Dōman no Genbu lies flat on his back, arms splayed wide like a starfish as he stares blankly at the ceiling, counting the lines in the wood's grain.
There are a lot though, so he doesn't take long to give up.
Genbu doesn't feel like getting up though, and no thoughts are coming to mind, so after a few minutes of nothing at all, he starts counting again.
There really are a lot of grains in a wood ceiling. Too many to count, even.
"Genbu-sama."
Genbu starts over, having lost his place and forgotten what number he was up to.
...There are a lot.
"Genbu-sama."
Maybe if he counts by the plank instead. There aren't that many lines in a single plank. He doesn't know why he assumed there would only be like... four. Or something.
Truly, nature is full of unsolved mysteries.
Suddenly! Though not really that suddenly; a face obscures his view of the ceiling, hovering above him such that gravity pulls her hair into curtains around her face.
Genbu absently starts counting her eyelashes.
"Genbu-sama."
Genbu blinks, failing entirely to recognise the concern etched into his aide's face; or perhaps he simply does not care to search for it.
He knows that he has no natural talent in telling the moods of others, but Suzaku taught him what to look for and how to tell what what he sees means. He knows he could decipher his aide's face if he cared to try.
He doesn't care to try though.
"Genbu-sama."
His aide blinked and he lost track of where he was in counting her eyelashes.
"What?" Genbu replies, slightly annoyed. His tone is far too lethargic to express anything else though, so he just sounds melancholic instead.
"Your father requests your presence, Genbu-sama. The other Principle Heads will be expecting you soon. Your father wishes to speak with you before you depart."
Genbu idly wonders if eyelashes are to humans what wood grains are to forest kami.
Probably not, he decides. That seems more like what leaves would be. Grains might be more like veins or something.
"Genbu-sama."
"Hm?" Genbu absently replies before remembering what his aide just said and taking a moment to think about it. It doesn't take him long to come to a conclusion on his feelings. "I do not care."
His aide sighs, but it is not a tired or exasperated kind of sigh... He doesn't like the way it makes him feel to hear it.
"I know, Genbu-sama, but you must go, it is your duty. The Emperor rarely convenes the court like this, everyone is expected to attend. You cannot defy the Emperor, Genbu-sama."
Genbu doesn't respond quickly. In fact, he doesn't remember the last time he did anything quickly.
The world has become so slow moving. So dull.
He wishes it would just all come to an end so he could sleep, free of all things.
"Will Suzaku be there?" Genbu ask, to which his aide's eyes widen with a soft gasp.
She does not answer him. That's fine, Genbu already knows the answer anyway.
Of course Suzaku won't be there. She's dead.
Genbu turns away and starts counting the grains on the wall. Somehow, there are even more than on the ceiling.
"I'm sorry."
Genbu turns back to his aide at the apology, confused as to what she has to apologise for. Only, he only grows more confused when he sees her covering much of her face with her sleeve as she blatantly tries and fails to hold back tears.
For some reason, her tears make Genbu feel so empty. Hollowed out, like a Kami reached a hand down and scooped out his insides.
"Why are you crying?" Genbu asks, yet in doing so he only causes a sob to leave her as she cries even more.
Genbu doesn't understand.
He's known her for as long as he can remember. He vaguely remembers someone telling him that she was assigned to care for him when he was seven.
In all that time, he's never seen her cry. Not even when Suzaku died. She just spent a lot of time holding him instead. She seemed fine.
So why is she crying now?
"I'm so sorry, Genbu-sama," she says instead, bowing to him before half-rushing out of the room.
...Genbu doesn't understand.
Suzaku would have understood. She could have told him what he was missing.
Genbu feels his eyes beginning to sting, so before he can start crying himself, he turns back to the ceiling above and forgets everything in favour of counting the lines in the wood.
It only takes him a few minutes to come to a certain conclusion.
There are a lot of lines.
Genbu kind of wants to kill everything.
Better to count lines instead.
He can't be bothered to do anything else anyway.
///
???
///
Nobody likes it when their carefully laid plans go awry. It's not even the plan part specifically that is the connecting issue, no, it is this perception of 'wasted time'.
He finds such a notion rather amusing.
Perhaps it is because of his own abilities to peak beyond the veil of Time, or perhaps it is another factor of his nature that causes his amusement.
Regardless, when one devotes years, decades, to a chosen path or great effort and that effort is proclaimed a waste right as it is upon the cusp of completion, he knows that it is easy to experience this feeling of waste.
He himself was certainly annoyed when he was forced to reconcile the fact that something inconceivable had happened to alter the course of Time from the path that he had foreseen.
However, it was only an irritant. An inconvenience.
He was annoyed that the future he desires had taken steps to distance itself from him, yes, of course. However, the notion that he had 'wasted' his time never crossed his mind in truth. Not in the way that others seem to experience such things anyway.
He can even quietly admit to himself that once the initial annoyance had passed, he found himself feeling... intrigued.
His visions have never failed him before. Not until he received the report of Sukuna arriving at the Imperial Palace as a mere man.
Such a strange thing... It is almost heretical to him to have the thought, but it is exciting, just a little bit.
He has spent many, many years preparing. Scheming. Plotting. So much time. So much work. All of it done to lay a line of dominos just so, such that when the first tips over, his desired future would be guaranteed.
It was a good plan. A near perfect plan.
It was also a plan that he had decades to put into place.
He now has roughly thirty months.
He does not doubt his ability to create a new plan, a new path to victory, but with the timetable now being what it is?
For the first time since the vision that compelled him down this path, he is feeling pressure, and while there is undoubtably some worry in his heart, he finds himself surprised by the matching excitement.
Many years ago, he witnessed the birth of a King within his Dreams.
It was the most wonderous sight he had ever witnessed, and he knew from the moment that he woke that he would see it with eyes of flesh if it was the last thing he would do.
Only, the future is always in flux. There is never a true, certain path forward. So he did what he could to ensure his vision became reality.
However, this had never truly felt like a challenge.
A King is a King, after all. With or without his aid from the shadows, a King will always have it's own prerogative to succeed.
Now? Now he cannot be so certain. Now there are discrepancies, there are divergences. Now there is challenge.
Where before he knew that Sukuna could likely walk his Destined Path by his lonesome, now he cannot be so certain.
All because of the anomalous birth of a Mirror.
It is a cosmic truth that the universe will always erode itself towards balance like a gravity, but how could he have expected such an absurd sequence of events as this?
This Narauko.
He should not exist; there can be only one King.
Yet he does, and there are two.
What a truly disgusting enigma.
Regardless, it left him in a challenging position. Yet as he was forced to rapidly change plans, to shift pawns and reconfigure manipulations, he found himself near brimming with excitement.
It is akin to walking along the edge of a knife. There are balances he must strike on ither end.
For instance, his vast web of scheming had all been intended to be set off one after another at specific times. With these changes however, he was forced to try and rearrange everything to fit the new timeline.
However, sometimes there is naught one can do. A boulder can be moved as one pleases, but once it has begun its descent, bringing such a force to a stop is another story entirely.
There have, and will be, some losses.
He has found himself surprisingly amicable to this fact.
Thirty months is his timetable simply because he does not fancy his chances at succeeding while intersecting upon his future King's decision.
He has learned of the pledge to battle that the two of them have made, and a King's word is not something so easily revoked. To force such a thing would be to invite death or worse.
Unless, of course, one could concoct a sufficient scheme.
It feels wrong to deceive his future King this way, but should his King desire his death once all is done, then he intends to offer it freely.
He is but a humble servant, after all.
So he does have a plan. It took some thinking, as well as some confounding visions of the newly clouded future, but he has a scheme.
It will not be easy to pull off, he knows. The margin for error is as thin as hair, enough so that almost every step ahead of him feels like a fresh gamble, but he is inspired by his King and invigorated by the will of The Strongest. He will roll long odds with everything on the line as many times as it takes to succeed.
Starting today.
Forest canopy parts before him as he steps into a rocky clearing that houses a set of natural hot springs that fill the air with steam.
Almost as soon as his foot touches the rock clear from the trees, he feels three sets of eyes lock onto him with blatant hostility so thick it almost ladens the air.
Under his own shrouded hood, the Prophet takes a small moment to observe what he has already seen for the first time.
Three Curses stare at him. Two sitting on the rocks and one floating in the water.
The one in the water is as humanoid as the other two while being the least human looking. It's body is only in the shape of a human in the sense that it has two arms and two legs, or at least the appearance of such.
It's body is a composite of stone pillars varying from as thick as two finger to two palms, each of them jutting outwards as if from an inner core. The gaps between each pillar are pitch black voids like endless abysses, enough to wonder if each stone pillar is even connected at all, for he can see none of them touch no matter how they move in unison in mimicry of flesh.
Aside him, one of the others looks like a human warrior. It has the full armour—helm, chest, gauntlets and grieves, all of it—even including a mask like a snarling Oni, though that might just be its face.
At its waist it has a tachi, a koshigatana and a a metezashi, a dreadfully human showing. However, it also has a long mane of hair flowing from the back of its helmet all the way down to its feet, a sight only considerably abnormal by how the hair in question is a myriad of blades instead of fibres.
Lastly is a Curse who holds the shape of a small human boy with bright red shorts down to his knees, were it not for how its entire body is covered in hair so long that it drags along the floor, yet so wispy that it is more akin to a boy's first beard than a healthy head of hair.
Worse by far is how the skin visible beneath the hair is entirely covered by bruises and spots of necrosis and pimples, some scarred some popped and leaking blackish-yellow puss.
Jishin, Sōkon and Ekirei, as they like to call themselves. It is a shame Jogo could not make it, alas...
"Hello there," the Prophet greets the trio of Cursed Spirits. Already he sees them ready to kill him; the world around the boy starts to rot and blacken, the curves and lines of the warrior's form begin to sharpen and the land begins to rumble. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Ekirei-san."
As he knew it would, his words cause their hostilities to halt, though the malice in the air remains.
That is fine, he would expect no less.
"Who... are you?" Ekirei asks, its voice gravelly and hacking, like a corpse trying to speak its final words.
"I have many names," the Prophet ambivalently answers. He knows that he cannot rush to the point here. He has to let them take the lead of the conversation if he wants it to go where he desires. "None I hold to great value."
"How... do you know me?"
"I know many things," he answers once more. "I know of the deal you struck with the Nurarihyon."
The Prophet can feel the violence straining against the air. It is like a bow's string pulled taut and held against his neck. They are itching to kill him, to Curse him, and only barely holding themselves back.
It is in their natures, after all.
"What... of it?" Ekirei's tone takes on a tinge of suspicion, though honestly it'd be hard to tell without feeling the emotion in the air.
"I feel that it is a waste," the Prophet only pauses for a moment before speaking again to prevent any violence. "Our goals align, so I am not benefitted by the shackles you have placed upon yourself."
Ekirei's eyes narrow, the action causing one to melt out of its socket and the other to pop blisters of tainted pus on its eyelid.
"Explain."
The Prophet obliges without batting an eye at the sight.
"You wish to create an Era of Curses," he states, and none deny it, "And so we align. For my own goal, while not the same exactly as your own, will surely bring about such an Era as a consequence. Your goal is the natural end-point of my own, so naturally I wish for your success."
That last part is not technically true; he couldn't care less about their success. However, it is close enough to the truth for him to say it.
"What... is your goal?"
"My goal..." The Prophet smiles. "Is to witness the birth of the uncontested King of Curses."
Ekirei stares at him without a word, but he doesn't rush a response. He already knows that he will get his way; he would have been attacked already otherwise.
None but a Curse could truly understand what it would mean for a Curse to be a King. Such is a temptation that he knows Ekirei could never resist; like dangling meat in front of a starving lion.
"What... do you want?"
His smile grows.
"After making your deal with Nurarihyon," the Prophet begins, "What has he done but tell you to sit back and observe?"
His original plan had Sukuna crowning himself without hesitation. However, that was in a time where Sukuna would have known nothing but Hate.
That is no longer the case, and so the plan must change.
He needs Narauko to fall, of course. That much has never been in doubt since he knew of the rival King's existence.
However, it is not as simple as that alone. If he is too heavy handed, his visions will fall apart. His plans will become dust in the wind and he will never see the ascension of the only King that matters.
Instead, he needs to be steady. He needs to mature the Kings; allow them to grow.
After all, while Narauko needs to fall, it must be by Sukuna's hand that it happens.
Killing his only peer will do more than anything else to ensure that his King crowns himself in enough Hate to drown the world.
All that the Prophet has to do is ensure that when the time comes, neither of them will hesitate to tear the other down.
To do that, to be certain of that, there is one thing that he must do, and it will certainly prove the most challenging part of his scheme. Because Sukuna will Curse and kill without hesitation, but Narauko?
He can not be allowed to hesitate. He must commit to the path.
Only by losing the faith of his only peer shall Sukuna's Hate reach new heights.
And so, in order to bring the perfect future to bear, in order to taint Love into murder... he must break the Sorcerer known as Narauko.
"That Yōkai has no interest in seeing you succeed." He says at length to the trio, smiling as he only now allows his own aura to flow freely. He sees how they react, how the hostility in the air vanishes as they feel the malice in his heart and understand he knows them much better than Nurarihyon ever will.
"You are Cursed Spirits, I will help you Curse."
///
Narauko
///
Standing with my arms held out as two of Nagiko's servants fuss around me about my clothes, I can only wonder how it came to this.
"Is all of this really necessary?"
My flat words go unheeded, both by the ladies far too engrossed with dressing me up and by Nagiko and Tayū as they speak amongst themselves while studying me like I'm auditioning for something.
And I was feeling so nice about Tayū teasingly insisting that Nagiko and I got a private carriage to ourselves for the journey here. Certainly made the travel time more fun.
Yet not a day later and she immediately betrays me to this indignity.
Woe is me, truly. My life is full of hardship.
However, proving that they were only pretending to ignore me (because they're mean to me), Nagiko does answer me a short few moments later.
"Yes, it is," she says while levelling me with a look that says it should be obvious. "Today is going to be one of the most politically significant days of the last millennia, you cannot dress as if you're out to crawl through mud and exorcise another Curse."
I pout and look away from her, muttering my complaint, "I don't crawl through mud."
Tayū stifles a laugh, so I'm going to replace all of her furniture with rice paper carefully disguised to look the same at some point. Actions and consequences as they say.
"Regardless," Nagiko continues, "Appearances are important, and this is not an event where you can so easily disregard that. Not unless you intend to shame me as well as yourself."
My pout grows as I glare at her without any heat. "That's mean."
She shrugs without a care, though the movement is hard to notice with her own apparel.
These two were already dressed up half an hour ago, which means that they're wearing like a gazillion layers. More specifically, they're dressed in itsutsuginu-karaginu-mo. Less formally known as a jūnihitoe, aka twelve layers.
Despite the name, one doesn't always have to wear twelve layers exactly, it can vary. But generally that's how it goes. Basically twelve kimonos layered on top of each other, each of them getting wider and cut shorter the further outward they are to ensure that the colours of every layer can be seen. It also includes several overcoats, because this is a formal event so naturally twelve layers isn't enough yet.
It's super cumbersome, and I do not envy them for wearing it. It does look pretty sick though, like a posh burrito, and as I am thinking that Nagiko seems to notice my attention as she promptly preens and snaps her fan open to cover the lower half of her face.
"Are you enjoying the sight, beloved?"
A question like that can only have one answer, so naturally I grin and respond honestly.
"I like seeing you in a lot less a lot more."
Nagiko immediately flushes cherry red as she hisses a whispered shout of, "Narauko!" All the while Tayū practically cackles by her side.
The ladies dressing me pause for a moment before soldiering on, visibly forcing themselves not to react, which I find immensely amusing. Doubly so when Tayū sends me a thumbs up.
Regardless, I decide to give Nagiko a break 'cuz I'm generous like that, and focus instead on what the pair fussing around me are doing.
In short, while women have their jūnihitoe, men's formalwear is called a sokutai. It's not quite as layered, but there's still a lot to it.
Traditionally, I'd be expected to wear an outer robe, a short-sleeved under-robe, another under-robe, this one with a long train like a wedding dress, an intermediate robe that separates the outerwear from the innerwear and is of course followed by the inner robe. There's also the proper hakama pants, the kanmuri, which is the fancy tall hats they like here, a decorated leather belt and finally a shaku, which is a ritual baton.
It's a lot more than my usual, and the specific clothes picked out for me are a lot more formal too. Quite bulky as well. I feel like a ken doll.
Primarily, I'm to be dressed in black, because black robes are for the higher nobility and important people. Slightly less important people wear scarlet robes and everyone below them is expected to wear green; only the Emperor and Crown Prince are really allowed to wear orange.
Now, I'm no noble, so technically I shouldn't be wearing black. However, as it has been explained to me, my attire is more about making a statement than it is about abiding the rules. In fact, the rules themselves more or less exist for the sake of communication, rather than obedience. It's like it's own language, what colours you wear is no different from making a statement out loud. Just more 'noble,' I guess.
That's why I'm going to have a long trail from my second under-robe, because obviously longer trails mean a more important person. More specifically though, the trail is going to be carried by a Kiyohara servant. That, combined with my robes being black is basically the equivalent of shouting at the tops of our lungs to the entire Realm that not only am I a big boy, but I am also enjoying the full support of the Kiyohara clan.
It's more or less a way to tell everyone that Nagiko and I are going to get married without actually saying it. Somehow. I couldn't tell you why nobles are so allergic to just saying what they want to say with words, but whatever, this is kinda cool anyway.
Similarly, Nagiko is wearing ten layers instead of twelve to elude to my Technique, just in case the point wasn't being made obviously enough. Tayū isn't going so far, since she's apparently just hanging around Nagiko to use her as a human shield.
I'm not allowed to wear one of the funny hats though. That's sad, they're tall and funny.
But I'm not a member of court or anything, so no can do I guess.
In that same vein, Sorcerers aren't expected to carry a ceremonial baton like most nobles are. As a matter of fact, what one carries can vary quite a bit.
Most noblemen will be carrying a baton, while the women get a fan. However, civic noblemen that are permitted to bear arms will have a sword as well as the baton. Meanwhile, military figures will instead have a sword and a bow with a quiver of arrows.
Sorcerers are less strict though, since we vary so much by our very nature. A Sorcerer is simply expected to carry something relevant to their position. For most, that will still be a sword, but apparently there was one guy who carried a dead fish once like a century ago.
Crazy stuff.
I left my sword with Suzaku though, so I'm just going to manifest my Extension Technique: Divine Armament Totality – Shapeless Blade of Absolute Zero.
I wanna flex a little, just in case anyone feels like making any snide comments about Nagiko for veil she's going to be wearing.
We're basically going to be violating protocol and then daring anybody to say something about it, after all. Best to have a clear physical reminder of why I can do whatever I want.
Then again, I was summoned by the Emperor. That's part of why we can do this apparently, because the combined facts of my own personal strength, Nagiko's personal strength—as she is now officially recognised as a Special Grade too—and the Emperor's personal summons basically makes this the perfect chance to act audaciously without anyone being able to do anything about it.
This politics shit is complicated. Mostly, I'm just happy to be involved to be honest.
Such are my thoughts as Nagiko's servants finish fretting over my attire and shuffle out of the room with brief bows to the three of us.
"That is much better," Nagiko comments, eyeing me with satisfaction.
Personally, I've always been one for a minimalist type of style, but I can still appreciate these excessive aesthetics. So I turn to a nearby bronze mirror—because ye olden times—and take in the sight.
It's quite square, and incredibly wide. Like you could probably fit five pairs of legs in these hakama and my sleeves reach down to my calves even when my hands are around my waist.
I think it's good though! Very dignified, I feel important.
"Do I have to sneer?" I ask without turning away from the mirror, garnering a roll of the eyes from Nagiko and a snort from Tayū, both visible in the reflection. "What? Look at me, it would be weird if I didn't sneer at the peasants, right?"
Obviously I'm joking so I don't get an actual response, neither do I expect one as I absently reach for the lone kifuda hanging from my ear. It's the only part of my outfit that Nagiko's ladies didn't throw away.
Guess it's fine to strip me of my stuff, but the moment it's Amaterasu's it's not. What a bias~.
Ah well, I'd be more surprised if they were willing to tell or ask me to remove it.
However, there is on thing that is missing from my outfit that they did remove, and so I naturally reach into my shadow from my voluminous sleeve and pull out my scarf.
I hear an exasperated sigh behind me as I flick the scarf around my neck until it is comfortably snug.
"Narauko," Nagiko comments again in exasperation.
Obviously a scruffy, poorly made scarf of rough and cheap material with frayed edges, small tears and stitches and uneven colouring from when I've cleaned out bloodstains isn't exactly the sort of thing that's considered appropriate to wear to an audience with the Emperor and the entire Court.
However! This is the first gift I ever received after waking this world. It means a lot more to me than the opinion of some Emperor and a bunch of people I've never met.
"Non-negotiable," is all I say in argument, to which Nagiko relents after a moment of silence with a weary yet fond sigh.
Her Eyes are seriously useful for easing communication. I literally never have to worry about her not knowing what I mean or what I'm feeling, it's actually insanely comforting.
"I can hear the aghast crowing already," Tayū remarks, seeming quite pleased despite her usual apathy of expression.
It's funny, but when we first met I thought that Tayū was a rather reserved person. Turns out that that's not quite the case. She's just been, in her own words, dulled down by pain.
Her Technique is all about Reverse Cursed Technique after all. So her battles are rarely painless and she's become quite used to it. That kind of repeated agony left her largely incapable of emoting expressively, even her tone rarely strays too far from bland.
But once you get to know her better it's easy to see that she's as opinionated and mischievous as anyone else. She also has a mean streak a mile wide, which in hindsight explains how she and Nagiko came to be such good friends.
Isn't it crazy that I can think about the excess of physical suffering that Tayū has been through without even batting an eye? In my old world, this would be a horrific train of thought, but here it's just how she trained to be a Sorcerer. It's not like she doesn't have a choice anyway, she could retire right now if she wanted to.
Man, it will never stop being strange having grown and lived in two entirely different cultures.
"I hope they're not too loud with it," I reply instead of needlessly voicing my thoughts, "My ego is so fragile, I might die if I hear too many mean words."
The pair of looks I get in response to those words make me laugh, and they join me a moment later, though far more reservedly.
"The day your ego wavers," Nagiko begins, wry humour on her lips, "Would surely mean the collapse of the Realm."
I wink at her and laugh again for the truth of her statement, before moving on from the obviously exaggerated conclusion of it.
Technically, men and women aren't really supposed to fraternise like this, but once again tradition falls away in the face of us Sorcerers being exceptions. So it's fine, and we keep chatting for several hours until someone finally arrives to tell us it's time to go.
Now I get to see the Emperor!
How cool is that?
///
A/N: He~llo! Dear readers!
Foreshadowing is a narrative device...
also, I had a dream this morning that I fell in love with a hot Hungarian goth lady with tattoos and piercings and it was awesome and then I woke up :(. But it reminded me that my mother for some reason told me that I should use my 'audience' like a dating app and use an a/n to try and find a girlfriend.
So I guess if any of you happen to be a hot Hungarian goth lady with tattoos and piercings... my DMs are open. :]