Chapter Text
He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable about it and he can oddly feel his parasitic demon shift about inside his soul, can feel him grumble like thunder behind his eyelids. There’s something really uncomfortable about this place, this damp and dark area. It feels both terrifying and angry and just so… so sad. He can’t exactly place it. Perhaps it’s because it’s so dark. Perhaps it’s the pork buns he bought at Lawson’s coming for revenge.
“Don’t you think something’s up with Gojo sensei?” Megumi’s brows lift slightly at Itadori’s question, offering a non-verbal inquiry for him to elaborate. “Usually he goes shopping for souvenirs during this time. I’m surprised he’s actually here with us.” Nobara sniffs and Itadori can imagine her nose wrinkling a bit. “Plus, Nanami sensei is here as well.”
“Yeah, when you put it that way…”
He has to imagine because it’s quite dark and he’s focusing his attention on not tripping on himself. The pink-haired individual heaves a sigh as he realizes that his phone battery is getting a little bit lower, considering that he’s had his phone’s flashlight on for the last ten minutes that they had been wandering around.
“Hey, sensei, do you know if we’ve found it yet?”
Their white-haired teacher stops several feet in front of them and Itadori flashes his light beam in his direction. Gojo puts his hands on his hips before turning on his heel to face them. “Nope!” He sings songs. Pivoting once more, he continues his trot into the darkness with absolute disregard for the direction he’s heading as he giggles to himself.
Megumi sighs under his breath. “Idiot.”
Luckily, it’s just one direction of going back and forth, although the dark corridor they’re in is relatively wide, like an actual underground street. It’s amazing how the temple actually has this massive tunnel as the basement (behind the general storage area).
The three students had been relatively excited, especially Nobara as she had always wanted to visit the Nagano area and purchase a magnet to put in her dorm room’s mini refrigerator. Gojo had also obliged, telling her that he knew exactly where to find the best and cheapest magnets. Her excitement had quickly dissipated after Megumi had told her that it had been Gojo’s first time going to Nagano.
He feels Sukuna’s energy, not in the same way that would flicker the evil creature into more of a physical appearance and full possession. It’s more in the way that he knows that Sukuna’s uncomfortable -- it had happened before when he had thought that Itadori had been near death. So now the pink-haired teenager is just a touch concerned, wondering if there’s something that he should be worried about. He can practically feel Sukuna rubbing a palm over his forehead, can almost smell the sweat that’s trickling down the demon’s nape.
“Exactly how are we supposed to find an invisible key to an invisible chamber that may or may not exist?” Itadori asks, lowering the brightness of his cell phone flashlight to conserve as much of his battery as possible. “Also, why do we have to do this at night ?”
Megumi snorts. “Weren’t you previously in an occult club that did weird voodoo experiments in the ass crack of the night?”
“That was different!” Itadori exclaims. “That was before I knew that… that all this stuff was real. I mean, I knew it was real, it’s just different when you actually become part of it and have to work with it.” He grumbles. “It’s just because you said there’s a mummy here. Somewhere.”
His head hurts. He knows there isn’t much in terms of audible stimulation in this basement, save for the scuffle of their feet and hushed chatter but-- Itadori swallows. He hears crying in his head, the crying of a baby. It stings his brain and he shakes his head as though that would rid him of the sound.
“It isn’t a mummy, silly,” Nobara chides. “It’s supposed to be a cursed user who’s been bound for hundreds of years. Weren’t you paying attention to Nanami-sensei’s lecture in the van?”
“Er. No.” Itadori’s jaw drops. “But seriously though. No way, that’s so gross -- I’d rather just see a completely dead mummy-- Oof--” He bumps directly into Gojo’s back with a solid thump, only to pinball back against Nanami, who keeps him upright with a solid hand on his shoulder. He had almost forgotten that the blonde-haired teacher had accompanied them, considering how quiet he had been walking behind the four of them.
“To find Paradise, we must first find the key which cannot be perceived by any of the senses,” Gojo states.
They’ve all ceased their walking, and Itadori’s heart is thumping in his ribcage. His joints feel tense, jaw clenched and his cellphone flickers. Megumi pulls out his own, using his flashlight so that Itadori can turn his phone off to conserve energy.
Itadori focuses as hard as he can, trying to scan the area for any cursed energy around them but he feels none. Perhaps it’s because of the prayers of the monks and nuns in the temple washing the atmosphere clean of any evil attempting to break out from its parallel. He can’t exactly tell, because the only feeling he has is the odd ringing in his ears and he wants it to stop. He feels sick.
Megumi’s phone flashlight turns off.
They’re all silent and all Itadori can hear is the sound of a baby crying again. He can hear Sukuna gritting his teeth, black nails gripping the arms of his corpse throne. Stop. Make the child stop .
“We already have the key.” It’s Gojo’s voice, and Itadori has never felt so relieved to hear his teacher speak, his voice echoing throughout the basement. And suddenly it feels like he’s being vacuumed out of existence as he hears Sukuna’s voice booming through his body like thunder and he digs his heels into the ground, doing his best to suppress the demon manifesting itself.
There’s the audible sound of chains tinkling.
Lanterns ahead of them burst into flames bright enough to illuminate the hallway with an eerie, blue glow. A gasp escapes them and Itadori’s certain it’s from his own mouth as he stares, the light casting upon a figure that seems to be sitting neatly on a platform. Its legs are tucked neatly under its feet, small hands folded and face tilted downwards, partially obscured by locks of hair. The creature is bound with multiple chains that’s staked into the ground, strips of blessed binding spells on each of the pegs and all over the metal holding. Under all the bondage, it’s difficult to make out what the creature is wearing, but it seems to be a starch-white kimono, untouched by the hands of time.
Very slowly, the head of the creature lifts up, hair moving from its face as its eyes slowly open. It blinks once, twice back at them. It’s a woman, a beautiful one at that, with streaks of what appears to be fresh tears running down her cheeks. He feels as though he’s punched in the gut as she locks eyes with him and he can feel Sukuna bubbling up into the surface. He feels as though his brain is being twisted in all different directions before being vacuumed into the familiar dark void. The last thing he feels are his knees hitting the floor with a painful clack.
---
She looks up, her eyes widening a fraction as she sees the tattooed man make its way to the front. A shudder escapes her parted lips, throat ready for a dry hiss to escape as the chains rattle under her movement. Her joints creak from lack of use as she leans back on her platform, doing her best to maximize the space between her and the man-- no, the monster .
She stares him down, eyes poisonous and hands balling into fists.
“You. Why have you come?” She spits out, voice hoarse. “Why have you come now ?”
The shake in her voice is more audible than one would expect her to want. Sukuna comes close, unable to go past the magical barrier that had been established by the first pegs of her chains. So instead he sits in a half-kneeling position to match hers, his clawed hands resting on his thighs.
“You.” He breathes out, staring at her in a strange mix of amazement and respect. “It is you.”
Megumi and Nobara exchange looks before glancing over to Nanami, who seems the least unfazed by the current situation.
“Do not dare address me like that.” The chained woman glares daggers at him. “You filthy snake. You of all people would dare disturb my rest,” she snarls. “I have been at peace in the darkness of prayer for centuries and you disturb me now?”
Megumi frowns a little, confused by the current exchange of words between the two, only to realize what is happening on the sideline. Neither Sukuna nor the....mummy seem to be interested in antagonizing the humans at the moment.
At least, until the white-haired sorcerer disperses the paper binding from the chains.
Immediately, Sukuna simply flicks away the gigantic metal pegs that had been chaining the woman down. She lets out an angry sound, her rage building in the corridor, making everyone inside feel claustrophobic at the intense force of her cursed energy threatening to bubble over like a kettle. They feel the woman’s force as the chains that had been on her fly towards Sukuna, completely wrapping around him tightly as she picks up one of the sharp metal pegs.
“How could you,” she seethes, stepping towards Sukuna. For the first time ever, the two students see a blank-faced monster instead of the usual smarmy individual. In any other situation, they know (and have seen) the King of Curses would immediately break through the chains. Megumi takes a step back and so does Nobara; Nanami steps forward, wedging himself between the potential threat and the two.
With her energy, the pointed metal pegs that had been keeping her down fly towards the bound King of Curses, only for Gojo to step in, the deadly sharp stakes straining to break the Limitless barrier.
She yells, the sound echoing like a roar in the basement as she strains to fight against the distortion of space, her eyes blazing in rage. Nobara’s hand subconsciously grips her hammer as she notices the pressure of the cursed spirit’s metal pegs are actually pushing Gojo and his invisible barrier a couple of inches. The teenage boy’s black wolf shikigami appear, snarling and barking, ready to attack. Even with the strongest sorcerer and the King of Curses on their side, the two young students actually feel their stomach drop -- she is terrifying and the light in her eyes spell nothing but pure rage and hatred.
Her focus on destroying Limitless causes the chains on Sukuna to loosen, the monster immediately breaking out of the binds with loud crackling snaps. The action triggers both the older human sorcerers -- Nanami quickly pulling the two students back several feet and Gojo quickly knocking the demon out cold, his head smacking hard against the wooden wall of the corridor.
The woman stares blankly at the pink-haired individual sprawled on the floor, the light from the glowing lanterns allowing them to see the black markings on his face slowly disappear. The students also stare as well before they walk over, helping an unconscious Itadori up as much as they could muster.
And that’s when Gojo also knocks her out cold with a quick blow to the back of her neck, a huff escaping her before she falls, her face saved from being broken onto the floor when the sorcerer sticks a leg out to catch her. “Hehe.”
“Was that truly necessary, Gojo?” Nanami’s words are more of a statement rather than a question as he assists with Itadori, nodding his head at Megumi and Nobara as he could easily carry the pink-haired teen without any issue. “She wouldn’t have attacked you.”
Gojo tuts, bending down to collect the woman, her head lolling back with her neck propped against the crook of his arm. “Tsk. Did you see her? She looked downright murderous! I’m certain she would have nuked us all or something.”
“Or nothing ,” Nanami mutters under his breath as the lanterns slowly dim before turning off, followed by Megumi’s phone flashlight turning back on. “She doesn’t attack children.”
Megumi and Nobara tuck their lips in, glancing at each other as they simply observe the younger sorcerer insult his superior. Gojo sounds so affronted, grumbling that the love of his life would be so cruel to him. Nanami nearly gags.
They all walk back, the two older sorcerers with their unconscious masses in their arms.
“Oh, wow, she smells like fresh laundry!”
“Her clothes are changed daily by the nuns, Gojo.”
“Also, why are you sniffing her, you freak--”
“Oh my God , what is wrong with you all. I’m leaving you all behind, goodbye.”
It’s eerily quiet, save for the sound of dripping. As your eyes come to, you aren’t exactly sure where the dripping is coming from because you wake up on your back with your eyes to a ceiling of what appears to be a gigantic ribcage.
There is the smell of metal and its familiarity makes you gag as you sit upright, realizing that you had been lying in a shallow pool of blood this whole time.
It is dark here, save for the unnatural glow of what feels and appears as a sick poison cloud in the twilight, blanketing the area with an unholy atmosphere. Your breath stills in your throat as you realize exactly where you are, a twisted version of your own innate domain -- poisoned, warped, and disfigured. You know this place, know it too well, a disgusting attempt at recreating the shrine that the both of you once lived in. It's downright sad how he had used memories to create a sort of haven for himself, a place that he could live in solitude with the punishing shell of what his life once was.
You look up to where a mountain of bones and corpses lay. Seated atop on a sacrilegious throne is none other than the individual that you have sought to both avoid and destroy. He stares down at you, an unreadable expression to counter your angered one. The King of Curses gestures for you to come up, to which your hands ball into fists, lengthy nails stabbing into your palm.
“You will not order me around like some servant girl, you worm.” You snarl at him.
He simply lets out an amused scoff. “Alright then.” Walking leisurely down his mountain of dried carcasses, he stands before you. Your eyes sift over from the white robe he has on, the urge to decimate him nearly overpowering you as you lift your gaze up to his. You hate how tall he is, how much taller he is than you. You aren’t exactly short, but he always managed to make you feel physically tiny with nearly a whole foot separating you two in height.
“You have not changed a single bit, angel,” he tells you, gigantic hands cupping your face. You bristle under his touch, disgusted at how he has the gumption of even coming face-to-face with you. You spit at his face -- or at least attempt to, with your spittle barely managing to reach his chin. He laughs, wiping it off with his palm and onto his white robe. “Still feisty as ever, I see.”
“Why have you summoned me here? Why have you awoken me?” You ask, shoving him aside as you conjure up a small lightning dagger. You point the tip at him. “Why have you been awoken?”
He sighs, shrugging his shoulders as he grasps the blade of the dagger, the current sending sparks along his forearm but doing nothing to actually harm him. You curse under your breath, realizing that his power had increased over the centuries along with the power he held in his domain.
“Some brat ate one of my fingers,” he mutters before nonchalantly waving his hand in the air. “Less about me, more about you.” Yanking the blade from your hand, he tosses it aside, fingers wrapping around your wrist so he can pull you to him. He plants kisses on your hands, wrist, and down along your forearms. "How I have missed you so, little thing."
You try to fight him, hands balling into fists in an attempt to swing at him, but he holds your face to his chest, nearly smothering you. Your yells are muffled against the robe as you thump your fists against his back, conjure lightning blades to dig into the cloth and his flesh. You swing both of your hands, stabbing him multiple times. It doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, and instead he strokes the back of your head.
You yell into his chest angrily, tears brimming in your eyes as yet again you are belittled, once more by one of the men from ages past.
When he finally pulls away, he once more cradles your face in his hands with a tenderness that makes your stomach churn. You wish to vomit. You want to vomit on him. But perhaps not on the white robe, your white robe that he had stolen from you.
“I have searched for you, angel,” he tells you.
His expression looks almost sad and you have the urge to gouge his eyes out. So you attempt to, hands reaching up for his face so that you can jab your thumbs into his eye sockets and pull the offending organs out. You want to mash them under the soles of your sandals. Much to your dismay, he holds your wrists firmly, keeping them in place and away from your intended goal. You grunt, trying to dig your heels into the wet ground for purchase as you lean your weight against his hands. A huff escapes him as you try to move your thumbs as close as possible to his face.
“I searched for you for centuries even in my slumber, sought you out in your dreams. Aren’t you happy to see me? I’ve found you. Do you not love me anymore?” His last words come out nearly in a whisper and you cannot help the empty laugh that leaves you. Of course he would be concerned about his love and how it affected him, the lack of it haunting him like a monster. He doesn’t care so much to even voice his own affection to you -- if he had any, that is. You hate it, hate how this caricature of your husband has come to be so alive.
“No. I do not.”
He seems to be taken aback by your words as he blinks once, twice. And he is so stupid, God is he just so stupid -- it seems as though he just realized it now. A laugh escapes him. “I see.”
You hate him, you hate men and their inability to pick up the most basic things of life, the way that they believe that they can crush the worlds under their feet. And they do, they destroy worlds and expect your kind to birth it back, shiny and new and ready to be consumed once more.
His hands let go of yours to rest one over your abdomen, feeling over that spot and your brows knit together. It hurts, hurts as though it were yesterday as you press your lips tightly together. He tilts your chin up with a black fingernail, scanning your face.
“How you suffered, angel,” he whispers. “Physical and mental anguish. I would have taken the pain away, made it mine. I would have taken the stars from the sky to have brought the smile back into your eyes.”
The problem is that you know he would and you know the extent of what he had done in your sake. He has done it before, thrown the skies into darkness and death as he ravaged the land in search of a way to avenge your family.
But the fact that he is validating how empty you had felt then (and now) hurts.
It is as though it were yesterday with the blood dripping from your hips and the silence that followed. How you had no energy to cry or even reach your arms out for your child as your husband had worked to breathe air into the child’s lungs before setting the blood-soaked child down onto the pile of soft fabrics. Sukuna had turned his attention to you just as your conscience had slipped away, prayers and chants escaping his lips so that he could mend the massive gaping wound he had inflicted on you to remove the baby.
You remember waking much, much later with a mouth and head like cotton and your guts a numbing fire. The first question to leave your lips was for your baby, where is the baby? He had simply held your hand, expression downcast. You couldn’t even get up to scream and hammer his chest with your fists. Instead you lay on your back, eyes to the ceiling of the wooden rafters. Your husband had built this little house for you and him, with the prospect of having a little family.
Tears stream down your cheeks, welling in the shell of your ears. It muffles the sound of your own wet hiccups as you hold tightly onto your husband’s hand. “Again-- Ag...ain…?” You sling your arm over your eyes. It hurts to cry. Your body hurts with nothing to show for it.
Later on that week when you’re more healed, he helps you walks you to the garden. There’s another little pile of rocks next to the other three. After praying quietly and burning incense, you sniffle, hiding your face in your husband’s chest. You grip the black fabric of his robes as he holds you close, large hand gently stroking your hair.
How ironic that your husband had been one of the monks that sheltered the dead children from demons. It seems as though the very spirits of the children he used to protect seem to be slightly jealous, not wishing to have their patron leave them so easily. Alas, he is kept in the cycle of burying your children and protecting them beyond the grave.
Your husband holds you as tenderly as he possibly can, nurses you back to health as much as he physically can. Your heart will always hurt, and so will his.
It isn’t until many moons later that you allow him to touch you once more. He kisses you gently, like you’re made of porcelain and you very well may be. He sheds your white robe from your body, hands resting on the swell of your hips with his lips pressing whispers against your neck. You whisper to him how much you love him and he reciprocates, your name and you on his tongue as he loses himself inside you. Somewhere beyond the glitter of your own tears in your vision, you tilt your head back in ecstasy and he counts the stars in your eyes and his, promises to keep the sparkle in your heart and hang them up in the sky for all to see. You trust him as you always have, you love him as he always has deserved. He loves you with all his might as well, all large hands and muscle and sinew and kisses to melt you like butter in a heated pan.
He keeps his cock in you as far in as he possibly can after he's filled you up, his hand resting over where he had sliced you open. He kisses your neck, your temple, your forehead.
Seven months later and there are two extra little piles of stones in the garden.
You don’t remember allowing him to touch you again.
There are tears running down your face again and you feel disgusting, gross sobs wracking your chest as you even feel your nose go. He’s holding your face and you cry, fingers balling into his robes as you look up at him. Oh, how the dam breaks.
“I got you.”
“I hate you!”
“I know, I know, little one.”
“I hate you.”
You scream into his chest once more when he holds you to him, tenderly, as though he were afraid to be cut on your broken piece. He allows himself to risk any cuts as he wipes your face gently. The kiss he presses to your forehead makes you hiccup down a sniffle.
“Will you be with me?” He asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. Inadvertently, you lean into the surprisingly human warmth of his palm. You don’t answer his question, you just close your eyes and allow him to hold you once more to your chest, his voice. “Will you be with me again, angel?”
He doesn’t need to know. Doesn’t need to know now.
Sukuna is patient. He can wait.