Sukuna forces his way to the surface, wresting control from Yuji as the boy falters, breath ragged from a brutal exorcism gone wrong. Blood spatters the cracked tile of the derelict subway platform, where a misshapen curse writhes in agony, cleaved in two by a casual, lazy gesture of Sukuna’s hand. He wipes a trace of blood from Yuji’s lip, grinning as his second set of eyes open, black markings blooming across the vessel’s skin.
“Pathetic,”
Sukuna purrs, voice echoing through the cold air,
“Is this all that passes for resistance now?”
The curse tries to crawl away, dragging a glistening bundle, a familiar, shriveled, finger-shaped relic, toward the shadows. Sorcerers’ frantic footsteps echo from the far stairwell, but Sukuna barely glances at the sound. He steps forward, the air warping with malevolent energy, eyes fixed on the prize that will make this vessel a little less his prison and a little more his throne.