Forgotten Souls (JJK)

(A/N: Have you guys seen the lastest chap in csm? Like 193? That's my GOAT Yoru. It's so peak.)

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On the other side of the campus.

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Panda stood firm at the front line, his massive frame tensed as he let out a low growl. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, his fur bristling as the sheer number of enemies pressed in around them.

"They just keep coming." Panda muttered, clenching his fists. "We'll be overwhelmed if we don't do something soon."

Beside him, Inumaki Toge exhaled sharply, his hand clutching his throat, sore from overusing Cursed Speech. He barely had time to recover, but there was no hesitation in his eyes, only unshakable determination.

He inhaled deeply. 

"Get crushed!"

His voice rippled through the battlefield like an explosion of power. The air warped, his command tearing through the enemy ranks. The sheer weight of his cursed energy slammed into the approaching horde.

Dozens of curses convulsed and collapsed, their twisted bodies disintegrating into dust.

But it wasn't enough.

More of their ranks filled their place in no time.

From above, the sharp shriek of a winged curse split the air. Its leathery wings beat violently as it dived toward Panda and Toge, its talons gleaming in the moonlight, aiming straight at them—

A blinding arc of silver slashed across the night sky.

The creature's head split from its body, blood spraying as its lifeless corpse crashed into the stone path.

Maki Zenin landed in a crouch, her polearm humming with residual power. She shot up in an instant, spinning the weapon over her shoulders.

"Tch. Weak."

She spat to the side before casting a sharp glance at her teammates.

"We're holding, but if Geto himself steps in—"

Before she could finish, something loomed over her.

A massive, distorted shadow.

Maki spun instinctively, her grip tightening as she drove her weapon forward.

The blade sank deep into the chest of a towering curse, splitting it cleanly in two. Its blood splattered across her uniform, but she didn't flinch one bit.

She was used to fighting Curses anyway.

Maki clicked her tongue in annoyance, scanning the swarming curse army before them. Her stamina was running low. 

She could hold her own in battle, but covering her classmates while fighting off this relentless horde was clearly pushing her limits.

If only that guy were here.

A sudden roar shook the ground beneath her.

A gorilla-like Grade 1 Curse lunged at Maki with terrifying speed, its massive arms raised, its fanged mouth twisted into a sick grin.

She braced herself, preparing for the impact—

But it never came.

An object burst forth from the curse's back.

It was a bloodied, armored hand with a beating heart in its grasp.

The Curse froze, its grotesque eyes widening in shock. It turned its head ever so slightly—

And then it saw him.

A knight in black armor, his presence cold and unyielding. The gaping space in his helmet revealed a pair of merciless grey eyes. Dull and indifferent.

He tightened his grip on the curse's heart. It bursted under his crushing force, splashing blood everywhere.

The beast thrashed violently, using its last strength to unleash a last desperate attempt but—

The knight didn't give it any damn chance. He dug his other hand into the bloody wound to rip it apart just by his sheer physical prowess. It let out a deafening roar as its body was torn in half and fell lifelessly to the ground.

A display of strength that few could match.

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Maki let out a breath before smirking. She rolled her shoulders, flicking her weapon to shake off the blood.

"What took you so long, old man?"

At least they could finally breathe. However, they soon realized something was off.

The battlefield was eerily still, contrasting with the chaos that took place a second ago as if everything had come to a stop.

The only sound that was still presented was the rustling of his tattered cape as he stood like a monolith amidst the raging battlefield. 

He stood unmoving, his battered armor covered in blood of the Cursed Spirit and cuts alike. The scratches and fractures across its surface told the tale of countless battles. 

Maki felt a strange dissonance as she stared at the familiar figure yet oddly stood out of place.

He was colder, more calculating as if the one that had trained her over the years and the one that stood before her were completely different entities.

Veilhem's ominous presence was enough to bring out the fear hidden in Sorcerers and Curses alike.

Something felt terribly wrong.

Maki watched him carefully, gripping her weapon in an act of trying to calm her wildly beating heart for a moment. Then she realized something.

Veilhem was not just standing there. It was as if he was waiting for something or… someone.

Then, with fluid movement, he stepped aside. Behind his fluttering cape, there stood the figure.

There stood a woman that Maki had often seen along with Veilhem over the past 10 years. 

Makima.

She moved with an unnatural grace, her steps unhurried and her gaze remained steadfast.

She wrapped herself in the nun's attire that clung perfectly to her form. The long slit in her dress revealed her long legs wrapped in black stockings that made her feel more seductive and unsettling.

(Pic)

It didn't give off a holy grace but rather a clumsy imitation of a Devil trying to fit the role. A mockery of what was deemed as divinity and pure.

There was something fundamentally wrong in the way she moved. The way her amber eyes glowed faintly in the dark, devoid of any warmth. Her cold gaze swept through the field, giving off an unnatural creeping sensation for anyone who looked at her.

The air felt heavy with tension, as though reality had bent itself to accommodate her existence.

Maki's breath caught in her throat. She didn't know why, but every instinct screamed at her to move, to strike, or simply to do something before it was too late.

But before she could react, Veilhem lowered himself onto one knee.

"What the…" Maki muttered.

A scene had suddenly turned into a knight bowing before his lady.

With one hand pressed against his chest, his head bowed low. There was no hesitation, only reverence in the face of the person he served.

Makima barely acknowledged it, her gaze fixed on the empty air above, as though peering into something beyond mere mortal comprehension. 

Slowly, she raised her hands, stretching outward as though beckoning a divinity, unseen to the eyes.

The motion was almost ceremonial if not for the fact that Makima was no virtuous entity. She was a Devil in the holy attire of a saint, not even bothered enough to hide her wicked presence.

Her eyes gleamed with hysterical and ecstasy.

Slowly, her lips parted, and the word slithered forth, thick and unnatural, its very presence defiled the air.

"Kneel."

A simple word. 

It did not echo nor did it ring with force. 

It slithered into existence with something that did not belong to this world. 

It was not a request. 

It was an order.

The world itself seemed to react in response, warping under the weight of her voice. A soundless pressure crashed down, heavy and suffocating, like there were unseen hands pressing upon the skulls of all who stood before her.

The Curses dropped first, their grotesque bodies convulsing, limbs bending in unnatural degrees. Their gnashing maws opened in silent screams, yet none of them could rise against her command. 

Then, the earth shook, splitting and cracking as if fearing her one word.

A tremor ran through the remaining young Sorcerers, spreading through every fiber of their muscles, their bones, and their very souls.

This was not something in the scope of power known to them.

This was the law of their own plane of existence.

The young Sorcerers watched as the swamp of Curses, grotesque and wild just moments ago, thrashed uncontrollably as their very souls put up a struggle to resist the command before fully succumbing.

One by one, they collapsed like marionettes in a play that had done its role and got their strings cut abruptly.

Only a minute had passed since their arrival, yet the heavy scent of blood and decay thickened in the air.

A low, guttural wail rose from the horde. Not a cry of defiance, but one of submission, and along with it, a primal feeling that was also the most profound.

Fear.

It was no different with the Sorcerers. It was fear that was coursing through their veins as the profane baptism continued to transpire on this filthy battlefield.

It was hard to even see this as a battlefield anymore. 'Carnage' would be a better word to describe this status quo.

Above their heads, the world seemed to wrap itself in its exquisite light brought by the moon. 

It soon changed as the sky darkened, not with clouds, but with something else beyond the grasp of the feeble mind of a human. 

The fabric of their reality twisted, weaving its colors into one another before fading into a pitch-black abyss of undiluted blasphemy.

Then, the moon, which was once a silent observer of the chaos below began to wither. A writhing darkness slithered across its surface, slowly devouring its light like ink spilling across a white paper.

It was not an eclipse, nor an absence of illumination. It was as though the celestial body had never belonged in the sky to begin with.

When the darkness had completely consumed it, a thin, fragile light emerged, outlining the abyss within like a mourning veil, weeping with poignant sorrow.

But this light carried no such divine radiance…It was bleeding.

A thin, sickly stream of luminescence dripped down from the blackened sphere, searing the air with its unholy touch like molten sin, soaking into the earth, and beneath that maddening sight were Veilhem and Makima.

It was an omen sign, a divine decree written in the language of old that was simply forgotten in the passage of time.

The Dark Sigil.

Maki and her peers could only watch, their breath caught in their throat in primal fear. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the weight of something unspeakable pressing down upon their shoulders. 

Every thought, every cell of their flesh screamed at them to run away rather than bearing witness to the horror that unfolded before their very eyes to protect what little sanity was left in them.

Yet they could not gather their thoughts to look away.

Because at that fleeting moment, they also knew.

This was no longer a battle.

This was a ritual for a deity that had lost its name.

The air churned, thick and heavy with unspoken words. From the ground beneath, the flesh and blood of the fallen Curses that had not dispersed into dust began to crawl toward Makima, pulsing with a grotesque vitality as if they had their own sentience.

The flesh twisted, bones grazing against each other with wet visceral, merging into something wretched yet somehow ordained. 

[The Unholy Halo of the First Genesis.] (A/N: Basically the Brain Halo in the manga.)

It pulsed with a heartbeat of malign divinity. Crimson droplets trickled down its newly formed surface, a silent offering to the one who bore it. And yet, none of it could stain Makima's elegant garments. 

Instead, it only served to emphasize the stark contrast of the profane carnage against her untouched beauty.

With grace, she extended her hand, and Veilhem, without hesitation, took it with reverence, lowering his head until his forehead pressed gently against the back of her palm. 

Then from within his armor, a sudden burst of flame began to surge forth. It did not rage, nor did it seek to consume him.

For Ashes always seekth Embers.

The ethereal embers clung to his battle-worn armor, flickering like fireflies flapping their wings, getting caught in an ancient dance. 

The glow of molten gold intertwined with smoldering black armor like embers clung to the veins of a dying star. Each flicker of light traced along his armor, illuminating the scars of countless battles. 

It was as if a Lord of Cinder had graced this very earth once again.

With a slow and deliberate motion, Veilhem turned. They could feel his frame rise slowly with a renewed purpose. He never stood straight, but instead deliberately lowered his stance to match Makima's height.

The words were left unspoken between them as Makima simply smiled gently. She pressed her body against his back, her delicate arms curling around his neck in an embrace that was both intimate and trusting.

The stark contrast between their presence and the wreckage ruins brought by them was simply mind blogging.

It felt like a painting of something sacred yet full of profanity. A deception so perfectly crafted that it could only be called a divine art.

"Usage: Weapon Creation…" Makima's voice rang out, smooth and unwavering.

"Warhammer." Veilhem completed her words without any delay.

In an instant, flames erupted from the empty air, raging in its dim light. From within the searing embers, a warhammer began to take shape, born of fire and tempered by will.

Veilhem reached out, his gauntlets grasping around the weapon's handle. The moment his grip tightened, the flames clung to the hammer's surface, crackling with an eerie, smoldering glow of the same embers around his body.

Together, they turned their gaze upon the young sorcerers.

Through the gap in Veilhem's helmet, the Sorcerers were greeted with a cold gaze.

They bore no hatred. No fury. Only the cold, absolute recognition of defiance.

[Veilhem, the Abyssal Crusader.]

[Makima, False Saintess of the Broken Covenant.]

Maki clenched her jaw, fingers tightening around her weapon until her knuckles turned white. Her breath came uneven, shallow. She had seen powerful sorcerers, had witnessed many monstrous techniques—

But this.

This was something else entirely. A phenomenon beyond anything recorded, beyond logic and the natural order of the jujutsu world itself.

It was like a level 1 novice got thrown into a battle with the final boss in hell difficulty.

A crawling dread coiled around her chest, tightening at her pounding heart.

"Why so surprised, my apprentice?" Veilhem spoke, his deep voice pulled her out of the trance.

Maki's breath hitched. The words reached her ears, a familiar voice that usually sounded tired and didn't care about anything in the world now felt colder than even the most freezing place on earth. 

She forced herself to swallow, forcing the question that stuck in her throat.

"What the hell… is the meaning of this?"

A pause. The weight of an answer she wasn't sure she wanted.

"It's alright for you to not know." He chuckled, his voice laced with a cold sort of amusement. "After all, I teach you everything you know. Not everything I know."

"Now come forth, defend against us if you don't wish to die a pathetic death."

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(A/N: I will dip for a while, can't write this much in such a short time man. Gib me reviews and your stones plwease)