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Sukuna's ecstasy was carnage and violence and fear. Not subservience. Not worship.
Little people, little minds. Ants. Specks of dust floating in paper houses.
And to kneel—to be one of the insignificant specks? Sukuna would have rather raged against the gods than to kneel. He’d been above all of it. Better to die on his feet than to live on his knees.
Or so he’d allowed himself to believe.
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Bookmark Notes:
worship fushiguro!!!!! he deserves it!!!
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love this I LIVE FOR THIS