Apostle of Paradise Lost / (Jujutsu Kaisen Fiction)

[Sng-KAzVener]

Preface

Greetings, dear readers! This is my first time on this platform, so I'm still navigating my way around, but here we go. I am pleased to present my fanfiction set within the Jujutsu Kaisen universe. Think of this as a "DLC-style" expansion to the canon, exploring Geto's legacy and his character arc through the lens of my Original Character (OC). What you are about to read is only the Prologue and an Interlude; there is much more to come. I hope you enjoy the descent into this story. Happy reading!

P.S. to the Staff/Moderation: Since I am new here, I hope for your patience if I've made any formatting or placement errors. Please let me know if anything needs fixing, and I will correct it immediately.

Thank you!​

---

Prologue​

"Since our earliest days, we are taught that God created us in His own image and likeness. That He is the measure of all existence, and His love for us is boundless. We are bidden to love our neighbor as ourselves, believing that He shall not forsake us in our hour of need, nor fail to shield us from the foulest of demons…

But what remains, if in the hour of agony the Almighty remained deaf? Had He the right to keep His silence while the sufferer prayed with his last breath, crying out for mercy?
For to that cry, another appeared. One who, delivering me from the devils, stretched forth a hand of succor and of care. And if he hath done that which the Creator dared not... have I not the right to name him the True God?" - Takamoe Kamo
​

Interlude: Sendai Colony

Date: November 12th 2018 year

Another day of the cataclysm known as the "Culling Game" grinds through Japan. Half the realm lies in ruin, its people adrift in a stupor of disbelief, failing to grasp the madness that has strangled their land. Souls perish in geometric progression; the throne of authority remains silent, its position unknown. Within the Sendai Colony of Miyagi Prefecture, events of truly monstrous scale and substance are unfurling. The participants those few who had amassed blood-stained points and reveled in their fleeting dominance never fathomed they would collide with a Special Grade sorcerer from the Tokyo Jujutsu High: Yuta Okkotsu.

The spectacle of him standing fiercely against these instruments of slaughter was nothing short of breathtaking. Even as a Special Grade, standing alongside the likes of Yuki Tsukumo or the renowned Satoru Gojo, few possessed the mastery to contend alone against sorcerers of the Heian Era and that Special Grade curse - an insectoid horror birthed from a diseased mind, feasting with delight upon human flesh while its victims perished in agonizing helplessness. Yet Yuta, battered and bloodied, emerged the victor. He did not claim the lives of the survivors; instead, with a haunting kindness, he spoke to his foes, asking them to mercifully surrender the points they had harvested from the innocent...

But the air shifted. The threads of fate tangled. As if for Yuta's very soul, another had descended - one he had never beheld, yet who knew him intimately. For the Sufferer had marked him with a monstrous brand, and Okkotsu bore it now: the mark of the Persecutor.

— << Hoc est autem judicium: quia lux venit in mundum… >> —

A distant male voice sliced through the silence of the Sendai ruins. It was cold, reminiscent of the frozen lake of Cocytus where Lucifer himself lies interned for eternity, yet it echoed with a thunderous resonance. At the sound, Yuta froze. His former opponent, Ryu Ishigori, went still. Okkotsu's left hand trembled involuntarily. The stranger did not cease.

— << ...et dilexerunt homines magis tenebras quam lucem: erant enim eorum mala opera. >> —

As the Latin faded, Yuta heard a rhythmic, unsettling sound: glass spheres clicking and grinding between the stranger's fingers. Looking up, some twelve meters away, he saw a solitary lamppost amidst the wreckage. Atop it sat a silhouette. The figure fingered prayer beads the color of parched clay. He was draped in white garments that caught the light like a thousand stars, covered by a heavy scapular as black as the abyss. He wore the habit of a Cistercian. At his waist, a coiled cingulum rope was knotted; about his neck hung the stole of a priest and a humble crucifix of dark oak. Beneath the cross hung a large, vibrant square of green and gold, slashed by a crimson stain that formed three letters: SSS. A white hood cast his features into shadow, yet as he stood there, he bowed his head in a mock-humble reverence.

— << This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light, because their deeds were evil. >> —

The stranger raised his head. Sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating half his face with a greedy intensity. Yuta felt those eyes—not looking at him, but piercing through him, skewering his sinful soul like a blade.

— The Gospel of John. Chapter 3, verse 19. Speak then, Persecutor... did you not also choose the darkness when you wielded the instruments of passion within the walls of Tokyo Jujutsu High? —

The question fell like a hammer of God. Its weight was tectonic, a mortal burden of a fallen world pressing down on Okkotsu's shoulders. The stranger had shifted into Japanese, yet the transition was seamless, a bridge of shared grief and divergent fates that would now alter the course of their lives forever.