Ishikuna Ryomen was at a loss. It didn't take two weeks without Sukuna making an appearance in public for the first spy in their midsts to be caught. From then on, he knew that the clans would try him any moment now.
"Suki, what do I do?" Exasperated, he slumped into the mythical thigh-pillow of his wife- dad was right, this is the best.
Her light brown hair dangled down onto him as she shrugged, her opinion as plain as day. "Curb them. Han-Kami Sukuna said it best- if they dare rise above their station, you will remind them." Ishikuna doesn't quite remember the line being that strict, dad always had a way of making anything he did much more neutral and to the betterment of every man, be it clansman or random civilian.
Still, there was wisdom in that. He'd learned Domain Expansion with the help of his father, so he was sure that even that young Ten Shadows user that had been elected the Clan Head for the Zen'in couldn't compete.
"The Emperor sent his condolences and invited you to dinner, as well." Sighing, he leans further into her lap pillow.
"Why can't things just be simple?" He asked. Sighing, he got up from his lap pillow. Waving his wife goodbye, he passed by his dads study. A flash of his tall father, sitting in that chair and agonizing over the clan's constitution while he sat on a stool next to him, wondering at the pretty words on the leatherbound book flickered on top of reality.
He smiled fondly. "You left me too soon, dad. But I get it... If things escalate, I'll deploy your final failsafe…" He thought about those twenty Cursed Fingers that his dad had Cursed with his very being. Originally, dad had done it to see if he could imprint a shadow of his soul onto something, to create a Shilkigami of himself and also because 'its ironic as fuck'. God, his dad had such a way with words. He snorts at the mere thought.
But if the Zen'in with their Ten Shadows, the Gojo with their newly birthed Limitless, the Fujiwara with their own Cursed Speech and the Abe with their light-sorcery plan another invasion, even he, heir to the throne, won't be enough to avoid casualties.
Maybe… maybe the Fingers could spread his father's fear amongst the masses again. Ishikuna shakes his head. "Dinner with the Emperor, right."
"You're NOTHING like him!" Ishikuna stands in the rain in front of his clan's gates, mud gathering below his feet with each passing moment. Cursed Energy and corpses alike strewn about. A lot of clan members had died defending their home but they'd taken double the numbers down with them.
He was right, the traitor clans have forged another alliance to decimate them. And it almost worked. Hana stood next to him, steam spreading over the entire road even as her Cursed Energy dwindled. Now, only two invaders remained. The men who were standing above Kakashi's corpse. Kenta, Kakashi's son, stood to his right, red eyes still locked onto his dad, their shared Cursed Technique now only his.
Ishikuna shakes his head, he can console him later. They need only repel this duo- The Shadow's Shadow, Zatra Zen'in and the Spirit's Reprieve, Haruma Gojo. The Gojo, bearing the Six Eyes and Limitless, the first to do so, and Zatra with the new Ten Shadows. The Zen'in was delusional, screaming to the heavens. "Your father slew my predecessor with impunity, yet here you stand! Weak!"
It wasn't quite as bleak as he was making it seem like. They still had 90% of the clan alive and fighting within the compound, rooting out the infiltrators with the help of the spirit that slumbered in the very foundation of their home, the Demon's Eye. Under the pale moon, thunder roared and Ishikuna thought back to his father briefly.
He was turning twenty nine in a few months and he'll try and see if that coffin would truly hear him this time. He'd gone down there, into that mystical workshop, time and time again, bearing his heart, his worries to his father.
No word, the eyes behind that glass starting to look sunken.
But despite the current situation, their clan had only solidified its power. It's why their opposition had to forestall their invasion for a couple of years. Ties with the royal family had never been better, Tokyo had become the actual capitol even if the Emperor stayed in the newly named Kyoto. Guroro had triplets, two of which bore Cursed Speech, and Sai Kamo had found herself a husband, her son being born with Blood Manipulation as well.
Each had claimed their seats on the Council, which was devolving into more and more meaningless banter about the clan's focus with each year. Should they turn their attention outwards, to the grander world, to claim the other clans as vassals like his father had with the Kamo, or should they seek the prosperity of their clan and Tokyo alone?
Well, with Tengen's very public announcement of the global separation of Jujutsu from the common populace, it wasn't like they could officially help Tokyo anymore, but with Curses appearing less and less as time went on, they were simply not needed anymore. Tokyo had its own leaders now, its own economy. They would be fine on their own.
Thunder roared yet again and all three of them tensed as the Zen'in spoke words his father had told him only once about- "With this treasure I summon…"
Ishikuna panted heavily, standing on top of three corpses, only two of which he had truly wished to be so. "Why… I'm too weak. I couldn't save you." He sank to his knees, rain prattling against him. He felt Kenta's hand on his shoulder but his mind couldn't focus on it- "Why…?!" The anguish in his voice was clear.
He wasn't strong enough, not like his dad. He could never be Ryomen Sukuna, that fucking Zen'in was right about that. And now, because of his failure to rise out of his father's shadow, Hana, his only sister, lies dead in the mud.
Blood stained the brown water, her entire right side seemingly vanished by a punch so strong from a Shikigami so vile that she would have to be buried unseen. "I… I swear. Upon my name, upon my very blood, the world shan't forget our name. I'll care for your son, Hana, I promise. I'll tell him how dutiful you were, I'll- I'll…" He couldn't continue, gripping the collar of a dead woman as he cried into his sister's arms for the very last time.
"We have to go." Kenta's monotone would see any other man admonish him but Ishikuna knew that he was as broken as he was. His father was right behind them, as dead as his sister was. "People will need your healing."
"I… I know. Please… just give me a moment. Just a single moment longer… please." He was begging the Kami, not Kenta. He wanted his sister back!
Kenjaku watched with immense glee. He had managed to seal the current Ten Shadow's user into a Cursed Object, for his Culling Games, stealing his seemingly dead body and resuscitating it after his fight with the demon's son. Even in a new host body, he still felt that hand wrapped around his neck and the chains of that Vow around his soul.
Even now, even only stealing the soon-to-be corpse of one of the clan's kills tugged at the pact so harshly it felt like a thousand burning brands upon his skin. But he had his plans. Already any non-Sorcerer had changed their opinion on Sukuna, the tales influenced by his own agents amongst the populace.
A new generation, never having seen the 'good' deeds of the man, are easily influenced. And so, The King of Curses, malevolent Curse was born in myth. Sorcerers would soon follow, especially with the isolationist doctrine the Ryomen had started pursuing. They had only really been interacting with the Royal Family and the Kamo.
Rain prattled against his stitched forehead, the very skies crying for such a sad moment. A brother mourning the death of his sister, a son the death of his father. Kenjaku watched from a tree, his grin couldn't be wider. He loved this. Sukuna's blood weeping.
He was clear of mind enough to see that he had become obsessed with ruining Sukuna's work, his legacy, but as long as he didn't let it take precedent over his overall goals, he saw no problem with indulging! Certainly, he couldn't interfere directly, not even nudge people into outright harming the clan, but whispered words vague enough not to trigger the Vow were enough.
And, with the King of Curses willingly sealed somehow, the Vow will weaken. Maybe it will take a hundred years, maybe a thousand, but soon he might even be able to talk to a member of the Ryomen clan!
For now, he'll just collect more Sorcerers for the future and skirt the rules of the Vow. After all, if he does something that inadvertently hurts the clan unintentionally, then that's not his fault, certainly! "Hmhmhm… hahahaha!" He chuckles under his breath before moving on. The man below him would come out of his trance soon and he was no joke. He'd sense Kenjaku sooner rather than later.
For now, he'll work on Sukuna's reputation before anything else.
Tengen sighed, her folded hands sitting on the round table within her white void. Around the table were the rest of the attendees. An aging Ishikuna Ryomen who was subject to the glares of the heads of the current clans, except Kamo, who was watching Ishikuna with anticipation and fascination. "Fret not, the Academies I'm planning on building will serve the clans. They shall train non-clan Sorcerers and, as such, will alleviate the burden placed upon your families."
Ishikuna sighed and everybody listened as he spoke. After all, even at just forty years old, he was the undeniable Strongest Sorcerer of the Strongest Clan. Even if they rarely interact with the rest of the world these days. "But we can still send our members for education, if we so wish?"
"Of course." She bowed her head slightly in agreement.
"No member of mine will attend a school with them." The Gojo scowled.
Tengen rolled her eyes. "Which is why I built two colleges. The current roster of students will also be available for perusal at any time."
The Zen'in, barely ripping his eyes of hatred from Ishikuna, his father's killer, spoke up next. "First, you force us to abandon our villages and tolls, now you want us to send our children to some… some indoctrination camp?!"
Tengen narrows her eyes and everybody but the Ryomen stills as it was made known just how much influence she has over this space. The surroundings changed, now everybody sat in a tranquil zen garden. "I demand nothing. Your clans don't have to be involved at all. I am informing you out of formality."
Ishikuna laughed, haughtily and many other clan heads scowled at the sound. "Well, I like this idea of yours, Tengen! If you need funding, you'll have ours!"
"Just… try and do the right thing." And so, Ishikuna breathed his last breath, following his wife and sister into the ever-after. His two sons, Nashikamo and Muro Ryomen sat by his bedside. They both loved their father, despite their own differences.
Even if he was rarely around to raise them, busy with managing the domestic and external relations of their Clan while trying his best to keep their grandfather's holy doctrine alive. It resulted in Muro and Nashikamo growing bitter towards each other, striving both to inherit the position of Clan head. Ishikuna tried his best to have them resolve it peacefully, to forge a brotherly bond that would withstand their greed.
But he failed. It was his last regret in life. He knew that, as soon as he died, they would fight. To the death, if needed, for the position of clan head. "Brother. You know what has to happen." Nashikamo, the stern and reserved one of the two, spoke up first. He became a lot more jaded after coming home the only survivor of a Special Grade extermination mission, all his friends and even his spouse dying right in front of his eyes.
"We don't have to, Nashi." Muro, the one who saw good in everybody, tried to find reason within his brother.
"We sit upon a throne of power. Our clan holds the might to change the world. We could cripple the academies and their entirely too free-spirited Sorcerers, enslave the clans and forge a united Empire of Sorcerers. We would breed unity and power until fear itself is killed, until Curses cease to exist." He was delusional, Muro knew.
And he also knew that, if they fought, Muro would win. He was leagues stronger. But after that mission, that fucking mission, his brother was set on this course of action. And, already, a lot of the council shared his views. The civilian half, especially Head of Finance saw the opportunity for greater wealth in his plots but were blind to the many pitfalls.
The almost guaranteed chance that any empire they would build would crumble to dust in a manner of weeks. People would not be content with oppression, he knew. His honoured grandfather knew. His Holy Words said as much.
"We don't need to do this! Han-Kami Sukuna's Fingers sow hesitation already, nobody would challenge us! We're at peace, Curses appear less and less each year!" He pleaded for the last time, their dead father forgotten in their squabbles and with it, the last true memory of who Ryomen Sukuna was as a person.
"But they aren't gone, Mura. That's what I want."
"Then… I'll have to stop you."
Mura Ryomen cried. And he cried and cried and wept and wept. The void of stars around him echoed his suffering. "Lord! My Kami! Would you bless this, my crime!? I needed to do this! He wouldn't stop!" His rantings never ceased, the corpse of his brother on his lap as he begged Ryomen Sukuna for wisdom, for absolution.
But the coffin never stirred, neither did any of the others.
"What would you have done!?" Anger surged and his fist shattered against the coffin's exterior. "You, oh so powerful, oh so revered?! You would have had a solution, surely! But no, you chose to hide! Hide from the world for an age, to scurry away from your problems! Dad is dead, auntie is dead, my brother is dead all because of you!"
He punched with his other hand and that broke as well. The rest of the council would hate that he was the head now, not that they expected otherwise. The Holy Word assured that they wouldn't dissolve into infighting, no matter how many people divided themselves in ideals. When you grow up training with everybody by your side, when you could drink tea with the leaders of your clan, then 'hierarchy' and 'leaders' were more formal titles than anything else.
He slid down the sealing paper surface of the coffin, crying even more. Tears slid off the paper, not even his blood stayed smeared onto the thing. Truly, a marvel of Jujutsu. "Never again. I won't let another Ryomen experience what my brother had ever again. No more missions- no. We train and grow stronger, but never do we deign to suffer. For suffering breeds hatred and hatred breeds ambition. And we cannot afford another… another dispute like this."
Yes, that made sense. Only the clan head would interact with the council, his wife Hinata and their son, and the entire bloodline to come, they would stay safe. Yes! Safe behind the walls of the palace. No danger! Never!
No more of his blood will be spilt. Never again. The rest of the clan is there for that, right!? "Y-You… you are truly a god! You foresaw this, didn't you!? That's why you ensnared the Kamo, the Inumaki!? So that they may serve as your shows of force on the outside, while your royal, your divine blood may stay safe! Yes! This has to be it!"
Unbeknownst to Mura, he had been just as delusional as his brother.
Two hundred years passed.
The world shifted.
The Kossetsu Eyes were never seen again, forgotten. The Six Eyes and Limitless were seen as the pinnacle of inherited Jujutsu, next to Shrine. The Ryomen clan became a watchful god on an ivory tower. Never was their mainline seen in combat, the Clan heads the only Sorcerers deigning to exit the manor for anything.
The rest of the clan developed much like Sukuna envisioned. Unity was encouraged and equality ensured. Only… only his own bloodline was exempt. Seen as descendants of the Divine, the rest of the clan worships them like the very gods themselves. Ego, inflated ego was the result.
Why would a Ryomen deign to fight a Curse, to muddy their hands with purple blood when they had multiple Inherited Traits in other Sorcerers or the vaunted Elite Four to do so for them?
And so, only the Kamo interacted with the Ryomen clan. They became watchful but withdrawn, their wrath only descending upon the world in dire circumstances- an example of which being when, seemingly out of nowhere, a group of Special Grade Cursed Spirits bound together in an alliance of death, ravaging the coastline in defiance of the rest of the clan's attempts at stopping them.
The current clan head of the Ryomen quite literally Dismantle'd these spirits in minutes.
Reverence for his blood turned to fear outside the clan as Sukuna's tale became a myth, a malevolent myth. Sorcerers, knowing that his descendants are still alive, fear them and the average civilian only knows to never set foot on that mountain, for more often than not, you would not return.
The Fujiwara became the Inumaki, the Abe culled by the most recent Ryomen clan head as a reminder of their terrible power, when yet again, the clans formed an alliance to try and kill their wrathful overlords.
Many innocent and upstanding clan members of the Ryomen died in the initial skirmishes, but once the Abe died, the alliance was shattered yet again, this time for good. Resentment for the Ryomen wasn't forgotten, especially in the Gojo and Zen'in, but the rest let bygones be bygones.
All the while, Kenjaku did his thing. Kashimo was recruited after failing to ever even reach the Ryomen compound, failing to fight the strongest with as hidden as they were, and instead vowing to fight the actual strongest in the far future. Kenjaku was content, happy even, with how the Ryomen withdrew themselves, their Council corrupting into a religious gathering more than a democratic organization.
Mostly, the civilian and the normal Sorcerer Council Members now did the organization and actually ruling of the clan, while the bloodlines and the main branch devolved themselves to pride and fanaticism. Ryomen Sukuna's shadow gave them a haughtiness and surety in their superiority that quickly alienated them from the rest of the clan.
But, with how the Council was structured, the actual sane and understanding members of the non-mainile bloodlines and the regular Sorcerers simply kept doing missions and growing in overall skill unimpeded. No matter how the mainline Ryomen tried to change the Holy Doctrine, it would not budge. And so, they could only ensnare Yorozu's and Uraume's own offshoot branches of the Ryomen to their zealous side, to hope to win the occasional council voting.
The Elite Four still slew the greatest of Curses, but they became nothing more than the body guards of the manor otherwise. Descendants of the original members, they thought themselves superior as well.
Despite Sukuna's wishes, a divide grew within the clan. The trio of mainline Inheritors versus the rest. Nothing was done about it, as no side could directly lord any power over the other. Slaying another clan member in anything but an honorable duel was so instinctively wrong to every clan member, taught from birth, that a forceful change of the clan's structure was impossible, and that's ignoring the Manifesto that hung above the fireplace of every family.
So, the average Ryomen ignored the 'old chucklefucks that think they're too good for a real fight' and went on with their lives. The compound was big enough to support two different cultural groups, after all.
"Lord, we gather here this decade to pray to you once more." Neji Ryomen, current clan head, was decked in a red robe, their clan's symbol emblazoned upon it. His family stood all around him- the white-haired Ice Users, the brunette Creationists, all around his own, core branch of the Ryomen.
And all gathered in prayer today. Mentally, Neji scowls. He'd been unable to collect all but one of the Finger's the holy Han-Kami had spread amongst the populace during his lifetime. His father would be disappointed. BUt his son, unlike himself and his forefather before him, had awakened the Shrine!
The celebrations even included those lower classes within their clan that day! "Be attentive, Ken. In that very coffin is his radiance." He pointed at the long foggied glass of the Holy Restingplace of their god. "He is our progenitor, he who blesses you with your power. He who instated us as superior. And yes, we play nice with the commoners, for they bring us the money and the missions, and with the slightly less weak peasants of the Kamo and Inumaki sub-branches, for they strengthen and diversify our overall power. But always remember, we are above them."
His son, wide red eyes and lush pink locks staring up at him in wonder, nodded. "S-So Sukuna-"
"Lord Sukuna!" He slapped his son over the back of the head, furious at the boy's indignity! How dare he besmirch the Lord in such a way!
"I-I'm sorry dad!" He sniffled and, unbeknownst to Neji, his wife flinched. Soon, in the coming years, she would run away, carrying their unborn second son. Settling into a far-away town, giving way for generations of non-Sorcerer Ryomen. Until they became Itadori's.
"Don't be sorry, be better!" Neji hissed.
The scented candles burned a smell of reverence into the air and the gathered dozen family members prayed. They prayed away the slightly incestuous nature of how they kept their bloodline 'pure', they prayed away the hatred for their fathers, they prayed away the weakness.
They thanked their ancestor for their power while never training or working to even try to surpass it. They stayed in their lofty highs, looking down at those who work hard and not even deigning to thank them for their contributions. Thank god Sukuna had assured that, even if it came to this, that everybody would be paid lavishly for any participation in a mission, so that classism would be avoided, if only financially and politically.
Of course, cultural and religious classism was an entirely different matter altogether.
"We will send aid!" Manji Hatake shouted, his hand slamming onto the council's lavish meeting table.
"The Kamo can handle their little traitor, it is none of our concern." Sakura Ryomen, the current clan head, sighed with a disgusted intonation. She didn't give a rat's ass about the messenger from the Kamo or his plea.
"Noritoshi Kamo has committed a crime against nature itself, we will send the Four to kill him! What are allies good for if not for things like these!?" Manji, who thought that, sometimes, he was the only sane man on this god-forsaken council, argued. The civilians didn't involve themselves in this matter, they didn't care for anything that wasn't a domestic, non-Jujutsu matter. Although Sai Inumaku and Todo Kamo were firmly on his side, they still needed to sway the votes of said civilians to their side, for the trio of the Purist faction of their clan, i.e only the mainline members, where firm on letting their only ally and, by now, only gateway into communicating with the rest of Jujutsu Society fade away.
"Fine. Send the Four, they will kill this… man. Just… get out of my sight. You are an affront to all our Lord stood for." Sakura then started going off on her religious tantrum once more, every other non-purist member of the council slumping in frustration and resignation.
At least he could finally make headway into reestablishing their political power outside the clan. Under the past few generation's councils, they'd become entirely too isolationist for his liking.
Still, with the academies serving as a gateway for their younger members to make connections outside the clan, maybe he could reestablish their former glory fully. Yeah… what a pipedream.
There it is! The first half of the timeskip. I'm… kinda unsure about the second half and I'm really open for suggestions on how the timeline could diverge from canon further from here! Otherwise, I'm going to take a quick break from writing. Not longer than a month at max, but I want to get my ducks in a row about the modern era and about this second half of the interlude. Sorry!
"Mornin' honey." Sasuke's world alights with sunlight once more. "What's my schedule again..?" He muttered to himself, trying his best to remember the slots on the piece of parchment he'd been given at the beginning of the week by the Civilian Contractors.
Right, no mission on the weekend but a double-mission day today in return. "Ugh." He stood up, much to his wife's chagrin as she sleepily clawed at the pillow he left behind. His family's house was two stories tall, a commonality in their clan. Really, from what his mother told him, life outside the clan was much less safe and relaxing.
For Sukuna's sake, they didn't even have plumbing!
He passed by the stairwell and entered the bathroom, shooting the drawing of his Lord a quick prayer before starting his morning routine. "Sas'ke!" His wife's voice rang out throughout the house as he barely stepped out of the shower.
"Huh?" He let the noise of incredulity echo out throughout the house.
His wife, wearing only an evening gown, leaned out of their bedroom's doorway with a groggy motion, eyes barely adjusting to the light. "Can you stop by Tokyo and get me sum fish? I wanna have sushi…"
He approached, a towel the only thing covering his lower body. He smushed the adorable cheeks of his wife together and she melted at his touch. "I'll be cooking, right?"
"Yeah…" In reluctant acceptance, she nodded. "You get to choose…"
He laughed. "Married for four years and you still don't know that I'll do anything for you, Mai. 'Course I'll get some fish." He gave her a kiss and she melted at his touch.
"Yipee!" As he walked past her, Sasuke heard his wife do her happy dance. "Stay safe on your mission, honey! Luv u!" He was on the ground floor too soon, the front door slid closed a moment after. The paved streets of their compound were only overshadowed by the mountain they had been dug into under. He walked up to his neighbours house and waited.
Sure as shit, not five minutes later, his best friend made it out the door. Bocchi was a simple woman, unique blue hair complimented by her support-based Cursed Technique, which allowed her to empower the next five attacks of herself or an ally she touches by 200%. He absentmindedly thanked 'Hana School of General Development', the clan's only school, mostly led by one of the civilian families, for utilizing the Lord's extensive and impressive theories on all things to uplift their minds.
Truly, their Lord was adept in all things. Math, science, architecture, industry, what couldn't he do?
"Stop idolizing him!" Bocchi gave him a hit over the head, a light and playful one, but one that roused him out of his thoughts nonetheless.
"Ow." He rubbed the back of his head as they made their way to the gate, where the Inumaki were doing what their clan has been most notoriously assigned with- gate guarding. "But he's done so many incredible things!" Even three hundred years after his slumber, the stories of Ryomen Sukuna, their Han-Kami, were grand as always.
"My family's records just call him a goofball." Bocchi crossed her arms and humphed.
He gasped in an exaggerated manner. "If the Council heard you say that-!"
Bocchi rolled her eyes. "I'd have to listen to their idolatry for another half hour, I know." Much more past that they couldn't do, no matter how many unpopular speeches the main branch makes, each family in the compound had their own records on Sukuna. And while all said he was a god made flesh, his personality was widely debated about.
They arrived at the grand gates, seals strewn all about the full-metal doors that stood thrice as tall as they did, in half an hour- the compound was more like a small city, they even had their own small patches of farmland!- and approached the booth where the two lazy Inumaki sat.
One's seal of Cursed Speech was very visible, imprinted onto his mouth and it was obvious by the fact that he attentively wrote something down as they approached, that he wouldn't be the one to inquiry them. The other, a man a bit taller than his clanmate but with the same light-blue hair, had a seal on his right hand and waved them over with a bright, welcoming smile.
"Ah, Sasuke! And Bocchi, here to do that combo-mission you were assigned?" He asked and Sasuke nodded.
"Yeah, I've really been taking my time doing it." Each week, you were assigned two free days and a number of missions ranging from five to ten in total that you'll have to do during your work days. The number and usual pay for each mission changed depending on your Grade, with Sasuke being a proud Grade One, but each mission, at minimum, paid enough for them to live lavishly for months.
The recent trade deals the civilian sector of their clan had made with Tokyo, entirely unaware of their supernatural nature, assured that the clan had a secondary source of income, trading the home-grown tomatoes and potatoes they had in their compound for a good amount of cash. Thank god Sokka, one of the two current Sorcerer elected council members, was a pro-externalist.
Their pay, which had already been high, was down-right noble now. "Well, I'll wish you the best of luck. As always-"
"We pray for power and joy, in life and in battle." All three of them said in unison, the prayer each Sorcerer isn't forced but rather encouraged to say before leaving. It was a cultural thing and… it felt like Sukuna would watch over them, if they devoted their mission to his ideals. Well, two of the ideals most could agree on.
And so, the illusion briefly lifted, only at the gate, and they could leave again, the barrier unveiled. They had all heard tales about the spirit that protected their home, but nobody except the purists actually knew what it was about. But you'd be lucky to see somebody from the actual main line of the Ryomen in your lifetime, you mostly saw the white and the brown ones when they gave their rhetoric speeches.
They stepped out into the wild, just Bocchi and Sasuke. He watched the Veil fall once more behind them and the Compound disappeared, leaving behind a mountainside and nature only. He thought back to his time at Tokyo Technical, where he was taught the basics of Jujutsu before pursuing higher Jujutsu education via mentorship back in the clan.
He was glad that the current Heir to the Hatake's position in the Four, Sendai, took an interest in his technique, otherwise he'd have to cram his days and nights at the library to learn Hollow Wicker Basket, Barriers and Reversed Cursed Technique. And he'd heard that that could take you a few decades of self-study to master.
For other clans? That was a prodigal pace. For them, with their history? It was mild at best.
From the ground up, after coming back from their public education at the Tokyo Technical Cursed College (though, even before that they're taught the basics by family), each Sorcerer, be it with an Innate Technique or no, is submitted to the School of General Education.
From then, it's inevitable that you'll reach Grade One within a year of graduating. You learn Simple Domain, Sealwork, Reversed Cursed Energy (if you're adept enough, only about 60% actually manage it), Falling Blossom Emotion, strict regimens for you to follow each day to grow stronger physically and to never rust in any of the aforementioned arts and you even get personalized training in your own Cursed Technique, created by the school administration, who are handsomely paid to do so.
And you can also take several post-graduate elective courses. Either on literal Soul Searching, though it's the most difficult and only about a dozen successful practitioners of Soul Manipulation have been created since the school's inception- and even those practitioners are only able to do the basic manipulation of their physical form through the soul- or Cursed Tool creation. Really, with the knowledge this clan has and the way it teaches it freely to any member, it's no wonder that the Vows they swear when turning eighteen are as adamant about keeping it a secret as they are.
Suffice to say, its no wonder that even without the mainline Ryomen, old stick-up-the-ass fucks they are, off the general battlefield, their strength and position had never dwindled.
"Hey… I've been thinking." Bocchi began as they started running through the forest, their bodies alight with Cursed Energy as they settled into a pace that'd allow them to make it to the abandoned Shrine where the Curse apparently is in just an hour or so.
He scoffed playfully. "That's new."
"Oh, shut it!" She swatted at him but he simply titled and made his next footfall a bit away from her. "I wanted to ask you out to dinner!" Blushing, it was obvious that her usual rough exterior was brittling at the thought of asking him for something.
He laughed, even as his heart swelled. Mai had been urging him to finally take Bocchi as his second wife but he'd been reluctant. The ceremonies always cost so much, especially if he knew the concert Bocchi would no-doubt want to put on. "S-Sure! No problem! After the mission, I'm picking up some fish in Tokyo. We can stop by that one ramen place."
"Oooo~ sounds nice! You'll pay, though! I'm only a Grade Two, I don't make that much!" She makes more than enough, they all do, but he lets her demand anyways. He'd do… a lot for her. As would he for Mai.
A little more happy, they both settled into the journey, which made it go by in a flash. So now, they stood at the entry arches to a pretty dilapidated Shrine. "Huh. Nobody lives here."
"No shit." Bocchi snorted as she led the way. The place was surrounded by crumbling walls, moss and cracks spread all about. A Sakura tree had long since died, the obviously tilled farmland below it having gone unattended for ages, the potatoes growing out of control. Wait-
"Why's there potatoes here?" He asked, confused. "I thought only we had them?"
Bocchi shrugged. "No idea. Maybe it's the Potato Curse?" Both of them laughed at the image. To their right was an L-Shaped home that looked old, not only because a lot of it is caved in, but also because it lacked a lot of the more modern architecture they're used to back home. To their left was the actual Shrine, with a burnt building right in front of them. Only charcoal and burnt wood, covered in plant life and debris to note the existence of something there.
And lastly, the Cursed Energy in the air was… heavy, to say the least. "I'll search the Shrine, you see about that house." He nodded and did as commanded, even if he was technically the superior of this mission. He let Bocchi do her thing.
He didn't need to open the front door, as it was completely off the wall, fallen onto the ground and torn apart on most spots. There was something dried on the far wall of this overgrown dining room and he took a step closer. Blood, maybe, if it was, it's actually centuries old. He continued on down the corridor and eventually found some kind of bedroom. Coughing away the dust that befell him as he opened the door, Cursed Technique at the ready, spikes of metal sliding out of his palm, he only found dilapidated domestication.
Whoever had lived here, they liked drawing. Or at least, something akin to it. A lot of scrolls were littered around, though they were written in an odd scribble that went left-to-right. Ugh. Some mad-man lived in this Shrine, apparently.
But then his eyes locked onto the source of the Cursed Energy and his thoughts stopped.
It was a box with seals all around it. A very familiar box. A box the contents of which every single clan member gets to see once a decade, at the Festival of Four. A… A Finger.
"H-Hey… Bocchi! I think… I think this is above our paygrade."
There were three responsibilities each clan head of the Ryomen had. One, to the Council. Two, to their god and three, to the other council of Higher Up's that comprises the main ruling body of the Jujutsu world. It's a relatively recent invention, and Dororo Ryomen, current clan head, is more than just displeased that he is a mere member of the council and not its rightful overlord.
It's fine to be a member of their clan council, since they are all part of the same blood, the same holy doctrine, even if some members are just plain better than others. But this? He was glad that they met in a pitch-black, Cursed room where you could only see the shadow of each member behind the paper windows they sat at, otherwise his shiver of disgust would not curry favor with the other clan heads.
Not that he really needed it. He was the latest inheritor of the Holy Shrine, the most valuable and vaunted Cursed Technique, and had cemented himself as this era's strongest… even if many outside their clan whispered about the current Six Eyes/Limitless Gojo's strength.
Traitors. Even if they weren't in his clan, a Sorcerer of any kind should know the Ryomen are the very pinnacle of their kind. Even if the past few generations have only produced an average of two Special Grade Sorcerers each decade, compared to the five or eight of before, that still puts them far above the rest of these vermin!
Five Hundred years of their clan existing and this has been the worst generation yet… or that is what the statistics say. Of course, it is all hearsay! His father clearly taught him that they are the peak, the zenith, the best of the best. Degradation is impossible, failure is impossible.
And for their power, for being generous to the lowly non-mainline members of their clan, his family gets to enjoy the lavish life they live. Rightfully so! Finally out of the meeting, he sat in his home and motioned for one of the Elite Four to approach his throne. "Yes, my lord?" He bowed down low.
"Bring me tea. Now." He demanded lazily, turning right to see his wife- previously his first cousin and member of the White branch of his family- and giving her a lecherous kiss. He was ever-so glad for the researcher team's forays into Reversed Cursed Technique and how, when applied during sex, it can mitigate incestual consequences for any conceived child.
It allows them to keep the bloodline pure!
The Elite Four member- he didn't remember nor care who- went to do his bidding. Being so close to the main branch as they were, through his family's control over public events and non-manifesto doctrine, they had been able to correct the Four into a position of priesthood! Guardians and warriors for the Ryomen main branch, nothing less, nothing more.
Selected members, even if chosen by the previous member of the Four, are thoroughly trained and indoctrinated by his family personally. Although, most of the time it's from one of the Green branch members- of Lady Yorozu's direct blood!
All things considered, Dororo Ryomen is content with how things are.
Moichido Kamo is not happy with how things are. Well, not that happy. He's fine with it, but his clan is basically just a hollow shell for the Ryomen to operate out of, politically at least. "Greetings, honorable Lord." He bowed as deep as he could as Horuma Ryomen, brother to Dororo Ryomen, arrived at his estate.
A derisive snarl is all he gets in return. "I'm here to see the body." Ah, that man.
"Of course." Leading the way, they tread a path towards a very secure underground facility, through an unassuming shed in the yard of his main estate. Down in the gray walls of the facility, they're met with the dead body of Noritoshi Kamo, his brain missing. "What do you make of it, my Lord?" He asked. While it is quite obvious that the mainline of the Ryomen have fallen quite considerably, they are still the single most powerful family in the world.
"Hm. A Cursed Technique is at play." Was all he had to say. "But this man, he produced something special, no?"
"Y-Yes, my Lord." He led his Lord- all but his master- to a cabinet at the back end of the room. Considering the many sealed doorways they went through to get here, having these abominations so casually contained in a storage closet wasn't a big deal.
As soon as he opened the doors and let the Cursed Womb: Death Paintings see the world once more, his Lord sneered in righteous disgust. "NO! These things are unnatural to the highest degree! Get them out! I won't even have an ally of ours be tainted with their presence."
Moichido scowled. Despite their horrible origins, these Cursed Objects have already proven some interesting theories about their Cursed Technique as well proving themselves useful for various forms of experimentation. And now they need to dispose of them? His jaw grinds against his teeth as he swallows his pride.
He has a lot of good friends amongst the Ryomen, all agreeing that they just had to deal with these arseholes on a daily basis. Maybe it's time to send a complaint to their oh-so vaunted council, maybe then these Ryomen men can finally pull their sticks out of their asses.
Unlikely, he almost wanted to snort at the thought. If he ever sees the day a Ryomen doesn't wear that condescending scowl, he'll eat a broom. "It will be done, my Lord." He can contact Tengen, maybe she can find a way to seal off these things, if only because, despite their origins, they're a marvel of Jujutsu.
"Yes! Americans, they call themselves!" Masamichi Ryomen listens to the retainer attentively. "A 'Commodore' by the name of Matthew Perry has landed in Tokyo Bay!"
Masamichi frowns, deep in thought. Almost a thousand years of history, his family's grand legend is still spoken of even by the non-Sorcerers, and now some… Americans want to trod upon the city they had helped found? "We cannot interfere directly, not with Tengen watching. We… sadly cannot survive a combined assault by all the clans, even with the support of the Kamo." It was a sad truth.
While they could kill 99% of the other clans handily, the current user of both Limitless and the Six eyes, as well as the current Projection Sorcery and Ten Shadow users over with the Zen'in have made it quite clear that intervention from their mainline may be required to weather such an assault. But it would cost them dearly, and it was something he just didn't want to afford.
The civilian Council has already had their fingers in Dutch trade, however, so maybe these… Americans can contribute to their greatness? Even as Sorcerers, if they approach without using any Jujutsu, they can still strike up a deal or two? The Ryomen family is still recognized by the royal family as a noble clan, even if the Emperor's actual might had diminished greatly, so they still hold civilian relevancy.
More often than not, he'd heard of people searching for them, historians mostly, wanting to confirm the great and terrible tales of Ryomen Sukuna, their Han-Kami.
Ah, and what a tale they had spun!
The son of a great Curse and a Kami, an unholy birth. Sent down to the mortal plane with four arms and two faces, destroying anything in his path in search of fulfillment of terrible vices. A cannibal, they say. A monster, they say. A god-king of his era, they call him.
Most of that, his family could agree with.
But as modernity starts to set in, as the world itself changes, as they renovate their entire compound again and again, things change. The other three great clans, only subservient to the Zenith Clan- the Ryomen- rule the rest of the Jujutsu world with nary an interference from him. Why would he? He does not care for their world past the money they provide from missions and trade.
Oh, another Special Grade Curse has killed dozens? Well, send the Four! Oh, you've had to deal with multiple defecting clan members? Well, not our problem! No matter how much you cry at the meeting of Higher Ups, the Ryomen are untouchable, ungovernable. As it should be! "Send Sokka- oh, and any Sorcerer, try and see if this America has Jujutsu. Now, off with you." And so, the Grade One Sorcerer gives him a scoff and leaves.
Masamichi rolls his eyes, the lower class would never see his family's greatness. Not that he intends to show them- they could talk ill or disrespect them all they want, they all follow Han-Kami Sukuna's word regardless and as such, are absolved under his word. Still, if any of them spit at his feet like that one boy a few weeks ago, then some corporal punishment is in order, of course.
Now, as evening sets in, he makes for the Holy Site, the God's Workshop. There, he would pray and tell their slumbering god of all that he knew, all that he planned, all that he thought. A ritual that would be followed the day after by the Festival of Four, celebrating their God and their Clan with rigorous displays of entertaining Cursed Techniques or other Jujutsu, regular talents, music and whatnot.
It's one of the few times even he and his family show themselves, where they briefly deign to talk with the commoner. Masamichi must admit, even he likes the spirit of camaraderie.
"You speak of angels, of our lord, of knowledge an ancient Angel of yours has told you of- but pray tell, how!?" The White Man in front of him asks with overbearing interest. He was of the 'Christians', specifically some kind of organization of theirs, but he was a simple Shinto priest with only scarce knowledge of Ryomen Sukuna's legend and how he 'claimed' an Angel of a God not of their pantheon.
"I-It's an old tale, sir!" With the rest of the world starting to mingle with theirs over the past decade, he, as a priest, has been exposed to a lot of cultures and ideas that he'd never even conceived of. Especially when he led the largest sect of the Shinto in Tokyo. "You'd have to search for the Noble House of Kamo, they are one of the few that are said to converse with Sukuna's direct descendants."
"Sukuna? Who is he? You speak his name with terrible fervor, heretic." The title bestowed upon him flees his perception, he'd only recently learned English. It took time, but as a priest, he vowed to make his religion available to all that seek, even from overseas.
"I-It's an old myth, sir! A four-armed demon, claiming an Angel in a terrible battle! We did not know the Angel's radiance had spread to the lands overseas!" He speaks the truth.
"Oh, and so it speaks true- our god, sharing his vision, his grace with even those unbelieving! But so does the devil spawn his demons! The Vatican needs to hear of this!"
"Masks! High quality, porcelain masks or Ryomen Sukuna, Shuten-Doji and other Great Myths!" Joshua ignored the Japanese salesman. Even with the money he makes being a Window for the Higher Up's of that weird cult wizard place, he's still a stingy person at heart. And people sometimes rack up their prices when they see an American like him, so what is he to do but save up?
Making his way deeper through Tokyo's main market district, he eventually makes it to his apartment block. With the War raging towards an evermore distant end for his country, he was more angry with his grandfather for moving to Japan of all places after the first one than ever. Really, if just one more officer starts beating him for no reason, he really just might start sending intelligence to the Americans.
God, he's more Japanese than anything else! Joshua blinks as something bright briefly appears over the corner of his eyes. Turning, letting his key stay in his door, he sees…
A newspaper slaps against his face as a strong wind picks it up. Now, with the sun rising, he can fully see the paper. Even as tired as he was from the night shift, he could clearly read the words.
FIRERY DEATH- NEW TYPE OF BOMB DROPPED!
Hiroshima was the latest victim of the American bombings, however a new kind was dropped. Survivors, those not burning from the inside in the hospital tents, described it as a ball of fire, a second sun, briefly rising to the sky. It destroyed untold thousands of houses, families and memories. The-
He couldn't keep reading, the photos on the paper showed him all that was needed. "W-What…" He had family over there, an aunt. He didn't visit often, he couldn't go out much without being glared at or 'questioned', but before the war, when he still did, he remembered her Udon. And so, as Joshua Itadori made it back into the house, he collapsed onto his bed, the Newspaper taped to the wall.
He continued staring, more and more. What happened? Is she alive? What kind of bomb could eviscerate entire buildings? Are Sorcerers in any way involved? His mind never stopped, even when he began crying. That night was spent wide awake.
Next chapter will start with Angel awakening and we'll get a lot more PoV's for the same time period- the clans reacting and preparing for what Angel does. I'm not fully interested in writing throughout all of history, it's just not what I want to do nor what I'm good at, so I skimmed past a lot of important bits and left a lot up to interpretation. For the modern era, to the average civilian, only Sukuna's cultural impact is larger, more shrines are dedicated to him as an actual Kami, Tokyo is an economic powerhouse- more so than it should be- and Christianity is a lot more widespread.
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