Chapter Text
Currently, I’ve been amusing myself with the petty territorial squabbles along my borders—enough to warrant frequent excursions.
I could afford to be absent from your site for no more than three days at a time, sustaining myself with a steady flow of Reverse Cursed Technique, But doing it constantly was annoying and exhausting—even for me. Perhaps next time I'll have to bring you along … since I recall what you said last time—about them rarely letting you roam around the place, let alone let you see the outside. You’d come quietly and excited —we both know it.
Now I have to take you out for a walk…
It's like having a pet.
Well I suppose I never really thought about it... but the reason I kept you around at that time (or tolerated you enough) was your silence. Sure, you were a pain in the ass sometimes, but you always knew how to give me space, and never pushed me, to be ‘ normal ’
No need for expectations, nor requests.
In addition to the obvious: The fact that you gave me food, clothing and, in the long run, a roof over my head.
So…
Taking that into account I consider taking you out with me also I know you wouldn’t be a nuisance to be around.
Thus, I must admit this, I ended up developing a taste for strolls because of you . Something I would never ever be going to confess, because otherwise... I'd never hear the end of it on your part.
So I made a habit of patrolling during these intervals, in silence and solitude.
For days at a time, moving through the borderlands like a shadow. No entourage. No announcements.
And I was pleased with what I saw, surrounding territories simmered—alliances fracturing, petty lords posturing, their squabbles ripe for exploitation. The perfect time to consider expansion.
Because.
Well
Why the hell not?
What’s the point of being a king if you don’t remind the world of your power now and then?
and of course I was bored.
As an added delight, I learned Heian-kyō’s clans had convened an “assembly” to devise a strategy against the so-called “Calamity”
Me
But in their glorious stupidity, they opted for what they called “a biological weapon” —which promptly backfired on them, spreading across the capital until containment measures forced them to scrap the plan entirely.
I couldn’t help it! I laughed my ass off at the poetic justice of their own scheme backfired in their stupid ass faces.
By the time I returned to the estate, my mood was impeccably good.
Then you ruined it.
“My lordship.” Uraume greeted me at the entrance, his voice was somewhat strained but I didn't pay attention to it.
“Uraume. You’ll love to hear this—it’s so pathetic it circles back to impressive.” I tossed the pheasants and boar I’d caught onto the entryway floor, already striding toward my baths. “But I'm starving, I need to wash out first.”I walked quietly into the mansion, passing by them, not paying much attention to anything in particular other than cleaning myself and the feeling of heat and humidity of the place “You.” A servant girl scrubbed the floor near my chambers. She flinched at my voice, eyes locked on the ground. “Fill the baths, now.” I ordered, she nodded, scrambling away.
Then, because it was already afternoon I considered checking on my very own inconvenience— which truth be told I had grown accustomed to. Besides, for some days now I haven't seen the face of the person who had me in this dilemma.
I knew you were here since there was an absence of that stinging pain. Besides, you have nowhere else to go, nor any reason to leave me, but I liked seeing what you were up to. Sometimes it was quite entertaining.
“My lord." Uraume's voice was frayed at the edges, with a palpable seriousness "We should address something first. It’s about—"
The words died as I stepped forward.
Nearly stumbling with: a plate of congealed broth, a cup drained to its dregs. A meal, the had been putrefied—meat sloughing off bone, rice bloated with mold.
I slid the door open.
And there you were.
Lying flat.
Like a fucking dog.
The room reeked with a stifling, oppressive heat clinging to the disordered space. Empty, yet marked by your presence in the small areas you occupied, The rest lay untouched, shrouded in a layer of dust.
Your desk bore and scattered papers with ink stains blooming like black bruises across the wood. I ran my hand over the rough surface and the ink was still fresh.
I plucked a stray page from that chaos
I picked up one of the written excerpts and read, and by doing so I kept reaching for more to read.
Taking another and another sheet of the scribbles you made.
You'd been writing letters to your friends.
How quaint.
And utterly human.
Your words blurred before me—frantic scribbles about me, the weather, about meals, about trivialities that meant nothing and everything. Each line was a disguised confession: you wanted to convey a life of tranquility and affection.
A life clearly I couldn't offer you.
The page crumpled in my fist.
"My lord..." Uraume spoke softly, in a whisper, fingers brushing lightly against your neck—likely checking for a pulse.
“the fuck is this." I slowly turned to look at them, my gaze fixed on the both of them and the unfinished letter, though I also kept my voice low, almost growing.
" This ... is precisely what I wished to address."
Apparently, you hadn't left your room. Just by chance, Uraume had realized the truth today—when they’d passed through this section of the mansion, they'd noticed a dish they prepared exactly four days ago - barely touched.
When questioning the servants, they claimed not to have seen you for days but thought little of it. Asked why the food remained uneaten and untouched, they simply said they didn't know - it wasn't their assigned task.
Not their cleaning area.
Or Whatever shit of an excuse they could muster.
When pressed about your whereabouts, their reply came haltingly
That you hadn't been seen wandering the grounds for quite some time, no footsteps in the gardens. No sightings near the archives. Just this—a door left shut, and a life left unchecked. Uraume chose not to enter, instead They got ready to head to come to find me wherever I might be - because they thought you might have died.
Gods.
That bothered me, but what you said in the letters infuriated me.
You wrote that you were doing well!
That you were happy . That everything was fine.
I didn't know "doing well" meant teetering on the edge of death by fucking starvation.
Under my roof.
STARVING TO DEATH UNDER MY WATCH.
I was beyond livid - more like absolutely furious that these insignificant fleas who leeches from my flesh and blood dared to interfere with my affairs.
But your face.
The animosity toward everything.
That apathy and dullness in your eyes.
the fact that you'd pull away—that you'd avoid me. Me, of all people
It pushed me over the edge.
You might as well have been dead already.
I never thought I'd say this to anyone, but...
I pitied you.
And the wretched creature you'd become.
You disgust me.
Is this how I looked before?
Before all of this?
Like that?
I was acutely aware that you were a better person than most and that your heart outshone others' in kindness, even at such a young age, the way that your dreamy eyes looked at me with nothing more than tenderness at my feeble state—Meanwhile I couldn’t feel anything more but disgust and revulsion, looking at you.
My mind was in turmoil.
Seeing those pretty eyes now sunken, that once energetic and determined girl was now in contrast with a frail figure like a branch in winter, your tear-streaked face irritated and eyes swollen— I wanted nothing more than to kill you at that moment.
In fact, it would do us both a favor—drag you out of your misery and for me to get rid of this nuisance.
To kill you so I wouldn’t have to see you like this.
To kill you to free myself from you.
But I couldn’t do it.
And I couldn’t blame anyone but myself for it.
And I was a fool, because the servants were doing the a favor as well
They were doing what I couldn’t—what I wanted to do!
But no.
They only fueled my rage even more.
Because they had no right.
Any of them.
And i wouldn’t allow it.
Because this, pathetic as it may be, it was my prey.
MINE.
MY PROBLEM.
So who did they think they were?
I didn’t hesitate.
The moment I left you in the bathhouse, I seized the first servant within reach—a trembling wretch who barely had time to gasp before I fisted their hair and hauled them up to my eye level. Their sandals kicked uselessly at the air as I leaned in close enough to smell their fear.
"Listen well," I hissed, my breath hot against their paling face. "Gather every last worm in this mansion at the Gates. If a single soul is missing when I arrive..."
I let the implication hang, watching their throat bob as they swallowed hard.
"Consider yourselves dead."
With that, I flung them aside. They scrambled away like a beaten dog, their sobs echoing down the hallway as they ran to deliver my message. It didn’t take long before murmurs began to ripple through the halls, trembling through every room. They crawled out from every corner like the damned plague-ridden cockroaches they were.
I couldn’t control myself.
How could I, after seeing that?
You—collapsed on a disgusting and dirty looking futon in a room that stank of hospice decay.
Like a dying animal.
Lately, I've noticed subtle shifts in your behavior…
Withdrawn, near mute, lethargic, drifting through solitary routines.
It unsettled me.
I remembered you as effervescent and dynamic . Now, you barely spoke. You avoided everyone like the plague
The presence I remembered back then was warm… like sunlight opening its way in spring, melting all the remaining snow and cold of winter.The way you used to fill rooms with your presence, your laughter sharp enough to cut through the thickest tension or my aversion to everything alive that was close to me. Now, you barely spoke above a whisper. Your gaze slid past servants like they were furniture and theirs skipped over you in turn, as if you'd already faded from this world.
Like a ghost.
And for a moment, I almost convinced myself this was somewhat normal. That time and the experience had simply tempered your fire into something quieter, more refined.
But i was wrong.
This wasn't maturity.
This was erosion.
I was right, you were slipping through my fingers, before my eyes.
Humans are innately social beings. It’s hardwired into their primitive monkey brains: Survival, pure and simple. By now, you should’ve bonded with someone—a maid, anyone beyond Uraume and me.
That’s in their nature.
Isolated humans only stem from two roots:
They can’t simply coexist together, for being too different for them: physically, socially, psychologically. and those small differences push them to be rejected and exiled from their communities.
the individual chooses exile—voluntary separation from the herd and I would prefer a life of solitude, as long as they had enough elements to survive on his own, or had completely lost his sanity.
And the second seems to be the case here.
Why do you shun your own kind?
A question I’ve yet yearn to ask.
While your conduct seemed peculiar to me, it wasn't deviant and though I noticed!
I certainly wasn't so lacking in occupation that I'd scrutinize your every gesture - that's ridiculous…
The thought barely had time to settle before I found myself at the gates, the courtyard teeming with bodies—a writhing mass of servants pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, while their postures bent like reeds before a storm.
I could almost taste their fear in the air.
Young maids clutched at their sleeves until the fabric tore. Sturdy laborers swayed on their feet like drunkards. Not one pair of eyes rose higher than my waist.
"You know why you're here?..."
My voice rolled across the wooden doors, shaking the lanterns in their brackets. The silence that followed was so absolute I could hear the drip of sweat hitting the cobblestones and the creaking.
"I believe. I made myself quite clear." I took one deliberate step forward. A collective flinch rippled through the crowd. "Yet here you stand—waiting for me to repeat myself."
The nearest servant approached, it was a wiry man with a scar across his brow—finally cracked. "M-my lord, we—"
I didn't let him finish.
"Four days," I said, circling him like a wolf or more of a wild dog seeing his potential hunt. "Four days, and not one of you maggots, thought to check if she was breathing?"
The scarred man’s knees hit the cobblestones with a crack that made the crowd recoil. A woman near the back stifled a sob into her sleeve.
"Let’s play a game." I unsheathed a single claw, tracing it down the trembling man’s cheek. "Every lie you tell I will cost a finger. Every excuse—a hand. And if I hear ‘it wasn’t my duty’ one more time..." The claw paused over his eyeball. “I think creativity should be rewarded, don’t you think?!”
Silence.
“You won't say anything then?... Too bad. Silence also has its cost.”
Then—
"WE DIDN’T KNOW!" A teenage servant girl burst forward among the crowd, tears carving clean streaks through the dirt on her face. "She—she never answered when we knocked! We thought she wanted to be left alone! We—"
I laughed. The young ones are always the ones with the most guts.
"Oh? Then why," I purred, approaching her "did the trays stop coming?"
The girl’s mouth opened trying to say something, Scanning the faces of her peers, searching for even a shred of support—but they averted their eyes, I stood inside it and I flinched my fingers.
That bitch screamed so high that my ears began to hurt — it was a raw, gut wrenching animalistic sound, and I hadn't even done anything to her—yet.
The men hand tinked against the cobblestones.
"Let’s try again, shall we?" I murmured, catching her by the face as she crumpled. Digging my nails deep into her jaw—oh, I think I pierced her cheeks! Ups. How... careless of me"Why Did.The.Trays.Stop.Coming?"
I hummed as the blood patterned between our feet like summer rain.
Thick and foggy.
The scarred man lunged. "MONSTER—! SHE'S JUST A GIRL! LE—"
His head hit the ground before finishing the sentence. All that remained was a wet gurgle—then their body crumpled to the side, drenching another servant in blood
"Wrong answer." I stepped over his writhing body, the crowd parting like rotten silk. "But I admire the spirit."
I turned and looked down at her.
“Now—what were you saying?”
Her eyes dropped in defeat.
“Nothing to say, huh?”
Disappointing…
I flicked two fingers in the air and with that she was split in two, by the torso.
She didn't answer what I asked for.
She whimpered and began to move.
A shuffle.
Then— nothing.
I looked out at the crowd, searching for another victim.
"W-we were scared!" A butcher I recognized from the kitchens fell to his knees, forehead pressed to stone. "She wouldn't answer." The servant's voice cracked "Wouldn't even... look at us . It was creepy… Lately the maids have spread rumors with each other. Saying…that the lady had gone completely mad, even saying that on occasions it was like speaking to a statue—just those empty eyes fixed on nothing at other times, she would talk to herself or start crying out of nowhere. "
The scent of urine bloomed as his knees trembled against the blood-slicked stones.
"And then...out of nowhere, she stopped eating. Entire trays left untouched. We thought—" A desperate glance at the mutilated bodies around him."—if we stopped bringing her food, it would stop getting wasted…. and with luck, it’d get her to leave the room! but that was not the case… besides your lordship might not really care if she was…”
Dying?
The word hung unspoken, thick as the iron stench rising around us.
I crouched, tilting the butcher chin up with my bloodied claw, looming my gaze on him -ready for the strike- before he suddenly, he looked away from me, point at two servants and scream:
“THEY ATE IT! Saying it will be a waste, if the lady didn't eat it. They will, also saying that our lord wouldn't care ”
With my second pair of eyes, I fixed my gaze on them—pathetic creatures, trembling, baring their teeth, faces drained of color.
But they also shout back: “LIES! He is jealous of you, my king. He just wants to be between the lady's legs!”
Wow, that's a surprise!
But I think he is not the only one…
I bet her tights would be soft, even so tender and fleshy...I would like to bite off one of them until they bled.
and lick them.
slowly.
Dragging into …
I think my mind is trailed off…
“That's why he keeps pushing us to isolate the mistress! giving us more food than usual to extort us”
The butcher was not far behind and replied, "You lying cunt! You even said that she scared you and terrified the shit out of you! That she had lost her mind and that it was obvious that no one wanted to be around her”
The other servant said “My lord, He even bragged about waiting for the right moment, to comfort her and then having his chance with her, He even dared to say that you, my lord, couldn't satisfy her”
I hummed in answer, while looking back at him.
"You're in deep trouble, now." His breath hitch in shallow bursts.
"But I fear," I whispered, "that your greed blinded you… you overestimate yourself”
Blood soaked my feet again, and it seemed like it’d stain the whole yard at this rate.
"Four lines," I mused, examining the split-open body where crimson welled between the grooves. "I’d intended three! How... disappointing."
His whimpers were a wet, gurgling thing—like a teakettle left too long on the flame. Then I cleaved to the other two and I was starting to get bored.
I straightened, flicking blood onto the faces of those nearest me.
"If this is the collective wisdom of my household," I said, voice sweet as honey, "then I suppose you’re all overdue for retirement."
A gasp. A shuffle. Then—
"PLEASE!" A laundry maid tore through the crowd, throwing herself at my feet. "We’ll do better! We’ll—we’ll check hourly! Deliver meals fresh! Burst open if she doesn’t answer! Just—!"
I stepped on her fingers. The snap of bones echoed.
"...persuasive," I allowed. "But that was already your job, wasn’t it?” My gaze swept the courtyard. "So here’s your lesson—carved in flesh, since clearly words escape you…"
I seized on the woman's hand and I put all my weight on it.
Tendons popped.
“No better than damned animals but at least livestock serves a purpose…”
I must give her the credit for holding back the screams of pain!
The courtyard had become a canvas of blood—limbs strewn like broken branches, the cobblestones slick with viscera. The air reeked of iron and voided bowels, the last choked pleas of the dying still echoing off the walls.
The wrath overtook me like a fever.
No curse technique now. Just his bare hands and brutal force, clawing into warm flesh, finger hooking under ribs to pry openlike ripe fruit.
Screams overcome my senses, someone begging, other sobbing, as an arm came free from a shoulder, with a wet pop.
Blood splattered my face, as the killing spree continued to unfold, that blood also smeared at the gates, like careless strokes all around it.
didn't care, I just wanted to see all the red.
Red.
By the time I lifted my gaze the square were a butchery wet dreams, limps here and there, torsos splayed open like flower blossom, viscera hanging as decorations on trees, a man still twitched as he tried to crawl his way out using his elbows, but I felt disgusted, so I crushed his skull with my foot.
A massacre was necessary to improve my mood and I couldn't help but smile at my bloody work.
Then—a voice, cut through, Clear and Steady.
"My Highness." A young servant stepped forward, his forehead pressed to the ground, his sleeves already soaked red from dragging away the dead. "This one humbly suggests a new protocol." His voice didn’t waver. "A servant will knock twice at mealtimes. If there’s no answer, they will call for Uraume-sama immediately. No exceptions. No delays. No excuses."
A beat of silence fills the air.
With an improved mood and a desire to listen, I tilted my head . "Go on."
"And..." He swallowed. "A bell. Hung outside her door. If she rings it, someone attends—no matter the hour."
Perceptive, and shrewd I like that.
He’d pieced it together—not just what they did wrong, but the underlying subject. That this wasn’t just about their duty.
But her .
Or perhaps because I’m feeling better.
"You." I pointed with a bloodied claw. "You’ll oversee this. Fail me, and I’ll peel the skin from your bones slowly, as long as you're still alive, I'll keep doing it and healing you until I get bored of your screams"
"Understood, my lord."
The other servants started, trembling, as I turned away.
The lesson was learned.
"And you all better clean the fucking place up”
Blood on my hands had begun to dry up, between my fingers, so I ripped a strip of fabric from a corpse—one of the cleaner ones, if such a thing existed in this fucking mess—and strode to the pond near her chambers. The water turned pink as I scrubbed, the reflection staring back at me was distorted by ripples
When I returned, the surviving servants had become statues—wide-eyed, cautious, breath held, their gazes locked on the ground as if the cobblestones and blood might be interesting.
"What?" I flicked wet fingers at them, droplets splattering across their faces. "Did you think I’d let you stand there gawking? Clean. Her. Room."
No one answered or moved. They really love making me repeat things.
“Was I not clear? OUT OF MY SIGHT”
They scattered, some tripping over severed limbs in their haste.
I retrace my steps, searching for her room as servants scurry about with buckets of water, frantically removing things and cleaning. Meanwhile, I begin my own search.
I didn't quite know what I was looking for... and I didn't find it.
To be honest, I found nothing at all.
Her room smelled of dust and itched my nose as I tore through the dresser near to the wall, a―and nothing. Just a single spare robe, threadbare at the elbows. No wonder she sometimes prefers to stay naked—she literally has no clothes in here, and the ones she had were dirty, stuck in a corner.
The reality struck me: the place was barren. She'd brought no possessions in here except that cheap looking hairpin and worn-out calligraphy set.
Why would she have a hairpin anyways?since she always has her hair down...
“Maybe these will be of use." I murmured, leaving the place.
I stalked toward the storage chambers, my footsteps echoing through the vacant halls.
Lately, the place had become a graveyard of gifts of those who did not want to have any problems—silks, jewels, weapons—but lately, I was receiving more feminine things and correspondences with vague flowery praising Congratulating me for my "union"
Perhaps they think that by buying this girl I have the intention of marrying her to create an heir.
But that's nonsense. I don't need to get married to have an “heir’, mere procreation is enough.
Well in the end it would be useful ..
I wrenched open the nearest chest, sending away a jade hairpin clattering across the floor.
I was at a loss here, I have no idea what a woman would want to wear or what she might like.
Shiny things
Now that I remember it…
Way back in time, when her parents were still alive.
With all that flushed cheeks and stomping feet, begging and pouting, telling me about how badly she wanted one of those 'magic stones' a merchant claimed to sell…
“When you angle it in sunlight, it casts the prettiest, shiniest colors on the ground! But Papa said it's too expensive and useless in the long run” You’d puffed up like an indignant sparrow, arms crossed over your tiny chest.
I hadn’t looked up from my whittling “Your father's right, It's just worthless junk”
“You're taking his side too?! That's so unfair!” your foot stamped “Girls like pretty, shiny things, you know!”
“So girls like useless things” I responded while still whittling wood into arrows.
“That's not true! I like you!” You’d whirled on me “and you're not useless at all”
“Cut it. Don’t push it, stup―pid.”
“You're always so grumpy!” you told me while hugging my back and made me cut deeper than I planned making the wood splinter. “don't be coy! I like you a lot!”
I ignored her, focusing on the next arrow—until small hands gripped my sleeve.
Too late.
A press of lips against my cheek, fleeting as a butterfly’s touch.
"Even if you were useless, I’d still like you!"
Her voice rang with that infuriating, unshakable certainty only children possess. The kind that carves itself deeps inside you.
My knife stilled.
For half a breath, the world narrowed to the ghost of warmth on my skin and on her…
"Tch." I flicked her forehead, hard enough to make her yelp. "Annoying"
But the wood in my hands stayed uncut long after she’d run off, laughing.
Still, to this date I don't understand you.
nor why you liked shiny things…, But even though they were silly and had no real use, I could give them to you now.
So I ended up grabbing a fistful of whatever gleamed—gold-threaded robes, pearl combs, Oh—a weapon. That could be useful, a dagger, to be more precise with a hilt shaped like a snake.
What the hell am I doing?
Then i paused on my tracks.
Clothes. Remember, you came for clothes.
And something hit me like a slap in the face
Idiot.
she’d need something to wear right now! After being dropped on the bathhouse. (and thrown into the water in the process)
She had nothing else to change to. So I snatched the nearest ensemble. There were several fabrics to choose from, but one caught my eye, a reddish-dyed silk, sturdy but soft—I like this. I wanted to see her in this…
Then and hauled the lot back her room and I ended up throwing it to the side of the room.
Not gonna lie I just ended up grabbing a bunch of things that might please her.
Then I snatched the red garment from the pile—and flung it at some trembling servant girl. "Give this to Uraume. Now."
As she scurried away, I surveyed the room. Despite the loot I'd hauled in, it still felt hollow.
I pointed to a freckled and thin maid pressed against the wall. "You. You’re a woman. What’s missing here?"
Her breath hitched. "M-my lord, perhaps... a dressing screen?"* She pointed at her dresser "I think… our lady likes privacy..."
Privacy .
The word rumbled in my mind.
Yeah
I believe they sent an ornamental screen too.
“And” I pressed.
“A mirror?" she ventured. "She... sometimes studies her reflection in the nearby pond.”
Mirrors are shiny!
I knew it
so you might like it as well…
*
It took a while until you entered the room and began to inspect everything within it.
The moment you stood before me—those hollow, sunken eyes of yours were staring through me like I was just another decoration in your room—something that just aggravates my annoyance.
You looked better. Cleaner, more put together and calm…
Oh, but how could I forget?
The way the crimson silk licks at your skin—my choice and favorite color—sends something primal humming through my veins. It’s not just that it suits you.
It’s that it claims you.
The pallor of your throat against the fabric, the way your fingers clutch at the sleeves and you start playing with your fingers like you’re afraid…
It's pathetically endearing
And Mine, mine alone.
A dark chuckle rumbles in my chest.
Now I'm just rambling.
But still, I noticed that underlying emptiness of yours.
and I decided right here:
I'll drag it out of you.
I'll carve through your numbness with my claws and teeth until I hit something that you cannot hide from me, something real. Even if I have to crack your ribs open and see that pretty heart of yours pumping in pain, tear it from your chest and watch it thrash on my palm.
I'll gladly do it.
Whatever it takes.
I want your teeth at my throat, your nails raking my skin. I want you to fight me, to bite me down hard on my wrist and swallow my blood.
GIVE ME SOMETHING.
Show me you're still alive in there.
Even if the remnants of your sanity snaps, I want to see it, to taste it, to lick the tears that will gild on your cheeks and savor it like a feast.
Break. Burn. Snap I don’t care—just do something!
Anything
a reaction.
I want your rage.
Yes…
I won't hesitate to rip, twist, tear that something that will ignite your fury from the very depths of your soul in the most grotesquely painful way possible. I'll dig through the wound and twist until I wrench a reaction from you.
No matter what method I use.
Intimidation. imposition. Manipulation. You name it.
But I'll get what I want. I always do, and you won't be the exception.
Because I refuse to accept you as a lost cause.
If I have to deal with you, you'll at least make it enjoyable and entertaining for me.
And I'll pressure you.
Until you break from the strain.
Or explode in rage from it.
But this antipathy?
Is. Not. An. Option.
If the price is your tears,
Then you'll cry tears of blood.
If I have to put you through hell to unleash your potential, then I'll gladly be your personal tormentor and executioner.
Hate me. Despise me. Reach your breaking point and beg me to let us part ways.
And if that doesn't work?
Then you'll have no choice but to exist within my whims and desires.
Being utterly and indefinitely mine.
And that something did not allow me to take eyes, hands, mind, out of you.
After that conversation , if it could be called that.
Sukuna crossed his room in three strides and slumped onto the engawa*, his broad back lay down against a wooden pillar for support. The evening air should have been cool by now, but it sat thick in his lungs ―cloying, unsatisfying, staring blankly at nothing in particular, realizing that he felt tense. Though objectively, his day hadn't been particularly strenuous.
But mentally? That was an entirely different matter.
He felt...
Strange.
Confused.
Why did everything that had happened today irritate him so much?
It is contradictory,
It shouldn't be a big deal.
Not really.
Not enough to cause such an uproar, not enough to pull him from his comfort and turn the household upside down.
Why was he doing this?
Sukuna began tapping his fingers against the wooden floor, meditating, thinking.
Counting…
Why was he doing this for her?
It brough no gratification, no pleasure, nothing he could point a finger on.
He gained absolutely nothing from playing the hero.
Because that's exactly what he was doing.
Saving her.
Again and again and again.
and he wouldn't be that
Not a protector. Never been one.
Not of her. Not anyone.
He devours.
He consumes.
He takes what he wants, and discards what does not appeal to him.
So if he knew exactly what he was…
Exactly what he wanted…
Then why?
Why play the role of a savior?
Why put up with this?
Why did this situation bother him so much?
Why did seeing you like that , and letting yourself be trampled by everyone around set his nerves on edge?
He was certain that if he saw in someone else what he saw in you, he'd mock the fuck out of their uselessness and weakness mercilessly.
Why couldn't he do the same with you?
Did he see potential in you?
No.
That wasn't all of this
It was something deeper.
And he kept thinking this…
Over and over again
Reliving the moment of that inner urge grow for the deeper side of his insatiable interior
An urge.
that weighed on him.
heavily.
He really wants that.
No.
He demanded it.
A sign. Anything.
A proof.
That you're not just an empty shell, in human form…
The urge to see that fiery passion that's deep down is inside you.
Something.
Anything….
And just there. Just now, he realized something.
He couldn’t turn a blind eye, not anymore.
He’d laid eyes on something
And by doing so, he’d claimed it as his.
His to prey upon.
His to consume.
His to satisfy by.
His to kill.
his.
“Do you know the only difference between you and the men who used me before?" Your voice had rumbled in his head, as he closed his eyes "You paid upfront for the privilege to humiliate me."
Humiliate you?
Not really—you did that just fine by yourself, with your sniveling, weakness, your pathetic attempts to claw back some semblance of control.
The memory of your words coiled in his gut, he recognized you'd said it solely to provoke him (just as the same way he provoked you on purpose) your intention was as clear as day: you’d aimed for his pride, the worst part was... it worked . You'd crawled under his skin and struck his ego.
And oh, how bad he’d itched to correct you.
To pin you against the nearest wall and squeeze until your throat yielded under his fingers, until those defiant tears spilled over.To watch your nails rake his arms in futile struggle, leaving trails he’d wear like trophies.
You will take it back.
You will choke on every syllable.
But then you’d slipped through his fingers.
And that— that —had been…
Amusing
The way the hem of your robes had fluttered like a wounded bird’s wing. The way your breath had hitched just before you vanished around the corner. Claiming this was over.
Pathetically pretty in his eyes.
He’d let you go. Not out of mercy, but because the hunt was half the pleasure for your misdemeanour
And now—
A whisper of knuckles against wood.
Right on time.
His lips curled as he watched the last sliver of sun bleed from the sky.
You’d come to him just as time almost ran out.
And just now, I have the delight of having a brat to tame.