@norowaretamuses
一starter for the Tougyo Verse; feat. Mahito!
On October 31st, at 9:26pm, Gojo Satoru was sealed within the Prison Realm; and the cursed object became temporarily immovable as it processed Gojo's cursed energy. Kenjaku remained behind to watch over the object, while the four Special-Grade Curses went off in pursuit of their own ends.
• At 9:30pm, Mahito utilized an ability resembling mitosis, and split off a clone to assist in his hunt of Itadori Yuji.
• At 10:05pm, the remnant of Getou's soul, imprinted deeply within his body, turned Cursed Spirit Manipulation against Kenjaku's will, and reasserted control.
• By 11:36pm, Mahito's battle with Itadori Yuji and Toudou Aoi was at the precipice of conclusion, and the odds were decidedly not in Mahito's favor. It was then that a man dressed like a Buddhist monk, with a near-completely faded scar on his forehead, approached Mahito, and thus provoked Itadori's rebuke.
A great many things had transpired in an arguably brief span of time, and a great many paths had been altered by the changes as they rippled from that singular distortion. It was almost certain, then, as the wheel of fate turned within the pool of curses, that the image of the future would continue to twist and distort…
๑一❝Shall I save you, Mahito?❞
It wasn't kindness on his tongue, but he was inviting him into a state of salvation - and perhaps the only form of salvation available to him in the moment.
‘Be exorcised. Be subsumed. And as such, be reborn.’
The sound of distant waves, languid and ceaseless, filled the negligible space between them.
It always accompanied the effect of Cursed Spirit Manipulation - yet only the Curses Getou had already designated for absorption by the technique could perceive the sound, and the pacifying lull with which it beckoned.
Here, perhaps even at a glance - knowledgeable as he was on the subject of souls, Mahito might recognize that the voice that proffered succor was Getou Suguru. Not Kenjaku. The ancient interloper was silent, docile, dragged deep beneath the oil-slick tides of the curse manipulation technique.
The brain lodged within Getou's skull ran an obedient course under the directive of cellular memory - a collection of impressions, experiences, and habitual certainties installed throughout Getou Suguru's brief life - the veritable ghost of himself, dragged from quiescence by a certain voice.
As the night had progressed, through the conflicts, the harried absorption of countless curses, locating and recovering his family, assessing the condition of Gojo's allies, his allies, too, once Getou felt his awareness stirring, awakening.
It was impossible to stay asleep, not with all the noise.
The desperation with which he brushed his thumb across the Prison Realm, the number of times he checked to ensure that the object was still safely ensconced within his robe - all of it served as a catalyst to sharpen his presence of mind, his grasp on his identity: the meaning in his return, it was being determined by each word, each action.
Who was he?
What was he here to do? For whom was he fighting?
What was still keeping him bound to this bleeding, aching world?
And now he had arrived to stagger the events of the present scene as a deluge of cursed energy - roiling, churning, surging - imperceptible, and yet suffocating. It wasn't anger. He was far beyond that.
Amber eyes cut a path from Mahito, towards Itadori.
He knew as much as Kenjaku did about the boy - because the bastard's presence was like a storage facility in his head. Getou assessed his condition at a glance; Mahito was doing much worse in a sense, but they were both on one shaky leg. The difference between them at that moment, was the unique burden of a human: strength of heart.
'It just won't let you rest, will it?'
He moved knowingly; of course Gojo's student would issue demands for the Prison Realm. It would make sense to a mind so young, and so earnest. ‘Give back what was taken’ - a simple, profound demand. He'd made it himself, after all, back when he was first faced with a separation from something he couldn't see himself living without. Sincerely, he didn't want to replicate that experience for another youth, but Getou had already decided that he wouldn't acquiesce. Gojo Satoru had no allies where he needed them most - no one, apart from Satoru, himself, knew that better than he did. And all the allies he did have, were kept in a perilous, powerless arrangement of hope and goodwill.
Whoever took the Prison Realm would have a target etched on the back of their head - and it wouldn't necessarily be the fault of Curses or Curse Users, either.
Gojo's allies were already either dwindling in number or working Shouko to death, so they were out of the running. Nor was it tactful to let any of these wild-eyed students shoulder one more damning sentence on top of all the trouble they were in, already. He didn't want another conversation like that with Satoru.
A headhunt for a dead man. It was sensible then, wasn't it? Just to have his old execution order re-issued.
‘Unlike you, I’m a kind person.'
With a mirthless laugh, he eluded Itadori's efforts, and kept him at bay with the uncanny versatility of his technique.
He sidestepped Mahito's lunge out for him, too. Mahito had rushed at him, palms open and yawning, hungry for a contingency and wanting what he wanted without reading the room at all.
‘So childish. Was he the one who spoiled you like this?'
Getou's palm was open too, then. And the sound of crashing waves grew louder between them, audible only to the pair of them, until the sound swallowed the special-grade up, dragging him beneath an invisible undertow.
Mahito.
A Special-Grade Curse born of human vitriol; self-hatred, and the hatred for one another - a uniquely human curse.
“I knew it. After all, I was born of humans.”
They were the last words spoken by the unabsorbed curse called Mahito.
❝I don't doubt it.❞ Getou smiled at the gleaming orb in his palm with a pensive look,
❝There was a time when I may have unleashed you as a gift upon them, too. A reward for their hard work in fomenting your birth. But no one can remain a child forever, and we don't have time to indulge that kind of selfishness at the moment.
Now. Wake up, Mahito.❞
The space at his side rippled like a mirage, and summarily ruptured, bursting open like an overripe fruit, to allow Mahito to step through the spatial distortion. The dark, ragged doorway faded as quickly as it had appeared, assigning the summoned Curse to the same battlefield he'd just left; though perhaps to him, it may have looked altogether different…
germansingergirl
snowghoul
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
ellievsbear
annaxmalina
