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No Master. No Grail War. And yet, the presence of other Servants…
Sukuna lowers his gaze to the other two Servants who were summoned alongside him. “Oh?” he says in greeting. “It's the other mes. How fortuitous.”
His smaller, black-haired Berserker self nods his agreement, casually strolling closer. “Fortuitous indeed. Since you're here, lend me your body.”
This again.
Sukuna opens his arms. “How can I refuse the great Ryoumen Sukuna?”
His Berserker self unceremoniously hefts himself up Sukuna's body and settles on his right shoulder. An arm leans against the top of his head. His voice comes louder now that he's so close. “How about you, other me?”
Sukuna's smaller, pink-haired Archer self gives a brief wave of his hand, dismissing the inquiry. “Not interested. I'd sooner learn what that cursed spirit and that human know of our circumstances.”
The cursed spirit and human in question haven't moved since the moment of their summoning. The cursed spirit is staring at them with shock and instinctive terror, frozen beneath the weight of their collective focus. The human is on his knees, sickly pale, eyes wide. He doesn't appear to be breathing.
He looks like Archer.
“Well, well,” Berserker says, sounding intrigued. “Even more fortuitous than I thought.” Then he addresses the curse. “You. Cursed spirit. You hold your head too high. I'm feeling uncharacteristically merciful, so I'll warn you just this once.”
Abruptly, the cursed spirit doesn't seem to kneel so much as have its legs give out. It displays no gratitude towards Berserker for his lenience.
Its head is shorn from its shoulders, landing gracelessly on the ground.
“Tch. You thought that was low enough?” With a scoff, Berserker's raised right arm comes down, his left still leaning on Sukuna. “Mercy is wasted on you.”
“Sukuna-sama,” the severed head rasps, and then is split into multiple pieces.
“I have always hated the incessant humming of insects,” Sukuna remarks.
“How interesting,” his own voice says. It doesn't originate from any of them– instead, it belongs to a mouth on the side of the human's face. “So have I.”
Is that why Sukuna had sensed his own energy on that child?
Archer walks towards the human, leaning over to scrutinize him.
“...Sukuna,” the human croaks, apparently having found his voice. “How are you…?”
Archer straightens back up, shoving his arms inside his sleeves. He doesn't respond to the boy, instead addressing his other selves. “This brat's been turned into a cursed object,” he says bluntly. “He has no cursed energy of his own.”
“Yet he hasn't been overtaken by our curse-self,” Sukuna says consideringly. I wonder…
“Subdued by a human.” Unimpressed derision drips from Archer's voice. “I could almost pity him.”
“Don't bother,” Berserker advises. “You'll receive no rewards for it. You're better off thinking: all that matters is that it's not me.”
The mouth barks out a laugh. “Pity is for creatures prone to weak emotions. One of you seems to know that better than the others. Strange, for those bearing my name.”
“Blame these vessels,” Berserker says indifferently. “Even gods get influenced when they're fused with another soul.”
The curse's lip curls. “And you claim I should be pitied.”
The human's voice interrupts them. “Hey…” He slowly gets to his feet, his gaze flicking over each of them. “…are you guys really Sukuna?”
“Show some respect, brat,” Archer says with a flare of irritation. “Were you raised with wolves?”
“He is a child of Rome, after all,” Sukuna comments, moving forward to hang an arm around Archer's shoulders. “Perhaps he was raised like his Father.”
The human hesitates, confusion overtaking all other emotions on his face. “My father?”
“Rome. Were you not listening?”
“Your vessel's descendant isn't too bright, Archer,” Berserker says off-handedly.
The human frowns. “Archer? So you're not Sukuna?”
Archer clicks his tongue. “Stop embarrassing your bloodline. You haven't heard enough to figure it out yet?”
Suddenly, the curse laughs, low and genuinely amused. “He overestimates your intellect, brat. I can feel how familiar that vessel of his is to you. Care to guess why?”
“No,” the human says, seemingly in reflex, though his eyes flicker once more to Archer's face and hold there. “I'm not listening to you.”
“You should. His face is one that has been in your memories more often than any other.”
The human is silent. The curse says, “Say it. You think you can hide anything from me? You already know what I'm telling you. You knew from the start. You only blinded yourself to it.”
Finally, the human's gaze falters.
“Say it, brat.”
He slowly looks back at Archer. The human says, haltingly: “...Jii-chan?”
Berserker laughs loudly. “A family reunion! Hah, I hadn't realized this was such an auspicious occasion. Congratulations, Archer; you're a grandfather.”
Archer scrutinizes the human for a moment. “To be born into the world only to become a vessel for a curse… Tch. How unlucky.”
“You're making assumptions,” Sukuna says, lips twitching as he looks down at his Archer self. “Perhaps he enjoys it.”
“He doesn't,” Archer says definitively.
“I don't,” the human blurts at the same time.
“So quick to respond,” Berserker says, teeth showing in his smile. “You'll hurt our feelings.”
“Are your feelings hurt, Berserker?” Sukuna asks him, unconcerned.
“So very much.”
The human looks visibly disturbed. “You're really Sukuna?” he asks again. “You don't act like him…”
“As you're Archer's kin, I'll allow you a margin of doubt,” Sukuna says with uncommon magnanimity. “If you must, think of us as living manifestations created from the myth of Ryoumen Sukuna–aspects of the original broken off and given form.”
“You're making it too complicated,” Berserker says carelessly. “The simple answer is ‘idiot, of course we're all Ryoumen Sukuna’.”
“Don't call my grandson an idiot, idiot,” Archer snaps.
“You can't go around calling your other self an idiot, you moron,” Berserker says, as if he thinks he's funny.
“Not so.” Sukuna grasps Berserker's ankle in a loose hold, turning his head slightly to look up at his face with both of his upper eyes. “We're Ryoumen Sukuna. We can do whatever we want.”
Berserker looks at him. His mouth tilts up. “Good point. It's even more convincing coming from myself.”
“Tch.” Archer steps out from under Sukuna's arm. “Ruler's far too soft on yo– what's that face for?” He frowns at the human.
“You really are like jii-chan,” he says quietly.
Archer scoffs. “Listen up, brat; this isn't a simple possession, this is the result of welding two souls into one. It's nothing close to whatever you have with our curse-self. To make it easy for you, I'll say it like this: if your grandfather had lived my life, this is what he would be. Understand?”
“...It's Yuuji.”
Archer lifts an eyebrow.
“My name,” the human says, raising his chin. “It's Yuuji, not ‘brat’. Got it, ojii-san?”
It's only because Sukuna is at the right angle that he catches the twitch of Archer's mouth. “Hoh. So the brat has spirit. And did that work on your grandfather?”
The human's shoulders lower. “...No.”
For the first time, Archer laughs. “No. Then don't expect any different from me.”
Their curse-self echoes his laughter. “My vessel is even more gullible than I thought. You think it's possible to combine two souls like that? Not even a conniving hag like Tengen is capable of it. Truly pathetic. You swallow the lie as if hungry for it.”
“Not our problem,” Berserker says, sounding uninterested. “We're beyond the world of jujutsu. What Tengen is capable of has no relevance to us.”
“You're saying that while using a body limited by a Heavenly Restriction?” the curse asks, amused. “Can you still access your Domain, or are you locked away from your own abilities?”
Berserker smiles wide enough to pull at the scar cut into his lips, lifting his hands as if to show them off. “Look down on it all you want. This body was a gift from fate itself. You've never beaten a god, have you? I used this body to accomplish more than you ever will.”
The human slaps his hand over the curse's mouth. He looks up at all of the Servants in front of him, searching their faces. Before he can say anything, he's interrupted by a young, terrified female voice.
“S-sukuna-sama?”
One of the presences Sukuna had sensed in his periphery. A child around the same age as Archer's descendant–
Correction. Two children.
Berserker raises an eyebrow, addressing Archer teasingly. “More of your grandchildren, Archer?”
Archer snorts. “No. Yours, perhaps.”
“They could be mine,” Sukuna proposes.
For once in sync outside of battle, both Berserker and Archer scoff simultaneously.
The girls stumble forward and then fall to their knees, bowing their heads low, hands pressed to the ground. Their bodies are visibly trembling.
“Such respectful children,” Sukuna says. He steps towards them, his shadow casting itself across their backs, and he looks down on their frightened forms. “You may speak.”
“Th-there's a man,” the blonde-haired girl chokes out. “Down below. Wearing a priest robe, with stitches on his forehead. P-please…” Her body shudders. “...please kill him. Please…free Getō-sama.”
Ah. So it's that creature.
Berserker clicks his tongue. “That guy? Hahh… Dealing with con-artists is only fun when you're the one scamming them.”
The corner of Sukuna's mouth curls up slyly. “Come now. Your granddaughters are asking for help. You wouldn't refuse them, would you?”
The girls jerk their heads up in wide-eyed shock, but Berserker is quick to pass off the responsibility. “Your granddaughters, not mine,” he says dismissively. “Look at them, they're your spitting image. You help them, if you're so eager for it.”
Behind him, Sukuna hears Archer's descendant whisper beneath his breath, “Huh? Do I have sisters now?”
Sukuna addresses the girls. “Get up.”
They scramble to their feet. “We know where one of your fingers is,” the blonde-haired girl says quickly, voice shaking. “If…if you want it, Sukuna-sama…” As she falters, her gaze falling to Sukuna's fully intact hands, it's clear how ignorant these children are regarding the existence of Servants.
“We'll repay you,” she says desperately. “Anything– anything, if you kill that monster!”
“Nanako,” the dark-haired girl whispers, clutching the hem of the other girl's uniform.
“Quiet,” he says, and they immediately obey, staring mutely up at him.
How nostalgic. It's been a long time since he last had supplicants who feared his wrath yet begged his aid.
He feels himself smile, flashing teeth. “Very well. While I'm here, I shall grant your wish. Future payment is unnecessary–after all, I'm only doing my duty for my grandchildren.”
The blonde girl opens her mouth, then shuts it. The dark-haired girl isn't so prudent.
She says, quiet, wavering, “Th-thank you, um…o-ojii-sama…”
The blonde-haired girl goes white as bone. “Mimiko!” she hisses, grabbing her arm and pulling her away, as if to protect her.
Berserker barks out a laugh, his eyes creasing with the breadth of his grin. “Just for that, I'd kill Kenjaku for free.”
“You had your chance,” Sukuna says.
“So? I've changed my mind.” Berserker leans more of his weight on him. “I'm Ryoumen Sukuna, which means I can do whatever I want. Isn't that right, brats?” He addresses the girls.
“O-of course,” the blonde girl stammers, body tense with her dark-haired counterpart behind her. “Sukuna-sama is stronger than everyone else, s-so…so whatever he does is right.”
He considers them for a moment. Then he says, “You're rather boring, you know that?”
The girl's mouth drops open, speechless.
Berserker dismisses her, looking down at Sukuna. “Forget it. Let's see what Archer's grandkid has going on. I'll bet ten billion yen on Kenjaku being involved.”
“I'm not giving you ten billion yen that easily,” Sukuna tells him dryly, and turns on his heel to return to the side of his other self.
Archer watches him approach, then says, without preamble, “I'll kill him if you don't. Killing that beast-like onmyouji in the Heian-kyo was similar, but not as satisfying.”
“Now that's a scary thought,” Berserker remarks. “What if he becomes a Servant after this? We'll be stuck with him.”
“We'll make him useful,” Sukuna says. “Send him scrounging for Evil Bones and Hearts of the Foreign God. A perfect use of his time after he wasted so much of ours.”
Berserker reaches down to pat his shoulder. “Great idea as always, Sukuna.’
“Thank you, Sukuna.”
“If you're done patting yourself on the back,” Archer says dryly, “I think Yuuji has something to say to us.”
Archer's descendant looks up at them for a moment. “...Yeah. I do.” He bows low. “Please help me!”
Sukuna's eyebrows rise. Supplicants are coming out of the woodwork, it seems.
The human says, “I don't know why you're here and I didn't really understand all that stuff about myths and aspects, but I know you defeated that curse as easily as Gojo-sensei did, and I know you decided to help those two girls when they asked for it.” He raises his head. “People I care about are in danger. Please help me save them.”
Sukuna turns his gaze to Archer, whose focus is on his descendant. There's no doubt as to what he's thinking.
“Idiot,” Berserker says. “You're Archer's grandson. We were gonna do that anyway.”