𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐕 - 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄

AS THEIR EYES MET ONCE AGAIN, Mikazuki still felt a spark of fear in her heart, the lethal edge of his gaze so frightening she remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed at the mercy of his unyielding predatory nature.

"I can taste the fear in your blood, child." Asahi commented casually, no hint of humour or amusement in his tone as he kept his ice-cold sights on his daughter. "You're so incredibly pathetic. Coming here to try and... what? Kill me?" He chuckled, the sound dark and hollow as he leaned back against the plush material of his chair.

Mikazuki's heart leap in her chest, that familiar sense of dread crawling up her spine. She debated with herself, wondering if she should lie. There really was no point, though, Asahi had clearly seen what her intentions were long before she even stepped within the bounds of the Estate. He probably had been expecting this from the moment he decided to torture Niko.

Niko. The thought assaulted her so suddenly she was almost knocked back, that little reminder strong enough to revive her resolve. Mikazuki cracked her neck, inhaling deeply through her nose before her eyes turn cold, the sunset in her iris turning into a frozen wasteland.

"You hurt Niko." She strained through gritted teeth, her knuckled white as snow. "You could have killed her."

Asahi rolled his eyes, amusement gone from his expression as he continued to observe her.

"Please. I am not one of your inexperienced victims, do not take me for a fool just because you cannot look past your own shortcomings." He smiled, the wickedness of it making her stomach churn. "If I wanted her dead, she would be. Same goes for you. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Mikazuki balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms as golden blood began to drip onto the floor. Either Asahi didn't care, or he didn't notice – he was far too busy revelling in the moment, the knowledge that he'd finally managed to rattle his daughter too good to pass up. He felt full, a swell of pride for himself rising in his chest. It was sickening to witness, the way in which his eyes lit up upon her suffering. He thrived off it, like a Cursed Spirit feeding on the chaos it caused.

"What do you want from me?" Mikazuki finally asked, an edge to her tone, like she wanted to cry but couldn't bear breaking down in front of him.

Knowing Asahi, he'd probably enjoy it. It was the sort of thing a soulless bustard like him would delight in.

"I want what was promised to me." He spoke clearly, his tone cutting through her like a knife.

To him, she would always be nothing but another pawn to be moved across the board, another tool to be used and discarded once he was done. Mikazuki had known this from the start – it didn't even hurt anymore, not when she knew there wasn't a single gentle bone in his body. The sorceress had mourned her father long before he was gone.

What stood in front of her now was just a ghost, the worst parts of a man who had fallen victim to the hands of greed and desperation. Asahi craved power more than anything else. More than love. More than family. It was easy to get lost in the thrill of it, to disappear under the weight of that sensation. Power was a strong drug. Mikazuki had gotten a taste of it before she was exiled, the first time she wielded The Golden Threads of Fate.

The power coursing through her veins had been unimaginable but, once it faded, it left a hollow space in her heart, a missing piece that could never be recovered. Was that what had happened to Asahi's heart? Had he sacrificed all of it until there was nothing left? Was he capable of love, or had he deserted it for the sake of power?

"I want you to be my heiress, to be the weapon we both know you can be." Asahi continued, the sound of his voice bringing Mikazuki back from the depths of her mind.

A weapon. The sorceress smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly at the words. Of course, that was all she was to him. A weapon to be used against The Magistrate, a blade to be wielded, a Grim Reaper with the power to cleave all of his enemies and turn them into dust.

"Keisuke..." Asahi hesitated for a brief moment, yet it wasn't pain at the mention of his late son what Mikazuki glimpsed in his golden eyes. Instead, she saw disappointment. "He was weak. His only redeeming quality was you, and then you were exiled by that French whore." He spat, like Léa's existence was as much of a Curse as the spirits he spent a lifetime exorcising. "Even with the power he gained from the Severing, he was still fumbling his way through training. Keisuke was made to lead, not to fight." His eyes glistened, greed shimmering inside of his hopeful stare. "You, on the other hand, are a beautiful nightmare."

That I am, father. Mikazuki's smile widened, the wickedness in her eyes matching that of her father before she schooled her expression. One detail you failed to account for, though, is that I am your nightmare before I am anyone else's. Asahi didn't see the flicker in her eyes, far too caught up in his own hopes for the future. He was drunk with power, cogs turning in his brain as he built his plan.

Everything about the man was carefully planned, every thought catalogued, every reaction calculated. He called her a weapon, but he was the real threat. Not because of his power – that was easy to achieve, one massacre at a time – but his mind. He was a strategist, a genius born with an eye for detail. Asahi was far more lethal sitting behind this desk than he ever was anywhere else.