I GUESS I'M HUMAN NO MORE

I CAN TELL I'VE ROTTED IN YOUR BRAIN

monster,

There is an old saying passed down in your family that when one walks after confrontation, each footprint leaves puddles of ichor and tears in their wake. One can turn around, heel digging into mud upon a spin, and look down at not their reflection but the skeletons of the old gods. Look a little closer and their gilded bones twist in the graves, pulling the violent in and tormenting the innocent. But one can look forward instead, muse on the gravity of the past but never face it. They will hear the wittering of rotten corpses and spilt ichor from the open craniums of river gods, but they shall never breathe without thinking of morals first.

The sky feels pressed down on the ridge of your spine as your thoughts are spun with that old tale. As you walk with Zenin Maki and Kugisaki, your heart feels heavy with your mother's lullaby once more. It is as if following that fight with Mai, your footsteps etch puddles into the dirt track you follow your classmates on.

"Hey, Maki-san," You muse, following her and Kugisaki, starting to think about something else. "Is what Mai said true? That you don't have cursed energy?"

You think back to earlier, how coldly the two siblings spoke with each other, haughty in their proclamations of being weak and and at the bottom, lacking cursed energy.

Maki seems dull with her own words, as if she is accustomed to the truth, "It's true. I can't even see curses without these glasses."

She takes them off, the thin frame balanced between her nimble fingers and you look at her eyes which were now unshielded. They were raven, a soft kind, kindling to the fur of an auspicious black cat not like the shadows cast by ominous deities. It was the kind of black like when your phone turned off by itself, an unfitting metaphor but you thought it was apt to describe her irises like that, especially since without those glasses, she was wandering blindly in a magical world.

"That's why I use cursed tools," She says idly, "They already have curses imbued in them. I can't pour my own cursed energy into them to do things like you all do."

You wonder if you should harness your cursed energy into a weapon or a tool. When you think about your encounters with foes, all you really have is your wits and your fists, neither of whom seem good enough in battle. Perhaps you should speak to Gojo-sensei about it when you see him next.

Kugisaki lifts her head, "Then why are you a jujutsu sorcerer?"

A short silence and then, "To spite them."

She turns around, looking at you and Kugisaki. You find her features to be beautiful; the sharpness of them were as poignant as the petals of a red spider lily, brimming with elegance in their own way. "I can't wait to see the looks on my family's faces when I become a bigshot sorcerer after all the years they've spent looking down on me."

Both you and Kugisaki stop in your tracks, eyes shining brightly as you look at Maki and then at each other. Maki calls on the two of you, "Come on, let's hurry over to see Shouko-san."

It seems the two of you have developed an earnest and high level of respect for Zenin Maki, a young woman whose perseverance and strength was more than wishful thinking.

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The grass on the field is stirred by a pleasant wind, whittled down to the faintest breeze that brushes your cheeks. Afternoon sunshine cradles the sky like a doting mother to an infant, but such a natural simile did not last long as you watch alabaster clouds writhe and suffocate. The gods seem angry at humanity again and in their own way, the well-versed lipped angels torment the Creation all over again. Honey hangs over the sky, striking the air with a deep stupor; it was as if the chalices of ambrosia were trickling down from the heavens. What poised itself as a walkthrough waterfall was as cunning as an impeding bloodbath to wade through.

Gojo-sensei's indecipherable expression did nothing to soothe the restless atmosphere you were feeling swallowed up in. He was standing over a dozen feet across you on the empty field, hands casually resting in his pockets and shoulders slightly slouched - not that it did anything to even change how tall he was.

"There's nothing to be scared about," He drawls with a somewhat reassuring smile but it half-makes you want to laugh at how playful he's being. "You're not gonna die!"

You sigh, your heart still pinched by anxiety. "I know..."

"But?" He arches an eyebrow, reading you as if you were just another open book.

"... I'm still scared."

Your answer stills all the air around you, three words cutting through the breeze and crumpling it. Gojo-sensei looks up slightly to the sky, letting you watch the sunlight saunter tipsily over his face. He then returns his gaze to you, a slightly shaking teenage girl with uncontrollable power curled up in your veins.

"Then be scared," He says suddenly, almost seriously too but the mask over his words is indestructible, "Your fear is a tool for the enemy and yourself."

You inhale, your figure silhouetted against the sky on this tiring day. The morning was spent in a woeful conflict with students from Kyoto and a brief look around in Shouko-san's office. And now, the afternoon was about to be spent performing your first battle against Gojo Satoru.

You don't even know exactly what you're scared of; it's all puddled together in the twisted ivory encircling your closed-off heart. Curses, curses, curses. Power, power, power.

And at the centre of it, rests the . What splendid tale does a lack of knowledge spin? One that was vicious and devoured it's victims whole in this cruel, jujutsu world? Or the slow, pulsing venom that twisted across skin, letting the mindless hallucinations do the killing for them?

In school, they taught you many things that seem to have fallen into a bottomless pit, a faraway abyss because you had a fixed routine, a fixed life - a reality you returned to everyday without fail. While the corners of your memories bend and fold over in fray, you vividly remember the split in the universe when curses met humanity. And it was the way your life crumbled that has made a spiral tighten in your chest at all times. You are more alert than you have ever been, life chastised by the deities and almost ended on numerous occasions.

When Gojo-sensei sees the fear in your expression start to melt away and be replaced by concentration, he continues, hands still in his pockets as if engaging in chit-chat on a fine day, "Try to land an attack on me. Oh, a tip beforehand! Don't get yourself killed... I can't promise anything."

"Wow," Sarcasm drips in your tone, "You're the best teacher ever. Amazing advice indeed."

While Gojo-sensei remains in the same position as before, you know you have to ready yourself for battle. It was a training session... a test of your abilities by your lonesome. You had specifically requested Itadori not be present so you wouldn't have to embarrass yourself in front of him.

After a deep breath, your head is finally clear on that warm day. You think back to the encounter with Volcano Head. Gojo-sensei waited for him to make the moves. His Cursed Technique requires being defensive at first. It is only when the enemy makes the first move that they lose... they don't stand a chance against his ability.

Wait... what was his ability again?

You remember something to do with Infinity, which had been described briefly as the space between Gojo and the rest. The closer you got to him, the slower you went.

So, I need to make him attack me first. Unless... if I can create an attack that breaks through his barrier.

You think back to the Domain Expansion, the unsettling calmness that wittered in that world. Unlike Itadori and the Cursed Spirit, you were able to move freely.

Gojo-sensei tilts his head, whining a little, "I don't have all day, [F/N]!"

"Then why don't you make the first move?" The edges of your lips twitch a little mischievously at your words. "I noticed you play quite defensively."

You can finally start to unravel the mystery of Gojo Satoru, a shaman blessed by the gods and destined for greatness. He's nonchalant and calm and easy-going, because he can see everything. Be it a million miles away, or just an inch from his face, he can plan in the moment; he has that luxury due to his power.

"Then we'll be here forever, huh," He muses.

Secretly, he is pleased you have figured him out so quickly. Because for once, someone now stands a chance against him.

You don't know how to fight; you've seen it in movies, sure, but they have those green screens and CGI and trained stunt doubles. You don't have any of that yet you have learnt from it. Perhaps, watching all those movies with Itadori was truly paying off in it's own way.

Remembering your fight with Sukuna, you pick up a sharp rock from the ground. You don't bother to hide it, instead staring Gojo-sensei dead in the eyes when you throw it. What he might not realise, however, is that you have two rocks balled up in that fist.

The first rock is thrown much like a sharp shot from the bowler in a cricket match. Hurled across the air, Gojo-sensei narrowly avoids it, and then the other one which comes from a completely different direction.

"I haven't seen that trick in a while," He grins, resuming his stance but the grin is wiped off his face when he looks back at where you were standing and sees

It is a split-second advantage, a tactic born from your observations and instinct. For some reason, this feels familiar to you. Your body isn't stiff like you expected it to be, a pile of bones and skin thrown into battle. It was a warrior toughened by experience that you didn't realise existed in the first place. Was this what Sukuna was talking about all that time ago?

...Memories...

You shake yourself out of it, knowing that dwelling on that, particularly in this crucial moment, would lead you to lose the momentum garnered in the attack.

Weeks of cursed energy control has given you more than just burning fury and potent auras. You are no longer a civilian; the flow of the cursed energy reaping rewards in your body is now at your beck and call. A blunt attack would do nothing to sway the defensiveness of Gojo-sensei's technique. But manipulating the vast, volatile and sporadic amounts of cursed energy rupturing your mind and body is a dangerous task. A task that seemed reserved for those willing to take the risk.

You had done it once with Mai, resolving to your cursed energy being seen as an extension of your body. Surely, you can do it again.

In that moment, all that fear that had washed over you earlier was now warped at your fingertips, spiralling and spiralling and spiralling. It was raw and unfathomable, blinding you as you sprinted further into the darkness of your own power. Being scared was natural; that teenage terror was now wielded as a tool for you. You had been so used to hiding behind shawls and shields of yourself, old shadows and silhouettes from the real world. When the worst happened, you would bury yourself in echoes, imprinting memories on top of each other, losing the tell between real and fake.

Gojo-sensei has never seen something so beautiful. He had lost you in that powerful gaze of his but when you were found, you were entirely new. You had been reborn as if old flesh was cut off and namesakes were torn. Your eyes held bloodlust that you never knew you craved.

You seemed trapped in a thousand years ago, power growing with every second. He saw how instinct controlled you, almost wanting to smile.

So, this is the power of the [L/N] clan. No wonder the higher ups are terrified of her.

He sees you coming, of course, but it was not a bloodshed that could be avoidable. Midnight blue eclipsed your body like a hardened aura. You were contemplating if you should do what you had seen Fushiguro do, enhance your physical attacks with it. But you decide against it.

Attacks against Gojo-sensei would prove difficult to make unpredictable, yet you narrowly succeed. You don't often do this, letting your heart guide you instead of your mind. But, as you feel the cursed energy being manipulated, it felt strangely right. It felt like a mother's touch, a kiss on the forehead at bedtime, a hug on your birthday.

That was what Cursed Energy seemed to feel like to you.

A remnant of someone you once loved.

Your hand comes striking down at Gojo's neck, legs shaking as they brim with enough manipulated energy to level a building. Just as you expect, Gojo-sensei moves out of the way, letting you attack the imprint he left behind in Infinity. Such fakes do not work on you, unlike others. Your attack cuts through everything like a blade demanding slaughter.

The ground shakes in peril and earth rises like dawn, dirt rattling as bones quake in the mercy of such fiendish power. Smoke billows, lofting about the air, and you pant, collapsing onto the ground from the agony of exhausting such energy.

In the aftermath, it felt like you were letting the energy rip apart your veins and stitch it softly back together. You are slowly growing to understand it, the brutality of this world, the enigma of your past.

Gojo-sensei looks down and sees a gash in his trousers, revealing a wound on his left calf. The ridge of his spine feels oddly sore too; it was like you had attacked him from the inside out.

He doesn't show it on his usually poker expression but he is stunned beyond oblivion. You had hurt him and he had felt pain unlike no other. Not just physical but almost as if the poignant anger on your expression evoked painful memories, letting them brim to the forefront of his distrubed mind.

"Interesting," is the only thing he can say. That single word doesn't even begin to describe the tip of the iceberg that makes up his thoughts in that moment. He wants to laugh, show you off to the Kyoto principal that he had spoken brashly to hours ago.

You're perfect for a revolution. You will turn the world upside down. With the same premise as himself, you could be a God if you made sure of it.

"Holy shit!" You exhale, getting to your feet. The extent of your injuries is revealed; clutching your fingers, realise your nails are bleeding explosively as they twitch in fervent ecstasy. The adrenaline surging in your veins is unlike no other, dimming the pain as if quenching the core of a candlestick and putting out the flame as quickly as it had been lit.

Battles and fights are more than those movies now. They are the truth about humans slaughtering humans, rivers of blood spitting out old souls, gods waging wars for entertainment. It's exhilarating and painful. And it's .

Mother's voice lurks in your ear again. Earn your power before it eats you alive.

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Anytime Gojo Satoru would saunter into Masamichi Yaga's office, the young man would always be greeted with a contemptuous and daunting expression, woven tightly onto the gaunt face of his senior. The principal of Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Tech was consistently disappointed with the reckless behaviour of his former pupil, and yet he was still tethered to him as a mentor.

"I spoke with Principal Yoshinobu," He says curtly, knowing that is enough to imply what happened.

Gojo sits down cross legged on the floor, shrugging, "He was a higher-up! What else could I say?"

Masamichi purses his lips, a thin and unimpressed expression unwavering on his ivory features, "Satoru, I am not surprised at this point. However, you do know the intention of this meeting."

"Of course," Gojo grins, shifting a little to avoid the discomfort caused by earlier injuries. It had been so long since he felt physical pain that he had completely forgotten what it felt like. "[F/N] is doing well in her training. She'll be with the second year students tomorrow."

"You don't think you're pushing her?" Masamichi narrows his eyes in curiosity. "I hear she is working day and night under your course."

A frail dimple prods from Gojo's cheek as he weakly smiles, "Didn't you do the same? I intend for her to see the truth in this world."

Unamused, Masamichi changes topics, "Moving on... I will grant her that request she asked of you a few weeks ago. As a student of Jujutsu Tech, she will be indoctrinated wisely into the Kyoto Exchange Event. She is not a tool for you to show off, Satoru. I will not have more bloodshed spilt on my land."

"Actually," Gojo hums, "I don't think it's a wise idea to send her home just yet. Her house is probably buzzing with curses and the usual things. And after speaking with her father, I can't help but think a visit to Sendai might just wind up killing her."

"Is an exorcist needed?" Masamichi inquires dully, "I can always make preparations for a team."

Gojo waves the offer away, "No, no. As her teacher, I merely want her to achieve her full potential and her father seemingly doesn't."

"As the principal," Masamichi presses further, placing grave emphasis on his words, "She warrants caution. I dislike false intentions, Satoru. You know that well. Should she seek retribution among other things deriving from her ancestry, I will discipline her in a more satisfactory fashion. Great power cannot roam freely if combined with false motivation; the incidents with Geto have told us a million times over."

The night swallows the two beings whole and spits them out again, reborn. Moonlight washes over the sky in unrelenting pulses as Gojo-sensei watches the bruises start to fade with a small smile. As he looks up at the swarms of midnight blue, he is reminded of your deafening aura and the chaos that ensures. You are calamity in the making and he remembers his old self each time he observes your troubles.

Each path to greatness may be abstract and unique to each individual, like Zenin Maki's personal ambitions or Itadori Yuuji's climb to humility and kindness. But, where there is symmetry, there is great, cataclysmic difference. The old and new crash against each other like waves eroding chalky white cliffs; even though they are close to each other, they could not be more far apart.

When you go to sleep that night, you dream of nothing at all.