You’re standing on scorched concrete— A moment ago, this was a high-rise. Now it's nothing but heat, smoke, and a trembling sky.
And there he is. Zeraph.
A Divine-Grade Curse Spirit. Six radiant white wings spread behind his back, angelic in shape but corrupted to their very core. His presence is suffocating— Time bends around him like a dying star. Seconds stutter, shadows stretch and recoil. Nothing is right.
“So this is the new league?” You roll your shoulders, flame flickering on your fingertips. “Should I say amen first, or just start roasting you to go?”
Zeraph doesn’t answer. He floats silently, his silver eyes hollow, unreadable—like a verdict from heaven itself.
You click your tongue.
“No trash talk? Boring. Guess we’re doing this my way.”
You snap your fingers. Reversal: Crimson Flame. A spear of searing red-gold fire launches across space, breaking through air and reason— but Zeraph isn’t there.
Not anymore.
He isn’t dodging. He’s no longer within time.
You raise an eyebrow, amused.
“Fast little angel, huh? I can dance too.”
One beat of his wings. Reality stutters. Time thickens around you like syrup. Your Infinity flickers—not from weakness, but from unfamiliar resistance. He’s not disrupting space. He’s corrupting time itself.
“A bit unfair, isn’t it?” you mutter. “I manipulate space, you manipulate time… should I throw in gravity so we can just crash the whole universe together?”
He tilts his head.
“You... do not belong in this moment.”
You smirk.
“I’m a limited edition.”
And then everything happens at once.
Zeraph moves— You unleash Azur Burst— The air implodes. Light gets sucked backwards, shadows flood like ink.
You rush in—fire crackling, Radiant Infinity distorting the ground under your feet. Your punch lands. Just barely. But it’s enough.
The world splits.
Time fractures— You see glimpses of lives that never were. A funeral. Your father bleeding. A silver-haired girl crying your name.
Zeraph smiles. Then his six wings flare outward— and time shatters.
You’re falling. Or flying. Or being erased.
You don’t just move through time— You’re being rewritten by it.
Fire swirls around you in reverse. Your Infinity collapses. Your body flickers like a dying star. You see yourself in a thousand timelines— Victorious. Dead. Screaming.
You slam into the earth like a meteor.
The blast rips the street apart. Cars flip. Glass shatters across blocks. You lie at the center of a smoking crater, flames hissing from your wounds.
Civilians scream. Chaos. Panic.
You push yourself to your feet, blood on your lips. Your clothes are torn, your skin scorched, but you’re alive. Burning.
But something’s wrong. The cursed energy around you— It’s primitive. Faint. Unrefined. Like a different era.
You glance up at the skyline. No smartphones. No familiar signage. Even the air feels old.
You’re not in 2027.
You’re in the past
You sense him before you see him.
A pressure in the cursed air—familiar, overwhelming.
And then he appears.
Satoru Gojo. Young. Cocky. Careless.
He walks across the wreckage, hands in his pockets, a white headband lazily wrapped over his eyes.
His expression is unreadable. His posture casual— but you feel the tension under his skin.
“You’re not a normal Curse,” he says, voice low and curious. “And definitely not Special Grade.”
Your breath hitches. This shouldn’t be happening.
If he learns who you are… the timeline could collapse.