Cursed Currents | Gojo & Geto

十一

┏━°⌜ 呪術廻戦 ⌟°━┓
11
MISSION
┗━°⌜ 呪術廻戦 ⌟°━┛

TW: BLOOD

The cemetery looms before me, an expanse of weathered tombstones and gnarled trees twisting under the shroud of fog. I step through the rusted iron gates, their hinges whining as they sway in the breeze, and force myself to switch off every emotion gnawing at the edges of my mind. I let a wave of cold numbness wash over me, burying everything under layers of practiced apathy.

The air is thick with moisture, and I can feel the cursed energy pulsing faintly in the atmosphere like a low hum. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the heavy clouds block out the sun, casting everything in a murky, greyish hue. The fog curls between the graves like a living thing, clinging to the cracked stone and snaking along the dirt paths. It's so dense that it muffles every sound except for the occasional rustle of dead leaves and the creak of old branches swaying in the cold breeze.

I clench my hands, feeling my cursed energy flow in response, and then release them, forcing myself to stay calm. I focus on my breathing while my blood pumps rapidly beneath the surface, raising my pulse just enough to ready my technique. The blood manipulation technique is tricky, especially under stress, but I've trained enough to keep it stable even when my heart's racing. My father's voice echoes in my mind, a sharp reprimand reminding me to maintain perfect control—any lapse could mean my own blood becomes a liability.

The cursed energy in the air twists and surges erratically, stirring the fog into strange, spiraling patterns. I move cautiously between the tombstones, my senses on high alert as I scan for any sign of movement. The energy pulses in uneven rhythms, like a heartbeat trying to sync with mine. It's closer than I expected—definitely a powerful presence, but still hiding, waiting for me to slip.

Every step crunches softly on the gravel path, the sound muffled by the thick mist. I keep my gaze forward, deliberately avoiding looking at the shadows flickering at the edges of my vision. Those are distractions—small, parasitic curses drawn by the stronger one lurking deeper in the cemetery. They're little more than pests, but they're a sign I'm heading in the right direction.

The wind shifts, sending a chill down my spine. It carries with it a faint, almost whisper-like sound that makes the hairs on my neck stand up. It's distant at first, just a breeze slipping through the crooked tombstones, but there's something deliberate about it. I know better than to let it rattle me. I force my mind to stay blank, focusing instead on the tingling sensation of my cursed energy pooling at my fingertips.

The path forks ahead, one side leading deeper into the cemetery, where the fog thickens into an impenetrable wall, while the other winds toward a cluster of larger, more elaborate graves. I hesitate for a split second, instinctively drawn toward the thicker fog. The curse is probably hiding in the densest area—feeding, waiting for more negative emotions to draw power from.

I grit my teeth and keep moving, ignoring the shadows that dart between the graves, their distorted shapes occasionally taking on vaguely humanoid forms before melting back into the mist. They hiss softly, like snakes in the grass, but I shut out the noise.

The cursed energy intensifies, swirling like a vortex as I step deeper into the fog. I can feel the pressure building in my chest, a tightness that makes my breath hitch momentarily. It's feeding on the tension, trying to provoke me into slipping, into letting my emotions spike just enough for it to get stronger. But I clamp down on everything, forcing myself into that cold, detached state where nothing can reach me.

A tombstone to my left shifts slightly—no, not the stone itself, but something behind it, crawling on all fours, barely visible in the fog. My hands flare reflexively, a response to the movement, and I grit my teeth, trying to regain control. I can't waste energy on decoys, not when the real threat is still hiding.