"The sound of the Gion Shoja temple bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that to flourish is to fall. The proud do not endure, like a passing dream on a night in spring; the mighty fall at last, to be no more than dust before the wind."
Ever since Hakari Kinji retired from jujutsu, this line, from Heikei Monogatari, was the beginning of that story, a proclamation that all that starts, must eventually end. It had been some seventy years since the King of Curses, Sukuna Ryomen, had been brought back to life, and had made his final stand in Shinjuku, and about twenty years since he had been confronted with the fact, he was simply too old to continue dealing with curses.
Now, he sat here, in a small home given to him for his "service", wasting away. He knew what he looked like now, even without a mirror. His skin was marked with moles and age spots, his head bald. Absently, Hakari lifted a hand to rub his face, willing away the want to sleep for a moment, feeling how his skin shifted under his touch.
His gaze shifted over his room, taking in the surroundings with a minor degree of contempt, and a major degree of confusion. He didn't quite remember everything in the room as it was. He could have sworn, for instance, that the bed had been orientated differently. He looked past it, mounted on the wall, where a pane of glass was, that looked no bigger than his hand. It was lit up with a small display that his aging eyes couldn't read from where he was sitting.
His gaze moved on, over a small nook in the room that had a bookcase with a few items taking up the space. A small bonsai tree, uncared for, still looked healthy in its tiny rock filled pot, covered in dust and unbothered by it. There were also a few books, ones that Hakari had read, forgotten, and read again. Above all these, taking up the top shelf, was a framed photo of a young man and woman.
The woman was giving a wide smile, her hair black except for a streak down the left side of their hair in a bright pink, catching into a braid that fell out of frame. Her mouth was framed by four piercings, one at two corners and two more beneath it. The man had blonde hair styled into a short afro, his lip accented with a black mustache that had grown in thick and just slightly covered the upper lip.
Hakari took a moment to recognize himself in the mirror, and then another to recognize his companion.
"Kirara…" He let out; his voice dry from lack of use. He looked to the only other object on the shelf, a small silver urn that, much like the bonsai, was covered in dust. Hakari sat further back in his chair, letting his head roll back as his memory got sharper. Kirara Hoshi, his best friend, his partner, the one who stood with him when no one else did. The fight club, the culling games, the Shinjuku showdown. It flashed past his mind's eye as fast as he could remember it. Their first date. Their last date. The nights they spent and the mornings they shared. Watching his underclassman Yuta's kids, teaching them how to gamble.
The cancer diagnosis. The chemotherapy. The remission. The recurrence. Some odd six years spent in and out of hospitals. Hakari couldn't stop the tears that crawled down the sides of his face, chest shaking with sobs as his aging mind let him the privilege to mourn Kirara again.
Until he got confused again, his mind being dominated by a fatigue he had no reason behind feeling. He shakily rose from his chair, shuffling over to his bed and gingerly getting into it. He shifted under the covers, getting comfortable.
This has become Hakari Kinji's life. With Kirara's death, his health had spiraled until he had to retire from jujutsu. Long has his memory been failing him, and now, at the end of his life, Hakari couldn't even perform the basics of jujutsu. He had regressed from the peak of grade one to a grade four over the course of the last twenty years. Even now though, deep in his elderly mind, his subconscious raged against what he had become.
As Hakari laid down for his afternoon nap, the cursed energy within him roiled with emotions he wasn't cognizant enough to process, his control slipping.
The soul of a sorcerer does not fall. It does more than endure. Because they are the exception.
Cursed energy coalesced around Hakari's prone form, enveloping him in a cocoon of negativity as a binding vow was enacted upon him. In a flash of black, Hakari vanished from the world, and was never seen again.
[Hakari POV]
When Hakari awoke, it was to the view of a dark sky without any stars. He took a deep breath; head clearer than it had in years. Sitting up, Hakari realized he was outside…somewhere. The scenery was barren, all manner of curved mountains springing from the ground, along with copious amounts of what looked to be pagodas or shrines, and several lengths of hemp rope that tied themselves around large rocks. The air itself was saturated with cursed energy, enough so that Hakari felt his skin get goosebumps over simply breathing as much in as he had.
'Where the hell am I?' Hakari thought, getting up onto his feet to look around. 'Last I remember I was in that nursing home….' He turned, looking around at the otherwise desolate land around him that stretched for as far as he could see. He could remember here what he couldn't before. His time in the nursing home was as fresh in his mind as his technique. Running a hand up to his face, he felt where once it sagged it was firm again. Shifting his hand up further let him feel the full head of hair that rested there.
"This has to be a dream," he said, a grin split his face as he let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "I got to be asleep or something…" Before he could pinch himself to see, he felt how the cursed energy in the air was drawn away. Following the energy, he saw it come together to form a humanoid shape, disproportionate and wearing a fundoshi and have a masklike face of white. Despite its form, to Hakari, it was simply a cursed spirit, albeit a stronger one at what he would guess to be grade 2.
It moved as he did, the curse and Hakari both understanding that they were against each other. This curse made the first move, sending a claw to take off Hakari's head, which the sorcerer ducked under. Getting in close, Hakari delivered a body blow to his humanoid monster, his fist skidding along its abdomen and cutting the flesh with his cursed energy. The curse flinched back from the blow, letting Hakari follow up with another body blow, this one sinking his fist into its abdomen properly, sending it skidding back from the force.
"Huh?" Hakari questioned, seeing how this cursed spirit was still alive, looking over its damage. "That should have done the trick. Don't tell me I'm that rusty." The cursed spirit bent its legs and charged at Hakari letting out a battle-ready roar, before Hakari lifted both his hands and clapped them together. From the space beside its path, two train doors appeared, flying towards each other, aiming to sandwich the cursed spirit between them.
The doors slammed closed around its damaged midsection, and the cursed spirit was cut in half. Its upper half moved further than the lower half, which slid and spilled blood along the desert-like ground shortly after the attack. The upper half ended up closer to Hakari, who delivered the final exorcising blow in the form of a stomp to the back of its head, caving it in.
Hakari turned his attention to his surroundings, scanning the immediate area and sensing the cursed energy in the air was moving to create more of these cursed spirits. Taking this small reprieve, he stretched his arms, limbering up as more of the same humanoid cursed spirits came out of the ground.
"Well, let's knock the rust off then," Hakari said, grinning at the multitudes of curses. "I think I'm feeling my fever."
[Demon Hunters POV]
Rushing along the wastes of Mato, a military truck drove, kicking up dust in its way. In the front seats of the vehicle sat two women, faces set into serious visages. Sahara Wakasa and Yachiho Azuma were hurrying as fast as they could to the epicenter of a supposed Mato Mishap. Yachiho drove, eyes peeled for any signs of trouble while Sahara did her best to not fall asleep during the ride.
It was quiet, tense, the knowledge that if they failed that innocent people could die weighed on them as they neared their destination. Taking a minor detour, the truck left the ground as it hit a jump, its suspension holding as it barreled into a small group of shuuki, the two Demon Corps members leaving the vehicle in favor of preparing for combat. Sahara got ready to use her blessing, fists up, as Yachiho leveled her pistol.
"You've been the victim of a Mato Mishap!" Yachiho called out, firing a few times into the crowd of monsters. "We are members of the sixth squad of the Anti-Demon Corps, here to help!" Sahara moved in to begin handling the shuuki, but she paused as noticed that a lot of the shuuki themselves were in front of a structure, slumped against it. Sharing a look with Yachiho, she moved to get a better look and found it to be a small pile of shuuki corpses, piled on top of one another. Beyond that, standing there, was a young man with short black hair and a thin stubble-like mustache dressed like a grandpa, in slacks and a sweater vest. His feet had socks on, but no shoes, and as they locked eyes, she felt a slight unease from him.
"Little late to help." He said simply, turning to face Sahara as Yachiho moved by her side, pistol lowered. His brow was wet with sweat, and his hands were wet with the shuuki's blood. Yachiho, processing the situation, couldn't help but let her voice slip out.
"You…did all this?" She asked, looking around quickly for another explanation. "We didn't get beat here?" Sahara chose to look around as well, both of them failing to find any of their other members. The man cocked an eyebrow, looking around with them.
"Well, yeah?" He said, walking over to them. "Had to defend myself against the curses."
"How though?" Sahara asked, Yachiho turning her attention back to the man.
"How? I guess the same way you would." He said, getting within a comfortable range of them to conversate. "You both feel about grade 2, so this can't be that weird." Yachiho and Sahara both shared another look, before Yachiho holstered her pistol entirely.
"You need to come with us. What is your name?" She asked briskly, staring up at him. The man cracked a grin.
"Name's Hakari Kinji. Lead the way." Hakari agreed easily, deciding to trust the two sorcerers that had shown up late to the fight. The three of them walked back to the truck, Hakari sitting himself in the back.
"You guys don't happen to have a change of clothes where we're going?" He asked, pinching the sweater vest and lifting it to emphasize. "This ain't exactly the stuff I like to wear."
The two Anti-Demon Corps members gave their passenger a very unimpressed look, before both went about their own wants. Yachiho with driving them back to their dorm, and Sahara with catching a much-needed nap.