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phyx-m · 17 days ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 34: All Oil And Flame

Content warning: Sukuna POV, murder, mentions of cannibalism, Sukuna is a mess.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Nine Inch Nails - The Persistence Of Loss

Chapter 33 | Chapter 35

It’s quiet out here at this hour. The shrine’s grounds are still, the world thrown in darkness. Everything sleeps. Sukuna should be asleep. But he’s not. He’s awake.

Inside the stables, with the doors tightly shut, he tends to the horses, who sway uneasily in his presence. Their ears swivel toward him, breaths steaming the chill, autumn air. Perhaps it’s the early hour, the first sunrise yet to chase away the moon. Or maybe they sense the tension cutting through him—the way his shoulders refuse to loosen, the scowl carved across his face, the clenching in his jaw.

This is likely what unsettles them, but he simply ignores it and continues.

Like so many other things he can bury with ease.

Standing beside one of the mounts, Sukuna drags a cloth over its coat. The rough fibres catching on stray hairs, the heat from the animal’s hide radiating steady under the flat of his palm.

These actions ground him. The rhythm grounds him.

Or it should.

A simple movement to occupy rampant thoughts.

Simple.

A simple action to follow. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sweeping the strip of fabric across the horse’s flank, he watches the glide of his lower left hand follow behind.

Sweep and glide.

He continues to brush the horse, and it begins to relax under his touch.

Sweep and glide.

The horse exhales deeply, its sides expanding and deflating.

Sweep and glide.

The animal lowers its long neck, stretching it over the stall door in contentment.

Sweep and glide.

Hair spilled out across pillows.

Sweep and… glide.

Brow furrowed in pleasure.

Sweep and…

Bound hands curling inward.

Sweep…

Soft skin. Discoloured fingers that—

The horse nudges him, and his body tenses, not at the action, but at the realization that his mind circles endlessly, replaying everything that just happened. Namely, you.

Trouble. That’s what you are.

Trouble he can’t afford to hold on to. And regardless, soon, you would be gone, lost to him for good.

Sukuna steps back, letting the cloth fall lazily to the hay-covered floor, blood-red gaze lingering on the horse’s shifting ears, searching to distract himself from his greatest distraction.

It doesn’t help.

Nothing ever has. Not for seven years.

He shoves a hand through his hair, as if the gesture might scatter the inconsequential thoughts clinging to everything. But they aren’t just in his head. Thoughts of you are everywhere—at the back of his eyes when they’re shut, on the tip of his tongue, in the pit of his stomach, under his fingertips. The worst of them lodged too deep inside his chest, wedged behind muscle and bone.

Stuck. You were stuck inside him, and fucking you had only made it worse.

None of this was supposed to happen. No one could convince him otherwise.

But it did.

And that small loss of control is something he can no longer allow. That’s why he needs you gone. Self-preservation, or by damn, he will self-immolate everything around him to keep it that way.

Dropping his hand to the side, his lower eyes dart to the right.

Near the back of the stables, a pale shape catches his attention. A gleaming coat, the colour of snowmelt, faint in the shadows, but bright in the dark. The mare rests quietly in her stall, sleek and still.

Sukuna stares at her for a moment.

The creature is small and skittish, nothing like his warhorses. Whenever he approaches, she watches him with those black, liquid eyes.

Cautious eyes, distrustful eyes.

Sukuna huffs.

Ayana.

The name sits in his mind, both understood and not. He knows why it was chosen. Of course he does.

Ayana Kasai.

But how foolish of you. You seem so determined to torment yourself for your mother’s death and yet are so ignorantly unaware of what you didn’t do.

And still...

“Make it hurt.”

Your voice and your demand. The way you begged for him to take you as hard as he could moves through him as a shudder of raw pleasure.

Again, trouble. Beautiful, maddening trouble. Trouble he could return to his chambers for, gather into his arms, and demand more from. Demand the one ineffable solace that threatens to undo him or at least make him feel pathetic.

Stay.

But attempting to claim that now, after everything, feels obscene. The things he has done to you. The things he has done and taken pleasure in doing. And much like anything of the sort that tends to be shoved or pushed away by him, as it always has been, now and since birth.

Besides, what would even become of the two of you? Pretend this was anything more than it was meant to be? Two pretenders, neither seeking the other’s company from the beginning, only the other’s end.

All oil and flame. Once ignited, they cannot be separated.

It’s a terrible idea, just like all the desires you’ve claimed to want from whoever dares own that tender, delicate muscle inside your chest.

Warmth.

Protection.

Safety.

Happiness.

And one more longing, unnamed, locked behind that sweet, lying mouth of yours. One he now knows the taste of, though he never should have kissed. But he knows what that last desire was. Sukuna grinds his teeth at the thought. He’d sooner have his bones scoured clean, flesh stripped, and his power sealed away than ever provide something so out of reach and, like he said, meaningless.

After a moment, Sukuna approaches Ayana’s stall. The mare lifts her head sharply, nostrils flaring as she ambles backward into deeper shadow.

“Easy,” Sukuna mutters, removing the latch on the door and opening it.

With slow movements, he eases inside. Her muscles quiver, tail flicking nervously as if shaking off some invisible pest.

“You’re not half as stubborn as she is,” Sukuna remarks dryly before stepping closer.

One of his lower hands extends, palm open, waiting for the creature to summon enough courage to come to him and press her muzzle into it. She hesitates, chuffing, but after a heartbeat, she relents. Sukuna lets her take her time. When she does, he picks up another cloth from a nearby beam and begins to groom her. With each sweep, her breathing slows, the initial tension melting into something resembling an uneasy truce.

The two remain like this for a while. The mare quiet. The King of Curses attentive. Four hands moving, he brushes her coat, then crouches to lift one of her hooves. Turning it slightly, he checks for any lodged stones or dirt, ensuring it’s clean. The mare shifts slightly, but he steadies her with a touch, moving to the next hoof with the same care.

Eventually, through the narrow shaft of light spilling into the stables, dawn’s golden-tipped fingers begin their slow push to chase away the night.

Giving Ayana one final brush, he tosses the cloth aside and steps back from her, drawing your scabbard and sheathed tantō from his waistband. He’d retrieved it from the forest, finding it tangled among the roots and bones. Now, he sets it on the stall door—a parting gift for you to take when you leave here today, along with all the hurt he’s given you to carry for a lifetime and more.

* * * * *

Inside the shrine the way down to the kitchen is a long, winding corridor. As the King of Curses moves, cool shadows slide over him, the lanterns yet to be lit, and the few attendants awake pull apart to scatter from his path.

When he enters the kitchen, a weight of eyes settles on him, likely drawn to his dishevelled appearance—half-naked, still streaked in blood and debris from earlier. The stained sirwal he hastily grabbed from the floor before leaving you in his chambers hangs perilously low on his hips, and he makes no effort to adjust it. After being stabbed awake in the middle of the night, any trace of decorum is nowhere to be found.

Not that it ever truly bothered him to begin with.

“Good morning, Master Sukuna.” Uraume’s tentative voice carries from behind him.

He doesn’t bother to turn, his bare feet tapping softly against the floor as he heads toward one of the low tables, eyes scanning for food. He’d spent most of the night fighting and fucking, and now he’s starving, demanding sustenance before he even considers acknowledging anyone.

His gaze sweeps over the options.

Old grains. Pickled vegetables. Strips of dried fish. Wild mushrooms.

A pitiful scarcity. It has him wondering. When famine stole his shithole of a birthplace, what had the woman who bore him been forced to eat before the nourishment finally ran dry?

This? Or perhaps things far less satisfying and degrading.

By now, there would normally be a body, or two sprawled out across the kitchen floorboards, waiting to be carved up and bled. That’s what he wants—something substantial, something red and dripping to dip his teeth into, something to fill his stomach and drown out the lingering taste of you.

But there’s nothing to be shown.

Roughly a month of attacks on his domain, and the deterioration of the shrine is showing its cracks. The villages providing food and offerings are depleting—razed, their people scattered or killed. Without them, there’s no one left to farm the fields or barter provisions. No one for him to eat. The shrine, no longer fed by the fear and obedience of its surroundings, will starve.

Jaw tightening, another hand pulls through his hair. Obsessing over you has soured his mind. Careless against the immediate threats and the pests crawling toward his doorstep.

Pests—and one thoroughly annoying serpent.

Picking up a dried piece of fish, he tears into it.

He pauses.

Disgusting.

Salty and tough, it barely registers, but chewing it, he turns.

Ren stands beside Uraume, who bows, near the hearth, where the faint embers of last night’s fire still cling to life. From the way they’re quietly observing him, it’s clear they’ve picked up on his nightly activities—likely from the noises. A wild assortment of them. First, your display of power and your energy roiling out of control—the destruction in the forest. Then, the yelling and the screaming. The threats of death.

And finally, the delicious moaning.

Your blissful screaming.

His massive body taking you apart, the wet slapping of his skin against yours over and over, again and again, and again and—

Enough!

“Morning,” he mutters, smacking his lips as he rips off another tasteless bite.

He chews.

In the background, a few nameless attendants quietly move, their presence tracked like animals by his lower set of eyes.

“Uraume.” Sukuna’s upper gaze flicks to the pale-haired monk, who dips their chin in response. “I need you to prepare a tea.”

A pause.

They stare at him. He stares back. Their expression unchanging, posture unmoving. His mouth twitches, and he realizes why they hesitate to say or do anything.

“A medicinal preventative,” he adds gruffly, mouth sliding into a rigid pout.

The atrocities he’s committed against you pile high.

But the last thing he’d leave you with is the burden of pushing out some ugly, wailing runt—one that would look partially like him and partially like you.

Better known as an unwelcome mistake.

Uraume bows in understanding.

“Of course.”

Without another word, they step away, moving through the space to gather the necessary items.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts back to Ren.

“You’ll bring it to her,” he comments flatly. “Make sure she drinks all of it.”

Ren steps forward and dips into one of her strict, practiced bows.

“Yes, Master Sukuna.” She lifts her head, hesitates for a moment, and then continues. “I… wanted to apologize.”

Sukuna picks at his teeth, flicking an annoyed glance at the piece of fish in his upper left hand.

“What for?” He spreads his lower hands, inviting her to explain further while his eyes drift to Uraume, who has already begun grinding the herbs.

“About last night,” Ren says stiffly.

His crimson gaze returns to her immediately.

“It was my fault that my Lady—”

“She’s no longer my Lady,” he interrupts, clicking his tongue. Even hearing the title feels like hooks tearing into his flesh, dragging heat to the surface.

“She is once again the daughter of the now late Lord Kasai.”

The bastard.

Even though he hadn’t been the one to end the man’s life, watching you kill your father would have been a joy to witness. He regrets not asking how you did it—whether it was with that lovely trick of your hands or something else entirely.

Ren’s brow wings into a furrow as her hands come together in a tight clasp, weary eyes dropping to her hemline.

“I don’t understand...”

There’s a hint of regret piled into her words, but Sukuna ignores it, moves to the hearth instead, and drags two fingers through the hot coals, the scorching heat doing nothing to bother him even as the flesh of his fingertips wilts away and burns.

“She’s leaving today.” He forces the words past his teeth, while watching the little embers struggle to spark back to new life, only to flicker then fade out entirely.

Behind him, silence.

He’d suspected Ren might have grown attached to you, and without seeing her face, he’s left to interpret the unspoken inflection in her stillness—either hesitation or pleading. Neither of which he’ll entertain.

Sukuna takes another chew at the pitiful excuse for food in his hand.

“Forgive me for asking, but… where will she go?” Ren hedges, her voice quiet.

The King of Curses turns again, eyes sweeping over the attendants shuffling around the kitchen, shifting items, chatting softly, their robes rustling in the dull early morning dim.

“Likely, she’ll crawl back to her sister,” he states, pulling his hand from the hearth and rubbing his healed, soot covered fingers together.

Another bite.

Ren hesitates, her brow knitting tighter.

“But what about what you told us before?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

“And what is it you think I told you?”

The attendant shifts on her feet as though unsure how to proceed.

“That my Lady is not safe with her sister,” she replies cautiously, wincing as she catches herself too late, forgetting to withhold the title.

Behind them, one of the other attendants begins speaking too loudly, their voice grating with complaints about depleted supplies and provisions.

Sukuna’s jaw seizes.

“And she isn’t,” he growls, his voice sharp as a tip of a needle. “But I suppose she’ll learn, won’t she?”

It was time for you to uncover that truth. Then again, perhaps you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d see the truth, and the witch would manipulate you, playing with your head, hurting your mind until you were a loyal, dutiful mutt all over again. Around and around her little finger you’d go.

Though, for whatever reason, it’s troubling to imagine what Yuna could do with you if she truly untapped your potential the way he did… A mindless weapon. One moulded perfectly for her whims, where she would once again make you small and stunted—a bastardized reflection of his own methods.

And that thought alone is what does not sit well with him.

A threading of an unwanted emotion tightens inside his chest. He takes another bite of the fish, but the flavour is gone. It doesn’t even taste like shit anymore—just ash on his tongue. Curling his lip back, he spits it onto the floor at his feet.

“Forgive me again, Master Sukuna,” Ren says, her voice faltering. “But shouldn’t we protect her from this?”

There it is again—one of your words rolling around in his head and falling out of the mouths of his subordinates.

Protect.

An ugly gleam hits his red eyes.

“And what, Ren? Lock her away?” He gives her a sneer before tossing the gnarled, half-eaten morsel of fish into the hearth’s dead coals. “Swaddle her in silk and wait for the world to devour her when I’m not looking? She’ll learn the hard way, or she won’t learn at all.”

Somewhere in the back, an attendant fumbles, dropping something unseen. Things clatter too loudly to the ground. His lower eyes shoot toward the noise, catching the muted whispers rippling through the space.

Heat seems to trickle from his head, sliding down his throat, pooling hot in his stomach. Burning.

His bones itch.

Everything itches.

“But perhaps…” Ren ventures cautiously, attention shifting between her clasped hands and the floor as though trying to summon some semblance of courage. “After everything… she could remain a while longer.”

The air shifts.

“No.”

“It would give her time to prepare.”

“No.”

“But surely that would—”

Sukuna’s upper right arm swings up violently.

Ren stiffens.

An agonized scream barely finds its way out into the room before one of the attendants collapses, cleanly split in two. Blood milks the spot where she falls, warm and sticky, red spreading like cracked yolks, soaking into the floorboards.

The entire room snaps into breathless silence. None of the other attendants dare move.

Or breathe.

However, one lets out a ragged exhale, only to clasp her hands over her mouth, muffling the sound and swallowing the cry threatening to overflow from their throat.

“Would you like a pet, Ren?” Sukuna spits the words, taking a step toward the woman before him, overshadowing her, his already thin composure of equanimity shredding entirely.

“No… Master Sukuna.” Ren presses her lips into a tight line.

“A pity,” he hisses, looking down on her, he cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure we could find a nice pretty piece of fabric to tie around her neck as a bow, and you can keep her tucked away in your room—under my roof.”

A pause. One blink.

“She leaves,” he growls. “Today.”

Ren says nothing.

The room is deathly still. Only Uraume moves, quietly devoted to their task, steady hands pouring warm water into a bowl filled with crushed herbs.

“I apologize.” Ren steps back into a bow, her presence seeming to shrink, trembling throat bobbing as she swallows.

The King of Curses huffs.

Once again comes the pride, washing out the need for anything more. He wasn’t supposed to be this wrapped up in anyone. And he doesn’t need anyone—least of all you. He just wants you gone—fucking gone. Was that too much to ask? It shouldn’t be. He brought you here; it should be just as easy to push you back out. And if it isn’t, he’ll shove you out himself.

Because it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

Not even this useless, small ache wedged inside his chest. He’ll gladly split himself apart a thousand times over to excise it, seal it, forget about it—this terrible, infuriating, fucking thing that is growing, spreading, blighting him inside and—

“Master Sukuna…”

“What?”

He snaps his head to the sudden intrusion, a voice from the kitchen doorway, his gaze falling on an attendant and an outsider standing nervously in the corridor. His eyes narrow, taking them in.

“Forgive me.” The attendant in the doorway approaches, hesitantly skirting the fresh body on the ground, eyes round. “This man claims that one of the nearest villages at your rule is about to come under siege.”

His slitted eyebrow pulls down before he looks at the outsider—a villager trembling in very thin-soled sandals.

“You,” Sukuna calls out, beckoning the man forward with a sharp flick of two fingers. “What do you know about this so-called siege?”

The villager swallows and barely takes a step, his hands shaking slightly as he bows low.

“Speak!”

The King of Curses’ eyes flare wide, red and hollow. The man’s head shoots up.

“F-Forgive me, Lord Sukuna,” he mumbles, fidgeting with the edges of his threadbare cloak. “There’s a group of armed men. A campaign, organized, but not large enough to be a full army. It resembles a clan unit, perhaps under the capital’s direction. They’ve been striking at villages under your—” There’s a pause. He swallows. “Guard… and are pushing further south. Eventually, they will come—”

“Enough,” Sukuna grumbles, cutting the man off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Leave.”

Without a moment’s pause, the man turns sharply, retreating as the attendant guides him away, back down the passage.

Sukuna’s eyes find Uraume’s, then his towering figure shifts. He crosses his upper arms over his chest. Taps a finger, lost in thought.

The capital.

This could be a recompense for annihilating the Kasai clan only nights ago. Or it was something else. Amorphous plans set into motion by a woman born without a cock, desperately vying—or more likely, persuading—her way to power.

And this has been long in the making, probably tracing back to that damned, accursed night seven years ago when it all began.

Fate and her cruel tricks.

Sukuna scrapes a hand across his nape, irritation wriggling under his skin. He can’t decide which Kasai daughter infuriates him more. You or your sister.

But deep down, he knows the answer.

You.

Always you.

For one reason alone. And that knowledge burns him.

“Uraume. Ren.”

Sukuna slips toward a small water basin tucked in the corner, and dips a strip of clean cloth into the cool liquid. Without hesitation, he moves toward the corridor, his heavy steps thudding through the tense space. Just before crossing the threshold, he pauses, glancing back at the attendants in the kitchen.

“Clean up the mess,” he orders flatly, jutting his chin toward the bisected bleeding pink flesh splashed out across the floor. “Drag it to the storehouse and prepare the body. I’ll have it for when I return.”

The room remains suspended as Sukuna disappears into the hall, Uraume and Ren hurrying to follow.

Down and down, through the corridor, he moves, the wet cloth in hand rubbing over his face, torso, and chest. What he truly wants is a bath—but the war drum is calling. Violence and all the greedy, gratifying chaos that will drown out the incessant chatter inside his head.

Still, when he returns, tender flesh will be waiting for him. He’ll demand a warm bath then, too. All pleasures to look forward to when the bloodlust subsides, and the halls are once again quiet, your presence finally absent.

As it was always meant to be.

“Master Sukuna, I looked in on your chambers not too long before you arrived,” Uraume says from behind him, their steps so light they’re hardly heard.

“What of it?” Sukuna casts an emotionless glance over his shoulder before turning back.

“They’re occupied,” they say.

His mouth twitches.

“How so?”

“The Kasai girl is asleep.”

The twitch resting on his mouth stretches into a smirk. It can’t be helped. He’d told you to leave before sunrise—you should have been up by now, preparing to depart. Yet knowing you’ve fallen asleep in his bedsheets, exhausted from this long, endless night bleeding into day, stirs a pesky amount of emotions within him. Urges. Voracious ones.

The thought that you might still be naked, your tight holes flooded with his cum, your sleeping body pressed close against where he rests at night, his room thick with the mingled scent of both you and him... It’s tempting to take the corridor on his right, head straight there, barge in, collect you, and once again…

Stay.

Instead, he turns left.

“Ren.”

“Yes, Master?” The attendant’s voice reaches him in soft pants, struggling to match his long strides.

“I want you to go to my room and wake her.”

At the end of the corridor, Sukuna stops. They stop.

“Have her drink the tea, then get her gone. Now.”

He needed you to leave, especially with a threat approaching. Though you were skilled on horseback, the coming danger could easily sweep you up and swallow you whole. Then again, what you had shown him last night—the first true glimpse of your power, the way you held your own—refused to be forgotten.

If only you could heal yourself or, better yet, harness that power further, construct something truly magnificent around you.

However, you don’t seem prepared for that, and your time together is over.

“Of course,” Ren says.

Uraume presses the bowl of warm contents into the attendant’s hands. Balancing it with care, she bows, turns carefully, then she’s gone, her clipped footsteps echoing in the opposite direction—the one he should be taking.

“You’ll remain here,” he remarks to Uraume.

“I can be useful.” They take a small step.

Sukuna turns, scarlet red eyes meeting lilac pink.

“You will remain here,” he reasserts. “I won’t have the shrine unattended.”

Reluctantly, Uraume dips their chin before peering up.

“Now go. I‘ll require fresh garments.”

The white-haired monk bows before the blur of their white figure vanishes down the dark corridor.

The King of Curses takes a step but stops.

“One more thing.”

Uraume pauses at the end of the passage.

“Yes, Master Sukuna?”

“Once she’s gone.” A quiet pause. “Replace my sheets. Burn them, even. Get rid of anything she doesn’t take. All of it.”

Sukuna doesn’t wait for a reply. He moves, delving deeper into the shrine’s belly until he reaches a room near the back. Sliding open the door, he steps inside, tosses the damp cloth to the floor with a wet slap, and presses toward a small chest tucked into the corner.

Swinging it open, his eyes land on a stack of parchment, bundled and carefully hidden. He pulls them free. All of them. Letters. Your letters. Lots of them. Some of them opened and others not, but all he’s intercepted over the last two months.

Holding them in his upper right hand, he crosses the room and stops before a wooden rack tightly lined with weapons. Each piece rests neatly in its place—swords, daggers, spears, and other cursed tools waiting to be called upon.

Lowering his left hand, he grips the long handle of a three-pronged spear. Its shaft, dark and polished and extending far beyond his reach. Near the top, a strip of light-coloured cloth is tied tightly where it dances faintly with his movements.

Turning, he moves back into the deep passage, bare feet calm on the smooth floor.

Blood is already gathering in his teeth, a steady thump that resonates deep inside his bones.

War is coming.

But he doesn’t know who is coming.

Shogun. Kamo. Zen’in. Whatever remains of the Kasai name. Fujiwara. Sugawara…

Perhaps all of them.

It leaves him questioning whether any of this was worth it. If repeatedly destroying the north—his own birthplace—had been worth it. If all this trouble, if you, had been worth it.

His grip on the weapon and parchment becomes choking.

He isn’t sure anymore.

All he knows is that time is up, and it’s time to go.

For both of you.

🔗 Chapter 35

#beneath the silk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna fanfic #slow burn #slow romance #ryomen sukuna #true form sukuna x reader

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phyx-m · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 18: Snake Den

Content warning: description of corpses, mass death, implications of rape, misogyny

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

I Am Stretched On Your Grave - Johnny Hollow Kassidat El Hakka - SEXWITCH

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

“My Lady, please, don’t do this.”

Ren hovers anxiously beside you in the stables, her voice tightening as she watches you prepare to leave the shrine.

The mare gifted to you by the King of Curses—whom you've named Ayana after your mother—stands ready, her tack fitted. Your small travelling trunk, containing only a few essentials, rests near her flank, secured to the saddle with several straps. Inside, there’s just enough food for the journey and a thin cotton blanket from your wardrobe.

“I’ll only be gone for a few days,” you say, attempting to soothe your attendant’s fraying nerves while fastening the bridle to Ayana’s slender head.

The mare’s ears swivel at your touch. Her skittishness is apparent. You know forming a stronger bond with her will be crucial in the coming days, lest she act unpredictably while riding.

Stepping to the side, you bring her a bucket of water. She drinks, and you tangle a gloved hand in the silver-grey tendrils of her mane. Unlike the silk gloves you usually wear, today, you’ve opted for leather ones to steady your grip for the ride ahead. The material feels rough against your skin, but it’s necessary.

“Please, my Lady. Master Sukuna will be furious if anything happens to you,” Ren urges again.

Isn’t he always furious?

You glance over your shoulder at her, patting Ayana’s dappled coat once more before setting the bucket down.

Ren had caught you just as you left your chambers to change into something more suitable. She’s been trying to persuade you to stay, but your mind is already set. Your sister is the priority—she always has been. You only plan to ride to the Kasai clan compound to lay eyes on her. Then you’ll turn around and return before Sukuna even notices you’ve been gone.

You shake your head, and your hair, tied back at the nape, sways lightly with the movement.

“I need to see my sister, Ren,” you say firmly.

With your back turned to her, your hands move to the saddle’s leather straps, double-checking that everything is secure and ready to mount.

“But my Lady, the road can be dangerous.”

Yes, as a woman, you know this all too well—especially leaving without an escort.

Still, you're not overly concerned about the journey itself. Ren doesn’t know, but if anyone comes too close, you can easily press your fingertips to their skin and watch them rot into nothing but viscous flesh. Although you'd prefer to use your ability from a distance, you're not entirely sure if it's even possible to have long-range control.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You pull the last strap tight. “Just keep yourself occupied. I’ll be back before you realize.”

Peeking over your shoulder, you find your attendant has already gone.

You huff at her persistence, but a small sense of relief curls around you. It’s comforting to know that someone like Ren cares enough to worry.

Which, in turn, is nice to feel every once in a while.

After making the final preparations, you mount the mare and guide her out of the stables into the afternoon light. As you cross the shrine’s grounds, a figure steps down from the stone entrance—dressed in white with a dark haori. Uraume.

Well, shit.

They cross towards you, slow their pace, and stop before you.

“My Lady,” they say, tucking their hands comfortably into their sleeves.

You nod.

“Uraume.”

They incline their head slightly, studying you from where you sit atop the horse. Though you are about the same height, the elevated position gives you the advantage.

“Ren tells me you’re heading home.” They study your mare, the saddle, your trunk. “I wasn’t aware that Master Sukuna had permitted this.”

You swallow. There’s an accusation in their words.

“He didn’t... But he’s not here.” You tighten your grip on the reins. “If I leave now, he’ll never know.”

Uraume cocks their chin, considering you.

“That’s if you leave.”

A breeze tousles their pristine white hair, lifting the red streak that stains it from back to side.

You inhale sharply.

“Please,” you murmur, “just this once. I’ve asked for so little since I arrived here.”

Silence.

They take one, small step.

Something stirs in their expression.

“Are you asking me to be disloyal?” They take another step forward. The air begins to chill, stabbing at your skin. “To betray Master Sukuna’s trust?”

“No... but you know better than anyone that I’ve had no word from my family.” Your teeth begin to chatter. “I’ll come back here. I promise.”

At the word "promise," a whisper of chill rolls up from your feet to your skull, prickling your skin.

A distant, unnatural cold cracks the ground as frost begins to form in the mud. The ice snakes upward, invading the fabric of your hakama, winding beneath your kimono, and seeping into your bones. Your mare shifts uneasily, hooves striking the ground, her breath coming out in visible puffs as the temperature plummets.

Uraume stands serene. Still, their deep pink eyes fixed on you, seeing far more than you'd like.

This is their doing.

While the King of Curses is heat and chaos, Uraume is his opposite—cold and calm.

Your throat works to swallow, knowing their strength far exceeds your own—a power you can’t challenge and win.

“Please, Uraume,” you croak, breath turning to mist, swirling in the frigid air like spectres. Ayana whinnies, and you place a hand on her trembling neck to gentle her. “I just need to see my sister.”

The squall surges, and your eyelashes stick together.

“Please…”

The cold snaps and vanishes, retreating swiftly. Uraume pulls their hands from their sleeves.

“Then I shall accompany you, my Lady.”

“What?” Your voice rises in surprise.

They move toward the mare, and Ayana chuffs with anxiety, tossing her head and stamping her feet. Uraume quickly steps back, clearly cautious.

“Easy, girl,” you soothe, then glance at the pale-haired subordinate. “I will return, I promise. You don’t need to come with me.”

Yet, a troubling thought forms in your mind.

If something has happened to your sister—fuck, what if something has—what will become of you? Would your father force you back to the shrine or break this union with Sukuna? Would he even allow it? Or if Uraume comes along and something terrible has happened, will they drag you back here against your will?

There are too many ifs and too many questions.

“I made a vow to Master Sukuna to ensure you’re taken care of,” Uraume states, circling you. “If you’re determined to leave, I will accompany you.” They step closer but remain wary of Ayana. “I cannot allow you to go alone.”

Is that why Uraume has been so attentive? A damn vow? You run a hand through your hair, another realization hitting you. There have been too many of those lately, and you despise it.

“Fine,” you concede, extending a gloved hand toward them. They eye it before reaching out to take it and, with a swift motion, swing their leg over the mare, settling in behind you. There’s a moment of hesitation before they wrap their lithe arms around your waist, a chill falls over your back. You grit your teeth at the contact.

“It will take a three-day ride to travel north.” You peer over your shoulder at them, and they nod.

“I’m aware, my Lady.”

“You’ve been before?” you ask, curling the reins around your hands into a tight fist.

They pause for a moment, their eyes steady.

"Only once."

You fling them a faint smile. But their pink eyes shift away, signalling the end of the conversation.

Turning your attention forward, you give Ayana a gentle nudge. She begins to move, first at a walk, then a trot, before breaking into a full gallop along the dirt-packed road. The faster she moves, the more the trees blur past you.

Faster.

You must get home and back quickly—quick enough to outride Sukuna before he knows you’ve even left.

“My Lady,” Uraume speaks up, their voice almost swallowed by the wind. “Once we leave the shrine’s road, it’s wise to stay off the main paths. If anyone discovers who you are… they won’t hesitate to use that against you.”

Your fingers curl tighter into a fist around the reins.

Right.

The King of Curses’ wife.

It’s not lost on you, not for a second. Everyone in Japan likely wants Ryomen Sukuna destroyed—his name, his legacy, his very existence wiped from the world. Death. Death to the one who has many names and two faces. His presence is a blight on this earth, and as his wife, this stigma will likely extend to you now, whether you like it or not.

If only they knew that you, just like them, need him dead.

Besides, he is a blight on this earth...

Isn’t he?

With that, your mind wanders to too many things.

Has anyone ever truly wanted or cared for him outside of duty, obligation, or fear? Was he always this way, or did the world push him into this pit of cruelty?

Questions that you wish to leave unanswered crawl into your head. They bother you. The enigma that is Sukuna bothers you.

Why has he protected you if he’s nothing more than what others deem him to be? A monster

A sudden dip in the road pulls you from these spinning questions. You suck in a breath as the wind picks up, stinging your face.

With a glance, you look over your shoulder at Uraume.

“All right,” you say, “I understand.”

* * * * *

Later on, hours into your ride, you and Uraume have yet to speak a word. They might as well have been a rock with how lifeless they are behind you. The only time they finally seem to stir is when you direct the mare out of a wooded valley and up a narrow ridge.

In the distance, thick plumes of smoke choke the sky as dark tendrils coil against a fiery sunset. You slow to a trot as you reach the edge of a village, one closest to the shrine. It’s not until a breeze drifts in that—

God, the stink.

The stench of burnt flesh curls into your nose, coating the roof of your mouth with a foul tang. Your tongue swells as if blanketed in blood-soaked fabric.

Guiding the mare a bit further is when you see the first corpse—charred, leathery skin steaming in the setting sun. You press a gloved hand to your nose and mouth, stifling a gag. But a glance up reveals an even fouler sight. More bodies, hills of them. Men, women, and children lie in a mound, with flies and other insects crawling into the warm remains. Some bodies have been bludgeoned to death, soft skulls caved in, and pink insides spilling out. Above, crows circle, eager to peel flesh from bone.

The sight is so gruesome you’ve forgotten to breathe.

As you direct Ayana forward, you notice corpses dotting the village like blemishes covering the ground. A cluster of women have been dragged away to the edges, where they lay brutalized. Their garments torn open. Paths of blood drip between their bare thighs, signs of a struggle, signs that their bodies had been violated.

“What the hell is this?” you murmur, hands shaking as you scan the madness.

Ayana lets out a low, nervous chuff.

“My Lady, we must go.” Uraume's voice pulls your gaze away.

You blink.

“This is the outskirts of the shrine,” you utter, ignoring their urgency. “Sukuna controls this area… doesn’t he?”

Uraume nods sharply.

“He does.”

Bile slicks the inside of your throat.

“Did he… do this?”

Smoke thickens the air. It stings your eyes until they water.

“No, my Lady.” They speak firmly, and hardness cuts over their face. “He’s elsewhere.” Where? Northeast? Further? Uraume adjusts their grip around your waist. “We need to move on. Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

This village is one of many that he subjugated. What would he have done if they pleaded for his aid? Help them?

You can’t help but feel doubtful.

And otherwise, then, who? Who’s attacking his domain?

Your mare whines again, suddenly prancing sideways, her hooves stumbling over rocks and scorched earth.

“Easy, easy,” you whisper to her.

She stops but lifts her head, ears pricking. She senses something out there.

A heaviness clots the air—a pressure stirs. You glance at the bodies strewn across the ground.

“Uraume… where is Lord Sukuna?”

A faint high-pitched howl rises, echoing nearby. The hair on your body pulls up. Uraume swivels their head.

“He’s further north,” they murmur, eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Is more of his territory being—”

“Rider!” A disembodied voice shouts.

Your eyes dart in search of danger—a second howl shrieks.

From your left, an arrow screams through the air, narrowly missing Ayana. She rears, almost throwing you and Uraume.

“We must leave!” Uraume urges as a chill sinks into your back. “I cannot protect you if there are many.”

Another arrow streaks by, closer this time. Your mare tosses her head, the reins slipping from your grasp as you struggle to hold on.

“Shit!” You yank them, wheeling Ayana around as a third arrow buries itself in the spot you stood moments ago.

Squeezing your thighs, you steer her into a tight turn, urging her into a gallop. In an instant, she erupts from the village, dodging debris and bodies.

Behind you, voices shout and the thrumming of more arrows striking earth sound, but it quickly drowns out by the pounding of hooves and the blood rushing in your ears.

“Over there!” Uraume narrows a pale finger toward a forest that rises from the ridge ahead.

Without looking back, you direct Ayana toward it, not slowing until the swarm of dense trees swallows you.

That evening, you and Uraume share a simple meal—rice balls and dried fish—while sitting in the saddle. When the moon rises and fat clouds obscure its light, you set up camp by a river, away from the main roads. After what happened earlier in the day, Uraume stands guard as you sleep on the cold ground, wrapped in your thin cotton blanket.

The nightmare of your mother’s death comes for you through the night, waking you several times, drenching you in sweat, making you gasp for breath. Perhaps the thought of returning home stirs the memory. Perhaps it is something else. Sukuna, too, makes his strange appearance in the dream—watchful, waiting, just out of sight.

The next day, the routine remains the same: you ride, eat, and rest. Uraume sleeps in the saddle, always vigilant at night. The following days are no different. Though you encounter no more trouble, the aftermath of the massacre you came across lingers in your mind.

On the third day, the landscape changes. The ground rises, and the air becomes colder.

North.

You’re close now.

A little further, and the air sharpens.

The massive estate comes into view, the Kasai clan compound sprawling ahead. Its towering outer walls are unnecessarily ornate, carved with serpentine creatures coiled in masses of scales and teeth. Giant yew trees line the limestone barrier, dotting the expanse like ancient sentries. Beyond that, the estate opens up, leading you into a barren courtyard. It feels as though the land itself rejects any attempt to soften it. Unlike the lush gardens of the shrine, there’s no greenery or vibrant blooms—only neatly trimmed shrubs and stony paths leading to the heart of the compound.

Dismounting, you and Uraume lead Ayana to the stables. You water her and leave her in an empty stall. There’s not a soul in sight. Not one. But after living here for twenty-five years, you know better than to trust that. You know what lies inside.

Climbing the steps toward the grand oak doors, the air in your lungs begins to empty. Standing before them, you pause to glance at the white-haired monk.

“Uraume… thank you for escorting me here, and—” You pause, curling your fingers until the leather of your gloves creaks in a satisfying way. “For how you’ve treated me this past month. Truly.”

You dip your head.

“I do what is asked of me,” they say coolly.

You nod, reaching for the intricately gilded bronze handles.

“I know you’ll be anxious to return to the shrine. So I won’t be long.”

“I’m coming inside, my Lady,” they state firmly.

You stare at one another, your hand poised for entry.

There is no other way around this.

“All right...”

With that, you push open the doors.

The difference between Sukuna's shrine and the Kasai clan compound is the sound.

The shrine is wrapped in stillness, with its shrine maidens shuffling through corridors, robes whispering, doors rustling. Now and then, the lack of sound is shattered by the King of Curses—the screams of slaughter and death.

But here, there's constant noise and movement—people everywhere, men everywhere, attendants everywhere, concubines everywhere, crowds everywhere. Booming voices, raucous conversations loud and jarring, weapons always sheathed but never out of reach. A cesspool, a breeding ground for powerful families and allies to play.

Stepping into the grand hall, every eye swivels toward you—the room reeks—sweat, alcohol, musk.

Disdain.

The problem with the task your father has demanded of you is that only two people know of it: your father and Onishi. Your sister doesn’t, though she is aware of your gift, and once, so was your mother. Those are the only people. The rest of your clan remain blissfully unaware. And for most of your life, you've been kept relatively isolated, your existence largely tucked away. It's fortunate, really—if the King of Curses knew what you were capable of, you'd lose any advantage you have over him.

As you take a small step inside, it’s only a partial surprise when frenzied whispers ripple through the room. The men make little effort to lower their voices as you catch, "The demon's whore is here." Even though you’re the reason they no longer have to fight that demon, to them, that’s all you are now.

His whore.

Inhaling deeply, you force your feet to move toward a private chamber at the back of the compound. It’s mid-day, and your father is predictable. He’s usually there at this time—either mulling over territory, drinking himself into a debauched stupor before harassing the female attendants, or strategizing with Oinishi.

Either way, that’s where you need to go first. If he learns that you arrived and went looking for Yuna immediately, there might be hell to pay.

As you walk, bodies shift, leaving an empty path.

Keeping your chin up, you notice how the space is filled with strangers, people you’ve not seen before. Robes with unfamiliar crests embroidered into the fabric—symbols not your own. Their attire is richly adorned but styled in ways that set them apart—other clans.

Your father has been quite busy because it appears new alliances have been formed in the last month.

You keep walking.

Heads tilt as you pass, gawking toward you as if you’re nothing more than an animal on display.

“...oni bitch…”

You hear the first of many barbs. They keep coming. Raised eyebrows, twitching mouths, muttered insults, followed by boisterous laughter.

Your heart lurches and falls into your stomach. This place feels little like home anymore. Where is home if not here?

Your skin flushes with heat as a clan member steps forward from a pack of idling men and spits, the glob of saliva splattering just shy of your kimono’s hem.

“Welcome home, cunt,” he sneers, mouth rolling back in a smile.

You want to scream at them, to tell them the truth: your union is nothing more than a ruse, that you’re doing this for a damn good reason.

Without making eye contact, you circle him. With another step, you press down the corridor. The private chamber comes into view.

Nearly there.

You keep walking, almost at the doors, when a man jostles you from behind, grabbing your elbow. You whip around, and Uraume steps in closer.

“Keep your distance,” they hiss.

You yank your arm free, and the man lets go, snickering as he walks away.

You inhale deeply.

“Are you all right, my Lady?” Uraume asks.

“Yes,” you breathe, exhaling and turning, you—

Come face to face with a man whose dark grey eyes and sharp cheekbones stand out beneath a trim of raven-black hair. His lean, muscular frame suggests he's a warrior, and one calloused hand rests on the hilt of an eccentric-looking katana sheathed at his side.

Anyone might find him handsome—once, perhaps, you might have too—but now, he does nothing for you.

Odd. Frustrating.

Straining your neck, you notice he’s tall, towering, but not as tall as Sukuna.

No one is.

“My Lady.” He bows, though his gaze lingers a moment too long on your face, appraising you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the second Kasai girl. And just as equally enjoyable to look at.”

Your skin crawls at his compliment, but you manage a smile.

Be obedient, be charming.

“And you are?”

“An acquaintance of your father’s.” He waves the question away.

You nod.

“But you’ve met my sister?” you ask, maintaining a courteous tone.

Lip curling, he steps closer.

“I have. Charming little thing. I can see the resemblance between you two.” He gestures up and down the length of your body. “Your sister has quite a gentle touch and a way with words, too.” He plucks a loose lock of hair from your shoulder, rubbing it absently between his fingers. Your stomach tangles at the unfamiliar gesture from a stranger—not someone else you try not to think about, especially now that you’re realizing only four hands are the ones you might ever long to touch you. Stupid. “The family heirloom turned out surprisingly delicate.”

You have no idea what he’s rambling about, but you nod politely.

“Yes, my sister is lovely.”

His gaze flicks past you, over your shoulder, then back.

“Where’s your husband? Shouldn’t the infamous Sukuna Ryomen be here to protect his newly betrothed wife?”

“He’s…” You’re unsure where the monster is. Further north? “...occupied.”

The stranger clicks his tongue, and a frown draws across a defined mouth.

“That’s a shame.” His hand tightens at the hilt of his weapon, his fingers stroking the small tuft of animal-like hair, wrapped tightly around where the steel emerges. “I would have thoroughly enjoyed meeting him.”

You sense Uraume shifting behind you.

“I’m sorry, perhaps another time.” You step to one side, gesturing to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my fath—”

With brutal speed, he seizes your forearm and yanks you toward him. Your head snaps back, body flinching at the sudden, unwanted contact.

“It must be very lonesome without the demon present,” he hisses. “You’re vulnerable, my Lady. I’d be more than happy to offer you protection… among—” His eyes drift downward, lingering on your chest, then lower to where your obi cinches your waist. “—other things.” His broad shoulders sag as if disappointed in what he sees, but a full grin curls at his mouth nonetheless.

Uraume steps in beside you, crowding close.

“You should watch your tongue when addressing Lord Sukuna’s property,” they snap.

His property.

His possession.

His wife.

Your teeth grind at that.

The dark-haired man blasts a humourless laugh, leaning back to gauge Uraume. He looks unimpressed.

"And you must be the King of Curses' most devoted dog.” He cocks his head. "Or should I say bitch? I’m not quite sure what to make of you.” He chuckles at his own crude words.

Your eyes narrow. Your hands prickling beneath your gloves.

“My Lord, or whoever you are,” you say, sweetness dripping from your voice, “as much as I appreciate your offer of protection, what I need right now is for you to kindly fuck off,” you snarl, trying to shake his tightening grip.

His nostrils flare, and his sharp nose wrinkles as if you've just spoken gibberish.

“Oh! Feisty!” He shouts, leaning into your face. “I appreciate eager women. But you should save it for when it really fucking matters.” Somehow, his features darken, brow dropping, eyes slitting until they twitch uncontrollably. “I wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out before the fun begi—”

“Zen'in!” a voice calls from behind. Onishi. “Enough playing. Leave her alone.”

Your eyes dart over your shoulder, surprised to see your father’s chief advisor stepping in. This brute of a man feels cut from the same cloth as him.

The dark-haired man, Zen’in, finally releases your arm, taking a step back, though the look in his eye suggests he’s far from finished with his games.

“Pardon for the rough introduction, my Lady. I am Zen'in Kaito,” he grins, offering a slight bow. "It was wonderful meeting you." Lifting his head, he glances at Uraume, jaw clenching. “I look forward to seeing you again. And perhaps, meeting your Master someday.”

Zen'in strides toward your father's advisor, and the two step aside together.

Asshole.

Onishi glances at you, beady eyes sharp, as if silently questioning what you're doing here. He doesn’t dare mention your task in front of Uraume, so instead, he claps Zen’in on the shoulder and walks away.

You watch them go.

Finally, able to breathe again, you exhale.

The fact that Onishi gave you that look, not something else, suggests that…

Whirling around, you grip the doors to the private chamber and throw them open.

Yuna’s lashes flutter as she looks up from the map she’s hovering over with your father.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

She’s safe.

She’s alive.

She’s safe.

“Yuna,” you breathe her name with a desperate gasp, as though you’ve finally come up for air after being submerged for too long.

Her head jerks up, eyes rounding before a radiant smile spreads across her face.

“Sister?”

That smile. You’d gladly defy Sukuna a hundred times just to see it.

Only fourteen months separate you and her, with you being the younger. Your father had hoped for a boy the second time, but instead, he got you. Despite that, it only strengthened the bond between you and your sister. You remember rolling in the grass together as children, sneaking into your mother's chambers to try on her kimonos.

But it didn’t take long for everything to start falling apart.

And the fact that you were the one who took your mother away makes you feel like you’ve stolen something important from her. It’s something you’ll always try to mend, to piece back together and make up for what you took.

Yuna circles the table, kimono fluttering around her ankles. You cross the room in a heartbeat. Arms outstretched, you meet her halfway, your gloved hands reaching for her. Her arms come around your shoulders. You crash into each other.

The embrace is warm, grounding.

Safe.

“What are you doing here?” she sighs, leaning back slightly as she gently smooths your hair. “And where’s my brother-in-law?” Her gaze flashes over your shoulder, her teasing smile widening. “I’ve been eager to see him again.”

When you break apart, a laugh swells from your chest—wet and strangled, barely held together. It’s almost a sob.

“He’s... not here.” You lower your voice so only she can hear. The soft smile that stretches across your face is bittersweet, fighting against the sting of tears. “Honestly? I have no idea where the hell he is.”

She cocks an eyebrow.

You laugh a little harder this time, and a tear slips down your cheek from the relief you feel. Your leather gloves creak as you hastily wipe them away.

“You came here alone?” Yuna watches you, her smile gentle, mirroring your own.

You shake your head.

“Uraume escorted me,” you say.

Yuna shifts, peering at the white-haired monk.

“Hello.”

You don’t look back, but you hear Uraume utter a soft “Lady Yuna.”

Over your sister’s shoulder, your father glares at you. You pull your sister in close again. With only so much time to spare, you have questions to ask.

“Yuna,” you murmur, “why haven’t I heard from you since I left? It’s been a month. Have you not received any of my letters?”

Her brows pinch together in surprise.

“I have,” she replies, confused. “And I’ve sent many in return. Father, too.”

Your stomach tightens. So they’ve been writing to you all along. Why haven’t any of their letters arrived?

Tentatively, you glance over your shoulder at Uraume, standing stoically at the doorway, hands tucked into their haori. Their face betrays nothing, but you know they’ve been truthful about the lack of communication. That leaves only one possible explanation: someone back at the shrine is sabotaging your correspondence.

You turn back to Yuna, smiling.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to see you.”

Yuna’s lip twitches, and her hands slide up to your wrists, fingertips gliding over the tops of your gloves to your skin. She might be one, if not the only person whose touch you tolerate.

“Are you here for long?” She holds on for a moment longer. “We’ll find some time to talk together—alone,” she whispers, her eyes cutting to the side as if indicating your father.

You don’t exactly have time to spare. You’ve laid eyes on her; she’s safe, and now you need to return to the shrine. But your mouth moves.

“Yes, we’ll do that.”

Her face lights up.

“Good. Then you can tell me all about how Lord Sukuna has been treating you.” Her tone turns playful, and you snort.

“Yes. I suppose.”

Absolutely not.

“Daughter.” Your father’s voice breaks the moment, dragging you from this pocket of security. He finally moves from where he’s been lurking in the background. “I’ve missed you.” Liar. “Yuna, darling.” His tone turns smoother than it has any right to be. “Why don’t you take your sister’s escort here and keep them occupied? I’d like to speak with her privately.”

Yuna’s fingers uncurl from you. Releasing her hold, she steps back and nods obediently.

“Of course, Father.”

She steps toward Uraume, but they refuse to budge.

“I’d prefer to wait in the stables, Lord Kasai,” they say, bowing their head.

Your father waves them off, unconcerned.

“Fine. Yuna, leave. Take them with you.”

Yuna glances at you again before leading the white-haired monk toward the door. Uraume hesitates briefly, giving you a long, steady look.

You give a slight nod of reassurance. Only then do they follow Yuna out, leaving you alone with your father and the door sliding shut.

Quietly, your bastard of a father circles you like a hawk, scrutinizing everything—your clothing, hair, face, gloves, the way you can’t seem to make eye contact with him.

While he busies himself with nitpicking your very existence, your eyes dance over to the table where he had been standing earlier, examining a map of parchment.

Stones of various sizes and colours are scattered across it. At first glance, you don’t fully understand what they signify, but your eyes are drawn to the lighter stones—they rest on familiar territories. Northern strongholds. Your father’s land. That much is clear.

Then, your gaze moves to the southern side of the map, where red stones—jasper—cluster, pressing against the borders. Sukuna. There are so many of them, more than you imagined. Some are placed, winding up within the north, then moving deeper. He’s been busy these last seven years.

But what strikes you are the black stones, fewer in number. They rest in strange, isolated areas, mingling amongst both the Kasai clan and the King of Curses’ domain. You notice one lying exactly where that massacre you and Uraume rode through three days ago.

Troubling.

Why the hell was it signified here?

“So—” Your eyes cut back to your father, who has circled you and comes to stand before you. “After a month, here you are. In one piece, I see.”

He sounds displeased by this.

“Yes,” you murmur.

“And the filthy cannibal still seems to be alive.”

It aches deep in the cavity of your chest.

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he sniffs, “useless as usual.”

You jerk up your chin.

“I’ve made four attempts to kill him, Father,” you say, forcing your voice to be flat and emotionless. “Like I said before. He’s tricky to pin down and get close to.” You lie. “That hasn’t changed.”

The numerous times you’ve hesitated to end Sukuna feels crushing now.

Your father steps closer.

“Is he now?”

There’s no need to answer.

His eyes narrow.

Your hair had come loose during the ride, but his fingers move to gather the last stray strands, pushing them over your left shoulder. You tense, sensing that he's noticed something you’ve missed while scrutinizing you.

With your hair pushed back, neck exposed, he hums.

And then you realize.

The scar. The scar that wasn’t there a month ago. The scar Sukuna bit into your neck the first time he touched you, when he had you writhing beneath him, your hands on him, his hands on you. And now, it stands as confirmation that you got close to him—but failed to take his life.

Sweat gathers at the base of your spine and slithers down.

“It seems.” Your father tilts his head, birdlike. “That you’ve gotten closer to him than you claim.”

Your throat tightens.

“I—”

“Has he fucked you? Charmed you, daughter?”

“W-what? No.”

The unbearable need to cower into yourself grows.

Your father’s mouth widens viciously, and his hand lingers near your neck for a moment longer before pulling away.

“Do your sister a favour.” He walks across the room. “Kill him before it’s too late.”

Silence.

Your heart, no longer steady in your chest, beats louder.

You step forward and stop.

“I need more time.”

Your face numbs as you say the words.

He stops and turns.

“What did you just say to me?”

You clear your throat.

“I said I need more time,” you repeat firmly. “Two months won’t be enough. Lord Sukuna is constantly leaving. There’s unrest in his territories.”

Your father moves to the map, peering down at the scattered stones.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he mutters, picking up a jasper stone and rolling it between his fingers. “I’ll tell you what.” His tone lightens as he steps toward you. “I’ll give you an extra month.”

What?

You eye him as though this is some kind of trap. It has to be.

You stare at him.

He stares at you, waiting for a response.

You nod, grateful.

“Thank you, Father, I apprec—”

“On one condition.” He steps closer again. “Bring him here for the harvest festival in two weeks.”

You still.

“What?” Convincing Sukuna to set foot on the Kasai compound seems impossible. He’ll outright refuse. “There’s no way he’ll agree to that.”

Your father smiles, gaze sweeping over you.

“Oh, something tells me you can convince him.”

Your mouth twitches at the insinuation.

“Why bring him here?” you ask. “What are you planning?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs and takes hold of your wrist before pulling it towards him.

“I’m not sure it’s safe to divulge that, my daughter.” He places the stone in your hand. “Not when your tongue might wag... or worse.” Your stomach churns. “Unless, of course, you have a reason not to bring him. But… your sister is looking lovelier by the day. And I know there are men here eager to make her a better acquaintance.”

“I’ll do it,” you say quickly. “I’ll find a way to bring him here.”

He smiles, eyes drifting off as he grips your wrists.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” He squeezes harder until it hurts. “Of both her daughters.”

Fucking bastard.

You fight the urge to scream at him.

He pulls his hands away, leaving the red stone in your palm. It's small, but it feels as though its weight could sink you, burdened by what and who it represents.

“Now run along. Make the most of your time with your sister before you leave.”

You bow, then turn on your heel and leave the room.

Plans are in motion—whatever your father is plotting, bringing Sukuna here is part of it.

Walking down the corridor, you squeeze the small stone into your hand. The smooth red surface reminds you of his eyes.

His eyes.

You turn it over in your hand once.

A long passage leads toward your immediate family’s quarters. You take it.

The stone turns in your palm a second time.

“You must stay…” The stone turns again. “You have to do this…”

Your old mantra dies as you whisper it to yourself. You’re starting to wonder why your body, but more importantly, the space where your heart might sit, feels so incredibly heavy.

🔗 Chapter 19

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