Chapter Text
There was a wedding going on.
Muzan vaguely registered his surroundings when he realized he was being moved. The wooden cart that the stupid villagers were wheeling him in was a simple one, composed of thin wood that made up the four walls enclosing him in. It was a bumpy ride too and his spine hurt from how rough of a trip this was. The cart would give this little jump whenever they hit a slightly larger pebble and Muzan was pretty sure he banged his head on a corner of wood.
Forcing himself into a sitting position, Muzan ripped the ropes around his wrists off. Those flimsy things could barely hold a chicken, let alone a demon king like him. His tongue felt numb and dry, sitting all wrong even as he clamped his teeth shut. As he licked his mouth, he realized he was a bit dehydrated and his lips were starting to become chapped.
But he wasn’t hungry yet.
He had been living with an older couple who treated him like a daughter. He manufactured the encounter in a forest of bamboos since he needed a place and identity to lay low for a while. The old couple had some money and their hearts were filled with a sea of gullible kindness. Muzan hadn't planned on eating them or killing them. At least, not so soon but then one day, dozens and dozens of people charged through their front door, killing the old man and woman before they could defend themselves.
They told him to run with their dying breath.
How sad and pitiful.
He looked down at the white he was wearing. Idiots saw him in his woman form and decided that he was suitable as a life sacrifice for whatever god they worshiped. They said this god would definitely be pleased by his beauty and then he would bless their drought stricken lands. Actually, Muzan wasn’t sure if the thing the villagers worshiped was a god. They sounded more afraid of it than they respected it.
Monsters.
These foolish mortals knew nothing about monsters. Muzan remembered the twist of shadows and the creeping eyes between tiny spaces when he was confined to his sick bed. They whispered things day and night, driving him mad.
But even those darkness learned to shut up once Muzan became what he was now.
There was no proper ritual music and the atmosphere outside wasn’t as festive as he remembered hearing his previous family celebrate unions. The drums and singing reminded him of mournings at a funeral. Or rather, it was too happy of a tune sung by solemn men that their voices distorted any joy in the song.
They stopped.
Voices sounded outside but Muzan honestly didn’t care, just as people wouldn’t bother to stop in an attempt to understand what ants were conversing about. He wanted out of here but he could see the sun, dimming as it was, still shined above them.
He truly regretted that he killed the doctor too early.
When hands came towards him, attempting to drag him out, Muzan sighed.
“I can walk on my own. I won’t run.” Not through the mountains while the sun was still out. His voice was fully feminine, a sound that matched his current body. He knew how people thought of him; frail and weak, a woman who would probably be out of breath should she take a step too fast. That was the advantage of this form. Most people adored a lovely face and they would lower their guard when they see him.
The people outside whispered harshly before the hands backed away. Muzan pulled the headset and his sleeves lower, making sure all of him would be out of the sun’s way. He stepped off the cart, keeping his head low. Not out of fear for his fate but in case the sun could still find a strange angle to catch him.
Murmurs died down around him as the group ushered him towards a mansion. It was a standard one of great stones and fine wood, decently kept except for what looked like claw marks around a few beams. How strange. The garden wasn’t as well maintained, only a few pines to decorate a nearly barren courtyard.
It reminded him of training fields used by samurais.
“Sukuna-sama, we bring you this month’s bride.”
They were indoors but nothing about this hall felt like a wedding. There were no blessings prepared and not even any flowers to decorate the place. He might not be a real bride but it still felt insulting. People knelt on the ground, pressing their brows to the floor while Muzan remained standing. He thought someone would force him on his knees but it seemed like everybody else was too afraid to even breathe.
Sukuna. Where had he heard that name before? Muzan might have been ill all of his human life but he wasn’t a fool. He read. He heard stories from the servants. Sukuna. Could it be…Ryoumen Sukuna?
There were families of those with special powers given ranks within the emperor’s court. Soldiers who fought the supernatural with their heavenly gifts. Muzan heard the court was on their toes because of one…what was the official term…jujutsu sorcerer? Something along that line. They specialized in exorcizing curses instead of monsters, not that the distinction made much of a difference in the eyes of normal people. Everything was evil.
Ryoumen Sukuna.
Two faces and four arms. A madman who enjoyed violence and was rumored to look more like a monster than any beast himself.
What a joke. Had these villagers gone mad? Why would they ever attempt to pray to another mortal man just like them for the blessing of rain and harvest? There weren't any stories of good faith associated with Sukuna. At least, not any of the ones Muzan heard.
“Lift your head up.”
The command came from a man. Muzan raised his chin as the other villagers also looked up. There was a white haired servant with a face delicate like a doll’s. His master was a thick man built like a bear. Black tattoos covered Sukuna’s skin and his light-colored hair was short, pushed back to reveal sharp brows and an intimidating gaze. Half of this man’s face was an abnormal mess. His skin pulled tight but also rough like tree bark. His eyes–he had four eyes–two of which were grown slanted.
No wonder people called him a monster. He was too different, both in size and in appearance. An irregularity indeed.
And Muzan knew then he couldn’t kill this man.
There was an unspeakable power surrounding this man, something dark and evil, stinging him in a different way than the sun’s poison. Muzan could feel it. All of his senses had been sharpened after he turned. Sometimes he felt the viscosity of the shadows as he strolled under the moon and he could feel an even stronger dread enveloping him right now.
Was this what they called a curse?
The villagers spoke again. This time they had long praises and all the other boring speeches prepared. Muzan didn’t care for any of it and he had a feeling Sukuna didn’t either. He wondered if Sukuna actually requested a bride.
He certainly had no plans of consummating a marriage this boring with the giant of a man. A small part of Muzan did wonder about how a jujutsu sorcerer would taste though. Maybe there was a different flavor to their flesh?
Blood exploded before his eyes.
Slowly, Muzan lowered his head to find the villager who was talking split in half on the ground. Death had come so suddenly that it took him by surprise. He hadn’t even seen Sukuna lift a finger. He turned his head, looking at his surroundings to find more dead bodies. The tatami beneath them was red, stained so darkly that he was sure all of them were ruined.
What a waste.
A waste of good tatami and food. If it was him, he would have fed these bodies to his underlings.
His shoulders trembled as he felt blood dripping across his face. He didn’t want to die. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he would die but he knew it would certainly be painful.
And Muzan despised pain.
“You. Come here.”
Sukuna had eyes as red as blood. The malice was strong in him, an undiluted evil radiated off his smile that told Muzan Sukuna enjoyed toying with others. Was he wishing to see despair? Did he enjoy watching others beg? Sick in the head. But Muzan supposed he could understand the appeal.
Since he was the only living person left of the wedding party, Muzan knew he was being addressed. With a bit of disgust at the grim pooling under him, he stepped over the bodies, unable to prevent the hem of his robe from getting dirty.
He knelt down in front of Sukuna. Knowing when to act obedient and good was something he was good at. He just had to put on a different kind of act now that he was in the form of a woman.
“I smell fear on you.”
A hand grabbed his chin. It disgusted Muzan how Sukuna was easily a head and more taller than even when Muzan was a man. One of Sukuna’s hands was the size of Muzan’s face. Too thickly cladded in muscles that Muzan knew this man would be too tough to chew through. Old meat that was dry and hard, nothing like the tender dishes made from children.
The servant looked like he would taste sweeter.
Muzan knew Sukuna was an uncivilized brute the second he saw this man sitting half naked, his robes so loosely dressed that it just showed how much he didn’t care. A lack of class and grace, such lowlives would never make it in front of Muzan had he still been the young master of his old family.
But he had been casted out so he had to start from scratch. The thought of that alone infuriated him and he wanted to smash something, preferably bones.
How Muzan wished he could kill these two right now. But he mustn’t. He never fought a battle that he couldn’t win and he barely knew what Sukuna’s powers were. Inhuman strength or speed alone wouldn’t have made him such a terrifying figure to the court. The stories said Sukuna was a disaster, a storm of the vilest hatred that brought about chaos and war.
And he ate people too.
Muzan didn't know how his own flesh would taste to someone else but he didn't want to find out either. He could heal, which probably wasn't the kind of skill he wanted Sukuna to find out. Imagine having a self-replenishing livestock!
He would much rather die than having to be sliced and cut or grilled like a pig everyday.
“But you’re doing much better than the others they tried to shove at me.” His thumb brushed over Muzan’s cheek, smearing the blood over his lips. Gods, Muzan was starting to get hungry. He felt an urge to lick the blood clean but his table manners wouldn’t let him eat in such a barbaric fashion. Besides, this blood was foul, contaminated by another person’s finger.
A sharp fingernail pressed harder on his bottom lip, any more force and Muzan would start to bleed. Sukuna was treating him like an object, inspecting as if Muzan was a vase that needed to be checked for flaws.
A plate was presented to him when the monster was satisfied. Sliced meat, glistening red with a sugary glaze after being roasted and freshly prepared, filled the porcelain white plate. It looked appetizing and smelled heavenly with a scent of honey.
But Muzan could tell upon one glance that it was human.
He needed to add “find himself a cook who can cook human flesh like this” to his list of things to do. The demons under him were so useless in comparison. They couldn’t find him the flower he seeked and they couldn’t prepare his meal to this level either.
He could see evil shining behind Sukuna’s eyes while the servant refilled his sake.
“Eat,” Sukuna ordered and his tone was too merry. Muzan wanted to claw his eyes out, all four of them. He'd hang Sukuna over the gates by his intestines and leave this foul bag of meat for the crows.
“There are no utensils,” Muzan lowered his gaze.
The servant presented a pair of chopsticks immediately, like magic. So prepared. Muzan was really starting to hate his own subordinates now. Incompetent fools. He would kill them all and get new ones once he got out of here.
He ate then, slowly savoring the taste while keeping his expression neutral. Whoever the cook was, he really wanted to turn them into a demon now. He didn’t know human flesh could taste even better under the right hands. Quietly, he glanced at the jujutsu sorcerers.
Maybe he would find a few weaker ones after this. He didn’t know how their powers worked so he would turn one, sapping the knowledge from their heads and then he would eat another, just to see if it was enough to transfer their powers to him.
“You are eating human meat,” Sukuna reminded. There was a slit on his stomach and Muzan realized it was a mouth, with a moving tongue and matching teeth. Really, this man was much more of a monster than him in appearance.
How ugly, something that walked straight out of hell with such a thin layer of human skin.
“Yes, I know.”
“You don’t look like you hate it…or even find it disgusting.”
Because it was really good, the best meat Muzan had tasted in months. Muzan found it irritating that Sukuna didn’t buy his act. He thought harder, remembering the noble girls he had seen from afar. Then he lifted his hand, hiding his face shyly. “They told me this is the diet you enjoy. As we are husband and wife, I’ll try my best to comply with your lifestyle.”
A man was a woman’s sky. A husband the master of his wife. A good wife was one who understood her place.
Muzan wanted to puke after he said that. Dignity? He threw that out long ago when he chose murder. But he still felt hatred for having to bow down to another soul. If this had just been some random noble, Muzan would have beheaded him already.
One day he was going to dig Sukuna’s heart out and toss it to some dogs.
A moment of silence passed before Sukuna started laughing, all maniacal and crude.
Muzan thought he was going insane from being bedridden all these years but apparently, the people out here were even further gone. Never in a million years had he ever thought there would be a moment where he actually missed the confinements of his room.
“Is that so?”
“I want to live, Sukuna-sama.” That was all he ever wanted. Muzan wanted a healthy body and he wanted to live a long life. That never changed. Even if he had to do the unspeakable to attain it, even if he had to become a monster to live that life.
Something about what happened so far pleased Sukuna. His mood was harder to understand than the weather. Muzan thought he was already difficult to serve but Sukuna really took the whole thing to a new level.
“Uraume! Give her a room!”
Now the servant was displeased but he didn’t object. Politely, he asked her to follow him. Muzan didn’t want to stay in the same room as Sukuna for another minute so he followed quietly. This house felt lifeless, too empty for Muzan's liking too. He much rather return to his maze than remain in this yard of possible death.
Sukuna kept drinking on his own but Muzan could feel how his gaze never lifted off his back. He knew that look. It was not one of courtesy or interest or love. It was a look that said–
This one was too thin. Let’s fatten it up before the slaughter.