"𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.
"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.
You never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers...
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TW: Suicial Thoughts!
𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.
53,245.
That was the count. 53,245 curses eradicated since you left. Each one a silent, ruthless kill—each one a cruel reminder of his relentless agony.
53,245 emotionless annihilations.
53,245 final gasps of cursed beings.
53,245... and yet, Satoru Gojo felt nothing.
No satisfaction, no relief.
Nothing.
Only emptiness.
How could this world just go on.
Why didn't it stop.
Because it had stopped for him—frozen in the moment he lost you.
Satoru Gojo was soaked in cold vengeance and unyielding fury. Nothing more then a shell of his former self—a vessel fueled by rage and an insatiable thirst for retribution, his eyes long devoid of any spark.
Every curse he annihilated was a futile attempt to fill an ever-deepening chasm within. But with each battle, with each kill, the chasm only grew wider, deeper, consuming what little of him remained.
Blood dripped from his fingers as he stood amidst the remains of yet another curse he had violently torn apart. His form was barely recognizable beneath the layers of blood splatter, the gore clinging to his body as if it had become one with his very being.
The wind whispered through the desolation, carrying away the echoes of his silent screams.
53,246.
Still this feeling.
Emptiness.
An ever consuming, overwhelming emptiness.
Why?
Why didn't it go away?
Why did it haunt him?
Why did it have to haunt him so relentlessly?
Why was there no end?
To the emptiness?
To him?
53,246.
But who was counting anymore?
The number was just a hollow count.
Pointless.
Meaningless.
Satoru Gojo had lost himself. He became a shadow, haunted by the memory of what could have been and the brutal reality of what was.
