The domain shattered and the beach went with it. Back to Shibuya Station. Dark. Broken. Dagon was ash on the floor.
Nanami was standing through what could only be described as spite. Naobito was missing an arm and somehow still vertical. Maki was bruised, burned, and holding nothing because Toji had stolen her weapon, used it to commit unspeakable violence on a fish, and dipped without saying a word.
Toji himself had grabbed Megumi and kicked him out the station. Didn't explain. Didn't wave. Just took his son and left like a man sneaking out of a family reunion early.
"...Did he just leave?" Maki said.
"With MY weapon," Maki added.
Three seconds of quiet.
Then they heard it.
tap
Footsteps from the left corridor. Heavy. Confident. The temperature climbed.
tap
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
tap tap
From the darkness, Jogo emerged.
His single eye was locked forward. Flames low and steady. Face carved from pure intent. He had come here for one reason.
Behind him — three feet back, matching his pace exactly — the zombie.
tap
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
tap
Jogo did not acknowledge it.
He had transcended acknowledgment. Somewhere between the subway tunnels and this corridor, Jogo had achieved a level of mental discipline that monks spend lifetimes chasing. The tapping was still there. The groaning was still there. And he simply did not care anymore. The zombie was part of his life now the way weather was part of everyone's life. You didn't fight rain. You walked through it.
Jogo walked past the sorcerers. Not toward them. PAST them. Straight to the ash on the ground.
He knelt.
Gently — so gently it didn't match a single thing about him — he scooped Dagon's remains into his palm.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
tap
"Leave the rest to me," Jogo said quietly. "I'll meet you in the wastelands. A hundred years from now."
Genuinely touching. A cursed spirit mourning his friend. A promise between beings born from fear who had somehow found something worth caring about.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
tap tap
Jogo let the ash fall through his fingers.
He stood up.
He turned around.
Nanami saw it before Jogo moved. The switch. The moment mourning became murder.
"We need to—"
Jogo was already beside him. One hand on Nanami's waist. Palm flat. Heat — instant, absolute.
"That's one."
Nanami erupted. Fire consumed his left side. His suit disintegrated. He flew sideways and cratered the floor.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
tap
The zombie tapped Jogo's back mid-murder. Jogo did not blink.
Maki opened her mouth—
Jogo was already in front of her. Fire. Impact.
"That's two."
tap
Naobito moved. Because even now, even with everything, he was still FAST. The fastest sorcerer alive after Satoru Gojo of course.
He dodged left.
Two small volcanic openings appeared behind him. He didn't see them.
Two crossing fire beams caught him dead centre.
"That's three."
tap
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
Three sorcerers. Three seconds. All down.
Jogo stood in the middle of scorched concrete and silence. Flames dimming. Eye already scanning ahead. Dagon was avenged. Now — Yuji Itadori. Sukuna's fingers. The real objective.
He took a step forward.
tap
Another step.
tap
Then the tapping stopped.
After over an hour of nonstop contact every 1.3 seconds, the absence hit harder than any cursed technique. Jogo's brain — conditioned to expect it, WIRED for it — screamed at the gap.
He glanced back.
The zombie wasn't behind him.
It was beside him.
Walking in perfect sync. Stride for stride. Arms swinging at the same time. Matching his pace like they'd rehearsed it. Like two mates heading to get food after a long day.
"...No," Jogo said.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
"Get behind me."
"Uuuuuuuhhh.!"
The zombie did not get behind him. The zombie had BEEN behind Jogo. For an hour. It had explored every possible angle of "behind."
It had tapped. It had groaned. It had done the work. And now — in its single rotting braincell — it had decided that the relationship had levelled up.
It leaned into Jogo.
Its shoulder touched Jogo's shoulder.
"Don't—"
The zombie's arm came up. Slowly. Mechanically. And draped itself over Jogo's shoulder like they'd just won a match together.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
"REMOVE YOUR—"
Jogo shrugged. The arm came off. The zombie put it back. Jogo shrugged harder. The arm came back faster. Jogo blasted it with fire. The arm didn't notice. The arm had been through worse. The arm was COMMITTED.
The arm stayed.
Jogo — a special grade cursed spirit who had just bodied three elite sorcerers in three seconds flat — stood in the wreckage of Shibuya Station with a zombie's arm draped lovingly over his shoulder like a prom photo.
"I will reduce this country to cinders," Jogo whispered.
"Uuuuuuuhhh," the zombie said supportively.
They walked.
Side by side. Jogo and the zombie. Through Shibuya's corridors. Through the dark. Through the wreckage. The zombie's arm never left his shoulder. It had found its spot. It was home.
Jogo sped up. The zombie sped up. Jogo turned a corner. The zombie turned with him — smooth, in sync, like they'd been doing this for years.
At one point Jogo tried phasing through a wall.
The zombie walked through it. Not phased. Just... walked. The wall broke around it. The zombie kept going. It didn't even blink because it couldn't blink because it didn't have eyelids.
Jogo flew toward the ceiling. The zombie jumped. Grabbed his leg mid-air. Hung there like a child being carried through a supermarket.
"LET GO."
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
Jogo landed. The zombie landed. Stood up. Arm back over the shoulder. Like nothing happened.
At one point, Jogo stopped to sense cursed energy. The zombie stopped too. Stood perfectly still beside him. Waited. Patiently.
Jogo started walking again.
The zombie started walking again.
They were in sync now. Their footsteps matched. Left, right, left, right. Jogo's flames crackled. The zombie's armour clinked. If you closed your eyes and listened, it almost sounded like two people walking together.
Which it was. Technically. If you were generous with the word "people."
Then Jogo stopped dead.
His eye snapped wide. His flames surged. Something had just shifted in Shibuya — something massive, ancient, and deeply wrong.
Sukuna.
A finger had been released. He could feel it. The King of Curses was waking up inside that boy and if Jogo could get there first — if he could feed Itadori the rest of the fingers—
Jogo took off. Full sprint. Flames trailing behind him like a comet.
The zombie sprinted beside him. Arm finally off the shoulder because they were RUNNING and even a dead mob understood you don't side-hug at Mach speed. But it was there. Right beside him. Stride for stride. Green skin. Dead eyes forward. Not chasing anymore.
Running WITH him.
They disappeared into Shibuya's darkness together.
Sebas had watched the whole thing from behind a pillar. Invisible. Arms crossed.
He'd watched Jogo burn the sorcerers. Didn't step in. Not his world. Not his fight. Not his business.
But the zombie — his stupid, beautiful, braindead son — going from stalker to soulmate? That he hadn't expected.
"My boy's speedrunning the relationship," Sebas muttered.
"Stay proud son, You are dedicated"
He pushed off the pillar. Looked at the three sorcerers on the ground. Burned. Broken.
He cracked his neck.
And followed the fire deeper into Shibuya.