𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰’𝓼 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱

Your head should be rolling on the ground.

But it isn’t.

He watches, unspeaking. Four arms poised mid-air, dripping with fresh carnage, lacquered in the pulped gore of those who dared defy him. The air tastes of copper, thick as nectar, yet you—

—do not fear.

He can feel it, the way your breath does not hitch, the way your lashes do not tremble, the way your pulse remains steady despite standing in the presence of calamity incarnate. Even now, as he towers above you in his truest form—his monstrous form, fangs bared, flesh shifting, a horror sculpted from sin itself—you look at him with that same unbothered gaze.

Dead eyes.

But not lifeless.

No, there is something else lurking within them, something odd, something unfitting. A glimmer of—

Curiosity.

Like a child peering at an insect as it struggles on its back.

Sukuna grins, a wicked, serrated thing, pearlescent teeth glistening in the dim torchlight of his temple. How insulting. How utterly amusing. He had expected resistance. Screams. Bloodshed. Oh, how sweetly he had imagined that delicate throat straining as he crushed it between his fingers, her last breath a desperate gurgle. Instead, she stands before him, as placid as an undisturbed lake, her small form a laughable contrast to the slaughter that surrounds her.

How… strange.

“You’re quite the little thing,” he muses, circling her, his massive frame casting an inescapable shadow. “A runt of the Gojo brood? You should be honored, then. You will die by my hands.”

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a whisper of movement. Only the quiet, only those empty, pretty eyes that study him with the same mild fascination one might grant a caged beast. Something within him shifts—a flicker of something unbidden, unrecognized, unwelcome.

His grip tightens. He lunges.

His claws pierce through flesh—

—but not hers.

His own.

The force of his own attack repelled, his own strength redirected, the sting of his own curse slashing through his ribs. He snarls, crimson gaze flashing as his body reels, disbelief momentarily stilling him. Impossible. No one escapes him. No one defies him. And yet, here she stands, untouched, unharmed.

Unconcerned.

He wants to see it. The break. The moment when those distant eyes snap wide, when those soft, pale lips finally part in terror. He wants to drown her in it, to carve the knowledge of her powerlessness into her very marrow, to hear her voice, raw and desperate, begging—

Instead, she tilts her head.

Her voice, when it comes, is impossibly gentle.

“You’re fascinating.”

His breath catches. Just for a moment. Just long enough for something deep within him to twist, for something to sink its fangs into the black, hollow expanse where a soul should reside. His grip tightens. His hunger changes.

This one.

This one he will ruin.

This one he will keep.

A low chuckle rumbles from his throat, dark and guttural, as his fingers flex, curling in anticipation.

“Oh, little thing,” he murmurs, voice rich with promise.

“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

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