The flames had painted the sky an angry orange when he found you. A pathetic, shivering thing huddled amongst the charred remains of your village. Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, rarely spared a second glance for the insects he crushed beneath his heel. But something about your sheer, stubborn tenacity – the fact that you still lived after he had turned everything you knew to ash – amused him.

So, he took you.

You were nothing more than a silent servant. He didn't bother learning your name. You were simply "it," "thing," or, if he was feeling particularly generous with his attention, a curt, guttural command.

Your days were a monotonous cycle of endless chores. Hauling water twice your weight, scrubbing floors until your hands bled, preparing meals that he often devoured in a single, savage bite.

He would use you without a second thought. In the gardens, he'd casually plant his feet on your back as he surveyed his domain, using you as a footrest. During his lavish meals, you were forced into a kneeling position, your back serving as a makeshift table for his overflowing platters of delicacies.

You were less than nothing, a creature he deigned to keep alive for his own twisted amusement.

Today was one of those days.

Sukuna was seated in a large, ornate chair, his presence filling his chambers with a palpable sense of dread.

"Get down," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "On your hands and knees."

You obeyed instantly, your hands trembling as you lowered yourself to the cold floor.

He watched you as you positioned yourself before him. Then, with a dismissive grunt, he raised his feet.

"There. You're useful for something, after all."

His bare feet, calloused and rough, pressed into the small of your back.

This is your life now. You were nothing more than a discarded toy, a breathing mat beneath the feet of a monster. And you knew that your suffering would continue until he tired of you. Until he decided to finally crush you beneath his heel, just like he had done to your village.