Chapter Text
“Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee."
- Exodus 20:12
***
The sky was the color of fire.
A swirling sea of reds and oranges painted the clouds above, polluted with wisps of dark grey smoke that rose from the scorched earth. The smell of burning was everywhere - in the air, on the ground, shrouding the surroundings in the distinctive, undeniable stench of death.
Ryoumen Sukuna stood tall and watched the destruction laid out before him with a small, pleased smile.
Just a mere few minutes ago, this very place had been a modest farming village. The land had been covered with viridescent vegetation and tall stalks of wheat and corn swaying peacefully in the calm midday breeze. There had been a collection of simple, wooden huts scattered around the area, too, though it was difficult to pinpoint where a majority had been - the fire had scorched them all away, leaving nothing behind but dry dirt and soot and the smell of burning human flesh.
“Sukuna-sama.”
He turned. Uraume had returned, kneeling by his feet. Flecks of ash stained their snow-white hair, tingeing it with spots of dull gray.
“Yes?” he asked. “What is it?”
“I’ve scanned the area like you requested, Sukuna-sama. I found no trace of any humans that could have escaped.”
“Good.” The news came as no surprise. He’d doubted that any mere human could have lived through the hellfire that he’d unleashed on the village, much less run away. “Is there anything else?”
There was a brief pause — uncommon for Uraume, who never wasted a moment complying with Sukuna’s requests. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “Uraume,” he warned, voice low. “You should know well what happens to those who keep information from me.”
Uraume’s head dipped lower, and they dropped on both knees to the ground, prostrating themselves before him. “Forgive me, my lord.” There was a slight tremor in their voice. “There is… something else that I need to report.”
“And, pray tell, what is it?”
“Most of the corpses here have been burned to bone, Sukuna-sama. But… ” Uraume took a quick, trembling breath. “I found a singular survivor.”
“Oh?” Sukuna raised an eyebrow. Now that was interesting. In all his centuries of living, there had only been a small handful of humans who have ever survived the wrath of his flames. “Who is it?" He prodded, his interest piqued. "A great warrior, perhaps? A skilled sorcerer?”
Uraume shook their head. “No, my lord,” they replied. “It’s a child.”
Sukuna blinked. “A child?”
“Yes.” Uraume lifted their head from the ground, though they still stayed on their knees. “A baby boy, buried underneath the rubble of one of the huts at the far end of the village. It seems as though its parents used their bodies to shield their offspring from the heat of the flames.”
Parents giving their lives to protect their young — it was such a sentimentally human thing to do that Sukuna almost found it amusing. “What is the condition of the child?” he asked, finding himself growing more and more curious.
“I’m not sure, Sukuna-sama. I returned as soon as I heard it crying.”
“Well, if it still has the strength to draw breath, I assume that it’s not injured badly.” He glanced towards the edge of the village, the only place where there were still a few huts half-standing. Their distance from where Sukuna had unleashed his flames had saved their structure somewhat — that, too, must have also played a part in the child’s survival.
Still, it was odd. A human baby was one of the weakest, most defenseless specimens that existed — even factoring in its parents’ sacrifice and the location of the hut, it should have still perished in Sukuna’s flames, or at least, be on the verge of death. It shouldn’t have the energy to cry .
“Strange,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Uraume, still by his feet, remained silent, no doubt awaiting their orders.
In the grand scheme of things, other than being rather unusual, this particular incident was of no major importance to Sukuna. It didn’t matter if the child had survived. Without parents to care for it, and with its injuries, it would no doubt die soon or later — just another tally mark in Sukuna’s countless kills.
And yet, Sukuna found himself curious.
“Uraume.” Their head snapped up at the sound of their name. “I want you to bring the child to me.”
Though brief, he didn’t miss the look of surprise that flashed across his servant’s face. Uraume was wise enough not to vocalize their thoughts, however, instead inclining their head and murmuring a soft, “Of course, Sukuna-sama.”
Within seconds, they were gone in a flash of silver and white, leaving Sukuna standing alone with his arms crossed, waiting for their return.
It didn’t mean anything to him, this child. Not really. All he wanted was to see it with his own eyes, just once — see what it looked like, to satisfy his curiosity, and then he’d cast the thing aside and let it rot on the blackened earth.
A gust of smoky wind announced Uraume’s return, taking a knee once more at Sukuna’s feet. There was something wrapped in dirt-stained cloth, squirming in their arms. Sukuna thought he saw a flash of pink.
Wordlessly, he stretched out two of his arms. Uraume rose, and obediently handed over the small, wriggling bundle to their master.
The first thing he noticed was the pink hair. It was a soft, dusty color, darkened with what appeared to be ash and dried stains of blood, but it was undoubtedly, irrefutably pink. He furrowed his eyebrows, finding himself confused for the first time in a long while. Human hair came in multiple different shades and colors — black, brown, blonde, red, white — but in all his years spent roaming the earth, he had never seen anyone with pink . He held the baby up against the bright rays of the sun, wondering if the light was somehow playing tricks on his eyes — but no, that was not the case.
With one sharp, jagged nail, he ripped apart the scraps of fabric swaddling the baby, continuing his inspection. It was young, that was for sure — hardly a few weeks old, if he had to guess. Its entire body fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, almost as if Sukuna had been made to hold it.
And it was watching him silently with wide, brown eyes that were tinged with hints of amber. Most humans, when seeing him face-to-face, would scream in fear and horror. Yet, the child in his arms stayed silent, simply observing him, innocent and curious.
A strange, unfamiliar emotion stirred in his chest. He looked at Uraume. “I believe you said it was crying.”
“It was, Sukuna-sama. It stopped just before I brought it to you.”
He looked down at the baby again. Despite the carnage he’d inflicted on the village and the people living in it, aside from a few scratches and scraps, the child was practically untouched. The only major injury he could see was a burn on the boy’s cheek, with reddish, cracked skin peeling away, a few small blisters already forming on the affected area.
It looked painful — certainly painful enough a wound for a young human to be wailing right now. He’d killed countless, loud-mouth brats who screeched and shrieked when he hacked off their limbs or set them ablaze to burn. For the briefest of moments, he considered doing just that — twisting off one of the boy's arms or legs to make it scream, to get rid of this odd, uncomfortable silence.
But, no. To do so — to kill this child, lying in his hand… He couldn’t explain it, but it felt wrong.
“Uraume,” he said, handing the naked child back to his loyal servant, who took it from him obediently. “Find a human nursing mother from any one of the surrounding villages, and bring her to me.”
Uraume cradled the baby awkwardly in their arms, looking extremely out of their element as two small, infant hands reached out to grab and pull at their robes. “Sukuna-sama,” they began, suddenly sounding unsure, uncertain. “Forgive me for asking, but… what do you plan to do with the child?”
It was a logical question, a question that he was supposed to know the answer to. And yet, as he searched for the words to explain his reasoning, he found nothing. What did he want to do with this child? To observe it for longer? To discover the reason behind its strange pink hair? To raise it, like cattle, until he could slaughter and feast on its flesh? No — none of those reasons were correct. None of those reasons even made sense — he was Ryoumen Sukuna, King of Curses, bringer of death. His very name would have even the bravest of men trembling in fear. Humans, no matter how strange, or odd, or unusual, were of no interest to him.
And yet.
“Find a suitable woman,” he repeated. His tone left no room for any further questions. “Do it by tonight.”
He strode away from Uraume and the boy in their arms without another word.