Unlimited Void
tw: yandere, horror, gore, graphic sensory deprivation, some gore. yandere!god!gojo/human!reader. yearning and devotion like you wouldn't believe. objectification? object body horror? gojo's in a very weird situation.
Satoru Gojo as a forgotten god who once protected humankind from curses.
Only, he protected them a little too well - centuries have passed, and with Sukuna sealed away, and curses gone from living memory, humanity no longer has any need of him.
Satoru Gojo who has exactly one "believer" left to sustain him after all this time.
One devotee who cleans out his dilapidated shrine, whose visits break out the monotony and isolation of his defunct existence, whose prayers anchor his frayed mind to this plane of existence.
Darkness had long since surrounded him. Without worship, without people, without any reason to continue his existence -
He's just like another rusted nail in this ancient temple. Old, crumbling, holding up a rotted ceiling that could barely be called a shelter.
A lonely god. A tool with no use. An exercise in futility.
And then you showed up.
You'd be the first to admit it's a sort of creepy shrine.
When you stumble on it, you're sore and exhausted from the hike. The eyes carved into the gate stare down at you; heavy, piercing, boring deep into your soul.
But you had never been very superstitious, and the sun was blazing. You head in, quickly, darting into the shade with a relieved sigh.
Weary limbs cry out in relief as you slump down inside, in the shade. There's still that hot, oppressive summer heat, but at least you're out of the sun.
Lazily, you glance over the interior of the building. It's modestly sized, but not so small as to suggest this wasn't once a frequently visited shrine.
It's seen better days, you're sure. Actually, as soon as you take a long drink from your bottle and sit there a few seconds, the nagging urge to tidy creeps up on you.
There's a broom against one of the walls. A pain - there's no water in it, though - and even some burned away incense at the altar.
Eyes again, you note as you sweep the dust methodically towards the entrance.
They're engraved in wood, with deep burrows in them that you suppose are meant to be pupils. Two, four... six of them, it looks like.
There's dust everywhere in here, really. One day wouldn't be enough to clean all this up, even if you had everything you needed.
Still, it seems a little rude to just leave after rushing in.
You dig out some trail mix. Oats, cranberries - fruit and rice count as offerings, right?
There's no incense, so you awkwardly set a match down in the incense holder and light it.
Hands clasped in prayer, you bow your head, just a little. Thank you for having me. Please let me return home safely.
You should say something nice, too, right? Uhm...
I like your eyes.
Awkward! If there's a spirit here, they're probably laughing at you.
It's a good thing they don't exist! But if they do, they can feel free to laugh, you suppose.
As you leave, you swear the floor is creaking; but it's a light sound, rustic and almost bouncy. Funny.
It puts a skip in your step, and you do in fact arrive home safe.
The darkness had been complete. Absolute. Divine, in its way, surrounding him in perfect blackness so thick he couldn't even see himself.
Perhaps he could have faded away like that. Found peace in the emptiness. Returned to the ether from whence he came; after so long like this, he would have welcomed true nothingness.
It hadn't always been this way.
He had been celebrated, once. A protector of the people. Exorciser of curses. They had sung his name in praise, prayed to him for protection from curses, knelt at his altar and filled it with finery.
But he grew mighty, and the people grew safe. Curses around the world dwindled. The mortals lost their fear, and later, their knowledge.
His power was infinite, but their need of him had not been. Fool that he was, he thought it was a good thing.
As the mortals had trickled away over time, his attachment to this earth had also withered.
And that never mattered to him; not as long as his followers, his friends were there to keep him company.
Even if it was just one person, Satoru didn't mind. He wasn't a greedy god.
But for the mortals, who no longer had any use of him, it seems even that was asking too much.
His friends had disappeared. Slowly, over time, and then all at once. Mortals were like that - fleeting. Eventually all who remained were there by courtesy alone, and as centuries passed, they visited less, moved away, lost interest.
With no purpose, he had lost his power. With no offerings, he had lost his form. When his eyes had been stolen, he had been unable to even protect himself, and lost his sight.
And because no one had spoken to him in centuries, Satoru Gojo could no longer hear -
Until you.
it's just another day for him. if it's even a day at all - it's not like he has any way of knowing. There's no way for him to tell time.
Except, you come.
He hears your thoughts, your feelings, your little worries. He receives your humble offering like weight on a limb that can hardly bear it. A withered tree branch struggling to hold up a budding fruit.
Light as it is, your thoughts, your easy humor is filling.
"I like your eyes" - ha! Millenia ago, he would have howled with laughter at the understatement.
Today? Your inflection, your sincerity, your gratitude despite how little he had to offer...
He feels again. In the darkness, in the silence, with no body or surroundings to speak of, Satoru feels it -
Warmth.
The feeling is gentle, at first, like a quiet acceptance at a gravestone.
It was a nice moment, but the exception to the rule. He had long since understood his fate. Consigned to the void.
Like all the other mortals, you had no use for him -
But still, you returned.
You pass by here often, he gathers. His shrine groans, and he feels it, like old bones shifting underfoot from the new, bustling visitor.
When you lay down a rug before his altar, to kneel on as you pray, it feels like a blanket laid over him.
Your prayers are nothing special. Which is good, because he can't help you anyways.
Please let my boss give me a raise...
I hope the convenience store has the sandwich I like.
Don't let it rain tomorrow... I hate hiking in the rain.
Small, modest prayers, for his small and modest shrine.
But with you lighting incense and leaving rice and wine, he feels his essence gather again.
A candle flickers by his altar, and he finds his breath. And each breath is painful, splintering in his side with each movement... until you peel out the bad planks to put in new ones.
Your repairs are patchwork, clearly done by a novice - but you try. You labor and toil for him, for his empty, worthless, ugly shrine which has nothing to offer you but a smattering of shade.
It's something he would have been ashamed of, once. Being unable to reward your devotion. Generosity had always been in his nature.
For all the good it did. Perhaps that's why they all died out - of all the gods, he was the most powerful, the most beautiful, offered everything to the mortals, and what did it get him? Nothing.
It's silly, now, to feel bashful about his welcome to the sole follower who scampers about his exposed ribcage. To wince at the creak in the steps that raise you up to meet up. To feel his windows flush as you look them over and decide they need dusting again.
He does it anyways. His time in the darkness should have taught him not to hope. It should have cracked him open beyond repair as the mortals drained him dry and left him to rot.
Maybe it has. If you were to scavenge his corpse, if you could be the last in the very long line of mortals who exploited and used him, who picked at his meat until he had truly nothing left... he thinks he'd be happy with that.
But as he is now, it's just so embarrassing. To be in this state.
When you fix up his doors - the paper was yellowed, dirtied, torn, and you replace it with a fresh bright set - Satoru almost feels beautiful.
When had he stopped being beautiful? It's been centuries. The memory of it is gone, the vision - no living mortal has seen his face, now - but he wasn't always this decrepit thing. He'd been beautiful, once.
But he's starting to remember the shape of it. Nourished by a thousand tiny acts of devotion, even if it's just from one person.
As much as it is, he still can't manifest a physical form. Even if he could, he wouldn't; how could he make his grand entrance as your one and only god with so little of his power?
He still can't even see. The god of the six eyes, stripped of his vision. Powerless.
What do you look like, anyways? Are you tall? What color is your skin? Your hair? How long is it?
You're his only follower, after all. It's natural to be curious. The only connection he has to the world, the only company he gets, the only stimulation he has - it's all you. His lifeline in the darkness.
Color disappeared from his world so long ago; he can't even envision it in his mind, but he wants it so desperately.
It doesn't matter the shape or shade. He just wants to see you.
But it's not the only thing he wants. Satoru had never thought of himself as greedy. Starved of contact as he is, devoid of every form of sustenance a god requires, even this little bit should satisfy him.
It only makes him hungrier. You'd given him a taste, shown him what it felt like not to be alone anymore.
It makes him scared.
And with each return, it grew. The terror.
How long will it be before you come back?
Will you come back?
Was this the final time he would encounter you - encounter anyone - and he simply didn't know it?
The thought alone causes him an anguish so severe it's like a physical pain. Electrifying his nonexistent form, searing alarm and suffering into every facet of his being.
There's this one step, the last one your foot touches as you leave his shrine. It feels like a raw nerve.
A glance against it shoots anxiety though him. The candle by his altar flickers, breathless. He cannot see the darkness anymore; his whole world is dark. But he feels it closing in. Suffocating.
This really might be the end, every time you touch that step. Humans don't live long lives, or even safe ones. What if you die on the way to him? What if you get sick and can't come?
What if you stop caring? It's surprising that you've cared this long. He doesn't have anything to offer you.
It would only be natural for you to abandon his shrine. He does nothing for you. He only takes and takes and takes and enjoys your company and effort for nothing in return.
Satoru has never quite wanted to die. And he still doesn't - he wants you to keep coming back.
But if you don't, he truly will go mad with craving of it.
Where are you when you aren't with him?
Family, maybe. Surely not a lover - you've mentioned in a prayer or two; It would be nice to meet a cute guy.
If you just keep coming, he can show you the most beautiful man you'll ever see. You won't want anyone else once you see him.
There's so much he would do for you, if only he could. Even if he couldn't see ever again - if he could just touch - if he could just speak to you -
Satoru tries to curb those thoughts. Excitement comes to him slowly, in inches, weary and unsure after centuries of disuse. After countless instances of being crushed.
Before you, any hope for an improvement in his situation had been met with a long, slow, drawn out defeat.
He'd learned not to dream. But he could not stop himself now, just as he can't stop his endless worries.
How... how long has it been? He doesn't know. Can't tell.
You're... coming back. Right...?
Won't you?
In some ways, it's more agonizing than the emptiness. Waiting in the emptiness, sitting idly in the void.
There are no days or nights in his world. No sunsets, no cicadas crying, not a single thing to observe or interact with.
Every second you're not there. That's all it is. Second by second, instant by instant, drowning in the depths of countless worries. His thoughts are all he has.
And they're terrifying. He tries, now, because he has something to try for, to count the seconds until you come back.
One hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred fifteen.... one hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred sixteen....
Seventeen...
Eighteen...
Nineteen...
Twenty...
...
...
Twenty... two? Twenty three?
...
Please... come back soon.
Please... please...
Come back.
It's not worth anything, you're sure. Probably just glass, to be honest.
But as soon as you lay eyes on it in the thrift store, something about it catches your attention. Maybe it's the size - it looks like it would fit exactly.
You make your purchase and head off to your little shrine, almost giddy with excitement.
It's a far hike away from a populated area. No visitors. You have to take a train just to get to the trailhead, and then remember the way from there.
It's like having a secret fortress as a child. Your little project, the tiny safe space you had away from anyone else.
After days and days worth of labor, you've prettied up the interior a bit. It's not craftsmanship, not like the people who must have built this place - but it was well-done, sturdy, and you're proud of the work you've put into it.
It's clean. Everything that's damaged has been replaced - or repaired, where you could.
You pass your cozy little spot by the door, setting your bag and shoes aside in the entryway you built. There's more supplies in the far corner - mid-hike snacks and offerings, included!
Sometimes it's just nice to take your lunch out here and leave out a little food offering at the altar to pretend you're sharing a meal with someone. Talk about your day and all.
The food is always gone, so there must be a mouse or cat or some other animal sneaking in and eating it.
Or maybe there's other visitors... doubtful, though. No one comes along this way. And that's just fine.
Even if you had the money to get someone to come out here to do repairs, it's all the more special to do it yourself, right? Plus, you didn't want to share this place.
Of course, you ponder as you settle beside the altar, it's not as if there's much to share.
The chimes you'd hung at the entrance seem to rattle in disagreement. You've gotten a little eccentric since visiting this place - but that's the fun of it, isn't it?
Superstitions are just made up folklore and nonsense stories. It's far better to make your own little traditions, your good-luck strategies, your relaxing routines.
You take a moment to admire the surroundings. The shrine had a lot of character; inlaid decorations, paintings, faded paint and special carvings in the fixtures.
It must have been well-loved, once. Though it's on the smaller side, and it was suspiciously empty when you got here.
But you'd filled it up - little by little. Just dragging cleaning supplies in here, at first, and then containers and counters to store them.
Then a proper incense holder, and then a pack of them. Then a trash can for when you have to sweep things out. Then the rug, and a chair or two, and some pictures and trinkets to lay by the altar.
A picture of your cat (okay, a few). Your graduation. Some nice photos you'd taken on the walk here. Even a picture of the shrine from outside, once you'd dusted off the exterior as best you could.
Plus an anime figurine from a show you loved, your favorite hair pin, and a very pretty ring you'd found at the thrift shop. Little treasures.
It is your altar, after all. This whole shrine is just for you; you won't deny there's a special feeling to it. Having a sacred place, forgotten though it may be, to call your own. Even if you didn't really believe in that sort of thing.
Just being here, all by yourself, had a calming, meditative effect on you. Or maybe it was the walk here.
You dig through your pouch for a granola bar. Unwrapping it, you stare for a moment, then split off a little part to set on the altar.
Can't let your little friend go hungry, can you? And if there were a god in here, it would be rude not to share.
Speaking of!
You pull the dubious gemstone out from your shopping bag, standing right in front of the intricate, ancient carving.
As you'd suspected - it fits in just perfectly! Right into the carving of one of the eyes, where the pupil would be.
Looking at it again, even if it's just glass, it's a pretty brilliant blue, isn't it?
If you were superstitious, you'd swear it was glittering at you.
You make your pointless offering, your banal prayer, and then - after lighting some incense and carefully sweeping the place again - you leave.
You don't catch the eye blinking at your back.
You couldn't really believe it when you first saw it.
A building with a line through it. Glowing hot. It crumbles, falling down - there's people in there - there's people down there -
Screaming, of course. It fills the streets, loud and harrowing.
People are - it's like -
Like something out of a video game. Guts. Gore. Blood and viscera being spread around.
Their bodies are just flying apart, for - what the fuck is doing it? What's happening?
You back away from the scene, but you hear screams behind you, too. Glancing away from the carnage only to watch a grown man's body crumple and curl up, as if in the maws of some giant, invisible monster -
And there it is.
Massive. Looming. And there's so fucking many of them.
Ravaging the crowds, chasing after people. Men, women, children, running and stumbling and being caught. Limbs lost, only for the person to follow -
You fall to your knees. Heart beating out of your chest.
But you - you can't stop here - there's on nearby -
It doesn't matter, does it? They're everywhere.
A comet, seemingly shooting through the sky, blazes a fiery path into the street.
Not a comet. A person. Red - no, his hair is a faint ink - tattoos everywhere four arms - four eyes -
You think of your little shrine, tucked away and hidden in the middle of a peaceful nowhere. A blue gemstone for an eye. What you wouldn't give to be there now.
This person's eyes land on you, red, vicious, unforgiving. He points a finger at you, flicking, and -
But nothing happens to you. You open your eyes, hesitant.
There's someone in front of you. Clad in white, with pale hair. Standing in the midst of the blood and carnage, completely unbothered.
A strange... aura surrounds him. Like an air of power and weight to the surroundings that warps the space inches away from him, curving the light like some kind of refraction through glass.
"Sukuna," He greets the man like an old friend, "How long has it been? I see you're a little fussy after just waking up."
'Sukuna' snorts. "Still playing the hero, you fool? You're a shadow of your former self."
"Oh," The purr in the white-haired man's voice sends shivers down your spine, "Certainly. But a shadow of infinity is still infinity, you know? Unless you've managed to think of a way to get past it in all that time you were locked up."
There's a sound - words you don't catch - and the white-haired man is next to you all a sudden, hands on you, and you're -
You're somewhere else completely. It takes a moment to look around you - open - open skies? - and below you -
Carnage.
The white-haired man whistles. "Using his domain right away, huh? He really is grumpy."
You cling to him, suddenly filled with a weightless terror at the height. An arm around your waist secures you to him. You're - you don't know how many stories it is in the air but you're level with the tops of skyscrapers.
"Who are you?" You say, throat raw, coughing as you speak.
His eyes, when they lock onto yours, are the deepest and purest blue you've ever seen.
"Satoru Gojo," He says, smiling, glowing, as if he's wanted to say that his whole life, "Don't worry, I've come to save you."
As close as you are, you notice now, in fine detail, the delicate, smooth lines of his face. Elegant, regal, and profoundly lovely.
His skin is clean, unmarked, so impossibly perfect he looks like a doll. Eyes bright and happy to see you. He glows, ethereal, with some kind of inner light.
"GOJO!" An angered shout, so loud that it carries up from what must be ground floor, sounds out.
One of the nearby buildings collapses, and you watch a figure dance up the rubble of it, the impact of its movements splintering concrete like particle board.
Your heart nearly stops in its chest as the figure approaches - Sukuna - like lightning, face full of fury, about to rain down on you -
But he stops still in the air. Sneering in rage.
"Awh," Satoru drawls, his arm wrapping around you tighter, "Looks like you're not doing so hot, either, huh? Not at full power yet? Sure would be a shame if I used my domain..."
Sukuna's face contorts in shock, "And what about your other worshippers? You're going to leave them down there to their fates?"
"Yup!" He chirps, but his smile grows sharp. "I'm only here to save one person."
Red eyes narrow... and Sukuna backs away. "Have your fun then. Next time I see you, you're dead."
"Have fun with that," Satoru sings and Sukuna charges back down into the fray, leveling an entire city block.
"What?" You're shuddering now, even as he wraps another arm around you, gasping as your racing heart slows down.
Satoru's face nestles against your hair. "Oh, don't worry about him. He doesn't have a way to hurt me anyways. And even if he did... I'd just kill him first."
"Then - " This is insane, this is all so insane and make-believe that you barely think about what you say, "Then why don't you?"
He squints. "Do I haaaaave to?"
And those eyes - those eyes - examine you carefully and you get this strange sense of nostalgia, of something.
"What do you mean? He's killing people!" You sound almost as hysteric as you feel.
Instantly, you feel insane for demanding such a thing from this guy, but - everything happening is crazy, too. He'd said that he could, anyways.
"He's killing other people," Satoru corrects, "Not you. You have me. You'll be just fine!"
"Oh my god." Other people. Everyone - down there - they'd been ripped apart like dolls, "Oh my god - you have to do something - Satoru-"
His face twists, mouth turning downwards, "This is the very first prayer you're saying out loud, and you want to pray for other people?"
Something in his voice makes you pause. Not warning, but sheer, unmitigated disappointment. As if he had been expecting something specific from you and been let down.
"Prayer?" The word is almost lost on you. There's a vibration - shock. Shock, you're shaking.
You notice, then, that his arm around you - his whole body pressed against yours - is unusually cold. As if he's made entirely from ice.
Or maybe it's just those icy eyes staring at you, into you.
"I said I was here to save you," Satoru continues. His voice has this strange, echoing quality, rattling around in your head like a melodic hymn, "No one else."
"Why?" The word emerges from you before you can think about it.
And then he smiles again - beatific, gorgeous, something so pure you could almost call it divine, and he speaks.
"Why wouldn't I save you?" His face draws closer to you, breathtaking in its beauty. He nuzzles your nose playfully, "My one and only believer. You're the only person who's prayed at my shrine in centuries."
The shrine. You -
"You thought of me, too," White lashes lower softly over those impossibly pretty eyes, "Of being with me. I could tell... I could see, actually. Because of you."
Your heart is racing, now, so many thoughts crashing together in your head - but an explosion in the distance makes you flinch, brings your mind back.
Satoru hugs you harder, closer, "Let's go home, now-"
Home - "Please," You beg, thinking frantically of where your loved ones might be right now, "My family - my friends - can't you-"
And that pretty face twists again. You feel your heart drop right through your stomach.
"They don't matter," He bites out, vicious, "They've never prayed to me, never visited. I'm not their god, I'm yours, and I don't care what happens to them."
"But I do!" Your hands come up to his chest, clutching at his shirt, "Please! How were they supposed to worship you, they - they didn't even know you existed - "
Your mind completed the thought - you'd never told anyone. You liked the shrine as your special, secret place. You liked having it all to yourself. It was your fault, if anything.
But for the first time, you catch yourself. It... might not be a good thing to admit.
Satoru laughs, "Even if they knew, they wouldn't care. It'd make it worse, even. Until the end, you're my one and only..."
Those eyes seem to glow, shimmer, iridescent - you think you're seeing double, or something, superimposed irises over each other -
"You don't know that," You say, desperately, thinking of the people below, their bodies ripped into shreds like tissue paper, "I promise, I'll bring them to the shrine, I'll-"
"No!" His voice sounds, ringing again through your head, but this time loudly, like a thunderclap, "I don't want them. It's fake, all of it's fake - so many people worshipped me just to save their own worthless little mortal lives. And do you know what happened to me? When I was no longer needed?"
"They wouldn't do that!" Your entire body aches with the strain, as if his words physically compressed you, "I wouldn't-"
"But they would!" Satoru snaps, and it feels like a rubber band stinging in your head, "And I'll be left alone - abandoned - do you have any idea what it feels like? How long I was stuck like that?"
"I don't," You cry, "I don't, I'm sorry, please. Please, just don't leave them to die!"
Those blue, blue eyes take you in for a moment, and Satoru relaxes briefly. For a moment, relief courses through you, and you can't help but sigh.
"No, you don't. You're only mortal. You've known so little in your small mortal life, you think they're important. You've never felt anything like that..."
No... oh, no.
"It's okay," He holds you against him, closer, "I can show you."
Everything goes dark.
It's... it's still dark, now. Nothing has changed. It feels like it's been a while - or, has it been?
You... can't tell.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand... even counting seconds in your head feels disorienting, inconsistent. You can't hear your own thoughts.
But you know them. You have to know them, right? Otherwise you couldn't be thinking at all right now.
You can't see anything. Or maybe there's just nothing here? It's black, everywhere, in all directions.
It's... which way is up? There's no pull on you, nothing at your feet, nothing on your shoulders, no pressure anywhere or direction that you can tell.
You look down at your hands - there's nothing there.
In fact, you don't even feel yourself move. You try to look left, right - nothing changes. It's like being underwater, like floating, but you don't feel - you don't feel anything.
The numbness is all-encompassing. It's not that your limbs are still; it's more like they're gone completely.
There's nothing there, just empty space. You're no more able to move your own arms than you were able to move the moon in the sky.
If you could feel your heart, maybe it would be racing.
Distantly, terrifyingly, you realize that you haven't even taken a breath. You can't take one.
How - how... does that work again?
It's so familiar - you remember it - air rushing into your lungs, chest expanding, then letting it out -
But it just - it won't come, it's not working, you can't breathe and maybe you don't need to but there's a panic inside you too because what if you never breathe again?
What if you get out of here and you don't know how to breathe? What's happening to your body now? Why can't you feel anything?
The questions rush over you like a flood, overwhelming, all at once. Anxiety fills you like breathlessness would, like the desperate, overwhelming need for air but -
Nothing. There's just nothing.
Can't see. Can't move, can't breathe, can't even hear yourself think.
An overwhelming fear encompasses you because...
How... how long has it been?
There was - you'd gotten home and. And then that person, Sukuna - and then all that bloodshed, the chaos, and then Satoru and then - and then here?
Was that what happened? It feels like it's been a while. Has it been?
Maybe this is a dream. Maybe you're dead.
Fuck, what if you're dead? What if this is what it is, forever?
"See?" The voice - it's him, you recognize, but the sound of it shakes you, shakes your entire universe, because all you have now are your thoughts.
"This is what it was like. Every time you left, this is what you left me in. This is what the mortals condemned me to."
It's hard to listen, to understand, and yet you KNOW - you FEEL it, so profoundly.
The sound of his voice fills you, fills ears you still can't sense, that you can't tell you even have.
As soon as he finishes speaking it's like your hearing is gone entirely, replaced by a supreme silence, one that makes you question if you heard him at all.
If you just hallucinated.
And then -
And then -
You feel them open. Six of them... six eyes.
He looks - and his eyes define you, fill in your body like the sound has filled your ears. Like you exist because he sees you.
And you realize, suddenly, that you are not inside your body at all.
You are looking at yourself from the outside, seeing parts of yourself you've never seen before -
Satoru blinks, and you feel all six eyes close and open again.
What is this, you cannot whisper, for you have no mouth, but Satoru knows your thoughts.
Instinctively, you know this; that he can hear you. There is no mouth to produce words, and yet they appear in your mind all the same, and you know that it is from him.
"This... is godhood," Satoru answers, "This is my life without you. Before you. They left me to rot."
Even though you can't hear - you just know the words - the bitterness comes along with them, and you feel it like you would your own.
A person you'd done a favor who turned their back to you instead of repaying it. A friendship where you always seemed to make the effort to connect, to show care, to meet up. A relationship of all take and no give. Showing up to a party only to find out everyone had already left.
The wet, heavy, raw-throated rage that had once accompanied different instants is old, festered. Stale.
Every feeling from your memory seems to coalesce into that final word, rot.
Rotted, pilfered, abandoned. You're worth nothing now; you know it deep in your bones. You have no power. No one is coming to help you. You don't even have a body.
"Do you understand?"
The words hit your mind like raindrops. Splattering against your awareness, trickling, sliding along formless surfaces of your consciousness until you can conceive an answer.
He'd - he'd been here whenever you weren't here. And it was because of... mortals? Everyone? There's so much feeling there, but nowhere to direct it; like a dam build up and ready to pour over anything that happened to be in its path.
The weight of it is unbearable. This place is hellish enough as it is -
"And your friends, your family, everyone out there getting torn apart by Sukuna - what did they do to help me? What did they do to help you?"
Nothing. They've done nothing, they could do nothing, they were worthless and weak and they deserved their fate - how could you feel sorry for them when they'd just leave you behind -
Thoughts crowd up, it's all blending together. Twisting, invasive, the words just seep through your brain, steeped in centuries of dissatisfaction.
This - it's people you care about! It's not their fault they can't help you! It's not their fault they couldn't help Satoru -
"Stop saying my name in the same sentence as those other people. You should only care about me. I'm your god."
Yours. All yours, he'd said it before. The god of the six eyes, your precious secret in your little shrine all to yourself, your safe place.
Why should you share him with anyone?
Why should he share you?
"No one else deserves your love. Why love something that does nothing for you?"
That - it wasn't like that - was it? Maybe with some people you knew, but - not all of them - right?
Questions trickle through you, sticky, tacky. It's hard to even muddle through them, to question what's yours, what's his.
And that's the scariest part. Where one begins, where the other ends, it's not clear anymore. Your own feelings, from your own memories, things that happened to you - you know they happened to you - and then -
Shrine gates empty. So many had walked through them, praying for salvation.
Each and every desperate wish had moved your heart; "Please save me," "Protect my family," "I've lost everything."
Of course you should help them. You want to help them. That's the right thing to do -
Empty, now. Bleak, forgotten. Lonely.
They didn't need you anymore. They all left. You're hungry, now. Starving. Wasting away.
They pick at your body like vultures. Peck your eyes away. Leave you in the dark.
It's dark. It's so, so dark.
Dark. Silent. Empty.
You and your thoughts and your grief and nothing else. Memories of a time when you had a life. People cared about you.
You were loved.
Now? You're nothing. Formless, blind, lost. Weak. Useless.
"You're not nothing. Not to me."
To... him? Everything is so overwhelming, so mind-numbingly terrifying, so vast in the emptiness that surrounds you. The body you see in the darkness but can't feel, it looks so lonely, so alone -
Arms that embrace. A chest against your back. Breath returning to your lungs.
"You're everything. You're the reason I'm still here... the reason I can see. You gave me my eyes back."
Sparkling, glittering blue -
"And you will never leave me again."
