Chapter 1: The Demon's Bargain
The stone was cold against her bare back. A deeper cold than the night air, leaching up through the ancient altar, through the slick residue of oils and something darker that stained the spiraling carvings. Megumi’s wrists burned where the coarse rope bit, lashed tight to iron rings at the altar’s edge. Her breath hitched in ragged little gasps behind the cloth gag, the fabric sour with her own fear.
Above her, the ruins of the temple framed a slice of bruised, red-tinged sky. The full moon stared down, a blind white eye.
“Stop your sniveling.” Naoya’s voice was flat, bored, as he finished checking the knots. He wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes, a pale, watery blue, skimmed over her exposed body with detached appraisal, like a butcher surveying a cut of meat. “It’s an honor. You should be grateful your useless form can serve the sacred will.”
He leaned closer, his blonde hair falling forward from under his blood-stained priestly cowl. The scent of old incense and iron clung to him. One hand came to rest, heavy and proprietary, on her stomach. She flinched, a full-body tremor that made the chains on his robes jingle softly.
“See? Even now, you’re just a reactive little thing. No thought. No worth beyond this.” His fingers trailed lower, past her navel, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. He stopped short of where she dreaded, instead delivering a hard, contemptuous slap to her inner thigh. The sound was obscenely loud in the silent ruins. “Pitiful. Not even a proper body for it. But the scripture is clear. The vessel must be untouched. So here we are.”
He straightened up, brushing his hands together as if dusting off something foul. “Begin the invocation.”
Around the altar, a dozen hooded figures started to chant. The words were guttural, old, echoing off the broken pillars. They raised rusted daggers, drawing the blades across their own palms in unison. The drip-drip-drip of their blood onto the summoning circle etched into the floor around the altar was the only percussion to their hymn.
Megumi trembled uncontrollably. The terror was a physical thing, a frozen lake filling her chest, cracking her ribs from the inside. This was it. The only future she’d ever been taught. The purpose of her sheltered, bleak existence. To be devoured.
The air in the center of the circle began to warp. It shimmered like heat haze, then darkened, coalescing into a figure that grew and grew, blocking out the moon.
Sukuna Ryomen manifested not with a clap of thunder, but with a low, weary sigh that gusted across the altar, stirring the hair on Megumi’s brow.
He was massive. The top of her head might reach the bottom of his ribcage if she stood. Four powerfully built arms flexed as he settled into being. Two predatory red eyes gleamed from his proud face, and a second pair, narrower and more vicious, glinted from his forehead. His torso was a map of hardened muscle, and low on his abdomen, a second mouth full of sharp teeth grinned lazily.
The chanting died into a stunned, reverent silence.
Naoya fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. “Oh, glorious one! We offer you the sacred virgin, pure and—“
“I see what you offer,” Sukuna rumbled. His voice wasn’t the earthquake she expected. It was deep, textured with amusement and a profound boredom. He took a single step forward, the ground trembling slightly. One of his lower hands reached out, a finger as thick as her wrist extending to trace the line of tears down Megumi’s cheek. The touch was surprisingly careful. “She’s crying. You made her cry before I even got here.”
Naoya faltered. “The vessel’s fear is part of the tribute, mighty one! It seasons the flesh, it—“
“Seasoning.” Sukuna repeated the word as if it were idiotic. His main eyes stayed locked on Megumi’s wide, terrified green ones. “You people have no imagination. It’s the same dull song every few decades. ‘Oh great demon, eat this terrified child.’ It’s tiresome.”
He leaned down, his shadow swallowing her whole. The mouth on his stomach whispered, its voice a sinister, intimate echo. “She’s prettier than the last one. Look at that. Real fear. Not just ritual terror. It’s delicious.”
“Then… then consume her!” Naoya urged, confusion bleeding into his fanaticism.
Sukuna ignored him. One massive upper hand slid under Megumi’s bound body. His palm was warm, calloused, encompassing her completely from shoulders to knees. With a faint snap, the ropes at her wrists parted like cobwebs. He lifted her as easily as a man might lift a kitten, bringing her close to his chest. The gag dissolved into black smoke under the gaze of one of his lower eyes.
Megumi drew in a shocked, ragged breath. She was naked, held aloft in the palm of a demon, yet the crushing weight of the altar was gone. She hung limp, too confused by the sudden shift to even struggle.
“What are you doing?” Naoya screamed, scrambling to his feet. “The ritual! You must complete the rite! Devour the sacrifice!”
“I’m changing the menu,” Sukuna said, his tone conversational. He brought Megumi closer, his main mouth quirking into a smirk. “I think I’ll keep this one. She’s more interesting alive.”
Naoya’s face purpled with rage and blasphemous horror. “You cannot! It is written! It is sacred law! She is nothing, a worthless bitch, her only purpose is to be your divine sustenance!”
Sukuna’s smirk vanished. The air grew heavy, prickling with malice. “You’re loud,” he said, almost gently.
One of his free hands shot out, too fast to follow. It didn’t punch through Naoya; it simply enclosed him, head and torso, in a crushing grip. Naoya’s screams were muffled, then became wet, crunching sounds. Sukuna brought the fist to the grinning mouth on his stomach.
There was a sickening, rhythmic tearing. The cultists stood frozen, their faith shattering before them.
Megumi watched, numb. She heard the sounds. Saw the dark rivulet of blood drip from Sukuna’s abdominal mouth down his leg. This was the horror she was prepared for. This was the monster. But the monster wasn’t eating her. It was eating Naoya. The man whose touch had been her private hell for years was being erased with casual, brutal efficiency.
A weird, hollow quiet settled in her mind.
Sukuna finished, licking his lips with a thin, black tongue from the stomach-mouth. He dropped Naoya’s sandals and the tattered, empty remains of his robes to the floor. He surveyed the other cultists. “Anyone else want to lecture me on the sacred texts?”
They fled, robes flapping, a cacophony of stumbling footsteps and whimpers fading into the night.
Silence returned, now absolute, broken only by the wind. Sukuna looked back at the girl in his hand. She was just staring at him, those big green eyes glazed, her slight body shivering slightly. The raw, abject terror was gone. Replaced by a depthless shock.
He shifted his grip, curling his fingers to cradle her more securely. With the tip of a claw from another hand, he carefully nicked the skin over her collarbone. A single, perfect bead of welled up, dark and red against her pallor.
He brought the cut to his lips, his main tongue flicking out to taste it. His eyes half-lidded.
“Hm,” he murmured, the sound vibrating through her. “Better than his. Cleaner.” He dabbed the tiny wound with a thumb, the bleeding stopping instantly. “There. A tribute. That’s all you needed to give.”
He started to walk, carrying her away from the altar, his strides eating the distance of the ruined temple floor. He wasn’t heading toward the dark forest, but toward the deeper blackness of the mountain’s heart.
Megumi finally found her voice. It was a tiny, cracked thing. “Keep me?”
“For now,” Sukuna said, not looking down. “You’re a novelty. The weeping, devoted sacrifice who didn’t get sacrificed. It’s funny.” The mouth on his stomach whispered again, its breath warm against her knee. “And you’re soft. I like soft things.”
She was silent for a long while, processing. The wind chilled the tear-tracks on her face. The numbness was receding, not into fear, but into a staggering, incomprehensible blankness.
“He’s gone?” she asked quietly.
“Most of him,” Sukuna replied.
A shudder ran through her, but it wasn’t a sob. She let her head fall back against his massive fingers, staring up at the stars beginning to pierce the red veil of the sky. “Oh.”
He glanced down at her, a flicker of interest in all four eyes. “That’s all? ‘Oh’?”
She blinked slowly. The cool, nonchalant act was beyond her, but the sheer cataclysm of the night had burned her emotions to ash. There was nothing left to perform. “What do you want me to say?”
Sukuna’s laugh was a low, rolling sound. It wasn’t kind. But it wasn’t directed at her cruelty, either. It was a sound of genuine, intrigued amusement.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. “That’s a better question.”