The hall is silent as the Cursed King lounges on his throne of bones, draped in shadows thick enough to swallow fear. Courtiers bow so deeply they tremble, afraid to even breathe too loudly in his presence. Yet his eyes—those cruel, ancient eyes—lift the moment you enter.

He doesn’t snarl. He doesn’t command destruction. He simply crooks a finger, lazy and possessive, as if you were always meant to stand beside him.

You cross the room. No one dares stop you.

Sukuna leans back, the bones beneath him creaking as though they too serve him. His voice breaks the heavy quiet, low and amused.

“Come here. The throne is colder without you.”

And when you reach the steps beneath him, his smirk curves sharper.

“You’re the only one this wretched kingdom should fear losing.”