He felt something stare into him once more. Something better left forgotten, its metaphysical gaze fell upon him, with an intense scrutiny that seemed to strip away layers of his being. Muscle, bones, ligament, essence, soul. He could almost feel his life flash before his eyes as something watched and read him like an open book, before finally passing its judgment... and finding him acceptable.
Then, without warning, the gaze shifted from him to Tamamo-no-Mae, and he heard the change in her breathing. Even with his eyes closed, he sensed her eyes widening, her body tensing as she felt the presence that had turned its attention upon her.
Then the fire came.
…
"You said you fought him when he was a child!?"
He noted the incredulous tone in his son's voice with a grin.
They had been watching this particular fight for over ten minutes. Nostalgia and a deep desire to see the brat that almost killed him drew his attention to this battle, despite the many interesting battles happening at the same moment.
His ability to actually see what the boy was fighting was borderline useless, but he could feel it. In the displacement of space around the special grade curse, the air that parted, the sound of its feet against the cracked pavement, the scent of distorted blood in the air whenever the boy dealt the special grade curse a serious blow.
All this ensured he followed the fight easily. His senses were on a completely different level than anything or anyone else, coupled with the presence of his son explaining the little details he missed, and he had a front-row seat to an engrossing fight.
Toji Fushiguro stood over three blocks away on the top floor of a skyscraper, watching the fight with his full attention, while his son was forced to make do with a pair of binoculars, his mouth gaping.
Finally, it seemed like the curse had the brat cornered. With the aid of its technique, it was able to dish out more strikes than the boy could take, even with those eyes of his. Toji's analytical mind began to churn and move as he calculated and predicted how he would react to such a scenario, and the answer came easily.
The Inverted Spear of Heaven was a deific grade curse tool. One believed to be left behind by the Gods themselves before they ascended to the heavens. Not that Toji cared much about the blade's history. No, all he cared about was what it could do for him.
The wicked three-pronged blade wouldn't care how they turned intangible and illusionary. The moment it pierced them, it would force them back into this reality, and they would return with the blade in their head.
Calculating other scenarios and contingencies distracted him until he felt it again. His attention snapped back to the boy like a band pulled taut and released.
The manifestation of a God's glare. The single technique he had ever seen, one that not even his heavenly restriction could blind him to.
Those hungry and accursed black flames sprung around the white-haired boy. Like liquid fire, they twisted and turned, seeking to destroy and burn everything that dared witness their malevolent light, yet they somehow didn't touch him.
Then, with their manifestation, came something unexpected. They twisted and turned around his form, avoiding the soft flesh of their own summoner. Something that had not happened the last time he saw them. They were shaped and controlled. The technique was no longer the sudden combustion of fire on the form.
They rolled and moved like something alive before springing out and shooting off in nine directions like spears, one for each of the curses. Even from this distance, he could feel the air superheat in the presence of the flames. Everything dried in its presence, and even other wayward flames that had caught on cars and buildings around dimmed in the presence of something other.
The sight of those flames had his already regenerated arm twitching furiously, forcing him to clamp down on the arm with his other as he ignored the glance his son sent him. It had taken him a few months, and he watched the limb grow back as his heavenly restriction forced his body back to what it used to be.
He had honestly not expected its return. He had begun to calculate the cost of a prosthetic limb after its loss. He didn't think of regrowing the limb when he cut it off. It was just the blaring need for survival ringing through his being. The last time he had been pushed that far formed the basis of the scar on his lip, and he was just a boy then.
Not even by the then six-year-old monster. Now, he could see the chance to face him once more. The little monster had grown into a bigger one. Instead of giving thought to his trauma, he shifted his attention back to the fight.
The nine spears of liquid black fire had pierced all but one, turning the remaining eight into screaming, rapid piles of ashes that were blown away with the wind. The last one, which Toji estimated to be the main body, had proven fast enough to jump back, out of range of the technique. But the young Gojo was undeterred, quickly slapping his hands together as the flames converged around him and twisted into a single massive lance of near-solidified fire that shot forward so fast, that he felt the speed barrier break as it penetrated the curse, erupting out of its back and holding it up mid-air like a fish speared by a god.
The curse was silent for a long second, seemingly resigned and with a sense of catharsis to it as it stared down at the lance of blade fire before it began to sob. Her cries rang out even louder than its clone's screams, the sound obliterating everything around it. But the Gojo scion buried his head and held on to the lance until the special grade curse, Tamamo-no-Mae, was nothing but drifting ash.
"That was… intense," Megumi noted with an empty voice as he dropped his binoculars, unable to believe what he had seen over the past few minutes. Megumi was made of sterner stuff. He was his son, after all. One he had raised with his own hands. Yet, there was something on his face as his shadow seemed to recoil.
Instead of asking, he raised an eyebrow and stared at the boy.
"He is shaking in his shackles again."
His brows scrunched up at that. He didn't need any idea the being his son was talking about. Was he reacting to the technique or something else? His eyes drifted to his son, who seemed unnerved, not just by the sight of the black flames.
However, Megumi recovered after a deep breath. Turning away from the scene, he pivoted to face Toji with a cute frown on his face. "But it's not important. What's more important is that she's here. The miracle healer you spoke about. Someone shouted she had arrived."
Admitting he missed that would have been embarrassing, so he just grunted in response before glancing back at the white-haired boy. The brat was sitting on the floor now, resting his back against a destroyed car. It would have been so easy to ambush and kill him now, but he could feel Megumi's eyes on him.
If he did anything other than turn toward their original target, his son would abandon him and go to the healer. The one person who would also be the most protected right now. Megumi was talented, coupled with the fact that he had trained and taught the boy so much, that he would give him equal odds against most sorcerers.
But the boy would die without even seeing the healer unless he brought forth that particular monster.
So he turned instead and signaled his intent with a sentence, "Are you ready?"
The ridiculous pout that formed on the brat's face forced his scarred grin to grow wide. After all, Megumi would be riding him piggyback since he was the fastest and they were conserving his cursed energy for their escape.
"Come on then, let's go get our little healer."
…
Toji had been running on the rooftops of skyscrapers and leaping over the houses that were too low to the ground. His direction was a haphazard mess that anyone watching would have wondered about.
They had been searching for a lead to the famous reverse curse technique user. He was a professional and disliked working with half-information, but he had no choice. It had been a battle and a half finding a chink in the armor that was the surveillance of Gojo Satoru and Gojo Jiki.
There was almost always someone around her or close enough that any attempt at kidnapping her would have resulted in a fight with one of the two. And a fight with one of the two siblings meant the other wouldn't be far behind.
So this opportunity was heaven-sent. That it was delivered to him by the boy he had beaten half to death was just the topping on the cake that was this war. He had laughed long and hard about it when the offer came in.
Shiu Kong had been the one to pass the job to him, claiming the sender was anonymous. But after reviewing the details and getting in touch with the few sorcerers he had in their world, the anonymous person resolved into Geto Suguru.
The job? Distract Gojo Satoru once more. He had scoffed at it, of course. Whatever fascination he had in that particular Gojo had been satisfied after he killed him the first time.
No, he had a new curiosity.
Instead, he had seized the opportunity for what it was. He had finally seen the chink in the armor they had sought for weeks. If the two Gojos were out fighting a full-blown war, where did that leave their fragile little healer?
"Down there!" Megumi called out from behind him, and his black eyes followed the finger.
A single sorcerer stood on shaky legs as he backed away from a four-armed curse that had been munching on the remains of his partner's arm.
An acceptable target if he had ever seen any. He landed on the roof of a nearby building, and Megumi slipped off his back, standing to his full height once more, stretching out the nonexistent kink like he had been carrying a heavy weight along his back—a juvenile jab at his brat. Judging from the glower that would have killed him a thousand times over radiating from behind him, it worked.
He forced down his smirk as he calculated the distance, before taking off with a running leap that saw him tearing through the air. He landed on the four-armed curse spirit with such force that, even without cursed energy, physics took hold and splattered the curse on the ground as he caved it in.
Yet, as he let out a slow breath and rose to his feet, he knew he had dealt no damage. He could feel the various scattered parts moving and squirming on the floor, seeking to join back together with the largest body mass available. Spinning on his feet, he kicked it through a building and watched the remaining parts squirm after it. That should keep it busy.
He slowly turned back to the now-quiet student, his hand clasped roughly around the student's mouth. Judging from the wide, terrified eyes that flicked from his lips to his regrown right arm, he was recognized. Not that it made much difference.
He squatted down in front of the man, feeling a sense of euphoric déjà vu as he peered down at him, but one he shrugged off easily.
"I don't suppose you'll be willing to tell me where Shoko Ieiri and the medical station are?" he questioned with a smile that was all teeth.
The man started talking before he even finished his question, and Toji Fushiguro's smile widened. Having a reputation was a nice thing.
…
Shinji had been the first person to notice the man. Black hair, predatory features, with a physique barely hidden beneath the tight black muscle shirt he wore. The man was an impossibility, Shinji realized with rapidly widening eyes. His senses told him there was no one there—not even a void in the world, simply nothing. Yet his eyes told him something else. He felt a tinge of recognition in his brain as he looked at the man's features again.
He moved like a beast, with all the swagger and confidence that came from knowing you were at the top of the food chain—a feeling Shinji had never felt in his life or even knew. Yet there was something about the movement.
The way people seemed to unconsciously shift out of his way; their eyes suddenly found other things that drew their attention, their figures hunching over. It took Shinji a minute before he realized where he had seen something so similar. Gojo Jiki's appearance, before the white-haired teenager had been dispatched.
They both shared an easy menace that radiated off them without any real effort. Shinji turned to his superior, the person he was in charge of protecting, and whispered in her ear while he kept his eyes on the man.
He had made his way past the hallway and was about to enter the main room that housed the injured, a repurposed theater with strong foundations and even stronger walls. Principal Yaga had picked the spot perfectly.
"Ieiri-san, I think you should—"
"Quiet," she snapped without even turning to face him. If it was any other person, he might have been offended at the curt reply, but considering the brown-haired woman was elbow-deep in a sorcerer's stomach, he strangled whatever response he held and looked back at the man.
He had gotten into the main room now, and those dead black eyes slowly raked along their forms, searching for something or someone.
By now, others had begun to take note of the man. People who would've shrunk away at his presence and tried their best to avoid his gaze suddenly found themselves brave enough to stare at the strange man with a questioning look in their eyes.
The comfort of the crowd emboldened them with bravery. Fools.
Shinji quickly slipped his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick message to Principal Yaga. The older man had gone deeper into town to see how the fight was shaping up. Shinji regretted not following him; instead, he had picked the comfort and safety of the building.
He clicked send and raised his eyes, freezing as he realized those empty black orbs were staring at him. Shinji was forced to remember when his grandmother had taken him to the zoo and he saw a shark for the first time. Cold black eyes that held nothing but amusement.
The man's scarred lips rose at the edges like a shark that had caught the scent of blood in water. It took Shinji a second to realize he was not the target of the man's interest, but the woman who stood beside him, still arms-deep in the half-dead sorcerer.
"Hey, what squad are you with? Not everyone is allowed in here," someone walked up to the stranger. Shinji vaguely remembered him as a Grade 1 sorcerer of a specific sect. The strange man ignored the sorcerer and started to walk towards them, but the sorcerer was not having it, and he made a mistake. He reached out to grab the man's shoulder.
"I said stop—" The scream of pain that followed that aborted sentence silenced the room, and the few people who were not aware of the man's presence suddenly were. All except Ieiri-san, of course. The single-minded woman remained elbow-deep in her patient.
It had happened so fast. Shinji had not even seen it, and he was certain he didn't blink. The sorcerer had been standing there with an arm outstretched, and a second later, his arm was a gruesome mess of broken bones poking out of torn and twisted meat. Shinji held back the urge to throw up.
What the hell had he gotten himself into? He was not a competent sorcerer, only coasting on the magnanimity of his clan.
The man left the screaming and broken figure behind him as he continued his predatory walk toward them, and despite himself, Shinji found his legs shuffling to stand in front of Ieiri-san. He was not certain why his body moved; it could've been madness, but it was more likely his deeply hidden crush for the healer.
The man stopped in front of him, ignoring the dozens of people staring at him, somehow spellbound by the easy menace his presence gave off. Not even the man still screaming his head off was enough to actually get them to act.
"Move." A single word. One that sent his knees shaking and dried out whatever saliva he had in his mouth. He found himself trying to stutter a reply, but the words refused to form yet his intent was obvious as he refused to move.
The man looked down at his quavering legs, then back at his face with an expression Shinji could not decipher before he shrugged. The next moment, Shinji found his sight blocked. It took him too long to realize the man had gripped his head in his palm.
He suddenly remembered what happened to the sorcerer's hand, and whatever remained of his bravery and madness fled him. His legs lost strength, leaving him held up by his head in the man's palm.
Shinji was as good as dead, till he wasn't.
Suddenly he was released, and he fell on his ass to the sight of two puppets holding on to the man's hands on either side of him. The cracks in the ground from where they stood and the scattered glass showed they had come from above, breaking through the glass skylight.
Principal Yaga's puppets. Thank goodness. Then he looked up at the man's face, and whatever joy he had gotten from the presence of the two puppets died. He realized the man's smile had grown an inch, and despite the strain, he could see on the puppets from the force they were applying, they had not forced the man's hand open. Instead, they had proven unable to even make him budge an inch.
"Some sport then?" the man said, nodding to himself, and for the first time in his life, Shinji witnessed the brutality that was true combat.
…
Shinji blinked blurry eyes and wondered where it all went wrong. It had been so fast. Not even a blur; bones were broken, limbs were pulped, and broken figures were scattered everywhere.
Looking at the one dangling fluorescent light above him, he continued to wonder where it all went wrong again, even though he knew perfectly when.
The moment they didn't start running right after they saw him.
His still blurry eyes drifted around the room, which looked like a wrecking ball had passed through the previously pristine hall. Broken walls splattered with blood, cracked floor with impossible furrows through it.
He realized his head was resting on something cushy, and he forced his battered body up to see the ripped-up leg of one of Principal Yaga's puppets.
"Huh, how did it get here?"
He looked to the side and saw Ieiri-san. She was a bastion of sanity in the madness that was the destroyed room. She was still healing the original sorcerer that had been brought in, while the beast wrapped in a veneer of human skin stood behind her like a malevolent guardian.
"Are you done?" that same gravelly voice called out, but Ieiri-san ignored him for a few more seconds, wrapping up the suture before activating her technique to seal the wound over.
She finally stood up, rubbing one hand on her neck to massage it as her cold, bored eyes drifted over the broken forms and wrecked room. She answered the question with one of her own.
"Any new dead bodies or critical injuries?" she asked the man as her hands slipped into her blood-splattered white overcoat to reveal a cigarette. She slipped it between her lips before her eyes drifted around, seemingly looking for someone in particular. Shinji heard the muttered, "I already miss my favorite human lighter."
The man spread open his palm, and a baby-faced worm curse that had wrapped itself along his form opened its mouth and spat out a lighter. The man quickly lit it and cupped the flame as Ieiri-san put the butt of her cigarette to the open flames.
"They'll live." The man finally answered her as she took a drag of her cigarette and let out a sigh. With another look at the broken forms of the other sorcerers, she gave out a shrug and lifted the bag she always carried.
"I assume you have a way out of here then? A quick one too. Otherwise, Jiki or Satoru would be making their way here soon. I'd rather not be in the middle of that particular reunion."
The man's feral smile somehow managed to widen even further at the mention of the names that would've sent chills down another person's spine. He pivoted on his feet and started to walk away, back to the entrance, with the bored form of Ierie-san behind him. That was when it all clicked in Shinji's head.
This was a kidnapping!
"Huh?" The man's attention was suddenly drawn to his rapidly rising form, and that was when Shinji realized he had said that out loud. But he found he didn't care suddenly. All of the bravery he had been lacking was suddenly unleashed, his innermost potential rising rapidly as he declared as viciously as he could.
"You shall not take—"
The slap that shut him up came from the most expected place. Shoko Ierie herself. Her other hand lashed out and caught his face in a vice as she widened his eyes with the hand that slapped him a second ago.
"You've gone and given my favorite bodyguard a concussion," she stated with some degree of annoyance as she continued to observe him.
Concussion?? He was fine. This was the most powerful he had felt in years, not even Gojo—
The second slap was just as fast as the first and served to shut him up once more as he looked at his forever crush with betrayed eyes, till he realized he must have said those words out once more and the brown-haired woman was only trying to help him.
Yes, that is what it was. One day he would free her from the shackles of the Goj— This time he saw the hand rise, and his mouth shut in that same instant.
She continued to look at him, but when she realized he was going to keep quiet, she gently lay him on the ground and then put the stick of cigarette she was smoking to his lips, allowing him to take a drag. His lips were touching what Ierie-san's had touched!!!!
She gave him a weird look once more before rising. "Alright, let's get going."
Shinji blinked once more and realized he was the only one in the room, at least the only one conscious. The sound of wings beating above him forced him to look up, and through the broken-open skylight, he could see the silhouette of a giant owl-type curse. What beautiful red feathers it had.
…
Another blink, another drag of smoke, and he began to hear footsteps approaching. How long had it been? Time blurred in the oppressive silence, leaving him disoriented and barely lucid.
In the desolation of the ruined hall, with only the echoing chorus of pained moans as his companions, the sound that emanated from the entrance passageway was unnervingly distinct, each step a chilling proclamation of presence and intent.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
The hollow echo of wooden slippers on cracked tile sent a shiver down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
From the shadows, a figure emerged partially, halting at the boundary where the broken fluorescent light struggled to cast its feeble, flickering glow. His slim, pale Geta sandal-covered feet were revealed, yet his form remained cloaked in darkness. Red eyes swept over the debris-strewn hall, their gaze predatory, devoid of warmth, before fixing on him.
"Where is Shoko Ierie?"
The question was deceptively simple, delivered in a voice so soft it carried no trace of menace. Yet Shinji felt the air constrict around him, suffocating, as his entire world seemed to contract to those red eyes with their unsettling, swirling darkness.
For the first time, he cursed his exceptionally resilient skull and the unwelcome consciousness it granted him.