John stood alone, drowning in silence as his mind unraveled, splintering with each bitter memory that rose to the surface. The faces of those he'd failed hovered in his mind, each one a fragment of the promises he'd broken. Every image dissolved into darkness, leaving him hollow, stripped down to the barest sense of himself.
Faces drifted past, voices he couldn't protect, promises broken beyond repair. Every image lingered for just a heartbeat before splintering, dissolving, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. He wasn't sure where he began and the sorrow ended—only that whatever he'd been trying to be, whatever ideal he'd clung to, was crumbling.
He closed his eyes, letting the pieces of himself fall away. Hero? The word tasted empty, meaningless now. He could never be that. He never had been. There was no saving, no absolution waiting for him on the other side of this. All he was left with was the truth, sharp and cold, settling in his bones.
The only thing he'd ever been good at—truly good at—was fighting. That was what he knew, what came to him without thought, without hesitation. He'd never felt as certain of anything as he did of this one cold, merciless fact. All he'd ever done, all he was capable of doing, was destruction. And if that was true, then he was nothing more than a weapon, an instrument honed not for hope or salvation, but for cutting down, for tearing apart.
The realization settled into him, a twisted acceptance that gnawed at his core, and a dark, bitter resolve began to bloom. If he couldn't save, then he would make sure Mahito felt every ounce of suffering he'd inflicted. Vengeance was a purpose he could hold onto, a direction for all his rage and pain. And if he survived that reckoning?
Then he would simply be what he was meant to be—a weapon. A tool, wielded without question, without will. He would bury the last of his foolish ideals, strip himself of any lingering hope that he could be something more. A weapon didn't feel regret or loss. A weapon didn't carry grief. A weapon cut, destroyed, fought.
And so he surrendered to the truth: he wasn't a hero, not a savior. He was a blade, destined only to destroy. And perhaps that was the only purpose he would ever truly know.
Mahito perched on the rooftop edge, watching John with an unsettling, almost innocent curiosity. His eyes sparkled with a childlike delight as he took in the man's broken stance, the anguished scream that pierced the night. The sound sent a shiver of pleasure through him, an exquisite melody in a symphony of despair that only he could truly appreciate.
"Ah, the beauty of it all," he murmured, letting the words linger in the air, his smile stretching across his stitched mouth. "Humans... so delightfully fragile. Just a nudge, a whisper of doubt, and they crumble so beautifully." His fingers flexed, almost as if savoring the feel of the souls he had twisted, bent, reshaped into his own masterpieces. The way John writhed, tormented by his own failures, was art in motion to Mahito—a portrait of suffering painted in agony and self-recrimination.
Leaning forward with a glimmer of amusement, he rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head as though inspecting a rare, vulnerable specimen. "You really thought you could save them, didn't you, John?" His tone was soft, almost tender, undercut by a mocking edge. "You fought so hard, held on so tightly to the idea that you could be their savior. And now, you're a wreck, surrounded by the hollow shells of those you couldn't protect. How utterly... fragile."
Mahito stood on the rooftop's edge, watching John below with childlike wonder, savoring every quiver of rage and despair contorting the man's form. John's scream cut through the night air—a sound so raw and guttural that Mahito closed his eyes, letting it wash over him like a twisted melody.
"Humans," he whispered, a satisfied smile stretching across his stitched mouth. "So easy to fracture, to twist. You were already broken, weren't you, John? I only nudged you a little further." His fingers flexed, savoring the feel of reshaping souls, of bending human resolve until it snapped. Watching John teeter on the edge of his sanity, he knew the man was at his most vulnerable—yet, that vulnerability held a violence even Mahito hadn't quite anticipated.
As he prepared to descend, John's gaze suddenly shot up, locking onto him. The feral intensity in John's eyes made Mahito's own pulse quicken with interest—and a flicker of irritation. Before he could brace himself, John was on him, moving with a speed and force that bordered on reckless abandon. Mahito barely had time to raise his arms as John's fist rocketed toward him, landing with a force that sent a shockwave through his body. His usual smirk faltered for the briefest moment.
"Well, well," he drawled, quickly recovering, a grin of dark excitement spreading across his face. "Didn't expect you to still have this much fight left." But John didn't respond. His attacks were relentless, devoid of caution or restraint. Each blow carried a brutal desperation.
John's fist collided with Mahito's side, and the sickening impact reverberated up his arm. Mahito retaliated with a quick slash, slicing through John's shoulder, but John barely flinched. Instead, he surged forward, landing a vicious knee to Mahito's stomach. The twisted satisfaction in Mahito's gaze sharpened—John's rage was pure, raw, and utterly captivating.
"Oh, I see," Mahito taunted, dodging another jab with a wicked smile. "You're willing to destroy yourself, aren't you, if it means taking me down?" His voice dripped with morbid fascination as he observed John's bloodied form, the man's breaths coming in heavy, ragged gasps.
John's eyes held a fire that bordered on madness. "If that's what it takes," he spat, his voice a hoarse whisper devoid of anything but the need for vengeance.
Mahito's grin widened, his fingers curling as he ducked, driving a brutal knee into John's ribs, feeling the sickening crack. John winced but seized the moment, slamming an elbow into Mahito's chest with a force that rattled through both of them. Blood trickled from the corner of John's mouth, but his only response was a bitter laugh, hollow and laced with fury—a sound that sent a thrill down Mahito's spine.
Their movements grew faster, fiercer—a dance of unyielding violence. John's strikes were wild, laced with pain he willingly absorbed to inflict his own. Mahito's hands shimmered with cursed energy as he reached out, fingers brushing John's face. But John countered, grabbing his wrist with a grip like iron, twisting it away and delivering a punishing blow to Mahito's stomach.
Mahito slipped towards the edge of the rooftop, grinning as he observed John's battered, unrelenting figure with a gleam of perverse curiosity. Every wild swing, every pained breath seemed only to amuse him further, as though John's suffering were a masterpiece unfolding before his eyes.
"You really don't care about your life anymore, do you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as he sidestepped a brutal punch that nearly grazed his chin.
John didn't respond, his face set in grim determination as he lunged forward, each blow fueled by a relentless, feverish fury. His fists flew, unguarded and unrestrained, his own safety an afterthought. Mahito weaved around the strikes, his lean frame twisting gracefully, but John's fist finally landed, connecting hard with Mahito's jaw and sending him skidding back across the rooftop.
Mahito's smirk faltered briefly as he straightened, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip. "Well, I wasn't expecting that," he murmured, flexing his fingers as they shimmered with cursed energy. "But you'll have to do better."
John's breathing was ragged, each inhale a sharp reminder of his bruised ribs and battered lungs. Still, he didn't hesitate, didn't even seem to care that he was bleeding from multiple gashes, his own pain nothing but fuel for his assault. His eyes were wild, bordering on feral, every ounce of his strength poured into each strike, as though by sheer force alone he could break Mahito.
Mahito's laughter rang out as he raised his arm, morphing it into a massive, sinewy spike aimed at John's torso. John twisted just in time, feeling the spike rip through his side, blood seeping through his shirt. But he barely blinked, grabbing Mahito's outstretched arm and wrenching it forward, slamming his elbow into Mahito's chest, sending him staggering.
John wiped blood from his mouth, meeting Mahito's gaze with a fierce intensity. "I'll tear you apart, piece by piece," he growled, his voice hoarse, each word weighed down by his relentless resolve.
Mahito chuckled, mockingly. "You think you're anything more than a diversion? A toy?" His arm twisted, growing and elongating into a whip of sinew and bone that cracked through the air, heading straight for John's head. John ducked, feeling the whip slice past his ear, his instincts taking over as he leaped forward, grabbing Mahito by the collar and slamming him into the rooftop. The concrete shattered beneath them, cracks spidering outward in all directions.
Mahito's grin only widened as he clawed at John's arm, his hand rippling with cursed energy. "You don't break, do you?" he whispered, his voice laced with a twisted admiration.
John's eyes blazed with fury as he tightened his grip. "I don't need to break. Just need you to feel what they felt."
But Mahito's laughter only grew, even as John pummeled him with blow after blow, each one met with a sickening crack of bone. Mahito's face twisted back into a grotesque smile, his skin bubbling as he healed, regenerating even as John battered him with fists, each punch costing John more of his dwindling strength.
Mahito's whip-arm lashed out again, striking John in the ribs with bone-crushing force, sending him skidding across the rooftop. He coughed, spitting blood, his entire body trembling from exhaustion.
"You're a marvel," Mahito whispered, eyes gleaming. "A man willing to tear himself apart. But for what, John? Do you think this changes anything?"
The rooftop edge crumbled as John and Mahito clashed, their combined momentum ripping them through the floor, down into the depths of the decrepit building. They crashed through walls and beams, each impact unleashing clouds of dust until they slammed into a dark, empty storage room below. The silence that followed was thick, the tension coiled tight, ready to snap.
But in a heartbeat, they were at it again. Mahito lunged forward, his arm twisting into a serrated blade. John dodged just in time, the air slicing past him as he countered, his fist surging with cursed energy. The punch connected, smashing into Mahito's ribs with bone-rattling force, but Mahito only grinned wider.
"Nice try," Mahito taunted, his body rippling and shifting with idle transfiguration. He slid fluidly behind John, his movements smooth as water, ducking under John's next punch and sweeping a leg out to send him sprawling. Mahito's clawed hands followed, each strike sharp and relentless.
John's muscles screamed in protest, blood trickling from fresh wounds as he blocked and countered, moving with a precision born of desperation. The narrow space left no room for error; each move had to be flawless, every punch a brutal answer to Mahito's attacks. John's fists connected again and again, breaking skin, splintering bone, but Mahito's laughter filled the room, louder with each blow.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Mahito sneered, ducking under another strike before slipping around him with a flicker of movement, his hand morphing into a claw shimmering with cursed energy. "It's over," he whispered, reaching for John's back, aiming to touch his very soul.
Just as Mahito's fingers grazed the air near John's spine, a sudden force slammed into him, sending him staggering back, stunned. His head whipped around, and his eyes widened with disbelief as he saw the faint, ghostly figure of Yuji Itadori standing beside John, his fist still extended, eyes blazing with unwavering resolve.
For the first time, Mahito's grin faltered, a chill creeping up his spine. Memories rushed back, the echo of Yuji's voice like a haunting refrain: "I'll just kill you. And if you're reborn, I'll kill you again and again. You can change your name, your face—I'll still find you."
For the first time since his reincarnation, Mahito felt fear.
But before he could fully process it, John was on him, his face twisted in a fury that burned like an inferno. His fist shot forward, slamming into Mahito's face with a force that echoed twice, like a ripple of power. Mahito stumbled back, feeling not one but two impacts reverberate through his skull—a primal, crushing force.
Mahito's mind reeled as he recognized the impossible: John's attack bore the mark of divergent fist, the uncanny sensation of Yuji's presence woven into John's very soul. The image of Yuji flickered beside John, a silent, burning promise of vengeance, fueling John's strikes with a power that felt unstoppable.
Mahito sneered, his face a twisted mask of fury and fear. He reformed his hand into a spiked whip, lashing it out with all the strength he could muster, aiming to end John once and for all. But John only pressed forward, every wound ignored, every bruise irrelevant. His eyes held nothing but a single-minded determination, a recklessness that transcended fear, pain, or even survival.
Mahito's whip-arm cracked through the air like a living beast, but John moved with raw, single-minded purpose, sidestepping it and charging forward. Their clash grew more savage with every second, the confines of the room twisting under the force of their relentless attacks.
The clash grew savage, both fighters becoming more desperate and inventive with every strike. John's breathing was ragged, his body battered and bloodied, but his attacks only grew fiercer. Mahito, now more cautious yet seething with rage, had discarded his usual playful approach. His transformations became erratic and aggressive, his body twisting into monstrous shapes as he lashed out with sharpened limbs and grotesque tentacles.
John didn't flinch, charging headlong into Mahito's assault. A sweeping tentacle whipped through the air, but John ducked under it, closing the distance with a punch that forced Mahito to morph his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. John's fist left a crater in the wall behind him, sending chunks of concrete flying.
In response, Mahito's limbs elongated, splitting into twisted claws that slashed toward John from every angle. John activated his Ruinous Gambit, driving all his energy into speed, his movements blurring as he sidestepped and countered each strike. In a flash, he seized a metal pipe from the rubble, channeling his energy into it and swinging it in a wide arc. The pipe collided with Mahito's shoulder, the brutal impact twisting his form and sending him skidding across the floor.
Mahito snarled, his face contorting as he forced his body to reform. His arms twisted into a mesh of spikes, each one glistening with cursed energy. He thrust them forward like spears, and John responded by enhancing his strength, snapping his body into a spin to deflect the assault. The spikes shattered on impact, splinters scattering across the room.
With his attacks foiled, Mahito grew angrier, his form unraveling and reforming at an even faster pace. He morphed his arm into a thick, serrated whip and cracked it forward, aiming for John's midsection. John rolled with the hit, gritting his teeth against the pain, then retaliated with a punch that shimmered with Divergent Fist, the spectral energy doubling its force as it struck Mahito dead in the chest, throwing him back.
The walls buckled under the pressure of their battle. Dust clouded the air as John pressed forward, delivering a relentless chain of strikes, each one more vicious than the last. His fists blurred in motion, the Divergent Fist echoing with every hit, overwhelming Mahito's regenerative abilities. Each impact sent a shockwave through Mahito's form, distorting his body as he struggled to keep up with John's onslaught.
John's face twisted with fury as he unleashed a final, brutal series of punches, his fists driving deep into Mahito's core. The cursed spirit staggered, reeling as his body destabilized under the relentless assault.
Sensing his defeat imminent, Mahito's grin returned, more twisted than ever. He raised his hands, his fingers contorting into a complex shape as his cursed energy surged, dark and consuming. The walls around them seemed to collapse inward as Mahito called forth the horrifying power within him.
With a maniacal gleam in his eyes, he uttered a single phrase: "Domain Expansion: Self-Embodiment of Perfection."
An hour earlier
Takumi moved through the dim underground chamber of Nuovo Impianto, the faint glimmer of his spectral chains illuminating the narrow path ahead. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and the cursed energy was thick, almost suffocating—far more potent than anything he'd sensed before. The darkness down here had a weight of its own, pressing on him, as though even the air itself had been twisted by the malevolent energy.
He adjusted his grip, sending a pulse through the chains to check for threats as he proceeded, each step resonating with an eerie echo. The walls were lined with images carved in jagged, chaotic patterns, a mishmash of scenes he couldn't make sense of but that left a lingering unease in his chest. He had a nagging sense that whatever had unfolded here was long buried, held in check only by the oppressive force radiating from somewhere deeper within.
As he ventured further, the twisted passage opened up into a vast chamber, and Takumi stopped, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. In the center of the room, three towering pillars loomed, grotesque and pulsating, each one formed from interwoven layers of flesh and sinew. The sight twisted his stomach; the pillars were alive, each one subtly breathing in and out, as though they held the remnants of something—someone—trapped within.
Takumi cautiously approached, his eyes tracing over the distinct patterns on each of the pillars. The one on his left was marked with jagged shapes resembling fractured mountains, wreathed in flames, and it radiated an intense heat. The second pillar, a tangle of vines and branches twisted into unearthly shapes, seemed almost like a forest given life, dark and deep. The final pillar emanated the distinct scent of saltwater, its base littered with broken shells and coral, the flesh curling like waves frozen in motion.
Though he didn't recognize the imagery, he could feel a distinct, overwhelming aura of power tied to each of them. The cursed energy they emitted was raw, almost primal, unlike anything he'd encountered. It was more than a simple curse—it felt like a lingering resonance, as if these pillars held the spirits of curses once alive, their essences woven into the walls of the chamber itself.
Takumi clenched his jaw, sensing the weight of the energy growing as he drew nearer. He extended one of his spectral chains, testing the field around the pillars, and the chains crackled with resistance as they brushed against the cursed aura. It felt almost like a barrier, a wall woven from twisted memories and residual hate. Whatever these were, they had been left here deliberately, preserved as a grotesque monument.
The thought unnerved him, but Takumi knew he couldn't leave such a cursed place untouched. With a practiced motion, he summoned his chains, each one swirling around him with a faint, ghostly light as he focused, preparing to dispel whatever cursed energy bound the pillars in place. The chains pulsed with energy, and Takumi drew a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever might come next.
Takumi's voice echoed through the dark chamber, steady and focused as he declared his technique, sealing the binding vow within his words.
"My cursed technique, Spectral Chains, binds and suppresses cursed energy by locking onto its flow. Once wrapped, the chains sever the cursed energy from its source, preventing regeneration and weakening the spirit. So long as these chains hold, curses lose the ability to harm or escape."
The binding vow took hold, and in exchange for exposing the full strength and limitations of his technique, he felt the chains grow denser, heavier, reinforcing his control over them. His words, now woven into the chains themselves, transformed them from a weapon into a force nearly impossible to break. They coiled with new strength, humming with a power honed by his binding vow.
Takumi's chains shot forward, snaking through the air. As the spectral chains snaked around the pillars, Takumi's voice grew firmer, each word feeding into his cursed technique. "Once these chains connect, they not only bind the curse but drain its energy, siphoning the curse's own strength to reinforce the bonds." He felt the chains grow almost sentient in his grip, their force multiplying with every layer of flesh they wrapped around.
The pillars trembled under the binding force, and for a brief moment, he felt the cursed energy falter, weakening as the chains sank deep into the flesh.
But then the ground shuddered beneath him, and to his dismay, the pillars began to sink, pulled by some unseen force below. Cursed energy radiated from the dark holes left by the sinking pillars, dark tendrils of it swirling and taking form in front of him. Out of the shadows, cursed spirits began to rise, monstrous figures clawing their way to the surface, flanked by the twisted, transfigured remains of humans, their forms grotesque and contorted.
"Of course…" he muttered, adjusting his stance, his eyes narrowing. He braced himself, the vow still amplifying his chains as he directed his focus toward the attackers. Despite the threat they posed, he didn't dare release his hold on the sinking pillars. He could only hope his chains would hold long enough for him to deal with the onslaught and reassert his grip.
The spirits lunged, snarling and clawing with frenzied strength. With swift precision, Takumi redirected his chains, fending them off while maintaining his binding vow's grip on the pillars. He moved fluidly, slicing through the spirits one by one, his chains cleaving through their cursed forms like blades. The transfigured humans came next, their bodies twisting in agony as they staggered toward him. With each blow, Takumi felt his energy drain, but his vow held steady, lending his chains a resilience that matched his unyielding focus.
But even as the last cursed spirit disintegrated before him, Takumi realized with a sinking dread that the pillars were nearly gone, drawn deep into the earth by forces far beyond his reach. He drove his chains into the ground, willing them to pierce the hardened soil, but each attempt was deflected, his cursed energy unable to reach any further.
Realizing he'd need more power to break whatever lay beneath, he laid his hands on the ground and chanted. A sealing barrier flared up, enclosing the site in a basic defensive ward. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold until he returned with reinforcements.
"Hopefully, this buys me enough time," he murmured, casting one last wary glance at the shuddering earth before retreating from the chamber and leaving Nuovo Impianto. His mind reluctantly pulled from the fresh mystery and drawn toward the meeting point where he was due to rendezvous with John. The name Mahito lingered at the edge of his thoughts, an uncomfortable echo in his mind. He was certain he'd heard it before, somewhere deep in his memory, like a faint whisper resurfacing from his past.
Takumi moved through the narrow, deserted streets, his footsteps rhythmic, almost hypnotic as he pushed forward. The name Mahito buzzed through his mind, elusive and aggravating, like a splinter he couldn't quite reach. The name lingered on the edge of a memory, just out of focus, but with a weight that unsettled him.
As he walked, his mind drifted back to his student days, over forty years ago, back when he'd been a rebellious kid in the halls of the Jujutsu Society's famed Seishin Institute. He had been a handful for his instructors—restless, impatient, and too curious for his own good. But one memory surfaced sharply, something from a lesson he had half-listened to in the dimly lit classroom, one he had never thought would matter. The history instructor, a severe old sorcerer with a perpetual scowl, had spoken in hushed tones about a catastrophic event—a turning point in the world of jujutsu.
The lesson had been about the Shibuya Incident, an event that had unfolded over a century ago, where powerful curses had decimated a swath of Tokyo in a single, horrific day. Takumi could remember now the way his teacher had described it: an army of grotesque curses and Special Grade monsters, and the sorcerers who had faced them down in a harrowing, desperate battle. Back then, young Takumi had rolled his eyes, barely listening. But he remembered the name of one curse in particular—one whose methods had haunted the sorcerers for years to come.
Mahito.
The name, even then, had struck him as strange. He remembered now how the instructor had described it as a curse born from humanity's fear and hatred, a creature that toyed with the human soul as if it were nothing more than clay to be molded, twisted. Takumi hadn't thought much of it, more interested in testing his limits in fights than in studying the terrors of the past. But now the details were resurfacing with a grim clarity.
As he pieced the memory together, he felt a pull on his senses, a faint tremor of cursed energy that nudged the edge of his awareness. It was a feeling, a pulse, as if the world around him was breathing in sync with his memories. He moved without thinking, his instincts guiding him as the energy grew sharper, vibrating through the air like a silent, chilling hum that seemed to resonate from every shadow. He could feel it—a dark, dense power, the kind that lingered and twisted like rot in the air.
He focused on the feeling, his senses sharpening, and then he recognized it: John's cursed energy, pulsing strong yet unstable, wild. But alongside it, entwined and overpowering, was another, more sinister presence—one that reeked of malice and cold, sadistic pleasure. His blood ran cold as his subconscious and conscious mind aligned, bringing a dark certainty with it.
With the cursed energy growing sharper in his awareness, his memories snapped into place.
Mahito. The curse that shattered lives, reshaping people into grotesque forms, tearing away the very essence of who they were.
"Damn it, John…" he whispered, fear clawing at him. If Mahito truly was the presence he sensed alongside John, then John was facing a nightmare. Without hesitation, Takumi broke into a sprint, pushing himself faster, each step laced with the urgency to reach John before Mahito tore him apart.
Mahito's Domain Expansion erupted around them, enveloping John in a twisted, otherworldly space where the boundaries of reality bent under Mahito's control. The air seemed to hum with malicious intent, walls warped with surreal, organic textures that pulsed and breathed. Mahito's domain was a warped landscape of flesh and bone, filled with shifting faces that whispered and leered from every corner, embodying the chaos and suffering that Mahito thrived upon. Here, Mahito's cursed technique, Idle Transfiguration, would strike with absolute accuracy—a sure-hit effect that would allow him to reshape John's soul at will.
The grotesque surroundings pressed down on John like a vise, the unsettling faces surrounding him seeming to mock his every breath. Yet, he stood undeterred, his gaze fixed on Mahito. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation—only a feral, unwavering rage that blazed even in the face of inevitable death.
Mahito grinned, his hand reaching out, fingers curling with intent as his sure-hit effect began to take hold. John could feel his body reacting, his very soul quivering under the touch of Mahito's cursed technique. In response, he called forth a simple domain, rough and raw yet potent, nullifying Mahito's influence. There was no satisfaction in the countermeasure, only a surge of fierce intent driving him forward, a fire that burned through his pain. John didn't need to protect himself; his only thought was to close the distance and land the next blow.
Mahito's smirk faltered slightly as John surged forward, fists blazing. John's attacks came in brutal, unrestrained strikes, each punch carrying a devastating weight as if each blow could be his last. He threw himself into every strike with no thought of defense, his fists crashing down with relentless fury. As his knuckles connected with Mahito, a subtle shimmer of cursed energy split from each hit, layered over his raw power, echoing the fury of a second punch immediately after the first, an effect that staggered the twisted sorcerer.
But Mahito's shock lasted only a moment. His laughter echoed, high and cold, the delight of someone who viewed this brutality as mere entertainment. With every attack, Mahito moved with liquid grace, weaving his body around each strike as if dodging were a dance. His limbs morphed and shifted mid-strike, a grotesque display of precision and control, adapting and countering with seamless fluidity. He lashed out with whip-like appendages, blades, and spiked protrusions that seemed to spring from his body in an endless stream of malice.
John's approach was brutal, sacrificing precision for sheer impact, the Divergent Fist amplifying each hit into something devastating. He burst forward, the ground beneath him splintering with each movement. When Mahito's serrated arm shot toward him, John didn't even attempt to evade it. Instead, he let it sink into his side, a wound that tore flesh, only to grip Mahito's arm in place, dragging him close enough to drive his knee into Mahito's gut again with crushing force. The twisted spirit recoiled, his body stretching grotesquely to escape, but John followed him, his fists relentless, each punch a shattering blow backed by the Divergent Fist's double impact.
Mahito sneered as he reformed his arm, fingers shifting into a serrated blade. He sidestepped John's next punch with graceful precision, his blade arcing forward to slice through the air. But John didn't flinch, his gaze fixed and unyielding, throwing himself forward with unrelenting disregard for his own safety. He let the blade graze his shoulder, using the opening to land a solid punch squarely on Mahito's face. The impact reverberated through Mahito's skull, splitting his lip and cracking his jaw.
In contrast to John's fury, Mahito's attacks were calculated, playful even, as he used every opportunity to twist his body into increasingly grotesque shapes, each one designed to mock and evade John's strength. His movements were fluid, but there was a gleeful cruelty in every feint, every flicker of a smirk as his limbs elongated into claws and whip-like protrusions, snaking around John's body to strike from impossible angles.
John moved like a storm, reckless and sacrificial, each attack a testament to his refusal to relent, each wound a mark of his unflinching resolve. When Mahito's jagged limbs lacerated his flesh, he barely registered the pain, only angling his body to close the distance between them. Every opening was an invitation to strike, every wound a price he paid willingly. His fists collided with Mahito's form, the Divergent Fist shattering the cursed spirit's defenses with a double impact, the force enough to splinter even the ground beneath them.
Mahito's smirk twisted into a snarl as he felt the weight of John's blows, the relentless, wild force clashing against his own calculated brutality. He reformed his body, his torso rippling as he elongated one arm into a massive, serrated whip. It sliced toward John with blinding speed, the edges glinting with cursed energy, yet John dodged just in time, his own fist driving forward in a counterattack that Mahito barely managed to evade.
Each time they clashed, Mahito tried to toy with him, his twisted amusement laced through each feint and flicker of his cursed energy. But John's gaze held a ferocity beyond Mahito's mockery, a fury that fueled every strike. As Mahito transformed his hand into a grotesque claw, swiping it down toward John's chest, John didn't move to defend. He left himself open, allowing the claw to rake across his skin, only to drive his elbow into Mahito's throat in a brutal, punishing blow, the Divergent Fist resonating with an aftershock that forced Mahito back, sputtering.
"Is this all you are?" Mahito sneered, his tone both mocking and intrigued. "Throwing yourself away just to see an inconsequential draw of blood?"
John didn't reply. There was no banter, no thought of survival—only the unending drive to strike, to bring Mahito to his knees, even if it took his own life. The cold ferocity in John's gaze sent a flicker of unease through Mahito, and for a split second, the cursed spirit hesitated.
Sensing the slight hesitation, John threw himself forward with reckless abandon, his form a blur of fists and fury. Mahito morphed his arms into serrated blades, slashing downward, and John met him head-on, his fist connecting with Mahito's shoulder in a blow that splintered bone and reverberated with Divergent Fist's doubled impact. Mahito's grin wavered as he staggered back, the laughter fading from his eyes as he realized John's fury held no end, no restraint.
John's expression was a twisted mask of pain and fury as he launched himself forward, each attack carrying the weight of his final resolve. He was on the brink, his strength waning, his body buckling under the relentless onslaught. Mahito's clawed hand drove toward him, aimed to crush whatever remained of his will. With a mocking laugh, Mahito's fingers grazed John's cheek, the cursed energy sparking as it began to transfigure his flesh.
Just then, the fractured remains of John's Simple Domain shattered like glass, leaving him exposed to Mahito's domain.
Mahito's grin widened, the faces on the walls around them contorting in laughter, echoing his anticipation of John's final moments. But as the dust settled, Mahito's gaze narrowed in shock. Where there should have been nothing, where John should have been defenseless, another barrier pulsed to life—a second, more intricate Simple Domain, layered beneath the first. It shone with an intensity that defied the darkness of Mahito's domain, casting an aura of defiance that repelled Mahito's transfiguration once again.
John didn't give Mahito a chance to react. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Mahito's jaw, backed by the raw force of Divergent Fist. The impact resonated with a double hit, sending Mahito stumbling back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he straightened, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of irritation and intrigue. He wiped the blood from his lip, his smirk faltering as he assessed John with newfound caution. John's second Simple Domain was already showing cracks, the barriers weakening under Mahito's relentless assault.
The relentless clash continued, but John was starting to slow, each movement heavy, labored. His breaths came shallow and ragged, each one ripping painfully through his damaged lungs, but he didn't falter. His strikes were no less fierce, but his body was betraying him, the injuries piling up beyond his ability to push through. Blood seeped from cuts along his arms and torso, trickling down from a deep gash above his brow, blurring his vision. His muscles ached, screaming in protest with every step, yet he forced himself forward, his resolve stronger than the agony weighing him down.
Mahito noticed the shift almost immediately. His smirk widened as he saw John's faltering movements, his dodges becoming slower, his punches lacking the same bone-shattering force. The cursed spirit danced around him, mocking him with each sidestep, each dodge that felt more effortless as John's body dragged beneath the weight of pain and exhaustion.
"Oh, are we getting tired?" Mahito sneered, his voice a mockery of sympathy. He lashed out with a whip-like arm, the serrated edges slicing across John's side. John grunted, the blow staggering him, but he refused to yield, letting the wound spur him on. His fist shot forward, his arm trembling from the effort, each punch heavier, slower. He felt his cursed energy slipping as the force behind his Divergent Fist began to wane, the echoing strikes losing their brutal impact.
Yet, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on Mahito with unyielding fury. Another attack, another hit absorbed—each injury mounting, but John refused to block or defend, willingly allowing Mahito's blows to land if it meant he could get in a counterattack. His hand shot up to grab one of Mahito's jagged arms, ignoring the stinging pain of the sharp edges biting into his palm as he used it to pull the cursed spirit closer, throwing a brutal knee to Mahito's chest.
Mahito staggered, only to straighten with a dark, delighted gleam in his eye, watching John with almost giddy fascination. "I must say, you are quite the marvel," Mahito taunted, circling him, his voice dripping with sinister amusement. "Throwing yourself away without a thought for your own life… so poetic. But you do realize, don't you, that this is all meaningless?" He punctuated his words with another swipe, his clawed hand raking down John's arm, tearing flesh and muscle alike.
John's face twisted in pain, but he didn't pull back. He used the agony as fuel, gripping Mahito's wrist to bring him closer for another punch. The blow connected, resonating with Divergent Fist, but the impact was weaker than before, a mere shadow of the force that had first rocked the cursed spirit.
Mahito took the hit with a grin, barely stumbling. He lashed out with his own counter, a grotesque spike erupting from his shoulder to jab into John's chest. The blow sent John stumbling back, blood pouring from the wound, his vision blurring as his strength continued to drain. Mahito laughed, his voice echoing through the night.
"What's the point?" Mahito sneered, circling John like a predator. "You're nothing but a shadow of your former self now—a man throwing away his life in some feeble attempt at revenge. You're weak, broken, and pitiful."
But John's gaze didn't waver. He didn't care about his injuries, didn't care about the blood loss or the pain. Each insult only hardened his resolve, a testament to the broken pride he carried, his refusal to fall until he saw Mahito defeated.
He launched forward with one final burst of energy, every fiber of his being thrown into a single, devastating punch. Mahito met him head-on, their fists colliding with a thunderous impact. But Mahito's laughter only grew louder as he felt the last reserves of John's strength falter, his once-powerful strikes now sluggish, weakened.
Mahito leaned in close, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Do you remember Cinder? Echo? They screamed, you know—when I twisted them, reshaped them." His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. "Oh, how they cried out for you, their dear saviour. And what did you do? You failed them. Just like you're failing now."
A rage like nothing he'd felt before erupted within John, but his body was nearly at its limit. Just as he forced his trembling arms to rise for one last attack, his second Simple Domain cracked and shattered around him. The effect of Mahito's Idle Transfiguration surged forward, ready to seize him fully.
But as the darkness began to close in, as Mahito's domain moved to engulf him, another barrier flared to life, defiant and raw. Mahito's sneer faltered, his mocking smile twisting into one of shock. Once again beneath the shattered domain was another—rough, barely intact, and flickering with instability, but it held.
John gave a final, unbroken stare, his eyes gleaming with the last fragments of his defiance. He threw himself forward, body battered, broken, but unyielding. The impact of his fist carried the weight of his pain, his fury, and his undying resolve, colliding with Mahito with a force that defied his exhausted form.
Yet even as the third barrier began to splinter, John continued forward, step by step, a force of will that seemed unstoppable. His Simple Domain shattered again, and the transfiguring energy surged once more, his body succumbing to the strain as he fought to bring Mahito down with him.
But just as his final defenses crumbled, as Mahito's victory seemed assured, a sudden crack echoed through the night, reverberating through the cursed energy. Mahito's domain shook, an invisible force tearing through the barriers, disrupting the space. The ground beneath them trembled as the walls of Mahito's domain shattered outward in a cascade of cursed energy.
From the shadows beyond the crumbling domain, Takumi emerged, his chains glowing with spectral energy as they unraveled from his arms. With a fierce command, he cracked the chains forward, each link charged with power, breaking the last vestiges of Mahito's influence and flooding the night air with a wave of liberated energy.
John crumpled to his knees, the last shreds of his strength giving out as his battered body revolted. Blood and bile surged up, spilling onto the ground as he coughed and retched, the searing pain nearly blinding. Ahead, Takumi was locked in a deadly dance with Mahito, keeping him at a distance, cursed energy rippling through the air as Takumi's chains whipped and lashed out. Mahito dodged each strike with an eerie grace, grinning as he twisted through the attacks like a shadow.
Through the haze of agony, John could feel something deep within himself—a flicker of energy buried beneath layers of exhaustion, a spark of defiance refusing to extinguish. It was as if he was looking directly into his own soul, an image shimmering, raw and frayed, yet burning with a fierce, vengeful light. It seemed to confirm his revelation: If his only strength was destruction, then he would layer it upon itself to unleash true devastation.
"Final Gambit…" he rasped, barely able to breathe. Summoning every last fragment of his power, he forced the technique to amplify his strength, pressing his very life into his fists. Every wound across his body erupted, expanding and throbbing, blood seeping from countless gashes as his strength swelled unnaturally, painfully. His whole body felt as though it might rip apart, each heartbeat a shockwave of unbearable strain.
With a strangled cry, he surged forward, hurling a fist at Mahito, who was distracted by Takumi's relentless assault. John's fist shot forward with an unrestrained fury, tearing through the air with a force that defied belief. The very atmosphere around his punch seemed to twist, compressing into a shockwave so intense that it barreled toward Mahito like a force of nature. Even as the blow narrowly grazed Mahito's form, the unleashed energy detonated with an impact that could only be described as catastrophic.
Behind Mahito, a building stood silent and unassuming—until the full force of John's attack reached it. The airwave slammed into the structure with explosive intensity, obliterating windows and ripping through steel and concrete as if it were paper. In an instant, the entire edifice buckled and collapsed, a violent shockwave blasting outward, scattering chunks of debris like shrapnel. The ground shook as floors crumbled in on themselves, sending up plumes of dust and fragments into the night sky as the blast of air from his blow continued to scar the land behind the crumpled building.
Though it only grazed him, the shockwave threw Mahito off balance, forcing him to twist mid-air as his face darkened with a flash of genuine surprise.
Mahito's body reeled, but he quickly reformed, healing the glancing wound instantly, his smile returning, laced with wariness. "Well now," he muttered, "you've unlocked a little trick, haven't you?" He narrowed his eyes at John, assessing the unnatural surge in power with twisted fascination. "Didn't think you had it in you… was that reverse cursed technique, perhaps?" But despite his confidence, something uncertain flickered across Mahito's face. With two Grade One sorcerers now converging on him, now with one who might have potentially unlocked reversed cursed technique, the odds had changed.
In a split-second decision, Mahito's form began to warp, splitting into two grotesque halves. His head twisted and detached, sprouting spindly legs that skittered across the ground, retreating into the shadows. Meanwhile, his body transformed into a monstrous wave of cursed energy, an onslaught of writhing whips and serrated blades surging toward Takumi and John.
Takumi's expression hardened, and with a deft swing of his chains, he sliced through the torrent of cursed energy, clearing a path towards a collapsing John. He moved quickly, his focus sharp as he watched the grotesque form of Mahito's body recede. But as he reached John, he could see the brutal toll the fight had taken. Blood soaked through John's clothing, and his breathing was shallow, labored—every inch of him was lacerated, pulsing with open wounds that refused to close.
"Damn it, John…" Takumi muttered. He knelt beside him, conjuring his spectral chains with careful precision, each link glowing faintly as he manipulated them to act as makeshift stitches, pulling John's torn flesh together, sealing the wounds with careful pressure. The chains glowed like embers, holding fast against the injuries, if only temporarily.
Takumi gritted his teeth, lifting John with a steady grip. "Hold on," he murmured, more to himself than John, who seemed to fade in and out of consciousness. With a final glance at the distant shadows where Mahito's head had disappeared, Takumi turned and sprinted, moving swiftly through the decaying streets, his only thought on reaching the Ark. Each step pounded in time with John's faint, ragged breaths, as Takumi's chains held him together, his life hanging by the slimmest thread.
Pepper's usual upbeat demeanor was gone, replaced with a steely focus as she worked on the man lying before her. John was on the edge, every breath a ragged struggle, his heart a sputtering engine on the verge of failing entirely. Her fingers flew across the instruments, adjusting monitors and injecting stabilizers into his bloodstream, trying to coax him back from the precipice.
"Vitals still plummeting," Pepper said, glancing up at the heart monitor that showed his erratic, weakening heartbeat. The number edged downward, a steady countdown.
Beside her, Mary kept her face calm but moved with a renewed urgency, her usual composure sharpened to a fine edge as she adjusted an oxygen mask over John's face. "Lung function barely registering," she muttered. "His system's fighting us every step of the way—if we stabilize one area, another tanks."
Pepper's jaw clenched as she started compressions, pressing her hands against John's battered chest. "Come on," she murmured under her breath, her voice tight. "We need you to hold on."
Mary glanced over. "Maybe it's shock? That would explain the inconsistency."
"More like everything's failing all at once. His body's in overdrive, and it's tearing him apart." Pepper grabbed an emergency vial and injected it into his arm, hoping the stimulant would be enough to push him through the worst of it.
The defibrillator was prepped again, Mary positioning the paddles with a steady hand. "Clear!" she said, waiting for Pepper to step back before administering another jolt. John's body jerked up, a brief, jolting movement, and the heart monitor spiked for a moment—then fell back to its irregular rhythm.
Mary let out a breath, sweat trickling down her forehead. "One more, we're doing it again."
This time, John's heartbeat flickered erratically but held on, a faint, fragile rhythm. Pepper's eyes were glued to the monitor, her hands hovering, ready to resume compressions at any second. She looked at Mary, who was already prepping another dose of medication, her face a mask of determination.
"Breathing is shallow but holding," Mary said, almost too quietly to be hopeful. The color was slowly returning to his face, though his breathing remained faint, each inhale and exhale a struggle. Still, for the first time, he wasn't deteriorating.
They both watched him, waiting for any sign of a setback, but the monitor's slow, unsteady beeps held their rhythm.
Pepper and Mary shared a brief, unspoken glance, the weight of their patient's condition pressing on them. They'd pulled him from the edge for now, but his body was still in a catastrophic state, barely holding together under the strain of his injuries.
Pepper inspected the burns on his torso and the bruising along his ribs, both spreading like dark shadows over his skin. Blood seeped from reopened wounds despite the stitches, each breath threatening to tear them open again. She prepared a stronger blood coagulant, injecting it directly, hoping it would give his body a fighting chance. The injuries were beyond ordinary battlefield damage, as though he had been thrown through an industrial shredder.
"He has multiple fractures," Mary said, her fingers feeling along his shattered ribs, assessing the extent. "These ribs… his lung could collapse again. I'll reinforce the oxygen flow, but he won't hold much longer without proper repair."
Pepper grabbed the portable scanner, waving it over John's side. "There's internal bleeding near his liver—if that worsens, we'll lose him before we can even think of stabilizing him."
They worked in tandem, Mary carefully setting a fracture as Pepper adjusted his IV line, infusing his bloodstream with a last-ditch combination of painkillers, stabilizers, and muscle relaxants, trying to coax his body into rest. Every adjustment seemed to come with a complication, each response a slow, uphill battle. The heart monitor continued its erratic, stuttering rhythm, each beep a tentative promise that his heart still had some fight left.
"Blood pressure's climbing," Pepper noted, eyes flickering to the monitor. "It's barely enough to keep his organs going, but it's something."
Mary's gaze remained fixed on John's face, her expression softening as she murmured, "If he can make it through the next few hours, there's a chance he'll stabilize. But with the state he's in…" She left the rest unspoken, the odds still hanging heavily in the air. His skin was cool and clammy, his breathing shallow, but his pulse—faint as it was—held steady.
Pepper wiped a damp cloth over his forehead, hoping to reduce the fever creeping over him, a silent wish in her actions as she adjusted the blankets over his broken form. "We've done all we can," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Now it's up to him."
They both stepped back, exhausted but watching as his chest rose and fell in that precarious rhythm, waiting to see if he'd hold on through the long hours ahead.
Notes:
Wow, this arc definitely turned out bigger than I'd originally planned! Thanks for sticking with it—your support really keeps me going. I'm really curious to hear your thoughts on how this arc has developed. How are you feeling about the characters involved so far? Any specific plot points you're excited or curious about in the future? And what do you think of John and the turn his character has taken?
I'd love to hear all your feedback