Jujutsu Tech, Tokyo

May 25th  09:15 JST

2006

The world had narrowed to pain, sharp and all-consuming, as the cold edge of that lip-scar bastard's blade tore through my throat and dug a trench down my body. Blood spilled freely, soaking into the ground beneath me, turning the air metallic with its scent. Every nerve was ablaze, screaming, and my vision swam, doubling, blurring.

I tried to reach for something—anything that might stave off the darkness creeping in, the edges of my mind folding in on themselves. Infinity, I thought, but it was a word without weight now. Powerless. That damned cursed tool had rendered me bare and vulnerable, utterly unprotected.

I looked up at him—my killer. There was no hate, no anger in his eyes. Only the cold, methodical gaze of a predator, something feral and unfeeling. His movements were practiced, efficient, with the ease of someone who had done this countless times. And yet, there was something almost tender in the way he angled the blade, stabbing me in my leg repeatedly, aiming for the places he knew would hurt the most, drawing out every last ounce of suffering. The man who had bested me, stripped me of the endless power I once thought unassailable.

I had once believed in my own invincibility, that I was untouchable, unstoppable. But here, with each ragged breath filling my lungs, each desperate beat of my heart, the truth became undeniable.

I was dying.

For a fleeting moment, something quiet, almost peaceful, settled over me. The struggle waned, the fighting eased, and all that remained was a strange acceptance. Even the brightest flames could be snuffed out. The world around me dimmed, colors bleeding into a haze, and I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, the faint sound of my loved ones in my ears—Yaga-sensei's angry rants, Shoko's cutting remarks, and then, like a whisper in my mind, him.

Suguru.

It hit me with a force more brutal than my killer's blade. Suguru's voice, his kindness, his laughter. The memories sharpened with an ache that cut deeper than any wound. The weight of what could have been, of a path we might have walked together as the strongest duo, watching each others' backs—us against the world—, broke over me like waves, filling me with something tender, bittersweet. He had been my truest friend, the one who understood me beyond words, beyond power.

I hoped he'd remember me—not as a god, not as someone invincible. Just as I was, just as we were, back when things felt simple, back when there was still time.

The world faded to darkness, and my last thought was of him.

And then, when reality was but a pinprick of light, when I knew, for a fact, that I was about to go into the night, I realized something. Not a concept. Not a great revelation. Just a singular, all-encompassing refusal.

No.

Not now.

This was it. I had to do it now or this would be the end of me, the end of my story.

I had to master the Reverse Cursed Technique. Do or die.

Shoko described her cursed energy as having properties of rotation. Inverting her cursed energy into positive energy required that she rotate in the other direction.

But I knew better. I had the Six Eyes. I could see Cursed Energy better than anyone in this world. So why had it frustrated me for so long?

I gathered my cursed energy together and observed every property of it—its rotation, its flux, its very energy. Its waveform. There were too many ways to invert cursed energy. I could never settle on a single property. It never worked. Never made any sense.

With one final desperate push, I tried something insane—I tried to invert all of those properties at once.

I had no idea how else to do it, than for the cursed energy to do it to itself, somehow.

My head was getting foggy. My thoughts weren't making any sense.

On the verge of giving up, the answer came to me. I had to multiply my cursed energy against itself.

Negative times negative… equals positive.

The thought felt asinine. So idiotic that it just might work.

But how could I multiply my cursed energy in such a way?

That answer became clear as well. And with that clarity, the mental fog lifted.

I was awake now. Fully awake. Fully in pain, too. I had read about this somewhere—terminal lucidity. The brain doing one last hurrah before it prepared to shut everything down.

So… what was the plan?

If I was going to do this, it had to be all at once, without hesitation. Every shred of cursed energy I had needed to synchronize and amplify—multiply—itself into a total inversion. The trick was in focusing the energy, not to act on it directly, but to create an environment where it could act upon itself, a self-sustaining loop of power that could fuel the transformation.

I knew what I had to do: overlay my energy. Like layers on top of each other, stacking every piece of cursed energy I could summon into a dense, recursive form. By weaving and folding my cursed energy on itself, each layer could reflect off the next, creating a structure where it was forced to amplify and interact, doubling and redoubling, until the entire mass would collapse and, theoretically, invert.

With every ounce of focus, I shaped my cursed energy into interlocking strands, a web spiraling inward like the threads of a vortex.

The rotation stabilized, feeding back on itself, growing in intensity. My head pounded, and my body felt like it was burning from the inside out, but I pressed on, making each loop tighter and more condensed.

Finally, the energy began to surge, spiraling into an intense resonance. I could feel it in my bones: this was it. The finish line.

With a final push, the entire structure folded inward, crashing together in a blinding burst. In that instant, the cursed energy reversed, flooding me with a rush of healing energy. My wounds began to close, my mind clearing, and for the first time, I felt the pure, restorative flow of positive energy surge through me.

It surged through my cursed technique as well. All of my cursed energy poured into my technique somehow—

I blinked away the blue sky of Tokyo, and was enveloped by a searing bright shine of cursed energy crashing through space itself, breaking something.

No—

In one final, inexplicable heave, the world shattered, and through the pieces, I saw a starry night sky, and felt a cold wind brushing against me.

And the sea breeze in the air, telling me I was far from Mount Mushiro.

Star City

July 17th  23:20 PDT

2010

"Speedy, seriously—think about it!" Dick Grayson, alias Robin, ducked as a stack of heavy crates went flying over his head, narrowly missing him by inches. He gave a quick glance over at Aqualad, who was holding his ground against Brick, Green Arrow's brawny foe and one of Star City's more brutal villains. Brick's red-skinned bulk loomed out of the dock's shadows, his fists swinging wildly as he tried to take down the young heroes.

"We could really use you, man!" Robin shouted, his voice cracking just a bit from the adrenaline of the fight. He twisted mid-air, landed squarely on a metal crate, and launched himself back down to ground level to deliver a well-aimed kick at Brick's side. Not that it did much. The guy barely flinched, even as Aqualad's water-bearers struck him from the other side.

Speedy, or rather, Roy Harper, gave Robin a withering look as he nocked an arrow, his bowstring taut as he prepared to fire. "The 'Team'? What, like I don't already have enough babysitters?" His arrow flew straight, a high-tech explosive head arcing toward Brick and catching him across the shoulder, knocking him back just a bit.

"Speedy!" Aqualad called, his tone calm even as he braced against a blow from Brick that nearly rattled him back. "The Team has so much to offer. We have League level resources."

"I've got my skills," Speedy replied, vaulting over a series of crates and shooting off another arrow, this one exploding in a flash of blinding light. Brick staggered, growling and swinging blindly. "But I don't need a team to tell me how to use them!"

Robin landed back beside Aqualad, rolling his eyes. "Really, dude? Don't make us feel like we're not good enough." He meant it jokingly, but to his annoyance, Speedy didn't even budge.

Brick roared, launching forward with all the force of a freight train. Robin managed to dodge to the side as Aqualad swung his water-bearers in an arc, summoning a shield to block Brick's charge. The shield splashed and wavered but held, pushing Brick back a step.

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Brick sneered, his gravelly voice dripping with disdain. "What's wrong, Arrow couldn't make it himself? Had to send his little sidekicks to do a man's job?" He gestured dismissively with one oversized hand, chuckling as he looked down at them. "What are you, his backup plan? His little fetuses?"

Robin just grinned, unflinching. "Fetuses? Aw, c'mon, Brick, I thought you had better material. That was weak. Kinda like your right hook." He twirled his staff with a practiced flourish, completely unfazed.

Aqualad shot a quick, amused glance at Robin, calm as ever, even as he maintained his stance. But it was Roy—Speedy—who bristled, his grip tightening on his bow, his jaw clenched. "You want to try saying that to my face?" Roy snapped, stepping forward, his voice simmering with barely contained anger. "Come on, big guy, we'll see how funny you are when I've taken you down solo."

Robin shot a look his way. "Easy, Speedy. Don't get all worked up over his trash talk. It's Brick. We're fine."

But Speedy wasn't about to back down, and Brick's grin only widened as he watched the tension simmer in Roy's expression. "Oh, what's the matter? Little archer boy needs a pacifier?" Brick taunted, taking a heavy step forward, relishing the reaction.

Before Speedy could fire back, the dock lit up with an intense, blinding light. All of them turned, shielding their eyes as the area filled with a strange, swirling glow that pulsed and then expanded, twisting into the unmistakable shape of a portal. There was a crackle of static in the air, and then—something, someone—was spat out onto the ground with a sickening thud.

The figure lay limp, crumpled in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. He was darkly clad, wearing a dark turtleneck jacket and equally dark pants, tattered beyond belief. Robin could spy several holes in his clothes where blood gushed out in streams. Blood pooled rapidly beneath him on the asphalt of the dock. His clothes were torn and scorched, his white hair matted with fresh blood that trickled from several vicious wounds. He looked barely alive, every shallow, jagged breath a clear struggle.

Aqualad's stance shifted, his voice low and urgent. "Robin. Speedy. Stay alert. Whoever—or whatever—this is, we don't know if it's hostile."

But Robin had already started forward, squinting through the remnants of the fading light, curiosity piqued as much as caution. "I'm guessing he's not a threat. Looks more like he just had the worst day ever."

Speedy gave a skeptical huff but kept his bow drawn, watching the stranger with narrowed eyes. "Maybe, but we don't even know what planet this guy's from." That wasn't even an exaggeration. The guy had white hair, and he came out from a portal.

Brick's laughter broke through the silence. "Oh, look at this! Fresh meat. Thinks he can come bleeding all over my turf, huh?" He cracked his knuckles, lumbering forward. "Guess I'll just have to put him out of his misery."

But before Brick could get close, Robin stepped in front of the fallen stranger, hands on his hips, giving Brick an unimpressed look. "Wow, Brick, you really wanna kick a guy when he's down? Not exactly subtle. Guess the big leagues never taught you that one."

Brick scowled. "You're in my way, kid."

Robin's grin widened. "That's funny—I don't see your name on the docks. You might want to back off before I start kicking."

Behind him, the stranger's eyes fluttered open, his sharp blue gaze unfocused and distant. He let out a faint, ragged breath, his lips moving as though he was trying to speak.

"Ah… nande?" the man rasped, voice so faint it was barely audible.

Robin crouched down, glancing back at his team. "Aqualad, keep Brick busy, yeah? And Speedy—calm down. We don't need more arrows flying just yet." He turned his attention back to the stranger, his tone shifting to one of reassurance. "Hey, don't worry. You're safe here, okay? We've got you."

The stranger's eyes fixed on him, a strange, haunting resolve flickering within them despite the weakness of his body. He seemed to struggle for words, his breathing shallow, but there was something unyielding in his gaze.

"Mada... owarenai," he whispered, his hand twitching as though he were grasping for something beyond his reach.

Whoever he was, wherever he'd come from, he clearly had his own fight still raging somewhere inside him. Robin grasped for the words in Japanese, "Daijobu desu ka?"

"Owarenai!" he roared, pushing himself up to his feet.

Robin blinked, his usual snark fading as he watched the man rise, each wound knitting itself back together. The air grew dense with a dark, almost tangible energy, and small pebbles lifted from the ground, suspended in the oppressive atmosphere. A malice so intense radiated from the white-haired stranger that even Robin felt it, a chill creeping down his spine.

"Enough of this!" Brick shouted, about to bowl over Robin if he hadn't jumped to the side in time, throwing a pair of birdarangs. They plinked off Brick's stone-hard skin as he cocked his fist back to strike at the injured guy.

Brick let his fist fly. The man dodged. Brick punched again. The man took a step back, wavering like a flag as he dodged with a chuckle. "Dare da omae?" he said with a voice full of mirth.

Robin fell back into the sidelines, observing. This… didn't feel right. That man was clearly way more powerful than he let on. Aqualad and Speedy ran up to stand besides him. "What is he saying?" Aqualad asked.

"It's not over," Robin said, "And, he mocked Brick."

Brick began to grunt in exertion as he put his entire back into his lightning-fast and wall-destroying punches, only for the white-haired man to dodge every time.

The man's gaze locked onto Brick, who was frozen, wide-eyed, clearly unnerved. Then he started floating.

Brick broke the ground beneath him and began to toss pieces of asphalt at him. The pieces froze mid-air when they approached the white-haired man. "Telekinesis," Robin immediately said, typing that into his wrist computer for his report to the Batman.

With a steady, deliberate motion, the stranger raised his hand, shaping it into a finger-gun pointed directly down at Brick. He grinned. "Jutsushiki Hanten… Aka!"

Then, without a word, he fired—an invisible force blasting Brick back, sending him hurtling through stacked crates in an explosive trail of deformed metal and scattered debris that toppled over entire towers of cargo crates, many of them falling into the water.

Slowly, the stranger straightened, his arms spreading wide as he threw his head back and laughed, triumphant. "Mitsuka ta!" he cried, his voice carrying in the still air.

"I have it," Robin translated.

The young heroes kept a wide berth, exchanging wary glances as they assessed the man's state. But he didn't seem to hear them, his focus entirely elsewhere, as if reveling in a newfound power.

The stranger's gaze turned toward the ocean, and with a glint of exhilaration, he muttered, "Kitto kore mo dekiru…"

"I bet I can do this, too," Robin translated.

"English, motherfucker!" Brick roared as he dug himself out through the cargo crates, bleeding from everywhere.

The man looked down at him and grinned. The grin was all edges and mania. "Alright. Let me put it simply, Amerikajin. Throughout the heavens and the earth," he said in a heavily accented English as he raised his left hand—index and middle finger held back by his thumb—aiming at brick, and his right hand over his head, pointing behind him, "I alone am the honored one."

Brick's eyes widened as he saw something that no one else did, immediately losing his cool. What was it? All the guy was doing was threatening to flick something over to him. "Wait, no, no—"

"Kyoshiki… Murasaki!"

He flicked his fingers. And in that split second between order and total annihilation, Robin understood Brick's fear.

The air cried. Pure destruction without shape, color or form tore through everything in the path that the white-haired man pointed. The shockwave tore through the remaining cargo crates, shattering them instantly, digging into the ground and continuing forward with unstoppable force, gouging a massive trench through the dock and straight out to sea. The water split open along the line of the blast, waves surging outward as a temporary canyon carved its way into the ocean.

Robin forced himself to stop shivering, looking at the man staring at the destruction he had wrought with undisguised glee. He bent over backwards laughing.

"We need to contact the league," Aqualad decided, his voice shaking. "Now."