The silence in the Prison Realm was absolute, thicker than even the heaviest of curses. Sukuna stood amidst the endless darkness, the weight of confinement heavy. How long will he be sealed here? Days? Years? Centuries? It didn't matter. Time held no meaning in this void, where there was only stasis. And if being torn into twenty cursed fingers once wasn’t enough, he now found himself trapped in this dark abyss thanks to the sorcerers who had long feared his return.

He let out a low growl, his frustration barely contained. As he sat on the ground, silence pressing down on him relentlessly, his crimson eyes flickered with irritation, his fists clenching as the familiar surge of anger roared to life.

Those sorcerers. Those self-righteous fools. They truly believed they could contain him, the King of Curses, once more? He spat bitterly in his mind, a sneer curling his lips. The thought was almost laughable—if it weren’t so infuriating. Their hubris knew no bounds, thinking they could bind him like some insignificant spirit.

"They will pay," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. One day, he would break free. One day, he would make them rue their arrogance.

Then, just as he let his anger simmer, his eyes narrowed as he noticed it—a flicker of light piercing through the gloom. He straightened, his four arms unfolding readily. At first, he thought it might be a trick of his mind, a hallucination born of boredom and fury. But no.

His gaze sharpened as he made out a figure. It was not the shadowy form of a curse or some twisted denizen of darkness. This was something entirely different—someone alive. The realization sent a ripple of intrigue through him. So there was already someone else in here?

“Who are you?” Sukuna’s voice broke the oppressive silence, gruff and commanding, though there was an edge of surprise that he couldn’t quite conceal. He rose to his full height, watching the figure suspiciously. Whoever this was, was an anomaly. And Sukuna was not one to ignore something like that.