Chapter Text
Shoko cuts her hands when she yanks the knife out of the ground.
The volume of blood that she spills seems like teaspoons compared to Utahime, who’s leaking buckets. It’s a slippery, bloody, horrible mess to get the blade out of her shoulder, but she does. Shoko falls to her knees after she tosses it into the clearing. With a snap of RCE, she closes Utahime’s shoulder up - just to stem the bleeding. She’s careful. She saves as much as she can. But even then…
Shoko’s basically empty.
She knows it, Utahime knows it, the sorcerer probably knew it too. Panic rises in her chest, sharp and cold. In a fair world, she’d be able to wield it as a cursed weapon. Stabby jujutsu knives or something. But the world’s not fucking fair, and she always just ends up cutting herself.
“It’s going to be fine,” Utahime says softly, tugging her back to the present. And she needs to be present - she can’t miss a thing. Utahime’s voice is barely louder than a whisper - not because she’s sharing secrets, but because she doesn’t have the strength left to blurt anything out.
Shoko nods. “Right.”
It’s easier to lie to herself when it’s Utahime’s lie. It’s easier, but not easy at all. She gets Utahime up on one foot - that’s the best she can do. She takes Utahime’s weight onto herself, practically dragging them across the clearing. She steals a brief look at Utahime - just a second’s glance. But she doesn’t need to look for much longer to triage. Utahime’s right ankle is completely mangled. Her foot is covered in dark blood, and it’s sticking out wrong. Her calf only looks better because it’s mostly hidden by her wide red pants, and it’s harder to see the bloodstains there, especially when they’re soaked with snowmelt.
They stumble into the shrine together. It’s a little warmer; it’s out of the wind, at least. But the snow keeps falling outside, piling up in the clearing. The sun is low in the sky - barely any light filters into the shrine. And as night falls, the clearing only gets darker and colder.
“Okay,” Utahime sighs as they make it through the entryway, “you can put me down here.”
Shoko basically collapses as soon as they get under the roof. Her muscles are useless, almost as useless as her jujutsu. They’re undertrained, undertested, underpowered to begin with. She slides down on the wall next to Utahime, limbs wobbling like jelly. “Take a second,” Utahime says, “Breathe.”
“...Yeah.” Shoko breathes. She really, seriously, breathes. “Okay.”
Utahime looks around, getting her bearings. They’re in the main hall; Shoko can guess that much. But Shoko doesn’t know this shrine very well - doesn’t know any shrine particularly well. Not like Utahime, who takes to the shrine like a duck in water.
Shoko knows bodies a little better.
She puts her hands on Utahime’s shoulder and lets RCT course through her own limbs, then into Utahime’s. She maps out Utahime’s wounds. She takes a measure of her vitals. She focuses in, searching through Utahime’s body for clues. Utahime’s lost a lot of blood - obviously. She doesn’t need RCT to know that. She can’t quite estimate the volume by sight, but it takes a lot of blood - a real bad amount of blood - to stain that much snow dark red.
Luckily, the knife - maybe it’s more of a machete, Shoko thinks, when she turns it over in her hands - the big-ass knife didn’t hit anything too vital when it pierced her shoulder. Just muscle - didn’t even chip the bone. That wound will be easy enough to heal, so Shoko marks it for later. Utahime is bruised pretty badly on her arms and back from the hail, but those aren’t life-threatening either, just uncomfortable. Her ankle, though… It’s broken - basically shattered - and her calf is fractured too. Even on a good day, that’s a lot of cursed energy to burn. And it’s really, really not a good day.
“Crap,” Shoko mutters. “We need to get back to Kyoto.”
It’s not like they can get down the mountain, though. Not with Utahime’s leg completely broken. She needs help - they both do. She needs Suguru; she needs Shelly. And - wait - they’re higher up now, so-
“Damnit.”
Her stupid phone won’t turn on - it’s too cold. It just powers on, then black screens, and then it immediately shuts off. “I don’t know what to do…” she whispers. “Fuck.”
“Hey,” Utahime calls from the wall she’s slumped down against. “We can do this,” she says gently. “We’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Shoko bites out, choking back frustrated tears, “You’re stable. You’re not fine.”
Utahime smiles, and then she lets out a little laugh. “I’m alive.” Her eyes slip shut, smooth and peaceful. “So I will be fine, soon.”
…You can take the combat sorcerer out of combat. But you can’t take the combat out of a combat sorcerer. Shoko wishes she could - a simple surgery, cutting out the parts that have grown malignant. But that’s the problem with cancer and shit. Once it’s metastasized, there’s no getting it out. It’s engraved into the body; it keeps coming back.
“Yeah, but, look-” Shoko sucks in a breath, “Look. Your ankle is broken - your leg too - I don’t know how we’re gonna get down the mountain. We need to get you back to campus. I need - we don’t even have rations, do we? I don’t know if I’ll be able to heal you enough tomorrow - and I can’t like, leave you here.”
“Shoko.”
“The sorcerer could come back - they probably will, right? To finish the job? Even if they don’t, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re a lot weaker right now. And if this snowstorm keeps going… It’s cold, so-”
“Shoko.”
Utahime slowly opens her eyes again. She stares at Shoko, and the room goes quiet. Even the snow flurries outside seem to die down, snowflakes slowing as they fall. And Shoko’s world narrows, shrinking down to a small spotlight, to the one sorcerer in front of her.
“You’re wounded too.”
“Huh?” Shoko looks down at herself. She… Right. Her palms are still bleeding, though a dark crust has dried over the cuts. Her sleeves are bloodied from it, and the fabric of her uniform is tattered from the hail. Beneath the cloth, she can feel bruises blooming all along her arms. Shoko takes a deep breath, then she directs her RCT inwards. She circulates it through her own body, taking stock of her wounds before she lets any of it flow.
Utahime’s right. Her arms and face are covered in small wounds - nothing major. She twisted her own ankle when she went down too. It’s extremely swollen, and she didn’t even feel it. It’s nowhere near as bad as a break, but she can’t keep putting weight on it. Her whole body feels numb; she’s probably still high on adrenaline. Fuck. She didn’t even feel it.
Is it the same for Utahime? For all of the combat sorcerers who just power through fights like they’re not taking damage? If they can’t feel it - if they can’t see the blood spilling out…
“Heal yourself first,” Utahime interrupts. Her voice is steady; but Shoko starts to shake. Shoko latches onto her, clinging to her resolve like a life raft.
“None of my wounds are life threatening,” Shoko says, trying to mirror Utahime’s adamantine nerve. “I need to heal you first,” she says, “Your shoulder-”
“No,” Utahime cuts in. She shakes her head limply. Her muscles are starting to ache enough that the motion is a bit clumsy, but still clear. No. “How much RCE do you have?” she asks pointedly. “We need one of us in good enough shape to search the shrine and keep watch. Isn’t RCT way more efficient on yourself?” Shoko nods reluctantly. “So it has to be you. You first, Shoko.”
Damnit.
It makes sense.
Shoko doesn’t like it, but it makes sense. Even on a full tank, she’s not sure she could heal Utahime’s leg well enough for her to be walking by morning. RCT speeds healing immensely - but it’s not instant. Bone breaks are tough.
And she’s not working with a full tank - she’s not even working with a half tank. She’s almost empty. She’s basically only got enough to stabilize. It’s easier for her to stabilize, though. No matter how thin her reserves get, Shoko’s RCT is a little more potent when it’s a matter of life and death. RCT seems to go into overdrive when someone is teetering. Maybe it’s part of her cursed technique - trading death for life. Maybe it’s part of fundamental jujutsu.
“We’ll heal you up,” Utahime says, sucking in a pained breath, “and tomorrow, you can get back down the mountain - you can find Suguru so he can come get me.”
“...Suguru.” Shoko curses. “Shit, Suguru. What if the sorcerer is going after him?”
“He’s probably fine. Stay calm,” Utahime reminds her. “He’s special-grade. And he can fly. He’s a better match for that sorcerer than me - and he’d be able to get away if he thinks he’s not.”
Right. Shoko nods. He’s fine. He’s probably at least more ‘fine’ than Utahime, currently.
“Right now, we need to focus on getting through tonight,” Utahime says. “We’ll figure out tomorrow, tomorrow.”
“Alright.” Shoko agrees.
“First, heal yourself.”
Shoko does, reluctant as she is to burn the RCE. She uses as little as she can manage to close the shallow cuts from the ice storm, and the cuts from the katana. It clears her mind, too. When the sharp pain pricking at her skin in the background goes dull, she manages to focus. The ankle is harder. It’s just twisted, not broken, but the sprain is deep. Shoko tries to be stingy with it, but it takes almost everything she has left just to straighten it out and bring down the swelling.
“Good, can you walk?” Utahime asks. Shoko tests her footing. It’s better - still a bit sore, but she’s mobile. Shoko nods. “ I need you to go and get my box of cursed tools,” Utahime says softly. “I left it outside by the gate.”
“O-okay,” Shoko says with a quick nod, then she rushes out into the clearing.
The snow keeps falling - and it didn’t pause while they got their bearings in the shrine, either. A thick layer of it blankets the ground, and it’s steadily getting higher. It’s not high enough yet to cover Utahime’s box, luckily. Shoko finds it by the torii gate, just barely peeking out of the snow. She brushes the thick layer of snow off the top. Wet, half-melted ice drenches her hands. She picks it up and carries it back; her fingers start to feel a little numb.
Utahime breathes a sigh of relief as Shoko hurries back into the shrine.
“Good, you found it,” she says weakly. “Set it down here.” She gestures to the floor beside her limp body.
Shoko sets the box down beside her and sits. She cups her hands in front of her mouth and breathes into them, rubbing them in circles to warm them. They tremble, though. She’s glad none of their wounds require surgery; she’s in no shape to hold a scalpel.
Utahime clicks open the latches on the box, then she opens the lid. She pulls a few small tools out: a stick of charcoal, a huge candle, and a box of matches. She draws a little rectangle on the floor in thin, wobbly lines. Slowly, she adds tiny, scratchy details. There’s a line at the front, a box at the back, and - oh.
“A map?”
Utahime nods. She adds a few final details to the map of the shrine. It’s simple, but accurate. Shoko recognizes the broad features. Utahime probably knows the floor plan by heart. Utahime places the candle in the box representing the main shrine. She strikes a match, but it snaps in her weak hands. She tries again - another snap.
“H-here-” Shoko tries, but her shaky hands aren’t any better. “Fuck. Wait-” Shoko rummages through her pocket - and - yes. She flicks her lighter, easily summoning a little spark. Shoko lights the candle. Utahime’s smile burns even warmer than the flame.
“Handy,” she chirps, though… She sounds tired - not normal tired. Sorcerer tired. “Good for mood lighting,” Utahime adds.
“I’m hoping you had the candles for something other than mood lighting.”
Utahime smiles. “Yeah.”
Utahime takes a deep breath, then murmurs an incantation under her breath. Shoko doesn’t catch all the words, just the way Utahime’s voice gets soft and airy, almost a breathless falsetto. She twists her fingers together into one complex sigil, then another, then a third. Utahime closes her eyes, then chants:
“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Shield that which is sacred.”
The lines of the map flare alight under them, erupting with cursed energy. Utahime falls back against the wall, shivering. Blacker than darkness… But Shoko doesn’t recognize the other words.
“Okay,” Utahime says. “We’re safe.”
“A veil?”
Utahime nods. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s a protection barrier - a simple one. It’ll turn away anything lower than a grade 1, as long as the candle stays lit.” She glances at the candle. It burns slowly, and the flame is small. “It should last the night.”
Shoko bites her lip. “That sorcerer…”
“Was probably special-grade, yeah,” Utahime sighs. “I know. But this is all I’ve got.” Utahime sits up a little bit, glancing at the entryway. “If that sorcerer wanted to kill us, they could have done it pretty easily. I doubt they’re coming back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not really. But...I think they wanted to distract us. Though from what, I don’t know.”
Shoko nods. She grabs herself, hugging her arms to her chest. “It’s freezing,” she mumbles. “You - we need to stay warm for the night. It’s only going to get colder.”
“So, let’s fix that. See what you can find here. Maybe we can start a fire?”
“Okay,” Shoko mumbles. She gets back to her feet, and she focuses on the shrine. It feels kind of like a video game - some old-school survival horror. She searches for supplies like bandages and bullets. She doesn’t find anything that helpful.
It’s a shrine, not a zombie survivor safehouse. No one’s holing up here to stick out the winter. She doesn’t find any sleeping bags or blankets, no cans of food (not that she has a can-opener, not that she even knows how to open them with a dagger). She finds a few thick floor mats that look soft enough to use as tarps - or maybe really stiff blankets. There’s some stiff outdoor cushions too. They’re covered in a layer of dust that’s built up over seasons sitting in storage. They’re a little stale-smelling, but neither of them have asthma. Shoko doesn’t find firewood. That’d be far too lucky. She does find a few wooden broomsticks.
If they make it out alive, she’ll buy the shrine some new brooms. It seems like a big ‘if’ at this point. A smaller ‘if’ than before, but still an ‘if’.
She returns to base with a small hoard of scavenged supplies in her inventory. Wet stones from the clearing outside - enough to build a tiny fire pit. Wood from old broomsticks, tinder from some dry bits of paper she found in the shrine’s side rooms. It’s probably sacrilege, but Utahime doesn’t balk when she rips the paper blessing to bits. She just calmly teaches Shoko how to build a fire. When her hands thaw out a little, Shoko lights the pile of wood and paper with her lighter. Even as the fire starts to grow, she can’t stop shivering. It’s inevitable - they’re both drenched in snowmelt.
…It’s a wonder their hands aren’t covered in frostbite.
“Um,” Shoko inhales. “I, uh… I need to take your clothes off.” Utahime blushes bright red. “To, uh, keep you warm-” Shoko stutters, raising her arms and waving them like maybe she can redirect the words crashing out of her mouth. But that doesn’t even work well on railcars, and Shoko’s train crash just keeps chugging on. “I’ll take mine off too!” she adds, “Uh - I mean - because we’re soaked, and-”
“Right,” Utahime says with a little cough. “Yeah, um, that makes sense. That’s fine.”
Shoko goes first. Because, at least that makes it less weird, right? Hypothetically. She still feels weird. Really fucking weird. She awkwardly peels herself out of her clothes, trying, at least, not to be obviously weird about it.
It feels a little less weird once she gets out of her uniform. Her underwear is at least dry, and the fire has grown enough that her skin immediately starts to warm up. She sighs as she kneels down by the fire, letting it drive away the wet cold. That’s what’s important right now - staying warm, staying dry.
It’s because of the balmy fire, and because Utahime nearly bled out in front of her - that she can’t be too nervous about stripping down in front of her crush. She’s got enough on her list to be nervous about that her own body doesn’t even make the top 5. At least her body is a living one, not a cadaver.
It’s Utahime’s turn next. She lifts herself with what little strength she’s got left. Together, they peel the wet miko uniform off of her. It’s grueling, delicate work - Shoko tries not to rip away the drying scabs keeping Utahime’s blood in her body. She tries, and she mostly fails. Utahime winces as sticky blood tears at her skin.
“Oh shit…” Shoko whispers.
She sucks in a harsh breath as she takes a look at Utahime’s body. Her whole chest is covered in mottled, patchwork bruises. Her arms are covered in cuts, raw and red. The gash on her shoulder puckers at the edges, trying to heal outwards instead of in. The machete took so much flesh out of her shoulder that she’d probably scar even if Shoko had a full tank of RCE to heal her up with. Her leg is even worse. The tissue is still inflamed - red and swollen. Shoko can set the bones manually - she doesn’t need any sorcery for that. But they won’t heal much without RCE.
“T-that bad, huh?”
Shoko shakes her head. “...Not that bad,” she manages. “Not ‘you’re gonna die’ bad.”
“Just ‘oh shit’ bad?” Utahime smiles, though it wobbles.
Shoko swallows. “I deal with ‘oh shit’ bad, like, all the time.”
Utahime laughs, and as weak as it is, it’s a pure, smooth sound. It runs over Shoko’s shoulders like clear water.
“Right,” Utahime murmurs. “I bet you do.
“Damn straight.”
Shoko sets Utahime’s ankle as well as she can. It’s not perfect, but it’s straight. Utahime takes it pretty well, considering that Shoko’s too tapped to give her magical painkillers. But she has something a little better than magic - real medicine. Shoko does a little bit of quick crafting with her salvaged materials. Barrier ribbons and knife sheathes turn into a makeshift split. Then, Shoko reaches out, placing her hand on Utahime’s shoulder, and uses the very last of her RCE to close the wound. Utahime stares up at Shoko, a smile curling up the corners of her eyes.
“I mean. It’s not how I imagined stripping for you,” she says, “But I’ll take it.”
Shoko freezes. Her brain freezes too. She glitches out, and encounters a fatal error. Blue screen of death - death by lesbianism.
“I’m gay.” Shoko blurts out. She claps a hand over her mouth. “I, uh… Fuck,” she mumbles through her fingers. “Um… I just - I hope… I hope that doesn’t, uh, bother you.”
Utahime laughs suddenly, bright and clear and full of life.
“No, not at all,” she hums. “I mean, it would make it a bit harder for me to ask you out if you weren’t.”
Shoko freezes again, frames stuttering in her brain.
“Wait really?”
“And um,” Utahime smiles, small and red. She bites her lip, then says: “I hope it doesn’t bother you if I kiss you now.”
“No,” Shoko whispers breathlessly. “Um, no. That, uh… Wouldn’t bother me.”
So Utahime kisses her, tasting as sweet as honey and as strong as hard liquor. The potency of her cursed energy fizzes on Shoko’s tongue like carbonation. She gasps as Utahime’s hands find her waist, drawing her in. The warmth of their blazing campfire seems like a tiny candle compared to the heat of Utahime’s bare skin shifting against Shoko’s own. Her shaky hands find Utahime’s chest, landing clumsily against the sheer fabric of her bra.
“A-ah, sorry,” Shoko whispers.
Utahime laughs against her lips, and one of her hands slides over Shoko’s, twining their fingers together. “Don’t be sorry,” she says, “I’d prefer that my doctor be thorough...”
“I swear this was not an elaborate setup for me to get your clothes off.”
“Right, well. I wouldn’t have minded if it was.” Utahime grins. “...I’ve been waiting ages for this, you know.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t really think I was being subtle.”
“Well,” Shoko blushes, “I’m kinda bad at picking up on things.”
“That’s okay,” Utahime says, her eyes glittering. “I can make it a little more obvious.”
Utahime reaches behind her back, deftly unhooking her bra with one hand. She slides the straps down over her shoulders, and guides Shoko’s hand back to her chest. They kiss again, and again, and again for good measure. To share warmth, and to share each others’ labored breaths. Because… the air on the mountain is so thin. That must be why Shoko feels so light headed.
“You’re incredible, you know,” Utahime whispers. “I’ve always thought that.”
“W-what?” Shoko chokes on an incredulous laugh. She’s dizzy now - from Utahime’s words, and from the lips that they spill from. “How can you say that?” she murmurs. “I was so… So useless. I couldn’t fight at all. I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t stop you from getting hurt.”
“Shoko, you’re the only reason I’m alive.”
“But-”
A soft light shines in Utahime’s eyes, glimmering like a polished burl of oak. “You stopped me from dying,” she says, “Sure, I fought that sorcerer, but I couldn’t have done that if I didn’t have you there to fall back on. Without you, I’d be bleeding out right now.” Utahime kisses her cheek, whispering, “You’re so much stronger than you realize.”
“...Only when I’m with you.”
Utahime blushes at that. “I meant it when I said I’d give anything to have you in Kyoto,” she says softly. “You make me feel stronger too.” Utahime reaches for her below the covers, finding the swell of her hip.
“We should…” Shoko sucks in a breath, shaking her head. “You should take it easy. You’re still wounded. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That’s never stopped a sorcerer before…” Combat sorcerers… “How much RCE do you have left?” Utahime asks.
“...Not a lot,” Shoko admits. “I’m basically empty. Why?”
“Okay. I’ve got a little CE,” she says. Shoko tilts her head. “Hey, Shoko,” Utahime’s lips curl up into a sly little smile, “Let’s make a Binding Vow.”
“A-a Binding Vow?”
“I’ll give you my cursed energy,” she whispers, “if you give me a kiss.”
It’s a bit nicer than a mutually-assured death pact, she’ll give her that.
“Sure,” Shoko mumbles, too quick and too airy.
Shoko leans in, pressing a shaky kiss to Utahime’s lips. A stream of cursed energy trickles into Shoko’s body. It’s soft and slow, like a lazy river. Shoko lets out a sigh. Almost automatically, the cursed energy cycles up through her, multiplies into reverse cursed energy, and flows back into Utahime. The bruises on her body fade, and her cuts start to close.
“I think I’ve got a little more,” Utahime murmurs. She kisses Shoko again, threading her fingers into Shoko’s hair. Now that she’s not teetering on the brink of anemia, her hands slide deftly over Shoko’s body. Her movements are every bit as precise as they are with her rituals. It makes Shoko feel… something close to sacred. Utahime’s toned body presses up against Shoko’s as she pulls a mat over them like a blanket. They share each other’s heat, and it builds. Shoko’s arms tighten around her waist, and Utahime’s cursed energy floods her mouth. It swirls around in her dumb, dazed brain and spreads back out through her fingertips. This time, she numbs all the pain she can find in Utahime’s body.
“You’ve got a great bedside manner,” Utahime hums. Her shoulders loosen up, and the tension melts out of her body.
Shoko blushes bright red, and Utahime laughs. She trails kisses down Shoko’s neck, then slips below the mat. Beneath the thick, stiff covers, Utahime’s soft lips find the swell of her breasts. She gently pushes Shoko’s bra down, exposing her bare chest. Shoko lets out a weak, unbidden noise.
“Utahime-” she gasps.
“Is this alright?” She looks up from Shoko’s chest, her steady brown eyes pointed up at Shoko’s trembling lips. “Too fast?”
Shoko nods, then shakes her head, then freezes.
“Not too fast,” she blurts out, “It’s fine. Um, I’m fine with-” she stutters. “You can keep going.” She clumsily unhooks her own bra, slipping it off. Utahime smiles and presses another kiss to Shoko’s collarbone. With each kiss, Shoko feels a tiny wave of cursed energy flow into her body, then ebb away into Utahime’s. It’s not enough to heal any broken bones, but it’s enough to numb the pain. And the cursed energy - or maybe just the kissing - is certainly enough to keep them warm.
“...But, um, we should still take it easy,” Shoko adds later, when her brain thaws out.
Utahime lets out a little chuckle as she presses a kiss to Shoko’s smooth, squishy stomach. It has none of the muscle definition of Utahime’s. She’s got no abs to speak of - not a 6-pack, a 2-pack, or even a single can. But Utahime looks at her like she’s made of the same true sorcerous stuff as the rest of them. Like she’s… special-grade.
“Don’t worry,” Utahime whispers, “I’ll be gentle.”
Shoko chokes. “I wasn’t talking about-”
Utahime slides even lower, pressing a kiss to Shoko’s hip. Shoko pushes down the mat, trembling as the cold air hits her chest. But heat spikes through her core as she watches Utahime gently push her briefs down, then spread her legs apart. She leans down to nip at the skin of Shoko’s inner thigh. A fluttery wind leaves Shoko’s lungs.
“Don’t worry,” Utahime says with a wink. Her lips drag upwards, between Shoko’s thighs. ”I won’t overexert myself.”
Shoko gasps as her tongue swipes along Shoko’s skin. She shifts, shuddering as Utahime’s lips brush over her clit. Her tongue flits out, and Shoko moans. Utahime’s eyes seem to glow as she glances up at Shoko. She can’t tell if it’s Utahime’s cursed energy, or if the air in the room somehow grows heavier on its own. She trembles against the mats as Utahime licks into her heat. Her tongue makes slow circles, and then her finger joins. It presses into her, slender and wet.
“-H-hime,” she stutters out. Her hands fly to Utahime’s shoulders. Blunt fingernails scrabble uselessly against her smooth skin. Shoko whimpers as Utahime adds another finger. It slides in so easily, slick with her arousal. Utahime pulls back, smiling.
“Does that feel good?” she asks softly. Shoko nods mutely as Utahime’s deft fingers brush against her inner walls. Her tongue feels far clumsier than Utahime’s - too clumsy to form words at all. “Good,” Utahime grins. “Just relax,” she leans down, kissing Shoko on the corner of her mouth. “Let me play nurse tonight,” she whispers.
She moves down again, but Shoko clutches her shoulder. “W-wait,” she pants, “Can I-” Shoko bites her lip, “...I want to touch you, too.”
“Sure,” Utahime says with a smile. She carefully rolls onto her side, careful to keep pressure off her battered leg. Shoko slips out of her underwear, then helps Utahime do the same.
“O-okay,” Shoko sucks in a breath. Utahime guides Shoko’s shaky hands to her sternum. She gently feels the smooth skin under her palm, the contours of Utahime’s chest. It’s soft, but she can feel all the toned muscle beneath it too - the strength in her shoulders and her core. She runs her fingers over Utahime’s pink nipples, feeling the buds harden under her fingertips. Utahime shivers. “Is this alright?” Shoko whispers.
“More would be even better,” Utahime giggles.
Shoko blushes. “Sorry-”
Utahime interrupts her with a kiss. Her lips are soft and wet, and warm as the fire. Behind them, though, Shoko still tastes the trace of coppery blood. But when she tries to break away - to check Utahime’s wounds - Utahime simply kisses her again. It’s a good distraction; or maybe Shoko is just a horrible, homosexual doctor. Utahime lets out a little sigh and drags Shoko’s hand to the curve of her hip. Her fingers press back inside of Shoko, and the heel of her hand rubs against Shoko’s clit.
“F-fuck-” she curses. Her hips jump forward, unbidden. Utahime smirks as she tangles a hand in Shoko’s hair and guides her mouth down to the curve of her neck. Shoko obediently follows, pressing wet, desperate kisses to her skin. She works her way down Utahime’s collar, winning a pleased hum out of Utahime.
“That’s good,” Utahime murmurs. Her heel grinds against Shoko’s heat, sending sparks skittering up into her stomach. “That feels so good, Shoko…”
If the kiss was a good distraction, the praise is excellent. Shoko eagerly drags her lips down Utahime’s chest, and Utahime sighs. When her lips brush against Utahime’s pert nipples, she lets out a musical moan. Shoko’s fingers slide down Utahime’s hips, sweeping over her thighs.
She finds the heat between her legs, soft and wet.
“Can I-”
“Yes,” Utahime moans, shifting forward into Shoko’s touch. Her hand tightens in Shoko’s hair. Shoko’s fingertips slide easily into her, and she lets out a little gasp. But she doesn’t miss a beat. Her own hand keeps moving, tracing circles over Shoko’s clit. Utahime’s eyes flutter shut as they find a steady rhythm together - a melody of touch and taste. Even as their cursed energy drains away to nothing, something smolders in Shoko’s stomach. She breathes in Utahime’s scent, flowers and fire; she tastes the little beads of sweat and blood on her skin.
“S-shoko-”
Shoko swears she can taste the steel of Utahime’s blades too. Utahime pulls her into another kiss, soft and slow. And that’s enough. Shoko tips over the edge, her whole body locking up into a shiver. Utahime drags her through it, gentle and rough all at once. Shoko moans, grinding against Utahime’s heel until her body short circuits. Her nerves spark, and her vision defocuses as she tips into a dull, blissful haze.
Utahime isn’t far behind. She reaches down between her legs, laying her hand over Shoko’s. She jolts, shocking her inanimate fingers back to life. Shoko hooks her fingers inside Utahime and drags them deep along her inner walls. Utahime shivers, grinding against her wrist. Shoko bends down, nuzzling between Utahime’s delicate breasts. She licks down the curve of one, tasting Utahime’s feverish skin. Then, she closes her lips around her nipple. Utahime shudders and lets out a little gasp. Her hips buck forward.
“Careful,” Shoko breathes, steadying her bad leg. She kisses her gently - as gently as she can. Utahime seemingly has no interest in that - no interest in ‘gentle’, or ‘careful’, apparently. She grabs Shoko’s shoulders, dragging her into a deep, breathless kiss. Her nails dig into Shoko’s skin, leaving behind pinpricks of pressure.
Shoko raises her mouth and kisses her through it, careful not to put too much pressure on her body. But Utahime is not nearly as careful. She grabs for Shoko and finds her shoulders. She brings them together in a clash of fire and flowers. They kiss for a long moment, bodies brushing against each other hot and soft. She lets out a soft moan, curling into Shoko’s body as she clenches tight around her fingers.
When Utahime finally comes down, the steamy air between them slowly dies down to a simmer. She pulls the mat back over them and cuddles up close. Though the fire is shrinking down to coals, the heat trapped between them is enough to keep them plenty warm for now.
“Well…” Utahime whispers, teasing, “I feel much better. Thanks, doctor.”
Shoko lets out a laugh, breathless as it is. “I don’t think I’ll prescribe that treatment to anyone else.”
“I might need a follow-up, though,” Utahime hums. She looks up at Shoko, her eyes glittering bright.
Combat sorcerers…
Shoko snorts. “Once your leg is healed, I’ll book you another appointment.”
-:-
“The girl is strong.”
“Eh?”
Uraume lands in a puff of snowflakes, sending up a cloud of flurries. New snow quickly fills in their steps, leaving the blanket of snow undisturbed.
Kenjaku peeks over their shoulder, feigning surprise. It is a flimsy act, though Uraume attributes that to the performer’s lack of commitment, rather than their lack of skill. Kenjaku’s eyes glow with a dark fire, one that has burned for centuries longer than their new body reveals. Uraume can only meet their gaze in short bursts before it singes their cold skin.
“I dunno; she was pretty weak,” Kenjaku sighs, crossing their arms. They are dressed in the strange fleece robes of these times. The garment’s form is strange - a long dress of sorts, sewn together instead of wrapped. They had given it a name, once: スナギ (su-na-gi). Patterns swirl across the surface, tan and black, mimicking the spots of a leopard.
It is stained with coffee.
“I mean, did you see her katana technique?” they continue, “Terrible. Absolutely terrible! She’s all footwork and no follow-through. The knives were alright, though. Good trick with the ritual, too.”
“The-” Uraume cannot think of exactly what she is. “The healer. Not the miko.”
“Oh.” They hum. “That one. Eeeeeeeh, maybe.” Kenjaku turns to them fully this time, revealing the strange items in their grasp. Each of their hands clutches a vessel made of a strange modern material: プラスチック (purasuchikku). They dangle one of the vessels in Uraume’s direction. “Here, I got you a mocha frappe.”
“A what?”
“You’ll like it, trust me.” They suck this strange liquor through their flimsy white straw, rattling around chunks of ice in the vessel. “It doesn’t have any blood in it,” Kenjaku says, “but there’s chocolate - probably Nestle - so you might be able to taste the exploitation of laborers in the Global South if you close your eyes.”
“Right,” Uraume mutters, taking the drink. They sip it, then immediately cringe. “What on earth is in this?”
“Coffee, chocolate, cream, sugar - oh, and some chili.” Kenkaju smiles. “It’s technically a Mexican Hot Chocolate Frappe, I just called it a mocha since you don’t know what ‘Mexico’ is yet.”
Uraume frowns. They wrap the strange kanji around their tongue: メキシコ (mekishiko).
“Mexicans, man, they’ve got all the good ideas,” Kenjaku continues, “Good sorcery, too. If I’d known what they were doing in the Heian era…” they chuckle, shaking their head. “Well, it would’ve saved me a lot of time. And a lot of women.”
Uraume squints at them.
“Well, I probably would’ve killed the women anyway.” They shrug. “Ah, well. Never enough time in the day.”
“She can heal others.”
Kenjaku cocks a brow.
“The healer girl,” Uraume clarifies. “That is uncommon in this era, is it not?”
“...Yes,” they say after a slow, pondering silence. “It is very uncommon. Most sorcerers in this era cannot even use reverse cursed techniques. Jujutsu is too thin in their blood. It does not come to them as it came to us.”
Uraume nods. The flow of cursed energy within them had never needed a name. Before Lord Sukuna found them, few things did. Sorcery had come as naturally to them as breathing. They had learned to control it just as they had learned to hunt in the dark woods. By instinct - by danger.
“Shouldn’t you kill her, then?” Uraume asks. “Her technique may be more useful than that one’s,” they gesture to Kenjaku’s current body, the suburban housewife.
Uraume could not fathom any use for the gravitational technique this body held. It would not counter the Six Eyes’ own gravitational manipulation; the sheer amount of cursed energy that boy held could likely overpower Kenjaku’s own jujutsu, in terms of raw potency. Unless Kenjaku somehow found themselves fighting a sorcerer with an extremely specific cursed technique - one reliant on mass, perhaps - the woman’s technique would be useless. But the odds of that were so low as to be laughable.
“No,” Kenjaku says abruptly. “That would be stupid. She hasn’t even unlocked her technique.”
Uraume’s lips flatten into a line. “An innate technique? She may not have one.” Kenjaku’s gaze clouds, swirling with dark plumes of ash. It chokes the air out of Uraume’s lungs. “You have said as much,” Uraume mutters, coughing as they avert their eyes. “The sorcerers of this era are thin-blooded and weak.”
“She has one. But she won’t unlock it.”
“Why not?” Uraume huffs. “Can you not force it? As you-”
“Aaaaahhhhh,” Kenkaju whines, “Her abilities would be more useful after your little king’s resurrection anyhow.”
Uraume stiffens, their hackles rising. “Lord Sukuna-”
“Besides,” Kenjaku cuts in, “I’m not in a rush. I’d have to leave Jin and little Yuuji.” Kenjaku sighs dramatically - overdramatically. “I mean, I’d have to get all new documents - open a new credit card. Waaaah - what a pain! Have you ever tried dealing with a credit card company? They’re worse than moneylenders. And she probably hasn’t built any credit at all - she’s way too young for a mortgage.”
Kenjaku’s gaze suddenly flicks down towards the clearing below their mountainside perch. A rush of motion makes its way through the trees in the surrounding forest, and they grin.
“Showtime,” Kenjaku lilts. “Watch.”
Two men fly through the clearing. Cursed energy cracks through the air behind them next, trailing them like an aftershock. Modern sorcerers... Uraume sniffs. Their cursed energy is potent for this era, but it is shallow and disgustingly unrefined. They are children. But all modern sorcerers are children to them. Kenjaku does not seem inclined to butt into their duel, so Uraume lays in wait as well. They take another sip of their strangely sweet and spicy coffee. They cringe.
“Who are they?” Uraume asks, using their teeth to scrape the foul taste off their tongue.
“Ahhhh, c’mon,” Kenjaku whines. “You had him, Y’had him right there.” Uraume squints down at the clearing just as one lunges. Blood sprays in a sloppy red arc across the snow. Then another, crossing over the first. “Yeaaaaah, that’s more like it!” Kenjaku cheers. “Whip it out, show ‘em your dirk.”
The one man - with longer, dark hair - stumbles back, clutching his chest. He leans against a tree. The other follows, stalking him like prey. The wounded man is weak, helpless. He shivers, and he falls against the bark, painting a crimson stripe behind himself. There is blood in the air, heavy and metallic. It whets Uraume’s thirst, just as it does the other man’s. He advances, a blade in his hand. He bares sharp teeth; a predator.
In an instant, a void splits open the air. Out from it flies a giant, iridescent dragon. Prismatic flames flare out from the dragon’s mouth, and Uraume holds their breath. The man dodges lithely, avoiding its wrathful breath. He is quick - unnaturally quick - but he is soon outnumbered. More voids open, spitting out curses of every kind. They crawl, they fly, and they lunge at the other man. He cuts them down with his blade. One at a time, too slow. He is no match for the deluge. Curses continue to pour out of the aether. The dragon curls around the bleeding man, snarling sparks.
“This is the curse manipulator?” Uraume asks. Kenkaju stares down at the clearing, giving no indication they’ve heard the question. Or, as they certainly have, they give no indication that they care to answer.
The man backs away, retreating into the treeline. The dragon is certainly a fearsome curse; Uraume cannot rightly blame him. The curse manipulator’s wounds will kill him soon enough anyway. But it is a retreat - a loss by withdrawal. Uraume scrunches their nose. Kenjaku sighs, clucking their tongue.
“Ah,” Kenjaku huffs. “This is why you never send a Zen’in to do a Kamo’s job.”
-:-
Morning light breaks over the mountains, and with it, the world stirs awake. It’s a little brisk, but not cold. The snow has fully melted away, leaving not even a puddle in its wake. The grass in the clearing is dewy, but not drenched. It’s almost like the snow vanished rather than melted. It’s just gone without a trace. Like the bitch-ass ice sorcerer. Except they left a whole lot of bruises.
Utahime yawns and stretches as she wakes. She grabs her (mostly) dry kosode and pulls it on. She hugs her arms to her chest, shivering, and clears her throat. She asks Shoko: “How do you feel?”
“...Me?” Shoko asks slowly, stupidly, swallowing down a scream. “I’m fine.” Shoko gingerly shifts the mats off of them to get a better look at Utahime’s leg. It’s still swollen, and the bruises have darkened into a nasty blue. But at least it’s straight. Dried blood coats her skin, but Shoko doesn’t see anything bleeding brightly. “What about you?”
“A little sore,” Utahime shrugs. She leans up to kiss Shoko. Shoko’s stupid lesbian side accepts it, leaning back into her with a satisfied sigh. And then her competent lesbian side kicks in, and Shoko pulls back.
“Easy,” Shoko scolds her, detangling her loose limbs from Utahime’s embrace, “Easy - would you?”
She takes it back. Heavens - or whatever’s up there dealing with Binding Vows - she takes it back, for the record. Shoko takes back everything she said about Utahime being better, or fundamentally different, from her two male clusterfucks. She’s as crazy as the rest of them, just a thousand times hotter and a hundred times more emotionally stable.
Still crazy, though.
Utahime pouts and lets her escape. They both dress slowly, taking care not to aggravate their wounds. Shoko checks the signal on her phone - still nothing. They’re high enough up on the mountain, and that the snowstorm has passed. It’s warm enough that her phone works - so she can check for a weak signal. But the signal isn’t weak, it’s gone. She can’t get anything up here except her offline map.
So that’s going to have to be enough.
“Okay, I’m healing your leg,” Shoko decides.
“...That’ll take most of your RCE, won’t it?”
“Yeah, but we need to get back to town. And I can’t call Suguru for a taxi.” She shows Utahime her phone - or the useless glass brick that passes for one. Utahime sighs and nods.
“Okay. You’re right,” she concedes.
Shoko infuses RCE into Utahime’s leg - enough to heal the broken bone and then some - which is almost everything she’s got. It set well overnight, so the bone snaps back together obediently. It’s already gotten used to being in the right position, now it just needs to sit there a little longer. It’ll take time, and Utahime won’t be able to do any fancy footwork, but it’s healed enough that she can walk on it, as long as they take it slow. She burns a little extra to numb Utahime’s pain, because she needs Utahime in good shape - not just stable - if they’re going to make it down the mountain alive.
“Good to go?” Shoko asks. Utahime nods.
Shoko packs her tool chest back up while Utahime resets the shrine. Utahime takes care to hang the tapestries back where they found them. She sweeps the fire pit away. She even dusts the wood beams in the main shrine. It’s important - the ritual of it all. Shoko understood that, like, on paper. But as she watches Utahime perform each sacred step with intention, it’s like the blurry, dense paragraphs stored in the back of her mind sharpen into something clear.
There’s tradeoffs in jujutsu. Binding Vows, Heavenly Restrictions, innate techniques too. You get out what you put in. And what Utahime puts in is… divinity. A subtle current of tradition, a certainty that only comes from the way things are - the way things should be. Utahime’s cursed energy thickens as she tends the shrine. The sun has risen past the trees by the time they’re finished, and the air is warm.
As they leave, Utahime pauses by the torii gate, looking back to the shrine.
“Where do you think that sorcerer went?” she asks.
It’s an unsolved mystery. One of several. Where they went - where they came from in the first place. Why they attacked, why they didn’t kill. None of it makes any sense. But none of this - jujutsu bullshit - has ever made that much sense to Shoko.
“Back to the North Pole?” Shoko says hollowly. It feels cold on her tongue, colder than the snow. “...I guess they’re Satoru’s problem now.”
Utahime giggles, but it’s a nervous one. As they step past the torii gate, descending into the woods, Shoko feels her stomach sink back into the ground too. Utahime bites her lip, and her fingers twist together at her sides.
“...Do you think he’s okay?”
Satoru or Suguru? Shoko sighs. At least the answer’s the same for both - no, definitely not. But Satoru is a whole world away, MIA for months. Comparatively, Suguru’s only been AWOL for like twelve hours.
“Suguru? He’s special-grade,” Shoko mumbles. It doesn’t feel as safe now, saying that. It doesn’t feel like ‘special-grade’ means invincible anymore. But it hasn’t felt that way for months. “He’s strong,” she says. “I know that he’s strong. But… That sorcerer was insane.”
“Yeah…” Utahime nods. “So, um, you probably don’t know much about this…” Utahime says, sucking in a breath. “But I’m not so sure that was a sorcerer, actually.”
“What?” Shoko’s eyes widen. “You don’t think it was a curse, do you? I mean… They looked human, right? Like, old I guess. But human old. Wait, do you think it was, like, a ghost?”
“No, no,” Utahime says quickly. “I don’t think it was a ghost. Or a curse, actually. Not exactly. Their powers were a lot closer to a natural spirit.”
“A natural spirit?”
“Yeah. They’re a little different from the regular cursed spirits you’d find in the city. Their power doesn’t come from negative cursed energy, exactly. It’s more… primal.” She gestures to the trees. “There’s energy all around us. Negative - that’s cursed energy. Positive - that’s reverse cursed energy. Real curses are made from negative cursed energy, that’s why they can use it to heal.”
Shoko nods. “But sorcerers have to use RCE, because we’re not made of cursed energy.”
“Right. And that ice sorcerer was using both RCE and CE, so they’re definitely a sorcerer - or, they were one.”
“‘Were’?”
“Sometimes, when a sorcerer gets strong enough, they become more like a curse,” she explains. “You’ve heard of Ryomen Sukuna, right? They at least teach you that much in Tokyo?”
“I know about Sukuna!” Shoko insists. Utahime laughs, tossing up her hands.
“Hey, I had to ask.”
Shoko gulps. “You’re saying that guy was like, Ryomen Sukuna-level strong?”
“Oh, gosh, no,” Utahime waves her hands frantically. “We’d be dead if they were. Like, super dead.” She shakes her head. “No, I just think… They were acting half like a sorcerer, and half like a curse. When a sorcerer has fundamental mastery of jujutsu, they understand it like curses do - CE and RCE can flow together. The way that sorcerer was fighting…” She sighs. “I knew I couldn’t win if I just fought them like a sorcerer.”
Shoko frowns. “...Is it different? When you fight a curse?”
“Natural spirits - kami - are a little tricky.” Utahime explains, “They’re bound by different rules. That’s why it couldn’t hurt the shrine. The best way to take them down is through rituals. Barrier techniques and binding vows, that kind of thing. So that’s why I thought - if I set everything up - a cursed technique reversal might work.”
“...You noticed all of that in battle?”
Utahime blushes. “I mean, yeah. It was that or die.”
“Are kami, like… peaceful or something? Is that why it didn’t kill us?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “The shrine would’ve given us some protection, sure. It could have dragged us out of the shrine, though. But it blocked us in, so…”
“Yeah. It’s weird. They were like, playing with their food.” Shoko shudders. “What was their deal?”
“Hopefully Suguru figures it out.”
“Yeah.” Shoko swallows and nods. “Speaking of…” She checks her phone again.
The reception isn’t great, but it’s there, at least. One bar, two every so often. It’s good enough to try, so Shoko dials his number and waits. It rings - one time, then three times, then five.
He doesn’t pick up.
“He could be busy.” Utahime bites her lip. “Maybe he also has bad signal.”
“Right.” Shoko swallows and nods again.
They walk through the trees for another minute or so. It’s too quiet, in that minute. The forest isn’t making any sounds, and neither is her phone. Shoko tries again, but it’s the same as before. The phone just rings and rings, unanswered.
“Utahime…”
“I know.”
Shoko swallows again, but there’s nothing left to choke down. Her mouth is dry, and her teeth start to ache from how hard she’s been clenching them shut. Utahime’s hand finds her shoulder, warm through the ruined cloth. She calls Suguru again, and again, and there’s nothing, and there’s nothing.
Nothing but ringing, in Shoko’s phone, in her ears.
Nothing until Utahime’s head snaps to the side, and she gasps.
“Shoko,” she shouts-
“What?”
It’s just empty trees and dead air. Empty hands and a dead signal.
“There,” Utahime rushes forward, grabbing her shoulder. “Follow me.”
She starts to feel it once they run off the path. It’s thick in the air - cursed energy like rotting leaves. The decay drenches their feet, wet and slimy. The signs are subtle at first: a snapped branch here, an upturned rock there. And then she sees it, a vicious slash gnawing through the bark of a wide, ancient tree.
Shoko stumbles in front of the tree, skidding to a stop.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it him?” Shoko asks, her voice a little manic. “Are those Suguru’s residuals?”
“It’s cursed, that’s for sure.” She frowns, biting her lip. “But… I can’t tell if it’s his. I’m not… Only Satoru can do that.”
“No, yeah-” Shoko stiffens. “Right,” she mumbles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“I can feel something,” Utahime says. “Something close. She looks around the woods, staring out at a path of trampled grass and broken twigs. A path of ruin… Utahime squeezes Shoko’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Suguru’s fine.”
Shoko tries to believe her.
She doesn’t really succeed, but she tries.
Suguru is a special-grade sorcerer, sure. One of only three in Japan. And sure, there are some powerful curse users out there. They don’t neatly register in the grade system like sorcerers from Jujutsu Tech. But even the powerful ones aren’t, like, special-grade. That’s what Satoru says, anyway. But the ice sorcerer definitely was. Maybe not Ryomen Sukuna-level strong, but still, like, ‘impaled Satoru’ strong, and ‘gave Tsukumo a concussion’ strong, and maybe ‘put Suguru in the fucking ground’ strong.
“Hang on, is that-” Utahime turns suddenly. She points into the woods, squinting. There’s movement in the trees - a blur of pink. It’s something winged. Something bigger than a breadbox, but smaller than Superman. It cuts through the canopy, whizzing towards them. “Is that…”
“Shelly!” Shoko gasps, catching the little curse as it smacks into her chest.
The impact knocks her off balance, but doesn’t quite knock the wind out of her lungs. She’s… she’s small. Smaller than Shoko ever remembers seeing her. She’s only the size of an slightly-fucked-up-looking cat. And… There’s something odd about her cursed energy, too. Shoko feels it in her fingertips. Shelly’s cursed energy doesn’t waver around her touch like it usually does, shifting and slipping like silk. It feels solid, unlike…
“...Where’s Suguru?” Shoko whispers.
Shelly lets out a frantic burble, flipping around in the air. She flies back into the woods. “Wait!” Shoko yells. But Shelly bolts, so Shoko runs after her. Utahime is only a beat behind, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle. “Shit,” Shoko pants.
She follows as fast as she can, which isn’t that fast at all. Shelly hovers for a second every so often, lingering in the air so as not to lose them. Shoko sucks in as much air as she can, trying desperately to fill her weak, underworked lungs. But there’s no time to waste, no time to breathe, let alone complain. Shelly whizzes through the woods, ducking and dodging around fallen trees and scorched ferns. Shoko doesn’t need a body to know it’s a crime scene. The ashy blasts scattered through the woods are Suguru’s handiwork, no doubt. And any one of his larger curses could’ve taken out a few trees. But the slashes… Suguru’s never been one for blades.
“Woah,” Utahime whispers. She stops short as the woods open out into a small clearing.
Dozens and dozens of curses - maybe even a hundred - all swarm around a huge, thick tree near the far edge. There’s all kinds - flying, crawling, slithering curses. Curses without eyes, curses with more eyes than Shoko can count. They all cluster together in a huge, throbbing mass. And their energy is vile. It’s strong enough that even Shoko can feel it burning her eyes, and it’s overwhelming enough that she instinctively covers her nose and mouth.
Atop the horrible, pulsing cocoon of curses sits Suguru’s rainbow dragon. It spirals around the tree. Its head snaps towards the two of them as they jog forward out of the treeline. The second she gets within a few meters of the cursed mound, the dragon rears its head. Its scales gleam, catching the sunlight and throwing it back in a blinding flare. It bares its teeth, roaring. The cursed energy emanating from its mouth is so potent that she tastes it - bitter ash and burning flesh.
“Woah-” Shoko holds up her hands. “It’s just me, big guy…” Shelly makes a distorted, wobbling sound, and she headbutts the mass of curses. The dragon stares down at the two sorcerers, its tongue sliding viciously along its teeth.
“I…” Shoko looks towards Utahime, “What do we do?”
“Um,” she sucks in a breath. “I’m not sure. Suguru’s curses aren’t dangerous… Right?”
“No.” Shoko cringes. “...Well… Not if he’s piloting them.”
“Shoko…”
“I know.” Shoko gulps, turning back to the dragon. “Um. Hi,” she says timidly. “I, uh…” She pulses her own cursed energy, infusing her hands with as much of the stuff as she can manage. For a normal combat sorcerer, maybe that’d be like drawing a sword - or worse, whipping out a gun. But Shoko’s cursed energy is weak enough that the dragon doesn’t even seem to register it as a threat.
“I’m a friend,” she whispers.
The dragon watches her closely, tasting her faint, bitter residuals. It curls back around the tree, wrapping its tail around the trunk. The curses begin to part. Layer after layer of curseflesh peels away. Little monsters squelch and throb as they scuttle back into the treeline - not gone, not dismissed - just lying in wait. Shoko feels a hundred pairs of eyes bore into her as she steps closer. Finally, when the last, slimy-skinned curses slither away, she sees what’s hiding inside their core. A cold, motionless stone in the center of a rotting peach.
She hears the dragon roar, then tastes it.
“Oh my god.”
She hears Utahime throw up, then smells it.
“Oh my god.”
She hears herself drop to her knees, then feels it.
It’s hard to look at all of him - it’s hard to look at any of him at all.
Her body moves before her brain, crawling towards him on muscle memory. His skin is pale, cold and still. His stomach is a mess, his chest torn open - not moving, not lifting, not breathing. Dark blood, bright blood; pink tissue and yellow bile. His guts spill out from two crossed slashes in his chest. She sees them twitch - she sees-
Flies.
There are flies landing on his body - jumping around on the raw, swollen tissue. His intestines, to be specific. Those are his intestines, outside of his skin. Because Shoko knows what intestines look like - how to identify them even on a nameless, mangled corpse. There are flies in his stomach, and ants crawling up his legs, and dragonflies flitting over his grey, cracked lips.
“Suguru-”
A sob wrenches its way out of Shoko’s chest, burning just as hot as the dragon’s breath.
“You can save him,” Utahime’s voice finds her calming, grounding. But it’s not enough, this time. There’s no peaceful eye in the middle of this storm, no ground beneath her feet that’s steady enough to stand on. She sinks into the blood-stained mud.
“I-” Shoko’s voice shatters. “I don’t have enough RCE.”
Utahime’s hands slide over Shoko’s, distantly warm. She’s too numb to feel much more than that. A burst of cursed energy surges through her body - wilting flowers.
“Take mine.”
It’s still not enough.
No amount of CE is enough. Because he’s not dying, he’s-
“Utahime…”
Only the echoes of his soul are left in his body, and even those shy away as soon as Shoko feels around for them. She can’t fight, but she can heal. She can only heal. All she can do is fix them when they come back broken. And that was never going to be enough.
“You can.” Utahime whispers. Shoko crumbles into herself, letting Utahime hold up her trembling weight. The world around her goes dark, and the air in the clearing thickens until it’s as heavy as the mud beneath her knees. “You have to.”
Shoko reaches out, grabbing blindly for the very last wisps of his thinning soul. RCE courses through her fingertips, spreading into Suguru’s hollow, decaying body. “I h-have to-”
Please. Even if I can’t do anything else, please just let me do this.
Suguru’s heart twitches.