Satoru Gojo (2006)

They shouldn’t have been sent.

That was the thought that hit you first as the shrine grounds collapsed into noise and movement and wrongness. Gojo had been laughing his ass off five minutes earlier, hands in his pockets, blinded with confidence, Infinity humming lazily like it always did.

“This thing’s nothing,” he’d said. “You guys worry too much.”

Suguru had snorted at that, muttering something under his breath about egos, while Shoko merely rolled her eyes and lit another cigarette like she’d already written the whole mission off as tedious. But you... you felt uneasy. It was faint but persistent. The kind that didn’t come with a clear reason.

The curse didn't reveal itself at first.

It seeped into the space instead, bleeding through the shrine grounds like a stain spreading too slowly to notice at first. The air warped subtly, distances stretching and snapping back without warning. Its movements were unpredictable and uneven, as if it was learning how to exist in the same space as you in real time, adapting with every exchange.

Suguru was first to go down.

One moment he was mid-command, curses snapping forward under his control, and the next he was airborne, slammed hard into a torii gate with a crack that made your teeth rattle. The impact echoed through the grounds. He didn’t get up right away. When he finally did, it was unsteady, his weight favouring one leg, breath coming sharp and uneven. Blood ran freely from his shoulder where something had torn clean through. "Still standing." he muttered through clenched teeth, wincing as he forced another curse at it despite his state.

Shoko on the other hand, didn’t get that luxury.

She was caught covering Suguru’s blind side, cursed energy flaring defensively just a fraction too late. The strike knocked her clear off her feet. She hit stone and didn’t move.

“Shoko!” Suguru's voice cut through the chaos like a whip but it was barely heard in the roaring presence of the special grade curse as it shifted through the shrine grounds, it's from warping in ways that felt like the laws of physics themselves were bending around it.

Shoko lay crumpled at the base of the steps, one arm twisted beneath her, her other hand barely gripping the shattered remains of her cigarette, and for a second you swore she hadn’t even noticed you there, hadn’t even noticed that the world had tilted into absolute horror.

Your stomach sank hard, a dead weight dragging through your ribs, because for the first time, you saw Gojo’s expression falter, that lazy, confident grin replaced by something alert, realisation.

The curse moved with terrifying precision, gliding over the cracked stone and broken wood, like it had studied your every step and waited for the exact moment to strike. Gojo reacted instantly, slamming a hand forward as his Infinity flared, a beautiful but deadly shimmer of absolute space that should have been untouchable, but the world itself betrayed him, and for a fraction of a second his energy flickered and lagged.

That was all it needed.

The impact hit him like a train barrelling through a subway, driving him back into the stone wall behind him with a force that rattled the ground beneath you and made dust cascade down around his prone form. He dropped to one knee, fingers braced against ruined stone, every muscle coiled and tense but blood ran down the side of his face, streaking across pale skin in jagged lines, and for a moment your chest seized because the sight of him like this.

He was really badly injured. Satoru Gojo was injured.

Suguru tried to push himself forward, his injured shoulder a protest, his knee trembling and threatening to give out beneath him, but the curse wasn’t done, pivoting its focus to him quickly in a swirl of violent energy that made your cursed sense flare hot and raw. Shoko stirred slightly, groaning, one leg bent at an awkward angle, her body trembling as she tried to gather cursed energy again, but she couldn’t move fast enough. The space between you and the two of them narrowed, each second a razor slicing through your stomach, and you realised that if you didn’t act now, there wouldn’t be a “later” for any of you.

Your mind didn’t pause to register fear. It didn’t run through options or strategies or anything clever. Every thought condensed into one brutal imperative: protect them. Your cursed energy flared explosively as you drove yourself into the path of the curse, launching every ounce of strength into strikes that were sharp, jagged, and raw, swinging not with finesse but with pure, desperate force. The impact slammed through your arms and up your spine, teeth gritted against the pain, lungs burning with each scream of exertion, but it worked. For the first time, the curse wavered, staggered under your assault, and you slammed yourself against it again, refusing to let it regain composure. Your legs burned, your vision flickered at the edges but you didn’t stop because to stop was to let them die, and you couldn’t.

You wouldn’t, not them, not now. Not ever.

Behind you, Suguru tried to rise again, but his leg betrayed him immediately, forcing him to collapse against the wall, swearing and breathing ragged, blood streaking through his uniform. Shoko groaned faintly, stirring but unable to rejoin, one hand pressing against a cracked rib, one eye squinting through pain and dust.

Your body screamed in protest, every joint and tendon screaming as you forced it off balance again and again, each motion a violent rhythm of survival, a refusal to let it touch the people behind you. You took hits that should have staggered you, strikes that left bruises blooming along your skin, and each time you forced yourself back into it, refusing to bend, refusing to falter. It shrieked, twisted, recoiled, but you didn’t give it the satisfaction of hesitation.

When it finally collapsed, when its form dissolved into ash and residue that drifted uselessly into the night, you didn’t even notice the relief until your knees shook violently and you had to press a hand against a stone pillar to keep yourself stable. Your chest heaved, every breath felt like fire and your entire body ached with the cost of holding everything together alone.

Around you, Gojo slumped on the steps, blood still trickling from his temple, shoulders hunched against fatigue and shock. Suguru leaned against a pillar, breathing heavily, hand pressed tight to his shoulder. Shoko was conscious now, muttering quietly under her breath, pressing at bruises and cuts with caution.