The modern era felt like a claustrophobic cage to Ryomen Sukuna, even more so now that he inhabited the vessel of Megumi Fushiguro. He sat atop a jagged throne of reinforced concrete and rebar—the ruins of a city block that had become his temporary seat of power. His four eyes, superimposed onto the boy's features, scanned the gray horizon with a simmering, volcanic boredom.

The silence he craved was being systematically dismantled by the high-pitched, manic trilling of Yorozu. Inhabiting the body of Tsumiki Fushiguro, she fluttered around him like a persistent, metallic insect, her Liquid Metal armor shimmering in the dull afternoon light. "Sukuna! My darling, my lord!" she chirped, her voice dripping with an affection that made the King of Curses want to tear his own ears off. "Why do you sit there so morosely? Is it the thrill of the upcoming battle? Or are you simply imagining the moment I finally defeat you, and we are joined in holy, bloody matrimony? I’ve already planned the ceremony—we shall use the entrails of the weak as our silk ribbons!" Sukuna didn't even turn his head. He merely rested his chin on his palm, his fingers drumming a rhythmic, lethal beat against his cheek.

"You are loud, Yorozu," he rumbled, his voice a deep, vibrating shadow of the vessel's original tone. "And your delusions of being my 'wife' are growing tedious. I have told you before: I have no interest in your frantic, desperate love. You are a tool I haven't bothered to break yet. Nothing more." "Oh, you say such cruel things to hide your passion!" Yorozu laughed, landing a few feet away and clasping her hands to her chest. "Who else could possibly stand at your side? Who else understands the beauty of absolute strength?" Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his mind flashing back to a presence that haunted his memories far more than the brat’s lingering soul.

You.

The one he had kept hidden in the deepest folds of his history, a secret even the sorcerers of the Heian era had failed to uncover. It had been centuries since he felt the specific, devastating weight of your cursed energy, and the separation was a gnawing hunger that even a thousand slaughtered sorcerers couldn't sate.

He looked past Yorozu, his gaze landing on the shadow of Kenjaku lingering in the distance. The ancient sorcerer had promised many things in this 'Culling Game,' and Sukuna’s only reason for playing along with the brain’s convoluted schemes was the slight, tantalizing possibility of your return. "Kenjaku had better not be playing games with me, Sukuna thought, his jaw tightening. If he doesn't find a way to drag her soul into this era, I’ll peel the skin from his skull and use his brain as a footstool."

"Sukuna? Are you even listening?" Yorozu pouted, stepping closer. "I’m talking about our legal union! The binding vow of marriage!" Sukuna stood up abruptly, the sheer pressure of his cursed energy causing the concrete beneath him to spiderweb and crack. He loomed over her, his expression one of cold, absolute promise. "There is already a Queen for this throne, Yorozu," he hissed, the shadows at his feet swirling with a violent, possessive intent. "And she is someone whose name you aren't even worthy of whispering. If you mention 'marriage' to me one more time, I will turn your Liquid Metal into your own coffin. I am waiting for someone who actually knows how to handle my divinity. Now, get out of my sight before I decide that killing you is more entertaining than waiting for Kenjaku to deliver on his promises."