How Legends are Made 2

How Legends are Made 2

Yasunori Kaname

My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart thundered in my chest, sending my blood singing through my veins. I searched frantically for a threat that no longer existed. Sato-san’s auto shop was quiet save for the voice in my head.

Slowly, the pounding in my ears died down. My blood cooled and the crimson sparks that clad my fists faded away. My breath evened out as my body finally registered that I wasn’t fighting for my life anymore.

I looked around. As expected, the auto shop was completely trashed. A fine layer of dust covered everything. My bike, the one I’d been working on for months now, was a mangled mess. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The concrete ceiling hadn’t fared any better, either.

There was that, the ceiling. I’d punched a hole through it, leading straight down from Sato-san’s living area to the shop floor.

I looked up at it with an annoyed sigh. Maybe the shock would come later, but right now, all I felt was frustration. How the hell was I supposed to explain this?

No, for starters, who was I supposed to explain this to?

The obvious answer was the cops, but that didn’t sound right. In an ideal world, the authorities would investigate. Then, I’d get to keep the auto shop. With Sato-san’s passing, I would have been happy to continue this business for the rest of my life.

But we weren’t blood relatives. I was just some punk kid crashing on his couch. No, if a cop walked in here right now, he'd see that four people died here. He’d see me, caked in blood, with the real culprit faded into the aether.

Never mind an investigation; he’d probably shoot me right away. Hell, I couldn’t say I’d blame him. Even if I told the truth, the mundane authorities would only see a schizophrenic, or maybe a delinquent who had a tragic psychotic break.

Another option was that some kind of supernatural authority or overseer would find me. There were no public mentions of mages or superheroes so this was a “hidden world” type of place. That… That could be good and bad.

On the plus side, I wouldn’t have to deal with public scrutiny. No paparazzi-esque fans, either.

On the down side, it meant I’d have to deal with whoever cleaned up incidents like mine. Best case scenario, I’d be recruited into this secret, possibly government-funded, organization. I’d meet “precious nakama” and defend the world from darkness.

Judging by my life so far, the far more likely possibility was that I’d be pressganged, not recruited. Or, I could be carted away to a secret lab somewhere. I didn’t know anything about this setting specifically, but a World Rune was a worthy prize for anyone.

Hell, if I was especially unlucky, there might even be more than one shady organization. In such settings, there was usually some kind of shadow war. I could be stepping directly into the middle of that if I stuck around.

If I stuck around.

I glanced up at the four corpses I’d left behind up there. I didn’t give a flying fuck about the three yaks, but Sato-san deserved better. He was…

He’d taken me in when my mom died. We weren’t related. He didn’t owe me shit. He just tossed me a pair of gloves and a wrench and told me to get to work.

It wasn’t as if I was some mechanical genius, either. I was fifteen and too much of a thug to even think about high school.

I climbed the stairs. Kicking the three other corpses aside, I picked up the old man. He was so light. But even in death, he looked like he wanted to chuck a wrench at me.

I carried him to his room.

There wasn’t much, just a futon, a small table, and a bottle of sake. Pride of place was a picture of him and Hina-san, his late wife. It was the last picture they’d ever taken together. She sat in a wheelchair as he pushed her along. They were smiling, as if cancer was no different than the common cold, as if time would stand still for them.

I looked away. It wasn’t shame exactly… It was… regret? Sorrow? Maybe a bit of envy, too. Their smiles were so genuine, so intimate, that I almost felt as if I was intruding just looking at this picture. Even in my past life, I never had anyone I could share my life with like that.

I set him on his bed and gently tucked him in. I couldn’t stay. The mundane authorities would fuck me over. Any magical equivalent was a dice roll I wasn’t ready to gamble on. But… But he deserved this much.

I searched for a candle and came up blank. In the end, I settled for a mosquito coil that I lit with Sato-san’s lighter. Gently, I placed it on the ground and watched the smoke rise.

Slowly, I got on my knees and bowed. I’d only bowed like this once before, at my mother’s funeral.

“Sato-san…” No words came to mind. I’d always been more of a doer than a talker. “Thank you.”

Those words sounded lame to my ears so I found a notepad and scribbled a letter. Maybe, if this whole supernatural stuff was real, then the gods were, too.

Maybe, they’d hear the prayers I was too ineloquent to say.

X

I took a quick shower to wash the blood off and packed. There wasn’t much to take, truth be told. I had four pairs of pants, five shirts, and enough underwear and socks to not be disgusting. It could all be stuffed in a single duffel bag with room to spare. I grabbed a few imperishables from the pantry as well and took another motorcycle.

This one was Sato-san’s. It was a Yamaha R5, released in 1970. He picked it up from the dump and decided he wanted to “make the old boy roar again.” I teased him then, calling him a fossil fixing up another fossil. The grouchy bastard chucked a wrench at me.

I started the engine and smiled. It was a bit of a legacy, the predecessor of the RD series and the first iteration of their two-stroke crankcase model. It barely hit ninety-five miles per hour, but damn if it didn’t look cool. Sato-san really knew what he was doing, one more thing I owed him for.

Moving out took me maybe ten minutes. As I drove away, I made a checklist of the things I wanted to do. My main priority was, of course, finding out what setting I was in.

I didn’t expect to recognize the exact setting necessarily, I wasn’t that obsessed with anime. Besides, there was no rule that said I was in a world that used to be a media franchise in my past life. Thinking too much on a meta scale wouldn’t do me any good.

That said, genres were a decent-enough way to compartmentalize the possibilities. I’d accepted that I was in a supernatural setting, but the details eluded me. Were there magical girls? Kamen Rider-esque transforming warriors? Exorcists? Vampires? Ghouls? Amoral mad scientists?

Since I’d rejected the possibility of simply waiting to be found, that left me one option: Seek out the supernatural on my own. Between the ambiguous possibilities of an unknown organization and the “evil spirit” that I’d just defeated, I knew what my choice was. I much preferred it when my enemies were clearly enemies.

It wouldn’t provide me clear information, but it wasn’t like I could trust whoever came to find me, either. Hell, seeing how exorcising these things could only save lives, I had guilt-free targets to practice on. Maybe I’d feel more comfortable meeting others in the supernatural world when I had a better handle on the World Rune.

After that, I could…

I didn’t know. I’d never been the ambitious type in my past life. Rule the world? Conquer all supernatural factions and install myself as the “Emperor of the Moonlit World” or some shit?

I felt the World Rune thrum inside my soul. A part of me was delighted at the possibility. But proving I was the strongest was one thing. Actually sitting around and ruling? Having people kiss my ass? Hard pass. That sounded like a pain.

As I was thinking that, I heard a deep, solemn voice in my head. ‘Do you truly seek nothing? How is it that Domination fell into the hands of such an unambitious mortal?’

I knew that voice. I’d heard it before, towards the end of my fight. ‘Joraal?’

‘I am he, the one known now as the Darkin Aegis.’

‘You… You were an Ascended. You were a captain of the Ascended Host. You followed Aatrox.’

‘I was. I raised my shield in defense of the world. Yet, such days are long beyond me,’ he said, voice full of melancholy.

He fell silent as I continued to drive. Eventually, I ducked into an abandoned construction site. It was about twenty-five miles away from the auto shop, well outside the Kabukicho neighborhood. I knew about it because an old client was bitching about being out of a job.

The building was supposed to be an apartment complex, thirty stories tall. Unfortunately, the general contractor went under before they could do more than raise the first four stories. There was enough built that people were split. Some wanted to demolish the whole thing while others wanted to pick up where the bankrupt company left off.

In the end, that indecision was good for me. No one came here except for hoodlums and the odd urban explorer. I planned to crash here and shower at a nearby gym while I got my bearings. The extra space would also help me keep my head down while I practiced.

‘This is hardly a dwelling fit for a conqueror,’ Joraal opined. 

‘Yeah, well, we all gotta start somewhere,’ I snorted. I headed up to the top floor and found a quiet corner. Sleeping on the ground sucked; I made a note to steal myself a sleeping bag later.

‘Perhaps. A soldier must sleep in far worse places.’

‘What? You didn’t get the god-warrior treatment when you were an Ascended? I figured you had slaves that would pitch a palatial tent for you every night.’

‘Slaves for menial labor? On a campaign? What a waste of food that would be. Not even Setaka indulged so.’

‘Setaka… The Queen of the Ascended Host. She was the original wielder of the Chalicar, right?’

‘You know much, and little. She was the best of us. Our hope, our courage. She was a dauntless bulwark against the Void, the glory of Shurima made manifest.’

‘What happened to her?’ I asked, already knowing the answer. The stories I knew in snippets, Joraal had lived. I wanted to hear them from his mouth.

My soul shivered as Domination forged a link between us. Joraal’s great aegis settled over my left hand. Its grip was comfortable, almost as if it had been forged with me in mind.

I looked down at it. The aegis was a massive, triangular thing formed of white god-metal. At its width, its two corners could easily cover my shoulders and more. It narrowed towards the ground, forming a segmented look that reminded me of the spine of a great beast.

It had golden accents and ten, crimson blades that sprouted from the sides. As I watched, they flickered and shifted as if they were fluid. Because they were. Every Darkin was a hemomancer of immense skill, though some greater than others. It was this mastery of blood that allowed them to possess and mutate a host into their previous visage.

And, at the center of the aegis, was a crimson gemstone that gazed up at me like an eye. This, I knew, was Joraal. Or at least, his soul. This was the fate of all but a handful of Ascended, sealed into their prized weapons by Myisha, the then Aspect of Twilight.

If I remembered right, Joraal had been sealed away somewhere in Demacia. He was guarded by House Fortis, a noble family with a foolish son.

“What the sun made, the moon has unmade,” I whispered as I ran my fingers along the surface. Smooth, but weighty, burdened with a history few could comprehend.

‘You know much, Rune-Bearer of Domination,’ Joraal said again. ‘Tell me. Has the bearer of a World Rune summoned me from across time and space to do nothing? Have you no ambitions in mind? No empires to found?’

‘Cut me some slack; I’m still trying to figure this out,’ I scoffed in annoyance. ‘And what about you? You answered. Why come? Did you think I’d make for a good host?’

‘The moon did not unmake any save those who were there on that night. Ta’anari was granted the mercy of oblivion. The rest of us have sought the same ever since.’

‘You want to die. And… And what better than a World Rune to give you death?’

‘A World Rune is a cosmic constant, boy. It is the essence of all things, the language by which existence was written. You know nothing, yet here you are, alive and well with one buried in your soul.’

‘Yeah, well, guess I’m just special like that. You know, you won’t get to off yourself if you possess me.’

‘I could not even if I wanted to. Domination is not something that can be dominated in turn.’

‘So… I get to use your power without corruption? Nice.’ I snorted, not really believing my own words. There was no way life would be that easy.

‘Insolent fool! My power is my own. Just because I cannot take your body does not mean I cannot keep you from using mine.’

‘Yeah, fair enough,’ I acquiesced. There was always a catch with these sentient weapons. I tapped the crystal and could’ve sworn it blinked at me. ‘So let’s make a deal, Joraal. I want your power. What do you want?’

‘I seek the bliss of oblivion. You are too weak to grant such a thing.’

‘For now.’

‘For now,’ he agreed. Those two words were filled with mockery and hesitant hope in equal measure. ‘Perhaps one day, you will be the one to grant me the rest I seek.’

‘And until then? Is there nothing you desire?’

‘What could I seek in a world that is not my own? No, I desire what drives all men: Purpose. Until the day you become strong enough to end my suffering, I will be your shield and mentor.’

‘Mentor? And here I thought I was done with school,’ I replied with a rueful grin. That didn’t sound bad, though. He probably had awesome stories if nothing else.

‘If you are to wield cosmic power, you will not look the fool doing it. There is much for you to learn. Of magic. Of war. Of empires. I will ensure that you do not repeat the mistakes of Shurima.’

I laughed bitterly. ‘Some empire. Look around, Joraal. I’m just a punk kid. I have nothing, not even a home.’

‘Then you have nothing to lose.’

‘What exactly am I supposed to be an “emperor” of?’

‘You must discover such things on your own. Borrowed dreams are worthless in the end. Whether you like it or not, people will be drawn to your power. That is your lot in life. Fight. Conquer. Dominate.”

I let out a heavy sigh. ‘You’re probably right, but that doesn’t change my immediate needs: Training. Information.’

‘A man is defined not only by the path he walks, but the reason he walks it.’ 

‘Heh, since when are Darkin wise? Aren’t you all supposed to be raving lunatics?’

‘Some are,’ he replied with a melancholic rumble. ‘But do not forget: We were Ascended before we were Darkin. We were peerless generals, sorcerers, and philosophers. None among our number could be called a fool.’

‘Not even Renekton?’

‘He was not always a rabid beast. I remember the valiant warrior he once was, before he became a mockery of his own legacy.’

‘Fair enough, sorry. You guys just… have a reputation.’

‘It is one we earned.’

‘So, now what, “mentor?”’

‘Now, we train.’

‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’

‘No.’

X

Atsuya Kusakabe

I eyed the kid I was supposed to be testing. He was a second grade sorcerer in only his first year in Jujutsu High, a real prodigy type.

If things went well tonight, I’d give him the go-ahead for semi-first grade. Then, he’d take on a solo mission to exorcise a first grade cursed spirit. If he succeeded, he’d get the official first grade stamp next to his name.

I had no intention of making it easy on him though. The Inumaki clan would probably appreciate it if I pushed their prodigy’s career forward, but that could cost lives down the line, both his and others. It was why I hated the clans: Too much politics, not enough common sense.

Toge Inumaki. He didn’t look like much, blonde, brown eyes, and average height. Skinny, too. He looked like the kind of kid who’d get sent on errands by the class bullies. Then again, his physique had nothing to do with his cursed technique.

We stood outside an auto shop in Kabukicho. According to preliminary intel, it was owned by one Eiji Sato, an aging man whose wife passed away recently. He had a solid reputation as a no-nonsense mechanic, gruff but steady.

“This isn’t the kind of place that attracts curses,” I muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Usually, it’s abandoned hospitals or schools. One person’s depression isn’t enough for the amount of cursed energy they reported.”

“Salmon,” Inumaki said. Agreement, at least according to the glossary of rice ball ingredients I’d been given. Really, all the clan kids were so damn weird…

“Well, let’s get a move on. Four dead, including the owner. Cops got muscled off the investigation shortly after, but the windows haven’t reported anything since.”

“Tuna, tuna.”

“Yeah, real unusual. Heard you were good at the less violent side of jujutsu. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Salmon.”

I kept tabs on him as we investigated the building. Old, sturdy, much like that Sato fellow. It had a giant hole in the ceiling, right above a mangled bike. Inumaki scribbled into a notebook, the only way he could convey more complex thoughts.

There was enough cursed energy residue there to raise every hair on my body. I immediately understood why the higher-ups called me. Second grades were allowed on solo missions, but not when there was enough residue for a first grade cursed spirit, maybe even a special. Even for a simple investigation, handing it off to a second grade alone would have been a bit much.

“Ikura,” he muttered. He held up his notebook. More cursed energy than I have in my whole body. “Mustard leaf.”

“Yeah, me too, kid.”

“Tuna mayo.”

“Hmm?”

More scribbling. Cursed spirits of that strength are intelligent.

“They are. They have their own cursed techniques, too. It’s a huge pain in the ass.”

But we’re alone. No ambush.

“We are. This is all residue. What’s that tell us?”

That they left. There is a new spirit or sorcerer.

“Left? Not exorcised? There are four bodies.”

A first or special grade would have left many more casualties if they fought someone comparable. Or they beat a lesser spirit, then left.

We headed to the second floor. I knew what we’d find and kept an eye on Inumaki. I’d take points off his assessment if he got squeamish. Sorcerers didn’t get that luxury.

“These three,” I said, nudging one of the men. He was a skinny man, clearly a gangster, and his skull had been carved open like a ripe orange. “Tell me about them. How’d they die?”

He gathered himself quickly. Furious scribbling followed. Blood manipulation? Too much of it to be anything else. Piercing and slashing with hardened blood is a characteristic of the Kamo clan arts.

“That seems likely. They’re yakuza, known for shaking down the residents for protection money. Shakedown gone bad, most likely.”

Rogue Kamo clan?

“No, they’ve all been accounted for. Cursed spirit, and a young one. It’s not impossible for a newly manifested spirit to develop a technique similar to one we know about.”

It’s dead.

“The cursed spirit?”

“Salmon.”

“You’re right, but explain.”

More scribbling. He gestured down at the hole. Blunt force trauma. Different from blades of blood. Someone killed it. And since cursed spirits don’t usually off each other, it was a person. The one with all that cursed energy is a sorcerer, not a spirit.

“That’s our best guess for now.”

We continued to investigate. Sato was definitely not where he’d been killed. Unlike the other men, he had a gunshot wound and had not been savaged by a cursed spirit. He’d been set in his futon, with a half-burned mosquito coil taking the place of a memorial candle.

Next to it, written in sloppy handwriting, was a note. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. Thank you. Please rest in peace.”

The story seemed fairly simple. Three yakuza trash came over to shake down the owner. Something happened to manifest a cursed spirit. Someone else, a sorcerer who knew Sato, stepped in. This sorcerer exorcised the cursed spirit, but not before all four men died.

“Right, let’s go,” I said. “Check all of Sato’s contacts. There’s a new sorcerer. We need to find him, quickly.”

“Salmon.”

Author’s Note

Apparently, sensors in JJK aren’t really a thing, at least not like in Naruto where “sensor-nin” could find chakra signatures over dozens of miles away. People felt Sukuna’s coming, but he’s fucking Sukuna. In general, it seems to me that most cursed spirits get to show up, do their thing, and only get tracked down after their initial spree.

So, we set the timeline. Inumaki is about to enter second year. He’s going for his semi-first grade certification, which makes Yasunori roughly a year older than Yuji. 

Animal Fact: Everyone knows that pelicans have in-built pantries in their beaks. Except everyone is an idiot because this is false.

That flappy flesh-pouch is called a gular pouch and it is not used to store food for later. A pelican will almost always swallow immediately. Even when caring for their young, they will regurgitate food, not feed them directly from the pouch.

Instead, the pouch is used as a net to scoop fish, along with up to three gallons of water. The water is filtered out and the fish is swallowed… usually.

Introducing the crested caracara. They’re a type of falcon and like to bully the pelican as they come up from their dives. They will harry the pelican until the pelican regurgitates their catch. This happens so frequently that scientists have a name for this behavior: kleptoparasitism.