Mahito panted, staring at his fist. A purplish energy cloaked it, radiating pure malice.
It looked eerie, unnerving.
Even to him, it felt… unclean.
His cursed energy carried a weight to it, like oil-slicked smoke. Dark, suffocating, thick with resentment. It clung to him. Burned cold in his fingertips.
And yet, it was strong.
Inhumanly so.
His Special Grade body was already monstrous. Swifter, tougher, sharper than any human. But with cursed energy coursing through him, he moved like a predator unchained.
Still.
The fabled Black Flash continued to mock him. Always out of reach. Always almost.
No matter how many times he punched or kicked, no matter how precisely he timed the moment of impact... nothing. Just regular destruction.
He'd meditated until his limbs went numb. Shattered enough sewer walls to collapse entire tunnels.
Still nothing.
No spark. No crackle in space. No distortion.
Just bruised fists and jagged breath.
All around him, the remnants of his frustration. Broken walls, collapsed ceilings, cracked stone. Air so thick with dust it felt like breathing through ash.
'If I linger too long here, someone will notice...'
And that would be a problem.
The Jujutsu Sorcerers had already begun to stir. Odd cursed energy patterns in the sewers. Collapsing infrastructure. Traces left behind by a very active Special Grade.
Mahito was learning to cover his tracks. Suppress his presence, contain his energy, slither through the veins of the city like a ghost.
And slither he did.
Without hesitation, his body compressed, condensed, and twisted inward. Bones reshaped, flesh slid like liquid. In a blink, the humanoid form was gone.
What remained was a pale white snake, skin stitched together like patchwork fabric. No eyes. No tongue. Just muscle and malice.
At the top of his skull, a drill spun lazily, and with a screech of shifting stone, he burrowed into the earth below.
Mobility. Stealth. Versatility.
He was becoming a better weapon with every passing day.
Still, the Black Flash eluded him.
'Mahito, the infant, managed to pull it off within months of being born… during a chaotic fight no less. What am I missing?'
The thought lingered.
Experience? Timing? Understanding?
Something about the Black Flash wasn't just technical. It required presence. Flow. A perfect marriage of intent and instinct.
And Markus, no, Mahito, had been a planner all his life. Methodical. Controlled. Even in death, that hadn't changed.
But the Black Flash... that required surrender.
He wasn't quite ready to give that yet.
'I need to land it before I ever meet Sukuna's vessel...'
A lofty goal, especially considering where the world was headed.
He had already been paid a visit by Kenjaku once. A casual drop-in during one of his late-night training sessions.
Thankfully, the ancient sorcerer hadn't witnessed the more delicate aspects of Mahito's soul manipulation. Just enough to keep his interest lukewarm.
Good.
Too much curiosity from Kenjaku was a dangerous thing.
Mahito's training came to a halt when he felt the air shift.
That pressure again.
It crept up his spine like a hand made of smoke. Old, suffocating, expectant.
A faint hum filled the tunnel.
Mahito's snake form paused mid-burrow. The drill stopped spinning. He twisted upward, flesh peeling back and reforming, twisting into humanoid shape in seconds.
He emerged from the wall just in time to see the shimmer of a veil dissolve. A subtle distortion in the sewer's low light.
And from it, the familiar silhouette stepped forward.
Long black hair. Gold monk's robes over a dark yukata. Calm expression. Stitched forehead.
Kenjaku.
"Ah, there you are~" The ancient sorcerer's voice was warm. Playful. Too warm. Too playful.
He always sounded like a teacher about to assign homework that might kill you.
Mahito didn't respond. He simply tilted his head, feigning ignorance.
His eyes widened slightly. His mouth parted in a silent "oh." The act of an infantile curse caught mid-meditation.
Kenjaku smiled.
"You've been busy. The residuals of your training are hard to miss, you know."
Mahito bowed his head. "Try... strong."
"You're certainly trying," Kenjaku chuckled. "But now I have a little errand for you. Something far more important than punching walls."
The ancient sorcerer stepped closer, hands behind his back, his smile never leaving his face.
"A new player has entered the board. A vessel. For Sukuna."
Mahito's fingers twitched slightly at the name. But his face stayed blank.
"Sukuna...?" he asked, dragging the syllables slowly.
Kenjaku's eyes twinkled.
"Yes. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses. He's... well, incomplete at the moment. But he's stirring. And his current host is something of a curiosity."
The old monster pulled something from his long sleeve, a photograph, slightly crumpled. He tossed it forward.
Mahito caught it mid-air.
A teenage boy stared back at him.
Wide eyes. Messy hair. Slightly confused smile. Innocent, in that irritatingly hopeful way.
Yuji Itadori.
Mahito narrowed his eyes for a moment.
This was it. The start of the real game.
"I want you to observe him," Kenjaku said casually. "Engage if you like, but don't overplay your hand. Just... see what kind of soul he has. Report back."
Mahito looked up, meeting those deep violet eyes.
He nodded once.
"See soul. Learn."
"Good boy," Kenjaku grinned.
And just like that, he turned and began to walk away, his presence fading like fog in the wind.
Mahito stood still, fingers still clutching the photo.
Yuji Itadori.
The beginning of everything.
He stared at the boy's face for a long moment.
A part of him, buried beneath layers of stitched flesh and cursed instincts, felt a spark of something.
Not recognition. Not sympathy.
Just... anticipation.
The vessel of Sukuna.
A boy born with little cursed energy under suspicious circumstances. Who had eaten one of the most powerful curses in existence. And lived.
Mahito tucked the photo into his chest, letting it dissolve into his skin.
He glanced at his hand again, still wrapped in that eerie, crackling aura of cursed energy.
He smirked.
"Black Flash... or not," he whispered, "it's time to meet the future king."