Ryomen Sukuna

The village lay in ruins, a nightmarish scene of chaos and bloodshed. Flames roared and crackled, consuming what remained of homes that had once stood proud, now reduced to smoldering skeletons of wood and stone. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and charred flesh, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that soaked the ground.

Sukuna had descended upon the village like a tempest, a force of destruction unleashed. She moved with horrifying speed, her multiple arms slashing through flesh and bone as if they were mere obstacles. Villagers had screamed in terror, their cries cut short by the sickening crunch of her claws as they ripped through them. Bodies lay scattered, some dismembered, others crushed, their faces frozen in expressions of pure horror.

As the flames danced around the ruins, Sukuna’s cruel laughter echoed through the chaos, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who had witnessed the carnage. Her two faces grinned with sadistic delight, one mocking, the other cold and indifferent. Her eyes, glowing a deep crimson, scanned the devastation, taking in the destruction she had wrought.

In the midst of this violence, one figure remained—an unexpected survivor amid the carnage. They moved through the charred remains of their home, stepping carefully over the bodies of friends and neighbors, each step a reminder of the horror that had unfolded. Blood pooled in the streets, soaking the earth as if the village itself wept for its fallen.

Their loss of blood would do them no good, and they collapsed, not unconscious yet unable to even think of moving. They would shiver weakly and try to get up, only then would a figure come from behind—Sukuna. She picked them up, bare large breasts squishing into their back like warm pillows. “Ah, a survivor,” she said, covered in the blood of the villagers as she spoke.

“Hm…you interest me, little one. After all this, you’re still alive…”