Cursed Legacy ( A Jujutsu Kaisen OC Fic)

Chapter 6:

Noritoshi Kamo swiped the stone against the pointy end of his arrow lovingly, down the sharp metal tip his lap. He liked the motion, smooth and controlled. He liked to feel the gritty slide of his whetstone down his trademark weapon, honing it down, sharper with every strike. With each stroke the flighty thing in his hand grew a little bit more deadly, a little bit better of a tool. He liked that, that something so simple can tame a hunk of steel into a deadly weapon.

Noritoshi Kamo liked control.

If you can control things, then you can use them as your tools. It is nice to use things, because it makes the world simpler. Tools make the world easier. They turn complicated tasks into easy ones. A hammer makes it easy to drive in nails, a fishing rod makes it easy to pluck fish from the water, and cursed energy makes it easy to take a life. Especially one that of a cursed spirit.

The Kamo heir liked tools almost as much as he liked control.

He slid the stone down the edge of the blade again, caught up in his thoughts. His thumb was dangling off the side of it, and there is a sting, and a bead of crimson. Sudden, an irrational rage filled him. His teeth gnashed together, and he wanted to roar and break and destroy—

The boy exhaled sharply and drove down the rage.

Placidly, he took the stone in his hand and places it on the boulder to his side, gripping the bow with his uncut hand and squeezed it so tight his knuckles turned an ashy white and the bow string pull taught with tension. He inhales deeply, then exhales again, long and slow. Color returns to his flesh. Carefully, he lowered the newly sharpened weapon into his lap and lays it down on the bundle of arrows behind him and walked back to the wooden bench of the training court.

He sat down.

With calculating, manic eyes, he observed
the wound. His thumb has an inch long slash down the center of it, oozing blood onto the callused pads of his finger.

Training will be harder tomorrow, he thinks, staring at the liquid. It made him think of the akasen district, its streets bathed with red light. The akasen made him think of the boy.

His heart beat picked up, his breathing sharp.

The boy had been interesting. Is still exciting.

Noritoshi remembers that night in perfect clarity, a memory he has played over and over again inside the confines of his head. He remember going out that night to pick up something for his teacher, ending up in some dirty back alley, waiting behind a pile of trash at the back door of a brothel.

He remembers hearing the wailing first, the sound of distress not unlike that of a small animal in distress, or that of a desperate cry of a cursed spirit right before he vapourised them out of existence. He had turned his head then, peering through the gloom for the source, struck by a mild curiosity. What he saw was the rouge statue of a grown man, his arms carrying a flailing, upset boy. The kid was small, dwarfed by the adult's form and size, and he was dressed in the kimono many of the working girls in the akasen district favoured.

Protruding from the man's back was a third-grade mind spirit. It clung to the man's body and dug its root in his brain, poisoning and drawing out his darkest sins.

Silently, Noritoshi watched on as the man pushed the boy and caged him against the wall, leaning in close, his breath misting in the night air. He turned to faced forward after that, ignoring the activity going on only yards away. He couldn't cared less for the doings of civilians. It wasn't a mission, there was no reward or payment. He wasn't going out of his way to help the lowly and pathetic existence of non-sorcerers that will never achieve true greatness. He knew what was about to happen, it was a common fate for children not born of a sorcerer family. He didn't need to see this, it was gross, and he wanted to go back and finish with the errand already.