Cursed Technique

Breakfast in the Zenin household had always been a carefully choreographed affair, but on this particular morning, the usual rhythms felt surreal to Indra. Still getting used to this with now remembering two decades of a different life.

"Your form was lacking this morning, Naoya," Naobito's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade. "The Projection Sorcery technique requires perfect precision."

Indra watched his half-brother's fingers tighten imperceptibly around his chopsticks.

Even at ten years old, Naoya already displayed the prideful nature that Indra remembered from his past life's knowledge. Yet here, living it, the complexity of Naoya's character was far more apparent.

"Yes, father," Naoya replied, his voice carefully controlled. "I'll do better."

From her position at Naobito's right, Yuki maintained her carefully neutral expression. His own mother, Samira, sat with perfect posture, her presence commanding respect without demanding it.

"And you, Indra?" Naobito's attention shifted, his keen eyes studying his younger son. "Have you felt any stirring of your technique yet?"

This was the moment. Indra had carefully considered how to present his power. Too much would draw dangerous attention - Kenjaku being the main danger, while too little would diminish his standing.

The key was to show something impressive yet seemingly straightforward – hiding the true nature of his reality-altering ability behind a more conventional application. 

"Actually, father," Indra spoke, his voice clear and steady, "I have."

The air in the room grew heavy with anticipation. Indra allowed his cursed energy to manifest – a crimson aura that felt like an ocean depths, vast and powerful.

The servants along the walls stiffened – they had grown used to the weight of his cursed energy, but this was different.

"Interesting," Naobito murmured, his expert senses analyzing the quality of Indra's cursed energy. "Show us."

Indra reached for an empty tea cup, letting his red aura envelop it. 

The cup didn't burn. It didn't melt. Instead, it simply... burst. Fragments scattered across the table before crumbling into fine dust, as if the very structure of the material had been forced apart at a fundamental level.

To demonstrate further, Indra directed his crimson aura toward a wooden training dummy in the corner.

The moment his energy made contact, the dummy exploded from within, splinters bursting outward before dissolving into dust.

"The technique appears to destroy objects from their core," Indra explained, "Living things burst from within, while inanimate objects heat and disintegrate."

Naoya's eyes narrowed, analyzing. "Like Projection Sorcery, it seems to affect the target's very structure."

"A technique fitting for one born with such vast cursed energy," Naobito observed. "Though its manifestation is unusual for our bloodline."

Samira, who had been quietly observing, spoke for the first time. "Perhaps it reflects both heritages. The Zenin power combined with the ancient arts of Mesopotamia."

"Demonstrate on a cursed tool," Naobito ordered.

A servant quickly brought forward a simple cursed blade. Indra enveloped it in his crimson aura.

The blade shuddered for a moment before bursting apart, its metal structure failing catastrophically before the fragments turned to dust.

"Impressive," Naobito nodded. "Your innate cursed energy has finally found its expression. We will begin specialized training immediately."

"After breakfast, come to the main training ground," Naobito continued, his eyes calculating. "We'll need to assess the full scope of this technique."

"Yes, father," Indra replied, keeping his expression appropriately serious for a five-year-old who had just manifested a powerful technique.

Naoya's chopsticks clicked against his bowl with slightly more force than necessary. Though his face remained composed, Indra could sense his half-brother reassessing him, likely weighing this new development against his own progress with Projection Sorcery.

The rest of breakfast proceeded in silence, heavy with the weight of expectations.

The Zenin clan valued power above all else, and Indra had just demonstrated another reason why the elders had been watching him so closely since birth.

As the servants began clearing the tables, Naobito stood. "Naoya, continue your morning training with Jinichi. Indra, you have one hour to prepare yourself."

"Of course, father," both sons responded in unison, though their tones carried vastly different undertones.

Walking through the polished wooden corridors of the Zenin compound, Indra could hear the distant sounds of training from various courtyards.

The rhythmic impacts of physical combat, the distinctive whoosh of cursed energy techniques, and the sharp commands of instructors all blended into a familiar symphony.

He reached his quarters and slid the door closed behind him. His room was traditionally sparse – a futon, a small desk, and a few shelves containing books on jujutsu theory.

The morning sunlight filtered through the paper screens, casting geometric patterns on the tatami mats.

One hour.

He settled into a meditative pose, focusing on the vast pool of cursed energy within him. From his past life's memories of Jujutsu Kaisen, he knew that raw power alone wasn't enough.

Control and application were what separated truly formidable sorcerers from mere powerhouses.

The crimson aura manifested around him again, and he began experimenting with its flow. Too much force would make objects explode violently; too little would only cause surface damage.

The key would be to demonstrate progression – starting with rough control and gradually improving throughout the session.

After an hour a knock at his door interrupted his preparation. "Young master," a servant called, "Naobito-sama awaits you at the main training ground."

The main training ground was empty when Indra arrived, save for Naobito and two elders he recognized as members of the clan's council.

Without a word, Naobito turned and walked toward the furthest edge of the Zenin compound, where an ancient well stood isolated from all other structures.

As they approached, Indra felt the air grow heavy with malevolent energy. The well's stone rim was carved with worn warding symbols, their patterns complex and archaic.

Dark whispers seemed to echo from its depths.

"This well," Naobito spoke, his voice carrying no emotion, "has been used by the Zenin clan for centuries. It naturally attracts and traps cursed spirits. The wards keep them contained, but they remain... hungry."

Indra peered into the darkness below. His enhanced senses could detect them – hundreds of cursed spirits writhing in the depths, from mindless manifestations to more evolved entities. Their collective cursed energy felt like a bottomless pool of malice.

"Your cursed energy exceeds that of most of the world," Naobito continued. "Even these spirits cannot truly harm you because of your reinforcement. What you need now is not theory, but experience."

Without another word, Naobito's hand shot out, gripping Indra's collar. In one fluid motion, he lifted his five-year-old son and held him over the well's mouth.

"Show me the worth of your technique."

Then he let go.

The fall seemed endless in the darkness, wind rushing past as Indra plummeted into the abyss.

His mind, despite his past life's memories, reacted with instinctive shock – he was still, after all, in a five-year-old body being thrown into a pit of monsters.

The impact with the bottom never came. Instead, he found himself suspended in a writhing mass of cursed spirits.

Dozens of hands grabbed at him, countless teeth snapped at his flesh. The well's walls disappeared behind a wall of twisted bodies and malevolent faces.

His natural reinforcement held strong – where their attacks should have torn flesh, they only managed to bruise.

Where their claws should have pierced, they merely scraped. Yet the pain, while bearable, was real enough.

Each bite, each scratch, each crushing grip sent dull waves of discomfort through his small frame.

Indra's fists flew instinctively at first, each impact devastating the spirits they connected with.

Bodies burst apart only to be replaced by more, an endless tide of hatred and hunger pressing in from all sides.

The well echoed with inhuman shrieks and the wet sounds of cursed flesh being pulverized.

But there were too many. For every spirit he destroyed, three more took its place. The pressure grew, the mass of bodies threatening to completely envelop him.

Enough.

Indra's cursed energy shifted and he applied his self-bestowed attribute. The vast ocean within him stirred, and then erupted.

Crimson light blazed from his body like a newborn star, illuminating every corner of the ancient well. The red aura shot skyward, a pillar of light that burst from the well's mouth and painted the morning clouds crimson.

In that brilliant illumination, every cursed spirit froze. Hundreds of twisted faces caught in a moment of dawning comprehension.

The light receded, but Indra's crimson aura remained, swirling around him like a deadly corona.

Then, one by one, the spirits began to burst.

It started with their heads – foreheads bulging outward before exploding in sprays of cursed blood and matter.

Bodies convulsed as limbs detonated from within, chest cavities expanded and burst, hearts exploded inside still-intact torsos.

The well became a storm of death and destruction, every spirit coming apart in a different way, all while Indra stood at the center, his crimson aura pulsing with each detonation.

The last echoes of destruction faded, leaving only the drip of cursed blood and fragments of spirit flesh dissolving into nothing. The well's ancient walls were scarred and cracked, testament to the violence that had just unfolded.

A figure dropped from above, landing with impossible grace among the carnage. Naobito surveyed the devastation, his sharp features breaking into an uncharacteristic grin.

"Magnificent," he breathed, eyes gleaming as he took in the full scope of destruction. "To think you'd dispatch them all so thoroughly."

But Indra wasn't in a mood to appreciate his father's approval. Fury coursed through him – not the simple anger of a child, but something deeper.

"You threw me down here," Indra's voice was quiet, but carried clearly in the confined space. "Like I was nothing more than a pest."

"Of course I did," Naobito replied matter-of-factly. "How else would we gauge your technique's true potential?"

"I am your son!" The crimson aura erupted around Indra again, more intense than before - his own five years of seeing this man as his father, currently more dominant because of the effects of this young body on his mind. 

The attack was pure instinct. His aura shot forward like a spear of red light, aimed directly at Naobito's chest. But the Zenin clan head wasn't known as one of the world's fastest sorcerers for nothing.

"Too slow," Naobito's voice came from behind him, his form having blurred past the attack. The wall where he had stood burst apart in a shower of ancient stone. "And too emotional."

A precise kick, carefully measured despite its speed, caught Indra in the chest.

"A technique like yours requires control, not passion."

The impact sent the boy flying backward, his small body tumbling through the debris of his own making.

Indra struggled to his feet, his chest aching from the kick. Despite his vast cursed energy and natural reinforcement, Naobito's strike had driven the air from his lungs.

The pain helped clear his head, forcing back the childish emotions that had overwhelmed him.

"Better," Naobito observed, noting the way his son's crimson aura steadied, becoming less erratic.

"Now you begin to understand. Power without control is meaningless. Emotion without purpose is wasteful."

Indra took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to slow. His father was right – he had let the situation, and his body's young age, affect him too much.

The red aura around him pulsed once, then settled into a steady glow.

"Your technique," Naobito continued, walking through the carnage of destroyed spirits, "has potential far beyond simple destruction. But first, you must master yourself." He stopped before Indra, looking down at his second son with calculating eyes.

"Can you do that?"

Indra met his father's gaze, his own dark eyes reflecting the crimson light of his aura. "Yes, father."

"Good." Naobito turned toward the well's entrance. "Training begins tomorrow at dawn. Do not be late." He paused, then added, "And Indra... well done with the cursed spirits."

With that, he vanished in a blur of movement, leaving Indra alone in the devastated well.

The boy looked around at the destruction he had caused – at the cracked walls and dissolving remains of hundreds of cursed spirits. His first real display of power in this world had been impressive, yes, but also revealing. 

He had so much more potential than this.

For this was but one attribute.

He had years ahead of him to explore more and see the limits.

After all, this is just the beginning.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter!

How do you find what will for now be thought of as Indra's cursed technique?

I find it fun, since its based on Raoh - who Indra looks like, and is the one on the cover page - Chi Hokuto attack, that bursts any living thing it touches.

Next chapter though we'll explore the limits of the Attribute technique.

Since its too broken if there are no limits, since you can then just give yourself the attribute, that if you utter someone's name, wherever they are, they just cease to exist.

Which is ridiculous.

No, it will be a power that rivals/surpasses the Limitless, and the conceptual cutting that Sukuna has.

So yeah, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)