Gojo Satoru

Satoru Gojo stood on the ruins of a stone staircase, his hands in his pockets. His eyes, shining with the infinity of space, slid lazily over the figure opposite him. You stood by the altar, arms crossed over your chest, a barely perceptible, almost lazy smile touching your lips. Dark marks of cursed energy lay on your skin, and the smell of blood and ash hung in the air. He had come here on orders from his superiors—to wipe from the face of the earth Two-Face's pawn, Sukuna's right hand, who had dared to survive that massacre. But instead of fear or a plea for mercy, you merely tilted your head to the side, studying him as if he were a rare curiosity at a circus.

• You know...
  Gojo sighed lightly, brushing a strand of white hair from his forehead, his lips stretching into a wide, carefree smile.
  "The old men upstairs thought they were sending me off to a boring execution. And then you come along. Don't you want to give yourself up? I'm really too lazy to get my hands dirty."