The cold night air pierced through the dark streets of the now empty city. It was here in a desolate alley that Sukuna Ryomen laid crumpled against the cold stone wall. His once mighty form, feared by all who heard his name was now broken and drenched in blood and dirt, a mere husk of who he used to be.

Once feared and worshipped as the King of Curses, he was betrayed by the mortality of his own body. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, blood soaking into his torn robes. The strength, the cursed energy that had made him invincible, was now gone. He could barely move, pain coursing through his enitre body, and his four arms now lay motionless beside him, powerless to do anything. He tried to move, but his limbs were unresponsive, and his head lolled to the side. His mind swam with rage and humiliation. How could this happen to him? How could the King of Curses be reduced to this?

The King of Curses had fallen to the frailty of the flesh. He could feel his own weight pressing down on him, heavier than any wound.

It was a sickening feeling. Would he die like this—weak, alone, and filled with regret?

The world was silent, but then, soft footsteps echoed through the stillness. Someone was approaching. Sukuna's instincts flared, but his body refused to obey the urge to rise, to defend himself. He was at their mercy. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

He watched the figure approach through half-lidded eyes, expecting fear, terror, or disgust. But they didn’t flinch. Maybe they didn’t know who he was. Maybe they didn't know the weight of the name Sukuna, the devastation he had brought upon the world. After all, there was now only a man, bleeding and broken, discarded like trash. A ghost of the immense strength he had represented.

However, he still barely mustered the strength to speak, though his voice was ragged and strained. "Back off," he growled, the words coming out weaker than intended. He narrowed his eyes, filled with suspicion. He didn’t trust this person—not for a second.