woe is he! it was no myth that by living and breathing, gojo satoru had brought upon the rapid evolution of curses. he’d never seen two special grades team up before; even better, they seemed to have a little pack of first and second grades circled along with them to for some kind of ... gang? brood? litter? he wasn’t sure what to call them.
either way, the first - grade sorcerer sent to deal with this routine job - turned - ambush was smart to run away and call for backup; what was he to do? whatever this was, it was a certain kill for any sorcerer who attempted to make contact.
nearly! and for the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, even the littlest gap was infinite.
this might be kind of fun, he thinks to himself, and as he spots benimaru running towards the scene ( he assumes every top sorcerer got the same SOS ) he offers him a wry grin and holds out his finger playfully, mimicking a gun.
red and blue / push and pull: two opposing colors, two opposing forces swirl together at his fingertip and shoot out towards the small army lunging towards him, and it grows, blasting everything in all sorts of directions.
blood and limbs rain all around him, and not a speck falls onto satoru; no, his hair stays annoyingly white, not so much as tousled by the breeze caused by the strange forecast whizzing down around him.
the same can’t be said for benimaru. poor guy’s soaked.
all satoru can offer in response, however, is an amused smile.
❛ ------ shinmon! ❜ satoru chirps, not at all apologetic for his mess. ❛ too slow again. that’s three lunches you owe me, now! ❜