Cursed Eyes (Itachi in JJk)

"Head Miko." Utahime's voice cut through the stillness, gentle but commanding, drawing the attention of the old woman who sat at the head of the room. The woman's eyes fluttered open as if waking and breaking out of a deep trance.

She blinked once, twice, each time slower, physically dragging herself back into the present moment, back to reality. Finally, with a long, measured breath, her frame seemed to shrink, the tension and mania that had previously gripped her dissipating as she settled into her seat. The fervor in her gaze dimmed, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

Jiki's eyes narrowed, his posture tightening as he studied the old woman's face. His mind worked quickly, running through possibilities, and scenarios. Testing each one against the puzzle slowly unraveling before him.

His suspicions were gaining form, solidifying with each glance exchanged between the maidens. The looks they gave him, some full of devotion, admiration, perhaps even love, while others were laced with suspicion, hostility, and doubt. It was becoming clearer now. He wasn't merely a guest here. He was standing in the heart of a schism. Or at the very least, one that was beginning to take root.

On one side, those who believed he carried the blood of a god in his veins. On the other, those who whispered that he was nothing more than a pretender, an impostor.

"Old woman Kugisake informed me that my mother was a Gojo," Jiki said, his voice low but steady, testing the waters, watching for any shift in her expression.

The head Miko nodded along, her movements slow, deliberate. "The royal blood is not easily married out," she began. "Already, as a scion of Amaterasu, Lady Mikoto was without a last name. When she showed interest in marrying outside and of her own will she lost everything tied to the Imperial lineage. Her name, her status, her benefits. Everything but the blood in her veins"

"That does not explain what I believe you are insinuating," Jiki replied, his tone sharper, his eyes boring into her cloudy orbs, as though trying to pierce the layers of obscurity within.

The old woman fell silent, considering her words carefully, as if weighing each one before she let it slip into the air between them. Jiki didn't press her, didn't rush the moment. He sat in the heavy quiet, waiting, the tension building like a taut bowstring.

When the head Miko finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, carrying an almost reverent tone. "What do you know about the gods, Gojo Jiki?"

It was a question that caught him off guard, though his training hid the surprise well. "They are deities that were worshiped in ancient times." The answer rolled off his tongue. A rote, mechanical response from textbooks long memorized.

"A boring and safe answer," the old woman remarked, her lips curling into a thin, knowing smile. "Let us try again. What do you think gods are?"

Jiki was about to offer another textbook answer but paused. He caught the flicker in her eyes, even through the milky haze of her aging sight. She was waiting for something more. Something real. Something deeper.

So, he thought. Truly thought. In his past life, gods had been figures of superstition, worshiped mostly by peasant classes, with nobles and the shinobi clans paying them only passing reverence more to keep their hold on their peasant population than any true love for the gods.

They weren't part of the everyday world, not for someone like him, someone who had walked darker paths. Yet as a shinobi, he had glimpsed things things that had no rational explanations, things that surpassed common logic. He had crossed into the liminal realms of the summons strange, self-closed worlds that no man could have created. He had hunted down crazed men on the outskirts of villages, raving about possession by yokai. He had slept in forgotten shrines and awakened to find the world shifted, a chair moved, a statue dusted, and the ground swept clean. Things no living being could have done without alerting him.

He knew of ancient seals and rituals, which were forbidden even to shinobi. He had read of the Reaper Death Seal, where a death god had been summoned to claim the soul of the Fourth Hokage and part of the Nine-Tails itself. He had seen enough to know that gods, or things akin to gods, did exist, even if they did not intervene in mortal affairs as the myths claimed.

He had died, crossed over to the impure world, and had been dragged back to the pure world. Twice now.

To dig too deeply into such was to go down another path, one that risked madness. To be a shinobi was to acknowledge the unfathomable and never to ignore the impossible, but to accept it and move on simply. A shinobi was molded to be open-minded, yet logical, and Uchiha Itachi had been a picture-perfect shinobi.

But this wasn't his past life. The rules here were different, the realms were more grounded, and there were no summons, yet the lines between supernatural and mundane were more blurred. Too easily could Superstition become a reality, and vice versa. He could no longer be sure. Not yet.

After a few more moments of thought, he let out a slow, resigned breath. "I don't know enough to form an opinion," he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the truth hanging between them.

The old woman's smile widened, but it was not one of mockery. There was approval in it. Small, perhaps, but unmistakable.

The head Miko's pale eyes gleamed as though she found his ability to acknowledge ignorance amusing. "That is good, Gojo Jiki," she said, her voice rich. "For it means you are not so proud as to claim knowledge where there is none. That is a sign of readiness, a mind unburdened by falsehood and prepared to absorb truth in its purest form."

The head maiden paused, glancing at the empty cup of tea before her. In an instant, Utahime stepped forward with a kettle, pouring delicately until the cup was full once more. The woman took a long, thoughtful sip, savoring the moment.

Jiki, feeling the weight of her silence, so he let his eyes drift to the others in the room. A council of old women, each as composed as the next, their eyes piercing him like daggers. It was hard to tell what they thought. Which ones believed the whispers that he might be the scion of something divine, or and which ones silently judged him, dismissing him as nothing more than a fraud playing at what he did not understand.

The Head Miko gently placed her cup back onto its saucer, the soft clink of porcelain echoing through the room. "To enlighten you, child," she began, her voice soft but commanding, "I will start with this: Gods are at their core, curse users. At least, that is how most of them began."

Jiki's brow furrowed as he processed her words, the gravity of the particular word used was not lost on him. "Curse users?" he repeated for confirmation.

The old woman's smile widened, exposing her toothless gums in a way that was at once endearing and unnerving. "Ah, as expected of a child heralded as a dangerous prodigy. You pick things up quickly." She nodded, pleased with his attentiveness. "Yes, curse users. That is the keyword. Whether they began as humans, cursed spirits, or even cursed tools that had gained sentience, it matters not. The forms they once possessed are irrelevant. What is significant is that they transcended such trivial limitations. They became something far greater."

Jiki's pulse quickened, even if he refused to show it it, the woman had drawn his curiosity in with those words. So he leaned back to feign disinterest. "A grade above special grade," he murmured, his fascination sharpening his stare.

"Correct," she confirmed, her eyes reflecting years of hidden knowledge. "Millennia ago, when the world was soft and young, that was the highest ambition of sorcerers. Not just raw strength, for they had advanced beyond being just strong, but the ability to rewrite the very fabric of the world. The power to become intertwined with the fate of existence itself, transcending mere mortality. They had a different title then. Natural Disasters, Deific grade, and more, but the last curse user to fully achieve this feat had another Title. The two-faced Imaginary God."

"Sukuna."

Jiki whispered the word as the slightest hint of a frown grew. If her words were true, then they had underestimated Sukuna heavily. Regarding him as a simple threat. Now he wasn't so sure. Not after learning that the word imaginary God wasn't simply a title tacked on to make him look fearsome.

"The Gods that you know know, were the benevolent Curse users. Not kind, never truly kind, but they were not malicious and were therefore deemed benevolent. Enough so that when begged and bribed, they could be cajoled to work in your favor. To fight, or to Protect. That was the beginning of Shrines. Shrine Maidens and Monks were simply the ones that knew how to plead for their aid better, and slowly they began to recognize us."

The old woman's smile twisted, losing its warmth. Something darker flickered behind her eyes, her expression shifting from kind mentor to something far more foreboding. "During the peak of sorcery, these gods died, disappeared, sealed away, diminished, or suppressed in various ways but always through trickery. They were seen as too dangerous to be left unchecked, their powers too overwhelming to coexist with the world as it was. Many were reduced to mere fragments of their former selves.

Take the Divergent Divine General, for example. It is hard to say where he truly came from considering he bears armaments from three religions and had been a menace on more than four continents at his peak. Yet one thing that cannot be ignored is that he was a Deity, a god. Now reduced to nothing more than a husk. The shikigami you know as the cornerstone of the Ten Shadows Technique is a remnant, sealed within a technique that is passed down like a heirloom."

Jiki's mind raced, trying to piece together the full implications of her words. He knew about Mahoraga, that was after Satoru had pointed the shikigami out to him. There was some suspicion that Megumi had already tamed the Divine General, but neither Satoru nor Jiki had truly cared enough to ask.

Her gaze bore into him, unrelenting and she continued "Or that other Deity class Curse that keeps making a mess of Mainland Asia. He is half the reason your older cousin keeps getting called away, yet he's tricky enough to disappear whenever he senses your cousin coming.

So you understand now, little Gojo? gods are not just figures of legend or tales from a forgotten time. They are real. They are echoes of a time when sorcery was at its absolute peak. And those who once wielded their power, be it through cursed energy, spirit, or even mere tools — They evolved and became part of something far greater than themselves.

Jiki's mouth felt dry, and a thought gnawed at him one that he steadied himself, His gaze flicking to the Head Miko, his voice low and steady as he asked the question burning in his mind. "if Sukuna was the last to ascend to the title of Imaginary God, is it still possible? To evolve to something even greater than the sum of what they are?"

"You are too smart for your own good." The old woman's pale eyes gleamed once more dancing in amusement as her smile turned wickedly sharp. "According to our records, the Third Head Miko met someone, centuries if not almost a millennia, ago that asked the same question. I'll give you the same answer she gave him.

It would take a ritual, on a scale that would change the world irrevocably to effect such a change. This modern world of Jujutsu is just as atrophied as the Gods that were once at Its pinnacle."

Jiki nodded his head. So far he had been hit with revelation after revelation. Yet he had not forgotten his true goal for coming here, but he was not in a hurry.

"What happened to the Shinto gods, Amaterasu?"

The head miko lost her smile at that. This time someone else spoke, answering his question. Another old miko, one that had stared at him intensely since he stepped a foot in but had otherwise remained quiet. She shuffled forward a bit, then began to speak.

"That we do not know. As the Head Miko has said, those records have been long lost and It has been the dream of every Head Miko that came after to find scraps of knowledge about what happened to them. Over the past few years it had been a futile act that had led to nothing but false hopes… till now." The statement was punctuated with a pointed stare at him, a stare that was shared by the group of old women.

He had grown tired of the subterfuge since they refused to be plain, then he was going to be blunt. "What exactly do you think, that I am a child of Amaterasu or I was sent by her?"

They recoiled in unison like the words had physically hit them, and then they sent glancing looks at each other, their behavior slowly made him consider that they might have thought it, yet they had never put the thought into words, at least as bluntly as he just did. Only one person seemed unfazed.

The Head Miko shrugged. An unfamiliar act that he had not seen her display before now. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But is it so far-fetched?"

Jiki frowned in response, so the head miko continued, only this time she gestured towards a cabinet at the side, and Utahime who had been present but quite immediately scurried towards it, bringing out a scroll from it that she passed to the closest Miko, who passed it along reverently after whispering a few words over it, and so it continued till it ended in the head Miko's hands.

The old woman laid the scroll down and then unfurled it. Jiki looked down at the aged paper, and it was aged. It looked like it would fall and disintegrate into nothing if it so much as dropped to the floor.

On the paper were images, what he could vaguely identify as a miko dancing in a circle while the rest surrounded her.

"What do you see child?" The head Miko asked, and Jiki took a second to be certain of his interpretation before replying.

"A rite, or a ritual."

The Old Miko gave him that innocent gumless smile once more turning back to the scroll. "Back then, when the Gods were more than just superstition. Even if most never saw them physically, they felt their presence. The most powerful and the most learned of us especially had a close connection to them and when pushed to, could embody that God."

Jiki nodded along. So far what she said was nothing new. Nothing he had not heard about before now. Even in his past life, there were enough tales of Miko's being controlled by their Gods. "Possession." He noted and she nodded along as her eye remained on the paper as she trailed the images with her hands.

"It is an act that is no longer a great secret like it used to be because Unfortunately, it is a lost art, but not because it has been forgotten. While worshipers simply know of it, we have detailed records that talk about it, witness accounts stretching back centuries." She raised up her head to stare at him once more.

"It is a lost art because when we call, no one answers anymore. Not like what happens when you do." Her eyes went back to the scrolls she continued. "You wonder what this all means for you. How it relates to you don't you."

Jiki knew a rhetorical question when he was given one so he remained silent.

"So I'll give you the foremost theory we have of your existence. Mikoto was never a shrine maiden, even if she paid enough respect to the Gods, but she didn't need to be for she already had the blood. A blood that formed a tighter connection to the Gods more than any ritual ever could.

Jiki could already see the angle she was coming from and raised an eyebrow in response. For someone who could not see with her eyes, the head Miko picked up on visual cues easily. She let out a chuckle before speaking.

"Is It so far out of pocket? That there was some chance, even if it was a one in a million, but it was a chance that your mother was possessed by Amaterasu during the act that gave birth to you. A flicker of chance, a poke in the wheel of fate, a miracle, call it what you want. But whatever happened that night created a child.

One that was descended from the line of Amaterasu herself and also from one of the most powerful sorcerers who even upon his demise, he had been powerful enough to return as a curse."

Jiki shifted his attention from the Head Miko to the other Miko's. Not all of them agreed and he didn't blame them. Not when he could hardly agree or believe either. Yet it was also the closest explanation he had for this new life he lived. This second chance he was somehow blessed with despite being undeserving of it. What else could dip its hand into the impure world and rip a soul out if not a god?

Then there was the advantage that came with such claims. The favor of one of the most powerful organizations in the Jujutsu society. An organization that was just as old and storied even if they were not as powerful as they used to be.

"What now?"

The head miko gently wrapped the scroll back up and tied it before passing it along. Once again it got into Utahime's hands and the senior Miko moved to gently place it in the cabinet she had retrieved it from.

"Now? Now we see if our theories have the slightest bit of truth to them. This is an act that only you can prove."

"My techniques."

"Yes… your techniques." She nodded along, seemingly Lethargic. "Unfortunately, I'm an old woman, and I have had enough excitement for the day. To be forced to see anymore and my poor heart might give out for the third time this year."

Utahime comes forward once more, prime and proper. The picture-perfect image of a Shrine maiden. "The Head Miko needs her rest, Come Gojo Jiki, I would escort you to a room specially prepared for a visitor of your status.

Jiki waved her off, as he remained focused on the Head Miko. "I did not simply come here for-"

"The counter ritual of the Kudoku bath."

Jiki hid his surprise, so perfectly this time that he doubted even the old woman with her ridiculous perception could point it out. She continued, "Yes, I know the true reason you came here, and you will get your answers as soon as we get ours."

This time he didn't bother to hide the frown that spread on is face. Again there was the impulsive urge, so unlike him to lash out and grab the aged woman by the throat and force out everything he needed from her, but already he recognized it for what it was.

It was no mistake that cursed energy was gotten from negative emotions, and heightened when its user was feeling such, which fed into the user experiencing more negative emotions thereby creating a feedback loop. A feedback loop he had been undergoing for weeks now since Aiko's coma.

He let out a calming breath as he stood up, and without another word, he turned around and walked out of the room with deliberate and slow steps. He had waited for weeks. A single day would change nothing, He felt Utahime bow behind him as she scrambled to run after him.

He glanced out of the window in the corridor, and what he saw forced his annoyance to cool. A dark empty sky with only a single point of light, the moon. It was night already, which meant they had spent the whole day in that room.

"Are you alright Jiki?" Utahime asked as she came up to him. Concern was etched on her features as she lost the straight-laced formal bearing of a Miko, reversing into something he could tentatively call a friend. So he simply nodded in response, allowing her to take the lead.

"I know it must've been jarring. It was to me the first time I heard it, but It's alright. Even if nothing happens tomorrow, I'm sure the head Miko can still be convinced into helping out with Aiko."

Jiki remained quiet and Utahime took it as a sign to keep quiet as well, even if she continued to send him, worried looks, but his mind was on other things. Unlike Utahime he didn't plan on leaving Aiko's revival up to fate and chance.

The Shrine Maidens wanted something Spectacular and he would give it to them. By this time tomorrow, he would either have a way to revive Aiko perfectly, or they would pay for dangling Aiko's revival in front of him.