Hearing the 'no', Yuji's suspicion flared again. As his vision finally cleared completely from the blood and dizziness, he got his first proper look at the man who claimed to have saved him.
He saw striking crimson eyes that seemed to glow faintly, framed by long, wild black hair. One side of the man's face was obscured by a bang, but the visible skin had strange, crack-like lines across it, like a shattered doll.
He wore ancient-looking, cracked red samurai armor over dark clothing.
The most unsettling part, aside from the eyes, was the feeling, Yuji couldn't sense any cursed energy coming from the man himself, yet there was a faint, dark aura clinging to him, perhaps from the object he held earlier.
'Not a sorcerer… and no cursed energy?' Yuji's mind raced. 'But he feels dangerous, and there is cursed energy near him. If he's a curse user, why would he save me? Does he want something from Sukuna? Is he working with Choso? Or maybe with the ones who sealed Gojo-sensei?'
But none of those possibilities explained why this man would heal him. He didn't look like anyone Yuji had ever seen or heard of from either Jujutsu High. Who was this guy? Nothing made sense.
….
Some Time Earlier:
Finding himself tossed into a world utterly unlike the Elemental Nations was, frankly, unexpected to say the least.
Madara wasn't one to be easily shocked; he understood the theories behind space-time manipulation well enough but the how and the why of his arrival here, in this reanimated state, were complete mysteries. This wasn't the resurrection he'd planned for.
His well-thought plan, the one he'd passed on to Obito, was supposed to culminate in Nagato using the Rinne Rebirth, bringing Madara back to true, breathing life.
The Tailed Beast hunt would follow, a simple task once he had his full power restored. He'd accepted his physical death in that cave, but he'd expected his return to be on his own terms, alive and ready to enact the Eye of the Moon plan.
Instead, he was summoned here, like a puppet, into a dead body in a world he didn't recognize.
Standing high above the chaotic city on that skyscraper rooftop, after briefly appreciating the unexpected beauty of the night sky, Madara focused on the situation.
Below, monstrous creatures, the 'cursed spirits', ran wild. People screamed and fled, while others, dressed in distinct black uniforms, fought back bravely against the horrors.
They seemed to be the local protectors, the 'sorcerers' Geto had mentioned.
He needed information, and lots of it. Just standing here watching one small part of the battle wouldn't give him the full picture.
A lesser being might be overwhelmed, unsure where to even begin. But Madara was a master strategist, a veteran of countless battles and schemes. Gathering intelligence was second nature.
With a silent exertion of will, wood flowed from his hands, spreading across the rooftop, covering it in a thick, instantly grown layer. It wasn't just for show; it was a marker, a beacon tied to his chakra, allowing him to instantly know this location from anywhere else.
Then, he channeled his unique power, molding the wood. Several figures, perfectly identical to himself down to the cracked red armor and flowing black hair, rose silently from the wooden surface. Wood Clones, extensions of his will.
He turned to his newly created copies, his voice low but carrying absolute authority. "Spread out," he commanded.
"Melt into the city. Your task is to gather information. Learn everything you can about this world its power, the nature of these 'cursed spirits,' the people fighting them, the current conflict. Focus on those in black uniforms; they likely hold the most knowledge. See if you can discover who, if anyone, might have brought me here, though I doubt it was intentional." He paused, his crimson eyes sharp.
"Observe. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary to protect yourselves or gain critical information. Do not let them sense you if you can help it. Blend in. Report back anything significant."
Understanding flickered in the clones' identical eyes. Then, one by one, they leaped from the rooftop, vanishing into the darkness below, silent messengers sent to probe this strange new world.
Madara watched them go, a calculating look on his face.
The clones were ordered to be discreet, but the original? He felt a familiar stirring, the desire for action, for battle. Observation was necessary, but direct involvement was inevitable.
….
10:20 P.M. Inokashira Line - Shibuya Station, Avenue Gate
The air in the lower levels of Shibuya Station felt heavy and cold, a stark contrast to the fiery chaos likely still raging above ground.
The metallic tang of blood and the dry smell of dust hung in the air. Down the concrete stairs came three figures, their footsteps echoing slightly in the unsettling quiet.
Kento Nanami, the middle-aged man in the sharp suit, walked with a measured, professional stride, his hand resting near the blunt, cloth-wrapped blade at his side.
Beside him, moving with a surprising, almost lazy speed, was Naobito Zen'in, the old, stern-faced head of the Zen'in clan. Following closely was Maki Zen'in, her eyes sharp and alert, scanning their surroundings constantly despite the apparent lack of immediate threats.
They spoke in low tones, discussing the unbelievable news they'd received: Gojo Satoru, the strongest, had somehow been sealed away. The implications were dire.
As they reached the bottom landing, a faint, pathetic sound caught their attention. Huddled behind one of the thick support pillars, trying to make itself small, was a miserable-looking cursed spirit. It was vaguely blob-like, a sickly pale color, and it just kept making soft, whimpering noises "Bwooh… hoooo… bwahhh…" seemingly lost in its own little world, not even properly reacting to the powerful sorcerers who had just appeared.
Nanami's expression hardened slightly, annoyance flickering behind his glasses at the pitiful sight. He stepped forward, smoothly drawing his cursed tool.
"Leave this one to me," he said, his voice calm and business-like. This looked like a low-grade curse, easy to dispatch quickly and efficiently. He prepared to move in for a clean strike.
But before Nanami could even fully commit to his attack, he blinked. Naobito, the old man, was suddenly there, standing casually near the pillar Nanami had been approaching.
He hadn't even seen him move; the old man's speed was deceptive. Naobito held up a simple, empty wooden photo frame, aiming it towards the hiding curse.
Inside the frame, as if by magic, an image of the whimpering cursed spirit appeared, perfectly captured like a still photograph.
"You two," Naobito drawled, sounding bored, "are just a little too slow." With no further warning, he sharply punched the 'picture' inside the frame.
A sickening crack echoed, not from the frame, but from the location of the real curse.
At the exact same moment Naobito's fist connected with the image, the actual cursed spirit behind the pillar was violently slammed backward, as if hit by an invisible truck.
It flew through the air and crashed hard against another concrete pillar further down the platform, the impact sending spiderweb cracks through the thick cement.
The small curse collapsed onto the dusty floor, twitching weakly. It was still making those pathetic mumbling sounds, looking dazed and badly hurt.
Then, its form convulsed, and it wretched horribly, vomiting a cascade of small, brittle human skeletons onto the ground. They clattered onto the tiles, a grim testament to its victims.
Nanami sighed, a look of weary disgust on his face at the sight.
Maki frowned, her grip tightening on her own weapon.
Naobito, however, merely chuckled, a cold, cruel smile touching his lips.
"You disgusting little thing," he scoffed, looking down at the pile of bones. "Quite the appetite you had."
The cursed spirit continued to twitch and mumble, but then the sounds began to change. Amidst the garbled noises, distinct names started to emerge, spoken with a low, rising growl.
"Jogo… Mahito… Ha… Hanami…" The mention of its fallen comrade, Hanami, seemed to ignite something within the creature. Raw grief twisted into burning rage.
Its pale form began to tremble, not from pain, but from fury. Its eyes, previously dull, now glowed with a hateful red light, veins bulging around them. It glared up at the sorcerers, its pathetic demeanor vanishing completely.
"How dare you…" it hissed, its voice suddenly clear and sharp with hatred. "HOW DARE YOU…" it screamed, the sound echoing through the station. "HOW DARE YOU KILL HANAMI!"
As the final syllable ripped from its throat, the cursed spirit's body seemed to rupture. Not from injury, but from sheer power erupting from within.
Its small form tore apart from the head downwards, flesh and dark cursed energy surging violently upwards like an uncontrolled fountain, rapidly expanding and swirling into a much larger, more menacing shape within a thick cloud of dust and oppressive energy.
Naobito watched the transformation, his bored expression finally shifting to one of mild interest.
"Ah," he murmured, stroking his mustache thoughtfully as the pressure in the air increased dramatically.
"So that explains the weakness earlier." He looked at the newly formed, powerful silhouette taking shape in the dust cloud.
"You were just a Cursed Womb waiting to hatch."
The pathetic creature was gone. Standing before them now was something else entirely a true Special Grade cursed spirit, radiating power far beyond what they had just effortlessly crushed.
The real fight was about to begin.
….
A/N: Well this chapter is longer than the one before and as you some might have guessed after reading this… there will be longer fights and more fights.
Dont forget to comment;) see y'all in the next chapter.