In the original timeline — the one without a shoeless maniac ruining everything — Jogo was worth roughly eight to nine Sukuna fingers. Strong enough to cook most sorcerers. Not strong enough to touch the King of Curses. He didn't land a single hit.
With the Magu Magu no Mi? Twelve. Maybe thirteen on a good day.
Still not enough.
But enough to make Sukuna raise an eyebrow. And the King of Curses hadn't raised an eyebrow for anyone except Satoru Gojo of course, in a thousand years.
The fruit's power hit Jogo like a truck made of the earth's core.
His fire went out. All of it. Gone. For one horrible second he felt empty — and then the magma came rushing in to fill the gap and Jogo's entire body LIT UP like the planet had decided to have a tantrum inside him.
The floor beneath his feet liquefied. The walls started dripping. The air stopped being air and started being pain.
Jogo looked at his hands. Glowing. Dripping. Heavy.
He clenched a fist and the station shook.
"What did that man give me?" Jogo muttered.
"Uuuuuuuhhh," said the zombie on his arm.
But the zombie wasn't on his arm anymore.
Sebas had appeared, grabbed the zombie, and whispered "Stay with me, son. That one's dangerous" before vanishing again.
For the first time in hours, Jogo's arm was free. He looked at the empty space where the zombie usually was. Flexed his fingers. Rolled his shoulder.
He almost missed it.
Almost.
Sukuna looked at the melting floor. The dripping walls. The cursed spirit glowing like the earth had a grudge.
"Oh?" Sukuna said. "You got hotter."
"I got STRONGER."
"Same deal. One hit."
They moved.
Here's the thing about a Logia body that nobody warned Sukuna about: you can't punch magma.
Sukuna threw the first hit — a right hook fast enough to blur — and his fist went THROUGH Jogo's face. Not through it like breaking it. Through it like dipping your hand into a pot of fondue except the fondue was a thousand degrees and deeply personal.
Sukuna pulled his hand back. It was burned. Actually burned. Yuji's knuckles were red and blistering.
He looked at his hand.
Then at Jogo.
Then at his hand again.
"...Huh," Sukuna said.
Jogo's face reformed. The hole filled in like it was never there.
"Can't punch me anymore," Jogo said, and for the first time tonight, his voice had swagger in it.
Sukuna flexed his burned hand. Healed it with reverse cursed technique in half a second. Then he smiled the kind of smile that historically preceded entire bloodlines ending.
"Then I'll cut you instead."
Dismantle.
Three invisible slashes carved through Jogo's torso. These cut the cursed energy, not the body — no amount of being liquid saved you from getting your soul sliced. Jogo split apart, sprayed magma everywhere, and reformed ten feet back breathing hard.
"Ow," Jogo said.
"There it is," Sukuna said.
The fight blew out of the station and into the streets of Shibuya.
Buildings melted. Not a metaphor. Jogo touched one while reforming mid-air and the entire left side of it sagged like a candle left on a radiator.
Kusakabe and Panda — mid-scuffle with some curse users nearby — stopped and stared at the skyline.
"Is that building... melting?" Panda said.
"We're leaving," Kusakabe said immediately.
"But—"
"LEAVING."
Sukuna grabbed Jogo's scarf — the one part that wasn't magma — and swung him through a building. Jogo liquefied on impact, passed through the wall, reformed on the other side, and fired a stream of molten rock back through the hole. Sukuna dodged sideways. The stream hit the building behind him and the building simply gave up on being a building.
Jogo was lasting. And in a fight where the original version of him got dismantled in minutes, lasting was a miracle.
Sukuna noticed too. He was actually having to move. Actually dodging. The magma body meant every physical exchange burned him, and while he could heal, healing constantly was annoying. And the King of Curses did NOT like being annoyed.
"You're making me work," Sukuna said, landing on a rooftop.
"Good."
"I didn't say I liked it."
Jogo went maximum.
The meteor that rose above Shibuya wasn't fire this time. It was denser. Heavier. Glowing like a small sun. The heat coming off it made windows explode three blocks away.
Sukuna looked up at it. Didn't move.
"That might hurt," Sukuna said. "If it hits."
He vanished.
The meteor hit.
Shibuya BUCKLED. Shockwave. Crater. Two blocks flattened. Jogo stood on top, breathing hard, scanning for—
Sukuna was sitting on the edge of the meteor. Legs crossed. Picking something out of his teeth.
"Missed," he said.
Jogo's eye twitched.
"Why won't you use your domain?" Sukuna asked, genuinely curious. "Is it because of Gojo? He crushed yours, didn't he?"
Jogo said nothing.
"That's sad," Sukuna said, and meant it. "You have all this new power and you're still fighting scared."
Sukuna stood up. Stretched. Like a man getting up from a park bench.
"Alright," he said. "Let me pull out something fun."
He formed a hand sign. Old. ANCIENT. The kind that looked wrong, like it belonged to a different era of jujutsu entirely.
"Binding vow," Sukuna said casually. "Made this one back in the Heian era. Gave up the ability to use it freely in exchange for it hitting stupid hard when I do. Haven't needed it since, what — a thousand years? Lmao I almost forgot the hand sign."
He said "lmao" out loud. Like a word. Because Sukuna had been listening to modern humans talk and had picked up their vocabulary out of sheer contempt for their language.
A flame condensed at his fingertip. Arrow-shaped. The air around it bent.
Jogo's eye went wide.
"Since when can YOU use f—"
Sukuna released it.
Two city blocks stopped existing.
A perfect circle of nothing where buildings used to be.
Jogo survived because his body went fully liquid at the last millisecond. But the cursed energy behind the arrow had scattered him across the crater in cooling globs. He pulled himself together — slowly, painfully, each piece crawling back like it didn't want to.
Sukuna stood at the crater's edge. Clean. Unbothered. Hands in pockets.
"You still alive? Nice. Stand up."
Jogo stood. Barely. One arm still half-liquid. Head cracked down the middle. Eye flickering.
But up.
"You know what," Sukuna said, walking toward him, "you're the first one tonight that made me use that. That's worth something."
Jogo had nothing left. The fruit had given him time, power, a real fight — but it was still meaningless against the King of Curses. He'd thrown everything. And Sukuna was walking toward him like he'd just finished a light jog.
Sukuna raised his hand. The arrow condensed again.
"Last one," he said.
Jogo closed his eye.
Hanami. Dagon. I'll see you both soon.
Sukuna drew back—
And the zombie broke free.
Not broke as in shattered. Broke as in BROKE SEBAS'S COMMAND.
It had been standing beside its creator the entire fight. Still. Obedient. Tracking Jogo across the skyline with its dead eyes like a compass pointing north. Sebas had said stay and it had stayed.
But now — with the arrow aimed at Jogo's chest, with the end three seconds away—
Speed 20 activated.
The sonic boom cracked the air. The ground split. Debris flew sideways.
The zombie landed between Jogo and Sukuna. Arms spread. Facing the King of Curses.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
It sounded different. Lower. If a Minecraft mob with no vocal cords and no soul and no reason to care about anything could sound like it was saying "not him" — that's what it sounded like.
Sukuna paused.
"...You again," he said.
Jogo opened his eye. The zombie was standing in front of him. Shielding him. The braindead, groaning, unkillable thing that had tapped his back, walked beside him, and draped its arm over his shoulder — was between him and death.
"...Why?" Jogo whispered.
The zombie didn't answer. Couldn't answer.
But it didn't move.
-----
Behind the rubble. In the dark.
Sebas was crying.
Full, ugly, open-mouth crying. Tears and snot and the whole package. The kind of crying you do when your kid does something you never taught them.
His creation had broken his command. Not because it was stronger than him. Because something inside that empty, rotting, Netherite-plated body had decided — against everything it was built to be — that Jogo mattered more than orders.
"This shit peak," Sebas choked out.
He wiped his face. More tears came out.
"This shit PEAK,"
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