Play Hell With ✔ // MEGUMI X SUKUNA

[ 11 ] Hostage Etiquette: A Memoir By Sukuna, Itadori, And Megumi

Subtlety wasn't Sukuna's preferred method, but in this instance, delayed gratification was something Sukuna could certainly get behind. Victory would be far sweeter so long as Megumi was evaded, the fingers extracted, and his power restored.

And so, Sukuna led the charge at the behest of Mahito's directions. The patchwork curse certainly had a knack for being annoying, but they had one thing going for them: and that was loyalty. They fell into place at even the barest of glances from Sukuna.

They made quick work of each line of jujutsu guards leading up to the warehouse. It was so uneventful Sukuna felt it beneath him to even mention it.

You'd think a school of sorcery would have better established security, he thought, folding his arms over his chest as Mahito pushed ajar the doors to the warehouse.

The warehouse itself appeared like a stone mausoleum equipped with a garage door for transportation. Once inside, they stood before a hall of vaulted doors and a presence that sent Sukuna's blood singing.

Surely they're here, Sukuna breathed internally, anticipation rising to the surface.

He gave the curse a nudge forward, saying, "Come on then. Do you sense it?"

"This way," Mahito said, leading them forward.

Around the corner, a guard was waiting for them. The shock hardly escaped their lips in a cry before Sukuna flicked his hand up, striking across their torso. The slice ripped up from their ribcage and sent their bottom half curling under the weight of their attached arm. The body slapped across their path, only to divide further upon Sukuna's passing by with Mahito at his heels.

"Here," Mahito urged, halting Sukuna in his tracks.

The door wasn't unlike any other door in the vicinity. Upon first glance, Sukuna wouldn't have thought much of it, and thought that this was a shame. To be kept apart for so long, even sealed he begged to know that his fingers recognized him, called to him, even.

Instead, he stood before the unmarked, insignificant door and let his disgust permeate.

This is where they'd been keeping him?

"How disappointing," he mused aloud, and laid a hand to the door's surface.

A barrier fizzled to life upon contact, resisting him. It crackled in a flare of black around his hand, fingers splaying. A smile split across his lips, overtaking his entire face as a seam spread across the door.

Yes, he thought, alive. Yes! Soon I will—

The moment the door split in two, dread caught wind of his body. His blood ran cold, and though the contents of this room were everything to him, everything he had ever wanted, this wasn't cursed energy he was feeling.

Nor was it originating from the vault, and it was familiar.

"No," he said aloud, voice dipping.

Beside him, Mahito stood at attention, whipping around in the direction Sukuna could only glance at out of the corner of his eye.

Their two worst counterparts were there, and it was all Sukuna could do to keep from exploding in a rage. His fingers were just in his grasp—in sight, even!—and yet he couldn't move under the imposing and all-consuming weight of Megumi's glare.

It constricted him with a fist around his throat. Speech proved an impossible task, but he managed it through gritted teeth. "Retreat."

Mahito flinched. He'd already taken a step back at the sight of Gojo at Megumi's back, stepping around the kid to approach. "But—"