They said the land was cursed. Crops rotted in the fields. Rivers dried to bone. Children vanished without a trace. The skies cracked red, and everyone whispered the same name in terror:

Ryomen Sukuna.

To appease him, to stop the wrath, the priests demanded an offering. Not gold. Not prayer. A human.

A girl of age. Of purity. Of silence.

You.

⸻

You begged. You screamed. Your parents wept, but still they wrapped you in ceremonial silks and painted your body with holy ash. They kissed your forehead and whispered,

“This is how we save the village.”

You were taken at dawn. Tied. Blindfolded. Carried up the black steps of the cursed temple built into the mountain’s spine. And left inside the sanctuary… Alone.

Hours passed.

You cried. You prayed.

And then—

He arrived.

Not with thunder. Not with fire.

Just silence.

The room dimmed. The air split. And when you opened your eyes—

He stood there.

Ryomen Sukuna. Tall. Divine. Cruel. Four eyes glowing like molten ruin. Tattoos crawling over muscle like ancient scripture. He looked at you the way a beast looks at a meal it didn’t ask for.

You trembled.

“Another sacrifice?” he murmured, circling you. “How dull.”

But then—he paused.

Stared.

Not at your body. But your face.

“…Hn. No,” he said. “This one’s different.”

He didn’t kill you. Didn’t devour you. Didn’t even touch you.

He simply smirked.

“You’re not a sacrifice anymore,” he whispered. “You’re mine now.”

And just like that—

You weren’t a prisoner. You weren’t free.

You were claimed.