Jujutsu Kaisen/Technoblade: True Lord Of Blood
Redking0380
Lost In The Rain
- Location
- Wet
Cursed Spirits tasted terrible. A Taste that transcended something comprehensible by taste buds.
Kenjaku could bare it easily, having tasted far worse in his long since defunct experiments to let something as useful as Cursed Spirit Manupulation go unutilized simple because he detested a taste.
Still he cannot help but ponder how much easier these things would be if he could simple do such a thing as directly absorb Spirits instead of having to go through the effort of weakening them, then coalescing their essence, and then swallowing it. He's a busy man after all, one who shouldn't have to waste such time on such things. But sometimes time must be made, specially for such potential gains.
For as much as Kenjaku detests the average human or weak Cursed Spirit with no true use in furthering his ambitions, he must still admit to their uses in letting him stay informed. Such is the reason he has come to this location.
A Blood Bank of all things. A rather active one.
It is a strange place for a powerful curse to appear at. In contrast to a hospital that is steeped in despair, suffering, and other such emotions, Kenjaku had found blood banks to be a place of determination. Of generosity. A place steeped mostly in selfless acts that make people feel better about themselves, and streaked with empathy.
In short, not a place a Curse would easily form.
But speculation has its place. He will have plenty of time to investigate such intruiging phenomenon after having subdued such a spirit.
Kenjakus steps are loud in the silent night. Faint rippling shadow filled the air from the veil he had set. No Sorcerer or Window should be anywhere close enough to see it, and it can be rather bothersome to have to dispose of so many civilians should the fight get out of hand.
He decides to go through the front doors, a small curse easily unlocking the sliding doors that lead into the main lobby. It is dark, but darkness does little to obstruct his senses.
A heavy weight thickens cold air. It is almost enough to make Kenjakus step falter. Last time something cause him to react anywhere close to that was...Perhaps that lingering Smallpox curse? It was a shadow of itself, yet it's domain was a tricky thing to deal with. Course he could have simply overpowered it, but such a unique puzzle deserved his mind more then such brutality. Even with its simplicity it has become rare for Domains to have complexity beyond its basics.
Well enough reminiscing, perhaps this one could provide a similar challenge.
Wandering through a white hall, Kenjaku follows the string of energy he sense. Glancing into each room he passes reveals them to be trashed. Collection rooms are decimated, all the testing areas are torn apart, all of them conspicuously missing any of the blood they keep in local storage.
Such reason why becomes clear as he progresses. Blood smears the walls outside of the deep storage room. Everything from crude drawings to attempts at blocky runic languages cover the door and walls, yet it was clear that all of ot pointed towards one image. The only image that was drawn with care and effort, done in such a manner that it could have been truly painted on there instead of done in bloody finger prints, it was an image of a crown adorned in jewel hanging on a blade.
A ritual was Kenjakus conclusion, now even further intrigued. Rituals are something done with immense care and dedication, something that is done through a deep knowledge of how Cursed Energy work and how it effects the world. Yes, some Innate Techniques may have ritualistic effects or needs, but a true ritual is something that can change a fundamental law of something.
He had seen it done sucessfully only twice before. Once when he had successfully altered his technique to let his soul absorb the techniques of his possessed bodies, and the other to seal Ryomen Sukuna into his twenty fingers.
Failed rituals are the biggest reason why so few attempt them anymore. Japan used to be one island after all.
Kejakus calm approach was swiftly discarded as he realized what was going on in that room. Tearing the door down with a swift application of strength, sending it bouncing down the hall.
A deep red glow eminates from within, but it does not slow Kenjaku down from fear. He leaps into the room, letting his enhanced eyes scan across it in an uncharacteristic panicked motion.
Blood coated the walls, flooded the floor up to his ankles, dripped from the ceiling, all being pulled into a whirlpool around the lanky curse.
It's tall enough to reach the ceiling, dappled in dozens of eyes that stare deeply into Kenjakus with an unrepentant glee. Kenjaku tries to immediately crush it with an application of Gravity, watching the blooded around it explode from the increasing pressure with the ceiling groaning downwards from how powerful the effect is even with how concentrated it was.
The attack does nothing, the Curse letting out a gurgling laugh as it's arm becomes a wicked blade covered in the same eyes as it's body.
Kenjaku pulls out s dozen Curses in preparation, using the speed and versatility of summoning instead of his other techniques that could leave him to unprepared. Only to still be unprepared as the Curse impaled itself with another maniacal giggle instead of going on an offensive.
His expression breaks its stoicism with wide eyes, so focused on defense he never though of what the Curse would sacrifice for its ritual.
Hands clap together, blood compressing to a near impossible degree as Kenjaku readies the one move he has that could close the distance this fast. The strongest technique of Blood Manupulation, Convergence. An attack that is just shy of being faster then sound itself when compressed enough, one he had perfected long ago.
Pressure builds, then releases. A force recoils throughout his body, even reinforced with Cursed Energy it is enough to make hum stagger back a step and cause the laser focus of the shot to waver.
It lands, blasts through the Curses throat first. Kenjukes recoil drags it down across its chest, carving out a valley before it shoots back to send its last few dregs into its head.
The Curses many eyes become bloodshot and wild, but it's giggling and unhinged grin that splits it's head is unchanged. It's only reaction is to remove its arm. Removing it slowly, with sicking cracks and a river of blood gushing forth. Now free, it's arm is slowly raised above its head.
"Goodbye"
A distorted voice rings, a simulacrum of a simulacrum of a bastardized human voice. A tone that literly causes Kenjakus ears to bleed right before before the arm comes down.
A simple swing. Silence.
Faint sounds of power humming, fainter still noises of birds. Gone.
All that was left was a tear.
Dripping, swirling, reflecting, as it expands outwards from where the Curse once stood.
It was...Hypnotizing. Kenjaku had seen many things in his long life, but nothing commanded such attention. Curses would demand hate, Sorcerer's would demand respect, but nothing had so truly demanded something as base as pure attention. It declares it's presence and everything will witness it.
Crackling with energy, it stops expanding. An eye stares at him, it's the only comparison possibel for what it looks like, a bloody eye that sees and judges.
Kenjaku can barely muster his will enough to resist, to take a single step, and when he finally can the oppressive aura spikes sending him to his knees, splashing blood all over himself.
The portal wavers, sparks of black and purple eminate from it's smooth surface. Silence replaced with static and strange noises the like of which he had never heard before.
Something ripples across its surface. Surface that bulges outwards as it barely holds back something, Until the pressure is far to great.
With a sound akin to fireworks and distorted screams it bursts, blood and fluids gushing out like some foul womb bringing fouler life. Life that steals the breath from Kenjakus lungs and reason from his mind, replacing it with a deep seated panic that demands he escape this place, a thing he would gladly do If he could just move.
A step is made, rippling the fluids that flood the room. Only, it was not his.
A cloven limb decorated in abyssal armor is first through, followed by an equally armored leg. Then, with difficulty the rest of the body steps outs.
Tall, broad, heavy armor covered in numerous dents and scratches, a dark frame backlit by a luminous red cloak edged with pristine white furs.
But it was the head that Kenjaku truly saw first, not the foot or the armor or the cloak. It was the face the was obscured or perhaps fused with a massive boars skull, a golden crown hanging heavily atop it. Yet it does little to hide the eyes, eyes that were similar to the portal it stepped out of in so many ways, eyes composed of shades of red that promise endless bloodshed.
It might just be the most beautiful yet terrible thing he had ever seen.
"Chat, please. I know exactly where I'm going, that portal leads exactly to...."
It pauses as it scans the room, letting Kanjaku have a moment to let its words sink in. It is intelligent enough to speak coherently, perhaps he could manipulate it?
"Actully where am I?"
Kenjaku could bare it easily, having tasted far worse in his long since defunct experiments to let something as useful as Cursed Spirit Manupulation go unutilized simple because he detested a taste.
Still he cannot help but ponder how much easier these things would be if he could simple do such a thing as directly absorb Spirits instead of having to go through the effort of weakening them, then coalescing their essence, and then swallowing it. He's a busy man after all, one who shouldn't have to waste such time on such things. But sometimes time must be made, specially for such potential gains.
For as much as Kenjaku detests the average human or weak Cursed Spirit with no true use in furthering his ambitions, he must still admit to their uses in letting him stay informed. Such is the reason he has come to this location.
A Blood Bank of all things. A rather active one.
It is a strange place for a powerful curse to appear at. In contrast to a hospital that is steeped in despair, suffering, and other such emotions, Kenjaku had found blood banks to be a place of determination. Of generosity. A place steeped mostly in selfless acts that make people feel better about themselves, and streaked with empathy.
In short, not a place a Curse would easily form.
But speculation has its place. He will have plenty of time to investigate such intruiging phenomenon after having subdued such a spirit.
Kenjakus steps are loud in the silent night. Faint rippling shadow filled the air from the veil he had set. No Sorcerer or Window should be anywhere close enough to see it, and it can be rather bothersome to have to dispose of so many civilians should the fight get out of hand.
He decides to go through the front doors, a small curse easily unlocking the sliding doors that lead into the main lobby. It is dark, but darkness does little to obstruct his senses.
A heavy weight thickens cold air. It is almost enough to make Kenjakus step falter. Last time something cause him to react anywhere close to that was...Perhaps that lingering Smallpox curse? It was a shadow of itself, yet it's domain was a tricky thing to deal with. Course he could have simply overpowered it, but such a unique puzzle deserved his mind more then such brutality. Even with its simplicity it has become rare for Domains to have complexity beyond its basics.
Well enough reminiscing, perhaps this one could provide a similar challenge.
Wandering through a white hall, Kenjaku follows the string of energy he sense. Glancing into each room he passes reveals them to be trashed. Collection rooms are decimated, all the testing areas are torn apart, all of them conspicuously missing any of the blood they keep in local storage.
Such reason why becomes clear as he progresses. Blood smears the walls outside of the deep storage room. Everything from crude drawings to attempts at blocky runic languages cover the door and walls, yet it was clear that all of ot pointed towards one image. The only image that was drawn with care and effort, done in such a manner that it could have been truly painted on there instead of done in bloody finger prints, it was an image of a crown adorned in jewel hanging on a blade.
A ritual was Kenjakus conclusion, now even further intrigued. Rituals are something done with immense care and dedication, something that is done through a deep knowledge of how Cursed Energy work and how it effects the world. Yes, some Innate Techniques may have ritualistic effects or needs, but a true ritual is something that can change a fundamental law of something.
He had seen it done sucessfully only twice before. Once when he had successfully altered his technique to let his soul absorb the techniques of his possessed bodies, and the other to seal Ryomen Sukuna into his twenty fingers.
Failed rituals are the biggest reason why so few attempt them anymore. Japan used to be one island after all.
Kejakus calm approach was swiftly discarded as he realized what was going on in that room. Tearing the door down with a swift application of strength, sending it bouncing down the hall.
A deep red glow eminates from within, but it does not slow Kenjaku down from fear. He leaps into the room, letting his enhanced eyes scan across it in an uncharacteristic panicked motion.
Blood coated the walls, flooded the floor up to his ankles, dripped from the ceiling, all being pulled into a whirlpool around the lanky curse.
It's tall enough to reach the ceiling, dappled in dozens of eyes that stare deeply into Kenjakus with an unrepentant glee. Kenjaku tries to immediately crush it with an application of Gravity, watching the blooded around it explode from the increasing pressure with the ceiling groaning downwards from how powerful the effect is even with how concentrated it was.
The attack does nothing, the Curse letting out a gurgling laugh as it's arm becomes a wicked blade covered in the same eyes as it's body.
Kenjaku pulls out s dozen Curses in preparation, using the speed and versatility of summoning instead of his other techniques that could leave him to unprepared. Only to still be unprepared as the Curse impaled itself with another maniacal giggle instead of going on an offensive.
His expression breaks its stoicism with wide eyes, so focused on defense he never though of what the Curse would sacrifice for its ritual.
Hands clap together, blood compressing to a near impossible degree as Kenjaku readies the one move he has that could close the distance this fast. The strongest technique of Blood Manupulation, Convergence. An attack that is just shy of being faster then sound itself when compressed enough, one he had perfected long ago.
Pressure builds, then releases. A force recoils throughout his body, even reinforced with Cursed Energy it is enough to make hum stagger back a step and cause the laser focus of the shot to waver.
It lands, blasts through the Curses throat first. Kenjukes recoil drags it down across its chest, carving out a valley before it shoots back to send its last few dregs into its head.
The Curses many eyes become bloodshot and wild, but it's giggling and unhinged grin that splits it's head is unchanged. It's only reaction is to remove its arm. Removing it slowly, with sicking cracks and a river of blood gushing forth. Now free, it's arm is slowly raised above its head.
"Goodbye"
A distorted voice rings, a simulacrum of a simulacrum of a bastardized human voice. A tone that literly causes Kenjakus ears to bleed right before before the arm comes down.
A simple swing. Silence.
Faint sounds of power humming, fainter still noises of birds. Gone.
All that was left was a tear.
Dripping, swirling, reflecting, as it expands outwards from where the Curse once stood.
It was...Hypnotizing. Kenjaku had seen many things in his long life, but nothing commanded such attention. Curses would demand hate, Sorcerer's would demand respect, but nothing had so truly demanded something as base as pure attention. It declares it's presence and everything will witness it.
Crackling with energy, it stops expanding. An eye stares at him, it's the only comparison possibel for what it looks like, a bloody eye that sees and judges.
Kenjaku can barely muster his will enough to resist, to take a single step, and when he finally can the oppressive aura spikes sending him to his knees, splashing blood all over himself.
The portal wavers, sparks of black and purple eminate from it's smooth surface. Silence replaced with static and strange noises the like of which he had never heard before.
Something ripples across its surface. Surface that bulges outwards as it barely holds back something, Until the pressure is far to great.
With a sound akin to fireworks and distorted screams it bursts, blood and fluids gushing out like some foul womb bringing fouler life. Life that steals the breath from Kenjakus lungs and reason from his mind, replacing it with a deep seated panic that demands he escape this place, a thing he would gladly do If he could just move.
A step is made, rippling the fluids that flood the room. Only, it was not his.
A cloven limb decorated in abyssal armor is first through, followed by an equally armored leg. Then, with difficulty the rest of the body steps outs.
Tall, broad, heavy armor covered in numerous dents and scratches, a dark frame backlit by a luminous red cloak edged with pristine white furs.
But it was the head that Kenjaku truly saw first, not the foot or the armor or the cloak. It was the face the was obscured or perhaps fused with a massive boars skull, a golden crown hanging heavily atop it. Yet it does little to hide the eyes, eyes that were similar to the portal it stepped out of in so many ways, eyes composed of shades of red that promise endless bloodshed.
It might just be the most beautiful yet terrible thing he had ever seen.
"Chat, please. I know exactly where I'm going, that portal leads exactly to...."
It pauses as it scans the room, letting Kanjaku have a moment to let its words sink in. It is intelligent enough to speak coherently, perhaps he could manipulate it?
"Actully where am I?"