Chapter Text
[. . .]
"Perhaps the only mercy in this world was in my mother's womb."
[. . .]
Chapter 1
Momma's Boy
[. . .]
Ryoumen Sukuna.
A man turned curse. A curse turned King.
The Disgraced One, they whisper.
The King of Curses, they fear.
Raw, unbridled anguish exudes from that name—the title of the damned. The mere mention of his presence contracts knots of oblivion churned between the asphyxiation of death and the cruel nurture of bloodshed. It is a monstrous being none dare evoke, for the monster himself is said to come looking, lurking beneath the coldness of the shadows.
He is War itself. He paints in death, inking every brushstroke in sanguine, splattering fields in the wet, repulsed essence of gore. Enemies fall to his feet. Heads hang in his walls. Bones and flesh linger in his hunger, in his mouth of avarice, savoring the innocent and agony on his foul, lashing tongue.
Stories told far and wide are nurtured under his cruel hand. He revels in the taste of terror.
Ryoumen Sukuna has no mercy.
Rumors suggest that he has always possessed this nature. So harsh. So unforgiving. After all, there is no one left alive to contradict such assertions.
But the truth resides in the light sealed beneath his dead heart. Of golden memories chained in rust, embedded into the bloody soil of a happier time. When he had been more innocent. When he had a love bestowed upon him unlike any other.
When he had not been a title, but a boy seeking out a mother's love.
A time before he ever was Ryoumen Sukuna.
[. . .]
Mother is strong.
That's the first thought that passes through his head—the initial notion that asserts itself with authority in his mind.
He is small. Weak. A mere babe fresh and ugly from the womb, pressed against his mother's breast in a firm and tender hold. A woman with eyes a soft jade and hair a long, silken pink peers down at him with an adoration so profound it feels unnatural against his slime-coated skin. There is a strange, purple marking shaped in a diamond planted on the center of her forehead that hides a fountain of strength he wants for greedily.
Her features are contorted in fatigue, but the power within her probing fingertips is something he is quick to latch onto and try to take for himself, relishing the rush he feels seep into his tiny body.
He basks in her clemency for just a brief moment.
He intends to bite, for his eerie, sharp teeth to seep into her carnal flesh, in the next. He knows he will fail, for he is not a normal child, but an abomination birthed by a mystery. He is not so human and not so different from one, but a secret third thing. And it's true. He doesn't pierce skin, meat, or bone.
Despite this, he settles. He is not punished for it, and instead he is welcomed further in her warmth. It tells him he is adored. That he is wanted.
It is like a normal child with their mother. To coo and watch in fleeting fascination the strength of their guardian.
"My Sakuratsu," She soothes, effortlessly removing her calloused fingers from his mouth to cradle his horrifying face. She leans forward with all her warmth, and he is enveloped in her comforting scent, squirming against her lips pressing lovingly against his forehead. "My child."
He doesn't know what this is.
But his first memory of coming to this world is wrapped within his mother's mercy.
[. . .]
He is Haruno Sakuratsu, first and only spawn of Mother Sakura.
He is named after her, that much is obvious. His arrival into this world was not initially intended for the purpose of being named, but he has taken it in with vast gusto. He is indeed a being hatched with some knowledge. He possesses an innate understanding, suggesting that he is not entirely human, a trait inherited from his mother, who embodies a source of pure energy. Consequently, it is only fitting that he exhibits a level of intelligence that surpasses that of other entities in this realm.
For that, he is immensely curious.
He knows mother is a gentle creature. She is there for him nearly every second of the day, cradling and caring for him. He cannot speak, so therefore he cannot ask, but it seems she knows what he intends to say regardless. It's not often that he thinks, no. He's just an infant. But there are moments he allows himself to.
(If she is Mother, then who is Father?)
She tells him a lot of things. Of this world, of its creatures.
She loves to take him outside bundled in soft blankets to point and instruct, and he, Sakuratsu, takes it all in. He memorizes it all.
And when it is time to head inside the small wooden home he was born in, she repeats the process, gesturing to the worn furniture and funny trinkets they keep in their home. It quickly becomes boring as she continues throughout his weeks of infancy like this, but not boring enough that it becomes torturous. For he is new, and therefore easily entertained, loved within her kind embrace.
He finds she is quite fond of his crib.
"You are an adorable sleeper," She insists, setting him down on the plush cotton. He looks up at her blankly, blinking his two pairs of eyes—the two engorged on the right side of his face, and the other more human ones.
Her smile is kind.
(But he is too young to see the depth of sorrow she keeps behind it.)
[. . .]
He grows quickly.
He is a newborn, and soon an infant, and later sooner than that he's crawling just four months after his birth.
Mother is happy. She claps and squeals with every achievement, and he preens at her praise with bubbly squiggles, reveling at the affection he receives for his triumphs. Yes, he thinks as she hugs him close while she roasts a particularly large portion of venison over their makeshift flames inside a clay stove that makes his mouth water at the smokey scent engulfing the air, I deserve this.
He is rewarded for his efforts with the meat she goes out to hunt for. His only source of nutritional value after finally giving up his weaning on his mother's milk.
He eats vegetables, yes. His mother isn't strict, but she does enforce rules he follows dutifully. For she is the powerful being here, and he is her son, so therefore he must listen. He doesn't quite like it, no, but he can't complain when she does her best to help him. If she says he needs vegetables, then he will eat them.
However, vegetables are rare in his nutrition. She feeds him mostly meats, because that is what his body can primarily digest.
He is somewhat of a carnivore, according to Mother. Foods such as rice, spinach, cabbage, and onion are okay to eat. Other foods cause him much indigestion, such as radishes and bamboo. She avoids those entirely.
Although his rapid growth has lessened because he no longer feeds from his mother, it is nonetheless a quick adaptation. His meaty diet helps in that lot, and he is all too greedy to pick up the pace. The mouth in his stomach likes to messily engorge itself in beef, causing a messy ordeal that leads to baths. He quite likes those, for the water is warm and the scent of the soap lathered on him matches his mother.
In fact, he likes baths so much, he is purposeful in creating messes to achieve that.
It's probably his fifth bath in the afternoon when his mother takes him out of the tub she washes him in just after he's eaten, gently drying his pouting face with a raised eyebrow and a white towel in her hand.
"I hope you're not dirtying yourself on purpose, Sakuratsu."
He shrinks a little in confusion at her careful words.
She wraps him in the towel and lifts him to eye level. "Right?"
He squirms, trapped in the coils of the dreadful rag of injustice. "Bah?" He tries, realizing it's his first attempt at speech.
She freezes, staring at him with wide eyes.
He is then hugged tightly.
She quickly forgets his scheming, far too elated at his newest achievement.
[. . .]
Three years pass.
He achieves much. Walking. Talking. Simple cognitive motor functions that exceed excellently, hastily phasing through his unexpected years of toddlerhood by the time he completes his first year. Mother laments about seeing her 'baby' grow so soon, but she is also proud that he's managed so much. At three years, he should be able to do as much as that of a normal child, but not nearly as good as he does already. An advantage his mother's genetics have blessed him with, surely. His mother had told him that due to his biology, he must be at least five years old, if not six.
It means he's old enough to come with her to the villages she goes to.
Dressing him in a white kimono wrapped in an obi and an extra hifu because it was cold despite him running hot, Sakuratsu tries to stay still but fails, far too excited at the prospect of finally being able to explore the world his mother blesses.
Mother gently tells him to remain seated while she puts on his tabi and sandals after being done putting on his clothes after a riveting bath, but he doesn't listen.
It's by the grace of whatever Gods are out there that she manages to succeed after a tedious thirty-minute process.
"Ah," She perks, straightening from her crouch and reaching for the extra garment behind his impatient self, "Let's not forget this!" A generous hood tied to his clothes, for if it rains.
"I want to leave now," He grouches upon discovering that they aren't finished after all, scowling at her with puffy cheeks.
She pulls away to look at him, unimpressed. "That's not very nice to say, is it Saku-kun?"
He frowns, fiddling with his fingers. "...No," He mumbles reluctantly.
"You must ask politely."
His face scrunches. No, he almost spits, I want to go now. But he doesn't. Instead, he waits a few minutes, thinking on his mother's lessons in social etiquette. "...May we please... go outside, now?" He tries, trying not to make a face.
The delighted expression on his mother's face calms him instantly. "Very good, my little prince!"
He straightens, puffing his chest at the praise. That's right! He's a prince!
She grabs for a basket to throw over her shoulder just after that, grabbing onto his hand that he eagerly clenches.
Soon, they're on the road.
He cannot remain idle. He lets go of her immediately after they venture away from the forest they've inhabited for his entire life, frenziedly running around. His neck twists and turns with every new sight, red eyes alight with fervor as he makes a memorial map in his head for future expeditions. He's light on his feet as he jumps through the new smaller trees in his path, hanging off the branches, calling for his mother not far behind him, showing off to her what he's capable of.
It's not anything new that she already knows, but she cheers him on all the same, always with the soft warning to be careful.
He doesn't need to be careful. He's strong. Maybe the strongest ever, second to his mother. Granted he hasn't met anyone else, but still. He's been left out of his mother's sight a good few times while she hovers close inside their tiny home, trusting that he will be fine, and in those times, he has broken bones and other such things. Of course, she'd notice during their monthly check-ups. She was a healer, she told him. A good one at that.
But by the time she realizes what's happened, he's already healed.
Still. He got scolded for it.
"Just because you have my regeneration ability," She began tightly, running a motherly hand through his unruly pink hair as he perched himself sadly on her lap, "It doesn't mean you mustn't be careful. It's important. What if one day you get hurt and I'm not there to help?"
"I'm strong," Had been his stubborn response, and in turn, he got his cheek pinched for it. Hard.
Now, as he gallivants through the wilderness, he doesn't negate that fact still.
He can certainly take care of himself.
He doesn't—
His heart sinks as his subsequent attempt at jumping to a tree branch ends in disappointment, his short arms failing to reach the higher limb he had grossly misjudged in length.
Just as he prepares himself for another brutal fall, his mother is there to catch him in mid-air, eyes narrowed.
His eyes widen and he promptly hides his face in her chest as they gently fall down.
He hears her sigh once her feet plant themselves on the earth.
"I told you to be careful," She murmurs, brushing his prickly hair behind his ear. A gentle notion to let him know that she isn't truly angry. She never is.
He doesn't say anything nor does his realization that she's correct yet again stick. After ten minutes sulking in his mother's arms, contemplating on whether he should just stick to his mother for the rest of the journey, he turns his face back to the outside world, glaring with judgement at the trees.
He will conquer them.
He squiggles in his mother's hold.
She stops walking to set him down. "More running, hm?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at him as he looks up at her with a pout.
"I will conquer those trees," He hisses in promise.
She smiles, a twinkle in her eye. "Oh?"
"Yes," He nods sagely. "I will grow bigger. Stronger. Soon, I will be leaping through them with ease."
She nods with him, suddenly serious. He perks. "You will. But first, you must conquer the ground," She whispers conspiratively, clenching her fist in the air.
Shocked, he looks down, realizing his own trial and error. "Really?"
"Yes," She states, crouching to meet his gaze. He lets her pinch his cheek as he lets out a warning growl for her audacity. "Running is a skill. Endurance is a passion. Stamina is a sacrifice. If not for the agility in the strength of your legs, then you won't be able to succeed in your victory against the trees."
Sakuratsu nods in the affirmative. His mother is correct. Per her sage advice, he will heed it flawlessly. It's a strategic plan. If he doesn't build his strength in his legs to cover vast distances on the very dirt he walks on, then he will not have the endurance nor agility to jump through the trees without issue. He needs to do this first. But how?
His mother answers his unuttered question by pointing in front of her. "Why don't we practice? Challenge me in a race, Saku-kun. If you can outrun me and reach that rock, then you will have passed your first lesson." Her appendage centers on the moss-covered boulder just at the precipice of the forest.
Sakuratsu abruptly quakes with energy. "Yes!" He exclaims, and takes off toward it before his mother can say go.
He can hear her laugh behind him.
He doesn't win.
But he demands many more challenges with her throughout the way, panting with glee at the face of his mother who looks back at him at every one, glowing in the freedom of the morning sun.
I will win, he promises himself.
His mother's laughter echoes in the distance.
[. . .]
His mother holds the dangling corpse of a dirty man wielding a rusted knife hours later.
Sakuratsu watches with mild trepidation and fascination as the man lets go of the knife lifelessly, hiding behind his mother's legs and within her long brown cloak, peering up at the uneven angle of the man's neck enraptured in his mother's wrathful touch. His mother's energy spasms with a frosted callousness that makes him feel uneasy.
Like the heavy winter storms just before spring.
They had been laughing, as usual. He had gone ahead of her in the newest race, never one to run out of energy. She hadn't either, but he had been given an opportunity that he took greedily upon finding her distracted collecting some floral herbs on the fruitful ground.
It was there that he was attacked by a man hiding in the tall grass.
He hadn't expected him. They'd been close to a settlement, and therefore Sakuratsu should've known, but he had been so distracted, trying to win his mother's race that he hadn't...
The man had grabbed him roughly by the clothes, but that was it. His mother hadn't even given him a chance to react.
For in an instant, his mother had pushed his tiny self within the safety of her cloak, grabbing onto the man with such ferocity that Sakuratsu had meekly clamped himself against his mother's leg, trembling at the crack that followed.
Now there he harbors, silent as his mother drops the body with an air of defeat.
"Too hard," She whispers to herself, though he manages to hear. She stands still, staring at the body, not saying anything else.
She remains that way for so long that he begins to grow worried, so he hesitantly tugs at her long sleeves, eyes wide. "...Mama?"
At the call, his mother snaps her head down at him.
There is no emotion on her face. He nearly flinches.
But as quick as she is to look at him, her expression softens. "Oh, my baby," She breathes mournfully, lowering herself to his stature. He lets her cradle his face with steady hands, lets her murmur apologies for having him see such a horrible display. He lets her put the hood over his face, lets her put hers in turn as she easily lifts him with a strong arm, guiding him with a secure carry by her hip.
He is bound in her embrace, carried the rest of the way.
He makes no complaints.
His first experience with a human is dusted with remnants of death.
[. . .]
Despite the horror of his first death, Sakuratsu is unfazed.
As he roams his heavy gaze with wonder at the bundle of humans around him, going about their day carrying wood or other unique objects while sparing him and his mother glances of disinterest, the death hardly leaves his mind. It's not tainted with disgust nor fear. Worry yes, for his mother's odd reaction afterward and during her impressive display of power. But other than that? He's fine. In fact, he's intrigued.
He always knew his mother was strong. Therefore, he has assessed that it's normal, because he's strong too.
It's the humans who are weak. Why are they so weak? Is it not correct to be strong to survive a world so challenging?
It feels wrong to see them so weak.
They are the abnormal, and for them to challenge his mother's hand brings a dreadful wrath he cannot explain.
He is... angry, too.
Not at his behest, no. He has contested animals greater in size than he and won effortlessly. Besting a human shouldn't be impossible.
What he's angry at is the audacity that stupid, inferior waste of meat had of attempting to hurt him to get to his mother.
His mother, who is gentle and kind. His mother, who deserves to be worshipped and given everything.
His mother, who now holds him tightly, head down.
He sneers at the eyes of children who catch his gaze, relaxing with satisfaction when the children gasp and run away. He does not like humans, he thinks. They smell awful. They all look like they're dying too, skeletal and frail. Easily beatable. Easily conquered. He despises the way they hobble around, some tiredly, some dreadfully. None hold happy faces, perhaps except the children huddled around like the rats he's seen scurrying in his Mother's forest.
Still, there's a hopeful part of him that cannot be diminished.
Perhaps other humans may be strong. Like Mother.
But as he uses his senses to the distance, he doesn't feel much of a difference. Except perhaps the various floating monsters clinging onto people or buried in ugly corners as they make their way through the marketplace.
Curses.
He knows they're curses. That's what they're called. Curses who run away from him as his mother comes close. Or maybe it's his mother who scares them? There are so few. So little. He hasn't seen a curse at all in his mother's home and forest. This is the first time he sees one and yet, he knows what they are.
He doesn't know why. But it's knowledge he has had since birth.
Like his energy.
Like his mother's energy.
Like—
"Sakura-kimi!"
Sakuratsu turns his head at the same time his mother does at the sudden call. He narrows his sights on an old woman with greying hair, smiling brightly and cradling several stitched garments on her lap. She sits on a crate beside a fabric stand, tended to by another woman, though this one looks significantly younger with a less welcome expression on her face.
He keeps an eye on her specifically as his mother approaches them.
"Itado-oba-sama," His mother replies kindly, bowing. Sakuratsu doesn't know what to do when the old woman's eyes land on him, so he opts to cling to his mother possessively, tiny fists clenched onto her clothes with distrust.
"Ah!" Says the old woman, "I see you've brought the little one around, finally!"
His mother straightens her stance, bouncing him in her arms for a quick grip fix. "I have, yes. This is little Sakuratsu-kun," She murmurs, reaching to part hair away from his face. He leans onto the touch.
"So cute!" Oba-sama says, and Sakuratsu wrinkles his nose at the tone. "Is Oba-sama so lucky to finally witness Sakura-kimi's husband, as well?"
Husband? Sakuratsu tilts his head questionably, looking at his mother. He has never heard of that word before. He has no idea what it means. His intrigue with the odd buildings, the dresswear, and overall atmosphere of this so-called Village may prove fruitful yet. There are many things he has yet to see. He will ask about the term 'husband' later, when the old, ugly humans have gone away.
His mother's smile looks forced. "I'm afraid not, Oba-sama."
The old woman nods. "Such a shame. He was a fine-looking young man. Why, even my daughter had been caught unawares by his handsomeness! When is he set to return?"
His mother holds him tighter. "Not soon, I'm afraid. His business takes him far, and it will be many years before he may return," She answers cordially. A melancholic energy hovers around his mother. He places an open palm on the collar of her neck, searching in confusion to make it go away. His mother gently goes to hold his hand instead, using the same hand that killed the man.
Oba-sama looks sad. "So long? You are a strong woman, Sakura-kimi. I do not envy your years apart from your beloved. He is so strong too, to be apart from such a wonder as yourself."
His mother hums. "We are fortunate to have one another. I will wait for him. I have hopes he will come back soon." Lies? Sakuratsu thinks. His mother brushes a thumb over his skin.
Oba-sama inclines her head. "Such grace. Such loyalty. May the gods' protection be with you and your husband."
His mother bows. "May the gods' protection be with you and your family as well, Itado-oba-sama."
Sakuratsu breathes in relief, thinking that their conversation is finally over. It has brought too many questions to his impatient mind, and he must talk. He must ask his mother what everything means.
Unfortunately, the daughter of the old woman interjects with a question. "Sakura-kimi... forgive my boldness, but is your child...?"
His mother looks up at her, "Is my child what, Hajime-san?" She asks carefully.
Hajime-san shakes her head. "Nothing offensive, Sakura-kimi. I'm just curious. He is also... another being, like your husband had been?"
His mother's tense shoulders relax. "...Yes."
At that, two pairs of eyes lock on him. They seem to hover closer, nearly too close, and Sakuratsu doesn't know what this means. His mother even lifts his hood a little, revealing the rest of his shadowed face.
The two gasp.
Sakuratsu shrinks and his mother drops the hood. What do those inhalations of breath mean? Are they good? Are they bad?
"He has his father's eyes!" The Hajime woman points out in delight, and Sakuratsu stiffens. Her previous stoic expression is now one of glee.
"That he does!" The old woman nods along with her daughter, toothless smile wide and sincere.
Father.
I have a father.
Who is he?
"Who is my father?" He finally erupts, though his voice is careful. Hesitant.
Instantly, the air grows somber.
"Ah," Oba-sama sags in her crate. "He has not met him, has he?"
His mother stays silent.
And that is all the answer he needs.
My father is nothing.
[. . .]
Ryoumen Sukuna sits upon the grass of his garden, contemplatively staring at the pond before him, rippling at the touch of his moving finger dipped into the waters. With one hand he holds his head, arm placed on his bent knee, solemn in his pondering poise.
He stares into the red of his eyes, wondering just what his mother saw in him to love him so much. To love a child so wrong. So... cruel.
Had it been the man she saw in his eyes, the man she married?
He has never thought of his father since... Since. A man whom he had never seen, nor ever will see, except in pictures crafted by his mother's stories.
What had she seen in my father, I wonder?
"Sukuna-sama."
He lifts his head, finding Uraume standing next to him. Their reflection is unmoving in the water. He hums to acknowledge their presence.
They continue, punctual as always, "Your dinner is ready."
He closes his eyes. He breathes.
He is famished, he supposes... He'd nearly forgotten the time.
He almost scoffs.
Reminiscing gets me nowhere. She is gone.
"Let us eat," He rumbles, standing and dismissing his disgusting pity-fest away. Uraume follows after his heavy steps, hands hidden within their sleeves.
He leaves his mother's pond.
The water goes still in his absence.