Eventually, Sukuna's time with Vulkan had to end, no matter how refreshingly amusing it had been. The Primarch's presence had been a welcome distraction, but now that Vulkan had discovered the full extent of his Innate Technique, their paths were destined to diverge. Sukuna had other matters to attend to, and their mission in the system was nearly complete. With the Agurasi and the rest of the alien vermin purged from the sector, there was little reason for Sukuna to linger.
Vulkan's development had been impressive, but it was clear there were limits. The Primarch, though mighty, lacked the monstrous ability to instinctively open a Domain. Sukuna had always known such an outcome would have been absurd - Vulkan's power might have been overwhelming, but no one simply learned the intricacies of Domains that quickly. Even so, Vulkan had grown exponentially, and his progress had far surpassed Sukuna's expectations. The sheer potency of his Cursed Energy was undeniable, eclipsing even Horus'. It was remarkable. Horus had always been a formidable source of energy, especially when compared to the Heian Era sorcerers Sukuna once knew.
But Vulkan was something else entirely.
Yet, as mighty as Vulkan had become, there were natural boundaries to his growth. Sukuna knew those boundaries well. Without the divine faith and worship that could push him further, Vulkan's power would eventually plateau. His reserves and output would never reach the level Sukuna now commanded, nor would he ever ascend to the same heights. Still, the combination of Vulkan's innate immortality and his eventual mastery over Reverse Cursed Technique was a terrifying prospect. In battle, he would be nigh-invincible, capable of regenerating endlessly from even the gravest injuries.
In the Heian Era, Vulkan with RCT would easily become the King of Curses.
But this, too, was temporary. Sukuna's thoughts drifted back to his own growth over the centuries. There was always something more, always some boundary to push. And if Vulkan hit his ceiling, that would be the true test of his resolve. Even the Emperor, Sukuna mused, likely still hadn't reached his full potential.
For now, though, Vulkan's influence on his legion had proven beneficial in unexpected ways. Sukuna's Devourers had bonded with Vulkan's Salamanders, sharing in their culture of combat, art, and celebration. This camaraderie had given Sukuna reason to let his legion linger, since there was no point in rushing out just to save maybe a few days. Forging alliances between legions was wise. After all, one of the best ways to strengthen oneself was to compare and exchange ideas with those of differing perspectives. While the Salamanders didn't have much to offer in the way of raw combat prowess, their knowledge in crafting and blacksmithing was invaluable. It seemed this craftsmanship was inherited from Vulkan himself, and Sukuna saw the value in it.
His own Cursed Tool Makers thrived in such an environment. It wasn't just the curses imbued within a tool that determined its strength, but the quality of its craftsmanship. The same principle applied to sorcerers: the balance between body and Cursed Energy was vital. A weak vessel could never fully wield powerful energy, and a frail body would crumble under the weight of a powerful curse. The Salamanders understood this, and that understanding was seeping into his Devourers – at least, the few of them who created Cursed Tools.
The real surprise, however, had been the awakening of Vulkan's legionnaires. Once Vulkan unlocked his own Innate Technique, a cascade effect rippled through his ranks. A few dozen Salamanders, simply through prolonged proximity to their leader, had awakened their own Cursed Energy. It was an extraordinary phenomenon, one that Sukuna had rarely seen in his time. In his era, no one fully understood the mechanics behind the creation of Jujutsu sorcerers. Was it purely random? A matter of bloodlines?
No one knew for certain. Jujutsu sorcerers were often born from human parents, yet just as often, human children were born from sorcerer parents. There were no consistent rules, but one thing was certain: the likelihood of awakening Cursed Energy increased with proximity to powerful sorcerers. It was an enigma, and one Sukuna was all too familiar with. He had always suspected that power was drawn to power, that Cursed Energy responded to the presence of greater forces. This event with the Salamanders only confirmed his suspicions.
Whatever the explanation, it was a fascinating development. The newly awakened legionnaires would soon realize the burden that came with their newfound power. They would have to learn quickly if they hoped to wield their energy effectively, and for that, Sukuna's Devourers were more than willing to teach them.
As he watched Vulkan's forces grow stronger, Sukuna couldn't help but admire the symmetry of it all. His Devourers had grown in strength and skill, and now, by merely being around him, others were ascending as well. He had always believed that power breeds power, and here it was, manifesting before his very eyes.
Still, Vulkan would eventually reach his peak, and then the dynamic would shift. His progress had been extraordinary, but even extraordinary beings had limits. For now, Sukuna was content to observe, to let the growth continue, knowing full well that when the time came, he would stand at the summit alone.
Of course, funeral rites were held for the very few who perished in the battle. Weaklings, Sukuna thought, without any sentimentality. To die in his service, one had to be weak - there was no other explanation. Yet, even those weaklings had earned a modicum of respect. They had not died cowering in fear, nor had they been snuffed out as unremarkable fodder. No, these warriors had been surrounded, outnumbered by hundreds of thousands of the enemy, and still they fought to the bitter end, slashing through their foes until there was nothing left of their own strength. They had died in a blaze of glory, their bodies broken but their spirits unyielding.
Sukuna, though merciless, remembered their names. He always did. It wasn't sentimentality that drove this act - it was respect for those who had embraced death head-on without hesitation. These warriors may have fallen, but they had done so honorably, and that alone set them apart from the cowards he had no use for. Those who died gloriously had earned the right to be remembered, even if only briefly. For that, he granted them the rare honor of a proper funeral.
In Sukuna's world, however, a proper funeral was not what most would expect. There were no mournful dirges, no wailing lamentations. Instead, the bodies of the fallen were offered to their comrades. Not for burial or cremation - but for consumption. Flesh, bones, cursed energy - all would be consumed by the living, ensuring that nothing was wasted. In Sukuna's eyes, this was the highest tribute, the ultimate form of respect. The dead would live on in their comrades, their strength absorbed and carried forward into the next battle.
The act itself, however, was grotesque to many. Some among his legion felt discomfort at the sight of devouring their fallen brothers, and more still were repulsed by the idea of consuming human flesh. But Sukuna cared not for their squeamishness. He had no patience for weak wills. To him, this was the most honorable way to treat a dead sorcerer. The act of consumption wasn't just practical - it was symbolic. It ensured that the fallen's Cursed Energy, their very essence, would continue to be of use. Their power would be carried forward in the bones and blood of the living, a reminder that nothing—especially not strength—should be squandered.
"Eat," Sukuna would command, watching as the closest living friends of the dead hesitated, glancing at one another with apprehension before doing as they were told. They would tear into the flesh of their fallen comrades, swallowing it down with expressions that varied from stoic resolve to barely-contained disgust. But in time, they learned. In time, they understood. Consuming the dead was not an act of cruelty or barbarism. It was an act of reverence, a ritual that ensured that no warrior's strength was ever lost to the void.
"Honor them," Sukuna would remind his warriors, his voice a low growl. They listened to him, anyway, because they believed that he was their father and that they were his children. Foolish. None of them were worthy of being a son of his, none of them near powerful enough to claim that title for themselves. Still, he'd acknowledge them as his own if they ever proved themselves worthy. "Honor them by taking their strength. Waste not their power. Waste not their bodies. This is their legacy."
And as the funeral rites concluded, the legion would rise, stronger, fiercer, and more unified than before. They knew that in battle, they did not fight alone. The dead fought with them, inside them, their power mingling with the living. It was a grim and bloody tradition, but it was theirs. And it was through this act that they'd be worthy of the very name they bestowed upon themselves: the Devourers.
Several decades later...
"Nikaea?" Sukuna raised a brow at the officer who delivered the message. He turned to the Galactic Map and frowned. It wasn't very far away, but taking that particular detour would greatly hinder his campaign to take the Valkir System and the extermination of the aliens that dwelled there. It'd been... quite a long time since his first and last meeting with another Primarch; since his encounter with Vulkan, Sukuna and the Devourers spent decades conquering entire systems, conquering civilizations, and even bringing a few human governments to heel. Malcador's fears were honestly exaggerated; Sukuna wasn't out to kill everything and everyone he met, just because he enjoyed a good battle. The humans who willingly joined were unharmed and those who did not join right away were shown exactly what sort of benefits they'd get for joining, benefits such as not having to deal with the Devourers cracking their worlds apart or better healthcare and access to a galaxy-wide empire.
In truth, he'd not destroyed or waged war against a single human civilization, which was ironic, given the track record of his apparent siblings and how most of them viewed him, though Horus and Vulkan vouched for him. And, speaking of Horus, his fellow Primarch had been given the title of Warmaster a few years ago, something Sukuna didn't really care about, except for the fact that, amusingly, despite having overall command over the legions, Horus was explicitly told that he had no authority over Sukuna and the Devourers by the Emperor himself.
The size of his legion grew as well, going from a measly 5000 to a staggering 5500, because only very few were remotely qualified to join. That said, Shibuya flourished in his absence. The population boomed. And the administrative power shifted, divided among the High Priesthood and the growing Jujutsu Clans, whose power was mostly present in the Jujutsu Academies across the breadth of the planet. But, again, Sukuna didn't care too much about the little details. He'd pop in every now and then to remind the people why he was their god, strengthening their faith and their worship, and the Cursed Energies he'd passively receive from them.
"The Emperor has personally commanded me to abandon this campaign to attend a council on Nikaea with the other Primarchs?" Sukuna repeated, brow raised. What the council was going to be about, the Emperor did not explain – only saying that it was of the utmost importance. The officer nodded. And so the King of Curses sighed and shrugged. "Okay. I'm not arguing with the big man."
He then turned to Captain Loktar, who hadn't really aged much through the years, save for a few additional lines on his face. Mortal technology was honestly amazing. "We're abandoning this campaign and going to Nikaea, apparently."
Captain Loktar Shahid nodded. "Understood, Prince Sukuna. The fleet has been informed. We'll change course immediately, though it'll be some time before then as we're in warp transit."
AN: Chapter 40 is out on (Pat)reon!