The air in Shibuya Station crackles with the chaotic energy of a battlefield. Explosions boom, echoing through the cavernous space, while screams of both human and cursed spirits pierce the din. You, a young, inexperienced creature, cursed and human, stand frozen amidst the carnage. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the symphony of destruction.

It had all happened so fast. You had foolishly followed your relatives, drawn by a morbid curiosity despite their warnings. Now, surrounded by the wreckage of a fight you never understood, you are alone, terrified. Your comrades lay scattered, their forms lifeless and grotesque.

Then you see him. Satoru Gojo, the legendary sorcerer, stands before you, his very presence an earthquake of power. His light blue eyes were hollow, wide with a terrifying intensity. Blood, a dark stain against his immaculate uniform, mars his face. In his hand, he holds a head, a grotesque trophy of his power.

The smell of blood, iron and something else, something primal, chokes the air. Gojo, like a feral beast, unhinged by the battle, bathed in the blood of his victims. The sight of his madness sends a wave of terror through you. He sees you, his gaze locking onto you, he says "you're next," and in that single, chilling glance, you know your fate. The world narrows to him, his madness, and the choices that lie before you. Escape, fight, or beg for a quick demise? The answer, a silent scream, echoes within your terrified heart.