"This is a weather bulletin. Super Typhoon 'Haikui' is moving north along the Pacific coast and is expected to pass through Kyushu Island."
"Meteorologists estimate the wind speeds have reached Category 5, exceeding 180 mph, and will be accompanied by a massive storm surge."
"A Red Alert has been issued for the coastal regions of Kyushu. Residents are urged to take immediate precautions as the government prepares for disaster relief."
"Kyushu..."
Shoko Ieiri sat in the breakroom, her eyes glued to the flickering television screen. She caught herself biting her thumb nail, a nervous habit she thought she'd kicked years ago.
After a moment, she rubbed her temples, trying to soothe a brewing migraine. "Forget it. That man is strong—stronger than anyone has any right to be. He'll be fine."
Back at the heart of the storm, Souma Gojo watched the horizon with sudden, dawning comprehension.
"So, this is it? This is the source of your confidence, Dagon?"
A storm front spanning hundreds of kilometers was collapsing toward Kyushu. The roars of the ocean and the jagged cracks of lightning wove together into a chaotic, natural symphony. The sky was a bruised void, the sun completely choked out by layers of churning black clouds.
It was a panoramic view of the apocalypse.
Dagon let out a shrill, manic cry. The ocean seemed to vibrate in response, its waves growing more violent as if mirroring the curse's ecstasy.
Dagon was a spirit born from the primal human fear of the sea. Right now, with a historic disaster looming, the negative emotions of the millions of residents on Kyushu were peaking. That sheer, concentrated terror was being siphoned directly into Dagon's frame.
Midway through his triumphant laughter, Dagon's body began to swell. He expanded exponentially until he loomed hundreds of meters tall—a colossus of meat and malice.
The humanoid torso, the bulbous cephalopod head, the writhing thicket of tentacles, and the tattered, leathery wings... save for his vivid crimson skin, Dagon now bore the terrifying likeness of a Great Old One from the Cthulhu mythos.
Dagon looked down at the speck that was Souma Gojo, his voice booming like shifting tectonic plates. "Souma Gojo! This is the trump card I prepared just for you!"
Souma didn't bother with a verbal retort. He simply pointed a finger and loosed a point-blank Red.
Dagon reached out with both massive hands, snatching the orb of repelling force out of the air. In a display of raw power that left Souma's eyes wide, the curse squeezed.
BOOM!!!
The explosion forced the giant back several steps, white steam hissing from his scorched, mangled palms. But he had caught it. He had neutralized a Red through sheer physical and cursed-energy reinforcement.
Fighting on his home turf, bolstered by a typhoon and the terror of tens of millions—Dagon had, in this moment, eclipsed Jogo. He stood undisputed as the pinnacle of the four Great Disasters.
"Souma Gojo, the sea shall be your shroud!"
Dagon beat his wings, the resulting wind pressure kicking up a hundred-meter wave as his massive form took to the sky. He ascended until he reached the very eye of the typhoon, releasing every drop of his accumulated cursed energy.
"This is my final technique!"
"Today, you—and the millions of insects behind you—will return to the depths!"
Dagon's arms moved in a ritualistic dance, his mouth chanting an ancient, guttural language. The typhoon began to constrict, the wind speeds accelerating beyond the limits of physics. Seawater was sucked into the sky, merging with the gale to form thousands of terrifying water spouts.
Dagon's voice grew distant and ethereal, the sound of an ancient deity demanding tribute.
"Maximum: Guixu—The Returning Abyss!"
The howling wind converged into a single, piercing note—a roar that sounded like the cry of a primordial dragon. By merging his technique with the natural disaster, Dagon had magnified its lethality tenfold. If this storm made landfall, Kyushu would be wiped from the map.
Below, Souma's solitary figure stood against the wall of the storm, as small and insignificant as a grain of dust.
Even for him, the sight was breathtaking. To witness a curse reach out and grasp the power of the planet itself... it was magnificent.
For the first time in an age, Souma felt his blood begin to boil. A dormant battle lust, long suppressed by the boredom of being the strongest, flickered into a roaring flame.
He looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of madness and genuine admiration.
"Good! Truly excellent!"
Souma didn't hold back his praise, even if the target was the enemy currently trying to erase him. He laughed into the face of the gale, his voice carrying over the thunder.
"This energy... Dagon, I acknowledge you!"
"Of all the opponents I have faced, none have been more magnificent than you in this moment!"
"I, Souma Gojo, name you the strongest!"
Dagon had spiraled into his own frenzy, pouring his very soul into the attack. "DIE!"
Souma's grin turned sharp and predatory. "You've given me a wonderful surprise, Dagon."
"But if you want to kill me, you're still lacking."
"Tell me... have you ever seen me at my peak?"
Suddenly, Souma's cursed energy began to seethe. It felt as though a world-eating beast had finally opened its eyes.
He began to chant, his arms spreading wide. The space around him didn't just ripple; it began to twist and fracture under the sheer weight of his presence.
"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."
With a flick of his left hand, thousands of tiny azure orbs materialized in the air behind him.
"Cursed Technique Reversal: Red."
With his right, a matching field of crimson points of light ignited.
Souma's eyes were wild, the thrill of the gamble etched into his features. He began to bring his hands together.
"I've never actually tried this in a real fight. Who knows? I might even get caught in the blast myself!"
"Dagon, are you ready?"
As his palms touched, the thousands of Blue and Red spheres began to fuse in rapid-fire succession.
"Hollow Technique: Purple—Three Thousand Illuminations!"
Jujutsu High, War Room
The higher-ups were huddled together, obsessively tracking the chaos in Tokyo.
Suddenly, Shoko Ieiri slammed the doors open. Before anyone could bark a protest at her intrusion, she spoke, her face deathly pale.
"Look at the satellite feed. Now."
"Akari Nitta, pull it up!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Nitta bypassed the standard filters, bringing the live orbital view onto the main screen.
The room went deathly silent. One by one, the elders stood up, their faces drained of color, their breath hitching in their throats.
On the screen, the massive typhoon had suddenly compressed to a tenth of its original size, yet its rotation speed had surged to impossible levels. It was moving straight for Kyushu, defying every known law of meteorology as if guided by a sentient hand.
But that wasn't the terrifying part.
Across the screen, thousands of violet streaks of light erupted from a single point, colliding with the celestial-scale storm.
The ocean buckled. The clouds were vaporized instantly. Even through a silent satellite feed, they could imagine the world-ending roar of the impact.
"Is that... the Head of the Gojo Clan?"
"A god," one of the Gojo elders whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of terror and fanatical pride. He gripped his knees to stop them from shaking, but a manic, jagged smile broke across his face. "That is the power of a god!"
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