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pengujoon · 8 months

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NOW I AM BECOME DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

cont. what would happen if the strongest fell over into the dark side? gojo satoru-centric, psychopath gojo, villain!au, graphic depiction of violence, blood and gore.

a/n. viewer discretion is highly highly advised.

Satoru had always been known for his boundless energy and charismatic personality, a shining beacon of hope in the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers. But lately, a shadow had crept over his once-bright spirit, casting a pall of sadness upon him.

It wasn’t a sudden transformation, but a gradual erosion of his vitality. The relentless weight of responsibility, the ceaseless battles against malevolent curses, and the unending demands of his role had taken their toll. Satoru, the paragon of inspiration and leadership, had become a prisoner of his own obligations.

Each morning, he awoke with a leaden heart, the prospect of another day filled with dread. The genuine smiles that had once adorned his face had become rare, replaced by artificial facades masking the profound despair that now resided within him.

As days turned into weeks, Satoru found himself drifting further away from the passions that once defined him. His beloved hobby of teaching and mentoring young sorcerers had lost its lustre, becoming a monotonous chore. The intricacies of Jujutsu techniques, which used to fascinate him, now felt like burdensome routines.

Even the simple pleasures of life, like savouring a cup of tea or gazing at the setting sun, had lost their appeal. The world around him seemed to blur into a grey landscape, devoid of colour or meaning.

Friends and colleagues noticed the change in him, but he brushed off their concerns with a forced grin, unwilling to burden them with his inner turmoil. The new world he had once dreamed of, a place where people could find solace and inspiration, remained a distant vision, fading with each passing day.

Satoru’s descent into apathy was a slow, painful journey. He no longer recognised the person he had become, a hollow shell of his former self. The world of curses and sorcery had claimed not only his body but his spirit as well, leaving him adrift in a sea of indifference.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling battle, Satoru stood alone in a dimly lit alley. His clothes were torn, his body battered, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tormented him. It was the emptiness, the numbness that had settled deep within his soul.

He gazed at his reflection in a puddle on the ground, and for the first time, he didn’t recognise the person staring back at him. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, and his once vibrant spirit felt like a distant memory.

Satoru leaned against a cold brick wall and closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to wash over him. He no longer cared about being the hero, about protecting others, about the fate of the Jujutsu world.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and he was spiralling into a void of apathy.

Days turned into weeks, and Satoru withdrew from his friends and colleagues. He isolated himself, seeking solace in the silence of his apartment. The world outside felt distant and insignificant.

His training sessions became brutal, a way to release the pent-up frustration and despair. He pushed himself to the limit, not out of a sense of duty but to feel something, anything other than the numbness that had consumed him.

One night, as he sat in the darkness of his apartment, Satoru whispered to himself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

And in that moment, he let go.

He let go of the expectations, the responsibilities, the need to be the hero. He surrendered to the darkness, allowing it to engulf him completely.

He no longer cared about the consequences, about the lines he had sworn never to cross.

He was falling, and he didn’t want to be saved.

He wanted to lose himself in the abyss, to become one with the darkness that had become his refuge.

It was a descent into the unknown, a journey into the darkest corners of his soul. And as he fell deeper, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way to climb back out, to rediscover the person he used to be before the darkness had claimed him.

Satoru’s descent into darkness was swift and unrelenting. The man who had once been a beacon of hope and strength had now become a shadow of his former self, consumed by the very darkness he had sworn to combat.

He ceased to be the charismatic leader of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, the one who inspired and protected others.

Instead, he became a symbol of fear and dread, a force to be reckoned with, and not in a heroic way. His powers, once a means of defense, now became tools of destruction.

Satoru no longer cared about the lives of those around him. He saw curses and humans alike as mere obstacles, obstacles to be eliminated without remorse. His attacks became merciless, his cruelty unforgiving.

The Jujutsu world watched in horror as Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, descended into darkness. His former allies attempted to intervene, to bring him back from the abyss, but he shrugged them off with cold indifference.

The more he embraced the darkness, the more powerful he became. It was as if the curse energy that flowed through him had been tainted, transformed into a malevolent force that defied all laws of nature. Satoru revelled in this newfound strength, using it to sow chaos and destruction wherever he went.

His apathy had turned into something far more sinister — a calculated, deliberate cruelty that left a trail of devastation in its wake. He no longer recognised himself, but he didn’t care. There was a perverse satisfaction in embracing the darkness, in becoming the very thing he had sworn to destroy.

The curses, once his enemies, now bowed before him in reverence. They saw him as a god of destruction, a being who revelled in chaos and despair. And Satoru, in his twisted state, relished their adoration.

The world outside was no longer of any consequence to him. He had become a solitary force, a harbinger of doom, and he had no intention of turning back. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had lost its greatest hero, and in his place stood a monster.

As he roamed the darkened streets, his laughter echoed through the night, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. Satoru had fully embraced the abyss, and there was no turning back from the path of darkness he had chosen.

Years had passed since Satoru’s descent into darkness. He had become one of the most feared and notorious curse users in the Jujutsu world. His power had grown to unimaginable levels, and he had left a trail of destruction in his wake.

Satoru Gojo crept back into the heart of Jujutsu Tech, his once-revered presence now a shadow of malevolence. He had once stood as a paragon of wisdom, but now his intentions dripped with sinister purpose. Deep within, he nursed a blackened desire — to annihilate Jujutsu Tech High, the sacred ground where he had once been the beacon of enlightenment to young sorcerers. His motives were veiled in the darkest of ambitions — a relentless craving to seize the school's concealed vault, a trove brimming with cursed instruments and malefic artifacts.

As he entered the school building, he couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of nostalgia. The hallways that had once echoed with laughter and camaraderie were now filled with dread and despair. Students and sorcerers alike averted their gaze, unable to meet his eyes, knowing that this was their only way of surviving. Anything more that poses as an obstacle would be exterminated with nothing left to mourn for.

It was then that he encountered a group of familiar faces — his former students. They had grown into powerful sorcerers themselves, but the shock of seeing their former teacher as a curse user sent shockwaves through their ranks.

Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji — the trio that had once been his pride and joy — stood before him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and horror. They had heard the rumors, but seeing Satoru again in the flesh, clad in the dark aura of a curse user, was a harrowing experience.

Satoru regarded them with a cold, detached gaze. Gone was the warmth and affection he had once shown them. Now, he saw them as nothing more than obstacles to his goal.

“You’re in my way,” he growled, his voice a chilling echo. “Move aside.”

Megumi, determined but trembling, stepped forward. “Gojo-sensei, we won’t let you continue down this path of darkness. We’ll stop you, no matter the cost.”

Satoru’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, do try.”

With a mere flick of his hand, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy, a maelstrom of malevolence that sent the trio hurtling through the air. Their bodies collided with walls, and their screams of agony reverberated through the desolate halls.

Satoru had become an embodiment of pure malevolence, a being who thrived on torment and despair. The students who had once revered him as a mentor now faced a monstrous aberration that defied reason.

As they prepared for a battle unlike any they had faced before, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji knew that their former teacher was lost to them. He had become a creature of darkness, an adversary beyond their wildest nightmares.

The battle that unfolded within the hallowed halls of Jujutsu Tech was a clash of despair, a confrontation between former teacher and students that none of them had ever anticipated.

Satoru stood unscathed as the trio launched their most powerful attacks. Cursed techniques, shikigami, and sheer brute strength were thrown at him with all their might, but it was as if their efforts were nothing more than a gentle breeze against an unyielding mountain.

Satoru’s dark aura enveloped him like a shroud, an impenetrable barrier that deflected their every assault. He moved with a malevolent grace, evading their attacks with a sadistic amusement. It was as if he had transcended the very laws of nature, becoming an unstoppable force of destruction.

Nobara’s straw dolls, once wielded with precision, were swatted aside like insects. Megumi’s shikigami, symbols of his strength, crumbled under the weight of Satoru’s overwhelming curse energy, shattered like porcelain. Yuji, the embodiment of raw power, charged with a roar of defiance, but his strike was effortlessly sidestepped by Satoru. With a casual flick of his hand, Yuji was sent crashing into the wall, a broken puppet.

Satoru observed them with sadistic delight, his cerulean eyes devoid of any humanity. “Is this all you’ve got?” he mocked. “Pathetic.”

The trio’s faces contorted with desperation and terror. They had honed their skills, faced insurmountable odds, but it was clear that they were outmatched by the abyss that had consumed their former mentor.

Satoru remained an impassive figure, an uncaring spectre as their attacks washed over him like insignificant waves. He had become invulnerable, an entity immune to their every effort.

Megumi clenched his teeth, a simmering rage burning within him. He refused to accept that their former mentor had become so monstrously powerful. But the evidence was undeniable, and denial was a luxury they could ill afford.

Nobara, her resolve unyielding, unleashed a relentless barrage of nails imbued with cursed energy. They struck Satoru’s form, but it was akin to pelting a mountain with pebbles. Satoru didn’t flinch; he didn’t bother to evade.

Yuji, his fists brimming with cursed energy, charged forward with a scream of defiance. He unleashed his most devastating attack, a punch that should have shattered the very earth. But it struck Satoru head-on, and the impact sent shockwaves through the area.

Satoru’s form flickered momentarily, as if affected by Yuji’s assault. But then, to the trio’s horror, he reappeared unscathed, a malevolent grin etched across his face.

“You fools,” Satoru taunted, “playtime's finished.”

With a single motion, Satoru unleashed a devastating wave of curse energy that sent them hurtling through the air. They convulsed in torment, their forms contorted by the malefic force surging within them. They crashed into walls, pillars, and the unforgiving ground, their bodies battered and broken.

As they struggled to get back on their feet, their strength waning, Satoru approached them with an eerie calmness. He had become an embodiment of malevolence, a being untouched by empathy or compassion.

“You all were always a disappointment,” he muttered, his voice laced with contempt as he stood over them. “I expected more from my students.”

He sneered, his words cutting deep. “Weak and naive. You thought you could save me? You thought you could change me? Pathetic.”

With a flick of his finger, he sent a surge of curse energy that enveloped them, their screams echoing through the once-hallowed halls. The trio writhed in agony, their bodies contorted by the malevolent power that coursed through them.

In that horrifying moment, they realised the true extent of the darkness that now defined their former teacher. He had become an irredeemable monster, a harbinger of despair beyond measure. They were trapped in a nightmarish confrontation with their own creation, a manifestation of their failure and powerlessness.

With a flick of his hand, he dispelled the cursed energy that held Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji in agonising paralysis. They collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling with pain.

But Satoru didn’t spare them a second glance.

They were lucky to not have him kill them all at that very moment.

He turned away from his fallen students and began to walk through the school, his steps slow and deliberate. Memories of his time as a teacher here flickered through his mind, but they held no emotion for him now. They were nothing more than distant echoes of a past he no longer cared about.

The hallway that had once been filled with laughter and camaraderie was now a scene of devastation. But Satoru felt nothing. His heart had turned to ice, and his soul was a barren wasteland of apathy.

As he moved through the hallways, his very presence wreaked havoc. The walls cracked and crumbled, the ceiling caved in, and the floor beneath his feet shattered. It was as if the school itself was groaning in agony, unable to withstand the overwhelming curse energy that radiated from him.

Satoru’s apathy was a destructive force. He didn’t discriminate between friend or foe; everything in his path was a target for his wanton destruction. The classrooms where he had once imparted knowledge were reduced to rubble. The training grounds where he had honed the skills of his students were torn apart.

He walked through the chaos, his eyes vacant and his heart devoid of feeling. The very essence of his being had been consumed by darkness, and he had become a harbinger of despair.

Students and sorcerers who crossed his path cowered in fear, their attempts to stop him futile. His power was unmatched, his apathy unyielding. He had become a force of nature, a cataclysmic event that left destruction in its wake.

As he reached the heart of the school, the place where he had once taught and mentored his students, he paused for a moment. The memories of those days brushed against his consciousness, but he brushed them aside with a cold indifference.

With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a devastating surge of cursed energy that obliterated the very foundations of the building. The school that had once been a symbol of hope and learning crumbled to the ground, reduced to a pile of rubble and dust.

As the dust and debris settled, Satoru stood alone in the midst of the destruction he had wrought. He felt nothing, no remorse, no satisfaction, only a profound emptiness.

He had become a living embodiment of apathy, a curse user without a shred of humanity left. The school that had once been his home was now a graveyard of memories, a testament to the darkness that had consumed him.

He continued to walk, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, his apathy a stark reminder of the depths to which he had fallen. The world had changed, and Satoru Gojo had become a force of chaos, a curse user without remorse, without humanity, and without redemption.

Amid the desolation he had wrought, Satoru’s apathetic eyes fixated on a hidden entrance beneath the rubble of Jujutsu Tech’s main building. It was a place he had frequented during his time as a teacher — a secret vault where cursed objects of immense power were stored away, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

Though his heart had turned cold and his soul had descended into darkness, Satoru had not lost sight of his goals. He had come to the school not only to unleash chaos but also to retrieve these cursed objects, each one a source of untold power.

With a casual gesture, he cleared away the debris blocking the entrance to the vault. The heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a chamber filled with shelves upon shelves of cursed objects. They gleamed with malevolence, each one radiating a dark energy that matched Satoru’s own.

His apathetic demeanour did not waver as he scanned the room. He knew exactly which cursed objects he sought, and he wasted no time in finding them. With a swift, efficient motion, he collected the objects and placed them in a black bag that seemed to absorb their sinister aura.

These cursed objects were the key to furthering his descent into darkness, to becoming an even greater threat to the world. Satoru had forsaken his role as a protector of humanity, and now he sought to wield the very curses he had once sworn to destroy.

As he exited the vault, the ruined school lay behind him, a stark reminder of the destruction he had wrought. But Satoru was not concerned with the aftermath; he was apathetic to the suffering he had caused.

With the cursed objects in his possession, he disappeared into the night, leaving behind a world forever scarred by his apathetic descent into darkness and the malevolent power he had acquired. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had a new, and perhaps even more formidable, threat to contend with — one of their own.

Satoru’s descent had plunged him into a bloodthirsty madness, and he revelled in the gruesome spectacle that lay before him - the corpses of those who dared to oppose him or had simply crossed his path.

Was he sorry that they met their end this way? If Satoru had that little bit of humanity left in him, maybe, but he simply couldn’t be bothered anymore.

His once apathetic demeanour had transformed him into a manic hunger for violence and carnage he left in his wake. The world had become his canvas, and the spilled blood of his victims his masterpiece.

Every step he took was marked by splatters of blood, as he eviscerated everyone who dared to even stand in his way. Friend or foe, he couldn’t be bothered anymore. His eyes, once filled with mirth, now gleamed with a sadistic delight.

Coming across a new group of naive sorcerers hoping to take him down as he left the vault, he let out a cold and emotionless chuckle, unleashing his cursed energy with brutal precision. The air crackled with malevolence as their now lifeless forms were torn asunder, blood and viscera splattering in all directions.

Satoru’s laughter rang out like a demented symphony as he revelled in the gruesome spectacle. His hands moved with a fluid brutality, tearing their bodies apart with an unholy fervour.

It was a scene of unbridled savagery, a bloodbath that defied all reason and humanity.

Limbs were severed, bodies torn asunder, bones snapped and cracked, the air filling with the sickening sounds of flesh tearing. He tore limbs from torsos, severed heads from necks, and ripped bodies apart with an insatiable appetite for gore.

Blood sprayed across his face and soaked his clothes, but he paid it no mind.

In fact, he relished the sensation of warm blood against his skin, the metallic scent filling his nostrils in a horrifyingly comforting manner. The stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air, but to Satoru, it was a tantalising aroma that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Blood sprayed and splattered, painting the white walls and streets in a nightmarish tableau of crimson. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with madness, his thirst for violence insatiable.

But he wasn’t finished.

With a final, sadistic flourish, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy that tore through the already mutilated corpses, reducing them to a gruesome pile of mangled flesh and bone, the sight unbearable to the normal eye.

Reaching a fever pitch, Satoru’s laughter echoed through the streets as he revelled in the gruesome display of power - a symphony of carnage, a ballet of death, and he alone was the conductor of this macabre orchestra.

As he stood amidst the blood-soaked carnage, his clothes stained with the evidence of his sadistic indulgence, Satoru felt an intoxicating rush of power and pleasure; his decent into darkness had reached its nadir, and he revelled in the depths of his psychopathic bloodlust.

“Now I am become death,” he whispered, his voice a chilling echo in the stillness of the night. He stood amidst the wreckage, the mangled bodies of those who had dared to challenge him strewn at his feet, their pitiful cries silenced forever.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie pallor over the scene. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with apathy as he stepped on their bodies, the sickening crunch of bone and flesh deafening through the silence.

The world trembled in the presence of this malevolent force, and there was no turning back from the abyss he had willingly entered.

“The destroyer of worlds.”

i've never really wrote anything like this before, but the newest episode really explored a whole new genre of satoru, prompting me to imagine what it's like if he fell over into the darkness - how heartless and cruel could he be if he really chose to.

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