17 Created
The darkness was so comforting, the soft shadowy edges fading into the infinity of nothing. The absence of thought, light, life. Nothing could go wrong because there was nothing. There was no peace even. There was nothing to ruin.
Just… nothing.
It was as it should be.
Death, something so many humans feared, is the most overwhelming influx of negative emotions. Regrets, doubts, wishes and dreams. All of them coming up in those last moments when they couldn't be changed… just… seen.
But death was so nice once you were experiencing it. To be nothing again, to worry about nothing. To be whole and empty. It was beautiful.
But it was torn away from him.
The chiming of bells, hundreds, thousands, millions. Radiating through the air, bringing waves of pressure. Sound so deafening in the once peaceful silence. The high screech shook his sight, his vision blurring. He was going to be sick.
The shattering of space, cracks webbing out from his hands and feet, the slow crawl of shattering glass splintering reality into shards. Shattering reflections.
Staring at one of the shards he saw himself in the reflections. The breaks centred at his iris and shot out of the pupil. As if space was shattering as he looked at it, was it the reflection he was looking at or was he out of his body looking at himself shattering space? He didn't know, he couldn't.
It was overwhelming.
Seeing his iris glow a mad purple, the shaking of space increasing, the intensity of the shrill hum of ringing bells blinding the darkness as it lit up in thousands of shattering shards. Hundreds of rifts appeared in the foggy reflections of other planes. In other dimensions, it was brilliantly awful, seeing something that could not be comprehended.
His mind was shattering like the space around him, each crack and rift opening splitting his mind in searing pain. A clawed hand reached through his skull and raked its talons over his thoughts blinding and tearing them from his body.
He wasn't meant to see this, so he wouldn't.
If it was his will or another he didn't know but he felt it. The rifts, breaks and shattering of space all started to heal, condensing down into a single point at his forehead, his body floating in the gap between dimensions. The shattering of reality mends into his mind in memories sealed.
A voice sounded in the final thoughts of these moments. A voice sounding beyond him. A figure looking in through the healing cracks. Eyes that see beyond the rift, beyond even the fourth dimension. Beyond himself.
They or It was terrifically terrifying…
"A child born of will and shattered dimensions. No plane shall be your home, wander, forever cursed."
---
Blinking Atlas stared at the roof of his dorm room. The wood was clean, sanded smooth. Well made. It was a nice room.
Sitting up he looked down at the blood-soaked blankets he lay on, he was only half on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. The rest of the room was only a simple desk… he had nothing on it though. The empty sword stand reminded him of what was gone.
His mind wandered as he looked at his torn clothes. Standing up he grabbed a bathrobe and made his way to the bathroom.
Getting into the shower he washed off the caked mud and blood. The old sweat, his skin was smooth underneath all the grime. The rising steam filled the air with a dull haze, a haze matching his mind. Foggy, unfocused.
Having cleaned he looked in the mirror, his body lean and fit, lithe and athletic with no extra muscle or fat. His hair pulled out of his face in a small puff, he needed to get it cut. The frayed little puff of a ponytail didn't look amazing on him. It couldn't even get some of the strands at the front.
Staring at the shimmering purple iris' he tilted his head to the side. He saw it around him, the faint outline of frayed dimensional lines. As if where he walked reality was struggling to line the plains up correctly, to make one flow smoothly into another. As if he was on the brink of existence and held there only by his will to be there.
It was a strange feeling seeing this.
But he felt at home, a bit out of this reality. But he was sure that just like the steam it would clear up soon enough.
Smiling a bit he pulled the ponytail out and let his loose wet hair hang over his face. The blaze of cursed energy in his stomach was like a small sun, burning smoothly and gently. A constant crackle of power…
Walking from the bathroom in his bathrobe he went to his room with his cleaned clothes after putting them through the washing machine.
Holding them in his hand he took out a sewing needle and with plain black thread started to sew up all the cuts. He felt silly for doing it in a way. But he wanted to remember this fight. He wanted it to be something that he didn't forget for a long long time. It was something that in a way made him who he was… and he was happy for that.
Those memories were not lost beyond space. These memories that he hated and treasured but he felt for all of them. And that was what made them special.
Finishing fixing his clothes he put them back on before making his way out into the schoolyard.
Today was going to be a good day.
---
The warm midday sun shone brightly down onto the lush grass, the soft ground slightly giving underneath his steps as he looked at the students in the large field. Puddles of water resting on the pavement reflect the bright baby blue sky, without a single cloud in sight.
Wet patches sat in the cooler shadows where the sun wasn't able to get them.
Looking onto the grass field he watched as the first-year students battled the second-years, in training. Much like he had already seen. Tilting his head to the side he smiled a bit, watching as Gojo wiped the floor with one of the second years.
Geto was also sparing, and doing very very well, he was actually practising with a sword… looks like he had already had some influence on the character. He would need to talk to the principal about finding a way to make eaten cursed spirits not taste bad.
Nodding his head he started to make his way to the principal's office. Aware of Gojo's eyes digging into his back as he walked away.
---
"So that is the third year huh? Heard he came from the country and can take on special grades by himself." The second year 1 said, his voice high and a bit nervous as he sat to the side on the steps. Not getting involved in the sparing.
"Yeah, one of the upperclassmen said that before he was even part of this school he took down a special grade spirit with a single attack. And that was just using his cursed energy…" The second year 2 said, who was sparing with Geto said, leaning on his sword as he watched Atlas round a corner. His lips set in a thin line.
"He took out a high first grade and a special grade at once just a few days ago in a mission he was managing," Geto said, joining the conversation. "He didn't even kill them, he just weakened them enough that I could absorb them. Inside one of their domains… he drained the energy of a special grade…" Geto summarized. A smile on his face.
"Damn? I could take him." Second year 3 said, on his ass from where he was thrown by Gojo, glaring at the fading figure only to get a chorus of 'no you couldn't' from Second year 2, Gojo and Geto. All looking at him like he was an idiot.
"You can't even take on Gojo and that guy is way stronger." Second year 2 said with a raised eyebrow. An amused grin spread across his face. "What is his deal anyway… he shows up from the countryside and starts kicking ass out of nowhere. And barely talks to anyone. The first thing he did was run off on a mission… hasn't even talked to his year mates properly." He stated as he got into a ready stance seeing that Geto was getting ready for another round.
---
Getting to the principal's office Atlas walked inside. Sitting down cross-legged on the floor at the small coffee table with a small smile on his face. Completely unannounced and uninvited.
"So what brings you in today Atlas." The Principal said, not looking up from his work as he wrote something down on a sheet of paper. Various scattered reports and missions littered the desk in folders and others stashed away in cabinets. Some were tied up like scrolls and stacked in piles as if the room couldn't figure out if it wanted to be traditional or modern.
"Just have a few questions, about myself mostly. But also about other things." Atlas revealed, his tone relaxed as he leant forward and rested his elbows on the table. His smile faded as his expression sunk into one of contemplation.
He would think through his words. He did just have quite the outstanding enlightenment, but, he was still weaker than the principal before him… while he didn't think they measured up to enlightened future Gojo. They were strong…
"How do you know my birthday?" Atlas asked, his voice sinking a bit as he took out his student card and slid it across the table towards the principal. Tapping it with one of his fingers.
Stopping writing the principal paused, his fountain pen hanging over the page he was writing on, ink slowly pooling at the end of the nib, the tension in the air rising as the drop grew. Before it finally fell.
Splashing against the page. And the principal sighed.
Putting the pen down to the side, the soft click of the handle against its stand was the only sound in the room. The silence outlasted the tension that broke with the falling drop.
"The answer may not be as sinister as you think it would be. Atlas, I know your age because of my technique. It allows me to see things, things that others would not be able to see, things people believe to be incorporeal for lack of better terminology." Taking a moment to think his words through he ran his fingers over his chin slowly. Atlas simply sat there, letting the man gather his thoughts.
"That is how I know your birth date, I can see it, or rather your exact age. I can see your cursed energy fluctuating through different… how should I put it… realities? Although even I cannot see exactly where it goes, my mind cannot fill in the gap like it normally does." The principal said, explaining why the date was known. "Your other questions?"
"Do you know where I am from? My intuition since I have met you tells me you know something more about me than you are letting on…" Atlas said, getting straight to what he was really here to ask, he had tested the waters. It was now time to dive into them.
"Yes." The principal said a simple yet powerful statement as he looked up at Atlas, his eyes piercing into the boy.
"Will you tell me?" Atlas asked, his voice getting lower as his energy started to emanate from his body, dangerous waves of cursed energy.
"No." The principal said. Holding his hand up as Atlas' gaze grew colder. His gnarled fingers were steady despite the pressure in the room and his age. His gaze was unwavering in the certainty of his decision that he clearly has thought about.
"Do not be hasty Atlas, allow me to explain." The principal said, waiting, staring at Atlas as they sat in a tense confrontation.
"So you know I was experimented on in a sick asylum or something? You're not going to give me any answer as to what that actually was or where I came from?" Atlas said, his voice rising in disbelief, in anger.
"It would not help you knowing Boy." The principal said, his once steady voice raised as his cursed energy clashed with Atlas' own, his control much higher, his energy more refined. His defiance was felt through a sheer will as Atlas was forced to bow his head and break eye contact from the pressure the principal was exerting. "It would not help you to know… it would only drive you to act like a fool."
Sighing his energy cut out as the room returned to normal, Atlas' own energy halted leaving the once flooded room empty, as if something was missing. Sitting there gritting his teeth Atlas did his best to think calmly, it wouldn't help him to get mad… he shouldn't, he should listen. But some part of him was so… furious, with the past of his body being hidden from him. The dangers he might be in, things he didn't know. He knew the danger of Kenjaku, of the future. But this? The unknown was an uncertainty that he couldn't plan for.
He just had to get stronger.
Calming himself he took a few deep breaths, the Principal just watching as he did so, letting him relax. He would wait and let the boy settle.
"You were an experiment. Of a very corrupted soul. You were created to be a slave, someone that could be the strongest, but be enchained. You were created as a plan to defeat the strongest of the three great clans, and another who will soon emerge if he ever arose again. Crafted with a special property that could nullify both. But clearly, you are not a slave or the man who made you would train you himself." The principal said, revealing things that he knew.
"Of course, I will not tell you who, or the whole story, only that. And I hope that is enough. You must grow stronger Atlas, strong enough that you cannot be influenced. The current Elders are fools and I was planning to help Gojo grow and see that, I thought when he was born that he would be the one to lead a new age of sorcerers. And perhaps he may still be the one to do so. But you have a role too, a part to play. One that I cannot see for you since you are beyond even my sight." The principal finished, explaining his stance.
If he didn't know the future then he wouldn't know what the Principal really meant, but sadly, he did. Kenjaku made him to beat Gojo and Sukuna. But he wasn't Hoshi… whatever was done to Hoshi's mind was not done to him. He was still free, a tool that had escaped. But Kenjaku hadn't killed him. That meant that he still thought he could use him… or Hoshi was still alive somehow. This left him with a lot to think about.
He wanted to be free… but he was made a slave.
But he would be free.
