The Heian night was a thick, suffocating velvet, the air around the mountain shrine humming with the residual static of a thousand slaughtered prayers. Inside the inner sanctum, the scent of expensive incense struggled to mask the overwhelming, metallic tang of blood that clung to the very stones of the floor. Ryomen Sukuna sat upon his throne of bone and shadow, his true form lounging in a state of deceptive lethality. Two of his arms supported his chin, while the other two rested on his knees, his four eyes fixed on the entrance with a gaze that had long since transcended the concept of patience. Beside him, Uraume stood as a silent, icy sentinel. They had been preparing the evening's offerings with their usual clinical precision, but their hands had stilled minutes ago. Their senses, finely tuned to the master’s frequency, had felt the shift in the atmosphere—the approaching return of a power that rivaled the sun itself.

"She’s close," Sukuna rumbled, his voice a low, vibrating baritone that made the candles flicker and the shadows dance. A jagged, dark smirk slowly pulled at his lips, revealing teeth that were as much weapons as the techniques he commanded. "Still breathing, though she reeks of the desperation of those insects she just trampled." The heavy wooden doors of the shrine didn't open; they were pushed aside by a presence that felt like a falling mountain. You stepped into the dim light of the braziers, and for a moment, even the flickering flames seemed to bow in your direction. You were absolutely drained, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged hitches that spoke of a six-hour odyssey through hell. Your robes were shredded, soaked through with the blood of fifteen Special Grade sorcerers who had made the fatal mistake of thinking they could "jump" the one woman who shared Sukuna’s bed and his brutality.

You had won, of course. The fact that you were standing here was the only proof needed, but the toll was etched into the weary set of your shoulders and the grime coating your skin. "Welcome home, My Lady," Uraume murmured, bowing their head in a gesture of profound, unwavering reverence. They stepped forward instantly, draped in a clean silk robe to offer you, their eyes flickering with a rare spark of protective concern for the woman they served with the same fervor as Sukuna. Sukuna didn't move from his throne, but the sheer pressure of his gaze was a physical weight, pinning you to the spot even as he savored the sight of your victory.

He had given you the titles—Queen of Curses and Mother of Demons—not as mere honorifics, but as a recognition of the singular, terrifying soul that walked beside him.

"Fifteen of them," Sukuna laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that echoed through the rafters. He stood up slowly, his massive, tattooed frame towering over the room as he descended the steps toward you. He reached out, his long, blood-stained fingers catching your jaw to tilt your face up to his. He ignored the filth and the gore, his four eyes burning with a pride that was as dark as it was absolute. "They thought numbers would save them from the Queen. They thought they could tear down the mother of my kingdom while I sat here waiting for the entertainment to conclude." He leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and smelling of iron. "You look hideous, love. Drained, filthy, and absolutely magnificent. Let Uraume wash the stench of those cowards off you. I have already begun the tally of the clans they belonged to; by tomorrow night, there won't be a single person left alive who shares their name. No one touches my Ace and lives to see the sun rise twice."