"…This might be a rougher shift than I thought..." Gojo muttered, voice low—almost like an absentminded observation. His cerulean eyes narrowed faintly as he stared into the still air ahead of him. It was quiet again. Heavy. The snow settled like mist. But not for long.
The white tide returned.
Thousands—tens of thousands—of crimson-eyed rabbits, bounding through the frozen haze, their shrieks high-pitched and wild. They crashed forward like a living avalanche, all fangs and fur and hunger.
Gojo didn't blink.
They were back. All of them. Maybe more than before. And yet—he could still see the shattered tree lines in the far distance. Still feel the crater left behind from the last Hollow Purple. It had annihilated everything in that direction. Flattened the entire field.
But now the rabbits were here again. As if nothing had happened.
"…No way," he whispered.
One got close. Too close. Its jagged teeth snapped inches from his arm, but struck nothing but air—Infinity shimmered faintly around him, repelling the beast like a divine barrier. Gojo swatted lazily, his palm meeting the rabbit's side with effortless force. It shot off like a ragdoll, tumbling across the snow until it disappeared into the crowd.
He stepped back, not out of fear, but calculation.
His mind worked behind still eyes. Calm. Focused.
I counted them. I watched from above. Purple wiped out everything. That was the entire swarm. There's no way this many survived. This isn't regeneration. It's replication. They're multiplying. Instantly. Clones? Organic duplication? Something weirder? They're rabbits—but they're not rabbits.
He scanned the edge of the mob again.
No end in sight.
They're being created. Not summoned. Not warped in. Born. Fast. I can't even sense it. They just… appear. And for every one I kill, another fills the space.
His fingers twitched at his side. The cursed energy hummed lightly under his skin, waiting.
This was worse than the White Whale for Gojo to fight in his opinion. That thing had presence. Mass. A center of gravity. These things were chaos given form. Designed for one thing only—to eat. To erase. A self-perpetuating curse. Living hunger.
He breathed out slowly through his nose.
"So that's how it is eh.." he muttered. A quiet, humorless breath followed. "Heh. What a pain."
The grin that tugged at the edge of his mouth didn't touch his eyes. They stayed cold. Bright. Unflinching.
He tilted his head slightly, neck popping once. He'd seen fire earlier—when he was still floating above the field. An orange flare through the snowy mist. That would be Roswaal. The clown mage had shown up after all.
"Bold, considering his condition." Gojo murmured. "Guess he's not quite out of tricks."
Still. If Roswaal was there, then Emilia and Garfiel were holding out. For now. They had time. But not much. This couldn't drag out.
He stepped forward again.
His foot slammed down.
The explosion wasn't fire. It wasn't sound. It was force. Pure cursed energy cracking the snow like brittle stone, sending a shockwave in every direction. The terrain folded like pressure had just tripled in an instant.
The rabbits surged.
Gojo's arm rose. Just a flick of his wrist.
"Red."
The air screamed.-
Everything in front of him bent, warped, and then detonated. Dozens—hundreds—gone. Vaporized mid-pounce. Nothing left but blood mist and clumps of fur.
But more came.
"Red."
CRACK—
The ground split beneath his feet. Another pulse. Rabbits crushed where they stood. Bones flattened. Flesh scattered. No resistance.
"Red."
CRACK—!!
Another wave pulped instantly. Blood sprayed against the air like rain. The blast radius stretched wider. His voice didn't rise. His breath stayed calm.
"Red."
CRACK—!!!
The snow wasn't white anymore.
Crimson soaked the ground. Rabbit remains piled up in steaming heaps. Mangled limbs and shattered skulls layered across what had once been pristine frost. Gojo stood in the middle of it all, untouched. Untouched not by chance, but design.
No blood stuck to him. No shred of gore clung to his clothing or body. It all stopped, perfectly, at the edge of his Infinity. Hovering. Repelled. Unworthy.
He clicked his tongue once. Annoyed.
"…What a pain."
Because they kept coming. A flood with no source. A nightmare without end. For every hundred erased, another thousand rose to take their place. Mindless. Hungry. Tireless.
A tide of fangs and instincts, moving like one organism with no center.
———————————————————————
Farther off, Emilia was beginning to tire. Her chest rose and fell quickly, ice magic swirling around her arms with less strength than before—but she didn't let herself falter. She couldn't. Not when Garfiel was bleeding. Not when Roswaal was burning away what little mana he had left. Not when Gojo was holding down his own battlefield solo.
And definitely not with all those villagers inside the cathedral.
If she fell now, everything would collapse.
If I can't even protect these people… then what kind of ruler would I be?
Roswaal was slowing too already. She could see it now—his movements growing sluggish, spells dimmer. He hadn't fully recovered in the first place. But he was still pushing.
Garfiel was holding strong in comparison to the mage. His brute force tore through dozens at a time, but even his claws weren't fast enough to stop all of them. They needed more. A plan.
So far, none of the rabbits had breached them.
Until now.
A group broke from the main swarm. Slipped around the flanks. Dozens peeled off, sprinting straight toward the cathedral. The air was filled with snarls and shrieks.
Emilia's heart jumped, her head snapping to the side, eyes wide. "No—!"
One of the rabbits lunged—straight for her face as she lowered her guard, mouth open.
A blur of gold intercepted.
SMASH-!
The creature exploded midair. Blood splattered across the snow in a fine mist. Garfiel landed next to her, claws dripping.
"Rhhh—stay focused, princess!" He snapped, crouched low.
Before she could answer, a wall of fire engulfed the rabbits nearest the cathedral. Roswaal's magic roared in a ring, reducing them to cinders. He staggered, chest heaving, eyes twitching from exhaustion.
"Lady Emilia…" His voice was breathless. "If we are to act as you intend for us… it must be noooooow~ I only have mana for a few more large-scale spells…"
Emilia didn't hesitate.
She flung her hand forward. A swarm of icicles erupted toward the next wave of rabbits. Each one struck true. She looked toward Garfiel, still soaked in gore but grinning wide through his beast form's bloodied jaw.
She thought of Gojo again. His words. The way he looked at her—not like she was weak, or useless, but like she could be strong, could be useful, not the one having to be carried around everywhere.
She couldn't keep waiting for Subaru to save her.
She couldn't keep waiting for Puck to help her.
She couldn't wait at all, she had to take charge.
"Garfiel—now!!" She yelled.
The gold beast leapt backward, snarling. He slammed his foot into the earth—deep—and the ground caved. A monstrous sinkhole yawned open, spiraling down like a vortex. Dozens of rabbits fell in, their screeches echoing as they were swallowed by stone and falling snow.
"Do your thing now! They're already climbin' out!"
Emilia turned. Roswaal landed beside her.
Together, they raised their arms.
A towering icicle rapidly began to form—huge, wide, impossibly sharp. It gleamed sky blue, crackling with impressive levels of mana.
They spoke in unison.
"Ul Huma!"
The icicle fell.
It crashed into the sinkhole like a comet, slamming through the writhing mass of rabbits with cataclysmic force. Everything went still.
The ice stood tall. A frozen monolith.
Nothing moved.
No more rabbits climbed from the pit.
"Uff… uff…" Emilia gasped, hands on her knees. Her shoulders trembled.
There was silence, they had played their part to the fullest.
No rabbits remained. Not here. Not for now, so it was up to Gojo to finish it.
———————————————————————
Gojo swiped his arms through the air with precise, sweeping movements—each stride backward covering several meters, Infinity folding the space between his steps. Every swing of his hand unleashed a Red or a Blue, tearing through the tide of white-furred mabeasts like paper caught in a jet engine.
They didn't stop.
They never stopped.
The faintest trickle of sweat slid down his temple.
He exhaled visibly, breath misting in the cold as he crouched slightly—then launched himself upward. The world bent around him. Infinity distorted the air, keeping him suspended in the sky like a god above the battlefield.
His hands came together slowly, palms meeting. He inhaled deep—then split them apart. A thick strand of glowing blue stretched between his fingers like a filament unraveling from the universe itself.
"Maximum Output: Blue!"
Ten orbs burst from his body, far more than he had ever done at once before, but he had no choice but to experiment.
Cerulean spheres, pulsing like black holes, shot outward—controlled manually by Gojo's will. They spiraled across the sanctuary in wide arcs, devouring everything in their path. Trees uprooted and vanished. Earth fractured and disintegrated. Primarily, the rabbits—thousands of them—imploded without a sound.
The sweat ran heavier now.
A line of blood traced down from his nose.
Gojo ignored it, ignored the steady damage to his brain, it wasn't that surprising after all—he had never used blue to such a degree before and was certain this was his current limit.
The technique was taking its toll.
Still... he could feel it.
Emilia. Garfiel. Roswaal. They'd done their part.
Now it was his turn to finish it.
"...Haah. This is going to suck."
He muttered, watching as the last remaining clusters of rabbits scurried aimlessly below—confused, uncoordinated. Some gave up chasing him in the air, turning back toward the village with terrifying instinct.
He didn't let them get far.
One orb—then another—swept low, streaking across the ground like a comet tearing through the atmosphere. Wherever they touched, the world folded inward, space collapsing with a thunderous, soundless rush. Trees vanished. Earth funneled into itself. Rabbits were pulled into nonexistence—swallowed whole, as if they had never existed in the first place.
Like black holes dancing through the snowfall, the Blue orbs consumed everything in their orbit. But even Gojo had his limits. He couldn't sustain all ten. Not indefinitely. Not like this.
One flickered.
Then another.
They fizzled out—burning themselves to ash in the sky, one by one—like stars collapsing under their own weight.
Too many.
Even for him.
Still hovering in the air, Gojo narrowed his gaze, the glow of his Six Eyes flaring as they honed in—not on what he could see, but what he could sense. A few hundred meters away, beyond the broken treeline and the torn ground, just past the edge of perception.
But he didn't need to see.
He simply knew.
Roughly a hundred more. Maybe slightly less. Rabbits—ravenous, merciless, tireless—tearing through the forest at breakneck speed toward the village. The last wave. The final remnants of that cursed gluttonous swarm.
If they reached the village—
If they multiplied yet again—
It wouldn't just be a setback. It would be catastrophe. A true disaster this time.
His eyes sharpened. His fingers began to curl, interlocking.
His brain roared with activity. A supercomputer under strain. Equations ran in flashes behind his eyes, distances, air resistance, terrain curvature, the trajectory needed for him to strike accurately.
His cursed energy twisted in his chest—anomaly building on anomaly, Red compressing with Blue, opposites repelling and attracting in perfect harmony. Friction against friction. Force against force.
A faint, almost imperceptible hum built up at his palm.
Then—
The air cracked.
Not a thunderclap.
Not a rumble.
A snap—sharp, precise. Like the laws of the world had fractured in his hand.
A spark of violet ignited between his palms—tiny, almost delicate.
But it grew.
Faster than thought.
Power compressed into a single, spiraling orb of light and death—a swirling storm of mass-erasure so dense it warped the air around it. Trees bent away from it. The sky darkened slightly, as if the sun itself was trying to recoil.
Gojo's voice was quiet, but it cut through the wind like a blade.
"Hollow Purple."
And then—he flicked his wrist.
The orb moved.
It didn't fly. It disappeared. And the world screamed in its wake.
Everything between him and his unseen target was erased. A perfect spiral carved itself through the landscape—an open wound in the fabric of space, a tunnel of death multiple hundred meters long.
It twisted as it traveled, rotating like a galactic drill through the environment. The snow exploded. The trees were shredded down to their molecules. The air itself ruptured.
And when it reached the rabbits—
There was nothing.
Not even ash.
No explosion. No fire.
Just absence.
A colossal hollow crater, perfectly smooth, was left behind—scooped out of the earth like some divine hand had simply plucked the terrain away and decided it didn't belong anymore.
Gone.
All of them.
Every last rabbit—gone.
Gojo hovered above the carnage, body trembling ever so slightly.
Then—
"Urgkh—!?"
He gagged, blood bursting from his mouth in a red stream that painted the air and splashed into the snow below. His eyes bloodshot. Tears of crimson trailed down his cheeks. Blood spilled from his nose, even his ears.
His brain had seized. For multiple painfully long seconds, it simply stopped functioning—neurons fried by the toll of unleashing more of his cursed technique in a singular moment then he had ever.
But then—Reversed Cursed Technique flared again.
Veins stitched. Blood vessels reformed. His cognition stabilized.
His heart slowed.
His breath returned.
And when it did, he chuckled—dry, rasping.
"…Okay. That one might've been… a bit overkill… but that would've started to become a real problem if the rabbits came back again so I just had to make sure."
He floated back down to earth, legs nearly giving for just a moment before he caught himself.
Around him, the world was silent.
Dead silent.
Scarred and mangled—fissures splitting the snowfield, craters smoldering in the distance, the sanctuary shattered like brittle glass in areas.
He looked around, whistled low, and muttered under his breath.
"Well… hopefully the villagers are the forgiving type."
He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, then stooped to gather some snow—pressing it to his face, cooling the hot sting of lingering exertion, scrubbing away the streaks of red.
The snow was red in patches.
Silent, now. No more screeches. No stampede. Just the crackling of a few scattered fires licking at the wind, and the groaning of wounded trees tipping in the distance.
The Sanctuary was a graveyard once more.
Garfiel's beast form had faded, leaving him in his more human-like hybrid state—panting, bloodied, shirtless, fur stuck to his skin with half-dried rabbit guts before he flicked them off in disgust. He stood with one knee in the snow, a hand braced against the ice-covered ground, catching his breath. The veins in his arms were still twitching.
Roswaal leaned against a tree—or what was left of one. Most of the trunk had been incinerated earlier by his own magic. His coat was hanging off one shoulder, the right sleeve scorched away entirely. His skin, pale to begin with, now seemed ghostly. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his heterochromatic eyes were half-lidded, barely focused.
And Emilia—her cloak was tattered, frostbitten edges curling and flaking like burned paper. She knelt in the snow, palms resting on her thighs, shoulders heaving. Her breath came in thick clouds.
None of them spoke.
Not yet.
Until—
Their heads turned in unison.
The sound of footsteps—lazy, deliberate—pressing down into the frozen terrain with each step.
And then he appeared.
Gojo Satoru.
Snow clung to his boots. His outfit was completely intact—miraculously—but the collar was open, blood staining the inside of the fabric from a wound already healed. His blindfold was slightly askew, revealing the glowing edge of one brilliant cerulean eye before being fully wrapped up.
He waved lazily with one hand.
"Yo."
None of them answered.
Emilia just blinked, slowly.
Roswaal squinted.
Garfiel bared his teeth slightly, not quite a growl—more like a reflex. Tension he hadn't realized he was holding onto.
Gojo looked between them, then at the battlefield.
Then whistled.
"…Damn. You guys actually held out. I'm impressed!"
"Barely though.." Emilia muttered, forcing herself upright. She rubbed the side of her head, eyes lingering on a shattered tree stump. "If you hadn't finished off the last wave, we would've been overrun in minutes…"
Gojo shrugged. "Wasn't gonna let that happen. You think I wanna tell Subaru his crush got eaten by RABBITS while I was busy floating around looking cool?"
That earned a faint snort from Garfiel, who coughed once and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You look like hell dude!" Gojo said to him.
"Tch. You should see the other… rabbits…" Garfiel muttered, jerking his chin toward the horizon. "Oh wait… ya can't. 'Cause they're paste now!"
Gojo grinned faintly. "That's the spirit."
Roswaal finally spoke, voice like broken glass wrapped in velvet. "And you, Gojooo... left quite~ the impact on the landscape."
He gestured weakly toward the massive crater still steaming in the distance.
"I had to. Last group of the damn things was trying to flank the village…" Gojo said, wiping dried blood from under his nose. "Didn't have time to play nice. Figured a little property damage was better than letting them all get chewed apart."
Roswaal nodded slowly, eyes scanning the scorched surroundings. "A point… certainly difficult to aaargue against… Though I do suspect the villagers may require some manner of explanation regardless."
Gojo just shrugged in response.
Emilia stepped forward, her expression softening. "Gojo… thank you."
He looked at her, blinking once, caught slightly off guard.
"I mean it!" she said. "That was… beyond anything I could have imagined. I didn't think anyone could destroy that many at once. Not even Roswaal."
Gojo scratched his head. "Yeah well… I fried my brain while doing it so.."
He stretched his arms above his head with a groan, then paused—wincing slightly as he pressed two fingers to his temple.
Roswaal's eye twitched at Gojo's words. The idea that even someone like Satoru Gojo—a man who had just torn through the vast majority of an ancient mabeast like it was an afterthought—wasn't entirely invincible… was oddly comforting to his plans.
But it also made him even more wary in a way.
Did this man possess some kind of regenerative ability? Something so potent it could heal brain damage in seconds without leaving a sort of scar? That was no ordinary healing. That bordered on myth.
Still, Roswaal cleared his throat and forced a grin.
Gojo continued.
"Regardless… I'm proud of you forreal! Subaru will be too, once he's back. You took that loser's mindset you were clinging to and flipped it into something—well—decently impressive, sooo... niiice job~"
Emilia smiled quietly, her eyes closing as she nodded in warm agreement.
"Mhm."
Gojo exhaled softly, the grin on his face fading just for a second. That peace was interrupted by the thunderous creak of the cathedral doors flinging open in the distance. The sound echoed through the wrecked sanctuary like a final punctuation mark to the chaos.
Villagers from both Arlam and the Sanctuary poured out cautiously, eyes darting around, taking in the destruction.
The village itself was largely untouched—but the land beyond it told another story.
The outskirts were devastated. Massive trenches and craters carved the earth like scars left by a titan's wrath, steaming mounds of snow and scorched dirt stretched in every direction.
He could feel their eyes on him—dozens, maybe more. The whispers came quickly, hushed but cutting, floating to his ears like gusts of cold wind.
"Did they really kill all of them…?"
"What even was that thing…?"
"Was it summoned here…?"
"Did the outsiders bring it…?"
Fear. Awe. Gratitude. Suspicion.
He couldn't blame them.
Gojo sighed and turned slightly, catching Emilia's gaze. She stood just beside him, offering a reassuring smile meant for the crowd—but he could tell she was tired too.
Without warning, he reached out and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
She blinked in surprise, brows rising.
"Gojo?"
Before he could answer, Roswaal stepped forward, his voice drawing a slow curl at the edge of Gojo's lips.
"Gojooo… perhaps you should—mmm—explain to the villagers? Calm their… paranoia…?"
Gojo smirked, barely glancing back at him.
Of course... still trying to manage everything from the shadows. He doesn't want me leaving yet. Well… too bad.
Roswaal's expression darkened for a second, brows furrowing through the smile that didn't quite meet his mismatched eyes.
Still smirking, Gojo raised his head.
"Nah you can do that, I'm busy!"
And just like that—he and Emilia vanished in a flash of distorted space.
———————————————————————
They reappeared inside one of the moss-covered homes deeper in the Sanctuary—a dusty, half-forgotten library that probably hadn't seen life in years. It smelled of parchment, mold, and faint magic residue.
Gojo immediately stepped toward the one intact shelf, rifling through the aged tomes like a man on a mission.
Emilia followed, confused.
"Gojo… what are you doing?"
He didn't answer at first. Not until he pulled free a crumpled, folded map—nearly a meter across when unfurled—and slapped it flat on a nearby table.
He stood across from her, finger tracing across the worn paper.
"I've got a good memory." he said, "but I want to hear Subaru's words from the one who heard them firsthand."
Emilia blinked.
"You're… going after Subaru?"
Gojo nodded, eyes locked onto the map.
"Yeah. Anyway—"
Emilia leaned forward, trying to find what he was so focused on. The map was somewhat detailed: the full expanse of the Dragon Kingdom Lugunica, marked with forests, mountains, rivers, cities. Though only the more important parts were actually named on the map.
"Right… Subaru said he was 'going to the desert to fight with a Saint'…"
Gojo's finger stopped after just a moment.
"Then… there, I'd imagine."
He tapped the parchment.
"The Augria Sand Dunes. That's the only place he could've meant…"
His brow twitched, frustration clear as he mumbled to himself.
The Pleiades Watchtower... that's in those dunes, right? That's where the Witch of Envy is sealed—I think? And Subaru's headed there… to fight a… Saint? What kind of suicidal idiot—
He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly annoyed.
"Ugh… this is just stupid complicated. And I can't even teleport all the way there, so even for me, it's gonna take some time."
Emilia opened her mouth.
"Then I can—"
"No." He cut her off, shaking his head gently. "You can't come. Not because I don't think you can handle yourself—but because you've still got your own trials here to finish. Right?"
Emilia paused, then nodded, her expression softening.
Gojo's smile returned—tired, but sincere.
"Then pass 'em all. Shock Subaru. Make him cry when he sees you standing tall."
She chuckled quietly, her silver hair swaying.
"I will! Do you need a ground dragon or anything?"
"Nah." He cracked his neck, walking toward the door.
"I'll be fine."
He looked back once—his figure outlined by the low light through the moss-covered window.
"I always am."
———————————————————————
Gojo's breath came heavy as he ran through the night, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. Strands of his fringe clung to his forehead, slick with sweat as he sprinted across the uneven terrain.
"…Fuck… I might've sorely overestimated myself here…"
He muttered to himself, boots skidding slightly as he slowed his pace. The dense thickets of the Elior Forest were long behind him—judging by the wider plains and sparser tree coverage, he figured he was finally out of that damned massive place.
He came to a gradual stop, doubling over and resting his hands on his knees for a moment before patting his stomach with a light groan.
"Could've used a pack lunch or something… not really used to this whole 'hunter-gatherer' vibe."
Gojo gave a short, breathless chuckle—then perked up. From the distance, faint cries drifted in through the wind. Screaming?
His expression turned alert.
It was far off, but he wasn't about to ignore someone screaming for help. Especially not while he was this bored.
———————————————————————
"C'mon… c'mon! Just cliiiimb! Up, up, up!!"
A young man draped in green garb—with tousled grey hair and frantic energy—was shouting desperately at a ground dragon currently dangling halfway off a cliff. Its hind legs clawed at the rocky edge, the beast's full weight straining against the harness of a wooden wagon teetering behind it.
Somehow, miraculously, the wagon hadn't fallen with the ground dragon just yet. But it wouldn't last much longer.
"I'M FINISHED AS A MERCHANT IF YOU FALL, YOU KNOW!!"
The man's voice cracked in panic. Just as the dragon began to slip further—
—everything stopped.
Rather, it lifted.
The dragon—and wagon with it—rose slowly, as if hoisted by some unseen force, and then drifted sideways several meters before being softly set down on solid earth.
"…You can fly? Wh–What!?"
"Nope."
Gojo's voice cut through the air as he appeared, now standing casually atop the wagon like it was nothing. He hopped down, boots crunching softly against the dirt as he approached.
The merchant blinked at him in disbelief, then coughed into his fist with forced dignity.
"I… I see! Well! You just saved both our hides, kind sir, so allow me to express my sincerest—"
"Yeah, yeah, no worries—" Gojo waved it off with a half-shrug.
Then the merchant leaned forward, peering at him suspiciously.
"…Have I met you somewhere before?"
Gojo tilted his head, raising a brow.
"Well, I never forget a face. So I don't think so. Though…" He smirked. "I am pretty popular. In Lugunica, at least."
There was a pause. Then sudden realization sparked behind the merchant's eyes.
"Wait a second… Satoru Gojo?! The only man ever chosen by the dragon—what in the world are you doing way out here?!"
Gojo just laughed. "Ahh… that's a bit of a long story."
The merchant clapped his hands together, rubbing them in a gesture somewhere between gratitude and business instinct.
"I'm Otto Suwen! Merchant, courier, problem-solver—and if you're in need of a lift, weeell, I'd be honored to assist! You know, for a small shoutout to your sponsors or royal friends~"
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
He was about to politely decline—after all, he could travel just fine on foot—but… he had started slowing down. Taking breaks sucked. And sitting down for a bit didn't sound too bad.
"…Sure. Why not."
He climbed up into the back of the wagon and settled in, resting one arm across the wooden railing. Then he wagged a finger with a grin.
"I'll even make sure you get the full travel story on our way. Drama, tension, personal struggle, mystery…!"
Otto's eyes sparkled, a bit of drool down his mouth for some reason. "Deal!"
The wagon rumbled forward, creaking gently as it began rolling down the path. The wind was calm, and Gojo leaned back, ready to tell the story of exactly why someone like him was out here in the middle of nowhere.
Otto gripped the reins, his gaze flicking occasionally to the road ahead as the ground dragon plodded steadily along the winding trail. The faint crunch of gravel beneath the wheels broke the nighttime stillness, and after a moment, he peered over his shoulder toward the man slouched in the back of the wagon—white-haired, blindfolded, and far too casual for someone in such dangerous company.
"So, uh… where exactly are you trying to go?"
Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily from his shoulder.
"Ah, right… little place called the Augria Sand Dunes. Ring any bells?"
Otto stared for a beat—then furrowed his brow hard.
"…What? What the hell? Why would anyone want to go there!?"
He whipped around fully, half standing in his seat.
"Am I playing some part in a deeply ill-advised suicide attempt?! Surely I'd get executed for this, you're a candidate for the throne!"
Gojo waved a hand dismissively.
"Pleaaase. I'll be fine. I'm going there for good reason—and hey, I'll make sure your, uh, 'company' gets a solid mention when I'm back. Exposure and all that stuff."
Otto's nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply, grip tightening on the reins while his inner merchant clashed with his survival instincts.
"…Very well then. Let us go!"
With a flick of the reins, the ground dragon picked up speed, and the wagon surged forward under the pale light of the moon, fleeing deeper into the night.
———————————————————————
Gojo snapped awake as the wagon jostled over a bump—his head lolling before snapping upright. He groaned and wiped a streak of drool from the side of his mouth, brushing it on his sleeve as he leaned forward against the wooden side railing.
"Oi, Otto…"
"Yes, Satoru?" the merchant answered quickly, not taking his eyes off the path.
"How much longer until we're there?"
There was a brief pause as Otto seemed to mentally calculate.
"Just a few more hours before we reach the desert's edge. I can take you as far as Mirula. Any further than that and… well, I'd rather not be mabeast food, if it's all the same to you."
Gojo tilted his head.
"Mirula? Didn't see it on the map I had."
Otto nodded.
"I imagine your map only marked cities or major landmarks. Mirula's barely even a place of interes at this point. Closer to a ghost town, really. It's fairly large all things considering… but almost completely desolated, perhaps there'll be the one or two merchants stupid enough to pass through—and the smell of death in the air if the wind blows wrong."
Gojo frowned.
"Why's it deserted? Can't just be sand in their shoes, right?"
Otto let out a dry laugh.
"Ha! No, not quite. The town's right on the edge of the Pleiades Watchtower region—makes it well.. the most miasma-saturated place in all of Lugnica. The Witch's stench is thicker there than anywhere else!"
He paused, voice dipping lower.
"It's bad enough that it's twisted the land, corrupted the wildlife. The mabeasts around there… don't behave like they should from what I've heard. Some have mutated entirely. Others are far more threatening than any you'll find out here. More… wrong."
Gojo scratched the side of his head with a sigh.
"Great. So, a desert full of monsters, miasma, and probably my luck, I'll find another run-in with the Witch's Cult, Sounds like my kind of vacation."
Otto offered a weak, nervous chuckle in response, mainly hoping that Gojo was just joking while his gaze remained locked ahead.
"I'm sure someone in Mirula can explain it better than I can. Assuming they're still sane at least.."
Gojo just leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head.
"Alright. Wake me when we're there!"
The wagon continued under the star-streaked sky, a lonely creak accompanying the soft footfalls of the dragon as it carried two unlikely travelers toward a place few dared to tread.
———————————————————————
The golden hue of morning barely breached the endless horizon of the Augria Sand Dunes, yet the heat had already begun to rise—thick, dry air swirling with the faintest taste of ash and iron.
Gojo squinted beneath the shifting light, eyes narrowing despite the blindfold. The grainy wind tugged at his jacket, carrying with it a strange pressure. Not quite cursed energy… but something close. Off. Wrong.
From atop the wagon, he gazed out ahead as Otto gripped the reins, sweat already soaking through the back of his shirt.
"There it is…" Otto muttered, voice low as if afraid the wind itself might listen.
Gojo leaned forward.
In the distance—half-buried in sand and nearly camouflaged by the pale light—stood the remnants of a town, some crumbling buildings slouched at odd angles, others even collapsed in on themselves like hollowed shells. Blackened wood, weatherworn stone, and tattered cloth signs hung limp from rusted hooks.
No guards. No movement. Not even birds overhead.
"Welcome to Mirula…" Otto said with a sardonic chuckle, pulling the dragon to a slow stop just outside the perimeter.
The town was surrounded by nothing but wind-swept dunes, with small patches of corrupted vegetation poking out from between cracked stone paths. Twisted foliage, their bark dry and gray, creaked faintly as if groaning in pain.
Gojo stepped off the wagon, his boots pressing into the sand with a muffled crunch. Immediately, he noticed it.
The miasma.
It clung to the air like smog, heavy and invisible, but unmistakable to someone sensitive to energy like him. It wasn't just stagnant—it moved, like a living thing drifting between alleyways and broken doorframes.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely not your average pit stop to say the least…"
Otto remained on the wagon, tugging his scarf up over his nose.
"This is where I leave you, Satoru! If I stay here too long, I'll probably start hearing things…"
Gojo chuckled, taking a few steps forward.
"Thanks for the ride. If I don't make it back… tell everyone I died doing something cooler than this!"
Otto snorted.
"You better survive though. If I don't get a bump in sales after chauffeuring Satoru Gojo, I'm filing a formal complaint!"
With a faint wave, Otto turned the wagon around, the dragon reluctantly trudging back the way they'd come.
Gojo, now alone, rolled his neck and looked ahead. A dry wind swept through the crooked street, rattling a broken sign above a building that once may have been a tavern. The whole town felt paused—like it was waiting for something to stir it awake.
And from the way the air trembled faintly with cursed vibrations, Gojo figured it wouldn't be long.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded map and looking toward the east.
The Pleiades Watchtower wasn't far now... if that's even where Subaru is.
He took a deep breath, muttering under it.
"…Let's see what kind of nightmare Subaru's wandered into shall we?"
Then, with steady steps and the desert sun rising higher behind him, Satoru Gojo entered Mirula.
He could feel eyes on him—those few lingering souls scattered along the street, wrapped in tattered cloths, their gazes heavy with envy. One man, gaunt and ragged, began to stagger forward, clutching something that looked like a weapon.
Though calling it a weapon was generous—it was just a jagged piece of sharpened animal bone.
The man was painfully thin, draped in a grimy grey cloth that fluttered as he stumbled toward Gojo.
"Food… hungry…" The man's eyes locked onto Satoru Gojo, who was clearly well-off, narrowing with desperation. Then, summoning what little strength he had left, he ran forward as fast as his exhausted body could manage in a blind state of starvation.
"Money—hunger, food!!" he cried, slashing down with the bone dagger, trying to cut Gojo.
But Infinity stopped the blow effortlessly.
Gojo caught the man's neck with a sharp snap of his hand, rendering him unconscious, then gently lowered the fragile body to the ground and continued on.
Yeah… this was a pitiful sight, no doubt.
Then something shifted in the air—the wind, the sand… the storm. It was different. Wrong. Almost as if simply standing in it could put even Gojo in danger.
His head snapped to the side. The streets had emptied even more, save for the unconscious man he'd left behind. The sudden clatter of doors and windows slamming shut echoed around him.
Gojo's brow furrowed, and in a blink, he pivoted, moving like a shadow to scoop the man up. He dragged him inside a nearby building, slamming the door just as the storm's howl rose outside—a siren wailing in the wind.
He set the man down on a worn wooden bench and took in his surroundings.
A bar… a tavern? Well, if Regulus was anywhere nearby, Gojo figured he'd soon be launched through a wall again.
"Heeey!" Gojo called out, fixing his narrowed gaze on a grey-haired man standing on the other side of the table. He took a seat, raising a hand, and soon a small mug of warm, aged milk was slid in front of him.
Gojo blinked and took a tentative sip.
Even the milk Rom gave me was better than this crap!
"Ergh… so… old man, can you tell me a little about whatever the hell's going on outside?"
The shopkeeper clicked his tongue.
"You're playing a dangerous game here, young man… At least if you've come all this way without knowing what's going on out there…"
Gojo just smiled.
The shopkeeper sighed.
"It's the Sand Wind.." the shopkeeper said, voice low and tired, "a storm that can last for days. When it hits, it's not just the sand and wind that wear you down—it's something else. Something... unnatural."
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
The shopkeeper leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "They call it Sand Time. It's like time itself bends inside the storm. Minutes can stretch into hours, or hours can flash by in an instant. People caught out there say they lose track of time completely. Some come back feeling older, or younger… or worse, never come back at all."
He glanced nervously at the door as the wind rattled the shutters.
"Sand Time doesn't just mess with clocks—it messes with your body, your mind. You might walk a hundred steps and find yourself miles away, or barely move but have hours pass. It's disorienting, draining… and deadly."
The old man sighed again. "Most sane folks just lock themselves inside, pray for it to pass. But some say the Witch's influence twists the storm, makes it even more dangerous. If you're caught in Sand Time, well… you might find you're trapped in a nightmare where the rules of reality no longer apply."
Gojo nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.
"And I don't suppose a boy… well—he's older than me but acts younger, looks younger, and is far less handsome…"
The shopkeeper deadpanned.
"Black hair and black eyes, you say? Come through here in the last few days?"
They shook their head.
"We get few enough folk in this forsaken place as it is. I'd remember someone with that complexion, that's for sure. And I can say I don't."
Gojo exhaled sharply, lifted the mug, downed the milk in one go, then wiped his mouth.
"Ergh... thanks—for the milk."
He rose and approached the door, the storm's howl loud beyond the threshold.
"O-oi, kid—you don't wanna go out there. I'm tellin' ya… it's suicide!"
The shopkeeper's urgency was clear, but Gojo was unfazed. With a grin, he flung the door wide open and stepped into the swirling haze.
Hands still in his pockets, Gojo strode forward, utterly unaffected by the sandstorm. His eyes narrowed beneath the grit.
Can't see squat... but if this is it... it's a bit anticlimactic.
I mean… it's just a sandstorm.
He strode forward, Infinity humming softly, a faint shimmer cloaking him like a fragile veil against the storm. Then—without warning—a sudden, unnatural ripple tore through the very fabric of the world around him.
Gojo's senses screamed. Something indescribable—alien—seized the air itself, twisting it into a dark pulse of dread. His eyes snapped open wide, pupils dilating in shock.
"What—?!"
CRACK—!!
The earth beneath him shattered violently, as if reality itself was fracturing. The dunes convulsed, torn apart by an invisible force, jagged shards of sand and stone exploding outward. The ground cracked open in a massive, gaping maw.
Gojo stumbled back, eyes blazing with disbelief and caution.
"A distortion in space—?!"
Before him, an abyss yawned—a churning black vortex, swallowing light and sound. Time warped, dragging seconds into an agonizing crawl while gravity twisted and snapped like a broken thread.
Infinity flickered—and then vanished.
"Urrkk—!?"
Without warning, he was ripped forward, sucked into the void like a stone tossed down a cosmic drain. The world spun out of control as he was hurled through a corridor of darkness and chaos, tumbling endlessly through the infinite unknown.
When he snapped upright, the world was shrouded in shadow.
Next to him lay a strange sight he wasn't expecting to see so soon.
"…Subaru…?"
Unconscious, but Gojo barely had time to process that.
What the hell just happened?
And where the hell are we?