Chapter Text
Utahime coughs deeply. Splutters of thick fresh blood oozed through the corner of her mouth trickling down her chin. Her vision blurs and her head pounds. Utahime has no idea how long she can hold on. ‘Get away from me. I’m not a witch.’ Not a proper one, at least.
‘Interesting. How very interesting,’ he grins lopsidedly, part of his face almost falls out.
She stares down at the Cursed Spirit. He looks almost as bad as she feels, if not worse. Most of him is horribly disfigured and burned, though her Cursed Technique apparently is not enough to end him. She makes a quick assessment; it comes down to him or her at this point. Utahime grips the Cursed Tool - a spear - and bends her elbow. She narrows her eyes, blinking away the sweat that trickles down from her brow and aims. One shot is all it takes.
‘Shit!’ She cusses out loud, seeing the flash of red hit her as soon as she throws the spear. She hears a gurgling sound, unsure whether it comes from the creature or herself before her vision turns black.
She scrambles to get on her feet and instant pain jolts right to her spine. Utahime loses her footing and crashes down on the stairs. She yelps in pain and rolls on the floor as blood trickles from her wound. Her eyes adjust to the dim room, then she comes to realise where she is. The smell of red paint burns her nostrils, confirming her assumption. She is lying down on the biggest sigil Shoko and she had painted weeks ago. For emergencies, Shoko had agreed.
‘This counts as an emergency,’ Utahime decides, squeezing the trickling blood from her abdomen. Her heart beats fast as she hears heavy dragging footsteps nearing.
Drip.
She mutters a short incantation under her breath. All of the sudden, the earth rumbles and she feels a strong presence in the room. The rumbling goes on for a good minute before it stops. Utahime freezes.
‘How in the fu - ‘ She hears a surprised voice. Her hands are behind her back, palming the cold cement to support herself from falling. Her mouth is agape at the sight before her, cerulean blue eyes bore back into hers in surprise. The thing that stands before her is an impossibly tall, lean man in purplish black windbreaker, long pants clad against his long legs, with a pair of black Suede boots. His handsome face is stained with dried blood on his cheeks, and she now notices that his legs bent at an odd angle. His hair is white as snow and messy, with a black cloth covering his hairline. He is so dazzling that Utahime would think that he is an angel. Though, the ever blue eyes tell her otherwise. Hell, she can feel herself shuddering at his sudden burst of strong, evil energy.
‘Wait. You’re not a low rank crossroad demon,’ she says under her breath.
‘Obviously,’ he remarks, amused. ‘Did you just summon me?’
Before she can muster any word, he extends a single hand outwards while his gaze still fixes at her curiously. Without looking at the ghoul, Utahime sees a flash of a red bright light emitting from his finger and shoots straight to the ghoul’s torso, causing it to burst across the wall. The impact causes the old glass jars to break in all directions. Some of its goo splatter on her broken leg. Utahime unthinkingly grabs a shard and cuts through her palm, letting blood trickle from the wound.
‘I bind you to me, creature of the Underworld!’
He frowns. ‘Rude!’ He mutters, half pouting. ‘Aww, come on! I get rid of the ghoul and that’s how you repay me? How did you summon me, little witch? Urgh, if only you didn’t look way worse than I feel, I would’ve eaten you. Is that the thing you need to get rid of?’ He points to the dead ghoul carcass. ‘So, what’s with the hostility?’
She pulls a face. ‘You sure talk more than those crossroads and low rank demons. Who are you exactly?’
‘Gojo Satoru, the strongest Warrior of the Underworld, at your service, princess,’ he says and bows, his voice dripping heavily with mockery.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she snaps, her vision starts to blur. ‘Warriors of the Underworld? Mammon? Beelzebub? Luci - ‘
‘You got me confused with the Princes of Hell. Didn’t you pay attention, witch? Are you even a proper witch? Such a weak energy! It’s a wonder how you didn’t just combust and die when you summoned me on purpose.’
‘Oh, screw yourself,’ she hisses, gathering all her strength not to pass out. ‘You look half as bad as I am. What the hell happened to you?’
‘I was in the middle of a fight until you pulled me here. You wound me, witch. Now I’ll have a reputation that I flee in the middle of a fight!’ He sighs dramatically and squats to meet her eye level.
‘Get away from me!’
‘Can’t, pretty one. You bind me, and hold me hostage for a second time. Are you paranoid or something?’ He holds up his finger and her heart almost stops. She can still see the carcass of the ghoul at the corner of her eye. This is it. This is the end. ‘I’m familiar with blood binds, but what the hell is this string?’
He holds up his ring finger. She sees clearly a red string tied around his ring finger and she traces where the other end of the string carefully. Her blood runs cold when she sees exactly where the other end is tied; on her left hand. Her ring finger.
That is when Utahime loses her consciousness.
Utahime is dreaming. Her surroundings are pitch black, like an endless void that could swallow her whole. She hears a low voice vibrating through the darkness, though she could not make out the words. She feels her chest tightens, the twist in her heart almost feels tangible. Utahime wakes up violently, thrashing her arms in the air. In the midst of confusion, she hears shuffling of feet and a familiar voice. A hand grasps her arms firmly and she hisses in pain.
‘Utahime!’ Shoko shakes her once more. Her dark circles are more prominent, brown eyes widen in distress.
‘Shoko,’ she croaks. Her throat feels as if it is gritted by sandpaper and it burns when she tries to speak. She slowly loosens her grip on Shoko’s shoulder.
‘Don’t speak. You overused your Cursed Technique. It’ll heal in a day or two, don’t worry. You’re lucky I came just in time.’
‘How long was I out?’ she whispers.
‘Long enough that Hell would freeze,’ says a bored voice.
‘God, Utahime, you make us worried. Escaped curse spirits again, huh?’ she asks warily. She nods glumly. ‘I’ll hex your ancestors if I have to. This is too much and too unfair.’ She turns and points out angrily at Gojo who is now lying in the circle, yawning. ‘I’ll deal with blondie later.’
‘My hair is white,’ he mutters.
‘Why is he still here? He runs his mouth too much.’
‘No shit,’ Shoko agrees. ‘One annoying little fucker, isn’t he? He won’t stop yapping when I tend to your wound. Your blood bind holds even when you pass out because you didn’t move your hand.’
Utahime holds out her hand and quickly speaks, ‘Yeah, about that. Do you know why I have a red string attached to some demon?’
Shoko narrows her eyes at her and looks at her as if she grows two heads. ‘What string?’
She taps her hand impatiently. ‘Are you blind? This red string around my ring finger and his finger. Hey, Gojo,’ she calls.
She could have sworn that his face lights up when he calls her. ‘Yes, Hime dear?’
She scowls at the term of endearment. ‘Don’t call me that and don’t act as if we’re familiar. Can you put up your hand for Shoko to see please?’
He jumps suddenly and crouches next to her. Shoko steps back immediately, all alert and nervous at the same time. She clutches Utahime’s hand and steps in front of her as if she is shielding her from him with her body. Utahime reaches out for her and squeezes her shoulder reassuring her. ‘It’s okay, I think. I have him in a blood bind. He is bound not to hurt me, at least until the effect wears off.’
‘I don’t trust demons,’ she mutters, her dark brown eyes eyeing him maliciously.
Gojo puts on an airy smile, yet menacing. She can see his little fangs protruding at the corner of his mouth. ‘The feeling is mutual.’
She suddenly has an idea. Utahime holds Shoko’s hand in her bind hand and motions the other hand to Gojo. ‘Shoko, can you touch Gojo’s right hand?’
‘No way!’
‘Absolutely fucking not! I’m not touching that filth!’ Shoko screams, squeezing Utahime’s hand defensively. ‘Did you hit your head too hard, Uta-chan? What happened to you? Hey, Gojo, whatever the hell your name is. What did you do to her? Did you charm her?’
Utahime feels her patience is wearing thin. ‘Alright, everyone calm down!’ She groans. ‘I’m sane enough. Gojo can confirm that he also has this red string attached to him and me. Can you please trust me with this? It’s just an instinct and it won’t hurt to try it out. Shoko, please,’ she pleads.
She huffs and groans, to Utahime delight. The sound of defeat. Squirming, her hand shakily reaches out for Gojo’s, who now has a deep frown on his face, grimacing when she touches her. Her expression immediately changes as her eyes dart back and forth between Utahime and Gojo.
‘I’ll be damned,’ she says under her breath. She touches the delicate thread in awe and mumbles to herself. ‘Utahime, this is not a bind nor a spell.’
‘Then, what is it?’
‘It’s the red thread of fate,’ she says. Her eyes shoot at Gojo accusingly, as if he is the reason behind the confusion.
‘Red thread of fate,’ Utahime repeats, deadpanned.
‘Yes, Uta-hi-me,’ Gojo says, propping his chin on his palm, a sly smile plastered across his beautiful face. ‘You know what that means right? It means we’re
soulmate.
’