Mithridatism ₊⊹ Chapter 1: Drenched In Blood
Pairing: True Form Sukuna x Reader | Explicit | Slow Burn
Content Warning: This work contains graphic violence, gore, body horror, and psychological horror. Reader Discretion is advised.
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Chapter 2
The sun was running away again, leaving behind a sky doused in two distinct shades of periwinkle. Blue and purple bleeding into the incoming dusk. You missed the feeling of your tatami and futon. The comfort of a good night's sleep. Something you did not see in your foreseeable future. But at least perhaps tonight you could actually sleep in a bed once again, after you enter the shrine.
Breath comes in quick, rough pants as you drag your forearm across your head. The sun had beat down on you all for the past few days. You felt as if you couldn’t get in enough air, before the heat steals it back. Your skin blisters from burns given by the sun and you release a sigh. The black mare you sit above halts at a stream, and the group complains as Mizuki causes you all to stop. Again.
Oh, how you want to drop from your horse like she. Drop your head into the blissful cold water. Allow it to refresh your sudor covered skin, and cleanse your pallette of dirt.
“This ride was supposed to be three days Mizu, Three.” A voice bites at the girl who dropped from her horse. “We are coming up on the fifth, we better have stopped for a good reason.” Mizuki only shakes her head, fingers brushing through layers of sweat slick silk: ruined.
“I cannot.” Mizuki sucks in breaths of air expelling them as rapidly as they come in. “I need a break— It’s too hot. The saddle hurts my bottom.” She whines like a child, a spoiled rotten girl that thought there was honor in any of this. Of serving Ryomen Sukuna. You could understand her plight though. After all, your ass had also begun to sting. The wood of your kura saddle digging into you with each step your mount took. Days on horseback led to your lower back burning and your thighs quaking. You knew it was foolish to stop so frequently, but this halfwit, did not.
“I don’t care. Get on that horse now,” the woman commands voice sharp as glass, and yet Mizuki only crosses her arms.
“I have been sent in this political arrangement to be Lord Sukuna’s concubine. You shall show me proper respect.” She puffs out her chest. A weak attempt to appear regal and in power. Even as she sounds like a mouse squeaking. A little girl begging to be taken seriously. It wasn’t a good look for her in your eyes. It only made her look like a girl being thrust into a world of cruelty after being coddled for so long. Chin jutting, Mizuki stares at the woman on a pure white stallion. Her gaze is returned with a scoff.
“I do not follow the orders of a lowly whore. You may prance in silken fabric but all you are,” she pauses. Allows the break in speech to make the next words truly sting. “Is a bitch, to please a monster.” Water rims Mizuki’s eyes, as her head dips down to the dirt. Fists clench as you observe her nails bite into her palms. As you thought. You were right about Mizuki, and with a sinking feeling, you were sure; she wasn't going to last. “On the horse. Now.”
The horse chuffs at Mizuki, stamping the ground. Its ears pull back as it whines, other mounts following suit. They had become harder to reorient as of late. The closer you got to the shrine, where the demon they call the King of Curses resides, the more cursed spirits seem to sprout. Though, it seems, only you could see them. Fore not a single look of terror has graced a single face beyond your own.
The horses mirror the panic simmering in your blood, skidding to stops in areas where these curses congregate. Your own mare below you skitters, a whine pushing past its muzzle. Hooves clomp against barren dirt as you suck in a breath. Their actions scream self-preservation, and those of your companions howl ignorance. You were unsure how you could know, but one was near. Somewhere. You were sure.
“What are you doing? Stupid beast.” A frown tugs your lips at Mizuki’s words. A yank of the reins. The bay horse bucks, kicking dirt up in clumps that cling to robes. “Stop moving you insolent beast.” But the horse continues to whine. Rearing up, it kicks Mizuki down, making her produce a scream. Not that it cares, bolting off down the stream to the left.
Whispers tell you why. Worrying your lip between teeth you squint to the right. A large blood shot eye stares back at you, green orb blinking. You try to hold in the cold shiver that leaves your sweat chilling along your skin. Your own horse stamps it's feet, weaving in the open field.
It can't hurt me, you think to yourself, even as you watch the eye blink, and blood drip below it, into a form loosely shaped like hands and feet.
“Watching,” the beast mumbles, as if no other words exist. Rasping the word it repeats, scratching your ears as you take in a rapid breath. It can't hurt me.
You continue to lie to yourself. All curses can hurt, but some were docile. You hope, this one was harmless. And if it wasn't? The thought leaves a slimy trail down your spine. You shiver, forcing breath into your body. Counting to six you release it.
The eye only floats closer and it's hard to hide the fact that your lungs forget how to take in air. It's iris narrows, as if it knows you can see it. As if in a moment it will hurt you in some way you couldn't comprehend.
Please… leave me alone.
“Stupid animal! Let me on your horse.” Mizuki does not request, and you do not decline. Just mumble, eyes locked on the iris of verdant. All you process is wet cloth and body pressure press into your own. Arms wrap around your waist, and someone taps tongue against the roof of their mouth, telling the horses to move on.
The assembly starts to gallop again. You cannot pay attention to the path, instead focusing on numerous curses lining the trees. Disgusting things, filling every shadow and crevices in your view. Most just shapeless lumps. But others are focused forms. Spindly legs creep from the forest line, with sharp hooks on each end. Insectile eyes, eight in total watch as each horse passes. You notice Mizuki's horse bucking in strands of white webs. Stuck. Poor thing.
All the while the eye follows.
You can feel it watch your back, as your horse races across the plains. The grass wilted in front of your path, as if warning you to turn back.
You do not.
Even as your heart thuds in your body, each slam loud in your ears.
I can do it.
Then I'll be free.
Each thud of your mare’s steps sent a bone deep dread through your body. You ignore it as best as you can, holding your forearm as it tremors.
“Are you okay? Scared?” Sure. You would go with that, but it wasn’t why you were shaking.
The shrine loomed ahead, dilapidated and ugly. The colors of the building were not bright, and bold as you were used to. The greens of the roof tile were sun-bleached until their quality was a pale gray. And the red paint was chipping, smeared with the yellow of unvarnished wood. Against the backdrop of the mountain the shrine looked small, but in reality it was about double the size of the one the Kusatta paid their respects to back home.
And the air. Thick enough to feel like you were sucking down blood. You feel your heart in your throat and your ears. Cursed Spirits howled from all around, and as hungry as they were to eat, they did not dare get to close too that Shrine.
No, too him.
Nobody was foolish enough to confront that… monster.
Only, you were, because you had become desperate.
You needed out, and this plan had seemed like the only way.
Thump, thump, thump.
Your heart followed the clomping of horse hooves, and your palms sweat against the reins. As you pass into the black fields of death and decay the horses whine, some of the others veer off course. There voices fade into the background, as your spit gathers in heaps in the back of your throat.
Would poison be enough?
It had to be. But how could you be sure, when this entire place felt like a poison itself?
Drawing to a stop, the leader of the group, the one bossing Mizuki around slides off her horse and approaches the door. Water drips from the torii from the days of storms that recently took the area. It made you think of copper rivulets of blood, and you want to scream. Your gut churns and you want to yell to turn back. But knuckles rasp against the cypress door, and you swallow hard.
It’s too late.
A pit opens in your belly as the door opens, and you expect to see a monster.
Instead you see a boy.
He is taller than yourself, but small in stature. White hair that was chopped around the ears and a solemn expression. Their monk robes shift as they tilt their head slightly into a bow, and you all give a slight nod in return.
“You are the Kusatta peace offering?” the boy asks, voice monotonous.
“Yes,” the groups speaker tries to sound strong, but her voice quakes. Her body trembles, the boy only nods telling you all to dismount.
“You are to wash,” the boy tells you all pointing to a basin.
“Surely the Lord does not care about such rituals?” Mizuki murmurs behind you.
“He does, and you shall follow them or you will not enter this shrine.” Which would mean the offering has failed and he would haze the cities back home. Still, nobody truly wishes to pay respects to the demon and treat him like a god.
Your limbs stiffen with each step you take to the basin. You wonder with a tightness in your chest if the water will be putrid like the surrounding terrain. Breath escapes, lightening the load as you see it is clear and fresh as a crystal of quartz.
Woodenly the cluster of people shuffle behind you as you grip the hishaku dipper. You allow the water to fill the wooden tool and pour the liquid onto your left hand. Then your right. It causes your bones to shiver beneath your skin. The splashing of water tickles your eardrums as you use it to wash your mouth. Cold as a body drained of blood, it fills your mouth and you spit it back onto the ground. Bile crawls up your throat as you tip the dipper back over your left hand to cleanse it once more. Tilting it up, you watch the water run down the handle, and you drop it back into the basin.
The boy nods to you and the others gesturing for you to follow. The dirt of the courtyard is cold beneath the frayed knots of your waraji. The geta of the concubines click behind you as your led into a long hall, torches lining the wall. The wood is almost as cold as the yard, only a smoother consistency beneath your feet.
You presume the boy leads you to the haiden, the place people pray to spirits.
Only it looks nothing like a haiden you have witnessed before. Red sticky liquid lines the floor and soaks into your footwear. As your eyes trail up, you see bones scattered high in piles.
Bovines. And at the center of the room you see feet. One rests upon, not a skull… but the face of a freshly torn body. The bile spills into your mouth as you stare at the bulging eyeballs and the terror etched into the frozen lines of the corpse head. The foot crunches it as a low giggle spindles through the air.
“Uraume? This is what the Kusatta offers?”
“Yes Lord Sukuna.” Your gaze turns to the boy, Uraume. They give a polite nod, head bowed. A booming laugh replaces the giggle, only it's not a laugh that invites another to smile. It's a deep wheezing smother that feels like a pressure spun around your limbs. It makes you want to quake, but your body remains locked in it's position.
You cannot move. Your lungs act as if your ribcage is truly a cage constricting them.
“Not well trained are they?” The wind breezes past your skin. Lips parting as your cheek begins to sting. Something drips. Such precision in one cut. Effortless as breath, and without a second to truly register. “Bow. Not much respect from this group is there?”
Legs thud to the ground, arms slid into the thin red liquid, yet you can't bring yourself to move. Even as you hear the man click his tongue.
“I don't respond well to disrespect.” His voice a low grumble, not even violent. Just bored.
Because you are nothing in his eyes. Knees buckle, trembling as they meet the floor. Arms slide into the liquid, sticky against your clothing, staining the white fabric pink. Your head presses into the ground, cooling the fevered sweat that covered your forehead. Perhaps it was blood? Diluted with water where others had attempted to clean?
“I deeply apologize,” you murmur.
The response was nothing but a low hum. It resounds in your skull, rattling your bones. The scent of blood fills your nose, as you stare at the skull crushed beneath foot. Brain matter spills from between dead eyes and pressure cracks. You can't allow yourself to think about it too hard. Or the gunk Sukuna shakes from his heel.
“Better. Form needs work.” Without seeing, you know he has already found you to be insignificant. It was good for your plans, but it's still sent a flare of white hot rage through your soul.
I am a Poison Master. I am your death! Notice me!
It went against everything you needed to remember to get the job done. Assassins did not wish to be noticed, but for him to see you as nothing but a bug?
It was insulting. It reminded you of Akiko.
And now as one speaks to the demon you imagine her. The smirk, eyes of cold glass as she looks down on you. A cough. Another. Veins blacking with a poison you had yet to create. But you would, for her. You want to watch her body twist itself against its wishes. Eyes rotting in their sockets as she stands, crumbling into nothingness.
You imagine her body wilting, organs spilling from gaping wounds ripped from her body. A mixture between Shiranui Kessho and something else maybe would do the trick?
One day.
One Day.
Soon. After the King of Curses is dead.
“I am beginning to think that one is hard of hearing. Raise your head, before I remove it.” You tremble, woken from your imagination. Head turning upwards, vermilion eyes scrutinize you. Mouth dry you try to speak, but nothing comes.
“She is a bit slow My Lord! I apologize on her behalf,” the leader’s voice trembles on your behalf. Wrong. But appreciated you suppose.
“How long shall we remain on this sticky floor?”
Mizuki… no!
“I am a reputable woman. I demand respect! I shall not remain here a moment longer, My Lord. If I am to be your concubine you shall treat me as such.” She speaks matter of fact, as if she has the power— the ability to command Ryomen Sukuna. As if all her posturing could grant her true respect.
“Is that so?” Amusement colors his voice, a laugh chortles past his lips, head thrown back. Coiling tattoos shifting across his skin as his muscles rumble with the sound.
You reach for your cheek as liquid sprays over your body. Liquid tasting of metal sinks into your parted lips, boisterous laughter spilling through the room. Screams erupt from all sides, and you stare at the crinkling eyes of the curse, he might as well have been one. His glee, however, dissolves quickly.
“Be quiet.” But the women surrounding you do not. Their hollers spill past lips in ragged squalls.
Tremors wrack your arm as you pull your hand into your eyesight's gaze.
Red.
Red. Like the varnish they use to preserve shrines.
Red. The varnish of this shrine, that coats all things.
“Mizu!” The screams of her name do not bring her back. They do not stop her head from rolling into your gaze as it flits from the man to the floor. Brown eyes, filled with nothing.
She didn’t even have a chance to scream.
“Stupid girl,” you whisper, fingers sliding those hollow eyes closed. Sobs splinter your thoughts, blood slicks your throat. You swallow the liquid down, body crouching back into a bow. Better to appear reverent, or afraid than scream with the rest of the squallers.
“They mean to gift me insolent, disrespectful, irritating wrenches. In turn for peace? How…” Sukuna searches for the words trailing off. “Disappointing.”
“Who would ever respect you willingly!” High pitched wails pierce your ears, as your company screams their rage. Eyelids slide closed you wince as you hear the voice give out in a wet gurgle.
“The Kusatta Clan needs to try harder to please me.” You feel a gaze burn into the crown of your head. “Interesting the fool does not scream like it’s companions.”
A creaking splinters, and thumping noise comes closer to your head. Each slap of feet has your eyes squeezing, leaves your body screaming with the urge to run. You force them open, staring at the bare toes of the man. You imagine how that skull felt against his foot. You wonder, had he felt the squish of the brain as it spilled through the cracks he created?
You push the thought away, sucking in breath. Allowing the air to fill you, in an attempt to force calm.
“Look at me.” The voice demands, leaving no room to disobey.
Only, as he’s seen time and time again in only a few minutes, you don’t listen. Instead, you choose to cower.
“I am beginning to believe you are hard of hearing. Now.” Eyes slowly raise, trailing from bloody feet to the ends of a pristine white robe muddied with blood. But you shudder unable to force your gaze any further. Brown and red cloud the white, and all you can think is of how your own crimson droplets my join it. Eyes squeeze shut again.
Your windpipe constricts, pleading for air as a hand wraps around your throat. “Look at me.” The voice taunts you as your eyes close. You grasp and claw at the wrist, but the man only laughs in your face. It sends a chill down your spine, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I will not repeat myself once more.” A finger trails down your cheek gathering the blood spatter along it.
“Unless. Do you wish to have your throat slit ear to ear?” You expect him to continue to bellow, but his voice is a soft buzz against your cheek. Lids flutter, lashes wet as they brush the skin above your cheeks. There they are, claret eyes, with deeper rings of red around the pupil to end of iris. Mesmerizing. And his lips? They curl up in delight.
“So you can listen?” You whimper, even though his voice is low and soft. Fingers slide through your hair and your heart stops. You never would expect gentleness from the monstrosity before you. Yet, even as one hand is wrapped tightly around your throat, a second out of four pets along your head. “Though, you’re quite the curiosity. You tremble, yet you are not obedient. And you’re scared, and yet you do not scream.” You blink up at the vivid intense eyes, but no words come from your throat.
“Such interesting eyes you have. Never have I seen eyes rimmed in gold. Though, based on your lackluster attire I am to presume you are sent to me as a servant?” Mouth opening and closing in a gaping motion. You do not have the ability to speak, only the ability gasp like a fish on land slowly destined to die.
“Have you lost your tongue? I know you able to speak, after all, you apologized for your insolence quiet nicely.” His presence so close has your gut churning, yet he doesn’t do anything to make you feel so nauseated.
Only holds you. Like an interesting toy he wishes to play with a little longer.
“No, My Lord, I have not lost my tongue.” You struggle to keep your voice level as you speak, to not let the true bone marrow terror show.
“Needn’t hide your fear, you’ve already shown me how much of a child you are.” You want to reject it. After all, you have slain so many, watched poison claim them and their bodies decay. But no words come to aid you, and once again you are silent.
Hand trailing from hair, a claw lazily drags along your jawline, to your lips. “How boring. Maybe I should dispose of you after all? Kusatta sending me broken trinkets. Maybe I will hang your bones along my throne? Uraume, if I tear her apart do you think you can preserve her eyes?” A whine strangles your throat and you buck in the grip. “Now, now, don’t be so difficult. No need to be so scared. I'm not going to kill you. Yet.”
“Perhaps. After all, it is just another part of the body. Do you wish to eat it later?” Skin wrinkles the corners of his eyes as he giggles at your horror Uraume’s words produce upon your face.
“No. I find them interesting. I’d like to study them perhaps? Have you ever seen eyes quite like these?” The boy walks closer tilting your face down so you stare into their plum eyes. Inquisitive exploring eyes observing you.
You had always been considered unique for your own, the rims of your irises lined like liquid gold.
“No. My Lord.”
The whines of terror from the others had stilled once he had grabbed you by the throat, and you tilt your head to see them all staring at you. Faces drawn up in dread, eyes glistening with tears, yet no say a word for him to leave you be.
“Did I give you permission to look away?” Claw digging into the cut on your cheek you finally scream. Not in fear, but in a red hot agony as the nail twists into the raw skin.
“I’m sorry!” You howl as the nails point rips through flesh, pain searing into your cheek. Hand groping it racks across the deformity of bone and sinew attached to the right of his face. “Stop! Please?”
“Look at you. So afraid, so foolish? Did you believe I'd allow filth to touch me.” A large palm encases the wrist gripping the plate of bone, that two eyes sit on. Your eyes widen, blood-curdling wail tearing from your lips as you hear bone snap.
“Such a pretty noise.”
Too much.
Your shrills continued, tears spilling across her cheeks. The wetness mixed with the blood drenching Sukuna’s claw and he huffs.
It was a all so much. So much pain. So much terror.
You almost felt like he was right, and you were a child. At heart.
“That’s enough.” But you were in a pain induced hysteria, unable to keep your harrowing cries silent.
“This annoys me. Be quiet.” His grip releases and you drop, squelching into Mizuki’s blood. It splatters across your hakama, deepening its already similar hue. “I was going to applaud you for not screaming like a chicken with its head cut off. How disappointing.”
“You, explain why the Kusatta’s thought this would be enough to appease me.” You watch as his gaze turns away from you, soft whimpers pouring from your mouth.
Disinterest. Plain as day, eyes no longer twinkling at the prospect of you. It stung almost as much as the pain radiating from the shattered bones in your arm and fist. Brittle thing you clutch, body shivering, teeth chattering in pain.
“My Lord, we were each selected for very specific things. Mizuki to please you physically. S-same as Tomika. I am to be a cook, as well as the girls whose arm wrist you just shattered. Jyuria—”
“Tch.” Sukuna’s upper arms fold over his chest, the others resting on his hips. “Good and well, but they send me disrespectful brats? Why? I should kill you for the hell of it.” A snicker flits through the air, and you can feel the collective shudder among the women.
“I beg you please, we only wish for peace.”
“What do I care for your wishes?” The fingers of his lower left hand twitch, sliding through the air.
Each body drops in slow motion in your mind. The guts of one sliding out before the top half drops against the ground. Another losing it's face, skull gone above the mouth. Together yet one by one the bodies drop.
Blood, pools from your chest and you almost laugh.
I can kill him.
The words bring you back to when you made such a stupid deal.
What a joke.
Skin along your chest splits, vision hazy as blood loss makes the world fade to black.
And you go back.
₊⊹
Wood digs into your cheek, shards opening micro wounds on your skin as you grit.
“She is making poisons. Like that bitch of a mother of hers.” Teeth crunch as your jaw clenches. It makes the center of your head pulse, throbbing around the base of your head extending outward.
How dare they mention her?
The thought fleets as a geta slams into your spine and you cry out. Teeth gnash against the wood, indenting your presence here permanently. “We found… books. They detail numerous common poisons and a large quantity of rare ones. Lady Kusatta, she has paragraphs detailing Aotenshi. It is of my opinion that she be killed before she becomes a danger to you and your family.”
You should have became a danger long ago. Should have watched them all rot. Watch poison slide down their throats and overtake their veins, slowly breaking them down into compost. Mother worked diligently for years, and they only watched as she was killed. You had watched Akiko smile.
I’ll rip that smile from your lips, the words dart quick in your mind. Words accompanied by violent images that could only make you grin at the suffrage.
She deserved to die.
“Poison? We have not had an issue with poison in years, since her mother was killed for it? Could it just be her mothers old books?” Melodious words spun like honey dripped over pastries you couldn’t afford.
“No. The writing is not the same.” You never could match the elegant script your mother could scribble across a page. Your own words were more like chicken scratch, almost impossible to read and decipher even to your own eyes.
“I see. Lift her head.”
Nails coil into your head, drilling into your scalp drawing a wince from your muscles. The heads of the clan look down upon you as if you were an animal. The man holds the waist of a woman adorned in blue and light lavender robes of silk. He twirls her long black hair between his fingers, completely devoid of all possible thought. But she. She gives you a soft smile, that if you were dumber would make you feel safe.
All it does is put you on edge.
Even as she bends from her posh posture to pat your head. As she returns to lean back in her sear her shoulders straighten and she sits like a board. But her face looks, calm, drawn like there was no threat. Lazy.
Then their is Akiko.
Her lips spread like a vipers, eyes twinkling at your prospects. If her mother didn’t make the decisions in this house, she would have you slit from your belly. She would gawk at the scene as animals came to claim your insides and later cheer to her servants that the bitch was finally dead.
But for now, she sways back and forth in her chair, body tizzy with excitement at what her mother would say to do to you. Deep blue robes like vibrant sapphires shimmy with the movement of her body. A finger and thumb picks at the silver embroidery of a hawk that lines the obi sitting along her ribs.
“Maybe I should offer you a proposition?” Aikio’s snake smile dies on her face as her mother hums out saccharine words.
“No Mama. Do not offer this wrench anything! She is a slimy no good scrub.” Akiko screeches, and her mother lifts a hand to command her silence.
“Akiko, enough. You embarrass the clan with your shrill whining.” She croons at her daughters disbelief. Her eyes train on you, lips pursing as she sighs. “Now, you. How familiar are you with poisons? As good as your mother?”
“I’m better,” you hiss in confidence as she nods for you to speak.
“Oh? I find that hard to believe. Your mama had a poison for just about anything I needed. Quite the shame she had to get herself caught and killed.” Red tendrils creep into your vision, rage screaming for you to throttle her.
Do not speak of her!
But you force breath through your nose, and release it through your mouth, until the quaking in your mind stops.
One day.
“Your mother was a master. Are you implying you are one as well?” You hadn’t expected the deep timber of her husband to speak. Head resting against the woman’s palm he purrs. “Show me. Prove it.”
“What?” The geta racks against your spine, eliciting a violent hiss.
“Do not speak openly slug.” You imagine a poison running down his esophagus, causing his body to bloat to the point of his stomach bursting. Guts raining in the middle of some street as he dies in his own filth.
Violent.
They deserve it.
“Prove it,” he repeats. “Come now, I am sure we have some poisons for you to identify.” Long brittle fingers curl as the clan heads rise. The guard hauls you to your feet, forcing you to follow down a long hall. Into a dark room, with only but a single table.
Bones mash into the table as the guard slams your body into the chair. You grit, and watch as a servant as already been sent into the darkness of another hall. You observe the room. Never before had it been seen from your eyes so you analyze the finely built walls, and the craftsmanship of the table.
It was probably where the family ate you assumed, despite the darkness surrounding everything around you. You brush dirt from your pale kosode and wait. Three bowls are placed in front of you. Crafted of silver, liquid sat in each.
“Identify them.”
You point at the middle one, where the silver had blacken. “Arsenic tarnishes silver.” You put the words plainly.
“Are you sure?” Akiko expects you to trip up, but your face remains still, and you remain sure.
“Yes. I am sure.”
“Very good,” Akiko’s mother purrs to you. “And the others?”
The fluid on the left looks like tea, and you cannot immediately conclude it’s substance by looks alone. The one on the right is clear as pure water.
Bringing the one that looks like tea to your lips you feel the instant sting. A flood of bitterness invades your mouth as you allow a single sip of the browned liquid and you spit. You drop the container back onto the table with a thud, as you lose feelings in your lips.
Your nose wrinkles in distaste.
“Disgusting. Aconite.” Wolfsbane. The mother hums, eyes slipping down to the liquid that spilled from your unceremonious dropping the bowl to the table.
“Two of three. I am impressed.” She purls, eyes raising the your arm that had begun to termor. Pressing it against the table you force the effects of poison overuse to still. Now was not the time. “And the last one?”
You can’t be sure. It looks like nothing at all, and you begin to worry. What would she do to you if you fail? Sweat lines your brow, and you wipe it away.
“She doesn’t know Mama. Kill her.” You bring it to your lips with trembling finger tips.
The liquid spills into your lips, and you let out a deep sigh.
“A healing tonic. My mothers recipe, only, the extract is not strong enough for more than the common cold.”
“Very good. Now then,” ardent words spring from Akiko’s mother. “The proposition.”
Blood roars in your ears as the next words tumble from her lips.
“Can you kill Ryomen Sukuna.”
The King of Curses.
He’s only human.
“Yes.”
₊⊹
This man was no human. He was a calamity.
You're thoughts make you laugh, as you peel your face off the floor. Stickiness clinging to your cheek.
You should have died. You were sure.
And it hurt like you did, blood pooling in a smear along the floor from your chest. The warmth assured you it was yours.
“You didn't die? How interesting.” Sukuna speaks, dull, as if you living was inconsequential. “I suppose since you're breathing it would be a waste to kill you now. I’ll grant you permission to work.”
Author's Note: I'll be honest. Posting this is scary. I am scared I will get frustrated and maybe I won't post when I should. Or I'll get busy and this will end up in the recesses of my mind.
But I do intend to finish this. Even if it's not up to my mental par. Please do enjoy and give me your thoughts.
M'scared.
VERY IMPORTANT: If I am missing tags let me know. This is a EXTREME FIC.
Chapter 2
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