Chapter 12. The Chosen One
Standing before Gojo were four of World Hunger's finest Generals, all intent on harming him. Even Gojo could sense that their cursed energy was condensing within them at an alarming rate, faster than he could condense his own. However, this didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
Gojo glanced over at Jamal, offering a reassuring nod and urging him to continue toward the Cursed Womb before it birthed an abomination.
Among the four Generals stood a curse that resembled an old man with a large stomach, the size of the grudge he held against Gojo. This curse was known as Grandpa Kwashiorkor, possessing a cursed technique that could severely manipulate the nutritional content of the human body, particularly targeting protein. His cursed technique was called Malnourishment.
Standing next to him was another curse, composed of pale, slimy bones that added to the stench. This curse bore a striking resemblance to the dried bones of a dinosaur typically found displayed in a museum. It towered like a dinosaur but lacked a definite shape, capable of adjusting its size as needed. This curse also harbored a grudge against Gojo for killing one of its Beasts. Ancient and born from the negative emotions of dinosaurs during their feared extinction, it referred to its curses as Beasts and was determined to avenge the fallen.
This dinosaur-like curse was called Saurorath, and it had a cursed technique that directly affected bones - a technique whose name was long forgotten, even by its user.
Next was a grotesque amalgamation of pale, patched insects of various sizes and shapes. It was difficult to discern a particular insect as the head, which likely contributed to this General's superior strength in the dungeon; you would have to eliminate all its locusts before discovering its weakness. This General was Swam of Locusts, a devour-er of crops. Even without unleashing its cursed technique, Swam of Locusts possessed the ability to consume anything at a record pace, faster than anything else.
Standing out from the other Generals was Monsieur Withering, who appeared especially fixated on Jamal. True to his name, his cursed technique belonged to the Fluid Manipulation Family of Cursed Techniques, and Jamal found himself battling to retain his blood within his body against Monsieur Withering's eccentric desires.
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"Come here, mon ami," Monsieur Withering's voice echoed with relentless insistence, his dried roots extending towards me like eager tentacles.
It seemed that his eccentric desire to savor even the tiniest droplet of my blood drove him with an almost insatiable hunger. Each time his roots grazed my skin or he drew upon his cursed energy to extract it, he paused, savoring the essence as though it were the most exquisite delicacy in the world.
While I found his actions absurd, they paradoxically played a role in keeping me alive, a fact for which I couldn't help but be grateful. "If Monsieur Withering was as greedy as Drool, I would have definitely been dried up by now."
"Let me taste more of your exquisite blood, boisson," his voice crooned, an eager blend of hunger and satisfaction underlying his words.
With another punch, I aimed to exorcise yet another of his dried roots attempting to ensnare or cut me, though I knew it was a futile effort. Monsieur Withering's regeneration was swift. As the dried root that buzzed with exorcism, it regenerated almost simultaneously.
My efforts left me felling more drained, the cursed energy I had been learning to wield now flowing in strained explosions, barely enough to deliver a decisive blow and perform an exorcism. I visualized my tank as having run out of most of the water, with no viable means to refill and replenish it at the moment.
"Most of the taps can't even allow for a drop to flow," I imagined the analogy, comparing it to how feebly I felt my cursed energy flowing.
However, despite my exhaustion, I remained steadfast in my determination to fulfill my mission, a path I had chosen for myself. I had to throw that 'Perfect Punch' with all I had remaining!
"Not today, Monsieur," I gritted through clenched teeth, my voice strained with exertion as I tried to dodge through the withered features projected by Monsieur Withering.
But no matter how swiftly I moved or how fiercely I fought, Monsieur Withering's roots seemed to be omnipresent, springing up from the ground like withered manifestations of death.
"Give in, monsieur," Monsieur Withering taunted, his voice dripping with desire. "I will have another drink, boisson!"
"I will drink to my fill, flétrissant!"
'He moves with the patience of a predator toying with its prey,' I observed, noting the deliberate manner in which Monsieur Withering conducted himself. His apparent restraint granted me the opportunity to gather my strength now and then, but I wondered for how long it would continue like that. 'There's a sense that he could unleash his full power at any moment, and drink me up in less than a second. Is he only holding back because of his eccentric nature?'
"Oh well, it doesn't matter," I breathed, my gaze fixed on the Cursed Womb obscured by Monsieur Withering's imposing figure. "I know for a fact that I won't meet my end here today."
"At least not until that cursed womb is exorcised," I noted, racking my brain on how I would bypass Monsieur Withering. Seeing that Gojo was engulfed in his most intense fight yet, I knew that I had to make it past Withering on my own.
'I need to switch it up,' I reasoned silently, observing that Withering wasn't that far off from Drool - a curse that's powerful but holding back due to natural desires.
'Provoke him until he loses sight of his edge,' I decided, relying on a tactic I often used to gain an upper hand while quarreling with my peers.
"Is that your strategy, Monsieur?" I prodded, my voice dripping with feigned doubt. "To simply stand there and threaten me with your withered roots?"
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"I will savor every drop of your exquisite blood, boisson," Withering responded, lazily shifting its top roots, with withered leaves occasionally fluttering down.
"And how does my blood compare?" I baited further, knowing his penchant for such discussions. Drawing upon my fondness for milk, I found a point of connection.
"Your blood, mon ami," he began, his voice tinged with longing. "It tastes like the finest Bordeaux, with a richness that lingers on the palate long after it has been savored."
He extended his roots toward me, though he didn't move to attack immediately.
"It's the best you've ever tasted," I asserted confidently.
"Ai, c'est magnifique," he murmured with desire. "It quenches my thirst, flétrissant."
"It's unfortunate," I murmured, casting a glance towards Monsieur Withering. "That if I were to perish in this dungeon, you would never have the chance to taste another drop of my blood."
"I will have had my fill, monsieur," he said as his roots ensnared me with tiny prickles. I allowed it, ready to deliver the final bait.
"But what if I told you there were more like me, with the same blood, my blood relatives," I lied, enduring the draining sensation. "If I'm dead, I can't take you to them?"
"Then I will devour the entire world to find them, flétrissant," Withering declared, his grin widening as he relished my blood.
"But you can't," I countered, nearly fearing my plan was failing. "You can't find them unless I guide you."
"I detest my family, and I am willing to die for my cause," I added, bravely, believing that my family existed out of Jujutsu Kaisen universe. "Allow me to reach that cursed womb, and I will lead you to them, where you may savor every drop at your leisure."
Desperation to pique his interest and seal the deal saw me making a blunder - a desperate gamble. "Let's even form a pact!"
"Ai! flétrissant!" Withering nearly screamed with excitement as our cursed energies melded. "It's a deal, monsieur."
The forming of our pact was quicker than I had anticipated, sending a pang of fear through me as I realized the weight of the consequences if I failed to meet my end of the bargain.
'Fuck!' I cursed inwardly. 'I just hope that at most, I will only be attacked by a vengeful cursed spirit as a consequence for not fulfilling my end.' That didn't seem so bad to me.
Despite the surge of regret, I didn't hesitate to pass through as Withering created a hole for me to slip through, the cursed womb within my grasp.
"The bastard is probably going to attack me when I make it to the cursed womb, but it's okay," I muttered to myself, wishing I had been more stern with the terms of our agreement. Yet, I remained positive. "I will have already landed the 'Perfect Punch'."
With every step toward the cursed womb, I focused on my breathing, letting go of any sense of worry and honing in on the main faucet of my tank. This was the moment I had been practicing for.
With each step, I could feel the tension building within me, like a coiled spring ready to unleash its energy. My focus narrowed to a singular point, my mind empty of everything except the task at hand. I could sense the flow of cursed energy within me, pulsating in rhythm with my heartbeat, urging me onward.
With each breath, I visualized my only singular purpose in this Dungeon: to land the 'Perfect Punch' and exorcise the abomination within, just as Gojo had made me believe.
As I finally reached striking distance of the cursed womb, I could feel the energy bubbling through me, a torrent of power flowing to be unleashed. I launched myself forward, driving my fist with all the force I could muster.
Time seemed to slow as my fist connected with the cursed womb, a shockwave rippling outward from the point of impact. For a fleeting moment, everything was still, suspended in a silent void.
And then-
"I will not... tolerate... any more of this impunity...," a commanding voice boomed from within the cursed womb, its authority echoing through the chamber. My fist was suddenly crushed by an oppressive force, as if an invisible hand had seized hold of me.
"Something stopped my punch!" I exclaimed, fear and uncertainty overwhelming me as the unseen force pushed my hand back, an elongating appendage emerging from within the cursed womb.
"This... stops... now...!" the voice commanded, its authority bending my outstretched hand before using it to throw me flying across the chamber. My mind burned with shock as the rest of my body sizzled and contorted with fear.
In a reactive motion, I crashed through the air, hurtling uncontrollably toward the ground. Monsieur Withering, acting as an unwitting cushion, absorbed some of the impact, but both of us were propelled backward by the sheer force of the collision. The momentum sent us tumbling further, our bodies entangled in a dance of pain and confusion.
As I lay writhing in agony on the ground, my vision alternated between moments of clarity and blurriness. Through the haze, I watched as a figure fully emerged from the cursed womb, its features gradually becoming clearer with each strained effort to focus.
As my vision alternated between moments of clarity and blurriness, the features of the figure gradually sharpened with each effort to focus. I could discern the pointed horns protruding from its eyes and the left hand concealed in what appeared to be dark fabric. Yet, I knew it wasn't fabric at all, as the image of the curse emerging stirred memories within me.
"I-I-I.." I stammered, the need to speak overwhelming me. "I know you. You are..-"
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'The One' is a trilogy of chapters:
1. The Honored One ✓
2. The Chosen One ✓
3. Guess me
This trilogy marks the end of this arc and transitions the story to Jujutsu High. Did you love it?
Spoiler alert: Expect 'Suguru' soon, but not this soon.
The next chapter is 6500 words long. Why don't you hop aboard my patreon.com/cursedmillennial ship and read ahead up to chapter 20 (latest). Thank you for reading this far.