Chapter Text
Yuji handed him the Prison Realm, almost reverent, and Satoru took it, equally reverent. Shoko was in there, but he couldn’t see inside.
It felt like the only thing he couldn’t see. Six Eyes was different, it had been warped and magnified by the edge of death. Stronger, maybe, but Satoru couldn’t tell. He felt unbalanced, hollow and stretched thin. The last thing he remembered clearly was the glare of Hollow Purple, the airport, the otherworldly vistas beyond it, the stars burning dark at the edge of the universe.
Eons had passed out there, counting out sand and rubbing mountains down into valleys with scraps of silk cloth.
—but only sixteen or so years, actually.
Satoru put his hands to the seams, and twisted it open.
*** *** ***
He had a son.
It was impossible for Satoru to wrap his head around everything that had happened. Civilization was over. Sukuna ruled the world. The whole planet had been redrawn. He had a son.
It was a lot to take in, even for someone who was ostensibly enlightened.
Yuji was the only one who hadn’t given up, though Choso was with him.
Satoru could see the others if he looked hard enough. Togo and Momo and Noshitori, still in Japan, living in Sukuna’s little Empire with their heads bowed because their families were there and they had no choice. Ijichi and Higaruma, working in settlements, in whatever passed as the civil service now. Kirara and Ui Ui up north on the coast of formerly-China, running a gambling house. Yuta and Maki and their twin boys, the kids already ten. Hakari at Sukuna’s right hand, because he bet everything on them coming back for him and his luck had finally run out. Too worried about Shoko, too ashamed to face Kirara.
Shoko herself, and—
Olan was his name, according to Yuji. Sukuna’s son, the First Imperial Prince.
Gods, it was like looking into a mirror.
It was everything Satoru could do to stop himself from teleporting into the Capital and snatching them both up, but there was nowhere safe to take them. It was pointless to try if he couldn’t kill Sukuna, and worse than that, Shoko was bound to the King of Curses by oaths. Satoru could see the curse-marks on her wrists, and in the paintings of her, and in the shrines where people prayed to her to intercede on their behalf with God-Monster-King. He already knew that whatever Vow she had made with Sukuna was pointlessly cruel, that it kept her at his side.
There was more. She had murdered Kenjaku and put a stop to whatever the corpse-puppeteer had been doing to the planet. She had murdered Tengen too.
Her track record against Sukuna and his lieutenants was better than anyone’s, actually. Satoru wasn’t surprised. Not even a little bit. He’d always known she was strong.
He wished he’d told her that. Wished he’d told he loved her. Wished that he’d been present for every important moment. Instead, he’d been dead. His hungry ghost tugging at her skirts.
It made him feel weak, and Satoru hated that.
Should have killed the Elders. Should have been there for Suguru. Should have taken care of his body properly. Shouldn’t have lied to her. Satoru had trouble dredging up any previous happy memories, it all seemed to be grief and regrets.
The only thing that kept him anything close to sane was that the kid seemed happy. Shoko and Hakari took care of him and loved him. There was no fear in his auras, no scars left by abuse or violence or neglect. There was no Gojo Clan to treat the kid like a political pawn or a living weapon. He was just a person. Olan was somehow more well-adjusted than Satoru was, despite the state of the world.
He wondered what Olan knew, if Shoko had ever tried to explain. There was no mistaking him for Sukuna’s biological child. The kid was a Gojo Clan prince, through and through.
“I’m sorry, Gojo-sensei,” said Yuji. “It must be a lot.”
Yeah, that was putting it mildly.
”It’s okay, Yuji,” he said, even though it was the furthest possible thing from okay.
”I didn’t bring you back to fight Sukuna,” said Yuji.
That was a shock. Satoru didn’t exist for any other reason other than fighting, power for power’s sake. He’d had that drilled into him at a formative age. Hunting curses, making the Gojo Clan look strong, ensuring their political dynasty. He glanced at Yuji.
The kid demonstrated his cursed technique.
Well, shit. That was fucking something.
“I think I can heal Megumi,” said Yuji. “I‘ll fight Sukuna too, I’ll do everything, I just need you to teach me to refine it. I’m afraid that—”
He trailed off, he didn’t need to finish, Satoru got it. He was afraid of himself. Of doing more damage than had already been done. Of his power and what it meant, and worse than that, Satoru wasn’t even the right person to teach him.
It was Shoko’s technique, after all. They needed her, and Satoru wasn’t afraid of fighting Sukuna and he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to die, but the thought of having to fight Shoko or Olan (or Hakari) because they were at the side of the King of Curses paralyzed him.
Satoru wondered if she had made the Vow because she’d been sure he would come back for her or if she’d done it because she hated him and wanted him to stay far away.
She had every right to hate him, Satoru thought.
“I can’t teach you properly, Yuji.” Satoru glanced at him, and the kid’s expression crashed. “We need Shoko for that.”
“Miss Ieiri is– um–” Yuji frowned. “The Empress now. She’s having another baby.”
“Sukuna’s?”
“Yeah,” said Yuji. “It’s on all the broadcasts.”
Satoru had previously thought that seeing Suguru’s corpse paraded around was the worst thing he would ever endure, but then Megumi, and now, Shoko. It felt like he had swallowed a stone. There was something obscene about the way the King of Curses fawned over her, about the deification and the shrines and about how Shoko was the Empress. Sukuna’s wife. The Queen of Curses. It tasted like ash in Satoru"s mouth. Satoru wondered if Sukuna even cared about her, or if the enjoyment the Devil-Tiger got out of the whole spectacle of marriage and family life was simply because he had taken Shoko from Satoru.
Sukuna had let him live (if you wanted to call it that) because living to see all of this was a worse torture than anything else he could have come up with. The King of Curses, if nothing else, was a monster with centuries of practice at being cruel.
He wondered if Shoko loved Sukuna, or if she was only surviving.
No. Satoru cursed himself out, internally. It was a betrayal to even think that.
He reached out his hand. Distance was no obstacle. Even the curve of the Earth didn’t disrupt the lines of his sight anymore. All the way down, to the bare flicker of energy on the bottom of the ocean. A pull, and it was effortless. Even something so small. Even at this distance.
Satoru’s hand closed over the Prison Realm. They hadn’t bothered to retrieve it, but they probably hadn’t been able to. Olan wouldn’t have known what to look for, or been that precise.
“Gojo-sensei, is that–?”
“They’ll see me the second I get close,” said Satoru, holding it out, “and if Shoko’s not able to leave Sukuna willingly, we’ll need this.”
Yuji hesitated, but then nodded solemnly. He reached out and took it.
*** *** ***
“I don’t hate him,” said Shoko.
Satoru glanced at her. She looked different. Older without being older. Beautiful and distant and wise. There was a light inside of her that hadn’t been there before. Gold in her auras and in her eyes. The fire at the edge of sorcery, like him and Sukuna, but different. His clan had once told him not to pursue her. That she was a half-breed with an undocumented technique. A part of Satoru wished they were still alive, so he could rub their faces in it.
No, he wasn"t particularly suited to being a bodhisattva.
There was a bridge across what had once been a river, the span collapsed into the vegetation-choked bed below. The sun was setting, and in the distance, one of the primordial things wandered absently, grazing on trees. They were in Europe, or in a place that had been called that in another lifetime. The old world was gone, just ruins now.
Shoko came to stand next to him, at the edge of the collapse.
“I’m supposed to, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know if I get to be the judge of that,” said Satoru. “I don’t hate Toji. I know I should, for what he did to Suguru and Riko and Kuroi. What he would have done to you if you’d been with us, but I just… I don’t. It went away when I saw Creation from the edge of death. Is it the same?”
“I don’t know,” Shoko admitted.
“I heard you murdered God,” said Satoru.
“He threatened my son,” said Shoko.
Her son. That was how she saw it. Better than calling him Sukuna’s son, worse than calling him their son. Satoru’s heart felt like a weight in his chest. He didn’t know what to say.
“Oh,” said Satoru, his voice barely level. “Is he—?”
“He’s strong,” said Shoko. “He’s happy too. Hakari’s daughter is his friend. I tried to give him the things you didn’t have, a home he could feel safe in and a family. He’s not— he’s not like Sukuna. He’s kind and brave, and–”
Satoru set his jaw, he looked out, into the distance.
“I wanted him, Satoru, even though it was unexpected.” Shoko took his hand. “He’s loved. I heard his first words. I watched him take his first steps.”
“Does he know?” Satoru asked.
“Some of it,” said Shoko. “He looks just like you. Do you remember anything?”
“No,” Satoru admitted. “Nothing concrete.”
“I had to make an oath with Sukuna.” Shoko said. “More than one. So that I could take care of your body, to protect Hakari and Olan and myself. Sukuna and I are married, for a long time now, but you must know that too.”
“I wouldn’t–” Satoru faltered and started again. “I wouldn’t have let the Gojo Clan take you away. I would have taken care of you both. I would have done anything to keep you safe.”
It was too late for all of it, but Shoko leaned into him and he gathered her up in his arms and held her. He just kept talking, still the high-energy idiot that people always accused him of being, still making promises that he couldn’t possibly keep. He was telling her that he wanted Olan too. That he would protect them both. That he would make everything right. Shoko made a pitched, quiet noise, and then she was sobbing against his chest. Fear, relief, desperation. Satoru wasn’t sure. He held her until it passed.
“I have to go,” she said, at last, her voice was hoarse. “I’ll die if I stay with you.”
“I just won’t let you go,” he said, and his grip tightened. “The magic of the Vow won’t work if you don’t have a choice.”
“Sukuna is even stronger now,” said Shoko. “He has something to lose, and he’ll burn the world down to get me back. He’ll find the people we care about and rip them apart. Take Yuji and Choso somewhere far away. I can be happy knowing the three of you are safe, I love you too much to watch you die again. I can’t do it, Satoru. I won’t.”
“We can–”
“I’m pregnant.” Shoko reached up and combed her fingers through his hair, his arms tightened around her. “You must be able to tell, Satoru. If it was only me, I could take these risks, but it isn’t. You have Yuji and the others. Do you think Sukuna won’t hunt them down if I don’t go back to him? Hakari and Olan are back there, all alone. I can’t leave them.”
“Come and see Yuji,” said Satoru, he took her hands and squeezed them. “Please. Just come and see him for a minute and then I’ll teleport you wherever you want. Anywhere on Earth.”
“Satoru–”
She looked up at him, and her expression creased. Fondness and old familiarity, which was strange, because neither of them were the same people.
“One minute,” she said.