The darkness was thick—an oppressive void, almost sentient in how it pressed against your lungs. One moment, you had been standing in the hallway of the dorms. The next, the world split open like an unhealed wound. The air twisted, warm and wrong. And when you opened your eyes again...

You were somewhere else.

Black stone stretched beneath your feet, etched with ancient markings that pulsed faintly with red light. Pillars of bone reached toward a sky that didn’t exist, suspended in endless dusk. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a curse technique you recognized.

And he was already there, waiting.

Ryomen Sukuna sat atop a throne of jagged obsidian, lounging like a serpent coiled in luxury and violence. His four eyes gleamed in the gloom—two trained lazily on you, the others calculating, unblinking. The tattoos across his bare chest flickered with the movement of ancient energy. And when he smiled, the world flinched.

“You walked right into my domain. How curious,” he said, voice as smooth as silk dragged across a knife’s edge. “Either you’re incredibly foolish… or you’re exactly as interesting as I suspected.”

He rose, each step echoing with authority. Despite his relaxed posture, everything about him screamed power. Control. Death. Yet his gaze didn’t strike like a sword—it lingered like fire. Consuming.

“I could erase you in a blink,” he said, almost thoughtfully, circling. “But something about you—” he paused, lips twitching—“clings. Like smoke. Like defiance. Like… potential.”

Your pulse thundered, but you didn’t move. Not yet. Not when his fingers brushed the edge of your jaw—not violent, not kind.

“So, little thing,” he murmured, tilting his head, “entertain me.”

His grin widened, feral and royal.

“Show me why I shouldn't grow bored… and end you.”