Cursed Love
~ A Severed Head ~
April 2009.
Life is fleeting.
Humans treasure life only when death kicks down the door, coming to claim its souls ripe for harvest. There are no rules in life other than that life is fairly unfair to everyone. Trials and tribulations of some could be blessings for others. It is through our interpretation of life that we give meaning to it and so we persevere.
Love is another aspect of life, interwoven with both blessings and curses that come with living life. People feel love but they do not understand it. When they lose it, they can't fill the hole it leaves behind so they grieve and often, their grief leads to mistakes.
Magnus Drakon grieves today. He shouldn't - he feels unworthy. A man who abandons his wife shouldn't grieve her demise. Still, he grieves.
He grieves for a past he can't overwrite. Blissful moments of peace and tranquility with her haunt him in his every waking moment. It is her face he sees first when he wakes up and the last one when he falls to sleep.
Magnus laughs, finding it hilarious how he regrets his choices once he's left with nothing.
Within Dreki's hall, there are no secrets, only dust, and tomes of ancient knowledge, tucked away on the shelves, forgotten. Many years ago, Magnus visited the ancestral hall to find a solution to his problems but returned empty-handed. At the time, he was simply seeking answers he couldn't find within these halls.
This time, he hopes otherwise.
He stands in the great mead hall, his overwhelming presence disrupting the tranquility of this place. Magnus Drakon is the man you'd imagine a typical Norseman to be: tall, blond, strong, with a chiseled jaw. His hooded hazel eyes are piercingly cold and the platinum shade of his locks (inherited by both his children) fall freely down his front and back, only the top section pulled into a single braid. His long and fair beard is adorned with several golden ringlets. Faint runic markings can be seen underneath the collar of his leather jacket, running up the sides of his neck, stopping shortly under his earlobes.
"Do you realize what you're asking?"
Magnus indeed realizes the gravity of his request and the repercussions if he fails. "I just want closure, Mimir."
"You want to enter the realm of the dead," Mimir cries out. "That's not closure, that's suicide!"
A sigh escapes the shaman's lips. "Tell me the recipe and I'll be on my way."
The severed head struggles to restrain itself. Every fiber in what remains of its body screams in protest, refusing to answer the man. However, the ancestor of Dreki shamans bound Mimir in obedience so no matter how hard the head fights against the impulse, it must answer.
"The recipe is - " the head tries to bite its tongue to no avail. "The recipe is - the same as torpor solution used for - "
"Prophetic dreams?" Magnus finishes when the head remains silent for a while.
Mimir groans. "Y-Yes except it requires a large dosage of hallucinogenics and anelgetics."
Magnus hums in response. "There has to be more to it than that."
The head sighs in defeat. "Please, it's not worth it."
"I'll be the judge of that," Magnus says calmly. "What else?"
Mimir swallows needlessly. "A-Anchor - you need an anchor."
Magnus lifts a brow. The term 'anchor' is rarely used in shamanism, even in jujutsu sorcery, mainly because there is no such thing as an 'anchor'. The closest thing to an anchor would be a talisman or a seal but even then, 'anchor' is not the word used to describe such things.
Which is why Mimir's choice of wording confuses him.
"You need another person," Mimir says through its teeth. "They must hold physical contact with you during the ritual."
Magnus frowns. "Any person?"
Mimir is silent for a moment.
"A shaman?" Magnus presses.
"Someone who knows seidr and geldr, yes," Mimir corrects the man begrudgingly.
Magnus hums. While the ritual itself is the same as the divination ritual, he realizes that the complexity lies not in the operation of the technique but in its factors.
"And if I do it on my own?" Magnus asks.
Mimir is silent again, the deafening quiet only confirming Magnus' assumptions.
"It is not worth it," Mimir pleads. "Dreki has abandoned this practice for a reason - "
"I don't care what Dreki did, Mimir," Magnus says calmly. "I want to see my wife. If this is the only way, so be it."
"But - "
Magnus doesn't give the head a chance to continue as he puts a hand over the head's mouth, muffling his words.
"My daughter will come here at some point in the future," he whispers. "She'll have questions, I'm sure. No matter what, answer them."
Mimir frowns as Magnus jumps off the bookcase. By the time it can ask any questions, the Dreki's hall is empty once more.
Magnus had already left.
November 2016.
Liv wishes she at least remembered to bring some alcohol with her.
They sit for hours it seems but in reality, it's been around twenty minutes. The head talked almost compulsively (which is true, technically), the events that transpired almost a decade ago still fresh in its memory. Liv figures the head is not just reanimated via simple necromancy - it retains its personality, quirks, and ticks, as well as the Old Norse slur that was prevalent in the time of the Vikings and earlier. Mimir's been brought back to life. Except, it's barely a human being at this point.
Heck, it's a severed head.
Nevertheless, she finds its presence comforting (but still a bit weird). For a long time, she avoided talking about either of her parents, to the point she almost forgot about them (which she admits with a great deal of shame).
"I had a feeling he was trying to do something beyond his abilities," she says after some time, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Communicating with the dead wasn't what I had in mind."
Mimir sighs. "Old Dreki was a fool as well but he knew better than to toy with death."
"There are many ways to cheat death, head," Liv points out.
"Indeed," Mimir concurs, "but how many of them succeed?"
She doesn't answer immediately though she knows of several examples in the last two decades. She takes a look around Dreki's hall, wondering how many more such incredible, impossible feats have been done over the centuries. Dreki himself is said to have been particularly gifted in divination. He probably spoke to the dead all the time, Liv notes sarcastically. She wouldn't be surprised if it's true, given that her ancestors were obsessed with the afterlife and future.
"You have succeeded somewhat," she says before asking casually. "How long have you been like this, anyway?"
Mimir ponders on the thought. "I've witnessed the conflict between the Aesir and Vanir, and the subsequent Ragnarok."
Liv lifts her brows. "Ragnarok was real?"
"Very real," Mimir says grimly. "Like many things of the past, it was forgotten."
"Not forgotten," Liv corrects him.
"What you remember is a different story," the head gives a sour smile. "The terror of Ragnarok is not for the weak. What happened then should not be repeated."
The weight of the words is obvious to Liv, for many reasons. Wars have been waged for power innumerable times over human history. Non-sorcerers waged wars for territory, resources, dominance, and power. Sometimes for less practical reasons, such as love, envy, and bloodlust.
Sorcerers are no different.
"The gods," Liv continues. "Were they real?"
Mimir scoffs. "They were real but they weren't gods."
"Shamans?"
"In the beginning," the head answers. "Prodigal, intelligent and resourceful. True masters of seidr and geldr. With no one to truly challenge their might, over time, they became associated with godhood."
"No one?" Liv asks incredulously. "That seems unlikely. There had to be at least one person capable enough to challenge them."
"If there was, it didn't make themselves known. Rather, the shamans challenged each other," Mimir points out. "In their lust for power and knowledge, they fought, slew, imprisoned, and tortured each other."
"And the humans?" she asks. "Folk with no magic. What happened to them?"
Mimir is silent for a moment. "They were the unnoticed casualty."
Of course, Liv thinks to herself bitterly. Why protect or at least spare those weaker than you when you can simply kill them?
"And I thought jujutsu sorcerers are shit," she groans.
He hums. "Magnus said something similar, how he felt particularly uncomfortable in their vicinity. Like they were judging his every move."
Liv doesn't comment. There is truth to that statement. Dreki shamans and jujutsu sorcerers are vastly different, both in terms of practice and principles. Because of Japan's overwhelming amount of cursed energy, they believe they're the judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to how sorcery should be used. Their laws and standards, their scrutiny and narrow-mindedness - those are the tools and weapons with which they govern the jujutsu society. Diversity is scarce and even frowned upon by some of the higher-ups. Anyone who doesn't bow down is to be punished. Her skin suffered that same punishment.
Fortunately, they can't harm her anymore (they're welcome to try).
"If you don't mind my asking," Mimir inquires curiously. "Aren't you angry? With your father, I mean."
'Angry' is not the word she'd use. 'Sad' could be the more appropriate word to describe what she feels. 'Abandoned', 'forgotten' - maybe even 'disappointed'. He did the same thing her mother did - didn't choose her, at the end of the day.
"Doesn't matter what I feel," she says with a calm tone. "I came here looking for answers and I got them, simple as that."
Mimir is silent for a moment. "You're not what I expected."
Liv chuckles darkly. "Yeah, I get that a lot these days."
Mimir has no doubts that she does. "Still, you accepted this so quickly. Most people would be crushed - "
"I'm not like most people," she cuts in sternly.
"But you're human," Mimir insists. "You must be agonizing right now so how are you so calm?"
Liv hesitates to answer for a while.
"Someone once told me," she says softly, "that moving on is a choice, a decision."
Mimir doesn't agree or disagree.
"For years, I've been stuck somewhere between my past and my present, utterly lost and merely existing in this world," she presses her lips into a line. "I want a future. I want to move on already. I want to be free from these memories."
"So, this was the first step in that direction," Mimir concludes and she nods affirmatively.
"I sure hope so," she says solemnly.
Mimir hums in response.
"It doesn't end here, though," she continues, reaching for the head, "and you're going to help me a bit."
"I will?" Mimir asks incredulously.
"Yup," Liv responds somewhat more upbeat. "When was the last time you traveled, head?"
Mimir doesn't get a chance to answer before she takes them both outside.
The following day, Mathias wakes up on the floor of the living room. His back protests painfully as he tries to sit up. Groaning, he massages the lower part of his spine albeit in a futile attempt. I'm old, he concludes bitterly.
Sighing, the older Drakon pinches the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes. He wonders what time it is as he looks outside, noticing that it's barely daylight. His last night's drinks with Satoru have affected his cerebral functions. His head is woozy but not throbbing at least. The disorientation will pass, he's certain but it doesn't make it less uncomfortable.
Stretching his arms over his head, Mathias hears a string of pops and crackles in his shoulders and neck. Sleeping on the floor is something he should avoid. Finally awake, he stands up (with the substantial support of the nearby coffee table) and makes his way to the kitchen to brew himself a coffee.
Once in the backyard of the Manor, he realizes that it's much colder than he thought so he hurries to the kitchen, all the while rubbing his forearms. As he steps inside the kitchen, he shudders but the cold sticks to him like glue and chills his tight, dehydrated skin.
"Fuck you, Satoru Gojo," he curses under his breath as he pours water into the kettle.
As he waits for the water to boil, he recalls events from last night, particularly the part where he sees his sister for the first time in weeks. The siblings usually spend a lot of time separated so they tend to be oblivious to the distance as their personalities tend to clash often when they're together. However, this time around, Mathias is vehemently bothered by Liv's absence. First, the clan is in disarray. Second, Satoru annoys him even more. Third, the council is getting on his nerves. All of this could've been prevented if Liv had given a call or made a brief public appearance here and there.
Mathias sighs. But that's not what you do, he notes as he watches the kettle warm up on the stove. That is the ugly side of his sister. It doesn't happen often but when she's agitated, it's like she forgets everything and everyone as she focuses on solving her problems. She'll run, she'll hide, she'll pretend, she'll spin lies, she'll thread secrets. She treats everyone in the same manner during that cycle. And when the cycle is over, she apologizes, makes amends, and then reverts to her usual, solid self.
He's certain this time it'll be the same - the rest of them simply have to endure until she's ready.
The kettle starts to whistle as the water boils inside. Mathias reaches for the kettle's handle and pours the water over the ground coffee in his cup. Normally, he makes a small brewing ritual but he feels restless this morning. Taking the mug into his hands, he decides not to go back to the living room. Instead, he leans against the kitchen counter and sips on his hot beverage in peace.
Ten minutes later, his peace is disrupted by an unusual, foreign presence at the Manor's premises. Mathias frowns as he sets his mug down and hurries to the living room.
Yuki whistles as she approaches the Shuuin Manor. She has heard that the clan's ancestral home has been almost abandoned. For an abandoned house, it is well-preserved, she notes inwardly.
It has taken her a while to find the Manor, though. Despite being well-known in the jujutsu world, hardly anyone visits it willingly. From what she was told, the Shuuin themselves hardly visit the place. Many roads are sprawled in Nikko but only a few lead to the Shuuin Manor. Yuki is glad her bike can handle steep terrain, or she'd be forced to push it uphill.
The serenity of this place is rather comforting. The calm, the slight chill in the air, the smell - everything makes one feel tranquil. Why would she hate this place, then? she briefly wonders as she walks up the makeshift staircase.
A short while later, Yuki reaches the Manor's front door. The sigil of the clan - a red spider lily within a chain circle - is plastered on the walls, the colors somewhat washed off. Before Yuki can even knock, she sees a blond man burst open the door, a deep frown on his face. Platinum blond, hazel eyes, half-Asian, Yuki thinks to herself. Oh yes, you're a Drakon alright.
She puts on her usual smile, which she gives when she's in a playful mood. That smile only makes the man frown even more.
"Can I help you?"
Yuki gives him a polite bow. "I hope so."
"Introduce yourself," Mathias says, closing the door behind him.
"Yuki Tsukumo, Special Grade," she answers curtly, a knowing smirk on her lips, "though, I hear the Shuuin don't care much about the titles."
"You're correct," Mathias concurs, crossing his arms over his chest. "We also don't care about those who lack basic courtesy to announce their arrival."
"Will you turn me away?" Yuki asks with a hint of mischief in her voice. "I haven't even asked what kind of women you like."
Mathias quirks a brow. "I beg your pardon?"
Yuki chuckles. "You'd be surprised by how much you can learn about a person based on their fancy."
A short silence follows and Yuki is almost certain she can hear crickets chirp. Crickets? Here?
"I'll have to ask you to come at a later date," Mathias says evenly before turning around and heading back inside.
Before he can close the door, however, Yuki holds the door open by placing her foot between the door and the doorframe. Her rosey eyes stare at Mathias and he finds himself taken aback. Mathias has spent a lot of time in Satoru's presence so he knows the difference between the so-called 'Grade One' and 'Special Grade' sorcerers.
It is astronomical, to say the least.
He'd heard of Yuki Tsukumo before this curious encounter. A jolly, 'good-for-nothing' Special Grade who spends her days doing who-knows-what overseas (that's almost word-for-word what he's heard the higher-ups say about her). If Satoru is a problem child of the jujutsu world, Yuki is a lost cause. His brother-in-law bitches about work but he gets it done, at least.
Yuki doesn't give two flying fucks about it.
"I'm afraid I'll have to refuse," Yuki says, her tone low but smooth.
Mathias blinks. "I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice."
"Oh?" Yuki pouts. "But I like having options."
The tension builds up as Yuki makes her stance clear. Mathias weighs his options carefully. An open fight is out of the question. Losing a life over this is stupid, he scoffs inwardly. Letting her inside is also unwise since she's a stranger, regardless of her preceding reputation. Perhaps, I should ask some questions first.
He then opens the door slightly but doesn't invite her inside yet. "You came here for a reason."
Yuki nods. "That I did, Councilman Drakon."
"You know me?" he inquires.
She nods again. "To be more precise, I know your sister. That's why I'm here."
"I'm afraid you're out of luck," Mathias says. "She's away at the moment."
"When will she be back?" Yuki asks in return.
He hesitates to answer. "It's difficult to say."
Yuki groans. "She hasn't changed a bit - "
Can't argue that point, Mathias thinks to himself.
"I'll be in the country for a while longer," Yuki says as she searches the pockets of her leather jacket. "Could I ask you to give me a call when she comes back? I need to talk to her."
Mathias bites his lower lip. "May I ask, about what?"
Yuki stops searching her pockets, giving him a quizzical look. "Don't you know?"
Mathias shakes his head and Yuki sighs in defeat. "She is a scatterbrain."
Again, he agrees with her.
"I'm doing independent research and she is supposed to help me," Yuki explains. "The Shuuin possess vast knowledge and understanding of the soul if I'm not mistaken."
"You're not," Mathias concurs before adding, "but I've never heard of this arrangement before."
Yuki sighs again. "Yes, I figured as much."
Mathias frowns. "What did she promise you?"
"Promise?" Yuki asks in return. "There were no promises. She offered whatever knowledge she could once she became the Shuuin mistress. I took her up on the offer."
No binding vow, which means I can refuse her, Mathias notes. "Rather casual agreement, don't you think?"
Yuki gives him a soft smile. "She's my friend, Councilman. I'd like to think I don't have to be on guard around her."
Mathias focuses on her thoughts for a brief moment. Inner Eye may be a weak ability by jujutsu society's standards but it's not without its perks. One such perk is telling friends from foes, and liars from honest men.
Or women - whatever.
However, her thoughts correlate to her story so she's not a liar. Or maybe, she's a good liar.
"That doesn't work in your favor, Yuki Tsukumo," Mathias points out. "My sister never mentioned knowing you, much less that you're friends."
"I'd be surprised if she told you anything, Councilman," Yuki retorts. "Aren't you distant as siblings?"
While a fact, the question bothers him much more than he thought it would. "Regardless, something as serious as divulging the clan's secrets to an outsider would've been run by the senior members of the clan."
Yuki cocks her head to the side. "Isn't divulging the clan's secrets to outsiders one of the reasons behind her marriage to Satoru Gojo?"
Mathias' eyes widen as he stares at the pink-eyed woman in disbelief. She notices this and chuckles.
"Yes, I'm in on all the action," she says coyly. "Well, not 'all' all but don't worry, I have no intention of snitching any of ya' to those geezers."
Snitching or not snitching, Mathias is shocked that his sister has been more liberal with their secrets than she initially admitted. First Toji Zen'in, he growls inwardly, now this woman as well?
"You are not a Shuuin spy," Mathias points out evenly, half-expecting her to counter his statement.
Yuki shakes her head and smiles. "No. Like I said, I'm a friend of your sister's."
Toji was at least a spy, Mathias thinks to himself bitterly. You were always prone to acts of selfishness but when have you become so soft, sister? Sighing, Mathias opens the door further and moves to the side. He beckons the woman to enter.
"Judging from those," he nods to her muddy combat boots, "you've been on the road for a while."
"Taking pity on a lonesome woman?" she asks, swaying her hips as she takes off her shoes before entering.
Mathias lets out a breath. "Don't mistake my hospitality for leniency. I still disapprove of my sister's actions and there will be a reckoning."
Yuki frowns in response but says nothing as she lets him lead her to the living room.
It has been a while since Mimir has smelled the sea air. Well, it's been a while since Mimir has smelled anything besides dust and mold. Even the smell of snow graced his nostrils only on the rare occasions when a Dreki shaman visited the mead hall.
"Having fun?"
The head would've turned to its handler if it had shoulders attached to its neck. Alas, it has to be overly dramatic with its face turned forward and away from Liv as it answers her question.
"It's more entertaining than looking at the same spot on a wall or the same book on the shelf for centuries," Mimir chuckles humorously.
Liv smirks. "I thought you might appreciate the gesture."
Mimir hums. "Out of all your predecessors, you're the only one to take me outside that hall."
"I'm also the one who got us lost in a snow field for the last four hours," she retorts.
"True," the head agrees, adding, "I still appreciate the gesture."
Liv hums and looks at the skyline ahead. It is a polar night as it's typical this far north. Nevertheless, Liv likes looking at the horizon even at night. The white cover glistens and shimmers under the moonlight, reflecting the shimmering skies above. The only thing lacking in this picturesque moment is an aurora borealis.
"You look undisturbed by the fact we're lost, though," Mimir says, breaking her out of awe. "Not cold, too."
Liv almost laughs. "I have my ways of warming up. We're also close to a settlement. I can sense a scant concentration of cursed energy ahead, maybe a dozen kilometers or so."
Mimir quirks a brow. "What energy?"
She looks at him as if he's asking a stupid question before realizing he's using an entirely different terminology for these things. "Magical energy."
The head hums in understanding. "I'm surprised you can sense it over such a vast distance."
"I couldn't before," she muses enigmatically. "I can now."
Mimir doesn't inquire further.
"Hopefully, we'll find a ship there that will take us to the mainland," she says, holding the head on her left hip.
"And then?" Mimir asks.
Liv lifts the head so they're at the same level. "Then, we're heading for Japan."
Morning comes more quickly than Satoru thought it would.
Granted, he spent the previous night working and has probably overindulged his otherwise suppressed battlelust. He tends to lose track of time when rushing after that high, that overwhelming sensation he experienced only once in his lifetime. A part of him (a large part) is slightly anxious that he may never experience that kind of feeling. That's why you're a teacher, he reminds himself and a soft smile graces his pinkish lips.
Maybe one of them, one day.
On the bright side, he's happy to say that he's at least found a perfect training spot for the first years and Megumi. An abandoned building, five stories high, set for renovation or demolition (whichever comes first). Located in Ikebukuro, the building is overflowing with Grade Three and above curses. The wretched things will continue to be reborn at this place, given the district's reputation as a cesspool of crime and hedonism. Perfect spot for on-field experience training.
A carefree smile rests on his lips as he marvels at his accomplishment. He almost gives himself a pat on the shoulder for a job well done. I'm just an amazing teacher. Humming a jolly tune, Satoru turns on his heel and heads for the Ikebukuro station which is a short walk away. On his way, he stops at a patisserie shop that he simply couldn't resist after window-shopping for a solid ten minutes. He almost misses the train while browsing all of their sweets. He leaves the shop with a bag full of cakes, pastries, and small cakes. His mouth is also stuffed with a chocolate croissant.
Where it all fits is anyone's guess.
Once on the bullet train, Satoru indulges the rest of his goods. The entire ordeal is witnessed by the other passengers who give him incredulous looks (both for wolfing down so much processed sugar and also because of his unnatural good looks, maybe even because of the blindfold). Satoru is aware of the stare but pays them no mind. He's more interested in the black filling of the cake than he is in the ogling people around him.
"Yum," he hums as he takes another bite of his cake.
Minutes pass, and the cake is gone along with all the other sweets he has bought. Satiated, he wipes off the dusted sugar and chocolate mousse in the corner of his mouth. He then crosses his legs and arms before leaning into the seat, happily humming while enjoying the ride.
Looking outside the seat window, Satoru observes the panoramic view over Shinjuku and the emittance of cursed energy that is produced by the people on the streets. He understands that others don't see what he sees or rather, they don't see everything he sees. Colors, shapes, and textures are the main components of human visual perception of nature around them. However, Satoru can see velocity, volume, structure, fluidity, depth, and most importantly, cursed energy. The subtle differences in each of these components and the ability to notice them are what separates Satoru from the other sorcerers. He's faster, more efficient - simply, better.
The world, to him, is just a big blob of information, a near endless inpour of data that his Six Eyes collect and process.
Yet, even Six Eyes has limits and some things escape its profound gaze. Most of these limits, Satoru's been made aware of recently. As it were, his wife revealed to him those limits and he's not certain how he feels about that. Theoretically speaking, all living beings with emotional intelligence release cursed energy hence the residuals. Absolute control over cursed energy is impossible. Even he cannot fully stop his cursed energy from leaking his body entirely. Yet, Liv can do exactly that.
This puts a lot of things into perspective. Complete control over cursed energy is a valuable asset but without proper distribution, it's useful as shit. Also, lack of leakage results in over-accumulation which should be making her body succumb to sickness. Granted, he doesn't know her health status as of late. Maybe she is sick? he thinks to himself. And if she isn't, that means she's circulating large amounts of cursed energy throughout her body, constantly strengthening it as a result. If there is no output in the form of a cursed technique, all that energy has to go somewhere.
He ponders on the idea that she's using a reverse cursed technique. If so, she's doing the same thing I am with my Limitless, he concludes. She never stated she could use a reverse cursed technique. She never stated she couldn't, either, he notes sarcastically.
Satoru chuckles. My dear wife, he muses inwardly. I hope you come back soon so I can unravel all of your secrets - one by one.
