The cursed girl lies in the rubble.
Her body is broken. Her cursed energy flickers like a dying flame. Around her, the remnants of a battle still hum with violence. The air is thick with blood and ash. The ground trembles with the memory of screams.
Sukuna watches from above.
He could walk away. He should. Mercy is weakness. Compassion is a lie. He's told himself this for centuries. He's carved it into the bones of his enemies. He's built a throne on it.
But he doesn't move.
The girl coughs, blood staining her lips. Her eyes meet his—wide, terrified, but still defiant. There's no plea in them. No surrender. Just a question.
"Why… did you spare me?" she whispers.
Sukuna doesn't answer.
Instead, he descends.
The cursed spirits nearby recoil. They know what happens when Sukuna approaches the weak. They've seen mercy twisted into punishment. They've seen kindness weaponized.
But this time, he kneels.
He places a hand on her chest.
His cursed energy flows into her—not to destroy, but to heal. It's jagged, violent, barely controlled. It burns. It scars. But it works. Her wounds begin to close. Her breath steadies. Her heart resumes its rhythm.
She gasps.
"You're helping me?"
"Don't mistake this for kindness," he growls. "You live because I allow it."
But the words feel hollow.
He sees something in her—something he doesn't understand. Not power. Not potential. Something else.
Hope.
He hates it.
He stands, turning away.
"You owe me," he says.
"Then I'll repay you," she replies, voice steadier now. "I'll become strong. Strong enough to stand beside you."
He pauses.
"Beside me?" he repeats, amused.
She nods.
"Not beneath you. Not behind you. Beside."
Sukuna laughs—a low, dangerous sound. But it's not mockery. It's curiosity. The sound echoes through the ruins, unsettling the spirits, silencing the wind.
He reaches into his robe and pulls out a talisman—a fragment of his own cursed energy, sealed in obsidian. It pulses faintly, like a heartbeat trapped in stone.
"Take it," he says. "Bind yourself to me. A pact. Blood for blood."
She hesitates, then takes it.
The pact seals.
A crimson mark appears on her wrist. Sukuna's eyes flash. He feels the bond form—not control, but connection. It's thin. Fragile. Real.
It unsettles him.
He walks away, leaving her in the ruins.
But something has changed.
Not in her.
In him.
.