Beside him, Y/n stood at the railing, half-turned from the curse they'd been tracking. The thing—a writhing mass of teeth and spite—squealed and thrashed as it was caught in the dimensional rip, its form unraveling like yarn.

The rift convulsed. And then it vomited people.

The boy with the spiky pink hair was already scrambling to his feet, eyes wide and wild. He had a chainsaw blade sticking out of his forehead—and another from each of his arms.

The girl with the long, pinkish-blonde hair sat up, rubbing her head. Her eyes were pupils with crosses in them.

The tallest of the newcomers—a sharp-featured man with a long black coat—was looking at Gojo with a stillness that suggested he was already calculating escape routes.