With These Bands I Summon II (Patreon)

“呪術. Jujutsu.

A term as enigmatic as the practices it encompasses, the art is one of the defining features of the world and the culture that created, honed, and defined the art is one of the major pillars of the world itself. Known globally by various names—Jujutsu Sorcery being one among them—this ancient art is both a hallmark of our world's mystic traditions and a pillar of the culture that has nurtured and refined it through the ages.

From the dawn of time, for as long as dark emotions have existed in the hearts of men, since the first Curse roamed the Earth, there has been Jujutsu. It emerged as humanity's shield against the Curses that roamed the earth, manifestations of our own primal fears and malevolent thoughts.Beyond the hallowed grounds of Japan, where the concentration of cursed energy wanes and the traditions of Jujutsu are but whispers on the wind, the notion of a thriving Jujutsu society is met with profound skepticism. The art, so deeply intertwined with the spiritual and cultural identity of Japan, struggles to take root in foreign soils, its potential stunted by the absence of the unique conditions that have allowed it to flourish in its homeland.

Moreover, the scattered presence of cursed energy in other lands means that the Curses that do emerge are often weaker and less frequent than those found in Japan. While this may seem like a blessing, it presents a unique challenge for aspiring sorcerers. Without regular exposure to significant Curses, these individuals lack the opportunities to hone their skills and develop the strength necessary to survive more potent encounters. As a result, even those with the potential to become powerful sorcerers may find themselves woefully unprepared when faced with a true threat.

The notion of a Jujutsu society emerging beyond the borders of Japan is further hindered by the lack of established traditions and lineages. While lands like China and Africa, with cultural practices and identities stretching back thousands of years, may contain some fragments of Jujutsu worth noting, countries of the West like those in Europe or, laughably, the Americas have nothing that deserve any attention, if they have any at all.

Moreover, in societies where the existence of Curses is not acknowledged, claims of seeing and battling these malevolent entities are rare. To do so would invite derision, fear and annoyance. At best, such individuals are dismissed as fantastical; at worst, they risk being ostracized or deemed insane.

Who, then, would proclaim the existence of such horrors outside the sanctified circles of Japan's Jujutsu society? 

Who would dare?” — Jujutsu: The Revolutionary Nature of Sorcery, Yui Haibara

II: On My Own

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

July 18th, 2007
New York City

Bed-Stuy

Sergeant Andrew Rock shut his car door with a definitive thud, the sound echoing through the bustling street. He took a deep breath, the weight of another long day at the station settling on his shoulders like a well-worn jacket. Just wanted to go home and kick back, he thought, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, feeling the sharp ache there. A persistent issue, but not as bad as the growing headache he’d been dealing with for just as long. But looks like the city's got other plans.

He stepped forward, heavy footsteps carrying him towards the chaos of the crime scene. Red and blue lights slashed through the growing dusk, painting the street in urgent colors. The wail of sirens filled the air, a familiar soundtrack to life in Bed-Stuy.

As he approached, the ambulances roared to life, their engines grumbling as they prepared to cart away the unfortunate. Each groan and shout from the wounded knifed through the air, drawing Rock's seasoned eyes to the bodies twisting in pain as stretchers carried them away.

Rock paused, rubbing his temples as his headache throbbed painfully behind his forehead again. His gaze fell on a young officer eagerly jotting down a bystander's words. The officer's hand flew over his notepad with the jittery energy of the new to the badge. Kid's got that fire, Rock mused, just hope it doesn't burn him out.

"Officer," Rock called out, his voice a calm contrast to the scene's chaos.

The young cop looked up, startled, then straightened almost comically fast upon recognizing the rank displayed on the chain around Rock's neck. "Sergeant!" he blurted, then more respectfully, "Sergeant Rock, sir."

Rock nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile despite the dull pain radiating down his neck. "Relax, officer. What's going on here?"

"Uh, well, sir," the officer stumbled over his words, his eagerness to impress the sergeant evident in his tone, "looks like we're dealing with a 10-10 G. Assault."

Rock's gaze swept the area, his eyebrow arching as the reality of another gang squabble settled in. The last ambulance pulled away, its sirens already fading as it rounded the corner. Of course it's gang-related, he thought, a sigh escaping his lips as he massaged his forehead. When is it ever not?

"Gang-related, huh?" Rock confirmed aloud, though he already knew the answer. "You got any more details for me, officer?"

"Yes, sir," the young officer replied, flipping through his notes. "Looks like it's the Gates Ave crew involved."

Rock's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the information. Gates Ave crew, he mulled over the familiar name. Bunch of young punks who don't know when to quit.

"Local idiots, huh?" Rock repeated. “Sounds about right. Was this infighting?” He turned his attention back to the scene, his eyes scanning the remnants of the chaos. “No gunshots, no knife wounds. I didn’t spot a body bag, no tears in the crowd. Too calm for that."

“Uhhh… no, sir,” the officer answered. “No infighting. It’s something else.”

Something…  The sergeant sighed, rubbing his neck as the pain flared up again. "So, where's the other half of this equation?" he asked, his tone flat. 

Sergeant Andrew Rock watched the younger officer's demeanor shift, something off in his stance that set Rock's instincts on alert. The kid was fidgeting, his eyes darting around like he was trying to find an escape route. What's got him all weird? Rock wondered, his brow furrowing.

"That's the thing, Sarge..." The officer hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking away before locking back on Rock. There was a hint of reluctance, maybe even discomfort. "It's hard to… explain.”

Rock's patience was wearing thin. He'd had a long day, and the last thing he needed was some rookie dancing around the issue. "Who else is involved, officer? Spit it out." His voice was gruff, more from exhaustion than irritation.

The young cop swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You’re gonna have to see for yourself, sarge."

The young cop glanced toward the curb, his movement reluctant, almost dragging. Rock's eyes followed the direction of the officer's gaze, landing on a small figure hunched on the curb.

Seeing the child, Rock let out a deep, resigned groan. "Why is it always..." he started to say, more to himself than anyone else.

"Sarge?" the officer interjected, a note of concern threading through his tone. "You know this kid?"

"Yeah, I know him," Rock said, his voice heavy with a mix of exasperation and familiarity. "Lives a couple blocks over with his grandma."

He turned back to the officer, his expression serious. "Listen, I'll handle this. You just wrap things up here, alright?"

The young cop hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, but the stern look on Rock's face made him think better of it. "Yes, sir," he said, nodding his head. "I'll take care of it."

"Good man," Rock said, clapping the officer on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later." With that, Rock stepped past the officer, his stride long and determined as he approached the child on the curb. 

As Rock drew closer, his demeanor shifted from the stern sergeant to something more approachable, yet still laced with authority. The boy on the curb looked up, meeting Rock's gaze with a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

Jesse was a scrawny little thing, no more than ten years old, but he had a presence about him that made him seem older. He wore a silver cross chain around his neck, the same one Rock had seen him wearing every time they'd crossed paths. His black t-shirt was sized for a boy maybe half again his age, with a white skull printed on the front. Stained white shorts and a pair of black sandals completed the look.

But it was the jewelry that caught Rock's eye - oversized bracelets and too-large rings, all gleaming silver. Probably lifted from some poor fool who didn't know better, Rock thought, shaking his head.

"Hi, Officer Rock!" Jesse chirped, a grin spreading across his face like he wasn't sitting in the middle of a crime scene. Despite the smile, his gaze was oddly piercing, focused somewhere above Rock's head, never quite meeting his eyes.

This kid, Rock thought, a reluctant smile tugging at his own lips despite the stress of the day and the throbbing in his head. "Hi, Jesse..." His voice was soft but carried a weight of weariness. "Mind telling me what you're doing out here? And why you're fighting gangsters again?"

It was absurd, questioning a ten-year-old about fighting gangsters, yet here he was, doing it for the third time in a year. When did this become my life? Rock wondered, his hand subconsciously moving to massage his neck where the muscles tightened painfully.

"But I wasn’t fighting them," Jesse retorted quickly, the edge of a whine creeping into his voice. The boy’s eyes snapped down from his forehead to the sergeant’s neck, gaze oddly focused on the man’s hand. "I swear, Officer Rock, I was just minding my own business!"

Rock raised an eyebrow, his face a picture of skeptical inquiry. "Really? So you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

 "Weeeelllll… I let one of them borrow twenty dollars last week and I went to get it back,” the boy began, biting his bottom lip slightly. “Then they tried to mess with me for wanting my money.”

Rock raised an eyebrow, his face a picture of skeptical inquiry. "You’re a loan shark now? They started messing with you? Is that why half of them are on their way to the hospital?"

Jesse shifted uncomfortably on the curb, his eyes still not quite meeting Rock’s. "Well, I had to defend myself, right?"

Rock's groan was deep and heartfelt. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the day's stubble scratch against his palm. "Jesse, there's a difference between standing up for yourself and taking on a whole gang. What were you thinking?"

The boy shrugged, a picture of nonchalance. "I was thinking I could take 'em. And I did."

“But how?” It was the same question he’d had on his mind since May, the first time this happened and it never eased up every time he saw the kid.

The boy shrugged, making a little sound that came out as “iunno”.

Rock shook his head, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect on his face. This kid's got guts, I'll give him that. "Jesse, you can't just go around picking fights with gangsters. You're gonna get yourself hurt, or worse."

Jesse's smirk was quick to return, too confident, too assured, while his gaze still hovered enigmatically above Rock's line of sight. "But I didn't get hurt, Officer Rock. I beat them."

Rock's sigh was long and heavy, his hand rubbing his neck again as the pain spiked. Lord, give me strength. "Is your grandmother at home, Jesse? I think we need to have a little chat."

The boy didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed a little above Sergeant’s Rock head.

“Jesse?” The sergeant asked again, confused.

Which was honestly a normal reaction to the boy. It may have only been in whispers and never around him or his grandmother, but most could tell he was a little ‘touched in the head.’

Unfortunate, but it was undeniable.

“Come down here for a sec, Officer Rock,” the boy urged with an odd authority and firmness to his voice that a child shouldn’t have, patting the cold, grimy sidewalk next to him.

My poor knees. Despite the ache already blooming in his joints, Rock raised an eyebrow but decided to humor the boy. Slowly, crouching down with a soft grunt, he steadied himself with a hand on his thigh. "What’s up, Jesse?"

"Nothing, Mr. Rock, I just noticed you had a migraine," Jesse said, his voice dripping with a sweetness that seemed almost rehearsed but still perfectly fitting for the odd kid.

"You and my wife both," Rock muttered, rubbing at his temple where the pain had hammered most of the afternoon.

"And some neck pain too, right?" Jesse continued, his tone strangely observant.

"...Well, you’re not wrong, kid." Rock couldn’t mask his surprise.

Jesse nodded, his sharp hazel eyes snapping from Rock’s forehead to his neck with unnerving accuracy. "I help my grandma with hers all the time," he declared, raising his hand towards Rock slowly. "Can I try something?"

The sergeant tilted his head, the skepticism clear on his face, but he winced slightly at a stab of pain. What’s the harm? He figured, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why not? Doctor can’t figure it out—"

Before Rock could finish his sentence, Jesse’s hand shot out, his fingers delivering a quick, gentle jab to the side of Rock’s neck followed by a grabbing motion at the air above his head, as if pulling something invisible away.

Rock jerked his head back, eyes wide and teeth gritted from the sudden, unexpected touch. "What the f—" He paused, his words trailing off as he realized the pounding in his head had ceased, and the tightness in his neck had eased. "Huh..."

"Feeling better?" Jesse asked, still with his hand outstretched, his expression a mixture of earnestness and mischief.

"...I think so," Rock answered slowly, rubbing his neck again, astonished to find the discomfort gone. No more throbbing pulse at his temples, no tightening sensation that had been his uninvited companion all day. "What did you— Actually, I don’t wanna know. Get on home, kid."

"Okaaay!" Jesse jumped up, his energy unbothered by the evening’s events. “Umm…,” the kid glanced down sheepishly. “Since I helped you though…”

The sergeant sighed, a different kind of headache manifesting itself. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he began, hand digging into his pocket. A moment later, he pulled out his wallet and with another deep sigh, retrieved a bill. “Here you go, a fresh twenty.”

“Oooh, fresh!” Jesse took the bill in one hand, staring at it like it was a holy grail, his eyes seeming to sparkle at the sight of it.

The sergeant only shook his head, well aware of the kid’s mercenary habits. At the very least, he traded goods for services and most people pitied him enough that even if said services weren’t as good as he claimed, they’d still give him money.

Unfortunately for his wallet, the kid always came through. “You tutoring Drea tomorrow?”

“Of course, officer,” Jesse snapped a crisp salute with the hand holding the bill.

“Don’t…” Rock let out another sigh at the boy’s antics. “...just get on home, Jesse.”

Nodded, the boy started walking away with a bounce in his step. He waved back to the sergeant over his shoulder. "Bye, Officer Rock!"

"Bye, Jesse," Rock answered back, still kneeling on the sidewalk, bemused.

Jesse Grimwald shuffled off down the street, his too-large t-shirt flapping against his thin frame and Andrew Rock watched him go with a click of his tongue as he rose back to his feet. Kid's got more scars than all of us put together, he thought, his eyes tracing the young boy's path until he turned a corner and disappeared from view. Makes sense he’s a bit of an oddball.

The young officer approached Rock, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Who was that kid, Sarge?

Rock let out a rather deep sigh, feeling the weight of his years on the force on his shoulders once more, an unpleasant feeling but a better one than the pain of the last few weeks. "That's Jesse Grimwald, officer. You remember that cold case from a few years back? The Grimwald murders?"

The officer blinked, brow furrowed as he tried to recall the details. "...uhh, yeah, I… uhh, I think…”

“Forget it, before your time," Rock shook his head, a hint of weariness in his voice. "I don’t know why I asked. The Grimwald case was a real nasty one. Double homicide, five years ago. No suspects, no prints, no motive, no DNA other than the parents, nothing. Whole damn thing looked more like some invisible animal attack than anything else."

Rock's voice trailed off as the gruesome images from the crime scene photos flashed through his mind. The blood-soaked walls, the shredded remains of what used to be human bodies. Shit I wish I could forget, he thought, suppressing a shudder.

"The entire house was wrecked, blood everywhere," he continued, his tone somber. "Both parents were torn apart, like something out of a horror movie. And then there was Jesse, that little boy back there. He was the only survivor."

The rookie stared at Rock with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. "Damn, Sarge. That's... that's messed up."

"You're telling me," Rock agreed, his gaze drifting back towards the corner where Jesse had disappeared. "Kid was just five years old, hiding under his bed while his parents were being slaughtered. Can't even imagine what that does to a child's mind."

"How's he doing now?" the officer asked, genuine concern in his voice. "I mean, after going through something like that..."

Rock frowned, considering the question. "Oddly enough, the kid's pretty stable, given the circumstances. He's strong as hell, smart as a whip, and yeah, maybe a little weird, but who wouldn't be after what he's been through?"

The officer's eyebrows shot up. "Weird how?"

"Well, for one, the kid says he sees ghosts," Rock scoffed, shaking his head. "But ain't nobody gonna say anything about that. Probably the only reason he's not in a straitjacket by now."

"Ghosts? Shit, that's…," the officer muttered, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "He get into a lot of fights? Like the one today?"

Rock glanced back towards the crime scene, where the last of the police cars were preparing to leave. The flashing lights painted the street in alternating shades of red and blue. "Kid's got a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time, or the right place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it." The sergeant shook his head. “When you see a ten-year-old knock out a grown-ass man, you just kind of assume he's got things handled, you know?"

The officer let out a low whistle. "Should we be keeping a closer eye on him? Make sure he stays out of trouble?"

"Keep an eye on him?” Sergeant Rock let out a loud snort. “Son, the only thing I want to lay my eyes on right now is my wife's dinner. It's been a long-ass day, and I'm ready to clock out. Besides…"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Around the corner, Jesse stood quietly in the shadow of an alley, his small frame almost swallowed by the darkness. People bustled past, their eyes skimming over the space where he hid—none giving him a second glance.

Which was just how he liked it.

On his face now, a grin spread, too knowing and sly compared to the innocent expression from before, far too mischievous and… malicious.

In other words, almost perfectly fitting for a ten year old boy.

His eyes, sharp and focused, were locked onto the thing writhing in his firm grip, the same creature that had been plaguing the sergeant for who knows how long since he had last seen the man.

This creature was about the size of some of the smaller ones Jesse had encountered over the last five years, roughly the size of a dog, but not any larger than a yapping chihuahua if you didn’t count its limbs. Its skin was a murky gray with deep red accents, looking diseased with pustules bulging beneath its surface. It possessed six tentacles, four thin and wiry like veins, and two in the front that were larger, more muscular, pulsating with a grotesque life of their own. The creature's body moved like gelatin within his grip, its texture rough like crumpled tissue paper, yet dense enough to ensure a firm hold. Two large fangs protruded from what passed as its face, positioned above a gaping maw—those fangs had been embedded in Officer Rock’s neck not long ago. Bloodshot eyes, looking like they belonged to someone suffering from either a lot of stress or a lack of sleep, covered its body in random places. They all stared back at Jesse, wide with fear and pain, as he tightened his grip.

The boy stared at the invisible monster in his grip and squeezed tighter. The alley seemed to respond to Jesse’s focus, shadows deepening, stretching longer as if the darkness itself was leaning in closer.

With a sudden increase of pressure, a dense, dark energy flared from his fist, engulfing the creature. It let out a pitiful squeal—one that might have made him feel bad... if he was an idiot.

Then, as quickly as it had flared, the energy dissipated, and the creature with it, leaving nothing but a slight distortion in the air that quickly faded.

Smirking, Jesse Isaiah Grimwald stepped out of the alley, the mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. He looked back just once, making sure no one had seen him, before heading home again, hands in his pockets.

His work was done here, for now.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Rock shook his head. “A kid like that can handle himself.”