Chapter Text
It's night.
The issue with this is that it was day, eight seconds ago.
Uraume frowns. They look around to see themself standing in an unfamiliar forest, just past the edge of a small clearing. The moon is a thin crescent overhead, and they catch the distant light of torches further into the woods. A careful run of their fingers over their shin tells them that their wound is still bleeding where they were slashed mere moments prior, so it's not as if they were knocked unconscious or put into a stasis of some kind for several hours.
Their thoughts are interrupted by quick, quiet footsteps, and they turn just too late, not quite able to catch their eyes on what sounds like a frantic young man running through the woods. The sight of Uraume seems to startle him and he trips out of their periphery with a quiet oof, but before Uraume can try to look at him properly, someone in the direction of the torches hears it and shouts, drawing their gaze towards the now rapidly approaching lights.
Uraume hears the scrape of something sharp on tree bark, and isn't that interesting. They've never come across someone who climbs trees with knives before.
“You! Monk!” What appears to be several villagers approach, some with torches and others brandishing farm tools as weapons.
Uraume tilts their head. “Yes?”
One villager steps forward. “Did you see it?”
“See what?” Uraume asks, already annoyed.
“The beast,” another villager says vehemently. He gestures a hand a little ways above his own head, higher than Uraume's. “It's about this high? You can't have missed it.”
Uraume's eyes narrow just too little to be noticed in the dark. Why are they being dragged into a mobhunt? “I have not seen anyone,” they answer. It's not a lie.
Someone else asks, “Are you sure? It's enormous, six-limbed with a deformed face and fish-gut hair...”
Well. That's interesting, isn't it?
“You look too young to be alone in these woods, little monk,” the first villager says, probably the head of the group. “If you'd like to see the next harvest, you'd be wise to leave this area soon. There's a cursed monster about, rabid and dangerous, sharp-clawed and gifted with dangerous abilities. It can and will eat you if it so pleases, so if you happen upon it, steer clear.”
“We made the mistake of letting that thing stay with us,” one villager hisses quietly to Uraume. “Damn creature ripped out the throat of our elder and fled into the woods.”
Uraume thinks of the master's claws and mouths, of his Flame and his Cleave. Is it him? If it is, what sort of game is he playing, running from pathetic livestock? “I saw nothing, but I believe I heard footsteps going that way,” they lie, pointing away and further into the woods at an angle from where they stand.
The leader bows gratefully. “Stay safe, traveler,” he says, and then leads the crowd towards Uraume's suggested direction.
Uraume waits as long as they dare before turning in the direction they heard the knives in the trees. “I have sent them away,” they call out quietly into the trees.
They are answered with nothing but silence.
“I know not whether you are curse or human,” Uraume continues, “but I have no desire for conflict. If you are wounded, I may be of some assistance.”
The master would probably laugh, if he were here, as neither he nor Uraume are people much inclined towards kindness, but if the master has a relative of some kind, it'd be deeply wrong of Uraume to not see that he gets the chance to decide what to do about it himself.
There's a slight rustle in the branches of the trees several paces further into the forest, quiet and barely there at all. Uraume tilts their head and waits, and several long seconds later, the branches rustle slightly closer. Uraume feels their upper lip twitch into something like a smile.
Somewhere above them, a raspy voice quietly snarls, “Set your supplies down and leave, or die.”
Uraume frowns. The voice is indeed male, and dangerously familiar. “No,” Uraume says slowly. “Show yourself.”
They hear a hiss — their only warning before the shape of something springs at them from the dark.
It's child's play to slip to the side. Whoever this is seems almost rabid in their uncontrolled movements, which means they overshoot too far. Uraume easily weaves away from a stray claw, and uses the back of their forearm to block the wrist of another arm speeding for their throat. With a quick and harsh push, Uraume redirects the movement to the side and shoves the attacker away to create distance before cutting their hand through the air in a sharp, swift movement. Ice washes over the stranger's lower body, harmless but solid and instantly rendering all six attacking limbs immobile.
“Very rude,” Uraume murmurs, trying to make out the details of the stranger in the dark. Whoever it is, he's significantly smaller than the master, only slightly taller than Uraume themself, but there do indeed seem to be four arms and twenty claws. “I get an attack in exchange for an offer of aid and a free diversion?”
“You simply want the glory of killing me to yourself,” the stranger snarls lowly, struggling.
The master would have sliced himself free from the ice by now, so this isn't him playing some game with the locals, but there's still something off. Uraume frowns and reaches into their sleeve, pulling out their sparkstones before kneeling and scraping a flame into the leaves at their feet. It blooms quickly into just enough light that Uraume can look up and see the illuminated form of… a smaller version of their master.
The resemblance is uncanny. The upper left corner of the boy’s face is covered with a bone deformity of the same shape as the one the master has. He's bloody and gaunt, but the latter point is harder to notice because scraps of fabric bandage are wrapped around his wrists, bits of his upper arms. It's like if the master were… were living the life Uraume might have had if they hadn't been taken in by him: hungry, beaten, hunted. Uraume thinks of the ink in the master's skin, some of which is aligned with where the strange boy's wounds seem to be.
“…What is your name, boy?” Uraume asks.
The stranger (nothing more than a child, really, younger than Uraume is now) snarls and struggles harder. “None of your business. Release me or I will feast on your rotting corpse and use your bones to pick my teeth.”
It's almost… cute, seeing this strange lookalike fight and gnash his teeth. Uraume's never seen the master be anything other than calm or amused, and they wonder if the odd coo their mind makes at this boy's demeanor is something they should put away entirely or if it's something they're allowed to hold onto until they can tease the master with it later.
Without realizing, Uraume must have stepped closer, because the tiny lookalike is straining harder against the ice and his features are slightly clearer in the darkness. “Touch me and I kill you,” he hisses roughly down at Uraume, sounding something almost like afraid.
Uraume, perhaps stupidly, ignores the boy’s warning. This close, they can see that his face is clear of ink, and they reach up to touch his face. The boy lunges forward as far as he can while still restrained to snap dangerously sharp teeth at Uraume's fingers. Uraume jerks their arm backwards and only barely aborts a swinging slap forwards at the boy’s face. Their hand hovers for a second in the air, and he braces for the hit.
It doesn't come. Instead, Uraume tries again, curls the back of that same hand up towards the young man’s face and brushes their knuckles against the flesh of the boy’s soft cheekbone, just under his secondary eye. He flinches against it, and trembles beneath the fear of a potential violence he would have no escape from. Both the eyes on that side of his face squeeze shut beneath Uraume's cold skin, and his two left ones roll wildly around in their protruding bone casing. Aside from his left eyes and the initial jolt, though, he doesn't turn away, just stands there and shakes, tense and tight in the jaw. It reminds Uraume of their first season with the master, back when they were timid and afraid and bracing to be dragged by the wrist or hair at any moment.
The odd little copy (admittedly taller than Uraume, but oh so small when compared to the master) exhales sharply and cracks his lower right eye open when Uraume pulls their hand away. Uraume feels a little shift in their chest at the fear in the boy’s eyes, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “Be still, boy,” they whisper gently while they tug out their icepick. “I'm going to chip you free.”
The boy watches Uraume with all four eyes wide and wary, head pulled back so he can observe every movement Uraume makes while they tap carefully at the weak points in their ice. They start with the hands as a show of trust but keep far enough away while they work that the boy won't be able to slash their throat with his claws. He doesn't try, instead curling each newly free arm inwards to protectively wrap around his torso, but maybe that's because he knows Uraume can overpower him now. He's bound to feel sour about it, if he is, indeed, connected to the master somehow.
It takes several long moments, but eventually, when all that's left is the legs, Uraume kneels low, and waits. They carefully eye the small copy of their master, holding his anxious and (ahah) frosty glare. The boy stares back at them, stubborn and wary, but Uraume is calm and patient.
Their patience pays off. Eventually, the boy grits his teeth and squeezes all his claws into each opposing arm. It's all the confirmation Uraume needs to start chipping away.
When one leg is freed, the boy tests it carefully while still keeping all four eyes locked on Uraume.
“Stay wise,” Uraume instructs, reiterating their previous silent warning as they start on the second leg.
The boy bares his teeth and growls like a dog, but it looks less like a threat now and more like indignant and sour petulance.
Cute, Uraume thinks again before they stifle a quiet, amused huff and lift their icepick. “Good,” they hum, and then the boy’s leg is free. Immediately, he takes several quick spry hops backwards. As neutrally as they can, Uraume smoothly and carefully rises and steps away to create more distance.
All four of the boy's hands clutch tighter over all four of his arms, dark claws just shy of drawing blood. “…Why?” he asks.
Uraume smiles and bows slightly, slipping their icepick back into their robe at the same time. “I told you I mean no harm.”
“But they warned you,” the boy counters, clearly confused. He flexes the claws on one hand. “I warned you.”
A soft, quiet ache swells slightly in Uraume's chest again, uncomfortable and stinging. It's more intense this time, but it's also gentler. “My master would have done the same,” they answer quietly. “He did, for me, over a decade ago.”
“But I'm a curse,” the boy whispers, angry and tense but still baffled. “How do you know I won't still eat you?”
Everyone around me goes cold. Father and mother both died because of me. Why is it that even though you're near me, you don't get cold, Sukuna-sama?
Uraume slowly inhales the scent of the boy’s cursed energy. It's like fresh-ground spices on their tongue, overwhelming and painful with a wild intensity they've never seen from the master before. The master's own spices were tamer than this, the same stinging burn and the same sharp intensity, but his are much more controlled. This boy is too small and skittish to be Uraume's master, but his energy, even untamed as it is, has the same unmistakable flavor. This boy is not the master, but it's possible that he one day will be.
“I suppose we'll have to see,” Uraume hums.
The boy doesn't take their vague answer well, but he doesn't lash at them with his claws, either. “That's idiotic.”
Uraume shrugs. “Perhaps.” They tilt their head in calm query, shoulders relaxed and voice steady. “May I tend to your wounds now?”
The boy sneers and lowers himself in preparation for an attack that won't come. “You're either stupid or trying to kill me.”
“If I was going to kill you,” Uraume counters easily, “wouldn't it have been easiest while you were restrained?”
There, the boy hesitates.
Uraume opens their mouth to suggest he sit to make their job easier, but a shout in the direction of the small mob of villagers cuts through the night. Damn. The small mob must have turned around and seen Uraume's tiny fire. Inconvenient.
The boy's hackles rise immediately and his suspicious eyes snap to Uraume, but Uraume is already blowing frost over the fire and striding towards him. He stumbles backwards, caught off guard, and flinches when Uraume grabs one of his upper elbows. Rather than apologize, Uraume gently pushes him by the arm away from the noise of people. “Run,” they insist quietly. “Quickly. I can divert them.”
The boy wrenches his elbow free and clutches that upper arm with his other three hands, breath coming heavy as he stares with wide eyes at Uraume. “You—”
Uraume shakes their head. “Go. I'll drive them away and be back here at midday tomorrow. By then, should you choose to return and meet me here, I shall have food as well as medicine for your wounds, but for now, go.”
The odd boy breathes out one last harsh exhale through his nose, and then he's gone.