Chapter Text
It is dark, stifling and they are not alone.
Where are they?
It is cramped, and they feel another fight for space against them, like greedy children clawing for a parent’s affections. This is my soul, mine!
It– She– He– They– claw back, kicking and squirming to dislodge the weight from them. They will not allow themselves to be suffocated so easily. Fine, don’t share, but make room!
What are they?
Who are they?
They feel a sensation like breaching the surface and gasp for air, knowing that they have won this battle. The other sulks, not attempting to pull them back down, but the threat is still present.
I throw my head back and inhale deeply. Free, free, I’m free–!
Something approaches, and some instinct within me orders my limbs to swing out and for my hand to strike. The monster (curse, that was a curse, how is it–?) bursts apart violently and spatters a tainted purple liquid across the ground. It comes apart so easily at the seams, it is incredible that only one of Sukuna’s fingers could grant such a pathetic creature such power. Satisfied that the threat has been dealt with, I turn my head sky-ward, and once again find myself breathless. I have never seen so clear a night.
“How glorious…” I find myself saying in a voice that is not my own. I know not to question it (I know what this is, I want to appreciate the calm before the storm) and instead spin in a slow circle to truly take in the wonders of modern rural Japan. “Stars so different from what I used to know, yet so familiar.” I fight back the laugh that threatens to erupt, a maniacal and menacing thing that does not do this body justice. Itadori Yuuji. Only he would wear such garish yellow.
I can taste the spike of fear from behind me (like copper on my tongue, I am tempted to chase after the taste but find my restraint; I do not want to scare the boy even more) and turn to find Fushiguro Megumi bleeding across the roof, attempting to take a battle stance. I raise a brow despite myself. He is capable, yes, but injured and in no state to fight a Curse like myself. (Sukuna Sukuna Sukuna–)
“Do not attempt to stand, little one, you are in no condition to battle.” I tell him, my steps soft as I approach. I pull my cursed energy inwards (not mine, like a blanket shared between dear friends) so he may cease his needless shivering and let me closer. “Do not be discouraged. You are still young yet, and needn’t have to worry about having to face a Curse so far from your Grade. You possess a useful technique, if utilised correctly, and will go far in life with more training.” I place a hand on Fushiguro’s head and feel the warmth of a campfire enjoyed with friends wash through me and into the teenager, sealing away his wounds. I drop to one knee beside him and ignore his flinching to wipe the blood from his face. “It is rather irresponsible for your Elders to send out one child to retrieve a Special Grade Cursed Object,” I click my tongue before sitting alongside the boy. “Truly, the standards have fallen since my time.”
Fushiguro opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by my hand gripping my face and janking my head to the side. Or, rather, Itadori’s hand.
“Give me my body back!”
I blink in surprise. It is incredibly strange to have a voice be pulled from your throat with words that are not your own. “Of course, child, worry not. I was merely healing your friend. You may take control once more.”
And with that I am pulled beneath the waves once more, hands dragging back into the depths.
Ryoumen Sukuna is alive once more. Bound to a vessel who doesn’t know even the simplest of things about Jujutsu Society, but that does not matter. This body will be his, in the end, and his vessel’s idiocy will no longer be an obstacle.
What will be an obstacle is the creature that has joined him in his Domain.
He can feel it before it even rises from the bloody waters of his inner world, bound to his soul as it is. He resists the temptation to prod at the thread tying them together. It is intricate work, he must admit, but does not want to and so ignores it. He instead turns his attention to his Domain.
It is not the same as when Sukuna last saw it. There are still bones, no longer limited to human and oxen, and an intricately sculpted temple, but there are now paper lanterns and little origami animals. Sukuna recalls seeing children place such things before his throne as though it were an altar in his past lives. An attempt to soothe ruffled feathers from the intruder? He nearly scoffs at the notion. Offerings would not appease him nor would they tame his rage once the creature arrived to face him.
There were plants he recognises and plants he didn’t spread around, hanging from the temple walls or strung across the ribs above him. Something in his mind rings out that they were dangerous, and he once again resists the temptation to pluck one of the apples from the little tree that had sprouted by his throne. Most of the plants bore fruit, and a smile twitches across Sukuna’s face as he realises they must all be poisonous. A reflection of the little intelloper that dared tie their essence to his own. How sweet. He walks to the water’s edge and watches the flowers drift along serenely. Not lotuses, but their lethal counterpart; water lilies.
Beneath the bloody lake, Sukuna watches as a form appears and begins their float to the surface. They emerge from the waters gasping and clawing at their throat, and Sukuna takes in their form while they are distracted.
Wet hair hangs in front of their face, pale skin stained red. If you ignore the scars and blemishes, they had a complexion fit for royalty. They are wearing garments the likes of which he has never seen before. Loose, tied together with rope rather than sashes, with elegant embroidery. A golden hoop wraps around their neck like a collar, or perhaps a noose. Sukuna has met merchants and travellers from all over the continent, but has never come across clothes like these. From Europe, he surmises, or perhaps even further west. They are too pale to be from elsewhere.
A second set of arms emerge from underneath their robes to pry their hair from their face, and Sukuna stills as two pairs of blood red eyes stare into his own.
Their voice is reverent as they whisper,
“Sukuna.”