𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙪𝙢 » gojo satoru.

spinning ambitiously

❝ i'm from the shadows, left the gallows ❞

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𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨 arrived, it was exactly like Yoshinobu had described; rocky, grey, rotting, crawling with overgrown moss and plants. You crinkled your nose underneath your mask and waved your hand over the air.

"I've isolated this area," you stated flatly, and Gojo nodded. 

He pointed his chin at the left side of the buildings. Now that the space was isolated and now that you had focused more; the buildings had eyes. Eyes and teeth and oozing pools of goo, the buildings were overrun with curses that seemed like a mere game, but that didn't mean you didn't have to be careful. 

"I'll take that side, [name]," he suggested, and you nodded. He had taken the side with more overrun plants and more oozing curses for you, knowing you hated the mess and stink and your nose was highly sensitive. Plus, he would levitate and obliterate them, without even having to strain. 

"Good luck, stay safe," you concluded, walking off, and preparing your fists. Your cursed technique allowed for you to extend your limbs and fists, to coat them in cursed energy, and highly strengthen yourself. Your fingers became razor sharp like blades, your skin hardened, and your teeth elongated; not that anybody would see. Essentially, you were a whirlwind of rock and steel, whizzing toward the curses.

"You know I will," grinned Gojo, and he floated off casually, his hands in his pockets. The calmness of this man would never, ever, not in a million years, fail to impress. "So no you."

You smiled under your mask, and with that, you turned your back to Gojo, sprinting toward the curses, your arms at your sides, with your fingers elongated so long that your blade like fingers slid and sparked against the cracked concrete ground as you ran with the wind.

"PREPARE YOURSELF, YOU SHITTERS," you screamed. It hurt your throat, tore your jaw ligaments open, and brought you so much pain, but it felt so, so, so, good.

And so, you hacked and slashed, cutting off arms and heads and torsos alike, whirling in a ring of pure blackened fury. Blackened by fury, by hate, by regret, by vengeance. The sympathy of the honored was not something you received, but it was times like these that Gojo almost felt bad for you. The honor of the ambitious was not something you wanted, but something you sought to accompany. Like the hate and flames that viscously took and took and took, but never would give back. 

There might've been several decently mid ranked curses, but you didn't notice. They were mundane, just like all the others, and sliced like just the all the rest.

After all, they were the same, right?

You felt unhinged, crazy, like you were in the center of the universe with nothing but your blades and blood to accompany you on your ascension of the fated. 

"[name]! What have I said about playing with those knives?"

"Yes, mother."

You grit your teeth so hard your head rung, rung with a decade's worth of regret and pain. Rung with a country's worth of warning and hate.