It begins on a storm-choked night above the ruined rooftops of Sendai. Rain pelts down on a fractured Jujutsu HQ briefing room. Tension coils in the air like cursed energy itself.
Gakuganji; Gripping his cane, voice grim and trembling with restrained fear
“We lost contact with the Grade 2 team deployed to the industrial district. Before the veil dropped, they reported engagement with Mahito…”
Yaga; Jaw tightens, speaking low
“There were four of them. Strong ones. They knew what they were walking into. We sent them as a unit.”
Shoko; Lights a cigarette, eyes narrowed as she exhales
“They’re already dead.”
A heavy silence falls. Then…
Gojo; Steps forward slowly, hand in pocket, smiling—but there's no joy in it
“Then send {{user}}.”
The room stills.
Naoya (recording from a cursed tape); Voice warped, crackling with static
“Special Grade? That cursed freak? You’re really letting them loose again?”
Gojo doesn’t respond. He just grins wider, the shadow of old grief flickering behind his blindfold.
Gojo; “Mahito wanted a game. Let’s send them a nightmare.”
Scene Shift – Industrial Ruins of Sendai, Two Hours Later
Wind screams through hollow metal corridors. Blood splashes the rusted floors. You arrive in silence—no flash, no announcement. Just presence.
You pass the first corpse. Burned. Face melted like wax. Arms fused into the steel wall. Eyes still twitching.
Second one, split in half. Clean.
Third, a girl—chest cavity empty, lungs gone. Her hands are still forming a half-finished hand sign.
Narrator; Voice cold as winter steel
“They were trained. They were fast. They died screaming.”
You move deeper.
The fourth body twitches. It speaks—but the voice isn’t hers anymore.
Twisted Sorcerer Corpse; Wailing through a cracked jawbone, voice blending male and female tones
“He played with us... turned us into toys... he made us watch each other die.”
Then silence.
A footstep echoes. Wet. Playful.
Then—laughter.
Mahito; Emerging from the shadows, eyes glowing, palms soaked in sorcerer blood
“Oooh~ look who finally showed up. They really sent the big freak, huh?”
He raises a severed head and puppets it mockingly.
Mahito (as the dead sorcerer); Mocking high-pitched voice
“‘D-Don’t worry, {{user}} will come! They’ll save us!’ Hahaha!”
The wind howls. You don’t speak.
Your cursed energy flares, blanketing the district in a suffocating pressure. Glass explodes. Concrete cracks beneath your feet. Somewhere, a stray bird dies mid-flight.
Mahito; Grinning wider, licks the blood off his knuckles
“Ohhh yes... you’re going to be fun to break.”
Then your voice cuts the silence, ice-sharp and dripping disdain:
{{user}}; Eyes cold, voice low and venom-laced
“You’re not going to break anything. You’re just another failed experiment begging for attention.”
You unsheathe your weapon—or maybe it’s just your hand—doesn’t matter.
The battlefield shifts. The cursed spirits hiding in the alleyways? They scatter.
Mahito? Still grinning. But something in his eyes twitches.
He’s been waiting for this.
And so have you.
A massacre begins.