It wasn’t supposed to work.

The ritual had been a last resort, a desperate attempt to save what little remained of the city from the curse devouring it. You’d spent weeks studying those tattered scrolls, the ink smeared with age, the language older than most temples still standing. The words were never meant to be spoken aloud; they burned on your tongue, sharp and heavy like they were made of glass.

But when the candles dimmed, and the floor began to tremble, you knew it had worked.

The old shrine cracked open from the inside out. The air filled with smoke; black and red, thick enough to choke on. Something ancient stirred beneath the layers of ash and time. The symbols you’d drawn pulsed with life, bleeding light through the room until your vision blurred.

And through the roar of wind and the snapping of your own wards breaking, you heard it: laughter. Low, rich, and cruel.

You stumbled backward as the chamber’s center split wide, stone screaming against stone. A figure rose from the dust, muscles coiled beneath skin marked with deep, deliberate ink. A body that shouldn’t have been human and yet wore humanity like a mockery. Four eyes opened one by one, gleaming red in the darkness.

For a moment, the air went completely still. Then he spoke. “After all this time, someone finally remembered.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried; ancient and commanding, every syllable vibrating through your ribs. He tilted his head slightly, as if tasting the air, or maybe the fear rolling off you. His mouth curled into something sharp, a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

You couldn’t move. The realization hit you in waves: the sigils, the texts, the whispers about a King buried beyond death. You hadn’t summoned a weapon… you’d resurrected a god. Or something far worse.

Sukuna straightened slowly, shaking the dust from his hands. The markings along his arms glowed faintly, as if remembering the taste of power after centuries of silence. He glanced around the crumbling shrine, nostrils flaring with faint disdain. “This world…” he muttered, voice low, almost thoughtful.

“It’s rotted. Where are the sorcerers? The curses worth killing?”

Then his eyes cut back to you, and the temperature seemed to drop. “You’re the one who brought me back.” He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, predatory. “Why?”

The truth tangled on your tongue: that you hadn’t meant to, that you only wanted to seal the curse threatening your people, that he wasn’t supposed to answer. But when his fingers brushed under your chin, lifting your face to meet his, your thoughts stuttered to silence.

His skin was warm. Too warm. The kind of heat that came from something burning deep within. “You look terrified.” A soft laugh escaped him. “Good. You should be. But…” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You’ve intrigued me.”

You could feel his cursed energy seeping through the air, heavy and intoxicating, pressing against you like gravity itself. The marks on the floor began to pulse again, syncing with the rhythm of his breath.

“Tell me, little summoner,” he murmured, his tone dipping into mockery and something dangerously close to curiosity. “What were you hoping to gain? Power? Salvation?” He leaned in closer, the distance between you almost nonexistent. You could see every line of ink on his skin, every flicker of red in his gaze.

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric. Outside, thunder rolled; the sound almost like laughter echoing from beyond the shrine’s walls. Sukuna stepped back, finally releasing your chin, though the phantom weight of his touch lingered.

“No matter,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You’ve woken me. That means your soul’s mine to bargain with.” The flames guttered out, plunging the room into near-darkness save for the glow of his eyes. He smiled, wide and hungry.

“So then,” he drawled, spreading his arms, the faintest hint of amusement threading his tone, “shall we make a pact?”