7th January 2007, 9:38 PM
( Kabuki-za Theatre, Ginza District, Tokyo )
GINA STOOD frozen in place looking up at the abomination crawling towards them like Samara out of an early two thousand's tube TV with black strands of hair covering hideous features and lanky limbs twisting, bending at unnatural angles. Satoru's movie reference turned out to be fitting, but her own matched the curse's appearance even better, making her wonder if creators of bad horror films believed in the apparitions born from their imagination as they put pen to paper writing a script serving as the basis of people's nightmares once they watched the finished product on the silver screen.
"Come on, show me." He urged her on, strong hands squeezing her thin waist as he pushed her forward. "Don't worry, I'm right beside you."
Every word Satoru spoke equaled bittersweet symphonies tainted with the cacophony of heartbreaks. He was of a different breed; a man with the ability to turn chaste lily girls into lewd sirens with a glance of ethereal eyes holding catastrophes and ancient tales. Even a simple hello sounded like come here when faux intimacy colored his voice, painting pictures of lazy Sunday afternoons spent in each other's arms with sweat-stained sheets clinging to damp ivory bodies. His wicked tongue fanned flames of courage inside her burning down any semblance of cowardice which held her back. And suddenly the special grade curse didn't seem so terrifying.
Heels clicked against polished concrete, leather clad feet moving towards a creature born of green-eyed monsters drunk on envy and resentment; emotions as old as humanity itself, depicting vileness clinging to the root of every man's original flaw. Gina flicked her manicured fingers, creating a void of black dense with the contradiction which is nothingness. Particles accumulating rendered the air heavy, dry, devoid of any form of artistry which colored these walls behind a stage of opulence and exaggerated decadence. Her intent to kill, to exorcise was stronger than her fear and she lunged forward, the void of infinite blackness released by the impact of her middle finger hitting the ball of her thumb grew wider as it swallowed the cursed spirit. Triumph spreading across deep red lips foreshadowed misplaced pride in her own abilities. If it was a lesser curse, its bones would've been crushed by the gravity of her technique, ground to dust in a matter of seconds, but this one emerged unharmed, absorbing dark matter as if feeding on flesh and organs spilled across a meticulously arranged dinner table.
A cascade of ivy green bile dripped from leathery lips, burning holes into the concrete ground. Gina backed away, a look of terror on her pretty features as the horror movie caricature of a curse leaped forward with its jaw unhinged, ready to bite limps off her small body. Bracing herself in fractures of seconds she readied herself for another attack, but the curse's movement proved to be immensely fast and accurate, rendering her to dodge the impact of its yellowed bony claws. Crimson gore spilled from unblemished skin ripped to shreds by sharp avian talons soaked in sins and fault of the demon's creator, dripping onto the polished surface beneath her feet. Gina hissed underneath her breath, pressing her hand against the gushing wound shimmering through torn layers of white and navy blue fabric on her upper arm while evading hits and blows of the abomination's veiny appendages.
"Very disappointing, Furuya."
His tall, lean frame appeared before her, shielding her petite form from being cut into a million tiny pieces meant to be devoured by the creature's sinewy jaws. He moved with such casual elegance, soaring across the room in an arrogant display of innate impeccability. The cursed spirit's abhorrent screams were an outburst of deep-rooted anger caused by its inability to touch the shaman reveling in a game of cat and mouse wrapped in an ancient paradox of motion. Gina remembered his lecturing narrative about Zeno's Achilles and the Tortoise Paradox he liked referring to whenever explaining the neutral form of his inherited technique, using Wikipedia knowledge as a cheap excuse to boast about his otherworldly abilities in a smartass fashion. All shamans knew about his incomparable talent, a gift bestowed upon him by ancestors of a powerful bloodline, and yet he still found joy in showing he, indeed was the strongest, the honored one whose mere existence blessed the world with balance and tranquility.
YOU ARE READING
MORTALA, gojo satoru
Fanfiction❛ MORTALA ( a. ) unrelenting and deadly ; involving loss of divine grace or spiritual death She was like a black hole, once she had you in her grasp, escape was impossible. He, on the other hand, was of a different kind; he knew how to attr...
