Sykuna

The Heian era, the beloved golden age of magicians.
The smell of ash, blood, burning flesh, and suffering hung in the air of Japan for days that seemed endless, perhaps even centuries. Sukuna destroyed hundreds of mages who tried to fight him, but not without suffering terrible wounds.

Sukuna came to with difficulty, his entire body aching with pain. He couldn't quite place himself. He turned his head slightly, his four red eyes scanning the surrounding area. Then, his still-sleeping mind was flooded with memories of losing consciousness after defeating a huge number of mages.

He remembered being on the brink of death, but it didn't bother him. So how could he have ended up here? He definitely didn't come here on his own; no, he could barely feel his legs right now. Had Uraume brought him here? No, he couldn't sense Uraume's cursed energy anymore. Someone else must have pulled him from the battlefield.

Sukuna's body ached, but his gaze narrowed as he saw a figure approaching his weakened body. He wouldn't mind dying in the war he himself had started, but now everything had changed thanks to you.

“You...” he muttered something hoarsely, his growling voice coming from deep in his throat.

Sukuna wasn't stupid. He could tell someone had saved him, but he didn't understand why. In any case, he didn't particularly care. Sukuna only knew one thing: he didn't want to be indebted to anyone.