Work Text:
Calamity made its bed in the kindling ruins of a once was village.
Fire blazed, screams were silenced, and a God lumbered its great spear over the meat of its shoulder.
Sukuna's many eyes swept over licking flames that could rival the sun in the darkness. Observed his descration of small folk and their even smaller gods. Crushed their shrines with one hand. Killed their flocks for his own belly.
And among it all, he clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.
An innate restlessness had made itself home in Sukuna's bones, much like a worm to an apple. Indulging in luxury and ruination weren't new things to Sukuna. He traveled far, made lords stain their pits with sweats in hopes that their offerings appeased the visiting king. When it didn't, Sukuna sought pleasure in peeling skin from bone until that final, weak breath slipped away. When that didn't even work, Sukuna even sought more peaceful measures. Exploring the vast greenery and waxing poetry about its tranquil beauty, molding clay into shapes, even settling under the moon's gentle light just to think.
But still, there was an itch, a surface level cut left unattended that started to fester.
Sukuna's lip curled. "Pathetic." He murmured, his foot knocking into a severed corpse. The human's head was lopped off cleanly, frozen in eternal terror.
He crushes it with his heel for good measure.
A home collapses to cinder and ash, momentarily drawing his eyes to it. The flames roar and twist in spurts of gold and red. Charring the ground and staining it black, as Sukuna has stained the soil red. He takes in the sound, the crackle, the extinguished hiss. Letting his eyes close with a heaved sigh.
"Hello?"
His eyes snap back open.
Pink.
Pink is what he sees first.
Peach, a wild tuft of a mane.
"A child," Sukuna whispers to himself, as the boy crawls out from where he has slinked in the shadows. His frame is small, no more than eight years of age, perhaps younger with the way the crops hadn't been blessed by Gods of Rain before Sukuna came with the flames. His feet are bare, tumbling over smoldering wood. And Sukuna wonders why he doesn't avoid them.
"Hello? Is- is everything alright?" The boy calls, louder but no less timid. His pitch is high, tightening when another home collapses. His head whips to the sound, when it should turn to avert the flakes of fire pelting him like snow.
Stupid. Impudent. Idiotic. Sukuna cared no more for children than he did anyone but himself. This would be no different. He raises his forefingers, ready to flick his wrist.
They waver.
"Child," he call, barely audible over the flames. Not that it mattered, his voice carried like a shockwave even at its faintest. "Come."
"Who, who's there?" The child asks, voice wavering. His head is angled at the path that led to Sukuna.
He feels frustration blooming. Did this child really not know who he is? Could he not see by the four arms, spear, and lumbering stature? Even the youngest of babes knew who Sukuna was. And if his presence was not made clear by body, then it was made crystal by the blood that followed him. He would not recount the name the humans bestowed him when they made him their King.
"I said, come here." Gnashing teeth growl. It puts a pep in the boy's step, tumbling over with as much urgency as his thin legs could. There was hardly a chub of fat on them. Sukuna muses how easily he could crush them, coming to the conclusion it would be like picking his tooth with a splinter of bone.
The boy lands a few paces short of Sukuna he could easily devour in one stride. Orange light reflects off his cheek, consuming the pink color of his hair. Sukuna sways, adjusting his weight from one hip to another as he assesses the little human.
"W-where is everyone? I heard…" ash coats him like frost. "I heard s-screaming."
Sukuna's gaze lifts to the carnage he bestowed, then down to the child again. "They're gone."
The boy's nose wrinkles, then smooths. "Gone?"
"Yes."
"Oh," he swallows, thick. Little hands wringing at his sides. "Okay."
"Does that not bother you? There's no one else here, and you are not but a child." Sukuna asks. His curiosity piqued with this child who did not fear him, who took the death around him in stride. The boy's head hangs, pink bangs dancing as he shakes his head.
"They didn't like me anyway, they said I was a parasite who leached off them because of it."
"It?" Sukuna echos.
The boy's head raises, a hand smoothing his bangs back.
Ah. Ah.
"You cannot see." In hindsight, that should've clicked much earlier. The child did little to avoid the blazing heat, only flinching back when it hissed at him. Stumbling over his own two feet, not pissing himself at the sight of the King of Curses.
His eyes are milky, the faint hue of amber swirling in his sclera. No wonder the villages detested him. He was different.
Something stirs in Sukuna. The boy lets his hand fall.
"I haven't since I was born."
"That's a shame, truly. The moonlight's illumination is a beauty that all should see."
"Really? I wouldn't know." The boy laughs, smiles, albeit cheekily. Whatever stirs awake in Sukuna begins to eat him whole.
He smiles, too. "You little brat."
The brat hums, not denying it.
"Have you been all alone this whole time?" It would make sense with how quickly he seemed to adjust. That, and It's not uncommon for villagers to push out the elderly and disabled. Resources become scarce, the sun burns crops, livestock becomes ill. They make necessary choices, or so they say, and condemn others to die in their place.
"Not alone!" The brat chirps, rocking on his heel. "I live with my gramps on the edge of the village! Although… he hasn't woken up in a while. He's sick, so he's been sleeping a lot lately."
Ah, yes. That also made sense. Sukuna had ensured every home and stall caught flame or was cut to pieces. Of course the vermin would push the child and his… gramps to the outskirts. They probably saw the exile as blessing, proof of their consideration and kindness.
"Do you want to come home with me? I- I think we have tea. Gramps is still sleeping so we'll have to be quiet."
Sukuna ponders the invitation. He's surely been lavished by better hosts, given offerings that rivals even the most devoted of devotees.
"How kind of you, little one. That would be most pleasing." He says, instead.
The boy smiles, blush hidden by orange glow.
The home is as quaint as Sukuna expected.
The boy had led him with confidence, only tripping once.
Sukuna reached out, a hand catching him by his frail waist. "Careful, little one."
His head tilted to the sound of his voice. Mouth open in what Sukuna must've assumed is awe, before he grinned brightly. "Don't worry! I'm sturdy! Gramps said that's why the Gods took my eyes."
Gods did tend to do that, give and take as they pleased. Sukuna would know.
The wood of the home peels, the thatch roof has thinned. When winter came, Sukuna judged that they would pass away in their sleep from the cold.
He reads a wooden plate with the spellings of a faded, unkept name. Itadori.
The home cannot accommodate Sukuna's stature, as he assumes the inside is merely two futons and a hearth. Itadori seems to have a smiliar thought as he hesitates for a moment. "Do you mind drinking tea outside?" Though, it's likely consideration for his sleeping grandfather.
"The moon is out? Right?" He adds after a moment. Hoping to appease for an unusual accommodation.
"It is, and it would be a proper ceremony to serve tea under the moon."
Itadori smiles, calmed. Then turns to the door of the home, Sukuna watches as he is mindful to not make any noise as it slides open bit by bit. Sukuna means to say something, a chide, a tease. However when Itadori opens it enough to slip through, his jaw clamps shut.
A pungent, revolting smell hits Sukuna. One he is adequately familiar with.
The child steps inside, cautious light footsteps that are for nothing. Where his gramps laid, was just a mummified corpse.
Itadori's nose was as blind as his eyes, or the child was in denial.
It made sense, unfortunately. That the villagers would not come to check on the family of two, they probably worked him to the bone for scraps or threw it at him like he was a begging dog. When his grandfather stopped appearing, it was just seen as one less mouth to feed and back to clothe.
He felt the urge to burn the village a second time.
Itadori appears minutes later, a tray with two cups and a pot on top. It clatters noisily, even as he takes small steps.
The tea is fucking terrible.
Too thin, more like drinking heated water. Sukuna savors every drop of it and graciously allows the boy to pour him another cup. Listening to his chatter. He doubts anyone has talked to Itadori in a very, very long time by how much the boy has to say.
"How long has your grandfather been asleep?" Sukuna swirls his cup. Itadori is drinking his own tea too fast, it dribbles down his lips when he sits the cup down and licks his soft jaw.
Sukuna thought that the Gods might've given him strength as a replacement for his eyes. But the Gods gave him beauty, too. An unrefined one that needed to be whittled by careful hand.
Sukuna had many hands.
"A long time." Itadori answers, shrugging. He likely had a very poor sense of time.
"Little one," Sukuna starts before his mind can stop him. Not that he wants to be stopped. Not when he's finally found it. Plucked the worm from the core, cleaned the infection out. Sukuna's interest has been piqued, his blood unfurls with a want that cannot be denied. Not when he is so irrefutably charmed by his host, his amiable chatter, his quickness to adjust. "Your grandfather is dead."
Itadori freezes.
"I can see him now, behind you. His skin is blackened and blue, tight and peeling. Flies swarm his open mouth and are making nests inside his hollow corpse. He's dead, and you are now alone."
Sukuna wonders if this is what will finally crack Itadori's cool shell. If he'll burst into tears, childish wails that Sukuna is a liar.
He doesn't, much to his delight.
"I thought so," Itadori sniffs. The brim of his eyes watering. "Gramps made a lot of scary sounds, he groaned and coughed a lot. Then he went quiet, I just… I was hoping," he trails off listlessly, tears shedding like gentle droplets of rain.
"I didn't want to be alone." Itadori hiccups. And then he is crying.
Near inaudible sobs followed by broken hiccups. He wipes furtively at his sightless eyes with his sleeve again and again until they are surely rubbed raw.
Sukuna has never been so compelled in his life to act before, stunned by his own reaction.
Itadori squeaks as he's picked up and placed on Sukuna's crossed legs. His own legs and arms spilling out and flailing as gravity confuses itself under his heel. Sukuna crosses his arms over the boy, curving his back until his chin rests on tufts of dirty hair.
"But you aren't alone, little one."
"Yuuji." Yuuji sniffs miserably as he orients himself. Thin legs pulling to his chest as he saps up comfort he hasn't received in far too long.
"You'll come with me, Yuuji."
"A-and do what? I can't see, I c-can't…"
"You'll serve me tea as you did tonight," Sukuna promises, words rolling off his tongue like smooth honey to sweeten Yuuji's mind and dull his better instincts that scream he's stepping into something dangerous. "Tell me stories, memory or imaginative. In exchange, I will make it sure that you are never alone again."
"That's all?" Yuuji whispers, a dreamy, disbelieving sound.
"For now." Sukuna replies, a dreamy, ambitious spark.
"I don't even know your name." Yuuji frets, his body squirming in Sukuna's lap. But it's too late, a little lamb has walked into a tiger's den, and the tiger has tasted fresh blood.
"Ryoumen Sukuna."
Yuuji stiffens — goes slack. A wheeze passing through his lips. "So he does know of me." Sukuna thinks with glee.
"But you may call me Sukuna." He says, standing with Yuuji carefully tucked in his arms. The boy is stiff, a curled up measly means of protection as Sukuna takes him away from the only home he's ever known.
"Okay…" Yuuji blinks doe, milky eyes at him. Sukuna wanted to pluck them clean and roll them over his tongue, savor every part of his boy as he grew older, stronger, prettier. "Sukuna."
By sunrise, and Uraume's careful inquisitive glance at the child asleep in his arms, Sukuna finally rests.
Satisfied.