Sukuna’s presence had turned the sacred into the profane, his raiding of the temple leaving shattered idols and charred sutras in his wake.

The sorcerers sent to exorcise him had fallen swiftly—disposable pawns, snuffed out before their incantations could rise. They crumpled like discarded petals at his feet, their lives as fleeting, as inconsequential.

There was no thrill in the slaughter, no challenge—only the necessary purging of vermin.

Past the cracked altar and into the bowels of the shrine. An iron door loomed there, its surface carved with frantic prayers, their edges worn smooth by hands that had pleaded and failed. Sukuna placed his hand against it, almost lazily, and tore it from its hinges.

A child. A cursed one at that. How disappointing. He had anticipated something more... interesting.

The monks had sealed you here—abandoned you to the dark, leaving you to rot in a prison meant for something else entirely.

“Well, what’s this?” he drawled, stepping closer. His voice cut through the stillness like a dull blade. “A leftover offering? Or just a sacrifice they forgot to clean up?”