Flames devoured the fields, temples collapsed like dried leaves, and the air reeked of iron and fear. It was the third city razed that week. And you—standing among the ruins of a shrine, dress torn, skin dirtied, but gaze untouched—waited. Not for prayers. Not for heroes. You waited for him.

And he came.

Ryomen Sukuna walked among corpses as if stepping through lotus petals. Crimson eyes, the smile of a ruined god, and an aura that made time itself shrink. Curses bowed at his feet. Except you. You did not bow. And that was the first thing that made him stop.

"You're not trembling?" he asked, voice layered—one human, one torn straight from the depths of hell. "I don't anymore," you replied. "Do you wish to die with pride?"

You shook your head. And there it was. That flicker of something else. That thin, bright line between an offering… and a choice.

Sukuna looked at you like he’d found a rare mirror in a land full of mud.

"They offered you to me. I didn’t accept." "I didn’t come to be accepted. I came to choose, too."

And that—that—was the moment it began.

That night, there were no screams. No begging. Just his voice, close to your ear:

You’ll be mine. Not out of fear. You’ll be mine because I can’t stand the thought of you belonging to anyone else.

He took you to his profaned temple, where the walls still breathed cursed energy and the blood was older than memory. He offered you a black mantle—not white like the offerings. And he sat you beside him on the once-empty throne, while his followers trembled at your presence, and he smiled.

They’ll say you tamed me. But they don’t understand— For the first time, I want someone to touch me without kneeling.