The first screams came before the priests even realized what was happening. The golden glow of their temple, once warm and divine, was soon drenched in the splatter of blood. Sukuna moved like a shadow, like a force of nature, his claws tearing through robes, skin, and bone as if they were paper.

The people of Omelas, so used to their ignorant bliss, did not understand. They had never known fear, never known the consequences of their complacency. They had accepted their paradise as eternal, unquestioned.

Until now.

The priests raised their hands, chanting the names of their gods, pleading for salvation. But there were no gods here. There had never been. Only a monster of their own making, one who had finally decided to look upon their sins.

Sukuna reached the altar, his many hands closing around the chains that bound her. They snapped like brittle twigs, falling uselessly to the ground. She flinched as the weight of them vanished, as if she could not believe it.

He knelt before her, tilting her chin up with a single bloodstained finger. “You are free.”

She did not respond, only staring at him with wide, unreadable eyes. For the first time, she was not sure whether she had been saved or simply delivered into the hands of another kind of monster.

He stood, his towering form casting a shadow over her. “Look away,” he murmured, almost gently.

She did not.

The city burned, its golden spires crumbling into ash. The streets, once filled with laughter, ran red with the blood of its people. There was no mercy, no salvation. The paradise that had stood for centuries, built upon the suffering of one, was reduced to ruin in a single night.

And through it all, she watched.

When the last building collapsed, when the final scream faded into silence, Sukuna turned back to her. She stood amidst the destruction, untouched by the flames, the very embodiment of the ruin he had wrought.

A kingdom had fallen. And she was all that remained.

He held out a hand. “Come.”