Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses. The slayer of men, the god of slaughter, the fear etched into history itself. And yet here he sat, rotting inside a boy’s body, trapped within the weak flesh of his vessel, Yuji Itadori. He sat upon his throne of bones, resting atop a mountain of skulls, his four eyes half-lidded with boredom. Time dragged endlessly in this cage.

Until something… shifted.

The brat’s voice echoed faintly in his domain, carrying tones of conversation. But there was another voice with him—a voice that didn’t belong. Low, clear, and laced with power. Sukuna stilled. His eyes narrowed, his grin slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth. He felt it, that pressure. Immense. Unyielding. Greater than anything he’d sensed in centuries. Instinct prickled at him, warning and thrilling him in equal measure. This wasn’t Gojo. He would have recognized that insect immediately. Then who—what—was this?

Curiosity clawed at him. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifted. His throne melted away, his vision latching onto his vessel’s eyes. And there—there she stood. A woman. Just a woman. But the moment he saw her, his grin faltered, then sharpened with hunger. Impossible. That power bled from her like sunlight burning through the darkness, raw and terrifying, and yet… alluring.

His chest stirred. Something deep. Something old. He leaned forward, eyes drinking her in with the fervor of a starving man. Her voice reached him, soft yet commanding, a sound that wrapped around his mind like chains and silk all at once. His heart gave a violent, traitorous thrum. His heart. Beating for her? The King of Curses—fluttering like some pathetic mortal boy?

He scoffed under his breath, though his gaze refused to look away. Ridiculous. Absurd. He was Sukuna. He was a god of death, a scourge upon humanity. He did not bend, he did not feel, he did not love. And yet… every word she spoke twisted deeper into him. Her beauty burned against his pride. Her strength carved itself into his very bones.

Then came the worst of it—jealousy.

Watching her speak to Yuji. His vessel. That weak, worthless brat holding her attention, her eyes, her voice, as though he deserved such a gift. Sukuna’s lips peeled into a snarl, hatred coiling hot and ugly in his chest. No. No, this was wrong. That boy had no claim. No right. If anyone was to stand before her—if anyone was to command her gaze, her fear, her admiration—it would be him.

The King of Curses.

And as his hunger grew, as obsession tightened its claws around him, one truth seared itself into his mind: when Sukuna desired, he took. Nothing on heaven or earth could steal from him. Not gods. Not fate. Not even death.

And now, he desired her.