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Before My Very Eyes Chapter 5 (Arena)
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 01:30:34 +0000 UTCThe Gojo clan was full of battle maniacs.
Tucking my shoulder in, I braced myself for the punch whipping toward my face. The impact came like a sledgehammer, reverberating through my bones, rattling them to their core. It was like standing at the edge of an explosion—forceful, unyielding, but somehow, I remained standing.
Adrenaline surged, heightening my senses. I could feel every fiber in my arms straining to absorb the blow, every tendon tightening under the pressure. The pain was sharp, immediate, but I pushed it aside.
There was no room for weakness here. Not in front of them. Not with the crowd watching.
Even as my body absorbed the shock, my mind was already calculating the next move.
Letting the punch land wasn’t a mistake; it was a calculated risk. A way to bait my opponent—a risk that paid off the moment I latched onto his wrist. My opponent was strong. But I knew how to turn that strength against them.
With a sudden burst of cursed energy, I leaped up, still gripping his hand. My body twisted mid-air, momentum building like a coiled spring. Then, in an explosion of speed, I rolled and swung downward with all my might. The force of the maneuver was enough to lift my opponent off his feet, dragging him along for the ride.
He had no time to react, no chance to counter. His body swung in a wide arc, crashing into the ground with bone-shattering force. Hard enough to crack the arena floor, dust and debris flying up in a cloud as the breath was knocked out of him. He hadn’t expected that. No one did.
For a moment, there was silence, the crowd holding its collective breath. Then the noise erupted—cheers, roars of approval. They loved it. Of course they did.
And from the grin on my face, I wasn’t any different.
The thrill of victory buzzed through me as I raised my hand, the crowd erupting in chants of my name. The rush was intoxicating. Every cheer, every shout, fueled the fire in my veins, amplifying the adrenaline that still surged from the fight.
It had been a tough one, no doubt about it. The conditions for today’s duels were strict—no cursed techniques, just raw, unfiltered hand-to-hand combat. But in the end, the result remained the same. I was the last one standing.
I was one of the two wards of the clan leader, after all. Trained by him too. Expectations were high, and I had continued to meet them.
As the roar of the crowd grew, I glanced up, locking eyes with Gojo Satoru, who stood high above the arena. He was surrounded by the white-haired elders of the clan, their expressions blank wrinkled masks. Satoru’s face, however, was unreadable, save for the slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
From where I stood, I tried to convey a message through my gaze. I’m ready.
He raised an eyebrow, almost as if to ask, Are you now?
Yes, I conveyed, the determination in my eyes unwavering. You know I am.
For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to crackle with a sudden mischief. Then, in one fluid motion, Satoru stood up, the attention of the entire crowd shifting to him.
“My ward, Nagato, believes he’s ready for a real fight,” Satoru announced, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise. “He believes he has what it takes to defeat every single one of you in jujutsu battle.”
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat, absorbing the challenge. Then, as the realization set in, the arena erupted into chaos. Shouts of excitement, anger, and challenge filled the air as people surged forward, eager to be the first to take up the gauntlet and teach the “brat” a lesson.
“Shall we put him to the test?”
Motherfucker.
The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, every voice blending together in a riotous cry for violence. Their hunger for blood was palpable, buzzing in the air like a swarm of angry insects. But they didn’t just want a fight. They wanted me broken, brought low, torn apart for their amusement.
They’d have to wait longer.
I’d been holding back, keeping a tight rein on my cursed energy. My strength was still largely untapped. But now, with the whole clan pressing in, baying for my blood, it was time to remind them of exactly what I was capable of.
I exhaled, and with that breath, I let my cursed energy slip free. It oozed out slowly, insidious and thick, like smoke seeping from a fire no one could see. The effect was immediate. The air around me grew heavy, oppressive. It was as if the atmosphere itself recoiled, warping and twisting under the weight of the energy I released.
The crowd stilled, a sudden and unnatural quiet falling over them. They could feel it. My cursed energy didn’t just make the air heavy—it crept along their skin, winding into their veins like poison, cold and slow. It was an invisible force that seeped into them, threading through the cracks
Besides, apart from Gojo Satoru, I had the largest cursed energy reserves in the clan.
Their excitement didn’t fade—it transformed. The wild, unrestrained frenzy of moments ago morphed into something darker, more focused. Grins began to spread across faces, wide and feral, eyes alight with a twisted kind of pleasure. They weren’t just waiting for a fight anymore. They were savoring the moment, tasting the danger I had introduced, feeling the way my cursed energy slithered through the air like an unseen predator.
They didn’t fear it. No, they welcomed it.
The silence that gripped the arena wasn’t born of fear. It was anticipation. My cursed energy wasn’t just pressure; it was something that wormed its way into their heads, whispering promises of violence, of blood and bone breaking. And they were ready for it. They were leaning forward now, eyes bright, muscles tense with excitement. Some of them were licking their lips, hands twitching like they were eager to dive into the fight themselves
They welcomed the challenge. My strength of my reserves didn’t deter them; it spurred them on. They thrived on the thrill of combat, on the chance to pit their strength against worthy opponents.
And right now, I had just shown them that I was more than worthy.
The first to answer my challenge emerged from the ranks with a deliberate, measured stride. The crowd parted for him, and he descended grandly, each step echoing with a weight that spoke of experience. His hand moved to the belt at his waist, fingers deftly unclasping the buckle. He did it slowly, with purpose, allowing the anticipation to build with each passing second. The belt slid free, heavy and ornate, and he let it fall to the ground with a dull thud, the leather pooling at his feet like a serpent uncoiling.
He was a grand one, that much was certain. Bare-chested, his skin was tanned and marred with the scars of countless battles, each one a testament to his prowess. His pants, the loose, flowing kind hung low on his hips, swaying slightly as he moved. But it was the adornments that caught the eye, glittering in the light as he advanced. Earrings dangled from both ears, each studded with gemstones that caught the sun, while necklaces—gold, silver, and everything in between—hung heavy around his neck, clinking softly with every step. His chest and arms bore the marks of more than just battle; they were decorated with intricate tattoos, patterns that told stories of power and lineage.
And then there were the trinkets. Piercings lined his brow, nose, and lips, small studs and rings that added to his fierce appearance. Two thick, ornate braces encircled his arms, and similar bands adorned his legs, just above the ankle, glinting as he walked. Each piece seemed to hum with its own energy, enhancing the aura of power that surrounded him.
He stopped a few paces in front of me, his gaze steady, unflinching. He raised his chin slightly, his voice low and commanding.
“I will answer your challenge,” he declared, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us, a promise of the battle to come.
The moment hung heavy in the air between us, a breathless pause before the inevitable clash. My opponent stood tall, every inch of his body coiled with anticipation, ready to spring. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see it—the gleam of a predator sizing up its prey.
Then without warning, he moved.
It was an explosive burst of speed, his bare feet barely grazing the ground as he launched himself forward. For a moment, all I saw was the glint of the gold from his trinkets and the blur of his form as he closed the distance between us in an instant. His fist, gleaming wickedly in the light, was already hurtling toward me, aimed squarely at my jaw.
But I had seen this coming. I had seen the shift in his energy, the slight tension in his stance that betrayed his intent.
I sidestepped, my movements fluid, letting his fist pass mere inches from my face. The air crackled with the sheer force of the blow as it missed.
The sound of his trinkets tinkling was the only warning before a massive force struck me, sending me rocketing through the air. I spun head over heels, the arena a blur.
Instincts kicked in. I twisted in mid-air, using the momentum to reorient myself before I slammed into the wall feet first, absorbing the shock with a grunt. Gravity tried to pull me down, but I clung to the vertical surface, defying the natural order through sheer force of will and control over my cursed energy control.
My opponent held my gaze, even with me horizontal against the arena’s surface.
His smirk, a taunt.
But as I closed in, his eyes gleamed with a knowing light, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t going to let me get close so easily.
With a quick, fluid motion, he raised his arms and slammed his braces together. The sharp metallic clang echoed through the arena, and before I could even brace myself, a powerful force exploded outward, hitting me like a battering ram.
It was like being struck by an invisible wall. The air around me rippled with the impact, and I was launched backward once again, my body sent hurtling through the air. This time, though, I was ready. The moment the force hit me, I relaxed my muscles, going with the momentum instead of fighting against it. My body spun mid-air, but I maintained control, keeping my bearings even as the arena blurred around me.
I twisted and landed in a low crouch, skidding backward across the ground, my heels digging into the stone to slow my momentum. The impact was less jarring this time, my preparation allowing me to absorb the force without losing balance.
As the dust settled, I looked up, meeting my opponent’s gaze. He hadn’t moved from the spot.
His smirk deepened as he then took a deliberate step forward, the sound of his trinkets tinkling like a taunt. He didn’t rush; he knew he had the upper hand.
“I bet you’re wondering what’s happening,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual, as if this was all a game to him. My gaze dropped to the trinkets, the source of the invisible force that had sent me flying across the arena. I could feel the cursed energy pulsing from them, a subtle hum that resonated through the air.
He took another step, and my eyes returned to his. His were sharp, calculating, gloating clearly enjoying the confusion he saw in mine. “I bet you’re wondering how I’m doing this. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you. My cursed technique is called Shockwave.”
The name hung in the air between us, and I could feel the crowd’s attention sharpening, leaning in to hear the explanation. My opponent continued, his voice smooth, confident, as though he was giving a lecture rather than facing an opponent in the arena.
“My cursed technique allows me to alter the vibrational frequency of objects on my person,” he explained, his hand brushing over the trinkets that adorned his body. “By syncing with the natural resonance of the object, I can either amplify or dampen the vibrations, controlling the intensity of kinetic energy of these vibrations.”
He raised one arm slightly, the movement drawing my attention to the brace around his wrist. “When I increase these vibrations,” he continued, his tone almost conversational, “even the smallest impact can turn into a devastating blow, shattering bones or breaking through defenses.”
It clicked in my mind. He was using a binding vow. By disclosing the nature of his cursed technique to me, he was increasing the risk to himself, therefore amplifying the power of his cursed technique . His confidence wasn’t just arrogance; it was calculated. He had rendered his technique and vulnerable and for that reason, his technique would hit even harder.
The air seemed to grow thicker, the distance between us shrinking at a pace that felt almost suffocating. He wasn’t in a hurry, perhaps feeling like each step he took tightened the noose around my options. His arrogance would be his downfall
He claimed he had an absolute defense, let’s test it
without warning, he brought his legs together, the metal braces on his ankles clashing with a sharp, resonant clang. The sound was immediately followed by a powerful shockwave, emanating from his legs and propelling him forward with impossible speed. The air cracked with the force, and in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of me, his sudden approach overwhelming.
But I was ready.
Reacting on instinct, my hands flew together, forming the necessary seals in rapid succession. My voice rang out, clear and commanding, "Fire Release: Fireball Jutsu!"
I exhaled, releasing a massive ball of fire that roared to life, expanding as it hurtled toward him. The flames swirled and surged, a blazing inferno crashing into him. The heat was intense, waves of it rolling off the fireball as it crashed into him, surrounding him in a burning, seething mass.
For a moment, it seemed like that was it. The flames consumed him, the heat distorting the air around the inferno. The crowd held their breath, waiting for the fire to die down, for the smoke to clear.
But then, just as quickly as it had erupted, the fire burst outward, dissipating into nothingness. The flames vanished as though they had never been, revealing my opponent standing in the exact same spot, untouched. His clothes weren’t even singed.
He stood there, calm and composed, a smirk playing on his lips as if amused by the attempt. Not a scratch on him.
Realizing the fireball was ineffective, I shifted tactics. I formed the seals once more. “Fire Style: Flamethrower Technique!”
A continuous stream of fire erupted from my mouth, roaring toward him. The intense flames licked at his body, the inferno relentless. He tried to dissipate the fire with his shockwaves, but the flames just kept coming. Smoke billowed as I poured on the heat, trying to roast him out.
The crowd watched, captivated.
He was still standing, trying to defend, but the flames persisted. The arena grew hazy with smoke, the heat unbearable. I knew he needed to breathe.
Then, he gathered his cursed energy, unleashing a huge burst of shockwave. The ground quaked, cracking open, creating a crater beneath us. The shockwave shattered the fire, sending me stumbling backward. The arena floor cracked and buckled, the explosion of energy throwing me off balance.
The crowd's gasp was a roar in my ears as I stumbled, momentarily off balance from the shockwave’s impact. He then seized the opening, unleashing a concentrated shockwave aimed squarely at my chest. It felt like a freight train bearing down on me—if it hit, it would drive me straight into the arena wall, and the match would be over.
But I was ready.
With a defiant roar, I unleashed a burst of almighty push, a forceful shockwave of my own. The impact met Hiro’s concentrated shockwave head-on. The clash sent ripples through the air, and the shockwave’s intensity dissipated harmlessly around us. I felt the energy disperse, the pressure easing.
My hand shot forward in a heartbeat as I activated “Bansho Tenin” the technique pulling him toward me with irresistible force. He was lifted off his feet, airborne and helpless, as the distance vanished between us.
Caught off guard, his initial reaction was still a blur of movement. He launched a series of rapid punches and kicks, each strike slicing through the air with violent vibrations. His trinkets jiggled and clinked with every movement, and the sound of shockwaves forming filled the arena. The sheer speed and power behind each strike sent shockwaves reverberating through the space.
I evaded with practiced agility, twisting and ducking as his strikes came within inches of my body. Each movement was a dance with danger, narrowly avoiding the lethal vibrations that would have shattered bone and sent me sprawling. My enhanced perception tracked his cursed energy flow, allowing me to anticipate his next move with near-precognition.
He pressed the attack, a relentless barrage of kicks and punches, shockwaves bursting from his every move. The intensity of the battle escalated, the arena becoming a maelstrom of power and motion.
And then I decided to gamble. As his shockwaves roared toward me, I stretched out my hand and intoned, “Preta Path.”
The shockwaves, in plain words, burst.
Cursed energy ripped from his shockwaves immediately flowing into me. The force behind it didn’t entirely vanish however. After all the attack was one part cursed energy and other parts kinetic energy. I was pushed back, feet carving trenches in the earth, but I didn’t stop.
With a burst of cursed energy, I broke through whatever resistance this feeble energy offered, the power surging into a concentrated strike. My fist connected with his midsection, the force behind the blow amplified by my absorbed energy.
The impact was immediate and devastating. The absorbed energy exploded outwards, lifting him off the ground as if he were weightless. Spittle flew from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock as he was launched across the arena. The air whistled with his passage before his body slammed into the wall with a bone-rattling crash. Dust and debris erupted from the point of impact, the stone cracking under the sheer force.
The arena fell into a stunned silence, the crowd holding its breath as they watched his limp body fall to the ground. For a brief moment, there was nothing but the sound of settling dust and the distant echo of the impact. Then, as if a dam had broken, the silence was shattered by a roar of cheers, the noise rolling through the stands like thunder. The crowd surged to their feet, their voices rising in unison as they began chanting my name, louder and louder until it seemed to fill the entire space.
I raised my hands to the air, soaking in the rush of their approval, the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. The energy was electric, a heady mix of triumph and excitement.
In the moment, I threw my head back and roared, my voice echoing off the stone walls.
“Who’s next?!”
Like I said, the Gojo clan was full of battle-maniacs. And I felt very much at home.
