𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐋𝐕𝐈 - 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

GOJO SATORU WAS PLAYING THE BAIT. The sorcerer wasn't exactly sure what had possessed him to volunteer for the position, especially since the whole role included threading through the woods in what must have been at least four inches of mud. This was far beneath him and his skills, yet, something about picturing Kinzoku Mikazuki with her grey curls and high combat boots parading through the wilderness of the woods completely alone and with a helpless leg had made something in him stir.

He wasn't worried perse, he just didn't see the point on torturing her further, especially when The Beldam had already done a number on her. Not that Satoru's experience had been any better, but at least he wasn't faced with his demons, instead having a tongue shoved down his throat with little to no resistance on his part. He still felt guilty about it, but not as much as he did about how much he liked it.

The Beldam had preyed on him, and like any man with hot blood in his veins, his weakness was revealed the moment the creature turned into fair skin and beautiful golden eyes. Gojo was so easy to read, it hadn't even been a challenge for the Curse – an appetizer, if it was being generous. It ate him up, knowing just how easy it was to rile him up, how easily the creature had been able to figure it all out in less than a second.

And here he was, serving himself on a silver platter so The Beldam would come out of his hiding spot. Despite their careful planning, their strategy was poor. Even if they defeated the Curse, the entire mission would still be a failure. They'd come here, with big ideas in their heads, completely unprepared ad vulnerable to the mind games of the creature.

Once again, Satoru had been played like a fiddle, but not by the monster, but his own ego instead. Mikazuki was an entirely different story altogether; she'd been tortured, and he could feel the need for revenge seething in her blood. The Kinzoku girl had always been deadly – even ten years ago, before she was dragged away in chains and exiled from everything she knew – but today, she was death.

Today, the hunted became the hunter. And Satoru was the prey. Such a lovely game they were playing. If his mother was still alive, Satoru could imagine her rolling on the floor with laughter. She was always funny like that, at least before the illness set in and all the light and colour left her in a matter of weeks.

Although Satoru was the oldest of four, there was very little he remembered of his mother. She'd spent most of her time pregnant and in bed, surrounded by servants who tended to her through her gruelling pregnancies. Most of the time, he didn't even get to see her, let alone talk to her. She was always lively, though – so excited for what life had to offer. Shame she didn't get to experience any of it.

The Gojo heir shook his head, ridding himself of these thoughts while he continued his trek through the wilderness. He'd left the trail a while ago now, nothing but forest and thick greenery spreading for miles in every direction. There were no sounds other than the raw volume of nature, bugs buzzing around while birds flapped their winds. It was quiet but filled with life. Satoru didn't get to experience this often; he was far too used to the busy life of the city. This was different, peaceful if it weren't for The Beldam roaming the area. Six kids. All dead. Satoru kept reminding himself, readying his psyche to face another round of the creature's manipulation.

Six kids. All dead. Six kids. All dead. Six kids. All de–

It didn't take long for The Beldam to manifest itself. It appeared, drawn in by his inner monologue and the sorrow seeping from his pores. Part of it was manufactured, a sleuth of negative emotions Satoru knew the Curse wouldn't be able to ignore. The other part, however, was terrifyingly real. There was a bit of everything simmering inside of him, like an overheated pot overflowing with emotions. There was regret, shame, guilt and a dash of insecurity; it was the kind of feast no Curse could resist, the first course in a long meal.