"Domain Expansion: Coffin of the Iron Mountain"
The barrier started as a black dot in the sky, one that quickly spread out from its center point above the caster so fast it would've taken speed on another level to dodge it. Yuta was not fast enough, even if he could comprehend what was happening.
The moment the barrier was completed, impermeable darkness descended on them all. A second later, he could feel the ground crack and break as something flowed through it, forcing open cracks where there were none. Then, just as suddenly as it disappeared, there was light once more, but there was nothing mundane about this particular light.
He felt his skin wrinkle from the heat as his lips dried and cracked with the sudden rise of the background temperature. He looked at the rapidly cracking floor he stood on, as the cracks continued to grow and spread out further, revealing one of the many sources of light to be the magma that flowed through the earth.
The molten stone flowing in the pathways formed from the cracks in the ground brought light to the enclosed domain.
Their surroundings had changed drastically from the paved and tilled roads that could be found in the school to the depths of an active volcano. It took all Geto had to take a shuddering breath as he looked at the surroundings. A fully manifested Domain was a beautiful thing for a sorcerer, even if it was formed by a malevolent cursed spirit.
The act was titled as the pinnacle of sorcery for a reason, yet the lack of refinement in this particular domain was clear.
Certain areas within the domain were devoid of the superheated, fissured ground that defined the curse's territory. These spaces resembled blank spots on a meticulously crafted painting, akin to gaps left by an inexperienced artist.
Despite its rudimentary and unpolished nature, it remained a domain—a fully enclosed one, and the boy found himself ensnared within its confines. For the first time since Yuta had plunged a knife into the flesh between his neck and his shoulder, he let out a relieved breath.
A shuddering one that wracked his body even as he kept a hand clamped to his injury. He could feel his lifeblood flowing out of him, yet there was a defiant grin plastered on his face as he stared back at the confused duo.
The heat was intense. Every breath he took in felt like it was trying to scorch his lungs. He should've been immune to the effects of the domain, but the rebellious special grade saw fit to deny him that. He sent a glance to the side, where the one-eyed curse stood and observed him.
It had a small smile on its face, one he matched, forcing its smile to curdle like spoiled milk. He had expected the cursed spirit to pull off something, so this was in line with what he expected from bringing out a barely appeased special-grade curse spirit.
Instead of glaring at it like it was expecting, he focused on himself. His cursed energy flow was still erratic from the black flash enhanced blow that buried the blade in his neck.
The first step was to gain command over the rampaging and erratic cursed energy. Once done, he proceeded to reinforce his body with cursed energy, fortifying himself and mitigating the scorching effects. While most sorcerers would have perished upon entering the heart of the volcano-like domain the curse had established, he was no ordinary sorcerer.
Strengthening his body was just the first step, a stop-gap measure against the heat. If he wanted to be free of it completely, he needed something better, a more effective strategy. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve provided by his reinforcement, he stood upright and carefully concealed the remaining half of the legendary Monkey King's shattered staff within the layers of his cloak.
He closed his eyes as he brought up his free hand and forced it into the formation of a seal. As he uttered the incantation, his cursed energy surged forth from within him. It was mutable and erratic, spreading out to surround him and everything close to him. With the first stage done, he gave shape and structure to the formless and a defining boundary to the boundless with a single word, a solitary declaration.
"Simple Domain."
His cursed energy spread out in a circle around him, an area of sanity in the madness that was a domain expansion, and for the second time in many seconds, he was able to let out another breath. He opened his eyes slowly before sending a glance at the surprised form of the cursed spirit.
He had not ordered it to release its domain expansion without having a counter to its debilitating effects. He sent a smirk at the curse before looking down at his Simple Domain.
The domain of the weak.
How he hated that title. Despite his disdain for it, he begrudgingly swallowed his hatred and reluctance. His own domain was an incomplete mess that was as much a danger to him as it would be to an opponent, and its presence here would force a tug of war that would serve to weaken Jogo's domain, freeing Yuta from its grasp.
No, the Simple Domain was the best card he had to play here, even though he also knew it was simply a temporary stop-gap measure, it gave him enough time to accomplish his goals. Finally, he could breathe without the fire in his lungs, and relax his cursed energy reinforcement without fearing his skin would be forced to melt off his muscles and frame.
Geto's eyes drifted ahead to where the boy struggled for balance as he went down to a knee, while his confused black eyes roved to the sides of the enclosure, unable to comprehend where he was and seeking an escape route. A wasted effort, for there was no easy escape from a manifested domain. He had managed to heal his eyes, Geto noted, pumping more cursed energy than some sorcerers would gain from a binding vow.
"How did you do it?" he questioned, his voice a raspy whisper, laced with the metallic taste of blood.
The boy was too distracted to answer him. Yuta was pumping so much reinforcement into his body with the aid of the cursed spirit pressing its hand to his back, he was surprised the boy's frame held at all. He still marveled at what the boy had done.
He copied Limitless, or at least it's neutral form, Infinity.
Geto was inclined to reject the idea on the spot. Infinity was an extremely complex technique. An innate one that only one other person had proven complete mastery over after multiple centuries: Satoru.
But the brat had accomplished that feat, or at least some semblance of it. It would be forever flawed due to his lack of the six eyes, yet it was still a ridiculous act he had never expected from the boy. His eyes drifted to the still growling vengeful curse spirit behind the boy, and that was when he realized how the boy had done it.
"You brute-forced it, didn't you," he acknowledged with a laugh as he saw the boy's eyes finally focus on him with a hate-filled stare. However, he found himself unable to do anything other than glare at Geto, when it took all he had to simply live.
This was the reason Domain Expansion was regarded as the pinnacle of sorcery. Its activation often spelled near-certain death for most sorcerers. For a young and budding sorcerer like Yuta, witnessing it was akin to flipping a chessboard, nullifying the efforts of one's opponent.
"That was why it was so weak. You could not actually hack It without the six eyes, yet that is only a part of the equation. Brute-forcing it is not enough. No, that could not be enough." He found himself theorizing like a schoolboy once more and found he didn't miss the sensation. He had no desire to hurry, not when he had already won. Satoru did say he loved the sound of his own voice.
He had won. He might not be accomplished enough with RCT to heal his injury, but he knew enough to stem the bleeding and apply pressure. His continued consciousness proved that the strike had missed his arteries and veins. Left with the ability to seize what he desired at his whim, he spoke confidently. This would be the last lecture the boy would learn.
A rough effort to draw in heat-scorched air drew his attention to the boy once more, so he continued his contemplation and teachings as he approached the pair. "Curse energy is fueled by negative emotions, while techniques are fueled by curse energy. A peculiar system, but one that has been proven to work. Desperation and fear: the two major things that push a child into activating a technique."
He got within arm's reach of them before he stopped. Rika's arm's reach, of course, not the boy's. Yuta's sword lay shattered, and it demanded all his strength just to stay upright, a feat made possible only with Rika's assistance.
The only real danger to him here was the elongated arms the special-grade curse wielded, so that was what he accounted for. The curse was the least affected by the innate state of the domain, shrugging off the immense heat of its black-and-white-spotted back without even a hint of pain.
The only thing holding it back from attacking him, however fruitless that act might be, was because it was contributing to the continued survival of its master, a twisted act of love.
Certain it wasn't going to spring up on him anytime soon, he allowed himself to crouch, putting himself on the same eye level as the still-kneeling boy.
"Yet not even that is enough to imitate a technique as complex as Infinity, however flawed it is. No, the final piece of the puzzle lies in your blood, Yuta Okkutsu. Blood calls to blood, you see. The resonance of your blood was what allowed you the feat, however intuitive it might have been." He had done his investigation on the boy, so he knew this for certain.
"What the hell are you talking about?" The boy managed to force the question out of his parched throat, and that was when he realized the boy was as oblivious as the rest of the world, no doubt. The least he could do was enlighten him before he laid him to rest.
He tilted his head and smiled as he looked at the boy before he spoke. "Perhaps in another life and another time, you might've been born Yuta Gojo." With that parting statement, the boy's eyes widened as he made to speak. But before Yuta could let a word out, a crack rang out.
His own eyes widened to match the boy's as the sound of the cracks increased. He forced himself to his feet, pivoting to face the new threat. He knew what had occurred. His rational part understood the near impossibility of the act and froze. But his reflexes were working in overdrive to counter this new variable.
Who would be stupid enough to try and break into a domain from the outside?
Unfortunately, he was renowned for numerous attributes: his expertise in jujutsu sorcery, his exceptional proficiency in utilizing his technique—Cursed Spirit Manipulation—his remarkable combat abilities that outclassed many frontline jujutsu sorcerers, not to mention shikigami and similar curse manipulators.
However, one aspect he was not recognized for was speed.
That was what brought about his downfall, for before he was able to turn fully, something broke through the already formed cracks in the barrier. It was a blur of brown that pierced him so fast that all he could do was freeze in place. Aborting his turn, his head automatically looked down at his chest.
This simple lapse aimed to be his undoing, as before he could complete his turn, a blur of brown tore through the existing cracks in the barrier. The attack was so swift that all he could manage was to freeze in place, aborting his turn as his gaze instinctively dropped to his chest.
Emerging from his blue monk robe was a spear made of living wood, pulsating and twisting as if it were expanding further, all the while drawing sustenance from his lifeblood. The pain was a distant thing as he stared with uncomprehending eyes. His eyes followed the protruding spear of wood and realized it stopped centimeters away from the boy's wide eyes.
Rika had used her other hand to halt its momentum, sparing the boy a quick death. His eyes drifted once more as he forced his head to tilt behind him. "My fucking luck," Geto muttered with a laugh as he saw the person that had deemed it fit to rid him of what he could tell was half of his heart and, judging from the difficult breath he just took, one of his lungs.
Although describing the nearly seven-foot-tall creature with its black and white tribal stripes, a kabuki mask-like visage, and two tree stalks protruding from its head as a person was quite a stretch.
Even from a distance, he could make out the creature's bared teeth, and despite the surprise attack, he found it difficult to harbor hatred towards the curse. The monstrous being, born from humanity's deepest fears and adorned in white and black stripes, may not have been human, yet it seemed to exhibit emotions akin to a human. He remembered what he did to earn its ire.
....
He was up in the sky, reaching such heights that he was invisible to any observers below. His cursed energy was masked by the disruptive cursed energy radiating from the six-winged, three-eyed, scaled bird that bore him through the skies.
It was one of those weirdly abnormal cursed spirits. Not powerful enough to be rated as a special grade, yet either bearing a unique intellect or, in this case, an ability that elevated it from being more than a simple curse. The bird's ability boiled down to the way it used its cursed energy and its more specific properties.
A disruptive field of cursed energy that rendered it nearly invisible and impossible to track, yet he knew the only reason he had dared stay this long and avoided Satoru's gaze was because the other man was not looking for him specifically at that moment.
If he was, not even the disruptive properties of the bird's cursed energy would've saved him from those eerie blue eyes. Satoru had come to make war, and it showed in the way he appeared without even bothering to keep up the facade of dampening his perception by covering his eyes.
Yet the white-haired Gojo was late. No doubt having to answer to the council of old men with nothing but fear and desperation in their bones. Sometimes he wondered why it took him so long to realize... but he was digressing.
He had acquired her mere minutes before. His singular objective revolved around retrieving and assimilating Jorogumo. Any doubts regarding whether and how he could have achieved those goals were disregarded at that moment.
Instead, he had gotten there the moment Jiki summoned his Susanoo. The technique was an aptly named one: the tempestuous God of valor. He remembered the first time the young boy had manifested what had been a collarbone and a rib cage. That was over five years ago, and it seemed like the little monster had grown in that time.
It had only been active for a mere few seconds, yet those fleeting moments had drastically altered the landscape of the region. The Susanoo had ravaged the forests, decimated mountains, and shattered his roughly cobbled together plans.
Jorogumo had been sealed with barely any effort, and that should've been the end. He should've flown off at the realization his plans had failed, but he didn't. He was not exactly certain of what held him back. Curiosity or perhaps a fondness for the boy made him stay back.
He stood witness to the ensuing battle between Jiki and the volcano-headed Special Grade cursed spirit. Despite the temptation to intervene, he restrained himself. The impulse to unleash the full force of his curses and might upon the cowardly curse had tugged at him, yet he exercised restraint.
Jiki was doing well against the curse despite coming out of multiple battles, and he was holding off the curse with ease, so instead, Geto withheld his unnecessary assistance and directed his attention towards the second Special Grade curse.
He had been waiting, and observing the fight, and more importantly, the second curse. It had held back, focusing more on watching the fight out of some twisted belief in chivalry, perhaps. He did not particularly care for its reason. What he did care for was its act, and it had held back.
So Geto did as well. Satoru's appearance and Jiki's copying of the curse technique were surprising additions to an already tense battlefield. So when Satoru lashed out with a red, he was not surprised by the result.
The battle ended the moment Satoru appeared.
What he was surprised by was Jiki and Satoru freezing on the spot. Yet even then, they didn't need his help to recover from whatever the second curse spirit had done.
Instead, he turned his focus and attention to the two curses. One alive and one half-dead. Jiki had taken his pound of flesh from the volcano head, and even with the ridiculous speed at which they recovered from injuries, it took everything it had to heal itself, and even then, those efforts were slowing down.
So Geto saw and recognized the opportunity for what it was. One that had him nearly tear his lips from the smile that blossomed on his face.
Ambushing the duo from there had been easy. He simply had to make his cursed bird enter a full dive. A dive that ended with them smashing the over seven-foot curse into the earth. It took little effort to wrest control over the weakened curse as he subsumed it and took off with his prize before the other curse could recover.
Seizing the moment, Geto launched an ambush on the duo with deceptive ease. He commanded his mount to plunge into a full dive, sending the full weight and momentum of the bird slamming into the over seven-foot curse with a brutal impact that buried it into the earth. It took little effort to rip the broken and badly wounded volcano-head curse out of the buried one's hand and take off with his prize before the other curse could recover.
His last memory of it was a piercing screech—a scream that conveyed profound loss and agony, transforming into seething hatred. Amidst the indecipherable sound, a solitary name echoed in his mind: Jogo. And for a second, he was forced to turn back in surprise at the emotion; so very human-like and beyond what he had expected of a curse, even a special grade one. Loyalty and fondness.
….
However, it had merely been a fleeting memory, something he had dismissed as trivial. He had made off with his prize, he did not need to worry. Till now, that is. He had secured his reward and saw no reason for concern. That is, until now. A sudden fit of coughing wracked his body, blood staining his lips as his vision began to fade. The once-stable domain crumbled around him, the sound of shattering glass reverberating as cracks raced across its surface, signaling its imminent collapse.
The spike in his chest retreated with a jerking motion that nearly toppled him, yet he managed to steady himself with a semblance of poise and composure. His phone rang that same moment, and a smile spread along his face. That was the signal.
The time Miguel had bought him was up then. He lifted his head to gaze at the perplexed pair of Yuta and Rika, offering them a smile.
"It's time for you to run," he remarked calmly, despite the blood seeping from both his mouth and the gaping wound in his chest, paying no heed to the gurgling sound in his voice.
He had lost and he was going to die here. The thought of it was as freeing as it was pathetic. All his struggles and the betrayal of his friends and people who had been as close as family, all for nothing due to a spiteful curse, yet he would not be forced to live under the same sky as those accursed monkeys. "Satoru should be on his way. Hide and wait for him."
He finished and forced his half-dead body to move, pivoting to face the other spirit even as his vision dimmed and black spots encroached. A few meters away, he observed a mysterious figure standing behind the curse. It seemed the curse had enlisted an ally—someone with enough expertise in barriers to circumvent his own without detection. While a formidable foe, he found himself indifferent to this development. His focus remained fixed on the white-and-black cursed spirit before him, a macabre grin splitting his lips as he caught the fading sound of Yuta's footsteps retreating.
Good. The boy was gone, which allowed him to act on his last breath. The cursed spirit was not the only one with a taste for spite. He stretched out his hands to where his still-alive senses pointed at Jogo and willed the curse to him.
The manipulation of curse spirits transcended mere control—it embodied a literal interpretation of the term. It involved the ability to shape and distort the very core of a curse, molding them into grotesque abominations or refining their essence into a more manageable power.
He barely had the cursed energy for this, but his impending demise made such risks inconsequential. The agonizing cries of torment from Jogo soothed his soul as he transformed the curse into its purest form. He tore away its will and intellect, leaving behind a stripped-down essence, before finally enclosing it within his hands. An orb of molten gold materialized—a manifestation of the unadulterated essence of a Special Grade curse.
Forcing the orb down his throat, disregarding the bitter taste of the curse, he clenched his fists together and summoned every ounce of his remaining strength into the technique, even drawing from the dwindling well of his life force. The act forged a binding vow that saw him go past his limits.
With unwavering determination, he condensed the power, narrowing the range and size of the impending cataclysmic blast. The boy remained in close proximity, alongside the puppet and Inumaki, adding to the complexity of the situation.
He refused to make them collateral damage in his final act of defiance, his last-ditch effort to be spiteful. His deranged smile shifted to a somber expression as he whispered his last words with his dying breath:
"Supreme Art: Meteor."
In that fleeting moment, he sensed a searing wave of intense heat enveloping him from above.