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Consciousness came with a sharp pressure across her chest, the crushing weight of the metal frame of her car constricting her every breath.
But… no. That’s not right. I have never been in a transport like that.
Her nose crinkled instinctively at the familiar scent of a curse before her, it’s energy distorting the space around it and its presence defiling the very air.
A curse…? Why does she recognize the smell of a curse? What is a curse?
She flexed her arms, the constriction around her torso tearing like paper. The sturdy ground now beneath her feet did nothing for the bread hook twisting it's way through her thoughts and memories.
Nothing was making sense, but the echoing growl of a non-existent engine was making it hard to think. An instinctive flick of her wrist in the direction of the accursed noise dismantled it with a crack.
Cool air kissed her skin as she stood, trying to knead her thoughts back into shape with the knuckles of one hand. The only surety her brain could agree on was she had been dead, but was now no longer.
Her eyes cracked open, staring at the moon hanging above. In the echoing silence she could hear the laboured breathing of someone to her left, and her lower eyes lazily drifted in that direction.
There was a boy there, no older than sixteen for sure, pale as the light of the moon she was admiring with her main eyes. The blood dripping down his face may have contributed to it, but the way his eyes were fixated on her face told her she was most likely the reason for his pallor.
He must have heard of me, then. She shifted to face him fully, all four eyes fixated on the boy and a question forming on her lips as her thoughts continued their messy sprawl. Wait… four eyes? What— her brain caught on the insanity of that thought, her body freezing in its movement.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The strangely horrified feeling about the second set of eyes she’d always had was halted instantly by her mouth and arm moving without conscious thought; her own hand crossing the front of her body to grip her opposite shoulder as if to stop herself from stepping closer to the concerningly pale boy. “Give it back.”
“Wha—” Her own voice startled her, not sounding quite right, and the clack of her teeth from closing her mouth so fast echoing in her head.
“My body, give it back.” Her mouth moved again without her input, though apparently it wasn’t hers?
A vessel? What is going on?
A loss of feeling started creeping up her legs, the absence of sensation jarring with no precursor. Supression? A powerful soul, this vessel has.
The emptiness crawling more quickly up her abdomen, combined with the strange state her mind seemed to be stuck in, caused a spike of panic she found herself unable to physically show as more control went back to the vessel’s previous owner.
“Don’t move!” The boy, who had only been watching up to this point, shifted into some kind of stance— the beginnings of a summoning?— his formal tone wavering slightly at the edges as he spoke. “By the laws which govern Jujutsu Society; I, Fushiguro Megumi, must now exorcise you as a curse.”
The numbness finally reached her face and darkness filled her vision as her eyes closed.
…
Opening her eyes again revealed the spread of her domain before her, as she sat perched on her throne. The comforting familiarity of the manifestation of her soul gave her the space to attempt to straighten her head.
Her name was somethingdifferentwhowasshe Sukuna.
She was just in an accident on the highway. Another car hit ice and t-boned her, pushing her off the road.
No.
She was just leaving an injured Uraume in their current hideaway, extracting a promise from them that they would stay put until she returned. Something happened. She knows she never made it back to them, but who exactly managed to get a jump on her of all people is lost to her.
At least her theories were proven to be correct if a vessel really had taken her on.
She sighed, exasperation rising in her as the two different memories of what last happened warred in her mind. This method of sorting was going to be too inefficient.
She rose gracefully from her throne, walking down the wooden stairs and out of the main chamber of the shrine.
Sparing a short glance over the garden her shrine rested within, she entered the small building to the right of the main chamber and knelt at the table in the middle.
She mentally laid all the tangled fragments of each memory on the table, a jumbled stack of parchment and ruled notebook paper, and began to sort through the physical manifestations of her memories.
As she started what was sure to be a long process, she felt a tug on the core of her being.
Now was not a good time for whatever the vessel she currently inhabited was desiring. She sent a flare of dismissal it's way, which seemed to settle it for the moment before a more forceful tug pulled at her again.
The flash of annoyance she felt was easily smothered as she took a moment to focus her attention on the background droning of what was actually happening in the outside world.
A strange blindfolded man— a Sugawara, perhaps?— was standing before the vessel, stretching. Was this man requesting an audience? The lack of respect was something she wouldn’t tolerate usually, but this wouldn’t be a bad time to gather information about this strange era she’d awoken in.
The next tug was a yank that could very well have pulled her unwillingly, but she leaned into it this time, willing to surface without a fight.
The sudden contrast of wind moving across what skin was exposed, opposed to the lack of real feeling in her innate domain, was just as much a blessing as a curse. The Sugawara was now speaking to the young boy, Fushiguro?, who’s color seemed to have returned somewhat. That appeared to be very temporary, because the moment his eyes met hers, he paled so quickly she found herself absently worried he’d pass out.
“Oh? Has the King of Curses finally decided to join us?” The jovial tone of the man before her was almost a distraction from the way he placed his hand on the young Fushiguro's head in what looked to be a reassuring gesture.
Interesting. Perhaps this one is no longer a Sugawara? Tradition has also shifted, it appears.
She absently brushed her hands down the front of the vessel's clothing, the cut and material not one that she recognized but simultaniously one she knew quite well from the echoes of mixed memories. "Fushiguro. I am willing to speak with you on the condition that you also answer questions for me."
The younger Fushiguro's breath caught, his tension ratching up noticably. The elder immediately stepped in front of his child in such a casual way, it could almost be mistaken for chance. "Actually— I'll be your conversation partner this evening, Sukuna-sama."
She'd never heard the honorific sound quite so diminutive as the elder Fushiguro somehow managed to make it. "Of course. Your child is not whom I wish to speak with, anyways."
The man laughed, his head tilting with false mirth as his focus still fell on her sharply despite the blindfold. "I'm afraid you have misunderstood, oh King of Curses. My name is Gojo Satoru, strongest sorcerer of this generation. I would say nice to meet you, but…" his lips quirked with an edge of challenge.
The strongest sorcerer? She scrunched her nose. The obvious ability to see through the blindfold and clear resemblance to Michizane was a sign that he had the potential to be strong, but to say you are the strongest was a bold claim.
Gojo clicked his tongue, crossing his arms in a clear sign of what he thought of her threat level. "Oh, but it looks like your time is just about up! How dissapointing for you."
Time? What is he talking about?
The numbness crawling up her limbs rapidly was clue enough what he meant. She glared at him vehemently up until the last moment, then with a blink she was back in her domain.
Suppressed, again.
Clearly, the vessel had no idea how to execute it's role. Why was it chosen if it hadn't undergone the proper training? She would have to deal with this herself once the vessel's mind was detatched from the consciousness of the outer world.
She glanced over to the table, still scattered with papers only roughly sorted. That should be her priority to finish before she teaches the vessel it's responsibilities. A clear mind for clear lessons.
Settling back in, she got to work.