Chapter 22

Love's the Death of Peace of Mind

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna was going to fucking skin him—cut his heart out, rip him open and let all his memories spill in a messy pile. Flay him alive; make him experience all the pain he could physically take.

A small cut on the chest that would sting as it opened up, gently caressed by a hand of ice. Pulling, almost scientifically. Rip the flesh off until a gaping hole revealed the rib cage and pulsing blood vessels.

Tear the spine from his body and use it as a garrote to strangle him. Watch with detached interest as the veins turned blue and the eyes rolled back. Body nothing but a meat puppet. Sukuna controlling every muscle and vessel. Every drop of blood drained. Bones crackling like kindling in his grip.

This was the man who had hurt Megumi. This was the man who would know every pain Sukuna held—pain that would rival that of death itself. Only when this man had died a million deaths would he be good enough for Sukuna to even want to look at again.

Megumi's sobs echoed through the door—

And all fight went out of him.

"I'm such a simpleton." Sukuna sighed; eyes glued on the closed front door that Satoru had slammed shut. "King of curses? Fuck—"

He was so whipped that he had grown a consciousness. Satoru was right. What was he doing? What was he doing? What character was he building? Was he a person trying to earn the love of a high school student; or was he a malevolent cursed spirit? Certainly, he could not be both. He had lived long enough to know that.

So what was this pain then, this ache, this itching sensation like someone had shoved him full of pins and kept pressing down? He was confusing instinct for desire—but wasn't bite also touch?

He pushed the bedroom door open, and the hinges squealed like hungry rats. It was dark, but he could see Megumi curled into himself under the covers; must have crawled there despite the pain. His little body was shaking as he gulped in shallow breaths of air.

Sukuna opened the window first, because the room reeked of sex, but also because Megumi would need the additional oxygen very soon.

The bed dented when he sat down.

"I'll fix it," Sukuna whispered. Again, he was repairing something Satoru had broken. At some point, he wouldn't pick up the pieces anymore. "It will only take a minute."

A very painful minute.

Megumi turned to face him, and Sukuna's teeth ached.

He was splotched, eyes swollen, hair sticking to his forehead; trying to mask his pain like Sukuna couldn't see right through it, like it would truly break him if he did, like Sukuna wouldn't love him more for it.

"No, you're exhausted." Megumi's eyes did not meet his. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have—"

"If you defend him one more time, I'll really fucking kill him."

If Sukuna was a better man, Satoru would have been buried in the backyard by now.

But Sukuna was not good; and not a man… and Satoru wasn't one either.

Each one of them knew what they were in for: they had been warned by those before them that they would be nothing more than victims. They had been warned to expect a torment, a brutality that would never let up. And they had been warned that they would not want it to stop.

They had been so wrong; hunger wasn't a simple yearning; it was a battle. It was skin against skin, going down into the soft wet powder and leaving the surface behind. Nails broken; appetite ravenous—so distinctively them.

Sukuna leaned towards Megumi, whose eyes were closed in pain. He pulled the blanket back enough to expose a path of yellow-green bruises, his right hip the worst. Seeing it and the pale, swollen flesh made him clamp his teeth together so as not to give in to the urge to laugh. Instead, he gently lowered his hands to his skin and pressed slightly, trying to discern the extent of the damage.

"You once said you wanted pain," Sukuna said clinically. "When I wanted to heal your hand after you punched the bathroom wall."

Megumi's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

A loud crack echoed through the room, and Megumi's face contorted in a scream of horror. His whole body crumbled, and he rolled away like a baby caterpillar. His leg rested at an odd angle, and he clawed at his face when he wept.

"He also fucking dislocated it." Sukuna's voice was sharp, cold. "Needed to be set first."

He followed Megumi and took hold of his hip again, letting cursed energy fix the trauma, then the fracture. Some of the bruises faded from his skin, but most remained as evidence of Sukuna's rage. He hoped that Satoru would hang himself in the garden after he saw what he had done.

A chilly wind blew from the north, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and rain through the open window. Daisies with stems as thick and strong as legs, tangled with blueberry bushes and milkweed. They had passed through spindly aspens, and Sukuna could almost hear a cacophony of laughter and music coming from a stand of thick pines.

With a shiver of loathing, he felt his body wracked with melancholy like a fever. A cruel memory lingered of Katsurou's broken body in Ryouta's arms on his shrine steps. It was a splinter that would not be driven out; felt like scratching an itch with a razor blade. He could barely breathe, his only thoughts of vengeance.

'A mission gone wrong,' Ryouta had said.

'Do they ever go right?' Sukuna had asked absently, not really expecting an answer.

One of them would arrive in the mouth of Sukuna's shrine every season. They had crawled through miles of thorny scrubland, across a river. Their bodies were pincushions of ropy scars, their hands and feet raw and bloody, their faces black with filth and streaked with blood.

Two mortals begging favours from a demon; willingly at his altar like it was any different from death's doorstep.

With each passing season Sukuna felt a crawling in his belly, little nymphs in his stomach squirming—saying that this was methodical, that they were spitting in the face of self-preservation because he would always be there. Ravenous hunger for more because what human was afraid of death when it slept in their bed, when its mouth did brutal things to their hearts, when it was a risk worth fucking.

The dispassionate rage was familiar. Blood had made a labyrinthine pattern on Katsurou's shirt where someone had tried to take his heart. His ribs were broken, and skin bruised from a dozen wounds—a stab wound that missed everything important by inches, another that tore through the fleshy shell around his heart.

Death did not understand its mistake and took life when it wanted. But Sukuna had bound his very essence to a thousand curses, to a thousand spells, to life and death itself. Death had an unspoken pact with the ancient one after he had shown it defeat. The stakes became higher, a battle no longer with the pale rider, but between gods.

Mortality bowed to him, and he had decided he would not take life when it begged bending before his will. Not then, and not now. Even when he should have learned his lessons in betrayal.

As Megumi's cries stopped, Sukuna pulled his still body close to his chest. Holding him, he realised that his violence had been insincere. There was no redemption in his grip, no salvation in his knife. He was lying to Megumi, lying to himself.

"I'll return in an hour," he said and got up to leave Megumi sitting there in the dark, alone. "Then we'll switch."

Fixing mistake after mistake, Sukuna had nothing left to give. The cursed core inside him had dried out, emotions afloat in clouds so dark, they would bring the whole ocean to the ground. He was sick of this house, sick of rescuing humans. His jaw ached from where Satoru had punched him, but he had chosen to use what he had left on Megumi instead.

There was beauty in ruination, but this wasn't the chaos he craved. He looked at Katsurou and Megumi, how they wasted their lives on righteousness. He looked at Ryouta and Satoru, that smile—not a smirk, not a smidgen of satisfaction—aloof and confident, bathing in the massacre that consumed everything around them.

In his head he heard the calls for destruction, for pain and murder. He wanted to see Katsurou's eyes widen with horror as he watched Megumi cut himself to ribbons, opening his flesh like a flower blooming in the night. He wanted Satoru to be consumed by a desire so strong it destroyed him. He wanted Ryouta to find a box full of empty flesh. He wanted to see their hearts burn with want of agony.

Something deep inside him stirred, yawned open like a black maw with nowhere to go but down—darker, more corrupted, smiling with glee as blood dripped down their arms.

Sukuna took himself down to the lake. Tiny insects buzzed through the air and when the sun struck their wings, it made them sparkle like glass. A frog croaked somewhere in the thicket near shore. Fish darted in and out of the shadows beneath the lily pads like iridescent creatures skittering through the water.

"All yours," Sukuna whispered to the lake like seeing an old friend.

Clothes left strewn on a fallen tree trunk, he succumbed to the waters. His eyes rolled back when he slipped beneath, abandoning himself to the sinking until he stretched a long exhale across the stagnant lake floor. He drowned himself to the point of asphyxiation, and when he emerged from the bottom at last, he floated there for what felt like days—eyes closed, and wishing it was the blood of his victims instead.

He was so distant from tears that he had lost his voice for them. Lost in a wild hysteria and intangible thoughts, he was now only an observer of the world. He held back a groan when he saw the last of the formless mass burn, the sparks lost in the dark wood.

Every scrap of himself, he left at the lake.

Centuries of sun-soaked pine needles and the cedar made the air thick and strong as he slunk up the hillside. The air held a twisting magnetic field and it fluctuated in ripples that passed under him like whale song.

Since the lake, Sukuna had felt the unease of being watched. He could feel the acidity of unsaid words well in his throat, the anxious fidgeting in his soul. Itadori's consciousness was heavy again, making the pins push deeper down.

"I know that you were there this morning." Sukuna let the words hang in the air and continued his trek.

The heavy silence hung between them.

"You promised to warn me," Itadori said, a mouth appearing on the back of his hand.

Sukuna stopped dead in his tracks. Raised the hand to eye level.

"I hardly have the strength to deal with this now. What warning would you need? What? I enter a bedroom and find two men together, and you want me to fucking warn you? I thought we already had this conversation, bloody hell." Sukuna exhaled, a headache setting in. "Itadori, stop looking at me with your holier-than-thou eyes. If you like to watch us fuck, then go ahead. If you don't, begone. I don't need you brooding in our shared head, alright?"

It was enough that he was haunted by the past; enough that his cursed fingers were stirring again, sending him image after image of torture and blood and murder. He trudged onward. A shift of energy penetrated through the woods and his own domain shook against the unleashed monstrosity.

He made a face at the forest and muttered, "I never get a fucking break, do I?"

"I'm worried about Megumi," Itadori said like anyone had asked for his opinion.

In the far-off distance, the cursed explosion fell trees and burned through the underbrush.

"That makes two of us."

"What Gojo-sensei did… I know that you are furious with him. Perhaps you should—you know—stop him?"

"And here I thought I felt you most excited when he did not stop—" Sukuna observed Satoru's domain consume so much cursed energy it made the ground shake. "You know,when he fucked Megumi against the wall like a sack of potatoes." Sukuna laughed, Itadori's mortification the most entertainment he had experienced in a while. "They could feel your mental hard-on all the way to China."

The source of Satoru's energy stabilised, but what he was using per second was enough to incinerate a whole country. A domain then, or they wouldn't have had a ground to stand on anymore.

When Itadori remained silent, Sukuna shrugged and continued. "I guess I was wrong. On stopping Satoru though, are you going to eat all the fingers and give your body over to me, or will you go and stop him on your own?"

The question was light-hearted, sounding like he would roll over the moment Itadori decided on a suitable approach.

The mouth disappeared from his hand.

"Didn't think so."

His bare feet landed on the forest floor and sank into the deep carpet of leaves as the sun started moving down on its axis. It hadn't been difficult finding Satoru; his cursed energy was burning like a massive bonfire on summer solstice. It was visible from miles away, still sending shockwaves of uneasy power through the trees.

"Hope you enjoyed your sulking," Sukuna said, eyes on the perfectly round domain that had incinerated hundreds of meters of trees around it. "We're ready to start."

Sukuna knew that Satoru could hear every word he was saying, could see him sit down on a large rock, one leg over the other, a bored expression on his face.

The domain started cracking like a ball of glass. Iridescent pieces fell, shattering into crystal sand. The disintegration looked ethereal, magical. It would have been if Sukuna didn't know that the cause for such an event was the arrogance of one palpable man.

Satoru looked different when the glittering sand was wiped away by the wind. The collar was gone; he stood straighter. His eyes burned with blue light, predatory even in plain sunlight. Sukuna knew that Satoru saw the same scene before him—four red slits trained on him.

A deadlock.

"You won't tell Megumi that you have your curse back."

A statement; as well as an order.

Satoru cocked his head curiously. "Why is that?"

"It's not just your curse that is back, isn't it?" Sukuna asked, holding his gaze a second longer. "I felt the shift in you. Especially, the rancid smell. You're rotting on the inside, Satoru. I hope you know that."

Satoru's posture turned a little rigid and Sukuna let himself smile with all his shark teeth on display.

"You're not going to kill me? Give me a lecture?" Satoru asked, and Sukuna actually laughed.

"And for a moment I thought you were intelligent." Sukuna stood and walked over. This human body was shorter than Satoru's and it was irritating. "We have a deal that needs to be fulfilled. I do not care what you do on the meanwhile. If you want to be cursed, so be it. Megumi is strong enough now, so once this situation smooths out, you two will make me whole again."

"Yeah." Satoru exhaled and his eyelashes fanned down like feathers.

The emptiness between them was never-ending, a gulf that could never be filled, as if they were infinite beings reaching out to one another. Yet, the threads between them didn't break. Perhaps they were just as attracted to each other as they were repulsed by the knowledge that they would eventually destroy one another.

Satoru gazed at Sukuna's lips, and his boldness filled the space. Infinity shrank between them, no resistance left to stand in the way of their hunger. They had each other and yet it wasn't enough.

Satoru had been consuming from the moment they had met. If Sukuna loved him, it was because he was equal parts destruction and creation, with no beginning and no end, a being whose life was as fleeting as a white-hot blast of cosmic subatomic particles speeding through space at superluminal speed.

The urge to kiss him was stronger than the urge to stab him in the chest.

Sukuna's hand brushed Satoru's hip and felt him swell with excitement—nothing but a blunt, impish instrument under Sukuna's control. Although Satoru wore a mask of easy smiles, Sukuna saw his eyes flash like beacons, revealing his naked soul and obscene lust.

Sukuna was a knife; one of a kind, specially forged to dissect all flesh in the softest of ways. He didn't kiss him; he forced the blade into his mouth like a blatant tongue-probing invader, twisted it around, sending a shock to all of Satoru's limbs. An uncontrollable urge of creation shoved down the throat of destruction, overwhelming them both with its strength.

By now, it had grown obvious that Satoru was an unstoppable engine of annihilation. The forest had been broken by his demonic power and only held together by its counterpart, Sukuna's equally menacing one. It was ruin stretched out in every direction. Nothing but broken trees, bent grass, and two predators, both knowing that they belonged.

It was enough to make soft hands suffocate, to bring tears to eyes. Just enough to make him hard to love.

Satoru thrusted against him, the heat of his body, the slickness of his sweaty skin, the hard lines of muscle beneath his taut shirt. The scent of rose oil mixed with a tang of body sweat filled Sukuna's nostrils. Sukuna was pushed backwards, and he let himself fall, Infinity breaking his collision with the destroyed ground.

Breath to breath, Satoru gave a warm smile as his kneecaps dug into Sukuna's sides, long fingers digging into his scalp.

The world turned white, then red. Beasts like them loved with claws and teeth, the blood all the evidence of just how much. Feral. Sukuna could leave him bleeding in the snow and he would be the most breath-taking thing he had ever witnessed.

"You were right." Sukuna breathed Satoru's air. "I had forgotten what I was."

"Terrible?" Satoru whispered back with a smile, long hair falling across his face, concealing the momentary look of shock at Sukuna's admission. He kissed Sukuna's hair, low laughter filling his throat before he allowed it to escape. "We are terrible, Sukuna."

"You are just like him," Sukuna admitted. "It's driving me insane."

Satoru's fingers tightened against the back of Sukuna's head. "Just tell me you fucking love me."

"No."

"Did you ever tell him?"

Satoru left feathery kisses on the side of Sukuna's face as he patiently waited through the heavy silence.

"Yes."

The rain began to fall, cascading down on them. Satoru's mouth found Sukuna's lips and he spoke, words like cold fire against the sensitive skin. "You can show me—one terrible thing to another."

Sukuna pulled at the hem of Satoru's shirt and worked it off over his head, ignoring the soft intake of breath. Satoru's weight fell away from him, leaving him dizzier than before. His mind tried to focus on the shifting patterns of muscle on Satoru's stomach, the way his lips curled up in a secret smile.

The scent of rain and the memory of blood filled Sukuna's mind. Satoru's fingernails dug into his skin when he grabbed Sukuna's wrists and pushed them into the mud above his head with a gritty crunch. Sukuna writhed against the pain, their skin stuck together with the rain, but he didn't stop kissing him, his teeth scraping against Satoru's bottom lip, tasting blood and anger.

Satoru's moan against his mouth was filthy.

"You just love to have me at your mercy," Sukuna taunted, and Satoru kissed him harder in response.

The pressure shifted and for a moment he was falling.

He felt himself being pushed through the coarse underbrush by Satoru's mouth and hands, with barely a touch of gentleness. Fleetingly, he was able to see through the darkness, but even so he knew that the sight of light and blood and rain mixed in a howling mess together was something that he could never have refused, even if he tried.

When he was able to see again, it was floating stars as far as his four eyes could see. He knew where he was, there was no mistake.

The Unlimited Void.

"You forget, I cannot die," Sukuna said absentmindedly, still consumed by the astronomical spectacle that surrounded him. He hadn't even heard Satoru voice his technique. It must have been a trick; the only reason Satoru would bring him there.

"If you can't take a hint, I'll spell it out for you," Satoru replied, a stupid grin on his boyish face. "As long as there's physical contact between us, the domain has no effect on you. I don't want to kill you." Satoru's lips grazed Sukuna's neck. "All I want is to hear you scream for me," he whispered.

Sukuna struggled to drag his eyes away from the swirling void. The darkness pulled at him like a whirlpool, an invitation for his mind to dissolve into its comforting black waters. Sukuna's expression must have given away how impressed he was, because the look on Satoru's face was pleased beyond compare.

"Get used to it. I like showing off."

"I have no doubt," Sukuna replied drily. In the distance, a star exploded, the blast drumming through his body; soundless. "Is this how you woo all your lovers?"

"Only the ones I find unbearably attractive."

Sukuna's mocking smile faded when Satoru grinned with sinister intent. The contrast of the void made his hair even whiter, his eyes brighter. He pushed himself upright and spread his legs, straddling Sukuna. He placed one hand on Sukuna's chest and ran the other down his naked chest. Sukuna's eyes followed the hand that moved lower until it stopped at his groin.

Satoru snapped his fingers once.

A massive explosion of starlight shook the space around him as each and every star erupted into oblivion. Utter silence, only Satoru's breathing. For a moment, Sukuna could have sworn he was looking into the maw of the universe itself—and perhaps he really was. The stars spread out and danced like kamikaze fireflies, covering the space with swirling colours and violent explosions.

Sukuna stared, truly speechless for once in his life.

In their midst, a single figure with that arrogant look of pure confidence and utter joy of breaking something beautiful into a million pieces. A man Sukuna should have buried. A man who was his undoing and reminded him of everything he had lost. A man as volatile as the chaos surrounding them.

Satoru leaned over, his hair tickling Sukuna's face, and he stopped caring about the masterpiece he had painted on the expanse around them.

"You're terrible," Sukuna said, barely able to talk anymore. "I don't think I've ever been this hard."

Satoru ground down on him. "Yeah?"

"For the love of all that's unholy…"

Satoru giggled as he unbuttoned Sukuna's shirt and pushed it over his shoulders.

"Show me how much you love me," he said, his voice guttural, low, warning. Satoru was drunk with his regained power and there was no balance to his insanity now—no true control. He revelled in the lust that bubbled up inside him, a madness burning in his eyes that wanted to consume and destroy Sukuna.

Sukuna paused for a moment, stunned by the reality of the situation, then felt his own heart quicken with a dark excitement that had been long forgotten when he realised, he could not kill Satoru anymore. He would let him do whatever he wanted.

Sukuna moaned, bucking his hips up. "Shut up and kiss me again or I'll kill you."

Satoru did not kiss him.

"I'm serious, Satoru."

Satoru smiled, a grin that was all teeth, no humour. "I think we're a little past the point of death threats."

Sukuna's lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral smile. "Well, to be fair," he said, the sound of the words like poisoned honey. "I'm more likely to rip your head off, hang it on the shrine wall and fuck your mouth whenever I get lonely."

Misty eyes grew wide, and a soft whimper escaped Satoru's lips. "I think I could come just from you saying that."

Sukuna pulled Satoru close and leaned in, so their foreheads were touching.

"I'm going to spend the rest of eternity doing things to you that will make you scream," Sukuna promised in a deep growl.

Satoru slowly licked Sukuna's lips, his eyes drifting shut, his face pale, lust written on his features like a book. "I might just let you."

"God, you really are going to be the death of me."

"I want to tell you that you're wrong." Satoru's eyes opened, had changed to a dark, smoky purple as he grinned. "But I don't think you are."

Before Sukuna could grab him by his neck and make him kiss him, Satoru leaned down. Elegant in his motions, brutal in his intentions. Their remaining clothes were shed, and Sukuna marvelled at how impressive his body looked when outlined by the cosmic phenomena bursting around them. The silence of the void was deafening, overwhelmed by the sounds of their heavy breathing.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Sukuna confessed, his voice slightly rasping. "You make it hard just to look at you."

Satoru snickered at the compliment before his face turned serious. He followed the tattoos on his face with his fingers.

"One terrible thing to another, I love you to the depths of hell and back," he promised as if it were a prophecy. He grabbed onto Sukuna's shoulders and there was a hint of desperation in his voice. "Now look me in the eyes as I fuck you open."

Satoru's first thrust was rough, fast, and unforgiving. He did not wait for a reaction, but Sukuna didn't mind. Satoru's spit-slick hand found his cock and he groaned at the insipid pressure.

"Please, Satoru." Sukuna made a sound that was low and more than a little pitiful and Satoru almost stopped.

"Fuck. Say that again." Satoru's eyes burned through his soul. He wrapped one hand around Sukuna's jaw, holding him in place. A finger brushed over Sukuna's lips, and he bit down viciously. Blood beaded up on the tip of the digit, but Satoru didn't take his hand away. "Say it again."

Sukuna's nails dug into Satoru's back, and when he spoke, he was fully in control. The eye contact wavered only because of Satoru. "I never let Ryouta fuck me."

Satoru crumbled. He wrapped Sukuna's legs over his chest and fucked down with such abandon that Sukuna became one with the exploding stars. He was not gentle, but he did not have to be. The hand on his cock held a steady pace, and Sukuna barely registered when he came with a scream on his lips.

They lay entwined, not moving, and the world silently faded to black. No longer feeling like a boiling ocean, Satoru's head rested on Sukuna's chest. Outside the calm silence, they heard a soft snap. Another one. Another. The stars flickered once and died.

"Look," Sukuna said.

Shooting stars fell all over the sky in a massive meteor shower. Satoru opened his eyes, focusing on the above.

"Make a wish."

Sukuna closed his eyes and hummed in a tune that sounded like his dead sister's lullaby. She had sung it to him when they had both been young. He wished; wished that they would be forever tied to Megumi, that nothing would break what the three had together.

Only when Satoru had closed his eyes and fallen asleep, did Sukuna voice what he had held back.

"I love you too," Sukuna admitted under his breath. Satoru wouldn't hear it, but the one awake inside of Sukuna would. Laying a claim, making him realise that he could only observe.

Sukuna let Satoru sleep a while longer, studying and printing the inside of his domain into his mind. How it hadn't crumbled when he was unconscious was another evidence of his overwhelming power. When he eventually stirred, they shared a few words on how to serve the absence of the last seal to Megumi.

Twisted trees bowed and knelt for the strongest as they made their way back—one beast following another, and the darkness welcoming them both. They knew what they were, and they knew the rules that governed their existence. From the narrow confines of shadow, they stepped into the pained light of a new day.

Megumi was sitting by the kitchen table when they returned. He had showered and was wearing his school uniform again. Their clothing had been washed days ago, but during their time in the house, Megumi had only worn Satoru's clothes—even if he drowned in his shirts, the pant legs dragging on the floor.

He flinched in his chair when the door shut behind the two, and almost knocked his cup of tea over—no longer steaming, not a sip taken. The door handle was as cold as Satoru's hand when it brushed against Sukuna.

The air was stifling. The honey-coloured oak beams that held up the cathedral ceiling seemed to reach out and trap the heat, leaving the room enclosed. The sound of the refrigerator humming was loud and obnoxious.

If the house had been cosy before, it now felt like a morgue. That same grey air, transparent and weightless, embraced everything. It oozed through the windows, the cracks in the pipes, came from the walls, quietly covering everything.

Satoru didn't make it past the hallway, slumped against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. It was childish, and Sukuna wondered why he had expected anything else from a Gojo.

"Excellent, now that everyone's present," Sukuna announced with fake excitement. The morbid air was giving him a headache, but he was too exhausted to deal with the emotional whirlwind around them. "Would you kindly follow me outside, so we can get started."

Megumi glared at Sukuna with a look that could freeze the sun.

"Okay," he said through clenched teeth. "Let's get this over with."

"After you," Satoru said with a grin he was trying to contain. He opened the door and stepped to the side, so Megumi could pass through.

Megumi stood, his face pale and drawn. When he was at the doorway, he stopped suddenly, clenched his right fist until the knuckles gleamed white. The look he directed at Satoru was so cold it almost hurt to look at.

Satoru had to look away from the gaze that seemed to strip away all his defences—the protective walls of sanity that he had spent his whole life building up. Once he did, Megumi left without saying a word.

"He wants you to apologise," Sukuna said when Megumi was out of hearing range.

Grimly, Satoru turned to Sukuna. "It's not that easy. There are some things an apology can't fix."

Sukuna pushed past him. "You have to start somewhere."

The sky had turned red. Sunset was approaching. Not that it mattered with how time had lost all meaning as of late. But all Sukuna had was time—time to figure out how their changed persons would fit, time to let them heal their wounds.

Behind the wonky picket fence, Sukuna had imagined hanging Satoru's intestines on, stood a small hill. It was covered in purple flowers that only made the colours of the sunset glow brighter. The blood red canopy of an old Japanese Maple stretched over the scene. Its trunk was twisted, roots crawling out of the ground.

"What happened to the seals?" Megumi asked Sukuna.

"I helped him remove the collar."

"His curse?"

"Megumi, dear," Satoru said from behind them, but his voice lacked its saccharin quality. "Trust me, once I have it back, you'll be the first to know."

Sukuna felt his blood pressure rise, but he kept his mouth shut.

He walked up the hill, waiting for the others to join him. Satoru lay back against the trunk of the maple and stared at the clouds. Megumi only scoffed and stood farther away from both, his back turned, looking at the lake below.

The water had an eerie red hue to it as well, like the surface of the blood moon. The light glistened on the ripples, making it look like the lake was made of molten rubies. The temperature had dropped significantly, and the wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves in the tree above them. Satoru brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"Megumi," Sukuna called. "Why don't you sit down. It would be easier like this."

Reluctantly, Megumi sat down, and Sukuna joined him. They had discussed the ritual several times, knew what they had to do for it to succeed. Megumi fidgeted, his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the ground, his right leg bounced up and down and his gaze darted around.

"Breathe," Sukuna whispered. "Please."

Satoru made a throaty noise that Sukuna ignored.

Sukuna looked at Megumi and nodded, and after a moment the other nodded back. Closing his eyes, he began to draw his energy back, doing it as slowly as he physically could, giving Megumi a moment to get comfortable with the change in the air around them.

The slow pace was scraping against Sukuna's insides, and he knew that the screen of normality he had cast over his domain was crumbling. Faintly, he heard Satoru gasp, knowing that now, instead of the house, his shrine stood high and looming. Animal skulls large enough to belong to mammoths piled at the front. The mouth of the shrine open in a silent scream.

It was being torn down, piece by piece Sukuna took it apart. Teeth fell like they had been rotten to the core; the endless mirroring water troubled like something was trying to reach them from its depths.

Megumi's energy entered Sukuna's mind and he felt dizzy. He had gotten too used to him, could sense his darkness everywhere now.

The sinking, the way he was slowly pulled apart and subjugated, felt like something from a long-forgotten past. Something he had methodically blocked out from his mind. Something that hurt him so much he was left considering whether he really possessed no soul.

It felt like he was being cut, pieces of his flesh chopped from him with a rusty knife. A knife Sukuna had gifted him, that he had hidden from the world to not be associated with a monster; now used against him.

His mind spun into chaos when he felt the blade dig into his skin and burrow its way through flesh, sinew, bone and into the deepest reaches of his mind. The first one didn't hurt, not really.

Vision in fractures, for a moment everything stopped, and Sukuna fell forward on his knees panting heavily. He opened his eyes, all four of them, suddenly aware that Megumi was there. His domain had disappeared, swallowed by an endless dark sea. The fingers digging into the ground were intact but felt frozen and hot at once, and a wave of nausea swept over him.

The fact that everything around him was being reflected in Satoru's eyes didn't help.

No, not Satoru—Ryouta.

"I'm so sorry. I hate to—" The words were meaningless when his intent was to seal him for another thousand years.

Pain spiked through Sukuna as his hand was roughly cut into, his body paralysed. Eyes wide open, seeing everything they did to him. Ryouta wore a sad smile, his hand covered in blood that glistened wetly in the dying light.

Katsurou was there, crying in quiet heavy sobs. He was hugging himself with his arms, his head hanging low. Eyes glazed over and the blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and sickly looking. His mouth trembled with the effort to force air into his lungs.

"Katsu," Sukuna mouthed, and wished nothing more than to hold him.

He shook his head; more tears streamed down his face.

Yes, the first cut hadn't hurt, but this did.

Another finger cut off, a phantom sensation lingering like it was still there.

Sukuna let out a dark chuckle and closed his eyes. He couldn't wait to see the look on Ryouta's face when he realised that Sukuna had ruined him for good this time. He couldn't wait to return once more and take his revenge on the sorcerers.

Soon they would be consumed by the fires of hell, just like he had so many years ago.

One more finger. Katsurou's crying and the chomping of flesh all he could hear.

A wail escaped his lips, and he was forced into darkness. He couldn't see, could only feel the warmth of someone's hand on his back as he was held close; could hear the beating of a heart. He clung to whoever was holding him, not wanting to let go for fear of not finding his way back to them anymore.

"I… I can't see."

"It will be all right."

Another gritty hack.

Sukuna felt tears well up in his eyes and he clung tighter, trying to bury his face into the chest.

A crunch: one more finger severed.

"What's happening?" he asked, his voice coming out as a weak cry.

"You're dying," Katsurou said softly. A hand stroking his hair back from his forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"No!" Sukuna cried and tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't obey him. "I can't, I just found you. I was alone for so long—I haven't even shown you the lake."

"Sukuna, please," Katsurou's voice barely loud enough to hear. "You'll see me again. We will be together in the next lifetime and the one after that. I promise."

Paper rustling. He must have only had a few left.

Sukuna felt himself being pulled away then and he fought against it with everything he had, but it was like trying to swim against the tide. Who was he? There were only names in his mind. Everything else brushed away. "Ryouta?"

Faintly a hand grasped his. "Right here. Always here."

With one final push, Sukuna managed to reach out and touch his face with the palm of his right hand, all fingers gone, leaving a wet trail on his warm skin.

"Please don't leave me. I cannot keep living without you."

One more crack of bone breaking. Did he even have any left?

He felt himself being drawn further and further away until a final crack brought complete silence. There was no touch, no warm or cold. Nothing.

He was scared, like a child lost in the night; wanted to cry out for someone to help him, but his voice wouldn't work. He tried to struggle towards the light, but it seemed so far and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get any closer.

Semblances of memories sometimes came to him, never making sense. People he didn't know, didn't remember. Sometimes he felt a surge of emotion overtake him as he thought of all the people who he had lost along the way. Sometimes he thought about death, that it would be better than living another day.

In another life they had promised, like a candle keeping him company in death.

He woke with a gasp, air punched from his lungs.

It cannot be—no! Please. Please, please, please—

He couldn't feel his body, he couldn't see it; but he could hear screaming—his own.

The sensation of sinking, the pain of his flesh being cut, all the while desperately begging. But there was nothing… and those screams of pure anguish would echo until the end of time because he would never be able to wake up. For ten centuries he ran through this nightmare, reliving it over and over until one day he woke up to darkness with no memory of who he was or what had happened and all he could hear were voices—

Breathe, he tried to tell himself.

He didn't know if he had lungs, but he tried, one painful breath after another. Until he heard a voice, distant—

"I've failed."

The words repeated in his head like an endless chant.

"We'll figure this out."

"God, what have I done?"

"Megumi, listen to me, please."

A/N: Thank you for reading! You can also find me in Ao3 under the name ego_death.

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