Chapter 1: Prologue
Ryomen Sukuna gasped sharply as breath returned to his lungs. His four eyes flew open. For a moment, he simply stared, unmoving, caught between disbelief and instinct. He was alive.
That made no sense.
He was certain he had died.
Slowly, the King of Curses pushed himself upright, his gaze sweeping across unfamiliar surroundings. Confusion gnawed at him. Was this reincarnation? But if so, why had he returned as an adult—with every memory intact, every sin preserved? Rebirth should have meant a clean slate. An infant's beginning. Oblivion before renewal.
And yet... here he was.
Sukuna shook the thought away. It was useless to speculate.
He existed. That was enough, for now.
He rose to his feet and took in his surroundings, only for his nose to wrinkle in immediate disgust. A foul alleyway surrounded him, thick with rot and filth, its stench clinging to the air like a curse of its own.
He held his breath and strode out at once.
The moment he emerged, the world opened before him.
An urban sprawl stretched in every direction, crowded streets alive with movement and noise. But something felt wrong.
This was not Japan.
Sukuna knew the shape and rhythm of modern Japanese cities. This place was different—foreign. The architecture, the sounds, the people. Westerners. They moved through the streets in hurried currents, and after a moment of recognition, he realized where he had seen a city like this before.
America. Yuji had watched enough of those so-called Hollywood movies for Sukuna to remember. At the thought of the brat, his expression darkened.
Yuji Itadori.
Against all reason, that foolish boy and his companions had defeated him. Not just in battle. But also in ideals.
The realization still burned.
Sukuna's four hands clenched into fists. His fury remained, hot and bitter—but beneath it lingered something far stranger. Acceptance.
He had been wrong.
Yuji had proven it.
And though Sukuna despised admitting defeat, even to himself, he had made a vow in those final moments.
He would change.
Start anew.
Perhaps, if fate held even a fragment of irony, those who once sought his destruction would no longer seek his head.
"Dude, wear some pants." The crude voice snapped him from his thoughts. A young white man in casual sportswear stood nearby, grimacing.
"It's bad enough seeing your ugly mug," the man muttered, eyeing him with open disgust. "Now we gotta see your junk too?"
Sukuna turned slowly toward him.
The man stiffened. Four crimson eyes settled upon him.
Sukuna looked him over, then shifted his gaze to the crowds beyond, studying the countless strangers flooding the streets.
And froze.
No cursed energy.
Not even a trace.
His eyes narrowed. That was impossible.
Even ordinary humans possessed cursed energy, however faint. Only those like Maki Zenin, forged by Heavenly Restriction, stood outside that law.
Yet these people...
Nothing.
An entire city devoid of it.
Sukuna's mind sharpened at once. Cursed energy had always been rare outside Japan, yes—but nonexistent? It's just impossible.
His stare swept over the city again, suspicion rising. Just what kind of place had he awakened into? What the hell was going on?
"Do you even fucking hear me, freak?" The man's raised his contemptuous voice, it cut through the street.
And it took effort—real effort—for Ryomen Sukuna not to kill him where he stood.
Instead, he turned and fixed the fool with a murderous glare.
Cursed energy flared around him like invisible wildfire.
The effect was immediate.
The man's face drained of color. Pedestrians nearby froze, seized by primal terror. Some stumbled backward. One woman yelped. The man Sukuna faced wet himself from his presence alone.
The King Of Curses frowned in disgust.
"If you value your life," he said coldly, his voice carrying quiet death, "leave. Now."
The man bolted.
Others hurried off as fast as dignity allowed.
Thanks to Yuji's memories—and the endless foreign films the brat had consumed—Sukuna understood their language well enough, though his own speech still carried a thick Japanese accent.
Then he looked down at himself.
He was naked.
Completely.
His original form stood exposed for the world to see—four arms, monstrous physique, and markings like living blasphemy. No wonder they stared.
Even when he was not acting like a monster... he always looked like one.
Before the thought could settle, a sudden flare of orange light split the street. A circular portal had opened.
Sukuna raised a brow. It also had no cursed energy at all, like the people of this city.
Fascinating.
Then what powered it? Something else?
Science?
From the glowing aperture marched an army.
Humanoid creatures with pale green skin and four antennae emerged in formation, clad in white and blue futuristic armor. They carried strange rifles, followed by colossal armored vehicles larger than any war machine Sukuna had ever seen.
Then chaos erupted.
The creatures opened fire. Red plasma tore through civilians. Explosions thundered through the street. People screamed and scattered.
Sukuna almost laughed.
An alien invasion. As though ripped from one of Yuji's absurd science-fiction films. His lips curled into a grin. This was getting interesting.
Just what kind of era had he awakened into?
One of the alien soldiers aimed its weapon at him.
With a casual flick of his hand—Dismantle.
The alien's head slid cleanly from its shoulders. Its body collapsed. The others turned their weapons toward him.
Sukuna's grin widened. Well. No one can blame him for this one. They started this.
Before the invaders could even process what happened, he was already among them. He was a blur. A calamity. He moved faster than their senses could follow, tearing through ranks alone.
One alien exploded apart under one powrful strike.
Another was ripped limb from limb.
A third had its spine torn free before it could scream.
Blood sprayed in arcs. Armor crumpled like paper. Bodies piled in seconds. They never stood a chance.
And there were so many of them.
Good.
That only made it fun.
"More," Sukuna growled, splitting one soldier in half.
"Give me more."
Hot alien blood drenched him. He licked it from his lips.
Tasty. Sweeter than human even.
His grin turned feral, and he plunged deeper into slaughter.
Punches shattered torsos.
Kicks launched armored bodies through vehicles.
Dismantle flashed through the air, carving apart distant enemies whenever prey strayed too far.
Their crimson plasma bolts screamed past him, unable to touch him, for he weaved through gunfire as though dancing. Playing with them. Breaking them. Massacring them.
To the surviving civilians watching from cover, it was impossible to tell whether he was defending them—or whether something even worse than the invasion had just joined the battlefield.
Because among the mangled corpses and burning wreckage, Ryomen Sukuna looked less like a man... and more like a disaster the aliens should have feared invading.
As the slaughter continued, something strange caught Sukuna's eye. One of the aliens suddenly convulsed. Its body withered and their skin sagged, almost like an old pouch. In mere seconds, the creature have aged decades before Sukuna casually split it in half with Dismantle.
He paused.
Then saw it happening everywhere. The others were aging, rapidly. Wrinkled flesh and everything. Weakening limbs. Dying eyes.
Sukuna raised a brow.
Interesting.
And useful.
They had grown fragile, and frail. Their bodies, once resilient enough to endure his weakest blows for a moment, now broke beneath his gentlest touch.
He seized one by the throat and pulled off it's head, squeezing the blood out of it.
Curiously, he tasted it. And instantly spat.
It was disgusting. The sweetness was gone. Its flavor had spoiled.
Now it tasted bland and stale—like that strange popped corn Yuji used to devour while watching those ridiculous films.
A vein pulsed in Sukuna's temple. Even dead, that brat kept intruding into his thoughts.
It was irritating.
As their ranks dwindled and age ravaged what remained, panic spread through the invaders. Their formation broke. Soldiers scrambled back toward the glowing portal, retreating through the gate from whatever world had birthed them.
Sukuna watched them go.
For a moment, he considered pursuing them. Invading the invaders. The thought amused him. But no. He couldn't risk it, even for someone like him. He had only just awakened from death, and he did not even know what era he lived in. Whether this was even his world, and that he had been thrown into some entirely different reality.
The multiverse. Another absurd concept Yuji had once obsessed over.
Sukuna gritted his teeth.
That brat was still somehow annoying him from beyond death.
Then—THUD.
Something landed behind him with enough force to crack the pavement.
Sukuna turned.
A young man stood there. Black-haired. Masked in yellow with goggles over his eyes. His suit looked absurdly theatrical—black and blue with a yellow stripe running down its center into an inverted triangle, blue shoulders forming an M-like pattern, yellow gloves, high blue boots. Like one of those ridiculous superheroes from Yuji's comics.
For a moment, Sukuna stared.
Then—He laughed. Laughed openly. Deeply. Wildly. His laughter echoed through the wrecked street while stunned survivors watched in unease.
Aliens.
Portals.
Now superheroes?
This was just getting better and better. His laughter only grew.
He wonders what's next this new life will throw at him. Sukuna bared his teeth in delight. For the first time since this awakening—he was genuinely excited.
"What's so funny?" The newcomer's tone carried challenge.
Sukuna disliked it immediately.
From the young man's stance alone—his poise, the weight balanced in his legs, the way his shoulders were squared—he could tell.
This one wanted a fight.
"Something you would not understand, brat," Sukuna replied.
"I won't let you hurt these people."
Without warning, the man launched skyward, shooting towards him with incredible speed. Fist first. Sukuna raised a brow. The man had no cursed energy. Yet he flew.
Curious.
Could some strange variation of Heavenly Restriction grant abilities like this? Maki Zenin had moved through the air with monstrous speed, but she had never flown.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Before the punch could reach him, Sukuna lifted one hand, and caught it.
A shockwave burst from the impact.
The street cracked beneath them.
"People?" Sukuna repeated, almost amused.
With another arm, he lifted one of the alien corpses he had slain earlier—the one he had decapitated and tasted.
"Do you consider this people?"
Before the man could answer—CRACK.
Sukuna slammed his forehead into his face. The stranger staggered back, blood spilling from his nose.
"Perhaps use your head next time," Sukuna said dryly, "before making assumptions, fool."
The young man groaned, clutching his face.
"Oh, God..."
Sukuna studied him. That headbutt would have given anyone more than just a nose bleed.
Yet this one still stood. Durable.
Definitely not someone who can just fly.
"What is your name, brat?" He let the alien corpse fall and crossed all of his four arms.
The young man hesitated. Sukuna could smell the fear on him.
As he should. Then, cautiously—"You're not the one who caused all this?"
"I asked for your name," Sukuna scoffed, "not your questions."
He tilted his head.
"But to ease your stupidity—no. I did not kill these people. I killed the invaders who shot them with their strange weapons and machines."
The man perked up, realizing his mistake.
"Oh."
His posture eased.
He wiped blood from his nose.
"Well... in that case..."
He straightened.
"I'm Invincible."
Sukuna snickered.
"Invincible? That is your name?"
"It's my superhero name," the man shot back. "You're not getting my real one, four-arms."
Sukuna frowned.
"If that is your wish... farewell."
And he turned to leave.
But as he walked, he saw the wounded. Civilians writhing. Bleeding. Dying. He could help them. Reverse Cursed Technique could save them. That was what Yuji would do.
Sukuna's jaw tightened.
Again.
That brat.
Why does his mind keep returning to him?
It's annoying.
Infuriating.
...Persistent.
He looked toward Invincible, who was helping the injured. Then toward an elderly woman lying nearby, struggling for breath. Old. Heavyset. Gray-white hair. Pathetic. She trembled and flinched at his presence. Once, Sukuna would have killed such weakness without a thought. But he was not that creature anymore.
At least... He was trying not to be.
He knelt down.
Reached out—And then suddenly, pink energy enveloped the old woman in a glowing construct.
Sukuna paused, confused at this strange energy that he does not recognize.
A feminine voice then rang out behind him.
"And what exactly do you think you're doing, naked four-arms?"
He turned. A young woman floated above the street. Red-haired. Athletic. Wrapped in a pink suit with a cape and strange atomic insignia with an X over it. Her green eyes were sharp with suspicion.
Again—No cursed energy. And yet power radiated from her in some other impossible way. This day only grew more fascinating.
"Trying to help, wench," Sukuna replied.
She narrowed her eyes.
"By doing what? Ripping her apart?"
Like Invincible, she stood ready to fight.
Sukuna sighed. "Whatever."
He turned away.
"Heal her yourself, wench. I am done with this nonsense."
"Wait!"
She descended quickly.
"I'm sorry. You just... don't exactly look trustworthy."
Sukuna stopped. He slowly turned.
"Well, forgive me," he said flatly, "for being born looking like a demon."
He resumed walking.
Then—A hand touched his shoulder. Everything in Sukuna suddenly screamed to carve it off. Cleave was demanding for him. But he restrained himself.
So this was how Yuji and his friends endured irritation without murdering people.
Exhausting.
"Look," she said quickly, "I'm really sorry. If you can heal people... we need you. They need you."
Sukuna grumbled, "Very well."
He slapped her hand away.
"But keep your hands off me."
Then he returned to the old woman. This time she did not recoil. She had heard his words of healing. She believed him. Sukuna knelt down to her, and placed a hand over her chest. Reverse Cursed Technique flowed. Her wounds vanished in moments. Her breath, and color returned. Her strength returned. Within seconds, the old woman sat upright. Alive, and restored to full health. She looked at him with wide eyes.
"Thank you."
Sukuna froze. The words struck strangely. Heavy, and unfamiliar. No one had ever thanked him before. Usually, they screamed. They cursed. They begged. But gratitude? That was new. And deeply unsettling.
"Are you alright?" the red-haired woman asked, rushing over to the old woman.
"Yes." The old woman smiled.
She looked at Sukuna.
"Whatever you did... I haven't felt this good in years."
The woman turned toward him. And saw him already moving to heal the next injured person.
Then the next.
And the next.
A bloodied seven-foot, four-armed, naked monster with four eyes and the face of a demon—knelt in the street, saving lives. And suddenly, he did not seem so monstrous at all.