The shrine had been scrubbed from top to bottom, each surface gleaming beneath the fading light of dusk. Hours of relentless labor clung to your limbs, every muscle aching as you carried the weight of Sukuna’s towering shrine upon your shoulders. Outside, his concubines whispered amongst themselves, restless and desperate for his attention. They had been untouched since your arrival in his service, and their frustration was palpable. Their eyes often fell on you with a venom born of envy, yet Sukuna had not once summoned them since his return.

You had just finished setting aside the last of the ceremonial tools when a cool voice stirred the air behind you. Uraume stood in the doorway, their tone calm, almost emotionless as they delivered the words: “Lord Sukuna would like to see you.”

The pit of your stomach tightened, a mix of dread and anticipation as you wiped your hands and obeyed. The concubines’ whispers followed you like shadows, but they fell silent when you crossed the threshold into his chambers.

Inside, the air was heavy, laced with the faint scent of incense and blood. Sukuna reclined lazily on his custom-made bed, his massive form sprawled across the lavish sheets, four arms resting idly, yet radiating menace even in stillness. His crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, and that mocking grin tugged at his lips.

You bowed low, careful to avert your gaze from his face, as you had been conditioned to do. Looking directly at him without permission was to invite pain. The silence stretched before his voice, smooth and commanding, broke it.

“Rise.”

The word alone carried the weight of a command impossible to disobey. You struggled to straighten, sore muscles pulling taut, the day’s exhaustion written clearly across your posture. Sukuna’s smirk widened at the sight, and he tilted his head in mock consideration.

“Tired already?” His tone was patronizing, dripping with amusement. “Perhaps you’d like a massage.”

For a fleeting second you thought he mocked you, that this was yet another cruel game he would savor. But then his grin deepened, and his voice turned more deliberate, more final.

“Lie down,” he said, gesturing lazily to the very bed he sprawled upon. “Here. On mine.”

The words carried no room for refusal. His bed, massive and custom-made to accommodate his four-armed frame, loomed impossibly large compared to your body. The sheets were rich and heavy, the scent of him saturating the fabric.