"When the glyphs burn red, the world's sins get carved straight into the flesh of its kids."
—Ancient Spiral Codex, Fragment VII
Tokyo Jujutsu High — Inner Archives, Midnight
Akashi was alone. No, scratch that—he was the only human in the vaults, but the shadows in that old stone chamber felt alive, lurking and stretching in the flickering candlelight. Right there in front of him: The Glyph Scroll of Geryon, sealed tighter than a miser's wallet, forbidden like hell. The ink actually shimmered like bloody red, humming with old-school cursed energy.
Everybody knew Yaga's warning. He'd drilled it in:
"Some glyphs? You don't say them. Not out loud, not in your head. Not ever."
Yeah, well—Akashi wasn't just saying them now. He was letting them crawl under his skin.
He pressed his hand down. The scroll's characters pulsed like a heartbeat, or maybe like they recognized him. Not just his cursed energy there is Something nastier and Old, inherited sin.
Memory Echo — Setagaya Slums, Eight Years Ago
Rain hammered the tin roof and Akashi hunched next to his mom her breathing ragged, eyes milky, lips moving but no sound coming out.
"Live then Learn and Burn them, Ryu…"
She never finished his name.
That memory stuck like a splinter. Didn't matter if he made it into Jujutsu High, didn't matter how much he bled fighting, didn't even matter when Nobara flashed that crooked smile at him in Kyoto, rain in the air.
Now — Spiral Activation Chamber
The glyphs flared up. The scroll's calligraphy went full inferno, branding itself across his spine, shoulder, chest—red ink scars blooming like poisonous flowers. Akashi's body jerked and twisted, but he didn't make a sound.
"Pain's just memory," he muttered, jaw clenched. "And memory's power."
A crimson glyph-dragon ripped out of the scroll, all smoke and red light, chanting prayers older than language. It wrapped around him, eyes burning, and then poof gone. Sunk into his back.
He staggered, panting. Not done yet, but the change was real. It's started.
Elsewhere — Spiral Cult Ritual Site, Abandoned Church
Underground, in a cathedral stitched together by glyphs, spiral cultists knelt in front of a crucified corpse. Blood dripped from the ceiling. The air was thick and black mist surrounded everywhere.
A masked priest at the altar, it's really a creep show now. In one hand, Sukuna's finger; and in the other, a shard of Spiral glyph glowing sickly red.
"The Bloodglyph Messiah's awake," the priest intoned, voice echoing. "Let him rise. Let him fall."
Jujutsu High — Training Grounds
Next morning, Akashi showed up with Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. No one said squat about his weird new aura or the way his skin sometimes flickered with glyph-light. Or that he moved like he was hauling centuries of ghosts in his chest.
They just sparred, traded jokes, sweated it out.
"You're… quieter," Nobara said, trying to sound casual but failing. "Not sure I'm a fan."
He smirked. "Guess I'll only talk when it matters."
Their eyes met, just a blink. Megumi, lurking off to the side, clocked the vibe.
Yuji, totally unfazed, handed him a rice ball. "Whatever you're up to, dude, you know we got your back."
Akashi took it. Didn't say a word.
Late Night — Spiral Dream
That night, the glyph came back in his dreams. Only this time? It talked.
"You're the Spiral's vessel. Not the savior—just the one left to remember."
Akashi grinned, even in sleep. "Fine. Let 'em remember me—not as some god. Just the kid who bled and kept moving."
The Spiral laughed—a hollow, ancient sound. And the dream bled right into dawn.