Chapter four: The Cage
Suguru finds himself stumbling back up the shrine steps in a daze.
A part of him feels detached, distant. Indifferent to the atrocities surrounding him. Corpses ripped limb from limb, blood ponds in wide puddles in the street, hundreds of milky, sightless eyes gaze up at him with accusatory contempt. A part of him also feels like running, and Suguru realizes he already is as the thought crosses his mind.
He sprints up the remaining steps like a man possessed, through the blasted open doors of the shrine, where he hadn't quite managed to make it outside before he lost control of himself.
Suguru stops, and he stares, and he feels a relief more consuming than any of the deaths had offered him as he looks upon the untouched cage.
The little boy looks like he hasn't moved an inch inside the bamboo cage, hunched over with his wounded arms wrapped around his legs tucked to his chest. Those blue eyes dully regard him from within the shadows, a truly haunting depiction, and yet all Suguru can feel is an undeniable relief.
"Suu-guu-ruu…?" The curse of the village blubbers in its drooling language at the sight of him, its grotesque form curled around the cage like a boa constrictor in a protective embrace. Its body winds tighter as Suguru takes a step closer towards the cage, as if to shield the boy from him, and the almost instinctual reaction from the curse nearly makes Suguru pause. "Soo-goo-rue…?"
There is undoubtedly a question in its voice but Suguru does not bother to answer it, waving away the curse's presence and banishing it back with the rest of his collection.
A stillness permeates the shrine, a tense silence, a sudden stallment that almost makes Suguru's ears ring at the abrupt loss of noise. Blood spreads at a slow crawl from underneath the blasted open sliding doors of the shrine, it soaks into the wooden paneling, the scent in the air is thick, it leaves the taste of copper on the tongue.
The little boy twitches as the curse vanishes into thin air, slightly lifting his head up from resting on his knees, for all the world looking like he's already resigned himself to a cruel fate.
What an awful expression, to see such an expression on a face that looks far, far too familiar, far too much like his best friend, to see Satoru's small, pinched face bruised, and lacerated and dull-eyed, Suguru decides there really is something that he loathes more than the disgusting monkey's- more than the taste of a cursed spirit- and it's that awful, terrible, no-good expression. It's to see the face of the man he had thought to be the strongest look so completely… defeated.
Suguru can only remember one other occasion he's seen such an expression before, the only time he's seen Satoru stumble, in a hall that is far too bright, surrounded by hundreds of clapping hands, Riko's limp corpse hidden away under a thin, stark white sheet in Satoru's arms. Wide blotches of blood spread on the fabric like the petals of a red spider lily, a halo of death and yet-
And yet they applaud-
And yet, Suguru knows what he witnessed that day was not uncommon. He understood the ugliness of the masses that day, and yet he still chose to be a jujutsu sorcerer who saves others. At least, that's what he's been telling himself ever since that day. (He knows better now.)
Suguru can only remember one other occasion he's seen such an expression before, the only time he's seen Satoru stumble, the lifeless look in his best friend's expression as they made eye contact.
How, in that moment, the applause reaches a deafening crescendo. How, in that moment, if Suguru hadn't spoken up, hadn't told Satoru to stop, and wait, Satoru would have killed them all- and yet-
Ever since that day, Suguru thought he understood the cruelty of the masses, he thought he could still choose to be the type of jujutsu sorcerer who saves others despite that. Suguru thought he would be able to stop, and wait, and yet-
Ever since that day-
Something has been growing inside of Suguru, ever since that day. Something heavy, something unavoidable. Slowly, he began to feel more and more disenchanted with the reality set out before him. With the hideousness of the masses. With the purpose he held. With the survival of the weakest.
Suguru used to think that that was how a society should be, he knows better now. He used to think that jujutsu existed to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers.
(The shock of stark, white hair from within the cage hits Suguru like a roundhouse kick to the gut. The world around him goes eerily silent and all he can see, all he can think is that the battered face of the little boy huddled in the bamboo cage looks eerily similar- too familiar-)
Suguru used to think he understood the ugliness of the masses, he used to think he could ignore it, he used to think he could still be a jujutsu sorcerer who saves others.
("So can you kill it?" The villager asks instead of the correct response-)
Suguru used to believe in the survival of the weakest.
(And yet-)
Suguru thought he could still be the type of jujutsu sorcerer who is able to stop, and wait, when all they do is applaud- and yet-
(Ever since that day-)
His footsteps clatter as Suguru approaches, his hand rests on the edge of the short roof of the bamboo cage as he crouches to his haunches, his bangs hang across his face as he tilts his head down slightly to peer into the cage.
(Ever since that day-)
Those blue eyes dully regarde him from within the shadows, a truly haunting depiction, and yet all Suguru can feel is an undeniable relief.
His other hand raises, his fingers brush the latch of the cage door, and it swings open with a creak.
(Something has been growing inside of Suguru for a while now.)
"Hey." Suguru says softly. "It's alright now, you can come out."
(Slowly, he began to feel more and more disenchanted with the reality set out before him.)
Suguru holds out his hand, his palm open and facing towards the ceiling as he says softly, as he gives the little boy a kind, closed-eye smile. "Come on. There is nothing to be afraid of anymore."
(He knows better now.)
Suguru has been wondering about the whole point for a while now. Has been wondering the whole point of this marathon game of being a jujutsu sorcerer. Has been wondering what the whole point is if the only thing waiting at the end is a mountain of his comrades' corpses.
("So can you kill it?" The villager asks instead of the correct response-)
"I won't let anything else happen to you, I promise."
(He knows better now.)
"So will you come out for me, please?" Suguru implores, patiently holding his palm out until the little boy hesitantly grasps it into his own, staring up at Suguru with those eerily similar, too familiar eyes that suddenly shine with an innocent curiosity.
It feels like something dark, and unavoidable has touched Suguru's soul, in the shape of a palm of a too small hand. It is so slight that Suguru's hand engulfs it entirely as he curls his fingers around.
Suguru used to think he understood the repulsiveness of the masses. He knows better now.
(He knows better now.)