David, also known as Eidolon, the most powerful parahuman on the planet, has encountered countless challenges while striving to protect humanity. However, it seems he's been granted a second lease on life in an entirely new universe. His new body is strangely familiar yet different, and his memories are shrouded in uncertainty. He isn't the only thing that has adapted to fit this new world. High-Priest welcome to sorcerer society.
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Prologue - The Beginning & End
- Location
- Valhalla
A/N: It has been almost four years since I cross-posted a story onto this platform. Sorry to anyone who may have been waiting for me to update anything in the past.
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Among the ruins of the temple steps, a mess of defeated cursed spirits lay scattered, their disgusting forms twisted in defeat. Satoru Gojo's Six Eyes quickly sized up the scene, the lingering cursed energy hung heavy, surprisingly fresh for a brawl several days old. Odd, even for a graduate sorcerer. Typically, it faded faster than a Jujutsu higher-up's integrity. Someone with serious chops had painted the town blood-red.
Satoru felt a stir of interest as he looked around. This wasn't your playground scuffle. Grade 1, minimum. Strong stuff. These curses were drawn here to have such high numbers on display.
"Nice," he muttered to himself, a grin spreading across his face.
Reaching the pinnacle of the steps, he surveyed the carnage. A couple hundred dead curses, none particularly special. But the sheer volume? That sang a different tune. Made him wonder - was Ryuudou Temple harboring some hidden heavyweights? What the hell could draw this many in? A rogue Sukuna finger, maybe?
Satoru's eyes traced the blood-soaked form kneeling in the center of the temple grounds. Reminded him of some B-movie he'd devoured back in high school – "Prom Night of the Possessed"? Yeah, probably. Didn't matter anyway.
The real question was, what was this kid doing here in the middle of all this mess? Barely a blip on the cursed energy radar, no different from any salaryman shuffling the Shibuya sidewalks. No way he cooked up this carnage. So, a stray caught in the storm?
Satoru strolled closer, his eyes scanning the boy for more clues. The kid looked lost, his eyes empty, his face a mix of confusion and despair. A familiar picture, sure – this life showed you that look more times than you could stomach your favorite taiyaki. It's not like he didn't feel for the guy, but you get used to this kind of scene after a while. It was no different than being a soldier during a war, it wasn't purely talent but mental fortitude that made for a good soldier, same for a sorcerer.
Despite being soaked in a multitude of dark shades of blood, his outfit remained visible. He was wearing a loose-fitting, off-white robe opened at the chest, revealing a hint of skin. Over the robe, there's a deep rust-red garment that seems to be a type of haori tied at the waist with a simple, dark belt. A bracer made of dark brown leather on his left arm and oversized wooden prayer beads which hung around his neck.
He stopped a few meters away, a mountain of cursed corpses circled the boy, blocking the path. Blasting through them would be child's play, or hell, he could teleport right beside him, but that wouldn't exactly coax much sense out of a spooked kid. Shaking information from a shattered mind was like squeezing water from a stone.
Hands jammed in his pockets, Satoru nudged a nearby corpse aside with a nonchalant flick of his foot "Hey, you there? Can you hear me?" he called out. "How about you fill me in on what went down here?"
"They're dead, all of them," the boy's voice was a faint murmur, his gaze fixed on something unseen as if he was talking to a phantom rather than a person.
Satoro arched an eyebrow at the chillingly obvious. "Yeah, they are. All these cursed spirits and yet not a single human limb to be seen. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he mused, more to himself than to the boy.
The boy's words grew more frantic. "I prayed over and over. It gave me everything but what I wanted most. It couldn't bring them back. Why was I forsaken? Why didn't I have the strength to protect them?" His voice crescendoed into a shout, raw with despair.
That's when Satoru noticed it – a 'Spark', a prelude to significant cursed energy use. It wasn't a tell for domain activations, but it was for techniques. Not the most reliable way to gauge a technique's strength or nature, and you had to be damn good at sensing cursed energy to catch it. But with his Six Eyes, he caught the flicker of energy within the kid.
He wasn't threatened – he was the strongest after all, fear was a rusty nail he'd hammered out of his soul decades ago. But this…this piqued his curiosity. He waited, expecting some display of power, but nothing happened. Only the boy's wracked sobs, a symphony of grief that tore at the silence.
"No, no! I don't need that, bring them back!" The boy's cry broke through his thoughts, his hands clutching at his hair, body folding in on itself in grief.
Satoru knew he couldn't let the boy spiral further into despair. If the boy sank too deep, he might become completely unresponsive, and that wouldn't do.
Besides, this was the most interesting mission he'd come across all month.
Making a quick decision, Satoru teleported to a spot just behind the boy, kneeling to get a better look at his curled-up form. "What's your name?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle.
It was almost surprising that he could muster the coherence to answer. "Himejima. Himejima David," he managed, his voice strained. The first name had a Western ring to it, matching the boy's half-Japanese appearance. Interesting indeed; Ryuudou Temple was full of surprises today.
"I'm Gojo Satoru," he introduced himself, but the blank look on Himejima's face told him the name didn't ring any bells. Despite his fame as the world's strongest sorcerer, it was sometimes a relief to meet someone who didn't know him. A bit annoying, sure, but refreshing too.
Satoru offered a smile, trying to ease the tension. "Satoru, if you prefer," Western customs, he knew, often favored informality.
The young man's words, steeped in grief and confusion sounded out. "I was told to understand and accept the nature of suffering to find peace," his voice broke with emotion, "I was told that the birth and death of beings are like the movements of a dance. But I can't accept this! Why?"
His tear-streaked face, a picture of anguish, sought answers in Satoru's unflinching gaze.
He recognized the echoes of Buddhist teachings in Himejima's words. He had been instructed in theology during his youth in the Gojo clan.
Satoru's voice carried a hint of empathy, yet remained firm. "Yeah, grappling with life and death ain't exactly a walk in the park," he admitted, his voice firm yet gentle as he placed a hand on Himejima's trembling shoulder. "It's a nice metaphor, but when you're up close and personal with the ugly side of things, metaphors don't cut it."
How many times has he seen a child who lost their entire family unit or even community to Cursed Spirits? More times than he would like to count, Himejima's experience wasn't rare, not to say that it would hurt any less.
"The world can be brutally unfair, and sometimes, there's just no making sense of it. I wish I could give you the perfect answer, something to make it all easier. But the truth is, we each have to find our own way to deal with it. What is done can't be undone, that is the absolute truth that rules us all."
The air hung heavy with silence then Himejima finally spoke, his voice steadier than moments prior. "Do you have any clue what it's like, Satoru? To be drenched in this much power, yet feel utterly powerless?" his voice cracked, his gaze fixated on his blood-stained hands.
Satoru's response was a wry, melancholic smile on his face. "Yeah, I know that feeling all too well," he replied softly, his voice tinged with a rare sincerity. "In this crazy world, I might just be the guy who gets it the most."
My heart, a hollow drum echoing in the ruins, mourned the vibrant kaleidoscope of neon and human energy that was Shibuya. Now, it's a mausoleum of twisted metal, concrete shrapnel, and the stench of regret. Those once-drunken skyscrapers clawed at the bruised sky, stripped bare. A nauseating wave hit me as I thought about the countless lives lost, trapped within those fallen giants.
My vision blurred, hands were slick with a mix of blood—mine and others. The idea of saving people seemed a cruel joke now. Every act of rescue or mercy was met with brutal retribution, as the fiend before me turned bystanders into a gruesome spectacle—no one was spared, not the children, the women, or the elderly.
For nearly ten months, I had learned to believe in my strength. My power, surpassing nearly all sorcerers, even making Gojo-sensei break a sweat in training, seemed insignificant now. I had been reduced to a human pinball, hurled through buildings, dazed and disoriented. My stomach dropped at the thought of how many innocent lives were shattered by my body, turned into a tool of destruction against my will.
The air was choked with ash and dust, a gritty film coating my lungs. Each ragged breath was a sandpaper kiss to my throat. I staggered to my feet, groaning, the ground beneath a jagged mosaic of glass and broken concrete; the headless Hachiko statue a silent witness, its bronze skin scored with the scars of our dance of destruction.
And there he was, hovering outside the building I had just been hurled into—my friend, my comrade, now an embodiment of the apocalypse. His body, a vessel for a monster unlike anything I've ever seen.
Itadori.
He reminded me of Mirko. There was a familiar spark in him that brought back a wave of nostalgia, clouding my judgment. This longing for any trace of my lost friend, this raw yearning for a connection to someone long gone, led me down a path I never thought I'd take.
I began to underestimate the threat he harbored, fooling myself into thinking I could contain the monster with ease if it came down to it.
But my pride was my downfall. Now, a third of Shibuya lay in ruins because of our conflict.
Itadori, a host for a Special Grade Curse, glared at me with eyes burning with a mix of twisted longing and fury. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't obliterated me instantly, perhaps his curiosity about me being the only reason I was still breathing.
"Perhaps it's time to bring your story to an end," Sukuna taunted, his voice chillingly calm. "You're so preoccupied with protecting the insects scurrying below us, you've forgotten to fight for your own life, let alone theirs. Have you considered what happens once you're gone? You're not just weak and pitiful, you're a fool too," he sneered, his words slicing through the air like knives.
My jaw clenched in anger, fingers tightening around my prayer beads. "Stop talking, don't you dare speak using his body!" I couldn't hold back the outburst.
His grin widened, grotesque, and twisted with malice. "I'm eager to witness the expression on that worthless, feeble maggot's face when he discovers it was his own hands that ended you. The cries he'll utter, they'll make tolerating this pathetic vessel all the more satisfying."
A heavy cloud of weariness and despair enveloped me, sinking into every fiber of my being. The past twenty-four hours had seen me pushing my limits beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Sukuna was the strongest, but he wasn't the only city-leveling Cursed Spirit I'd clashed with tonight. The continuous battles had drained me, despite my body being fortified with cursed energy.
Ten meters separated us, a blink bridged by Sukuna's inhuman speed. His cold fingers clamped around my throat, pressure gnawing at the weakened skin-tight shield defending me. The relentless barrage of being tossed through numerous buildings had taken its toll, reducing it to a mere shadow of its original potency. The forcefield needed thirty seconds to regenerate to its full strength, but only ten seconds had elapsed since it had been shattered.
Lifting me by the neck he spoke. "Defy me once more, and I'll ensure a massacre, laying waste to every human within my reach. And for this useless sorcerer that I find myself trapped in, I'll rip out his heart and present it to Megumi, that whimpering brat. Are we clear?"
I was uncertain if he was merely bluffing, but the stakes were too high for me to gamble against it. Gojo-sensei was sealed and I was the strongest sorcerer beside him. If I fell next then there would be no chance of ever standing up against someone as mighty as the demon before me.
A sudden, nonchalant flick from Sukuna sent me crashing through a wall, jolting me out of my despondent state. Amid the chaos, I found a moment of clarity.
I could do this, they all were relying on me.
My voice, barely a whisper, carried a plea for resilience.
"High Priest, grant me strength," I murmured.
Responding to my call, a flood of techniques cascaded through my consciousness, each one arriving with an intensity that was almost too fast to grasp. I quickly shifted my focus, trading my offensive abilities for something more formidable, coupled with an enhanced form of Pseudo-Clairvoyance.
Suddenly, the broken concrete around me crackled and strained, as the wind whipped into a vortex, encircling me with voracious energy. The air shimmered, igniting with sapphire flames, flickering at the edges of the tangible world. It was like gazing into the core of a collapsing star.
Then, one by one, like secrets whispered into existence, eight cobalt heads materialized. Each was the embodiment of celestial might, scales glistening like shards of sapphires under the sun, horns tipped with diamond fire. Their presence hummed with an electrical force potent enough to illuminate a city.
The dragons weren't beasts of fire and brimstone, they were elemental titans, each scale a swirling microcosm of wind and water, their very breaths sparking with ozone and sending tendrils of mist snaking into the ash-choked sky. The clouds above, pregnant with the debris of their recent battle, sensed their imminent arrival and rumbled with thunderous anticipation. Loose masonry danced in the air, caught in the sudden gravitational tug-of-war between the eight-headed entity and the planet itself.
Sukuna's eyes, normally obsidian pools, shimmered with the reflected azure fury, a flicker of admiration amidst the cruel glee. "Finally," he roared, his voice a guttural challenge, "something worthy of my attention!"
My voice was amplified by the swirling power around me, echoing as if spoken from hundreds of mouths. "May your twisted soul find solace in this light, Disgraced One," I declared.
And then, the world held its breath. The eight-headed serpent coiled and uncoiled, a celestial ouroboros poised to strike. Then, with a roar that would burst the eardrums of any average human, it launched itself forward. The ground erupted in a geyser of fire and rubble, the air itself splitting open in its wake. Azure lightning arced and crackled from its scales, painting the shattered city in fleeting brushstrokes of electric blue.
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Prologue
January 9th 2018Among the ruins of the temple steps, a mess of defeated cursed spirits lay scattered, their disgusting forms twisted in defeat. Satoru Gojo's Six Eyes quickly sized up the scene, the lingering cursed energy hung heavy, surprisingly fresh for a brawl several days old. Odd, even for a graduate sorcerer. Typically, it faded faster than a Jujutsu higher-up's integrity. Someone with serious chops had painted the town blood-red.
Satoru felt a stir of interest as he looked around. This wasn't your playground scuffle. Grade 1, minimum. Strong stuff. These curses were drawn here to have such high numbers on display.
"Nice," he muttered to himself, a grin spreading across his face.
Reaching the pinnacle of the steps, he surveyed the carnage. A couple hundred dead curses, none particularly special. But the sheer volume? That sang a different tune. Made him wonder - was Ryuudou Temple harboring some hidden heavyweights? What the hell could draw this many in? A rogue Sukuna finger, maybe?
Satoru's eyes traced the blood-soaked form kneeling in the center of the temple grounds. Reminded him of some B-movie he'd devoured back in high school – "Prom Night of the Possessed"? Yeah, probably. Didn't matter anyway.
The real question was, what was this kid doing here in the middle of all this mess? Barely a blip on the cursed energy radar, no different from any salaryman shuffling the Shibuya sidewalks. No way he cooked up this carnage. So, a stray caught in the storm?
Satoru strolled closer, his eyes scanning the boy for more clues. The kid looked lost, his eyes empty, his face a mix of confusion and despair. A familiar picture, sure – this life showed you that look more times than you could stomach your favorite taiyaki. It's not like he didn't feel for the guy, but you get used to this kind of scene after a while. It was no different than being a soldier during a war, it wasn't purely talent but mental fortitude that made for a good soldier, same for a sorcerer.
Despite being soaked in a multitude of dark shades of blood, his outfit remained visible. He was wearing a loose-fitting, off-white robe opened at the chest, revealing a hint of skin. Over the robe, there's a deep rust-red garment that seems to be a type of haori tied at the waist with a simple, dark belt. A bracer made of dark brown leather on his left arm and oversized wooden prayer beads which hung around his neck.
He stopped a few meters away, a mountain of cursed corpses circled the boy, blocking the path. Blasting through them would be child's play, or hell, he could teleport right beside him, but that wouldn't exactly coax much sense out of a spooked kid. Shaking information from a shattered mind was like squeezing water from a stone.
Hands jammed in his pockets, Satoru nudged a nearby corpse aside with a nonchalant flick of his foot "Hey, you there? Can you hear me?" he called out. "How about you fill me in on what went down here?"
"They're dead, all of them," the boy's voice was a faint murmur, his gaze fixed on something unseen as if he was talking to a phantom rather than a person.
Satoro arched an eyebrow at the chillingly obvious. "Yeah, they are. All these cursed spirits and yet not a single human limb to be seen. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he mused, more to himself than to the boy.
The boy's words grew more frantic. "I prayed over and over. It gave me everything but what I wanted most. It couldn't bring them back. Why was I forsaken? Why didn't I have the strength to protect them?" His voice crescendoed into a shout, raw with despair.
That's when Satoru noticed it – a 'Spark', a prelude to significant cursed energy use. It wasn't a tell for domain activations, but it was for techniques. Not the most reliable way to gauge a technique's strength or nature, and you had to be damn good at sensing cursed energy to catch it. But with his Six Eyes, he caught the flicker of energy within the kid.
He wasn't threatened – he was the strongest after all, fear was a rusty nail he'd hammered out of his soul decades ago. But this…this piqued his curiosity. He waited, expecting some display of power, but nothing happened. Only the boy's wracked sobs, a symphony of grief that tore at the silence.
"No, no! I don't need that, bring them back!" The boy's cry broke through his thoughts, his hands clutching at his hair, body folding in on itself in grief.
Satoru knew he couldn't let the boy spiral further into despair. If the boy sank too deep, he might become completely unresponsive, and that wouldn't do.
Besides, this was the most interesting mission he'd come across all month.
Making a quick decision, Satoru teleported to a spot just behind the boy, kneeling to get a better look at his curled-up form. "What's your name?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle.
It was almost surprising that he could muster the coherence to answer. "Himejima. Himejima David," he managed, his voice strained. The first name had a Western ring to it, matching the boy's half-Japanese appearance. Interesting indeed; Ryuudou Temple was full of surprises today.
"I'm Gojo Satoru," he introduced himself, but the blank look on Himejima's face told him the name didn't ring any bells. Despite his fame as the world's strongest sorcerer, it was sometimes a relief to meet someone who didn't know him. A bit annoying, sure, but refreshing too.
Satoru offered a smile, trying to ease the tension. "Satoru, if you prefer," Western customs, he knew, often favored informality.
The young man's words, steeped in grief and confusion sounded out. "I was told to understand and accept the nature of suffering to find peace," his voice broke with emotion, "I was told that the birth and death of beings are like the movements of a dance. But I can't accept this! Why?"
His tear-streaked face, a picture of anguish, sought answers in Satoru's unflinching gaze.
He recognized the echoes of Buddhist teachings in Himejima's words. He had been instructed in theology during his youth in the Gojo clan.
Satoru's voice carried a hint of empathy, yet remained firm. "Yeah, grappling with life and death ain't exactly a walk in the park," he admitted, his voice firm yet gentle as he placed a hand on Himejima's trembling shoulder. "It's a nice metaphor, but when you're up close and personal with the ugly side of things, metaphors don't cut it."
How many times has he seen a child who lost their entire family unit or even community to Cursed Spirits? More times than he would like to count, Himejima's experience wasn't rare, not to say that it would hurt any less.
"The world can be brutally unfair, and sometimes, there's just no making sense of it. I wish I could give you the perfect answer, something to make it all easier. But the truth is, we each have to find our own way to deal with it. What is done can't be undone, that is the absolute truth that rules us all."
The air hung heavy with silence then Himejima finally spoke, his voice steadier than moments prior. "Do you have any clue what it's like, Satoru? To be drenched in this much power, yet feel utterly powerless?" his voice cracked, his gaze fixated on his blood-stained hands.
Satoru's response was a wry, melancholic smile on his face. "Yeah, I know that feeling all too well," he replied softly, his voice tinged with a rare sincerity. "In this crazy world, I might just be the guy who gets it the most."
October 31st 2018
The world was a bonfire, Shibuya reduced to embers and ash by the brawl between me and the demigod in front of me. Any other explanation felt like spitting in the face of this devastation.
My heart, a hollow drum echoing in the ruins, mourned the vibrant kaleidoscope of neon and human energy that was Shibuya. Now, it's a mausoleum of twisted metal, concrete shrapnel, and the stench of regret. Those once-drunken skyscrapers clawed at the bruised sky, stripped bare. A nauseating wave hit me as I thought about the countless lives lost, trapped within those fallen giants.
My vision blurred, hands were slick with a mix of blood—mine and others. The idea of saving people seemed a cruel joke now. Every act of rescue or mercy was met with brutal retribution, as the fiend before me turned bystanders into a gruesome spectacle—no one was spared, not the children, the women, or the elderly.
For nearly ten months, I had learned to believe in my strength. My power, surpassing nearly all sorcerers, even making Gojo-sensei break a sweat in training, seemed insignificant now. I had been reduced to a human pinball, hurled through buildings, dazed and disoriented. My stomach dropped at the thought of how many innocent lives were shattered by my body, turned into a tool of destruction against my will.
The air was choked with ash and dust, a gritty film coating my lungs. Each ragged breath was a sandpaper kiss to my throat. I staggered to my feet, groaning, the ground beneath a jagged mosaic of glass and broken concrete; the headless Hachiko statue a silent witness, its bronze skin scored with the scars of our dance of destruction.
And there he was, hovering outside the building I had just been hurled into—my friend, my comrade, now an embodiment of the apocalypse. His body, a vessel for a monster unlike anything I've ever seen.
Itadori.
He reminded me of Mirko. There was a familiar spark in him that brought back a wave of nostalgia, clouding my judgment. This longing for any trace of my lost friend, this raw yearning for a connection to someone long gone, led me down a path I never thought I'd take.
I began to underestimate the threat he harbored, fooling myself into thinking I could contain the monster with ease if it came down to it.
But my pride was my downfall. Now, a third of Shibuya lay in ruins because of our conflict.
Itadori, a host for a Special Grade Curse, glared at me with eyes burning with a mix of twisted longing and fury. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't obliterated me instantly, perhaps his curiosity about me being the only reason I was still breathing.
"Perhaps it's time to bring your story to an end," Sukuna taunted, his voice chillingly calm. "You're so preoccupied with protecting the insects scurrying below us, you've forgotten to fight for your own life, let alone theirs. Have you considered what happens once you're gone? You're not just weak and pitiful, you're a fool too," he sneered, his words slicing through the air like knives.
My jaw clenched in anger, fingers tightening around my prayer beads. "Stop talking, don't you dare speak using his body!" I couldn't hold back the outburst.
His grin widened, grotesque, and twisted with malice. "I'm eager to witness the expression on that worthless, feeble maggot's face when he discovers it was his own hands that ended you. The cries he'll utter, they'll make tolerating this pathetic vessel all the more satisfying."
A heavy cloud of weariness and despair enveloped me, sinking into every fiber of my being. The past twenty-four hours had seen me pushing my limits beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Sukuna was the strongest, but he wasn't the only city-leveling Cursed Spirit I'd clashed with tonight. The continuous battles had drained me, despite my body being fortified with cursed energy.
Ten meters separated us, a blink bridged by Sukuna's inhuman speed. His cold fingers clamped around my throat, pressure gnawing at the weakened skin-tight shield defending me. The relentless barrage of being tossed through numerous buildings had taken its toll, reducing it to a mere shadow of its original potency. The forcefield needed thirty seconds to regenerate to its full strength, but only ten seconds had elapsed since it had been shattered.
Lifting me by the neck he spoke. "Defy me once more, and I'll ensure a massacre, laying waste to every human within my reach. And for this useless sorcerer that I find myself trapped in, I'll rip out his heart and present it to Megumi, that whimpering brat. Are we clear?"
I was uncertain if he was merely bluffing, but the stakes were too high for me to gamble against it. Gojo-sensei was sealed and I was the strongest sorcerer beside him. If I fell next then there would be no chance of ever standing up against someone as mighty as the demon before me.
A sudden, nonchalant flick from Sukuna sent me crashing through a wall, jolting me out of my despondent state. Amid the chaos, I found a moment of clarity.
I could do this, they all were relying on me.
My voice, barely a whisper, carried a plea for resilience.
"High Priest, grant me strength," I murmured.
Responding to my call, a flood of techniques cascaded through my consciousness, each one arriving with an intensity that was almost too fast to grasp. I quickly shifted my focus, trading my offensive abilities for something more formidable, coupled with an enhanced form of Pseudo-Clairvoyance.
Suddenly, the broken concrete around me crackled and strained, as the wind whipped into a vortex, encircling me with voracious energy. The air shimmered, igniting with sapphire flames, flickering at the edges of the tangible world. It was like gazing into the core of a collapsing star.
Then, one by one, like secrets whispered into existence, eight cobalt heads materialized. Each was the embodiment of celestial might, scales glistening like shards of sapphires under the sun, horns tipped with diamond fire. Their presence hummed with an electrical force potent enough to illuminate a city.
The dragons weren't beasts of fire and brimstone, they were elemental titans, each scale a swirling microcosm of wind and water, their very breaths sparking with ozone and sending tendrils of mist snaking into the ash-choked sky. The clouds above, pregnant with the debris of their recent battle, sensed their imminent arrival and rumbled with thunderous anticipation. Loose masonry danced in the air, caught in the sudden gravitational tug-of-war between the eight-headed entity and the planet itself.
Sukuna's eyes, normally obsidian pools, shimmered with the reflected azure fury, a flicker of admiration amidst the cruel glee. "Finally," he roared, his voice a guttural challenge, "something worthy of my attention!"
My voice was amplified by the swirling power around me, echoing as if spoken from hundreds of mouths. "May your twisted soul find solace in this light, Disgraced One," I declared.
And then, the world held its breath. The eight-headed serpent coiled and uncoiled, a celestial ouroboros poised to strike. Then, with a roar that would burst the eardrums of any average human, it launched itself forward. The ground erupted in a geyser of fire and rubble, the air itself splitting open in its wake. Azure lightning arced and crackled from its scales, painting the shattered city in fleeting brushstrokes of electric blue.
— End of Prologue —
This is David's story, next chapter will bring us to June 2018...
This is David's story, next chapter will bring us to June 2018...
- Location
- Sweden
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Considering "He isn't the only thing that has adapted to fit this new world." from the description it might still be something of the actual High-Priest left, not just Davids own techniques being heavily influenced.
Chapter 1 — Genesis
- Location
- Valhalla
Chapter 1
Sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy above, creating playful patterns on the dirt path winding ahead. The air was alive with birdsong, a symphony of chirps and trills that danced with the rustling leaves. Their melody was both joyful and insistent, like nature itself urging us forward. It was her, a whirlwind of determination and emotion, who had spirited me away from the temple's quiet confines.
Riding on her back, my trembling legs found an unexpected stronghold. It was kind of embarrassing, being carried by a girl, but it wasn't just any girl. She was surprisingly strong, and in her strength, I found an odd comfort, a sense of awe at the sheer force she wielded. To the elders, she was barely a woman, yet here she was, carrying me effortlessly, her bare feet confidently navigating the steep path.
When the temple head found me, my memories were lost in a haze, my body fragile. Seizures wracked my mind, bringing visions that left me trying to harm myself as if my body sought to end its life before I could regain control.
They labeled me cursed, a harbinger of misfortune for the temple. The prescribed remedy? To be drowned in the large lake behind the temple, a ritual to cleanse the bad luck I had supposedly brought with me.
If not for the temple head's patience and the unwavering support of my sole friend, they might have gone through with it. The thought alone sent shivers down my spine.
Yet, as time passed, the visions grew less frequent, invading my dreams instead. I gradually regained the ability to walk, albeit slowly and for short distances. This improvement reignited the whispers. The elders now spoke of my recovery with a mix of disapproval and begrudging respect, while the children's eyes sparkled with curiosity as they exchanged hushed stories. They hailed it as a miracle, though no one dared to say the word in my presence.
Maybe it was a miracle. But for now, all I was conscious of was the scrape of dried leaves against my skin, the warmth of the sun on my face, and the steady cadence of her steps below me, carrying me onward.
"What are ya' thinking about?" she asked after the short silence grew on for too long.
I pondered for a moment, then said with a straight face, "I was just thinking about how absurdly strong you are, like a beast of burden. They should've named you Uma instead of Mirko."
As she carefully stepped over a gnarled tree root, Mirko responded, "Actually, that would've been pretty cool, right? A unique name like yours, it'd help me stand out! Hmph, maybe they should've named ya princess since ya love bein' carried 'round so much."
I could almost see the smirk on Mirko's face.
"How about I be the noble, and you be my valiant steed?" I suggested, playfully patting her hair with one hand while gripping her shoulder with the other.
"Careful now. I might tip over and squash ya if I see a snake in the grass," she warned coyly.
I chuckled. "That's what I get for trusting a horse from the countryside. What was I thinking?"
After a brief pause, Mirko asked, "Ya thinkin' 'bout them dummies at the temple again?"
I hesitated, knowing full well that refusing to answer Mirko was as feasible as halting a speeding train with your hands. She'd probably toss me into the air and catch me just to coax a response.
Finally, I relented. "Yeah…"
"Don't give a second thought to 'em. They're just stuffy traditionalists who're used to things always goin' their way. The temple ain't let in an outsider in so long, they're just paranoid, ya know?"
"Paranoid enough to end my life right?" I frowned.
"I wouldn't let 'em do that," she declared.
I bit my lip stopping the words from coming out of my mouth,
Her grip tightened. "Not while I'm around. Anyone messes with ya, they gotta go through this first." She brandished a fist, eyes hardening. "One Mirko-Super-Punch comin' right up!"
"An attack to strike fear into the gods themselves!" I played along, my voice echoing her enthusiasm. Her laughter rang out, a joyful sound that filled the forest.
With confidence, Mirko approached the trail's edge, where the path seemed to end abruptly. My heart skipped a beat, but before I could voice any concern, she shifted me higher on her back and strode forward.
To my surprise, the path led to a hidden ledge, a verdant outcrop clinging to the mountain. The view before us was stunning—a panoramic vista of nature's grandeur.
Below, Ryuudou Temple resembled a miniature, ancient jewel, its golden roofs shimmering in the sunlight. The mountains unfurled in a majestic display of greens and blues, their snow-capped summits reaching into the clear skies. Trees swayed gently, forming a lush green river cascading down the slopes. The lake at the valley's bottom shimmered like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the sky.
For the first time since arriving at Ryuudou Temple, I felt an integral part of this vast, beautiful world, not just a spectator from behind a window.
Mirko gently set me down against a tree, giving me a questioning glance to see if I was comfortable. I nodded, wordlessly conveying my gratitude. She responded with a nod of her own and placed a satchel against another tree.
"The view's real nice, ain't it? Ain't no one knows 'bout this here place, so ya better keep it hush-hush!" she said, stepping daringly close to the cliff's edge.
My heart raced. "Careful, Mirko. If you tumble over, how will I get back to the temple?" I tried to sound nonchalant, masking my concern.
Teasingly, she glanced back, a smirk playing on her lips. "You still scared of heights? Such a fraidy-cat."
Dressed in a striking white kimono that contrasted sharply against the lush backdrop, Mirko seemed like a spirit of the forest. The sun caught the red obi tied around her waist, making it glow like a smoldering ember, echoing the playful spark in her eyes. Her sleek, raven-black hair was braided down her back, adorned with a handcrafted cherry blossom hairpin. The wooden petals, delicately carved, blushed pink in the sunlight.
Her features, tanned and freckled from countless hours spent under the open sky, held a vibrancy that mirrored the landscape around them. Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, sparkled with an infectious mix of mischief and unwavering determination. Her smile, broad and genuine, could light up even the darkest corners, even now as she teased me about my fear of heights.
"It's your fault I'm scared, you know. Who else would throw a crippled guy into the air like that?" I grumbled half-jokingly.
She chuckled, hands clasped leisurely behind her head. "I did do that, didn't I? Well, it was a lesson learned, wasn't it?"
The wind tugged at Mirko's braids, whipping them around her face like restless fireflies as she finally turned away from the cliff's edge. She plopped down beside me, knees pulled up to her chest, and her gaze drifted skyward as if searching for answers in the clouds.
"You know, my mama used to take me up here 'fore she passed. She's the one who showed me this place, after all," she began softly, a rare hint of nostalgia in her voice.
I was taken aback. "Y-your mom?" It was common knowledge at the temple that Mirko's mother had died three years before I arrived, though I had never pried for details.
She nodded, her expression distant. "Yeah... when I was still a kiddo. Just right after my daddy went missin'. I wouldn't stop cryin' for him and ma had decided to take me up here. She told me my daddy showed her this place when they was both youngsters. Apparently, they couldn't stand each other somethin' fierce, but after comin' up here, they became just inseparable."
Mirko absentmindedly fingered her hairpin, her voice tinged with sadness. "I only came here once after mama passed. I couldn't stand to come up here again after that. I begged for her back and nothin' happened, so I avoided this place like the plague."
"You didn't have to show me this—"
She cut me off, her gaze averted, tracing unseen patterns in the dirt. "David, you know what I hate most?"
The question hung in the air, thicker than the summer humidity. I knew, or at least thought I did, all of her quirks and hates – the way she could sniff out a liar faster than a hawk spotting a field mouse, the way she shuddered at the sight of spiders.
Her use of my first name jolted me. The only time she had before is when she requested I stopped pushing for an answer in a stupid social blunder I will never forget.
"What?"
"Demons. I hate 'em with all the hate I can and will ever possess. I never told ya how I lost my mama but I was there. The shrines on the borders of this land had weakened and a demon snuck in while we prayin'. My mama sacrificed herself and forced me to flee in the process."
Silence seemed the most respectful response.
"It taunted me, and it could've caught me at any ol' time. Instead, it just toyed with me while I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Speakin' in my mama's voice, tryna lure me to turn 'round and come back. If it hadn't been for the temple head findin' me, what with him sensin' a disturbance and all, that demon would've gobbled me up right along with ma," she spoke, her voice losing its usual strength.
Turning to me, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Seeing Mirko, always so fierce, this vulnerable, left me speechless. Suddenly I felt like a big idiot for not recognizing that while some aspects of her attitude were real other parts were just a facade.
We were more alike than I'd thought.
"From that moment on, I swore I wouldn't be weak no more. I'd get strong enough to kill any demon I came across. Ain't no kid gonna be left like me ever again, not if I can help it."
Mirko paused for a moment, letting the silence settle around us as she delved into her satchel. With deliberate slowness, she retrieved something, holding it just out of view.
"I got somethin' for ya," she said, pressing a finger to my lips as I started to object. "I know how ya get, twinkle toes. Always yappin' 'bout not wantin' to be babied or have things handed to ya. I respect that, but for once, can ya let me do somethin' nice for ya?" she said with a playful wink.
From behind her, she produced a set of oversized prayer beads. "This here was my daddy's. He never went nowhere without it, but it was the only thing we found of his in the forest. My daddy once told me his love for me, momma, and the temple would make them beads grow bigger and bigger each day."
Gently, she draped them over my head, her gaze meeting mine. "You might not take to them old coots at the temple, but I know you're a good person. After my mama passed, the others at the temple pushed me out, treated me like I was cursed 'cause of losin' both my parents," she said, her brows knitting together. "I know them other kids tried persuadin' you to ignore me, despite you bein' sick and all. But you didn't. You gave me a fair shake. You really saw me, Mirko. Weren't never scared of my strength or what they called my 'curse'."
Standing back, she placed her hands on her hips. "So you're gonna take 'em off my hands. Take care of 'em and don't forget to make sure they're polished and treated proper. If you try to give these back, I'll be mighty offended, and we both know how I get when I'm riled up!" she said, cracking her knuckles with a mischievous grin, her sharp canines glinting in the sunlight.
The world dissolved in a sickening lurch. Trees, once basking in emerald light, contorted into monstrous limbs, clawing at the blood-choked sky. Purple swirls devoured the sun, casting the forest in an oppressive, twilight gloom. Mirko's vibrant kimono, now a macabre shroud, clung crimson to her pale skin, the vibrant obi drowned in a sinister maroon. Her eyes, once alight with mischief, were vacant wells reflecting only the dying embers of the world.
In the distance, our sanctuary, the temple, danced with hungry flames. Ancient rafters writhed like pyres, their golden sheen morphing into grotesque metal under the fire's touch. The air, thick with the stench of burning wood, carried a new note: a metallic tang of despair.
Cradling Mirko, I watched a crimson river spill from her lips, staining the earth beneath us. Her voice, a fragile whisper rasping with accusation and pain, cut through the inferno's roar. "Why… why didn't you save me?"
The scream lodged in my throat, a strangled beast denied its birth. Tears burned as hot as the inferno, but they wouldn't come, drowned in the howling wind and the relentless rhythm of the flames devouring everything I knew.
( — )
June 5th 2018
6:52 a.m
I bolted upright, my chest heaving, my heart pounding like a caged bird desperate for escape. My back was drenched in a cold sweat, every muscle taut with tension. The sheets, tangled in a chaotic embrace around me, felt like chains, binding and suffocating.
The nightmare clung to me - the slick marble floor stained with blood beneath me, the sting of smoke in my lungs, the temple engulfed in a voracious, unnatural orange inferno.
I remained motionless, trying to calm my racing heart. It wasn't until the mocking red digits of my alarm clock glared at me - 7:02 AM - that I snapped out of it. Two minutes late.
Two whole minutes late for Gojo-sensei's "special meeting" - whatever that phrase even meant.
Shaking like a dog chased by a swarm of bees, I disentangled myself from the sheets. Every movement was a sluggish battle against the inertia of dread.
Dressing was a chaotic whirl of fabric and fumbling fingers. My hair, usually tamed by a valiant effort (and copious amounts of gel), resembled a bird's nest after a particularly bad windstorm.
Maybe "special meeting" meant combat training with blindfolds and bamboo swords. Maybe it meant Gojo-sensei finally decided to give us a proper mission. Or maybe, just maybe, it involved something a little less...interesting.
With that final thought, I raced down the stairs and sprinted out of the dormitories.
The High Priest within me observed in silence, ever-present but distant. It seemed to stir only in times of combat, its quiet existence both reassuring and unsettling.
Rounding a corner, I nearly collided with a whirlwind of black hair and sharp elbows. Maki Zenin, second-year terror and owner of a right hook that could rearrange your facial features.
"Sorry!" I shrieked, bowing like a windblown reed. Maki, queen of icy glares, barely spared me a flick of her wrist as she pushed past, muttering something about misplaced gravity and tardy rookies.
I couldn't linger on her dismissal. Fueled by adrenaline, I dashed into Gojo-sensei's office, nearly tripping in my haste.
Gojo-sensei, ever the jesting sage, greeted me with a sardonic drawl. "Ah, our late riser graces us. 'Crawling' out of bed is a bit too generous for your style, don't you think?"
His eyes, likely taking in my disheveled appearance, twinkled with unspoken amusement. "Seems like my 'special meeting' announcement really shook you up. Did you dream of cursed spirits dancing the cha-cha on your ceiling again?"
I bypassed his teasing and focused on the matter at hand. "What's the mission, sensei?" I asked, sidestepping his playful jabs - responding would only invite more.
"Since you arrived late, I've already assigned the more interesting mission to Fushiguro," Gojo-sensei stated, spinning around in his chair to lazily gesture towards Megumi Fushiguro.
Fushiguro's gaze was sharp and calculating. Dressed in the customary high-collared, dark blue uniform of Jujutsu High, complete with long sleeves, matching pants, and tan boots, he stood out with his distinctively spiky blue hair.
He was tall and lean, carrying an air of quiet intensity. His fair skin contrasted sharply with his deep green eyes, always seeming to hold a mix of pensiveness and skepticism as if he was perpetually evaluating the world around him or harboring a subtle annoyance with it.
It wouldn't be wrong to say Fushiguro felt somewhat distant towards me. His interactions with me were sparse, maintaining a clear space whenever possible. Our paths only crossed during training sessions, missions, or those rare moments when Gojo-sensei insisted on group activities.
Admitting it stung a bit. The sense of isolation at Jujutsu High was palpable. My peers either envied or were intimidated by my abilities. I wasn't naive; I knew how the world worked here. Some, like Maki Zenin, endured a lifetime of ridicule and oppression for their lack of Cursed Energy. Others, including Gojo himself, had invested years, shedding blood, sweat, and tears to refine their Cursed Techniques.
My situation was different. The techniques I wielded came to me fully formed, potent enough to classify me as a Grade 1 sorcerer, at least. To make matters worse I could wield three of them at any given moment.
Granted, this 'gift' from the High Priest came with its own share of loss, but wasn't loss a common thread among Jujutsu Sorcerers? It seemed almost like a prerequisite for joining this world. Living as a Jujutsu Sorcerer meant not just facing personal loss but being a witness to it continually. I wasn't special in that sense.
My sudden emergence in the world of sorcery was like a slap in the face to many established sorcerers. It wasn't unheard of for a powerful sorcerer to appear seemingly out of nowhere. Take Yuta Okkotsu, for instance. A year or two back, he burst onto the scene, his formidable strength instilling fear in those around him. He was even slated for execution, only to be spared by Gojo-sensei's intervention. Later, it turned out he was distantly related to Gojo-sensei, the strongest sorcerer of all.
My arrival on their doorstep had been like a meteor striking the Jujutsu landscape. Whispers of "another Okkotsu" swirled around me, but unlike him, I was a cipher. No lineage, no history, just raw power waiting to be unleashed. Six months under Gojo-sensei's tutelage had made that abundantly clear.
It might not be too far-fetched to say I was even stronger than Okkotsu. During my sparring sessions with Gojo-sensei, it seemed like the High Priest, the entity that had bestowed its blessings upon me, never granted me the ability to break through his renowned infinity technique. Not that I would have accepted such a power even if it was offered. It appeared the High Priest knew I wasn't in real danger against Gojo-sensei and simply provided me with what it deemed necessary for a proper sparring session.
Naturally, the High Priest chose to bestow upon me an array of Grade 1 and even Special Grade Cursed Techniques. This effortless display of extraordinary power only served to further isolate me from my peers.
Back at the temple, I was ostracized for being weak. Here, at Jujutsu High, it was my overwhelming strength that set me apart. It was as if I were caught in a relentless cycle, each side reflecting the same harsh irony.
"Your mission," Gojo-sensei said, interrupting my contemplative state, "is in the same district as Megumi's. There's been a surge in suicides around a particular building. Rumors are circulating that it's either haunted or that the spirits of those who've died there are somehow compelling others to follow suit."
My fingers instinctively found their way to my prayer beads, tracing them as I processed this information.
Gojo-sensei continued, his tone taking on a hint of challenge. "This assignment is typically suited for a Grade 1 sorcerer, but for someone of your caliber, recognized by Jujutsu High as a Special Grade sorcerer, it should be well within your capabilities. Don't you agree?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine with an unspoken expectation.
My response was an immediate nod.
"Finish this mission and reach Megumi's location before he completes his task, and I'll get you a pack of that coffee jelly you're so fond of," Gojo-sensei offered a hint of amusement in his voice.
My eyes widened at the mention of the treat. Gojo-sensei had introduced me to coffee jelly not long ago, and I was instantly hooked. The brand remained his guarded secret, and despite my best efforts, he never divulged where he got it from. It was infuriatingly delicious, far superior to any variety I found on my own. Even the High Priest, with all its power, hadn't been able to unravel this mystery for me.
I had a sneaking suspicion that Gojo-sensei and the High Priest were somehow conspiring in this culinary tease. It had been an agonizing three weeks since my last taste of that heavenly dessert. Motivated by the promise of coffee jelly, I mentally prepared myself to tackle this mission with unmatched speed and efficiency.
(—)
2:00 p.m
Kayamihama Apartment Complex stood before me, a grim monument to neglect and decay. The investigation seemed almost superfluous; the aura of the place screamed of malevolence, a perfect haven for a Cursed Spirit.
The building, once likely a bustling hub of life, now lay in squalor. Its façade was a patchwork of peeling paint and cracked windows, while the main entrance hung off its hinges, creaking eerily with each gust of wind. Weeds had claimed the cracks in the pavement, and trash was strewn about, carried by the whim of the wind.
I swiftly located the victims. The Cursed Spirit controlling the building was cunning, attacking only in moments it perceived as my weakness. Debris, animated by an unseen force, was hurled toward me with lethal intent, a threat that would have severely injured or even killed someone without cursed energy reinforcement.
When its physical assaults proved futile, the spirit resorted to psychological warfare, attempting to inundate my mind with a debilitating sense of despair and suicidal thoughts. It was a desperate move, transparent in its intent, and utterly ineffective against me. Yet, I could sense its watchful presence, biding its time, calculating its next attempt to undermine me.
The Cursed Spirit's victims were trapped in a haunting trance, immobilized and utterly lifeless. Twenty in total, they stood scattered throughout the expanse of a large, dilapidated apartment. The dividing walls between units had been torn down, creating a vast, open wasteland of decay within the building. Dust and debris littered the floor, and the air was thick with the stench of neglect and despair.
Their bodies were emaciated, skin clinging to bones like paper to walls. Eyes that once might have held dreams and aspirations were now vacant, reflecting a profound emptiness.
The spirit was slowly leeching their life force, allowing them to spiral deeper into despair until they were driven to end their own lives. It possessed a sinister power to conceal its victims from the outside world, rendering them invisible to any search efforts. However, such methods were futile against a sorcerer of my abilities. Their silent suffering was like a beacon, calling out for someone to save them.
And I was going to be that someone.
My hands were conduits, drawing sapphire sparks from the very ground. They swirled around me, a luminous cocoon obscuring us from the sight of the watching spirits. Then, in a symphony of twenty miniature explosions, the potential victims vanished.
The building itself seemed to react to their sudden disappearance, trembling with what felt like anger. With a single, well-placed spark of energy, I transported myself to the rooftop, ready for whatever awaited me next.
Rain hammered down on the rooftop's cracked tiles, each drop bursting into a tiny geyser, then racing towards the overflowing gutters. The wind tinged with the scent of ozone and distant chimney smoke, lashed at me, plastering my hair and clothes against my skin. Above, the sky resembled a massive bruise, its dark expanse barely penetrated by the weak glow of city lights below.
Encircling me were over thirty figures, their white robes billowing around them like ghostly sails caught in the tempest. They moved with a fluid, eerie grace, silent as the wind itself, their faces hidden under hoods drawn deep over their brows. The only glimpse into their identities was the soft, almost ethereal light seeping out from under their hoods, giving the impression of moonlight struggling to break free.
I could sense their intense scrutiny, even though their eyes were hidden from view. They regarded me as an unwelcome intruder, a disruptor who had not only violated their sacred space but also liberated some of their intended victims, potential additions to their ranks.
Their collective telekinetic prowess appeared limited to affecting only those with minimal cursed energy or inanimate objects devoid of any cursed power. Individually, they might have been capable of manipulating objects weighing between 10 to 20 kilograms. However, I had no doubt that their strength would increase significantly when they worked in unison, their power amplifying with each cursed spirit joining the effort.
I closed my eyes for a moment, releasing my hold on the teleportation power. Like something swelling within me, filling every available space, another ability took hold. It was aerokinesis, with a formidable range of one-tenth of a mile. A versatile tool for both offense and mobility.
I dropped another technique and nigh-instantly another technique was blooming. This one was defensive, and although its nature was initially unclear, I accepted it instinctively. Knowledge of its capabilities flooded my mind: an electromagnetic shield capable of repelling incoming threats. It was particularly effective against metallic attacks, reasonably strong against other forms, but vulnerable to high heat, which could disrupt its integrity.
While I doubted these cursed spirits wielded any heat-based techniques potent enough to challenge the shield, I couldn't be certain.
Almost immediately after activating the power, vertical streaks of lightning began to crackle and spark around me, illuminating a five-foot radius. The charged air buzzed with energy, the flashes casting eerie, dancing shadows across the drenched rooftop and the ghostly figures encircling me.
With a single step, I harnessed the wind, lifting off the ground in a manner that defied traditional notions of flight. To an onlooker used to conventional flight, my floating ascent might have seemed peculiar, almost ethereal.
Another technique filled the empty slot that I had been saving for a moment like this. I used this technique once months ago so it was a surprise to see it again.
Spreading my hands wide, I released a volley of green sparks. They expanded in mid-air, growing to three feet in diameter, each orb crackling with a fierce electrical energy. They advanced slowly, deliberately, towards the spirits, moving at a pace that belied their power.
The spirits, sensing the imminent threat, sprang into action. It was clear they recognized the danger these electrified orbs posed.
The spirits, previously motionless, sprang into frenzied action. Their white robes whipped around them like ghostly sails caught in a tempest. Several of them, moving in unison, manipulated a parked car from the street below, sending it hurtling toward me with screeching wheels and a chorus of groaning metal. Utilizing my control over the wind, I created a swirling vortex around the car, lifting it effortlessly above the skyline before gently placing it onto a distant rooftop, unscathed.
One spirit, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent, focused on the cluster of neon sparks I had unleashed. With a fluid motion of its hands, it attempted to redirect the electrical energy. The air shimmered with their effort, a visible battle of forces, but their power was futile against mine.
I summoned additional sparks, the glowing orbs multiplying rapidly. My body seemed to mirror their luminescence, bathed in the light of forty orbs encircling me, with another thirty spread across the sky.
The orbs, agile and precise, targeted the first spirit. In a dramatic display, they unleashed a torrent of electricity, converging on their target. The energy cascaded to the ground and shot upward, forming a visible lightning bolt that pierced the sky. In a blinding flash, the hooded figure detonated, leaving nothing behind.
The rooftop trembled underfoot. A taller, more formidable spirit – presumably their leader – bellowed a primal roar, its hood falling away to reveal a visage twisted in fury.
"Poor souls, may you find peace in your next life," I murmured, fingers grazing my prayer beads.
A storm of debris – chunks of rubble, warped metal sheets, fragmented pipes, and an array of other sharp, lightweight projectiles – descended upon me in a furious onslaught. Each piece, however, met the same fate: repelled effortlessly by the invisible yet impenetrable force of my electromagnetic shield. Amidst this maelstrom, I stood steadfast, not a single muscle betraying movement.
Sensing a massive sphere of rubble barreling down toward me, I intensified my control over the air. A maelstrom raged around me, the epicenter of a localized electrical storm. The collision of the rubble against my wind barrier was a cacophony of elemental fury.
My electrical orbs, relentless in their pursuit, continued their onslaught. Each bright flash and crack of lightning marked the end of another spirit.
As each spirit fell, their telekinetic hold on the rubble weakened until my tempestuous winds prevailed, breaking the mass apart. I carefully directed the debris, ensuring no fragments endangered anyone below.
In the space of thirty seconds, only five spirits remained, desperately evading the relentless orbs. They could have fled into the building, but it seemed the exposed leader was compelling them to stay and fight, a desperate last stand against overwhelming odds.
Their downfall was a foregone conclusion. Against any sorcerer less formidable than Okkotsu, Gojo-sensei, or myself, these spirits might have stood a chance, perhaps even managed a valiant struggle. But their misfortune was to encounter someone like me - an anomaly in the world of sorcery.
The leader, realizing the futility of resistance, stood frozen. It watched, helplessly, as its minions fell one by one, decimated in mere moments. There was a palpable sense of resignation emanating from it, a silent acknowledgment of its inevitable defeat.
"You vile cursed spirit. How many lives did you snuff out? How many families did you shatter?" I ascended higher, my voice cold and distant, the orbs swirling around me like a storm. "Gojo-sensei says dwelling too much on the victims only makes things harder for a sorcerer. Mental strength is key, and I guess that means locking away such thoughts. But sometimes, I can't help it."
As the last of its minions perished, I opened my palm. Within seconds, all the electric orbs converged into a single, massive orb floating above me. The city below was a blur of lights and shadows, a silent witness to our aerial standoff.
"I always come back to one question: What were Mirko's final thoughts? What did she feel, seeing me scream her name as she was consumed? Not knowing... it fills me with a profound sadness and an uncontrollable rage," I said, my hands trembling with emotion.
"Do you know what I hate most?" I asked rhetorically, not expecting a response.
To my surprise, the spirit answered, "Yourself."
"You're right," I conceded, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "But equally, I loathe cursed spirits. A friend once told me that, and at the time, I couldn't fully grasp it. But now, I understand that hatred all too well." My voice was a dark echo in the vast expanse, the charged air around us crackling with my fury and grief.
The spirit's voice, tinged with bitterness and despair, resonated through the air. "I understand, for my hatred towards humans mirrors your own. We are not born out of thin air; we are the manifestations of human emotions – the darkest and most desolate ones. It's human suffering, loneliness, and despair that give birth to beings like me."
Its tone grew colder, filled with an old resentment. "Humans create their own demons, then despise us for existing. We are but reflections of their inner turmoil, their abandoned hopes, their deepest sorrows. I am a cursed spirit of suicide and loneliness, born from the very essence of human despair. I did not choose this existence; it was thrust upon me by the collective sorrow of humanity. I am the offspring of those whom you continue to protect. Isn't it fair for a child to hold their parents responsible for their suffering? It was due to her that I could enact proper retribution."
"What do you mean by 'her'?" I demanded, my frustration growing. The spirit fell silent, its refusal to answer confirming my suspicion that it wouldn't reveal such crucial information easily. Time was slipping away, and I couldn't afford to linger in this battle of words.
"For the pain you've caused, I will erase your existence," I declared. With a snap of my fingers, the colossal green orb accelerated like a bullet train. The spirit tried to defend itself, conjuring a telekinetic barrier, but it was futile. The orb sliced through the shield effortlessly.
The spirit let out a piercing shriek, reminiscent of shattering glass, as the orb exploded and consumed it whole. A large green thunderbolt strikes upward to the dark clouds. As the light show faded away she remained. It was impressive she survived such an attack, maybe she wasn't just a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit after all.
In a last act of defiance, it raised its hand toward me, eyes ablaze with loathing.
But its attempt at a final attack was in vain. Its form disintegrated, dissipating into countless particles that glimmered like moonlit dewdrops, swirling away into the night. The spirit, once a harbinger of despair, had vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of its presence in the storm-tossed sky.
"Or maybe not," I said.
As I stood there, a faint humming began to resonate, eerily familiar and unsettling. It seemed to originate not from my surroundings, but from deep within my own mind, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. An instinct, unexplainable yet urgent, compelled me to look skyward.
There, descending gently from the moonlit sky, was a single, crystalline feather. It glimmered enchantingly, catching the moon's silver light and scattering it in a spectrum of ethereal colors. The feather danced in the air, a solitary waltz directed by the whims of the breeze, slowly spiraling down towards me. As it landed softly in my palm, the haunting melody ceased.
Words spilled from my lips unbidden, echoing fragments of memories that seemed both foreign and intimately mine. They told of an angel, a being that twisted the minds of those I once considered comrades in arms, friends, and allies turned against me. This 'angel' was responsible for the loss of countless innocents, a puppeteer orchestrating tragedies from the shadows. She was no divine entity, but a false idol, a deceiver.
"Ziz," I whispered, scanning the area for any indication that what I was experiencing was real. My aerokinesis detected no disturbances, yet the sense of something otherworldly lingered.
Opening my clenched fist, I found the feather had vanished as if it were never there.
"What the...?" I muttered, a mix of confusion and disbelief washing over me.
(—)
5:00 p.m
There it was, Sugisawa Municipal High School.
Arriving at the high school, it was immediately apparent that something had gone terribly wrong. The gaping hole in the side of the building was a glaring sign of chaos. Fushiguro's mission was supposed to be a simple retrieval of a high-value cursed object, not a battle. I couldn't help but worry that Gojo-sensei might reconsider the coffee jelly reward due to the unexpected destruction.
Holding onto my techniques was becoming a challenge; they were like slippery eels, constantly trying to escape my grasp. I needed to wrap this up fast. Using my aerokinesis, I descended onto the roof, where the cursed energy was strongest. Thankfully, Fushiguro was still breathing.
Without hesitation, I confronted the apparent threat. The cursed being seemed to anticipate my arrival, lunging towards me with frightening speed and a maniacal laugh. But it was no match for my heightened reflexes.
"Too slow," I muttered under my breath.
A powerful blast of condensed air hit the cursed spirit, sending him crashing back to the ground with a thud that would have been absolutely fatal for any ordinary human.
Landing, I glanced at Fushiguro. "Are you alright?" His stiff nod indicated his readiness to summon a shikigami, but luckily, it hadn't come to that.
"You sorcerers are always so irritating, always in my way—" the spirit spat before I raised a hand removing the air from his vicinity, leaving him gripping his throat in surprise as he couldn't take in any more oxygen due to being suddenly surrounded in a vacuum.
"Quiet," I commanded, maintaining the vacuum.
To his credit, he didn't just stand there helplessly. Instead, he charged towards me, likely planning to escape the vacuum and eliminate me, the only barrier in his path.
Reacting quickly, I conjured three small bolts of green energy near my head and sent them flying towards him. They weren't lethal but were strong enough to knock him back, keeping him pinned to the ground. I continued to assault him with energy bolts, ensuring he couldn't escape the vacuum's range.
I knew time was of the essence. Intelligent spirits, especially ones as notorious as Sukuna, often had remarkable combat instincts. I couldn't depend on asphyxiation alone to subdue him.
With my eyes closed, a powerful green energy bolt crackled to life in front of my palm, growing in intensity. The vessel, tainted by Sukuna's influence, needed to be dealt with decisively. Hesitation could lead to more chaos.
But just as I was about to release the bolt, Gojo-sensei stepped in front of the vessel, holding a brown bag casually in front of him.
"Gojo-sensei, please move. I need to exorcize this curse," I requested.
He wiggled the bag at me. "I got your coffee jelly. Don't you want it?"
I hesitated, sensing his reluctance to let me annihilate the vessel.
"Why are you stopping this?" I asked, trying to stay composed.
He replied with a cryptic smile. "Trust me, I have my reasons. Take your coffee jelly, or I'll give it to Megumi."
The day's events had taken their toll on me. Feeling the exhaustion set in, I let the energy in my hand and the vacuum dissipate.
"That was low," I muttered under my breath.
Ultimately, whether the vessel lived or died was inconsequential. My personal victory was the bag of coffee jelly in Gojo-sensei's hand. Snatching it, I turned and walked away, leaving the scene behind.
— End of Chapter 1—
Sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy above, creating playful patterns on the dirt path winding ahead. The air was alive with birdsong, a symphony of chirps and trills that danced with the rustling leaves. Their melody was both joyful and insistent, like nature itself urging us forward. It was her, a whirlwind of determination and emotion, who had spirited me away from the temple's quiet confines.
Riding on her back, my trembling legs found an unexpected stronghold. It was kind of embarrassing, being carried by a girl, but it wasn't just any girl. She was surprisingly strong, and in her strength, I found an odd comfort, a sense of awe at the sheer force she wielded. To the elders, she was barely a woman, yet here she was, carrying me effortlessly, her bare feet confidently navigating the steep path.
When the temple head found me, my memories were lost in a haze, my body fragile. Seizures wracked my mind, bringing visions that left me trying to harm myself as if my body sought to end its life before I could regain control.
They labeled me cursed, a harbinger of misfortune for the temple. The prescribed remedy? To be drowned in the large lake behind the temple, a ritual to cleanse the bad luck I had supposedly brought with me.
If not for the temple head's patience and the unwavering support of my sole friend, they might have gone through with it. The thought alone sent shivers down my spine.
Yet, as time passed, the visions grew less frequent, invading my dreams instead. I gradually regained the ability to walk, albeit slowly and for short distances. This improvement reignited the whispers. The elders now spoke of my recovery with a mix of disapproval and begrudging respect, while the children's eyes sparkled with curiosity as they exchanged hushed stories. They hailed it as a miracle, though no one dared to say the word in my presence.
Maybe it was a miracle. But for now, all I was conscious of was the scrape of dried leaves against my skin, the warmth of the sun on my face, and the steady cadence of her steps below me, carrying me onward.
"What are ya' thinking about?" she asked after the short silence grew on for too long.
I pondered for a moment, then said with a straight face, "I was just thinking about how absurdly strong you are, like a beast of burden. They should've named you Uma instead of Mirko."
As she carefully stepped over a gnarled tree root, Mirko responded, "Actually, that would've been pretty cool, right? A unique name like yours, it'd help me stand out! Hmph, maybe they should've named ya princess since ya love bein' carried 'round so much."
I could almost see the smirk on Mirko's face.
"How about I be the noble, and you be my valiant steed?" I suggested, playfully patting her hair with one hand while gripping her shoulder with the other.
"Careful now. I might tip over and squash ya if I see a snake in the grass," she warned coyly.
I chuckled. "That's what I get for trusting a horse from the countryside. What was I thinking?"
After a brief pause, Mirko asked, "Ya thinkin' 'bout them dummies at the temple again?"
I hesitated, knowing full well that refusing to answer Mirko was as feasible as halting a speeding train with your hands. She'd probably toss me into the air and catch me just to coax a response.
Finally, I relented. "Yeah…"
"Don't give a second thought to 'em. They're just stuffy traditionalists who're used to things always goin' their way. The temple ain't let in an outsider in so long, they're just paranoid, ya know?"
"Paranoid enough to end my life right?" I frowned.
"I wouldn't let 'em do that," she declared.
I bit my lip stopping the words from coming out of my mouth,
Her grip tightened. "Not while I'm around. Anyone messes with ya, they gotta go through this first." She brandished a fist, eyes hardening. "One Mirko-Super-Punch comin' right up!"
"An attack to strike fear into the gods themselves!" I played along, my voice echoing her enthusiasm. Her laughter rang out, a joyful sound that filled the forest.
With confidence, Mirko approached the trail's edge, where the path seemed to end abruptly. My heart skipped a beat, but before I could voice any concern, she shifted me higher on her back and strode forward.
To my surprise, the path led to a hidden ledge, a verdant outcrop clinging to the mountain. The view before us was stunning—a panoramic vista of nature's grandeur.
Below, Ryuudou Temple resembled a miniature, ancient jewel, its golden roofs shimmering in the sunlight. The mountains unfurled in a majestic display of greens and blues, their snow-capped summits reaching into the clear skies. Trees swayed gently, forming a lush green river cascading down the slopes. The lake at the valley's bottom shimmered like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the sky.
For the first time since arriving at Ryuudou Temple, I felt an integral part of this vast, beautiful world, not just a spectator from behind a window.
Mirko gently set me down against a tree, giving me a questioning glance to see if I was comfortable. I nodded, wordlessly conveying my gratitude. She responded with a nod of her own and placed a satchel against another tree.
"The view's real nice, ain't it? Ain't no one knows 'bout this here place, so ya better keep it hush-hush!" she said, stepping daringly close to the cliff's edge.
My heart raced. "Careful, Mirko. If you tumble over, how will I get back to the temple?" I tried to sound nonchalant, masking my concern.
Teasingly, she glanced back, a smirk playing on her lips. "You still scared of heights? Such a fraidy-cat."
Dressed in a striking white kimono that contrasted sharply against the lush backdrop, Mirko seemed like a spirit of the forest. The sun caught the red obi tied around her waist, making it glow like a smoldering ember, echoing the playful spark in her eyes. Her sleek, raven-black hair was braided down her back, adorned with a handcrafted cherry blossom hairpin. The wooden petals, delicately carved, blushed pink in the sunlight.
Her features, tanned and freckled from countless hours spent under the open sky, held a vibrancy that mirrored the landscape around them. Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, sparkled with an infectious mix of mischief and unwavering determination. Her smile, broad and genuine, could light up even the darkest corners, even now as she teased me about my fear of heights.
"It's your fault I'm scared, you know. Who else would throw a crippled guy into the air like that?" I grumbled half-jokingly.
She chuckled, hands clasped leisurely behind her head. "I did do that, didn't I? Well, it was a lesson learned, wasn't it?"
The wind tugged at Mirko's braids, whipping them around her face like restless fireflies as she finally turned away from the cliff's edge. She plopped down beside me, knees pulled up to her chest, and her gaze drifted skyward as if searching for answers in the clouds.
"You know, my mama used to take me up here 'fore she passed. She's the one who showed me this place, after all," she began softly, a rare hint of nostalgia in her voice.
I was taken aback. "Y-your mom?" It was common knowledge at the temple that Mirko's mother had died three years before I arrived, though I had never pried for details.
She nodded, her expression distant. "Yeah... when I was still a kiddo. Just right after my daddy went missin'. I wouldn't stop cryin' for him and ma had decided to take me up here. She told me my daddy showed her this place when they was both youngsters. Apparently, they couldn't stand each other somethin' fierce, but after comin' up here, they became just inseparable."
Mirko absentmindedly fingered her hairpin, her voice tinged with sadness. "I only came here once after mama passed. I couldn't stand to come up here again after that. I begged for her back and nothin' happened, so I avoided this place like the plague."
"You didn't have to show me this—"
She cut me off, her gaze averted, tracing unseen patterns in the dirt. "David, you know what I hate most?"
The question hung in the air, thicker than the summer humidity. I knew, or at least thought I did, all of her quirks and hates – the way she could sniff out a liar faster than a hawk spotting a field mouse, the way she shuddered at the sight of spiders.
Her use of my first name jolted me. The only time she had before is when she requested I stopped pushing for an answer in a stupid social blunder I will never forget.
"What?"
"Demons. I hate 'em with all the hate I can and will ever possess. I never told ya how I lost my mama but I was there. The shrines on the borders of this land had weakened and a demon snuck in while we prayin'. My mama sacrificed herself and forced me to flee in the process."
Silence seemed the most respectful response.
"It taunted me, and it could've caught me at any ol' time. Instead, it just toyed with me while I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Speakin' in my mama's voice, tryna lure me to turn 'round and come back. If it hadn't been for the temple head findin' me, what with him sensin' a disturbance and all, that demon would've gobbled me up right along with ma," she spoke, her voice losing its usual strength.
Turning to me, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Seeing Mirko, always so fierce, this vulnerable, left me speechless. Suddenly I felt like a big idiot for not recognizing that while some aspects of her attitude were real other parts were just a facade.
We were more alike than I'd thought.
"From that moment on, I swore I wouldn't be weak no more. I'd get strong enough to kill any demon I came across. Ain't no kid gonna be left like me ever again, not if I can help it."
Mirko paused for a moment, letting the silence settle around us as she delved into her satchel. With deliberate slowness, she retrieved something, holding it just out of view.
"I got somethin' for ya," she said, pressing a finger to my lips as I started to object. "I know how ya get, twinkle toes. Always yappin' 'bout not wantin' to be babied or have things handed to ya. I respect that, but for once, can ya let me do somethin' nice for ya?" she said with a playful wink.
From behind her, she produced a set of oversized prayer beads. "This here was my daddy's. He never went nowhere without it, but it was the only thing we found of his in the forest. My daddy once told me his love for me, momma, and the temple would make them beads grow bigger and bigger each day."
Gently, she draped them over my head, her gaze meeting mine. "You might not take to them old coots at the temple, but I know you're a good person. After my mama passed, the others at the temple pushed me out, treated me like I was cursed 'cause of losin' both my parents," she said, her brows knitting together. "I know them other kids tried persuadin' you to ignore me, despite you bein' sick and all. But you didn't. You gave me a fair shake. You really saw me, Mirko. Weren't never scared of my strength or what they called my 'curse'."
Standing back, she placed her hands on her hips. "So you're gonna take 'em off my hands. Take care of 'em and don't forget to make sure they're polished and treated proper. If you try to give these back, I'll be mighty offended, and we both know how I get when I'm riled up!" she said, cracking her knuckles with a mischievous grin, her sharp canines glinting in the sunlight.
The world dissolved in a sickening lurch. Trees, once basking in emerald light, contorted into monstrous limbs, clawing at the blood-choked sky. Purple swirls devoured the sun, casting the forest in an oppressive, twilight gloom. Mirko's vibrant kimono, now a macabre shroud, clung crimson to her pale skin, the vibrant obi drowned in a sinister maroon. Her eyes, once alight with mischief, were vacant wells reflecting only the dying embers of the world.
In the distance, our sanctuary, the temple, danced with hungry flames. Ancient rafters writhed like pyres, their golden sheen morphing into grotesque metal under the fire's touch. The air, thick with the stench of burning wood, carried a new note: a metallic tang of despair.
Cradling Mirko, I watched a crimson river spill from her lips, staining the earth beneath us. Her voice, a fragile whisper rasping with accusation and pain, cut through the inferno's roar. "Why… why didn't you save me?"
The scream lodged in my throat, a strangled beast denied its birth. Tears burned as hot as the inferno, but they wouldn't come, drowned in the howling wind and the relentless rhythm of the flames devouring everything I knew.
( — )
June 5th 2018
6:52 a.m
I bolted upright, my chest heaving, my heart pounding like a caged bird desperate for escape. My back was drenched in a cold sweat, every muscle taut with tension. The sheets, tangled in a chaotic embrace around me, felt like chains, binding and suffocating.
The nightmare clung to me - the slick marble floor stained with blood beneath me, the sting of smoke in my lungs, the temple engulfed in a voracious, unnatural orange inferno.
I remained motionless, trying to calm my racing heart. It wasn't until the mocking red digits of my alarm clock glared at me - 7:02 AM - that I snapped out of it. Two minutes late.
Two whole minutes late for Gojo-sensei's "special meeting" - whatever that phrase even meant.
Shaking like a dog chased by a swarm of bees, I disentangled myself from the sheets. Every movement was a sluggish battle against the inertia of dread.
Dressing was a chaotic whirl of fabric and fumbling fingers. My hair, usually tamed by a valiant effort (and copious amounts of gel), resembled a bird's nest after a particularly bad windstorm.
Maybe "special meeting" meant combat training with blindfolds and bamboo swords. Maybe it meant Gojo-sensei finally decided to give us a proper mission. Or maybe, just maybe, it involved something a little less...interesting.
With that final thought, I raced down the stairs and sprinted out of the dormitories.
The High Priest within me observed in silence, ever-present but distant. It seemed to stir only in times of combat, its quiet existence both reassuring and unsettling.
Rounding a corner, I nearly collided with a whirlwind of black hair and sharp elbows. Maki Zenin, second-year terror and owner of a right hook that could rearrange your facial features.
"Sorry!" I shrieked, bowing like a windblown reed. Maki, queen of icy glares, barely spared me a flick of her wrist as she pushed past, muttering something about misplaced gravity and tardy rookies.
I couldn't linger on her dismissal. Fueled by adrenaline, I dashed into Gojo-sensei's office, nearly tripping in my haste.
Gojo-sensei, ever the jesting sage, greeted me with a sardonic drawl. "Ah, our late riser graces us. 'Crawling' out of bed is a bit too generous for your style, don't you think?"
His eyes, likely taking in my disheveled appearance, twinkled with unspoken amusement. "Seems like my 'special meeting' announcement really shook you up. Did you dream of cursed spirits dancing the cha-cha on your ceiling again?"
I bypassed his teasing and focused on the matter at hand. "What's the mission, sensei?" I asked, sidestepping his playful jabs - responding would only invite more.
"Since you arrived late, I've already assigned the more interesting mission to Fushiguro," Gojo-sensei stated, spinning around in his chair to lazily gesture towards Megumi Fushiguro.
Fushiguro's gaze was sharp and calculating. Dressed in the customary high-collared, dark blue uniform of Jujutsu High, complete with long sleeves, matching pants, and tan boots, he stood out with his distinctively spiky blue hair.
He was tall and lean, carrying an air of quiet intensity. His fair skin contrasted sharply with his deep green eyes, always seeming to hold a mix of pensiveness and skepticism as if he was perpetually evaluating the world around him or harboring a subtle annoyance with it.
It wouldn't be wrong to say Fushiguro felt somewhat distant towards me. His interactions with me were sparse, maintaining a clear space whenever possible. Our paths only crossed during training sessions, missions, or those rare moments when Gojo-sensei insisted on group activities.
Admitting it stung a bit. The sense of isolation at Jujutsu High was palpable. My peers either envied or were intimidated by my abilities. I wasn't naive; I knew how the world worked here. Some, like Maki Zenin, endured a lifetime of ridicule and oppression for their lack of Cursed Energy. Others, including Gojo himself, had invested years, shedding blood, sweat, and tears to refine their Cursed Techniques.
My situation was different. The techniques I wielded came to me fully formed, potent enough to classify me as a Grade 1 sorcerer, at least. To make matters worse I could wield three of them at any given moment.
Granted, this 'gift' from the High Priest came with its own share of loss, but wasn't loss a common thread among Jujutsu Sorcerers? It seemed almost like a prerequisite for joining this world. Living as a Jujutsu Sorcerer meant not just facing personal loss but being a witness to it continually. I wasn't special in that sense.
My sudden emergence in the world of sorcery was like a slap in the face to many established sorcerers. It wasn't unheard of for a powerful sorcerer to appear seemingly out of nowhere. Take Yuta Okkotsu, for instance. A year or two back, he burst onto the scene, his formidable strength instilling fear in those around him. He was even slated for execution, only to be spared by Gojo-sensei's intervention. Later, it turned out he was distantly related to Gojo-sensei, the strongest sorcerer of all.
My arrival on their doorstep had been like a meteor striking the Jujutsu landscape. Whispers of "another Okkotsu" swirled around me, but unlike him, I was a cipher. No lineage, no history, just raw power waiting to be unleashed. Six months under Gojo-sensei's tutelage had made that abundantly clear.
It might not be too far-fetched to say I was even stronger than Okkotsu. During my sparring sessions with Gojo-sensei, it seemed like the High Priest, the entity that had bestowed its blessings upon me, never granted me the ability to break through his renowned infinity technique. Not that I would have accepted such a power even if it was offered. It appeared the High Priest knew I wasn't in real danger against Gojo-sensei and simply provided me with what it deemed necessary for a proper sparring session.
Naturally, the High Priest chose to bestow upon me an array of Grade 1 and even Special Grade Cursed Techniques. This effortless display of extraordinary power only served to further isolate me from my peers.
Back at the temple, I was ostracized for being weak. Here, at Jujutsu High, it was my overwhelming strength that set me apart. It was as if I were caught in a relentless cycle, each side reflecting the same harsh irony.
"Your mission," Gojo-sensei said, interrupting my contemplative state, "is in the same district as Megumi's. There's been a surge in suicides around a particular building. Rumors are circulating that it's either haunted or that the spirits of those who've died there are somehow compelling others to follow suit."
My fingers instinctively found their way to my prayer beads, tracing them as I processed this information.
Gojo-sensei continued, his tone taking on a hint of challenge. "This assignment is typically suited for a Grade 1 sorcerer, but for someone of your caliber, recognized by Jujutsu High as a Special Grade sorcerer, it should be well within your capabilities. Don't you agree?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine with an unspoken expectation.
My response was an immediate nod.
"Finish this mission and reach Megumi's location before he completes his task, and I'll get you a pack of that coffee jelly you're so fond of," Gojo-sensei offered a hint of amusement in his voice.
My eyes widened at the mention of the treat. Gojo-sensei had introduced me to coffee jelly not long ago, and I was instantly hooked. The brand remained his guarded secret, and despite my best efforts, he never divulged where he got it from. It was infuriatingly delicious, far superior to any variety I found on my own. Even the High Priest, with all its power, hadn't been able to unravel this mystery for me.
I had a sneaking suspicion that Gojo-sensei and the High Priest were somehow conspiring in this culinary tease. It had been an agonizing three weeks since my last taste of that heavenly dessert. Motivated by the promise of coffee jelly, I mentally prepared myself to tackle this mission with unmatched speed and efficiency.
(—)
2:00 p.m
Kayamihama Apartment Complex stood before me, a grim monument to neglect and decay. The investigation seemed almost superfluous; the aura of the place screamed of malevolence, a perfect haven for a Cursed Spirit.
The building, once likely a bustling hub of life, now lay in squalor. Its façade was a patchwork of peeling paint and cracked windows, while the main entrance hung off its hinges, creaking eerily with each gust of wind. Weeds had claimed the cracks in the pavement, and trash was strewn about, carried by the whim of the wind.
I swiftly located the victims. The Cursed Spirit controlling the building was cunning, attacking only in moments it perceived as my weakness. Debris, animated by an unseen force, was hurled toward me with lethal intent, a threat that would have severely injured or even killed someone without cursed energy reinforcement.
When its physical assaults proved futile, the spirit resorted to psychological warfare, attempting to inundate my mind with a debilitating sense of despair and suicidal thoughts. It was a desperate move, transparent in its intent, and utterly ineffective against me. Yet, I could sense its watchful presence, biding its time, calculating its next attempt to undermine me.
The Cursed Spirit's victims were trapped in a haunting trance, immobilized and utterly lifeless. Twenty in total, they stood scattered throughout the expanse of a large, dilapidated apartment. The dividing walls between units had been torn down, creating a vast, open wasteland of decay within the building. Dust and debris littered the floor, and the air was thick with the stench of neglect and despair.
Their bodies were emaciated, skin clinging to bones like paper to walls. Eyes that once might have held dreams and aspirations were now vacant, reflecting a profound emptiness.
The spirit was slowly leeching their life force, allowing them to spiral deeper into despair until they were driven to end their own lives. It possessed a sinister power to conceal its victims from the outside world, rendering them invisible to any search efforts. However, such methods were futile against a sorcerer of my abilities. Their silent suffering was like a beacon, calling out for someone to save them.
And I was going to be that someone.
My hands were conduits, drawing sapphire sparks from the very ground. They swirled around me, a luminous cocoon obscuring us from the sight of the watching spirits. Then, in a symphony of twenty miniature explosions, the potential victims vanished.
The building itself seemed to react to their sudden disappearance, trembling with what felt like anger. With a single, well-placed spark of energy, I transported myself to the rooftop, ready for whatever awaited me next.
Rain hammered down on the rooftop's cracked tiles, each drop bursting into a tiny geyser, then racing towards the overflowing gutters. The wind tinged with the scent of ozone and distant chimney smoke, lashed at me, plastering my hair and clothes against my skin. Above, the sky resembled a massive bruise, its dark expanse barely penetrated by the weak glow of city lights below.
Encircling me were over thirty figures, their white robes billowing around them like ghostly sails caught in the tempest. They moved with a fluid, eerie grace, silent as the wind itself, their faces hidden under hoods drawn deep over their brows. The only glimpse into their identities was the soft, almost ethereal light seeping out from under their hoods, giving the impression of moonlight struggling to break free.
I could sense their intense scrutiny, even though their eyes were hidden from view. They regarded me as an unwelcome intruder, a disruptor who had not only violated their sacred space but also liberated some of their intended victims, potential additions to their ranks.
Their collective telekinetic prowess appeared limited to affecting only those with minimal cursed energy or inanimate objects devoid of any cursed power. Individually, they might have been capable of manipulating objects weighing between 10 to 20 kilograms. However, I had no doubt that their strength would increase significantly when they worked in unison, their power amplifying with each cursed spirit joining the effort.
I closed my eyes for a moment, releasing my hold on the teleportation power. Like something swelling within me, filling every available space, another ability took hold. It was aerokinesis, with a formidable range of one-tenth of a mile. A versatile tool for both offense and mobility.
I dropped another technique and nigh-instantly another technique was blooming. This one was defensive, and although its nature was initially unclear, I accepted it instinctively. Knowledge of its capabilities flooded my mind: an electromagnetic shield capable of repelling incoming threats. It was particularly effective against metallic attacks, reasonably strong against other forms, but vulnerable to high heat, which could disrupt its integrity.
While I doubted these cursed spirits wielded any heat-based techniques potent enough to challenge the shield, I couldn't be certain.
Almost immediately after activating the power, vertical streaks of lightning began to crackle and spark around me, illuminating a five-foot radius. The charged air buzzed with energy, the flashes casting eerie, dancing shadows across the drenched rooftop and the ghostly figures encircling me.
With a single step, I harnessed the wind, lifting off the ground in a manner that defied traditional notions of flight. To an onlooker used to conventional flight, my floating ascent might have seemed peculiar, almost ethereal.
Another technique filled the empty slot that I had been saving for a moment like this. I used this technique once months ago so it was a surprise to see it again.
Spreading my hands wide, I released a volley of green sparks. They expanded in mid-air, growing to three feet in diameter, each orb crackling with a fierce electrical energy. They advanced slowly, deliberately, towards the spirits, moving at a pace that belied their power.
The spirits, sensing the imminent threat, sprang into action. It was clear they recognized the danger these electrified orbs posed.
The spirits, previously motionless, sprang into frenzied action. Their white robes whipped around them like ghostly sails caught in a tempest. Several of them, moving in unison, manipulated a parked car from the street below, sending it hurtling toward me with screeching wheels and a chorus of groaning metal. Utilizing my control over the wind, I created a swirling vortex around the car, lifting it effortlessly above the skyline before gently placing it onto a distant rooftop, unscathed.
One spirit, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent, focused on the cluster of neon sparks I had unleashed. With a fluid motion of its hands, it attempted to redirect the electrical energy. The air shimmered with their effort, a visible battle of forces, but their power was futile against mine.
I summoned additional sparks, the glowing orbs multiplying rapidly. My body seemed to mirror their luminescence, bathed in the light of forty orbs encircling me, with another thirty spread across the sky.
The orbs, agile and precise, targeted the first spirit. In a dramatic display, they unleashed a torrent of electricity, converging on their target. The energy cascaded to the ground and shot upward, forming a visible lightning bolt that pierced the sky. In a blinding flash, the hooded figure detonated, leaving nothing behind.
The rooftop trembled underfoot. A taller, more formidable spirit – presumably their leader – bellowed a primal roar, its hood falling away to reveal a visage twisted in fury.
"Poor souls, may you find peace in your next life," I murmured, fingers grazing my prayer beads.
A storm of debris – chunks of rubble, warped metal sheets, fragmented pipes, and an array of other sharp, lightweight projectiles – descended upon me in a furious onslaught. Each piece, however, met the same fate: repelled effortlessly by the invisible yet impenetrable force of my electromagnetic shield. Amidst this maelstrom, I stood steadfast, not a single muscle betraying movement.
Sensing a massive sphere of rubble barreling down toward me, I intensified my control over the air. A maelstrom raged around me, the epicenter of a localized electrical storm. The collision of the rubble against my wind barrier was a cacophony of elemental fury.
My electrical orbs, relentless in their pursuit, continued their onslaught. Each bright flash and crack of lightning marked the end of another spirit.
As each spirit fell, their telekinetic hold on the rubble weakened until my tempestuous winds prevailed, breaking the mass apart. I carefully directed the debris, ensuring no fragments endangered anyone below.
In the space of thirty seconds, only five spirits remained, desperately evading the relentless orbs. They could have fled into the building, but it seemed the exposed leader was compelling them to stay and fight, a desperate last stand against overwhelming odds.
Their downfall was a foregone conclusion. Against any sorcerer less formidable than Okkotsu, Gojo-sensei, or myself, these spirits might have stood a chance, perhaps even managed a valiant struggle. But their misfortune was to encounter someone like me - an anomaly in the world of sorcery.
The leader, realizing the futility of resistance, stood frozen. It watched, helplessly, as its minions fell one by one, decimated in mere moments. There was a palpable sense of resignation emanating from it, a silent acknowledgment of its inevitable defeat.
"You vile cursed spirit. How many lives did you snuff out? How many families did you shatter?" I ascended higher, my voice cold and distant, the orbs swirling around me like a storm. "Gojo-sensei says dwelling too much on the victims only makes things harder for a sorcerer. Mental strength is key, and I guess that means locking away such thoughts. But sometimes, I can't help it."
As the last of its minions perished, I opened my palm. Within seconds, all the electric orbs converged into a single, massive orb floating above me. The city below was a blur of lights and shadows, a silent witness to our aerial standoff.
"I always come back to one question: What were Mirko's final thoughts? What did she feel, seeing me scream her name as she was consumed? Not knowing... it fills me with a profound sadness and an uncontrollable rage," I said, my hands trembling with emotion.
"Do you know what I hate most?" I asked rhetorically, not expecting a response.
To my surprise, the spirit answered, "Yourself."
"You're right," I conceded, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "But equally, I loathe cursed spirits. A friend once told me that, and at the time, I couldn't fully grasp it. But now, I understand that hatred all too well." My voice was a dark echo in the vast expanse, the charged air around us crackling with my fury and grief.
The spirit's voice, tinged with bitterness and despair, resonated through the air. "I understand, for my hatred towards humans mirrors your own. We are not born out of thin air; we are the manifestations of human emotions – the darkest and most desolate ones. It's human suffering, loneliness, and despair that give birth to beings like me."
Its tone grew colder, filled with an old resentment. "Humans create their own demons, then despise us for existing. We are but reflections of their inner turmoil, their abandoned hopes, their deepest sorrows. I am a cursed spirit of suicide and loneliness, born from the very essence of human despair. I did not choose this existence; it was thrust upon me by the collective sorrow of humanity. I am the offspring of those whom you continue to protect. Isn't it fair for a child to hold their parents responsible for their suffering? It was due to her that I could enact proper retribution."
"What do you mean by 'her'?" I demanded, my frustration growing. The spirit fell silent, its refusal to answer confirming my suspicion that it wouldn't reveal such crucial information easily. Time was slipping away, and I couldn't afford to linger in this battle of words.
"For the pain you've caused, I will erase your existence," I declared. With a snap of my fingers, the colossal green orb accelerated like a bullet train. The spirit tried to defend itself, conjuring a telekinetic barrier, but it was futile. The orb sliced through the shield effortlessly.
The spirit let out a piercing shriek, reminiscent of shattering glass, as the orb exploded and consumed it whole. A large green thunderbolt strikes upward to the dark clouds. As the light show faded away she remained. It was impressive she survived such an attack, maybe she wasn't just a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit after all.
In a last act of defiance, it raised its hand toward me, eyes ablaze with loathing.
But its attempt at a final attack was in vain. Its form disintegrated, dissipating into countless particles that glimmered like moonlit dewdrops, swirling away into the night. The spirit, once a harbinger of despair, had vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of its presence in the storm-tossed sky.
"Or maybe not," I said.
As I stood there, a faint humming began to resonate, eerily familiar and unsettling. It seemed to originate not from my surroundings, but from deep within my own mind, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. An instinct, unexplainable yet urgent, compelled me to look skyward.
There, descending gently from the moonlit sky, was a single, crystalline feather. It glimmered enchantingly, catching the moon's silver light and scattering it in a spectrum of ethereal colors. The feather danced in the air, a solitary waltz directed by the whims of the breeze, slowly spiraling down towards me. As it landed softly in my palm, the haunting melody ceased.
Words spilled from my lips unbidden, echoing fragments of memories that seemed both foreign and intimately mine. They told of an angel, a being that twisted the minds of those I once considered comrades in arms, friends, and allies turned against me. This 'angel' was responsible for the loss of countless innocents, a puppeteer orchestrating tragedies from the shadows. She was no divine entity, but a false idol, a deceiver.
"Ziz," I whispered, scanning the area for any indication that what I was experiencing was real. My aerokinesis detected no disturbances, yet the sense of something otherworldly lingered.
Opening my clenched fist, I found the feather had vanished as if it were never there.
"What the...?" I muttered, a mix of confusion and disbelief washing over me.
(—)
5:00 p.m
There it was, Sugisawa Municipal High School.
Arriving at the high school, it was immediately apparent that something had gone terribly wrong. The gaping hole in the side of the building was a glaring sign of chaos. Fushiguro's mission was supposed to be a simple retrieval of a high-value cursed object, not a battle. I couldn't help but worry that Gojo-sensei might reconsider the coffee jelly reward due to the unexpected destruction.
Holding onto my techniques was becoming a challenge; they were like slippery eels, constantly trying to escape my grasp. I needed to wrap this up fast. Using my aerokinesis, I descended onto the roof, where the cursed energy was strongest. Thankfully, Fushiguro was still breathing.
Without hesitation, I confronted the apparent threat. The cursed being seemed to anticipate my arrival, lunging towards me with frightening speed and a maniacal laugh. But it was no match for my heightened reflexes.
"Too slow," I muttered under my breath.
A powerful blast of condensed air hit the cursed spirit, sending him crashing back to the ground with a thud that would have been absolutely fatal for any ordinary human.
Landing, I glanced at Fushiguro. "Are you alright?" His stiff nod indicated his readiness to summon a shikigami, but luckily, it hadn't come to that.
"You sorcerers are always so irritating, always in my way—" the spirit spat before I raised a hand removing the air from his vicinity, leaving him gripping his throat in surprise as he couldn't take in any more oxygen due to being suddenly surrounded in a vacuum.
"Quiet," I commanded, maintaining the vacuum.
To his credit, he didn't just stand there helplessly. Instead, he charged towards me, likely planning to escape the vacuum and eliminate me, the only barrier in his path.
Reacting quickly, I conjured three small bolts of green energy near my head and sent them flying towards him. They weren't lethal but were strong enough to knock him back, keeping him pinned to the ground. I continued to assault him with energy bolts, ensuring he couldn't escape the vacuum's range.
I knew time was of the essence. Intelligent spirits, especially ones as notorious as Sukuna, often had remarkable combat instincts. I couldn't depend on asphyxiation alone to subdue him.
With my eyes closed, a powerful green energy bolt crackled to life in front of my palm, growing in intensity. The vessel, tainted by Sukuna's influence, needed to be dealt with decisively. Hesitation could lead to more chaos.
But just as I was about to release the bolt, Gojo-sensei stepped in front of the vessel, holding a brown bag casually in front of him.
"Gojo-sensei, please move. I need to exorcize this curse," I requested.
He wiggled the bag at me. "I got your coffee jelly. Don't you want it?"
I hesitated, sensing his reluctance to let me annihilate the vessel.
"Why are you stopping this?" I asked, trying to stay composed.
He replied with a cryptic smile. "Trust me, I have my reasons. Take your coffee jelly, or I'll give it to Megumi."
The day's events had taken their toll on me. Feeling the exhaustion set in, I let the energy in my hand and the vacuum dissipate.
"That was low," I muttered under my breath.
Ultimately, whether the vessel lived or died was inconsequential. My personal victory was the bag of coffee jelly in Gojo-sensei's hand. Snatching it, I turned and walked away, leaving the scene behind.
— End of Chapter 1—
einargs
Verified Spiller of the Egg Yolk
- Location
- The Egg Yolk, Outer Layer
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Oh wow, I love that you're bringing Ziz into this. The endbringers are such a key part of who Eidolon is. Obviously he'll have a very different relationship with them in this story, since this is his first time, instead of after decades of fights. He won't have the same history of failing to stop them.
Without Scion and Cauldron's evil making him desperate I imagine the reason for them existing is very different. Judging from this chapter, Ziz exists because of David's self hatred externalized by the High Priest or some other method. Sorcerers can create awful curses after death; I imagine it has just happened before David died here.
Without Scion and Cauldron's evil making him desperate I imagine the reason for them existing is very different. Judging from this chapter, Ziz exists because of David's self hatred externalized by the High Priest or some other method. Sorcerers can create awful curses after death; I imagine it has just happened before David died here.
Awesome concept, will eidolon regain his memories?
Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
He remembers, it is more that they are removed from him, like a step between watching a movie and experiencing it yourself, he isn't David continuing from where he stopped, he is David having a fresh start with access to the experience of the last one.