𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈𝐗 - 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 & 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

"I'M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS." Satoru spoke solemnly, silently gesturing to Keisuke's motionless form.

Keisuke's death made no sense to him, still. He was a special-grade sorcerer, he shouldn't have died so simply – so stupidly. Yet, for some unexplainable reason, the curse – Twisted, Satoru reminded himself, the thought blanketed in a haze of fury and frustration – had been able to rip him apart. The fact that his body was intact was nothing but a testament to the coroner's skill.

Reattaching his nearly ripped off head must've been the hardest part, Satoru could still see the faint scar across his neck, the stitching just as flawless as the rest of the body. The fact his body had been so well preserved for so long was also astounding, the golden coffin in which Keisuke had been laying for the past couple of days being another one of the Kinzoku's skills. There was a reason why the clan had been able to retain its status for over five centuries, even after the sins committed by their predecessor.

Mikazuki clutched her brother's hand, fingers intertwining at the touch.

"You shouldn't be here." She spoke calmly, her tone cold and sharp, unlike anything Satoru had heard from her before. "This is a private chapel, it's unproper." Mikazuki straightened her kimono before reaffirming the grip on her brother's hand. "You should go join the festivities."

Her tone was bitter, laced with a hint of resentment and a bunch of other emotions Satoru wasn't quite able to place. She was mad, he could feel it in the air, the slight crackling of the invisible gold between them a dead giveaway of what was going through her head. Her words were harsh, unravelling a web of anger she'd been crafting for the past decade, that last look he'd given her – right as her powers were being ripped from her mortal body – would haunt her for the rest of eternity.

Still, Satoru didn't hesitate, pushing himself off the wall and walking into her space. Soon, twenty steps turned into fifteen, which then turned into ten. The sorcerer paused, eyes flickering from the marble tiles on the floor up to Keisuke's still form. He looked like he was sleeping, a peaceful dream of a different world spinning in his mind, like the stories he liked so much.

But if Keisuke was indeed sleeping, he surely would never wake up.

"I'm just here to pay my respects and say goodbye." Satoru said calmly, slightly irritated when Mikazuki didn't step back, the air between them sparkling like static electricity as their powers clashed.

Ten steps, anything less than that and the chapel – as well as the entire Kinzoku Estate and everyone in it – would crumble into nothingness. That single thought continued to scream in his mind, telling him to step back.

Except he never had to, before. It was always Mikazuki; the one to yield first, to step back as he stepped in, keeping the distance between them despite his continuous attempts to frustrate it. It used to make him laugh, seeing the little Kinzoku girl shy away from him, even knowing exactly what would happen were he to reach out and actually close the distance between them.

A single touch, that's all it took to unravel all of existence.

Satoru took a deep breath, refusing to listen to that inner voice of his and stepping forwards once again. He reached out, taking Keisuke's other hand between his, the touch ephemeral and cold. He didn't expect for Mikazuki to say anything, not when she was still glaring at him from the other side of the table, as if he'd stolen something that wasn't his.

But Keisuke was his friend as much as he was her brother, and whatever claim she had to him had evaporated into thin air a decade ago when she plead guilty to a murder she did not commit – or at least, that's what he'd always believed, not that it made any difference.

"He shouldn't have died. Not like this." She said, an almost unperceivable waver in her voice.

Satoru looked up, his ocean eyes hidden behind the thick pair of sunglasses. She was right, though. He really shouldn't have. Keisuke was the second strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in Japan – if not in the world, although he probably would have been third had his twin sister not been exiled, and fourth if Geto was still alive –.

Shortly after Geto's downfall, it was Keisuke who had been assigned as Satoru's partner. The sorcerer was convinced it was just another move from The Magistrate, an attempt to keep him on a tight leash, but somewhere between their training sessions and their countless missions, they'd become friends.

Friends, such a strange word, especially when it concerned him. Satoru was unlikable, annoying at best, and he never had the time nor the patience to be friends with anyone, let alone be what he and Keisuke were – which was equals, at least in every way that mattered.

Satoru and Keisuke had partnered on multiple missions, they spent hours training together, finding a rhythm that would suit them both while also making sure their abilities never clashed, lest they accidentally destroy half of Tokyo.

It had been a dangerous alliance, one Satoru was sure The Magistrate regretted almost immediately after encouraging it. But unlike Mikazuki and Keisuke, whose hearts were tied to their families like a noose around their necks, Satoru had no weaknesses they could exploit, no threads to pull from to manipulate him like they did everyone else.

Satoru let out a heavy breath, carefully positioning Keisuke's limp hand back on the table.

"Goodbye, Kei. May you watch upon us from the stars."

Mikazuki glared at him.

"You've said your goodbyes, now please leave." She strained the word, each syllable coming out and feeling like a very well-placed dagger.

Satoru scoffed, moving away from Keisuke's body. Ten. Fifteen. Seventeen steps. The man looked up, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the woman in front of him. His Six Eyes could see right through her, through the thousands of layers after layers she created around her like an impenetrable armour. Mikazuki did not shy away or hesitate, returning that same look minus the Cursed Energy naturally imbued in his.

In that moment, what looked back at him were not the honey-coloured eyes of an old friend nor the tired gaze of a sorceress he used to know, but an endless abyss of vicious hatred and barely-contained rage. The look was not directed at him, thought, but at everything he stood for.

The Magistrate, the Jujutsu society, the Kinzoku clan. Everyone who'd ever dared go against her. Every single one of those fifty-nine people that stood and watched as part of her soul was ripped from her body.

There wasn't even a ghost, a remnant, of the girl she used to be.

No, Kinzoku Mikazuki was long gone, and whoever was staring back at him was nothing but her reanimated corpse with a conniving sorceress he did not recognize pulling at the strings.