Chapter 97: A False Alarm
Before the Chairman of the Jujutsu Association could even react, Hachiman's hand, glowing with the green light of a psychic technique, clamped onto the old man's throat.
His movement was so fast that the Chairman stood no chance of defending himself.
[Nightmare Murmurs] activated. The Chairman's eyes instantly glazed over, becoming hollow voids.
Hachiman needed now to know for certain that this world had been not directly touched by the Warp.
He needed to find out exactly what was going on. While [Nightmare Murmurs] usually forces a target to face their most suppressed fears, it doubles as a brutal method for memory excavation.
He didn't care about the old man's life story; he wanted the origin of those four statues, whether the Association had lied to him, and their true stance on those idols.
These findings would determine whether Hachiman would perform a "Great Purge" of the Jujutsu Association tonight.
-
-
-
When the Chairman groggily woke up, he found his limbs bound to a massive cross. The sky above was a bleeding red, dominated by a crimson moon.
"Where is this? Where did you take me?" He paused, trying to steady his heart. "No... this is an illusion."
As a seasoned sorcerer, he recognized a mental construct, but he was unprepared for the reality of the pain. Hachiman stood before him, cold and silent, and drove his chainsword deep into the old man's torso.
"AAAAAAGH!" The Chairman's scream was a piercing shriek of soul-deep agony.
"Damned brat! What are you doing?! I am the Chairman of the Association! You are openly defying our authority!"
Hachiman ignored the screams. He simply withdrew the blade and thrust it into the old man's ribs again. He was systematically grinding down the enemy's mental fortitude. To bypass the mental defenses of a high-level sorcerer, one must reduce their willpower to a state where resistance is impossible.
By the time Hachiman had "stabbed" him 150 times, the eighty-year-old man no longer had the strength to cry. His mental world laid bare, and Hachiman found the memories he sought.
-
-
-
The predecessor of the [Ghost Post Office] was a group called the [Four Saints Cult].
A thousand years ago, during an era of warring states and rampant plague, the cult rose to power. Their Pope claimed to be the earthly mouthpiece for four gods who promised salvation. These four deities corresponded to the cycle of life and death, war, wisdom, and pleasure.
The statues were relics from that peak era, infused with a millennium of "incense and willpower" (prayers) from countless believers. This nourishment gave the statues a disturbing, lifelike "spirituality."
Eventually, the powerful Fujiwara clan crushed the cult. The surviving elite believers formed the initial [Ghost Post Office], hiding in the shadows to plot their return.
Reading this, Hachiman's "Chaos PTSD" finally subsided.
'If these gods couldn't even take over a single primitive planet in a thousand years, the real Ruinous Powers would be embarrassed to know them.'
In the Warp, a single Greater Daemon leads legions that can topple star systems. Here, four "gods" were suppressed by sorcerers in a pre-technological civilization. It was a joke.
Hachiman realized these were not the real Chaos Gods, but "Conceptual Cursed Spirits"—entities born from the collective imagination and prayers of humans.
In this world, if enough people believe, the thought becomes a thing.
They were "Wish-Granting Koi." The believers created the gods, and the gods, in turn, empowered the believers.
These were "Xenos among Xenos," perhaps a state of existence above standard Cursed Spirits.
The messengers of the Post Office were essentially their "Chosen" or "Apostles."
Hachiman deactivated the technique.
-
-
-
Thud. The Chairman hit the floor like a dead dog. His mental energy was completely spent. Only his physical toughness allowed him to even attempt to stand, but his head felt as if a knife were being twisted inside his skull.
"I'm taking these things," Hachiman stated.
The Chairman stared blankly, his brain struggling to process the words. "Eh?"
Hachiman pointed at the four massive statues.
"You said keeping them here allows the 'Master' of the Post Office to spy on you. Is there any place in this world safer than with me?"
Hachiman would never leave an opportunity for a "Xenos" entity to grow stronger.
These statues were massive "experience packs." If a new messenger reached them, the budding gods would grow far more dangerous.
The high security here proved that if these were stolen, it would be an unmanageable catastrophe. Hachiman decided to "help" the Association by taking these hot potatoes off their hands.
"I told you... moving them will release the trapped energy... it'll go out of control—"
The Chairman's protest was cut short by a whistling wind. A massive gash appeared in the floor, aimed directly at him.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" The Chairman shrieked. He couldn't believe this young man was drawing a blade on him in the real world for the third time tonight.
Hachiman simply found it annoying that the Chairman was prioritizing the difficulty of transport over the threat of the idols. Sensing the lethal intent, the old man snapped a wooden talisman in his hand, erecting a golden defensive barrier.
The barrier shattered instantly under Hachiman's strike. The blade left a deep, jagged wound on the Chairman's left arm. Without the barrier, his arm would have been severed. The old man clutched his limb, staring at Hachiman with a mix of hatred and unprecedented humiliation. But he knew: if Hachiman wanted him dead, that strike would have hit his neck.
Hachiman pointed the broken tip of his sword at the man's throat. "Say one more word."
The Chairman's face turned various shades of purple and blue.
"Fine... but if this leaks and causes a disaster, it has nothing to do with us."
Hachiman ignored him. He cut his own hand again, letting the blood wet the floor. In a flare of sinister red light, the blood multiplied, turning the room into a boundless sea of gore—his [Open Domain].
The Chairman stared in awe, his pain momentarily forgotten.
An Open Domain?
To manifest one's inner world into reality without a closed barrier was the pinnacle of Jujutsu.
From the churning blood sea, four colossal black hands emerged. They grabbed the four "gods" from their pedestals and dragged them down into the depths. The statues seemed to struggle for a fraction of a second, almost coming to life, before being ruthlessly suppressed and swallowed by the sea.
Hachiman had not just "stored" them; he intended to use his psychic power to slowly grind away and neutralize the willpower contained within them.
"Send me any data on the messengers immediately," Hachiman commanded.
"And one more thing: if you ever hide information like this from me again... you know the consequences."
He knew why they hid it. They feared Hachiman was so powerful that if he met the Post Office, he might join them.
To these old men, Hachiman and Gojo were already a nightmare; adding the Post Office to that alliance would mean the end of the General Directorate.
"Your path to becoming Chairman wasn't exactly clean, was it?" Hachiman added, having seen the memories of the old man assassinating his predecessor and taking his wife.
He turned to leave.
"Remember to stop the bleeding. At your age, you might end up celebrating your 'one-year-old' deathday next year if you're not careful."
The Chairman was fuming, but he was powerless. He used another talisman to transfer the wound from his arm to the wood. He sat on the floor in silence, a defeated man.
.
.
.
Hachiman took the Association's helicopter back. Standing on the rooftop of his apartment, looking out at the glittering city lights, he felt a sense of relief. It was a false alarm; the "gods" here were just local conceptual spirits.
'The Four Saints Cult? Just trash that couldn't survive an era without me.'
The only problem was that these "gods" would actively tempt ordinary people into becoming believers, which could be hard to prevent.
-
-
-
In a dark, unlit room across the city, penguin-shaped band-aids and pebbles were scattered on the floor. A rope hung from the ceiling with a noose at the end.
Takamatsu Tomori, a girl with short gray hair, sat crying over a notebook. The ink was blurred by tears, but the words "I want to become human" and the lyrics to a song called Haruhikage were visible.
It looked like a failed suicide attempt.
The room was bathed in a faint, seductive pink light, and the air smelled of a decadent, corrupting perfume.
"If I sign... can I make a song that everyone likes? Can I bring Soyo-chan back?"
After the band broke apart twice, Tomori blamed herself. She felt talentless. Saki's words—"Tomori is the one who needs to practice the most"—and Soyo's cold departure were daggers in her heart.
Just as she was about to give up, she heard the voice of a "God." It promised her the talent to create music that would make everyone return to her.
"Yes," the voice said—a dual-toned voice, both male and female, sounding utterly convincing. "Tomori, you will become a magnificent composer. Those friends who left will be amazed by your talent and come back to your side."
"Please, God-sama," Tomori whispered. "Make them come back to me."
-
-
-
Back in the Ghost Post Office, Yukinoshita Yukino didn't notice the "Believer Count +1" appear next to the [God of Love and Joy]. She was focused on a new mission notification:
[Mission Countdown: 23:59:54]
[Mission: Incarnation Resurrection]
[Subject: Apostle of the God of Love and Joy—The Undying—(Insufficient Clearance)]
"Incarnation Resurrection?"
She looked at the mission tool provided: a whip made from a purple tongue, with a hooked end that twitched like a living snake. It was called the [Whip of Torment].
Strangely, when she accepted the task, the [God of Courage and Strength]—her usual patron—expressed clear dissatisfaction and anger.
It seemed the "Gods" did not get along.
Read ahead (60 chapters) by supporting me on buymeacoffee com/varietl or ko-fi edwriting