Chương 50: Chapter 50
When the attention of some of the deadliest living beings was focused on you, there were only so many paths to take. So the cursed corpse reacted as Jiki expected. it pivoted sharply, attempting to run.
But unlike a true vessel, it was a blank slate, without the instinct or muscle memory to navigate a foreign body. Its limbs flailed awkwardly, sending it crashing headfirst into the ground. It struggled to rise, only to collapse once more, its disjointed movements betraying its lack of cohesion.
Jiki's gaze shifted from the pitiful display to Jorogumo. She was watching him, unperturbed by the chaos that unfolded around them. She had lost the caution she previously held. Her red eyes glittered with knowing amusement. She seemed to see through his every thought as if reading his intentions even before he acted. She laughed. Letting out a sound that was sharp and melodic, cutting through the tension. "What are you waiting for, beautiful child? Do it. We'll have a better time to talk when we're not surrounded by such boring drab men."
He nodded once in silent agreement, releasing his grip on her. She fell through the air, her expression alight with something that bordered on anticipation. Before she could land, the Totsuka blade pierced her. The rapturous smile that spread across her face as the sword sank deep into her flesh spoke volumes, she relished the pain.
As the blade drew her soul into the jar, sealing her within the cursed weapon, He released his grip on his Susanoo and felt something strange. For a fleeting moment, His Susanoo stood tall, its protective shell still wrapped around him, as though defying the inevitability of its own dissolution. It was as if the very essence of the name he called refused to fade.
The confusion lingered for only a heartbeat before the Susano'o began to unravel, its form disintegrating piece by piece without Jiki's cursed energy to sustain it. He frowned, his mind racing to understand the anomaly but quickly allowed his expression to smooth.
His attention returned to the cursed corpse, now lying prone with its arm twisted unnaturally behind its back, its face pressed into the ground. Satoru stood over it, his expression calm yet pitiless. He didn't need to look down to know the puppet was done for.
Jiki's gaze flickered to the side, where Toji held Tsumiki. The hardened man, usually unreadable, was showing a rare moment of vulnerability—something Jiki had never thought possible. Respecting the intimacy of the moment, Jiki looked away, giving them privacy in the only way he could.
He turned toward Utahime. She caught his eye, giving him a knowing nod. "I don't want to know what this is all about," she said, her voice dry with a hint of suspicion. "But it smells fishy."
"It's alright," Jiki replied, his voice calm despite the weight of everything happening around them. "We can handle the rest. Just let me know when I'm needed at the shrine."
With another nod, Utahime shot him a small smile before her gaze darted to the still-bound cursed corpse. Without wasting another second, she grabbed Shoko by the arm and dragged her away. Shoko's presence had been as a precaution in case anything went wrong with Tsumiki during the ritual. Fortunately, her skills hadn't been needed.
Jiki glanced back to where Toji and Tsumiki had been, but they were gone, vanished into the ether. He wasn't worried. Toji had a way of disappearing, but Jiki had tracked him down before. If it came to that, he would do it again.
Now, only the cursed corpse remained, writhing pitifully under Satoru's grip. Principal Yaga stood beside them, silent but watchful.
"Do we finish this here?" Jiki asked, his voice quiet as he addressed his older cousin.
Satoru glanced back, frowning slightly.
"I think we've overstayed our welcome." Principal Yaga interjected, "The shrine's already given us more time than the higher-ups would like." Principal Yaga continued, his tone clipped as he uttered the words, "The higher-ups." The disdain in his voice made it clear what he thought of the political arm looming over them. It was a rare glimpse into the principal's thoughts—his real reason for helping them, beyond mere loyalty to his former student Satoru.
Jiki hadn't forgotten Panda's funeral, nor Yaga's somber speech. The memory still lingered like a fresh wound. He exchanged a glance with Satoru. There was too much happening, too many loose threads they couldn't yet pull together. But they would, in time.
Satoru's eyes flickered down to the corpse, his lips curling into a smirk. "What do you think about a little cross-country trip?"
...
"You can't fight like me, brat."
Megumi looked up at the towering figure who called himself his father. For once, his father's voice lacked the usual playful tilt. This time, he was as serious as he had ever been.
"But I can teach you to fight like 'him'."
With his right hand gripping his shikigami's heavy, furred neck, Megumi rose to his feet, sparing a brief glance at his injuries. Cuts and bruises had already smoothed out, his skin mending with unnatural speed. The gaping hole in his torso, which had threatened to end him moments earlier, was sealed shut. He could feel his internal organs slowly shuffling back into place, settling where they belonged.
This wasn't the first time he'd been hurt, though it had never gotten this severe. He released his shikigami's neck, pulling a knife from the pouch strapped to his lower back as he settled into a stance. His feet spread wide, arms apart, with the towering spirit at his back. The stance emphasized counters over aggression. Round Deer remained behind him—not the most combat-capable of his spirits, but certainly not useless.
Across from him, Sukuna's baleful red eyes gleamed. The king of curses watched with a lazy smirk. "Are you done with your futile preparations?" The words cut through the air with a harshness that sent a wave of uncertainty down Megumi's spine, but he shrugged it off, focusing on the threat before him.
A single finger. That's all this was. One finger of the strongest sorcerer in history. And if he couldn't survive this, what hope did he have? What would that mean for his future, for the expectations of his nonchalant but ever-present father?
He didn't bother with words. Instead, he raised his free hand in a familiar gesture. Come. This wasn't Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses, and the imagined two-faced god. This was a mere fraction of that calamity. A simple facsimile.
The incarnated sorcerer's lips split into a grin as he moved. Megumi's eyes widened. Sukuna was fast—blisteringly fast, a blur tearing up the ground as he charged. But Megumi's instincts kicked in, eyes narrowing as a smile tugged at his lips. He had seen faster.
The first blow, a straight punch, whistled through the air with lethal precision. Megumi deflected it upward, the sheer force erasing the brief smile that had flashed across his face. Sukuna's four eyes widened in amusement and he compensated instantly, bringing down that same hand in a second blow with ruthless force, an overhead strike that cracked the very air. Megumi braced, attempting to block like he had seen the younger Gojo do effortlessly—but he wasn't Gojo. The impact was overwhelming. His forearm fractured instantly under the crushing force.
"You're weak, brat." His father's voice echoed in his mind. "Never try to match a sorcerer in strength. You fight smart. Counters and parries—that's how you survive."
The words grounded him as Sukuna followed up with a savage kick aimed at his midsection. Megumi shifted, his body moving on instinct. He caught Sukuna's extended leg with his uninjured hand, driving the knife he had hidden into Sukuna's thigh in a rapid, precise motion—once, twice, the blade sinking deep. The cursed flesh gave way, but the pain barely slowed Sukuna. The muscles flexed and the strength behind Sukuna's leg sent a jolt of pain up Megumi's injured arm, breaking the blade and forcing him to drop it. It clattered to the ground, but he wasn't done.
Twisting his hips, Megumi tried to throw Sukuna off balance, his body moving fluidly, seamlessly transitioning from defense to offense. But Sukuna was faster, his raw power finally breaking Megumi's hold with contemptuous ease. A mocking smirk played on the cursed king's lips, and Megumi could hear the unspoken message: Is this the extent of your drive?
Undeterred, Megumi pressed forward, closing the distance between them, refusing to give Sukuna space to leverage his devastating momentum and strength. He drove a cursed energy-infused blow using only the edge of his knuckles into the narrow gap between Sukuna's ribs—right where the exposed muscles were stretched thin. The hit connected with a dull thud, and for the briefest of moments, Sukuna staggered.
But only for a moment.
"Surprise and unpredictability. That's how you fight sorcerers who are better than you, and after we're done. The only sorcerers better than you would be the monsters."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his amusement darkening. Like he hadn't expected Megumi to shift from counters to aggression. Nor for the blow to hit with such force especially from a hand that was meant to be broken. He took a step back, scratching his jaw in amusement as he noticed the antlers of Round Deer pressing against Megumi's back.
"I'm certain I broke that arm, and I refuse to believe you have the capacity to heal yourself. So a shikigami that uses reverse cursed energy? Interesting... Is that all it does, or are you too weak to use it properly?"
Megumi ignored the taunt. A flick of his foot sent the broken blade back into his hand, though he knew it was useless. He could pull something deadlier from his shadow, but that would mean killing Itadori. Could he do that? Could he kill the boy who had been so happy, so innocent, with his bright view of the world?
It would be easier, and if it were his father, there'd be no question. But he refused to be a complete replica of the man. Unfortunately, Sukuna wasn't giving him many options.
"You've got a good foundation," Sukuna remarked, rolling his shoulder as he assessed the damage, "but that's all it is. Potential."
Sukuna dropped his hand from his chin, inspecting the bruise on his torso and began to mutter to himself. "Not even the reverse cursed technique? Was it just my pinky finger the brat ate? No matter. It's enough for a warm-up before I find him."
Megumi's mind raced. His stance lowered, fingers dipping into his shadow.
Sukuna's attention snapped to him immediately, the casual tone vanishing as he took a step forward—then froze.
"What... what are you doing with my body?" Sukuna's lips moved, but the tone had shifted, tinged with disbelief and something deeper. For a second, it sounded like Itadori, but that was impossible.
"How?" Sukuna's voice cracked, laden with confusion and frustration. "How is this brat managing to suppress me!?" This time, the voice familiar once more, bearing that malice sukuna effortlessly expressed, and Megumi watched in confusion as the incarnated sorcerer took a step back, then another.
Slowly, the cursed markings on Itadori's body began to fade. The extra pair of eyes just beneath his regular ones fluttered, struggling to stay open before finally closing shut and smoothing over. "It's my body, isn't it?" This time, Megumi was sure it was Yuji's voice, calm and unbothered, like he was simply stating the sky was blue. "Why would I let you run rampant in it?"
Megumi's disbelief was palpable. "You're... fighting back?"
Itadori glanced down at his chest as the last of the markings vanished. "Yeah, I can feel him in there. Creepy dude, for sure. You forgot to mention getting cursed energy comes with a nagging old geezer."
Megumi blinked in reinforced confusion, so Itadori continued. "Anyway, how about we grab some chicken meatballs after this? I'm starving."
Itadori finished with a laugh, casually scratching his head.
Megumi hesitantly relaxed his stance, cautiously watching the monster-turned-boy. "Sure. But let me make a few calls first."
He pulled out his phone eyes still on the pink haired boy, he dialed the most reliable person he knew, Gojo Satoru. The line rang three times with no answer. When it finally did, it was to a few words.
"Sike! This is a voicemail, blah blah blah blah, I'm too busy. Probably with my cute little Jiki. Disturb someone else sucker — doubly so if you're a higher up... don't get your pants in a twist, i was just kidding... or am I?" The voicemail ended with a diabolical laugh before beeping. Megumi was forced to reconsider reliable tag.
He tried his father next—straight to voicemail. He considered calling Jiki but suddenly a rumble rang out and Megumi was forced back into combat mode. Had all the stress on the building finally damaged something. At least that was his thought process till he noticed Itadori's sheepish grin and realised the faint rumble was coming from his stomach.
With a resigned sigh, Megumi dismissed Round Deer. "Fine. Let's find you something to wear first."
Itadori's grin widened as he followed Megumi back toward the hole the curse had created when it sent Megumi out of the school corridors. They came across Itadori's classmates, unconscious but stable. "Uh... maybe the hospital before food?" Itadori suggested with a nervous chuckle.
Megumi checked their pulses, relieved to find they were alive. "Agreed. A hospital visit comes first, then we can talk about those... meatballs."
...
Jiki sat cross-legged, breathing steadily as he slowly restored the cursed energy he had depleted during the summoning of Susanoo. He knew a difficult conversation awaited him, but for now, he chose to tackle the simpler task.
He stood and dressed, slipping into a black kimono and hakama. The weight of the white haori he draped over his shoulders felt like the mantle of responsibility. As he exited his quarters, the maids, those who had once worked under Aiko, bowed their heads in respect. Jiki barely acknowledged them, his focus elsewhere. The same went for the clansmen he passed in the corridors, their murmured greetings met with nothing but his purposeful stride. It didn't take long for them to part before him, sensing the gravity of his mood.
His destination was clear: Old Man Tatsumi's mansion.
Descending the dark staircase that led to the cavern beneath the estate, Jiki emerged into a remodeled space that had once housed the old man's meditation chamber. Now, it had been repurposed, yet still carried the weight of its history.
Two figures awaited him inside.
The first was Satoru, seated casually with his chair flipped backward, his arms draped over the backrest, chin resting lazily on his hands. Despite Jiki's silent approach, Satoru spoke without turning.
"Yo, fully recovered?" Satoru's voice carried a teasing edge, with an underlying tone of concern lay hidden within it.
His words caught the attention of the second occupant in the room.
The cavern was already an unsettling place on it's own. Shrouded in darkness, with only the occasional flicker of dim light from old lanterns mounted on the jagged walls. Their spluttering flames, casting shadows that danced across the uneven rock. The room had already been desecrated with Old Man Tatsumi's death; now the sight of the figure in the middle didn't make it any better.
The cursed corpse hung in the center, suspended mid-air by crude iron hooks thrust deep into its shoulders, forcing its body upright in a grotesque display. Chains, etched with binding seals and inscribed with talismans, snaked around its form, immobilizing it completely. Thick ropes tethered its legs to the floor, robbing it of any leverage or hope for escape.
Jiki came to a stop a few meters away, his expression impassive. "Enough for this," Jiki replied to Satoru, as he came to a halt meters away from the cursed puppet.
"Has it said—"
Before he could speak further, a voice interrupted.
"I'm a woman, you buffoon," the cursed puppet spat, the words dripping with venom.
Jiki blinked, not at the insult—it barely registered—but at the dialect. The accent and language were unmistakably old, a version of Japanese that hadn't been spoken in centuries. It wasn't so ancient as to be incomprehensible, but it was distinct enough to reveal that the soul inhabiting the corpse wasn't from their time.
He glanced toward Satoru, wondering if his cousin had noticed the same. Satoru remained lazily draped over the back of his chair, barely acknowledging the revelation. "As you can see, it—she's been... vocal," he said with a grin. "Just not saying what we want to hear."
Jiki stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the cursed corpse. The figure before him was humanoid, vaguely doll-like, its features ambiguous, as if the body itself resisted being fully shaped. This made it harder for the soul to reassert any control, while still offering enough humanity for possession.
"Who are you?" Jiki asked, his voice low, calm.
"Where am I?" the cursed corpse countered, its tone defiant. An answer for an answer. Jiki decided to play along, knowing that its questions were revealing in their own way.
"You're in Japan, the Gojo clan estate. Now give me a name."
"The Gojo clan...?" the corpse echoed, its voice trailing off in thought. "Wait, isn't that one of those off-branch clans from the Sugawaras? Where did they find two monsters like you?"
The mention of the Sugawaras, the same legendary clan from which the Gojo had supposedly descended was unexpected. The Sugawaras had all but disappeared after the Heian period, and yet, this puppet spoke of them with a familiarity that suggested it had known them personally. But there was something else: it dismissed the Gojo clan as if it were a trivial footnote in history, not one of the three great sorcerer families.
"Oh, we've got ourselves an old fossil, Jiki-kun," Satoru laughed, quickly picking up on the same conclusion.
Jiki's mind raced. A sorcerer from a thousand years ago, speaking through a cursed puppet, its soul somehow surviving the passage of time. But how? How had a sorcerer's soul been anchored to the present, possessing this form centuries after it should have dissipated? Once again, he was hit with the feeling that they had only scratched the surface of something. It was orochimaru's plot again, but on a different scale.
"You... What are you talking about?" the corpse asked, confusion flickering across its features.
Jiki stepped closer, scrutinizing the cursed corpse's form. He could feel the cursed energy radiating from it, ebbing and flowing like a turbulent tide. Whatever this thing was, it was adapting fast. Too fast. His analytical mind churned through the possibilities. It wasn't the sorcerer's own work; the corpse seemed as confused as they were. This was something deeper, something unknown.
"Satoru?" Jiki asked, his voice carrying the weight of a question.
Satoru shrugged. "It's still imprinting. Faster than it should, but slower than it would have if she had incarnated in the girl's body like it was planned."
So, the sorcerer's technique was struggling to imprint fully on this unfamiliar vessel. If they had allowed the sorcerer to possess the intended girl, the process would have been quicker and more seamless. But now, they had bought themselves time—though not much. The soul was adapting, faster with each passing second, Judging by his cousin's words.
Jiki's eyes narrowed as he studied the cursed puppet. It had gone silent, clearly trying to regain its bearings. Time to disorient it further. Raising his hand, he formed a familiar seal, his fingers flowing effortlessly through the motions.
"Tsukuyomi."
The words were uttered with such conviction, Jiki was left surprised when a second later they were still in the cavern and the cursed corpses was left looking at him like he was stupid. "Bahahahahahhah!" Satoru's laugh ripped through the cavern, echoing off the jagged walls as he floated a few meters above, still seated in his chair, defying gravity. Jiki let out a sigh, silently enduring the humiliation. He would've preferred if the earth just swallowed Satoru up, but instead, the untouchable sorcerer hovered mid-air, his laughter filling the space. Meanwhile, the cursed corpse looked between them in pure confusion.
Jiki should've known better. His impatience had gotten the best of him. Of course, the genjutsu failed. The cursed corpse barely had any cursed energy other than the one in its core, and even that little was present in the body was in a flux, coupled with the volatile cursed energy of the incarnated sorcerer.
If the technique hadn't fully imprinted on the body yet, then the puppet didn't have full control over its cursed energy, which meant genjutsu was useless... for now.
"You should've seen your face when it failed," Satoru chuckled, still hovering with a smug grin plastered on his face.
Shrugging off the embarrassment, Jiki moved closer to the corpse. Its body hung in midair, suspended by cursed chains. He reached out and grasped its bound leg, holding one of its toes between his fingers. As he inspected it, he marveled at the craftsmanship. Principal Yaga truly was something special.
Without hesitation, Jiki twisted the toe and ripped it off. The curse let out a pained grunt, its eyes glaring daggers at him. Satoru's laughter trailed off, and Jiki could feel the shift in the room as his cousin realized just how far he was willing to go.
The cursed puppet could feel pain, and unlike the rushed encounter with Shui Kong, Jiki wasn't in a hurry. He stripped off the top layer of his haori, letting his kimono fall to his hips, standing there in just his tight undershirt. His gaze met Satoru's, and the look they exchanged needed no words. Jiki's glance was a silent question—did Satoru need to be here for this?
But the grin on Satoru's face, wry and supportive, was all the answer Jiki needed. His cousin wasn't leaving.
Turning back to the cursed puppet, the same realization dawned on it that had fallen over Satoru. This wasn't going to be quick or painless.
"Torture wasn't exactly my first choice," Jiki mused aloud, though there was a practiced coldness in his voice. He much preferred the precise elegance of genjutsu, but after years of doing dirty work with the ANBU, he was desensitized to this kind of thing. "But i quite honestly can't wait for you to grow a conscience and answer my questions."
It was almost novel, torturing a cursed puppet. He figured the novelty would wear off soon enough, especially since he would have to relearn the fine line where the person would be in so much pain they would tell you what you wanted to hear, balanced against the truth.
"What are you doing? Get your grubby hands away from me, you—AHHHHHH!"
The screams that followed pierced through the dark cavern, echoing out into the clan grounds. The already quiet and brooding Gojo estate fell into a further silence, and for days after, no one dared speak or even ask of what transpired in that chamber.
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