Unbound By Love's Grace [Gojo Satoru x Female Readers]

2 ~ Two

[T]his was definitely not how you expected things to go.

You'd never been on a mission alone before—hell, you'd never wanted to be on one alone either—but there was a first time for everything, right?

Still, this situation was about as far from ideal as it could get. Gojo's words echoed faintly in your mind. Something about innate domains being a cursed spirit's personal battlefield. But that raised a pretty big question: what kind of advantages did the curse have here?

You let out a slow breath, focusing on your cursed energy. Slowly, you increased the inflow and outflow to around 10%, just enough to sharpen your senses. It was like trying to use a radar, your energy pulsing outward, looking for any signs of movement, life, or cursed signatures.

But something was off.

While you could sense faint signatures around you, the cursed energy in the air was so thick and dense that it distorted everything. It was like walking through a thick fog—nothing was clear.

You frowned, debating whether or not to push your energy output higher. Raising it would give you more control over the area, maybe even an upper hand. But it would also light you up like a beacon, signaling your position to whatever cursed spirit was lurking nearby.

"Wait a minute..." Your thoughts froze midstream. You stopped in your tracks, tilting your head slightly as you glanced down the tunnel you were in.

Something felt wrong. You looked back, eyes scanning the walls.

A chain, slightly rusted, hung down from the ceiling. The symbol carved into the stone next to it—a rounded spiral—was eerily familiar.

Hadn't you seen this exact spot before?

You took a few cautious steps forward, only to spot another identical symbol a little further down the tunnel. And then another. Your stomach sank.

'Am I walking in circles?'

You couldn't shake the feeling that you had already passed through this area, not once, but two or three times. Either the tunnel was repeating itself like some kind of cursed funhouse, or the curse was messing with your perception. Either way, it wasn't good.

The prickling sensation down your spine wasn't just discomfort anymore—it was realization. The cursed spirit wasn't trying to kill you outright. No, it was toying with you, warping the space around you, twisting the very air you breathed. The walls seemed to stretch and coil, mocking your every step.

Fingers brushed the empty space at your hip, where your cursed weapon should've been. The absence was a harsh reminder. You weren't dressed for a fight—no uniform, no protection, no weapon. Just you, caught in the middle of this nightmare. "Tch... unreal," you muttered, frustration seeping through clenched teeth. This was a mess of your own making.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to steady. Anger wouldn't save you, not here. The curse was twisting everything to its advantage, and if you were going to survive, you had to think like it.

Gojo's usual cocky grin flashed through your mind—What would he do? No, scratch that. Thinking like him would only get you in more trouble.

Fine, then. If you couldn't pinpoint the cursed spirit because of this distorted maze, you'd flush it out the hard way. Stupid plan? Maybe. But it was all you had.

"Alright, let's make this interesting," you breathed, cursing under your breath as you upped your cursed energy flow to 50%. The surge was immediate, enough to broadcast your position to anything lurking in the shadows.

A wail echoed through the tunnel, low and guttural. Then another, closer, and then one from above. Three distinct signatures closed in, their oppressive energy suffocating the air.

Three? That couldn't be right. There shouldn't be more than one spirit here—this was supposed to be a special grade's domain. No way there could be others sharing its territory.

Before you could even process the thought, the air behind you shifted, faster than your reflexes could catch. A sharp movement, and in the next blink, the world turned sideways.

Pain exploded through your chest, sharp and searing, as blood filled your mouth. A violent cough ripped through you, the sound wet and gurgling. Your eyes dropped to the crimson dripping between your fingers. Your blood. A sharp, stabbing ache flared near your ribs, and you knew instantly—broken. At least a few.

Shit.

Too fast. The hit had come too damn fast. No wonder Gojo was the one usually sent on these kinds of missions. You weren't ready for this—not even close.

A bitter chuckle slipped past bloodied lips, the cursed energy pressing in from all sides. Even as your vision blurred from the pain, the mocking presence loomed closer. "Heh... not scared of dying, y'know," you rasped, voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn't even a bluff, not really. Death didn't scare you. But there was something else—a fear buried deep, clawing at the edges of your mind, lurking just beyond reach. Something far worse than the idea of dying here, alone.

The air around you thickened with the cursed spirit's presence—oppressive, cold, suffocating. Every nerve in your body screamed in agony, but you pushed through, forcing yourself to stand. Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth, the metallic taste bitter on your tongue, while your legs trembled, barely holding you up.

Ahead, the cursed spirit emerged from the shadows—a grotesque figure shrouded in chains. Its twisted body was a horrific blend of flesh and steel, long, sickle-like blades extending from its arms, their jagged edges glinting faintly in the dim light. Tendrils writhed around its form, hungry and restless, twitching with malicious intent.

Suddenly, it made sense—what had blindsided you and sent you crashing into the wall moments before. Now, it stood before you, its gaze locked onto yours, the way a predator fixates on its next meal.

Breathing was getting harder, your lungs on fire as you forced cursed energy into your limbs, reinforcing them like Kinji had taught you. The pain was nearly unbearable, but pain didn't matter right now. What mattered was survival. You couldn't afford to hesitate.

Launching yourself forward, you moved with every ounce of strength left in your battered body. Your fist shot out—if that didn't land, then your knee was next. Miss? Follow up with an elbow. Miss again? Keep going. You wouldn't stop until either you or this twisted thing broke.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? It wasn't breaking.

The curse barely flinched, your attacks barely scratching its grotesque hide. In return, it didn't hold back. Your body slammed into the ground, tossed around like a ragdoll, bones rattling with every impact. A sharp crack echoed in your ears—was that your arm? Your hand? Maybe both.

Your vision blurred as the world tilted, pain radiating through every nerve. A sudden pressure crushed your chest, forcing air out of your lungs in a wheezing gasp. Before you could react, the curse's clawed foot slammed down on your leg with brutal force. The sickening snap of bone sent a wail ripping from your throat, so raw and broken you barely recognized it as your own voice.

The curse laughed. Low, malevolent, a sound that crawled under your skin. It wasn't just killing you—it was enjoying it.

Your body spasmed, pain crashing through you in waves. Tears mixed with the blood trickling down your face, your vision swimming as you gasped for breath. Your legs felt numb, shattered beneath the curse's weight, and you couldn't feel your arm anymore.

You weren't scared of death—you'd told yourself that. But now, staring down the end, you realized it wasn't death you feared.

It was this. This feeling of helplessness. Of being utterly powerless.

"Goddamn it..." The words barely scraped past your lips, voice hoarse and cracked. "Why am I so... fucking useless?"

Tears of frustration burned your eyes, mingling with blood as they trailed down your cheeks. You hated this. Hated being weak. Hated being treated like an afterthought, like you didn't matter. Hated being a burden.

That was the real fear, wasn't it? Not dying—but being forgotten, a useless nobody.

Agony ripped through your chest, sharp and merciless, as the curse's sickle-like arm tore through flesh and bone, the cold metal of its blade cleaving straight through your torso. You barely had time to register the pain before your back hit the wall with a sickening thud, your body pinned there like a broken puppet.

A violent cough shook you, wet and ragged, and blood spilled from your lips, the metallic taste overwhelming. The darkness crept in fast, closing in from the edges of your vision, while the curse's malevolent laughter echoed, deep and distorted, like it was enjoying every second of your suffering.

So, this was it? This was as far as you'd go?

Everything went black. Not just the world around you, but everything—your mind, your thoughts, your very sense of being.

Funny how you always hated the dark... or had you? You couldn't quite remember.

Then again, you'd never been good at remembering the important stuff, had you? Your memories were just like your life—broken, scattered, with holes you couldn't ever seem to fill. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, your body knew. It always knew how to react, even if you didn't.

But none of it mattered anymore. Not the past, not the memories. You were dying, and maybe that was the only thing that ever really made sense. The truth was, nothing seemed to matter at all anymore.

At least, that's what you thought. Until a voice—familiar, yet somehow distant—slithered into the cracks of your fading consciousness. It stirred something deep inside you, something raw and ancient.

"...You belong to me..."

The words weren't just a sound; they were a command, a pull, dragging you from the edge of oblivion.

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[Note: AI generated Special Grade Cursed Spirit.]

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