Jujutsu Kaisen: Tickless

"Some deaths you dodge. Some, you bury inside you."

Timeframe: Days after the twin invasions of Tokyo and Kyoto

Location: The outskirts of Aomori, abandoned shrine sector — dead zone for cursed signals

Rain fell sideways, slicing through pine branches like needles. The wind howled like it remembered grief.

Akira's breath fogged in the air. His hood was soaked. His coat was torn.

They were running.

Behind him, Momo Nishimiya ducked low beneath a rusted torii gate, her broom tucked under one arm, her other gripping a blood-slicked shikigami dagger.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

Akira wasn't supposed to be alive.

But here they were — hunted.

"Two more behind us," Momo said, panting. "From Kuroiwa Branch. I think they're Grade 1."

"They won't talk first," Akira said quietly. "They're not here to bring me in."

"Then we bury them."

Akira didn't answer.

He didn't want to fight.

Not now. Not again. Not with echoes twitching under his skin.

They found shelter beneath a collapsed shrine roof, hidden under a layer of temporal static from one of Akira's emergency relics — a failed time anchor that warped cursed perception.

Momo watched him unwrap the seal from an old charm scroll. "Why do they want you dead?"

Akira's eyes were shadowed. "Because I'm not just me anymore."

She narrowed her eyes. "The echoes?"

He nodded. "One of them hijacked my body during the Kyoto fight. Nearly triggered a domain. Gojo stopped it... but not before HQ marked me for purging."

"And you're just accepting that?"

"No," he said. "But I can't fight back either. Every time I touch cursed energy, they get stronger."

"And you were going to sneak off alone and die like a dog?"

He glanced sideways. "You followed me."

"Damn right I did."

Their conversation didn't last.

Because the shrine bell clanged once — with no wind.

Then silence.

Then — whispers.

Three figures emerged from the forest. All wore black robes etched in gold talisman script. Executioner-level jujutsu clerics. Heads of branches. Each carried a different execution weapon.

"Rensetsu Akira," the leader said. "By order of the Directorate and the Gojo abstention clause, you are hereby marked for silent purging. You may offer your last rites."

Momo stood. "You'll have to go through me."

"Denied," the second man said, flicking a talisman — Momo was bound mid-air, crushed against a tree by gravity-etched kanji. She screamed, but didn't fall unconscious.

Akira stepped forward slowly.

He didn't draw CE. He didn't activate his technique.

Instead, he said softly:

"Don't make me remember how I killed you."

The wind snapped.

Then one moved.

A flash — a blade carved through the space Akira had just occupied. But he'd already dropped low, sliding under the slash, pivoting on one palm and sweeping a kick into the man's shin. The force wasn't much — Akira wasn't strong.

But it disrupted the stance — long enough for him to dive away.

The second attacker hurled a cursed rope forward — it glowed with sealing energy.

Akira jumped.

But not high enough.

The rope snapped around his ankle mid-air and jerked him down — slamming his body into the mud.

"Technique still sealed?" the third asked.

"For now. One more minute of stalling and he'll try it. We finish him before then."

Akira lay dazed, body screaming, curses in his blood twitching — feed me power, let me out, let us out—

He gritted his teeth. "No…"

They closed in.

A boot landed on his back.

"Such a pity. You look tired. Should've just let the domain kill you."

Akira's fingers twitched.

And that's when it happened.

Time stopped ticking.

A low hum filled the air — not sound, not cursed energy, but memory.

A death echo.

His hand curled into the dirt — and closed around something.

The space shimmered.

And then it appeared.

The Regret Stake.

Black. Cracked. Glassy. Runed. Leaking seconds like blood.

The executioner blinked. "What—"

Akira's body moved — even before his brain caught up.

He twisted his body violently, stabbing the stake backward over his shoulder — it pierced flesh, and the man behind him froze with a rattled gasp.

A second later — another stab landed in the same wound. Timeline Reverb.

The man howled as his CE desynced, staggering, bleeding black smoke.

Akira rose. He didn't chant. Didn't scream.

He fought like a glitch in reality.

He slashed with the stake, each movement echoed by a fractured afterimage. The cursed weapon hummed, syncing with aborted versions of Akira from timelines that never survived.

He landed a stab on the second attacker's leg — and time jumped. The man's foot lagged behind his body, twisted sideways as he screamed.

The third launched binding spears — but Akira ducked, rolled, and used the warped timeline air itself to misalign the trajectory.

Then he lunged forward — and plunged the Regret Stake into the man's ribs.

The runes glowed bright red.

Akira's body shook.

His nose bled instantly. His eyes dilated. His body remembered injuries it never got — bruises forming across his ribs, a slash opening on his back.

He screamed through clenched teeth.

"One more second…"

The attackers were collapsing — screaming, twitching from cursed dissonance.

And Momo finally broke free — flinging a gust of cursed wind that knocked one of them into a tree hard enough to snap bone.

She stood beside Akira, blood running down her temple.

"You okay?" she asked, trembling.

"No," Akira said. "I remember dying again."

They didn't wait.

They ran.

Later that night, deep in the ravines of Tohoku —

Akira sat by a fire, stake on the ground, shaking hands barely able to hold tea.

Momo stitched his arm in silence.

"You'll die if you keep using that thing," she said.

He didn't look at her. "Then help me stop needing it."

She tightened the knot on the bandage. "I'm with you. Not because you're right. Not because I trust the echoes."

He looked up.

"But because I saw what the higher-ups did. I was there when they planned it. I saw the memo about your domain… and what it could become."

"…And?"

She exhaled. "If they want you erased that bad, you must matter."

He stared at the fire. Then at the stake.

Then at his hands.

"I don't even know if I'm still me."

She touched his shoulder.

"You are. But you're not alone in there anymore."