracting everyone's attention. "I forgot to tell you, didn't I? The boy is half-curse. A perfect one at that. Half and half, no flaws! And the inheritor of." He turned his head toward the head of the Kamo clan. He turned pale, clenching his fists. "Could you tell me why all known hybrids are connected to the Kamo clan?"
"...Blood Manipulation," the clan leader mutters through clenched teeth. "Are you sure it was that technique?"
"Not only I am, but Ryoumen Sukuna himself," Satoru pauses. "I saw the technique activate. I'll never forget it. After all, it's not every day you see someone use Blood Manipulation, transforming their own cursed energy into blood, you know?"
The sound of a chair hitting the floor is clearly audible in the quiet room as the Kamo clan leader abruptly rises from it. His expression is frozen between disgust and interest. Aha, he caught him. There's no way any clan would let go of someone capable of enhancing their treasured technique. One moment, Itadori Yuji is a despicable vessel, the next, a member of a great clan, capable of the previously impossible. This won’t prevent the execution. But it will be delayed long enough to be prepared for anything.
"The Kamo clan had nothing to do with the vessel's creation," the leader immediately raised his voice. "But given the circumstances, the Kamo clan demands an investigation into one of its members. If the boy was created through an experiment similar to the one that once took place, we must be the first to know."
The boy. One of the clan's members. No longer a vessel.
"And what do you plan to do with the boy?" Satoru didn't hide his triumph. He could hear the whispers behind the screens. Unfortunately, the higher-ups would have to fight the heads of two clans, something even they could not do.
"He will be trained like members with inherited technique. We request that he be placed in the Tokyo branch under the supervision of Gojo Satoru."
Satoru smiled triumphantly. Just as he thought. Too afraid to accept him right away. But that was a good thing; he had planned to keep the boy close anyway. He needed rapid training in controlling the cursed energy. He needs knowledge of clans and politics, so no one can deceive him or get to him in any way. It's a shame, of course; Satoru wouldn't mind making him his ward, like Megumi. But never mind. A student sounds good, too.
The higher-ups behind the screens begin whispering again. Panic mingles with hatred, then turns to pure fear. One voice drowns out the other as they continue their discussion.
Boring.
Slowly.
"We've made a decision," the central elder finally says. "Ryoumen Sukuna's vessel will be placed under Gojo Satoru's supervision. The Gojo and Kamo clans will bear responsibility for all incidents related to it. An investigation into the vessel's creation will also be conducted" and surely the higher-ups couldn't help but do that? "Once the vessel learns to control the cursed energy and technique, an evaluation will be conducted to determine its grade. Until now, the vessel has been considered a special grade cursed object."
He should have known. The boy, alive and functioning, was placed in the category of cursed objects, as something inhuman. Or not worthy of life. He notices the Kamo clan leader frown. He apparently didn't particularly like the wording either. But it couldn't be helped. There was no execution order — he was, however, kept under surveillance. Better than he could have imagined. Perhaps one of the Kamo elders was speaking louder than everyone else.
They leave the hall together. Satoru hands the clan leader a file with information about the boy. He hid it under his jacket on his way here. The man takes the file and quickly flips through it, nodding to himself.
"The boy's mother, I believe," the clan leader begins. "Could have been a descendant of one of the kidnapped children."
Satoru had thought about that too. It's no secret that such things happen. Clan children can be kidnapped. Some might escape on their own when they grow up. He'd come to the same conclusion.
"So what will you do?"
"We'll conduct our own investigation, try to delve into his background more thoroughly, especially given his... extraordinary physical strength," something resembling a heavenly restriction remained unspoken. "Let me know as soon as he learns how to control his cursed energy. Kamo Noritoshi will be the one to teach him the technique."
"Noritoshi?"
"He's the future head," he shrugs. "And in the future, he'll have to work with him. I see no reason to delay."
Satoru only hums in agreement. Yes, that's even better. Noritoshi is a responsible child. Not much older than Yuji. Who knows? Maybe they really would make a good duo. But given the boy's natural strength... Oh, yes. He knows another student who would be an excellent teacher. And, most importantly, he's independent of the elders' opinions. Aoi Todo is perfect for close combat, right? Satoru will just need to approach the Kyoto branch principal and have a proper conversation with him.
Excellent.
They part ways. The head of the Kamo clan will obviously be heading to the main residence for his own meeting. Satoru also has his own business. He's sure Yuji won't wake up anytime soon. He still has time to visit someone and tell him some amazing news. He'll be very happy.
Satoru makes a familiar seal with his hands.
The next second, he's already comfortably settled into the chair opposite the Tokyo branch principal.
Principal Yaga doesn't even flinch when Satoru appears — he's too used to such antics. He only sighs and puts aside the reports, which he understands are related to the cursed object. The one he sent Megumi to retrieve.
"We have a new student in our first year, isn't that wonderful?" Satoru begins immediately, causing the man in front of him to freeze and stare intently. Another sorcerer, he thinks, looking him straight in the eyes.
"And who is it?"
"A new member of the Kamo clan, with their treasured technique, capable of converting cursed energy into blood, a perfect half-curse, the vessel of the King of Curses, a special grade cursed object recognized by the elders – Itadori Yuji," Satoru makes exaggerated hand gestures. With each new title, the director's face contorts until it settles on an expression of disbelief.
"Satoru," he says dully. "Explain. From the very beginning."
"Ah, yes, of course," he nods helpfully. "We sent Megumi on a mission to Sendai…"
"You did."
"Yes, yes," Satoru answers casually. What difference does it make? "To find the cursed object – the finger of the King of Curses. Something happened, and the seals were broken – I'm sure Megumi will detail everything in tomorrow's report. As a result… a civilian ate the finger. He incarnated Sukuna, turning out to be not a civilian, but a sorcerer whose powers had been sealed — and a perfect hybrid at that.
"A hybrid... Death Paintings," Yaga leaned back in his chair, sighing. "And a Blood Manipulation technique, too. Did someone decide to repeat an experiment from so long ago?"
"Well, the Kamo clan is investigating," Satoru notes. "I observed. The head of the Kamo clan clearly didn't know."
Yaga Masamachi wasn't from any clan. A sorcerer who rose through the ranks through his own power. Under normal circumstances, he shouldn't have known anything they prefer to forget. Unfortunately, Satoru was his apprentice.
"He was recognized as both a vessel and a cursed object," he immediately seized on the new information. "He's able to control Sukuna?"
"Otherwise, he'd be dead," he shrugs. "I tested him there, after he ate that finger. He can give up control, he can take it away. And... well, he's definitely a complete novice. He can't control the cursed energy at all. But, by the way, his reserves is greater than mine.
"He," Yaga begins. "will be considered a monster by them. Always."
"My eyes told me he's a monster, but," Satoru shook his head. "I see only a boy who grew up unaware that he was someone's sick experiment."
"The only question remains: what does his half-cursed existence change in him."
"Good question," he snaps his fingers, remembering. "His cursed energy is more like a living organism, subject to a boy's instincts. When I knocked him out, the cursed energy enveloped him in a protective cocoon. But that's probably not all."
"Considering all this," Yaga finally says after a long pause. "I can only allow him to live in the far wing, closer to the teachers' dorm."
"Are you willing to accept him?"
"You like to gather around you those society considers abnormal — or doesn't even consider sorcerers," he waves his hand. "I'm used to it. But remember, before I make a final decision, I'm waiting for him to talk."
"In that case, expect him tomorrow!" Satoru's lips spread into a smile as he jumps up from his chair and walks to the door. "Oh!" he remembers, turning around. "I'd be grateful if you could sew him a special doll. That very one!"
Extra.
He's fifteen. Fifteen. At least, his current body is still fifteen years old. Could his situation also be considered an incarnation? What if his future self simply incarnated in the past? Yuji has never been very good at such conclusions. He glances at Sukuna, who, though standing aside with an air of superiority, is still shorter than him.
And then it dawns on him.
While Sukuna was sealed in his fingers, his consciousness was dormant – should this millennium really count as age? Because if not…at what age did he trick the sorcerers, only to be reborn later?
He grins.
How funny that now he can call Sukuna a brat and he'll be damn right.
Yuji flinches as Sukuna starts staring at him. And he clearly senses that Sukuna is thinking something wrong about him. He's piecing together a puzzle that shouldn't be piecing together.
Meanwhile, Sukuna, thinking Yuji is definitely his twin, involuntarily flinches under the boy's intense gaze. Seeing his smirk, he narrows his eyes. His twin is clearly thinking about something wrong.