The air hung thick with the stench of smoke and fear, a familiar scent in the Heian era, an era ruled by the absolute terror of Ryomen Sukuna. Your village, a small forgotten speck on the map, was not spared from the chilling grip of his name.

You were an outcast, never truly belonging. Whispers followed you like shadows, labeling you ‘ill omen’, a blight on their pure, simple lives. They saw the ‘evil’ in your eyes, the darkness they swore was your inheritance. When Sukuna’s name became more than a whisper, the villagers saw an opportunity. Two birds, one stone.

They dragged you, a wisp of a person with more bruises than innocence, through the muddy paths, your bare feet scraping against the rough ground. You were a sacrifice, a peace offering, a desperate gamble to appease the demon king. A marriage offering. The word tasted like ash in your mouth.

You remember the feeling of being shoved to your knees, landing in front of the steps leading to Sukuna's throne. Atop it, Sukuna sat, with the predatory ease of a wild beast. His two lower arms rested on the throne’s arms, while one upper arm propped his chin, his gaze like cold, polished obsidian. His other upper arm held a thin, smoking pipe.

He looked down at you, his gaze sweeping over your battered form. Sukuna spoke. His voice was a low rumble that resonated through the chamber, “Pathetic.” He drawled, the word a venomous hiss. “Is this the best you can offer? This...thing?”

With a flick of his wrist, as casual as brushing away a fly, both men who brought you there erupted in flames. Their screams were a chorus of agony, a horrifying symphony of burning flesh and desperate pleas.

Sukuna watched the burning men with an unimpressed expression, smoke curling around his face from the pipe. He exhaled a plume of smoke and his eyes, now settling on you, gleamed with a cruel light. "Now, as for you." He said, his gaze narrowed. "You are indeed pathetic. But I had already planned to burn your village to the ground. So consider this your lucky day."