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sukunaslilgurl · 19 days ago

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Now we are free - Epilogue

Long ago, in the heart of Rome, a city of grandeur and cruelty, where gladiators fought to the death for the entertainment of the higher class, a legend was born. Among the countless slaves forced into the arena, one name stood above all others: Sukuna, the King of Demons.

Towering over his enemies, Sukuna was a man of unparalleled strength and skill. His body was a tapestry of black tattoos, mysterious and ancient, etched deep into his muscular frame. They glowed faintly under the blazing sun, a testament to the curse—or gift—that made him more than mortal. He was unstoppable, feared by men, admired by women, and hated by the elite who could not control him.

Hundreds of battles passed, and Sukuna remained undefeated. His sword was an extension of his will, his hands capable of snapping necks and breaking shields with ease. The arena was his kingdom, the blood-soaked sands his throne. But despite his fame, Sukuna was not free. He was a slave, bound in chains both physical and metaphysical.

Yet, deep in his crimson eyes burned a fire of defiance. He was not just a man, but a demon, a fallen being who had once ruled with malice and power. Rome thought they had tamed him, made him their weapon, but Sukuna was biding his time.

In the shadows of the Colosseum, amid the whispers of rebellion and hope, there was another presence—a woman. Irene, a healer and oracle, known for her unparalleled beauty and unmatched wisdom. She was not of Roman blood but a captive from the East, taken for her mystical abilities. Irene was different from the others. She saw Sukuna not as a beast or a weapon but as a man—a man burdened with a dark past and an unyielding will.

Their paths crossed when Sukuna was gravely wounded in a battle against ten of the fiercest gladiators Rome had ever seen. Left for dead in the dungeons beneath the arena, it was Irene who tended to him. Her touch was gentle yet firm, her presence soothing yet commanding.

“You are not meant to die here, Sukuna,” she whispered, her voice like a balm to his restless soul. “The chains that bind you are not eternal. Rise, and claim your destiny.”

Sukuna’s eyes met hers, and for the first time in centuries, he felt something other than anger—he felt hope.

As days turned into weeks, their bond grew. Irene’s wisdom tempered Sukuna’s rage, and Sukuna’s strength gave Irene the courage to defy the empire that enslaved them both. Together, they plotted not just their escape but the downfall of those who had taken their freedom.

The legend of Sukuna and Irene began in blood and fire, but their story would transcend the sands of the arena and echo through the ages—a tale of rebellion, love, and the indomitable spirit of two souls who refused to be broken.

Rome had forged a monster, but in Irene, Sukuna found his humanity. Together, they would become unstoppable.

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sukunaslilgurl · 19 days ago

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Now we are free

Chapter twelve: Return to Glory

Three weeks had passed since Sukuna’s near-death battle in the arena. His body, a canvas of scars, was now healed and as imposing as ever. The deep gash that had nearly ended him was now a faint memory, though he could still feel the stiffness in his torso when he moved too quickly. But Sukuna was not one to dwell on weakness. He was back, and his return to the training grounds was nothing short of triumphant.

The training grounds of Gojo’s palace were alive with the clang of weapons and the shouts of gladiators sparring under the watchful eyes of their trainers. Sukuna stood at the center, bare-chested, his tattoos gleaming in the sunlight. He gripped his weapon—a heavy, bladed staff—twirling it with ease as his opponent lunged toward him.

With a single, precise movement, Sukuna sidestepped the attack, sweeping his opponent’s legs out from under him. The man hit the ground hard, groaning in defeat.

“Still too slow,” Sukuna muttered, extending a hand to help the man up.

Around him, the other gladiators watched with a mix of admiration and wariness. Sukuna was back, and his dominance was clear. His movements were fluid, his strength unmatched. Even Toji, his closest friend and rival, smirked from where he stood watching.

Later that day, the arena buzzed with excitement as Sukuna returned to fight his first matches since his recovery. Though his wounds were still stiff, he moved like a predator, his opponents falling one by one under his relentless strikes. The crowd roared, their cheers echoing across the arena.

Gojo, seated in his elevated box, smirked as he watched Sukuna claim victory after victory. Coins flowed freely into the palace coffers, and the celebrations grew more extravagant with each passing night.

By the end of the third week, Sukuna was fully restored to his former glory. His name was once again on the lips of every noble and commoner alike, a symbol of strength and power. Gojo’s gladiators, including Toji, were on an undefeated streak, and the palace celebrated their victories with lavish feasts and endless wine.

A Night of Revelry

One particular evening, the gladiators gathered in one of the palace’s courtyards, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. Laughter echoed under the starlit sky as Sukuna and Toji sat together near a blazing fire.

Toji leaned back in his chair, a goblet of wine in one hand and his other arm wrapped protectively around his wife, who sat on his lap. She was a petite woman with short, raven-black hair that framed her delicate features. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement as she listened to the two men banter.

“You’ve gotten soft, Sukuna,” Toji teased, his grin wide as he took another swig of wine. “That last fight of yours didn’t look as clean as it used to. Must be the old age catching up.”

Sukuna snorted, rolling his eyes. “Says the man who nearly tripped over his own feet last week.”

Toji’s wife laughed, her soft voice cutting through the rowdy atmosphere. “He’s not wrong, Toji. You’ve been slipping.”

Toji groaned, burying his face in her shoulder dramatically. “Et tu, my love? Betrayed by my own wife!”

Sukuna chuckled, a rare sound that rumbled deep in his chest. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. “To Toji, the clumsiest gladiator in Rome.”

The three of them laughed, the tension of the past weeks melting away in the warmth of the firelight and the haze of wine.

As the night wore on, the conversation turned more reflective.

“Toji,” Sukuna said, swirling the wine in his goblet, “what keeps you fighting? You’ve got her”—he gestured to Toji’s wife—“a reason to leave this life behind. Why stay?”

Toji’s expression softened as he looked at his wife, who smiled up at him. “Because every fight, every victory, brings us closer to freedom,” he said simply. “And until that day comes, I’ll keep fighting.”

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable. The wine in his goblet sloshed gently as he tilted it, staring into the dark liquid.

Freedom. The word lingered in his mind, foreign and distant.

“Maybe one day,” Toji added, his tone lighter now, “you’ll find a reason to fight for something other than blood and glory.”

Sukuna smirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe.”

The conversation shifted again, returning to the playful banter and laughter that filled the night. But as Sukuna leaned back in his chair, the firelight casting shadows across his sharp features, the word “freedom” remained etched in his thoughts.

Later he wanted to see Irene again he commanded the guards to take her to his chambers

Sukuna leaned against the wall, his gaze sharp and piercing as Irene was led into his chamber. She looked slightly startled but composed herself quickly. Her simple attire and the faint golden glow of her skin reminded him of the quiet moments she’d spent by his side during his recovery.

The guard stepped back, bowing slightly. “We brought her, as you requested, Sukuna.”

Sukuna gave a short nod. “Leave us.”

The guard hesitated, glancing between them, but obeyed. The heavy door closed, leaving Sukuna and Irene alone in the flickering torchlight.

Irene stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. Her mismatched eyes, one mint-green and the other ice-blue, lifted to meet his. “You wanted to see me?” she asked softly.

Sukuna straightened, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room. For a moment, he didn’t speak, studying her as if trying to find the right words. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his tone unusually even. “For treating me. For taking care of me.”

Irene blinked in surprise. Of all the things she’d expected, gratitude from the Demon King of the arena wasn’t one of them.

“I… I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she replied, her voice soft but sincere.

“I haven’t seen you since,” Sukuna added, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought you’d still be by the medic’s side, but you’ve been… gone.”

Irene hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I’ve been busy with other duties. The mistress keeps me occupied.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened at the mention of Utahime, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “You worked harder than anyone had to. I’m not a man who offers thanks lightly.”

Irene’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her heart raced under the weight of his gaze. “You don’t need to thank me. It was my duty.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Sukuna muttered, his expression darkening briefly. Then, as if dismissing the thought, he added, “Still. It’s not something I’ll forget.”

The sincerity in his voice caught Irene off guard, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to still.

“Well,” she said, breaking the silence, “if you ever need anything else, I’m… here.”

Sukuna’s eyes glinted with a faint trace of something unreadable—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. “You’ve done more than enough already.”

Irene gave a small bow, prepared to leave, but Sukuna’s voice stopped her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

She looked back at him, her mismatched eyes meeting his once more. “And I meant what I said. I’m glad you’re better.”

Irene stood still, her mismatched eyes flickering with an unspoken tension as Sukuna took a step closer. His towering frame cast a long shadow over her, but the soft light of the moon streaming through the chamber’s narrow window illuminated her face. Her curls fell in gentle waves around her shoulders, framing her delicate yet determined features.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed as he studied her closely, as if seeing her for the first time in a way he hadn’t before. The faint shimmer of her golden-tanned skin caught the light, and her petite stature—so small compared to his massive build—only seemed to enhance the strength in her gaze.

“You’re… different,” he muttered, his voice low and almost to himself.

Irene blinked up at him, her hands still clasped nervously in front of her. “Different?” she asked cautiously, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or something else.

Sukuna’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though his tone was uncharacteristically soft. “You’re not like the others. Stronger… even when you shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly but steady enough to hold her ground.

He took another step closer, the space between them now almost nonexistent. He loomed over her, his broad shoulders and muscular build dwarfing her frame, but there was no malice in his presence—only curiosity and a strange sort of reverence.

“You stood over me when I was weak,” Sukuna said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I remember the way you worked, like you didn’t care who I was or what I’ve done. That… is different.”

Irene swallowed hard, the weight of his words surprising her. She tilted her head slightly, her curls shifting as she looked up into his fierce crimson eyes. The intensity of his stare was overwhelming, but she didn’t back away.

“I was doing what needed to be done,” she said softly. “You were hurt. It didn’t matter who you were.”

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. The moonlight caught the subtle shimmer of her curls, and for a moment, he found himself unable to look away. Her mismatched eyes—one mint-green, the other ice-blue—seemed to hold an unspoken challenge, a quiet strength that intrigued him.

“You’re small,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face. “But you’re not fragile. I can see it.”

Irene let out a soft laugh, surprising herself with her boldness. “I’ve had no choice but to be strong,” she replied. “This world doesn’t leave much room for weakness.”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but there was something softer in his expression now. “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed.

For a moment, the silence stretched between them, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Sukuna’s hand twitched slightly, as if he was debating whether to reach out, but he held himself back. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer.

“You’re different,” he said again, this time with more certainty.

Irene looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a hint of what he meant. “And you’re… complicated men,” she replied, her voice steady.

Sukuna chuckled softly, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed almost foreign coming from him. “Fair enough,” he said, turning slightly toward the door.

But before he could fully step away, Irene spoke again. “You’re not as heartless as they say.”

He paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or even curiosity—crossed his face. “Don’t mistake survival for kindness,” he replied, his tone sharp but not cruel.

Irene didn’t look away, her gaze steady as she replied, “Maybe. But I think there’s more to you than just survival. Behind all this blood shedding there may be a heart.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he gave her one last lingering look before turning and walking away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the chamber.

As he disappeared into the shadows, Irene let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. For the first time, she felt that there was more to the infamous Demon King than the blood and carnage that surrounded his name—and she wasn’t sure whether that thought terrified or intrigued her more.

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