A/N: 8k words.
Whew, I'm not used to typing out long chapters, so my bad if I can't reach the same word count as Thulium had been able to. I'll go catch up to the chapters I haven't voted for yet and then go back to writing.
Anyways, enjoy the chapter!
***
"What the hell is happening out there?" A drunken man stared from his couch, the skyscraper-like structure they were in towering nearly above all other buildings that surrounded it. "All that noise, and for what end, eugh!" He lifted his limp right arm, and brought a bottle to his mouth. He chugged, the bitter yet soft liquid finding its way into his stomach with each arduous gulp of the liquid. "Horseshit General Chamber of... Commerce, the hell are they thinking?!" The man spat out viciously after finishing his daily helping of alcohol, red liquid trailing down from his lips and onto his white dress shirt—sinking into it to stain it a burgundy color.
"Lay me off, lay me off?! Don't they know the... the shit! I've been pulling for their asses?!" The man threw his bottle across the room with a groggy motion, not even watching the object make its course and shatter against the wooden wall in front of them. The faded green of the glass making it up immediately shattered, with flashes of light coming into its crushed bits flickering in the air in a final hurrah, and mixed in with the cherry alcohol flooding out of the dam which had held it. "Damn spokesmen not telling me shit, I'll give... give those bastards a piece of my goddamn mind!"
He attempted to get off of the couch which had been the comforting cushion which had been keeping him down. All other furniture aside from the one he was at were covered with a white cloth, the draping material making the entire room like some sort of haunted interior only told in stories. The windows which had their blinds slightly opened bled a soft light inside, the millions of dust particles being partially visible underneath their illuminating gaze.
"Tch!" Tripping over his movements for a bit, the man swung his arms around in frustration, sometimes rattling his hair or even scratching at his skin. Eventually, the Kuranata had enough of fumbling over his movements, surprisingly finding himself in a hunched over sitting position after his vision was blurred. The entire world seemed to shake from his vision, a constant ringing sound invading his ear without any permission or want of such a thing happening. Stars seemed to circle around the man's head while saliva started to be seen from the corner of his lips.
It slowly dripped downwards, before dropping down on his dress pants. It became damp, turning a different shade of color due to the influence of the liquid. Reaching the back of his wrist upwards, the Kuranta wiped it away, feeling his animal ears twitch at the reverberation coming from outside of his room. From his first assumption, it must have been one of the spokesmen from the K.G.C.C. that had brushed him off before. Immediately, his eyes sprung open to an unhealthy degree, before booking it to the door and nearly tripping over his couch in the process—because he had leapt over it.
Scrambling to make his way to it, the Kuranta man fixed his tie and sorted out his black coat to look more formal. Even though he still looked like utter shit, he didn't mind much. The final touch was bringing his hand up to slick back his hair, before his head reached for the doorknob, turning it clockwise before pulling it backwards with some slight effort. It opened, just as any door should have, showing him that all was right with the world—except for the fact that he had been laid off!
The door finally opened, revealing the man behind it. A Kuranta like himself, sporting brown hair. There was a buttoned up coat acting as the professional ornament which completed the attire of an elegant spokesman, further accentuated by the way he held himself. A straight posture with his arms behind his back, and a smirk that seemed to know what others didn't, a scheming, and terrifying one for any businessman to encounter. However, he couldn't give much of a damn about who they really were, as all color had been consumed by a furious red, blinding any sense of reason from the Kuranta.
"You, you're from the K.G.C.C., aren't you?! Answer me, why the hell was I laid off, I've been doing more—" before his sentence could fully complete itself and exit the overheated machine that was his mouth, the other man cut him off.
"Pleased to meet you, my name is Czarny, spokesman for the K.G.C.C., you understand what that means, correct?" Czarny, as he was named, extended his hand forward, as if the previous words from the other man hadn't even entered his ears. No, it seemed like it was more accurate to say that it went in one ear, and out the other.
The Kuranta man scrunched up his face, making it look ugly amongst the twists and turns of the skin, "you...!" His anger reached a boiling point, steam leaving his ears as his face turned beet red. Thankfully for his own mental state and social standing, he was able to reign it down and cool it down in the pool of his psyche, before extending his own hand, "Pawel... the name's Pawel, now are you going to answer. My. Question?" His tone fell into a grave one, his eyebrows pressing toward his eyes.
"Ah, yes, of course," Czarny kept up his smile while shaking the other man's hand after gripping it, "I smell a hint of alcohol coming off your clothes, had your fill I'd assume?" His voice continued to dance across the main subject, further angering the other man with how incessantly it had been going on.
"You're not here to talk about what I drank, you bastard!" The other man had enough, before opening his mouth—saliva flying out—while he broke off the handshake, "do you have working ears, huh?! Did you visit the doctor today and have them checked?! I asked you, why the hell did the K.G.C.C., lay me off?!" His hands were clenched into fists, practically ready to strike at the face of the subversive spokesman, "or do all of you talk shit while dancing around the actual subject!"
"Peace, Mr. Pawel, peace," Czarny simply moved one of his hands from behind his back to the front of his face, waving the air as if he had just smelled something bad. His head turned away with a rather relaxed look, before speaking again, "all of your questions will be answered in due time. Do you understand? Now, simply move aside and let me enter the room, and then we can have our discussion like civilized folk."
A large breath of air was inhaled in Pawel's nose, his chest bringing itself in as his lips continuously twitched. Eventually, he let the air leave his chest, moving to the side with a restrained expression, but still steaming with an indignant rage. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go inside," his right arm moved in a sharp motion, indicating for the other man to enter the room.
"How generous," Czarny closed his eyes and moved his hand to his back once more to meet with the other one. "Now... this room doesn't look quite fitting for somebody like you, now does it?" The spokesman glanced around, watching the multiple large white cloth draped over the furniture, and the dust that was secretly building across the ground, "I remember your name on the list of companies I was given, Mr. Pawel. This isn't a place that would suit the position you—were—at."
Pawel watched as the other Kuranta made his way to the center of the room, before he stepped forward, "what are you trying to get at?" There was something he felt that was off from the other man, but he couldn't tell specifically what it was. "You're not just here for a conversation, are you?"
"Spot on there, Mr. Pawel, you're quite observant. If I must make an assumption, your ability to read the room must be excellent," Czarny spoke in a way as if he were peppering up a meal, "a needed skill and trait to rise as fast as you had in the business industry."
"Get on with it," Pawel couldn't deny that he liked the compliments that were coming his way, even if they were half-assed, but he had his patience; and it was wearing thin.
"What I'm attempting to say, Mr. Pawel, is that even such a trait can't keep your position in the K.G.C.C., when of course you have many competitors in the field who do not wish to see you succeed," Czarny kept his toned measured, stepping aside and letting the full-view window mirror be seen—leading to the outside world of Kawalerielki. "You would find yourself booted out of this city, and back to the rural areas where your family was once holed up, won't you? All because a few people saw a competition they could easily rid."
Pawel kept silent.
"Your skills of reading the room are excellent, as I said. But what can you do when there is no room to read?" Czarny presented his hand toward the entire cityscape, the flashing lights of advertisements and billboards being seen, talking of a certain event occurring. "All across those buildings, those towering skyscrapers, do you know on average how many businessmen are plotting for your untimely demise?"
"...No." Pawel shook his head.
"That is exactly so," Czarny nodded his head, "in fact, I have seen a couple handful of folks talking behind your back in the business circle. Were you aware of such an occurrence?" He raised an eyebrow to the other man, keeping the same smug smirk he had on his face.
"Tch...!" Pawel scrambled through his head, like a child flinging through their messy room to search what they were looking for. He knew that the possibility of somebody talking behind his back wasn't an impossibility, but to have it presented in front of him—without him even being aware of it—hurt his pride more than he wished to admit.
"With all these unlucky occurrences battering you day and night, it only makes sense where you have ended up, Mr. Pawel." Czarny shook his head while clicking his tongue, as if chiding a child. Just before the other man could cause another unruly outburst, he raised his hand in front of himself, before speaking once more, "but—I have an opportunity for you. To get back at the ones who had thrown you off the... pedestal which you so deserve..." He continued to measure his tone, like an engineer gauging how a building should be constructed from their blueprints, and how it should look.
"What... what exactly are you talking about?" Pawel could feel something amiss, but the bubbling feeling in his chest of an opportunity appearing completely overpowered the sensation. "Are you...?"
"Yes, I am," Czarny smiled a tad bit wider, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement, but he turned around before it could be fully registered by the other man. "How about it? Would you like to hear me out, Mr. Pavel?"
Pavel took in a breath, "let's have a seat, then."
***
Towering skyscrapers, an unfamiliar sight to Fushiguro Megumi after he had stepped out of Chernobog, but not too unfamiliar that it was a completely alien concept to him. Leithanien didn't have these kinds of buildings, and with Spires being only a close replication of what they were in concept. The thing was, there were only a few Spires in Sturmland that could be counted on one hand, giving the Sorcerer a few for the population density between Sturmland and Kawalerielki. Or maybe, even Leithanien and Kazimierz in general—but that wasn't a fair assessment to make when he had also seen the more rural villages of Kazimierz.
Laurentina grabbed his hand suddenly, making the black-haired man leave his thoughts. At that moment, a large wave of people passed them by, numbering in such a large quantity that Megumi thought he had been brought back to the bustling streets of Tokyo, or perhaps even their cramped subway stations that he had frequented at some points of his life. He was then dragged by the woman's monstrous strength, the white-haired Aegir pulling him through the crowd. A few gazes were turned toward them, and of course they were on his Dharmachakra, but some also lingered on the other woman.
There wasn't much to ponder on the subject, Laurentina was objectively a beautiful woman after all. He didn't know what to say for himself, but Fushiguro Megumi would say he was average, not much of his features would charm a woman. Most certainly, he was also aware that his boring personality wouldn't attract many people either, and the Sorcerer was completely fine with that. After all, since there were many troubles in his life that prevented himself from interacting and making friends with normal people, it was never an issue after he had gotten used to the prospect.
Therefore, he turned his gaze toward the passing cityscape. He had already connected a phone that he received back all the way in Lungmen (which hadn't seen much use) to the Nomadic City of Kawalerielki's intranet. It allowed him to find places such as hotels to stay for a temporary duration, provided by the money he had definitely made with legal means. The process of turning the currency he had into Kazimierzian marks wasn't too difficult, as he had to simply ask for directions to places for exchange. With the amount he had, Megumi was sure they could stay in this city comfortably for a month before leaving.
"Aren't these people quite rowdy at this time?" Laurentina spoke up to Megumi, who was trailing behind her. Or rather, he was forced to tail behind her, "what could have had them so riled up? Is it perhaps this..."
"...Kazimierz Major?" Megumi raised an eyebrow while glancing at one of the billboards. His body moved on instinct, avoiding contact with the other passersby thanks to his enhanced physicals—as governed by a certain Binding Vow. "The... 23rd Kazimierz Major, the Knightly tournament even they hold on a triennial occasion. I thought we already talked about this?"
"Oh my, how could I have forgotten," Laurentina huffed an amused air. In fact, she hadn't forgotten, "I was asking a rhetorical question, if you weren't aware."
"Right..." Megumi let out a sigh, "the directions are to visit the Adeptus Sprawiedliwi, the address is written on the back of the letter I was given." He decided to repeat what he had already told the Aegir, just in case. "So... we'll do that first thing tomorrow, or would you like to get it over with?"
"We've arrived quite early, I would say," Laurentina placed her free hand under her lower lip in a contemplative gesture, "so why don't we save it for tomorrow? After all, the place seems quite a ways away from where our path and place of residence will be—might as well enjoy our stay for a little bit, don't you agree?"
Megumi reminded himself that this woman hadn't seen a city with skyscrapers before. Leithanien was more of a traditional German city just in the midst of industrialization, or rather, they were already past the stage of industrialization—but they kept to traditional structures instead of modern ones. Chernobog? He had caused chaos, killed a few important people, and then left. Laurentina was held up in their truck because he didn't wish to get her involved, so the woman didn't see the structures.
So, he opened his mouth again, "yeah... I can get behind that. If you want to have fun in this city, then be my guest." Megumi shrugged after.
"Even after we deliver the letter..." Laurentina drew out her voice "...it would be lovely to see what has all these people's interest, wouldn't it? The... Kazimierz Major, a tournament battle between Knights. Ha~ what an overly pretentious way to represent 'glory.'"
"...Hm, I don't believe you should say that out loud," Megumi turned to look around. Although many people didn't hear her words because of the countless other conversations happening around, and mixing in each voice into a chaotic mess, he didn't want to take chances of accidentally offending anybody. "This place is different from your home, after all. First Leithanien sculptures, and now Kazimierzian tradition... don't you have a modulator for these subjects?" He mirthlessly said.
"Oh please, when someone gazes upon you for the first time..." Laurentina suddenly halted her steps, before dragging Megumi further in, surprising him with the abrupt movement "...wouldn't their standards rise far above the clouds?" The shark lady smirked, glancing upwards at his expression.
"...Er, sure," Megumi looked away, thinning his lips. He hoped his face hadn't become too heated, "we should... keep going," changing the subject, the black-haired man motioned for Laurentina to keep walking. Becoming a roadblock for people who wished to move through the sidewalk wasn't something he wanted to check on his non-existent list.
"How amusing," Laurentina flashed her shark teeth for him to see in the form of a smile, before twirling around—keeping her hand on his—and then moving forward again. "Ah, apologies, but this is the right route, correct?" Her eyes scanned the scenery, not particularly knowing where to go, if her expression was anything to go by.
Megumi sighed.
***
Laurentina sat at the bedside. There were two beds in the hotel they were staying at which separated themselves from each other, much to her disappointment. However, such trivialities hadn't bothered her for much, because her eyes were locked onto something else, which was Fushiguro Megumi. He was glancing at a weapon held in his hands as he sat on the side of his own bed, giving a contemplative glance toward it. Now, she was already used to the "negative" aura he gave off, and the weapons that he used. But she had to admit, compared to the four-eyed form—which she still didn't understand—the blade did not pale in comparison at all.
In fact, it looked like there was something screaming and retching beneath the sheath which covered it, making the Abyssal Hunter's senses slightly churn in anticipation for any danger that could come from it. However, nothing did. It was strange, how he held so many weapons, and how they were seemingly changing over the course of her stay with him. Firstly, his standard pistol had turned into some bulky warmachine that could blast holes into buildings, secondly, his usual golden blade which was a "Nodachi" as he described it, had bulked up into immense size and changed shape. Thirdly, all other weapons including the aforementioned one, and especially the three-section staff he had once wielded, possessed additional abilities.
Finally, there were also some additions to his arsenal. The one that was most obvious was the black blade he had wielded against the Gesatzwachter, but it was still staggeringly different now compared to back then. It didn't have this sort of... miasma leaking from it, and neither did it possess what looked to be tortured souls sealed beneath its covered form. That was what made Laurentina ever more curious about the weapon, and her Princess' overall arsenal. So, she took the opportunity to ask her question.
"Your weapons have changed a lot, to a more impressive degree I must admit." Laurentina tilted her head, "just as you have been enhanced by 'instrument' before, how exactly do you do it?" The Abyssal Hunter remembered utilizing her buzzsaw, the building up force, and the torrential water which flooded out, aiding in her movements along with creating extra range for her hits.
"Hm?" Megumi glanced away from his weapon, but still kept it physically shown, "I just... use my Cursed Arts, and it happens." He shrugged. "I can't really get into the specific details, because I'm not sure myself. It's more second nature to know I do it."
"I see," Laurentina nodded her head, "then could you explain why that blade looks like it has been dipped in an ocean of blood? It's quite a bother." The shark lady crossed her legs, before propping up her head on the palm of her hands. She was waiting, patiently, for the story to be told—along with slight anticipation. "It wasn't like this before."
"Well..." Megumi fiddled with the sheath, mulling over what he should say, "have you ever heard of the Muramasa Blades?"
"Oh? I haven't," Laurentina replied.
"Where should I begin...?" The Sorcerer's tired eyes turned toward the ceiling, "well, there was a swordsmith named Muramasa..."
While he recounted his story, a memory came back to him on how he had turned Ame-no-Habakiri into the current state as it was. Following in the footsteps of a historical person had admittedly, almost been the bane of his sanity. But in the end, just as assimilating Ryomen Sukuna's corpse fully into his body had been, doing so was worth it.
***
There was once a myth of Cursed Blades, or Cursed Katanas created by a certain infamous blacksmith of the Muromachi Era leading up into the Sengoku Era. They were fine staples of weapons used only for the most skilled of Jujutsu Sorcerers, but why was that the case? Such weapons were obviously still Cursed Tools, but they shined a far more brilliant—or gloomy—light when compared to all other Cursed Tools. The bloodline of Muramasa had been creating them for centuries, with the originator being by far the most potent of them all.
Rumors sprung about with Samurais who wielded such finely crafted blades. In fact, they were widely regarded as some of the best smithed weapons Japan had ever seen, only falling shortly behind another swordsmith known as Masamune. But that wasn't the point, Megumi knew he could never create blades as finely made as somebody like Masamune. What he was focusing on was Muramasa, and his "Cursed Katanas" rather than Masamune's rather... normal weapons. That didn't mean Masamune fell short at all, it was simply a testament to his unending skill as a swordsmith who relied on normal forging means.
In the case of Muramasa, it is rumored in Jujutsu Society that he had purposefully made Cursed Tools as a Jujutsu Sorcerer in order to attempt to surpass his master Masamune. Even then, despite all the effort he had put into it, the swordsmith had never surpassed him. Fushiguro Megumi was inclined to believe such a rumor, as there have been records of his blades and swords still roaming the world—majority of them having been destroyed courtesy of Gojo Satoru, of course. What wasn't most surprising to the black-haired man was that such pieces of history and culture were destroyed in the first place, it was the reason for destroying them, given by Gojo Satoru.
The reason he gave was that they were too dangerous, an insane statement to come from The Strongest Sorcerer of Today. For himself, Megumi never questioned the subject any further, deciding to keep his lips shut. His sensei looked at him with a look that seemed to say, 'don't pursue this matter any further,' making him think of what troubles the Muramasa blades have actually brought to the world of Jujutsu Society. If it could leave his teacher in such a serious mode when regarding them, then...
...Then that meant they must have been powerful!
A faint smile broke off on his lips as Megumi had found a new path to becoming stronger. His steps were just about to leave the scene of a slaughterhouse having taken place, but instead of animals, it was humans. His four eyes tensed as his head turned around to gauge the scene that was once before him. All of the enemies he had faced back then were eliminated and neutralized, turned into nothing but splatters of blood. It was a stinking smell, but one that exuded negativity.
The Echoes of Herkunftshorn, when they died, their souls should have passed on and moved elsewhere. However, he could see and perceive them as clear as the misty afterglow of winter's frost finding itself onto the world once more. They were aplenty and vast in size, something that... tantalized him, something that made his body itch to do something with them. It had caused a hold-up for his return back to Laurentina, but his four eyes had seen a sight that just seemed too good to let up for himself.
Souls shouldn't be tampered with, for they were the natural and fundamental building blocks of life itself, as established in multiple theories of Jujutsu Sorcery written by scholars and Jujutsu Sorcerers alike. That would have been the case, and that would have been what he would have thought, if a nagging feeling hadn't practically begged him to draw upon them. To find a way to use them as a source of power, to defile everything he knew from back at home. It was... beautiful... such... untapped potential... waiting to be... used...
...Okkotsu Yuta was able to manifest a Cursed Spirit from his sheer Cursed Energy levels alone. His desire not to let Orimoto Rika had led her to becoming a Vengeful Cursed Spirit, overflowing with near boundless Cursed Energy as a result. She was untamed and god-like, being dubbed as the "Queen of Curses" in reference to the "King of Curses" Ryomen Sukuna. The method that Muramasa used to craft his blades was said to enter places with high concentration of negativity, ghosts, and Yokai. Or in some other stories, Muramasa would pick up broken pieces of blades on the battlefield, places which held many souls which Cursed and hated the battlefield for taking their lives. In this case, there were many souls that were just about to fizzle out, and Megumi was itching for them.
A sudden burst of Cursed Energy left his body. Jujutsu Sorcerers couldn't create Cursed Spirits because of their control over Cursed Energy, unlike normal civilians who were none the wiser. However, that didn't mean they were completely exempt from creating Cursed Spirits, it was just that they didn't passively do so because of the Cursed Energy they possessed. So, in theory... if he were to let it flow out in an uncontrolled manner, and overtake the entire scene before him with great intensity...
...Then it would work.
Megumi raised his right hand forward, before calling for a certain Cursed Tool. The chains of Samyojana shot outwards from vortex portals, grasping at the visible souls that he could see. Those wisps were immediately captured, wrapped in by the blackened chains he had just summoned. Grasping his right hand into a fist, they tightened, keeping the souls further in place as his Cursed Energy continued to leak out savagely, draping the entire environment with a curtain.
He heard them, the screams of the damned, as if he had just walked into the lowest Circle of Hell where sinners attempted to grovel their way out of the dimension's gaping maw. Yet they would find it useless, endlessly being chewed by the sharp fang of the Devil which would never let them leave, to make sure their suffering was paid back in an eternity's interest. What goes around, comes around, for their sins before the King of Curses would never be forgiven.
Megumi pulled his hand back and twisted his body in its direction, feeling the souls attempting to further resist his pull. The black marks persisted across his face like a savage engraving of torture, while his four vile eyes continued to watch the scene with a bleeding apathy. They were nothing before his eyes, merely black miasma that deserved the treatment that was coming to them. For the Sorcerer, they had long since lost their privilege to enter the afterlife for whatever atrocious activities they had committed to, all in the sake of a long lost emperor they would never see again.
Whether the previous Kaiser of Leithanien was a Saint or a Sinner just as these cultists were, Fushiguro Megumi did not care. It never excused their actions, and he was also sure his own actions here could never be excused either. In spite of the incessant sounds of human gurgles reaching a crescendo, he kept pulling them in. They were as heavy as an anchor, and his eyes could see the rabid nature held in them as they attempted to break out of his iron grip. However, it would all prove futile for them.
They—quite literally—exploded.
Splashes of black and white intermingled together to form an unnatural phenomenon that couldn't be of this world. Megumi squinted his eyes as the souls began to twist and deform and the words leaking out of the screaming souls became even more incomprehensible to his ears. It had worked, his Curse toward these lingering souls had worked. The Cursed Energy leaking out became even more unstable, but the Sorcerer persisted. They were under his control, and he wasn't going to let them roam freely.
KLNK
The wheel turned.
More force was put into reining them in with the chains he had put out. Megumi's body nearly reeled from the force they were exerting, but found his balance once more by dispersing the weight evenly between his two legs. Gritting his teeth, the black-haired man jolted his arm with more force, the mass of Cursed Spirits forming by the second continued to be constrained by his will. His left hand was pulled out next, before Ame-no-Habakiri formed.
KLNK
The wheel turned once more.
If he were to be completely honest, Megumi did not have a single clue how Muramasa was able to create his Cursed Blades. Sure, many legends told of the many places he went to forge his blades, but how exactly the Cursed Spirits were imbued into them completely escaped him. So at this moment, he was going to bet completely on the Dharmachakra to find a way for him, while wrestling with a mass of tortured souls.
KLNK
A third rotation.
The thing with the Binding Vow he created was that it could allow the wheel to turn much faster in order to complete an adaptation process. Not only did it reduce the amount of spins needed, but it also reduced the time needed. So all he had to do—he reiterated in his mind—was to keep pushing forward and fight against the Cursed Spirits he had created on his own volition. To endure, more Cursed Energy was put into Reinforcement.
KLNK
A fourth rotation.
Not only did he adapt to the process of learning how to control the Cursed Spirits entrapped within Samyojana, but he had also learnt new methods in order to keep his body stable against the torrent of negativity attempting to take control of his course. Therefore, his body continued to shift into multiple stances, making his muscles ache from each and every movement. The already desolate ground destroyed from his previous actions continued to twist and turn at the mass of Cursed Energy clashing against each other, both sides attempting to gain conquerance over the other.
KLNK
But for the Cursed Spirits, they never stood a chance.
Megumi felt it, the method of taking full control of those Cursed Spirits in front of him. Well, not necessarily taking control of them, but to seal them into the Cursed Tool in his hand, Ame-no-Habakiri. Reeling his chains with greater strength, the mass of Cursed Spirits sticking out with grotesque heads and deformed bodies were finally knocked off their feet, before being pulled in with a sudden boom. The air split at their trajectory, letting the Sorcerer pull Ame-no-Habakiri in front of him.
As if he had done it a million times before, Megumi let his Cursed Energy fire out, forming a constrictive barrier around himself just as the mass of Cursed Spirits had entered it. Expanding it further in size, the process was almost as complex as creating a Domain Expansion's barrier, but after having struggled for so long...
'It's in my hands, right here!'
Megumi heaved in a greater breath, rattling the chains just as the Cursed Spirits had entered his barrier. They crashed into Ame-no-Habakiri, the Cursed Tool having been planted into the ground with its handle facing upwards. The unstable shape that made up the many accursed souls he had trapped began to turn back to the miasma he was familiar with. They were controllable and malleable inside the Barrier he had created from the Dharmachakra's guidance. The feeling... it was just as familiar as when Daiitoku, the Heavenly Thunderbolt Scripture had been formed.
His Cursed Tool lit up, before the barrier served as the intermediary in order to absorb the souls into the weapon. A suctioning force formed, the air distorting as the Cursed Spirits turned into a formless miasma started to flood into it. They turned from the black color Megumi was familiar with into a chaotic crimson afterglow, filled with only what he could describe as some sort of... divine ichor.
...Perhaps divine didn't fit the word, with how much the Cursed Spirits were thrashing about, both during the process of absorption and the process of being dragged in. With one last sigh, Megumi grunted and pulled the rest of them into Ame-no-Habakiri, their malignant light dimming everything in the background with the color of red—and then returning to normal. There was a small sizzling sound that moved in tandem with the Sorcerer's panting sounds, as his arms fell to a lull.
The black-haired man took a small step back, looking at the O-Katana planted into the ground with its sheath. The section which should have had a firm rope knot tied into a Sageo were loose, just as they always had been, freely flowing into the wind. His black haori did too, as his moistened palm continued to dry itself in the lonely breeze passing through the area. A tired gaze lingered on the Cursed Tool that had become more Cursed than it already was, before Megumi slowly brought his hand toward it.
Grabbing the sheath, the Sorcerer picked up the O-Katana from its planted position, lifting out and gauging what changes it had undergone. A small flick of his wrist turned the weapon over, as his eyes continued to scan every single detail. There was a black and vermillion miasma emitting from the weapon, creating an icky feeling that would repulse anybody just from being near it. He was already used to such a feeling, being stuck in his own soul and having been bathed in a pool of dead Cursed Spirit blood.
'That was also what made this process much easier, huh?' Megumi mused in his mind, continuing to turn Ame-no-Habakiri over.
He grabbed the handle, pausing for a moment before his hand started to move. Slowly but surely, a greater deal of negativity started to leak out of the Cursed Tool, far worse than any Cursed Tool he had held before. Truly, it had become "Cursed" in this form. Despite the Cursed Spirits created from his Cursed Energy having been sealed in the confines of the blade, Megumi couldn't help but feel a sense of dread overcome him the more he looked at its obsidian sheen. Then, he lifted it up toward the sun.
The clouds were clear, letting the illusory lights of the celestial object shine upon the coal-like canvas that was the Cursed Tool's elegant life cutter. There was a scarlet tinge that glowed amongst the tar, outlining the blade's shape while also dripping like some sort of transparent flaming aura. It was disgusting, yet so lovely to look at. Not only that, but some sort of corruptive influence was nagging at both his body and mind, ushering him to do actions that he normally would never commit to. To serve their plans, to have it put into fruition and bring back the long lost Witch King that they had been seeking to return to—and wrought an age of his own making once more.
Megumi clicked his tongue, before turning his body. His left hand held the sheath while his right was still grasping the bloodied blade. Lifting Ame-no-Habakiri upwards, the black-haired man swung it with a single fluid motion, letting a wave of black water diluted with a tint of blood fire off from it. Immediately, his body almost recoiled from the force of evil which came out, making him crease his brows and wrestle control over where the course of the blade went.
SLASH
The Sorcerer watched on in awe and confusion as a slash he hadn't intended to create was made. It moved fast, blistering off into the horizon and leaving a trail of death wherever it went. There was a part of the forest that his wrath hadn't reached when he was dealing with the Echoes of Herkunftshorn, but the moment the path of the slash he had accidentally sent off made its way completely through—multiple trees could be seen flying off their rooted hinges. It continued on, leaving black sears all across the object which had the unfortunate fate of being touched by it.
"I... wow..." Megumi felt his right hand grasp at the handle of the O-Katana more strongly than before. "This is dangerous," his eyes narrowed when looking at it again, "I don't have full control over it either." A small and uneasy feeling was starting to develop in his body like a sickness.
Indeed, the Cursed Spirits which were now inhabiting the Cursed Tool were still rampaging about. With that came an unnecessary leakage of the "aura" that was stored inside, making its presence feel like the worst emotions a human could ever experience. If even a normal person were to pass by him, Megumi wouldn't be surprised if they were to keel over and throw up the contents of what they had been eating. This... would serve to be a problem, and the Sorcerer was already starting to dislike the prospect.
"I need to find a better way to seal them." His hand resheathed the blade, before turning to reassess the damage the Cursed Tool had done, "looks like it hampers regeneration to a certain extent..." or rather, it was just an assumption he made. The black markings sizzling at the places of the cleanly chopped trees looked like some sort of acid. But despite looking like "acid," it didn't seem to be doing the job a potent acid would. His best assumption at that point? Was that it must hamper regeneration to an extent, seeing how utterly horrendous a Cursed Spirit's presence was.
With that, Megumi turned away and walked back to the truck, not before dispelling the Cursed Tool into his shadows. He had decided to work on some sort of Barrier Technique that could seal the Cursed Spirits better, seeing how the previous one he made was able to create a "house" for them to lodge inside Ame-no-Habakiri. However, his body was far too tired playing tug-of-war with the aforementioned Cursed Spirits, deciding that he would get to it the next day. More research upon the matter still needed to be done.
It was only a little after that Fushiguro Megumi discovered Ame-no-Habakiri only emitted its immense presence when in use. Still, it would still be an uncomfortable object for anybody to be in, even if it were in a "passive" state. No Barrier Technique alleviated its effects either, making the Sorcerer groan in annoyance. It seemed like he would have to deal with that issue as it continued to persist... perhaps indefinitely.
...Along with the constant whispers of bloodlust it would grant him.
***
"Do you understand the story?" Megumi turned toward Laurentina, "this weapon I have, Ame-no-Habakiri can be compared to one of the Muramasa Blades. I don't think it comes close to their potency, though."
"How exactly did you get it?" Laurentina let the facts of the Cursed Bladesmith continue to digest in her mind, but another question still lingered. "Did you...?"
"Ah, let's save that for another time," Megumi dispelled Ame-no-Habakiri hurriedly, turning his head away, "I'm already tired from all the travelling that we did. So, it's best if we get ample rest before meeting with Cora Lowenstein's daughter, right?"
The Abyssal Hunter continued to stare at the Sorcerer as he stood up from his bed while pulling the black haori he wore off. While he folded and set it down, she opened her mouth again, "I'll take your suggestion to heart, then, Princess." With a sigh, Laurentina moved her hands to take off her hat, standing up, and then moving to rest it at a clothes stand. "You know, that woman's daughter must be somebody influential... if she is under the care of this country's 'Grand Knight.'"
"She really must be..." Megumi muttered back. He didn't know the significance of Cora Lowenstein, other than that she was a retainer of Werner von Hochberg, but to have her daughter under the care of Kazimierz's Head of State was quite impressive "...well, that isn't anything that should bother us, I hope."
"Worried, my dear Princess?" Laurentina called from her position, "if you're afraid of any nightmares, you can come curl up in my bed~."
"I'll pass," Megumi waved his hand, "we have a long day tomorrow. I wouldn't want to make you lose any sleep with how much I shift in my sleep." He also did not want to disrupt the other woman's sleep with the recent resurgence of nightmares he had been experiencing.
"Hmph," Laurentina crossed her arms, watching the black-haired man fall into his bed and drape the blanket over him. "Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight," Megumi let his eyes close as Laurentina had turned off the lights. His body started to become weightless, all the worries he felt from before starting to completely fade. Everything would be resolved tomorrow, and then the two could go their merry way to see what the Kazimierz Major was all about...
...For now, it was best to leave matters as they were.