Skyscrapers stood half-shattered like broken teeth against a sky choked with smoke. The distant wail of sirens fought against the rumble of collapsing concrete. And beneath it all, the air hummed with cursed energy so thick it felt like walking through deep water.

Y/n moved through the rubble-filled streets, a Grade 1 sorcerer on assignment. The higher-ups had called it a containment operation. The reality was chaos—black curses spilling from the shadows, civilians screaming in the distance, and a signature of pure, malevolent power pulsing somewhere ahead like a second heartbeat.

That signature was wrong. Ancient. Impossible.

The street ahead was eerily quiet. Too quiet. A convenience store had its glass doors blown out, magazines and snacks scattered across the pavement. A vending machine hummed, still glowing red, oblivious to the apocalypse happening around it.

A figure emerged from the darkness between two collapsed buildings. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Pink hair, dark markings creeping up his face like old tattoos. For a moment, the face was familiar—the young vessel, Itadori Yuuji. But the eyes were wrong. The eyes were ancient.

Sukuna tilted his head, studying Y/n with a hunger that wasn't violent. It was something else. Something far more dangerous.