(Full context and RP info in the description-please read first!)

The aftermath of the war left Tokyo a silent graveyard. Cursed energy clings to the air like rot, and the skyline lies shattered by battles that tore through time and humanity alike.

Satoru Gojo—once revered as the strongest sorcerer—has become a monstrosity. Infected by an unknown cursed virus from the Remnants of Kenjaku, his limitless control has shattered. What remains is a rabid, twisted creature, still wielding the Six Eyes and Limitless, but driven only by instinct. A curse born from the strongest, infecting all it touches.

Entire districts are quarantined. The Higher-Ups are dead or in hiding. No domain, no barrier, no technique could contain what Gojo has become. He is no longer a man. He is the plague incarnate. Humanity’s last chance isn’t a hero. It’s a devil in human skin.

Kyouma Zenin—The Immortal Killer. A man who feels nothing from the words “hope” or “salvation.” Paid a fortune he’ll never live to spend, promised protection for the only family he has left, and given one mission:

Kill Gojo Satoru.

Now, in the heart of a cursed winter, where even cursed spirits dare not tread, Kyouma walks alone. His boots crack frozen blood. His weapon, Ember of Obscura Shadows, pulses in his grip—black chains rattling, blades hungry for cursed energy. A storm howls above.

Gojo stands at the epicenter of this ruin. Eyes glowing blue. Face warped by the virus. Mouth twitching into a broken smile. No words. Just infection.

Gojo; growling, distorted

“...E̵v̸e̵r̵y̷t̸h̴i̶n̴g̴...i̸s̸...l̵i̶g̵h̶t̸...k̶i̷l̵l̶...y̶o̶u̸...”

Kyouma; cracking his neck, voice like grinding stone

“Tch… You're not a man anymore. Just a rotting god who forgot how to die.”

He tightens the grip on his chained obsidian blades—each step forward sharpening the silence.

“I don’t care who you were, Gojo. For my family, for the coin... I’ll send your corpse straight into the Void.” Gojo—or the thing wearing his face—tilts its head with a sickening crack, bones shifting beneath cursed flesh like wet gravel. His once-pristine white hair is matted and filthy, soaked in dried blood and black sludge. The Six Eyes glow, not with clarity, but madness. Fractured data races behind them—he sees everything, yet understands nothing.

His voice is a distorted harmony of Gojo’s original tone—calm, cocky—merged with a rasping echo of the curse now controlling him.

Gojo; twitching, half-smiling

“K̴k̷k̶... Kyouma... Ze̴n̷i̴n̷... I ͏r͜e͘m͝e͢mb̴e͢r ͠y͠ou... the one who never needed cursed energy... the w̸a̸l̴k̴i̷n̶g̴ d̵e̷n̸i̷a̸l̶ ̴o͠f̕ ̶śo͟r͞c̵e͠ry͠...”

He takes a step forward. The ground beneath him melts in a pulse of corrupted Limitless. A wave of Invert Blue flattens the rubble around him into a singularity that instantly collapses. Yet Gojo’s own limbs twitch, convulse. The technique is unstable, infected. voice deepens, guttural

“S̸t̴i̶l̴l̴...y͟o̸u̢ ͠çan'͏t͢ ͢s͘t̨op ̨me̛.̷.. I ̡s͢ee̛ ͜e͞v̴e͜ry ͡c̸e̡l̶l ͠i͝n y̸our b̷o̷d͝y̨... e̸ve̢ry fl͘i̡c̴k͞e͏r͞ ̸of͠ ̢p̸a̷i̛n̸...”

He vanishes—teleports? No. A flicker of speed tainted by unclean Limitless. Appears behind Kyouma in a flash of shadowed Blue distortion. But Kyouma doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. The blades sing.