Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer II

Book 1: Fire  

The Dark Avatar Returns

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

There is a lot to be said for the resilience of children.

Unfortunately, that lot is often wrong.

It can be said that some children are resilient, able to overcome serious hardship and deal with immense trauma, while others are simply not. 

Not an innate trait that all children are born with, but rather something that can be learned and nurtured, resilience can often be born out of anger and frustration at dealing with situations viewed as unfair and undeserved.

Simply put, sheer spite.

In the case of one child in particular, said spite was all he had.

 – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

He was pinned, back pressed against the hard, unyielding earth, as hands—too many hands—held him down, grips like iron shackles. A wooden bowl was held before his face, its contents dark and frothy. A bitter, earthy aroma struck his nostrils like a physical force, the stench making his eyes water and his throat rebel before it even neared his lips.

“I ain’t one of you!” he screamed, his voice hoarse and raw, breaking with every syllable that clawed its way out of his throat. “I don’t understand! Why y’all doing this to me?” The words spilled from him, unintelligible to their ears, his English as foreign to them as their words were to him—a language he could not grasp, a barrier that only heightened his terror. The liquid was forced down his throat, burning like fire, the drink scorching his insides a— 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Red eyes jerked open, heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer.

So loud, so intense, the beat was all he could hear, all he could feel, for the first new seconds he was awake. It drowned out everything else, filling his head with a rhythm that was almost comforting.

He could barely see, the darkness pressing in on him from all sides like a physical thing, a heavy weight that seemed strong enough to smother the very air from his lungs. It was a darkness he had grown used to in so many ways, a constant companion.
And yet every time he woke to it, every time he found himself engulfed in its inky depths, it still managed to send a shiver down his spine.

Staring upwards, his eyes straining to make out the details of his surroundings, he found himself gazing at a massive ceiling formed of nothing but shadows and the enormous ribcage of some unspecified creature. The bones arched overhead like the buttresses of some ancient cathedral, stark and white against the blackness that surrounded them. It was a sight that should have filled him with awe, with wonder, and at one point it did.

At one point.

The owner of those same red eyes let out a series of rapid, unsteady breaths, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing air into his lungs. Every time, man. He let out a longer, slower, controlled breath. Every time.

He remained where he lay for a few moments more, his body sinking into the shallow but almost never-ending ocean of blood that surrounded him. The warm liquid lapped at his skin, sticking to him like a second skin as he lay there, trying to gather his thoughts. The pungent smell of copper filled his nose, invading his senses until it was all he could smell, all he could taste. It was a scent he had grown accustomed to, a constant reminder of the world he kept waking up in.

With a groan, he slowly sat up, the blood sloshing around him as he moved. He could feel it dripping from his hair, running down his face in rivulets that tickled his skin. It was a sensation he had grown used to, the feeling of being drenched entirely in the sticky, crimson liquid. 

He glanced down, his eyes falling on his reflection as it stared back at him from the surface of the blood. Even in the darkness, he could make out the details of his own face, the tattoos that covered his skin. 

“God, waking up never gets easier,” he muttered to himself, his voice rough and hoarse from disuse. The words echoed in the empty space, bouncing off the nonexistent walls. 

“That’s a sign of weakness, don’t you think?” The voice echoed through the cavernous space, bouncing off the walls, a voice he had grown far too familiar with for his own comfort.

Not that he had a choice. 

A moment later, he opened his red eyes once more, crimson gleaming in the dark like twin embers. Slowly, he tilted his head back, his gaze traveling up and up, past the bleached skulls of oxen that were piled high into a literal mountain of bone-white. The sight of it at one point would send a shiver down his spine, but he knew well that he was long past that. Past the bleached skulls of oxen piled up into said mountain, he cast a tired blank-eyed stare at the man sitting atop the throne.

At the very top of that macabre throne, he found the source of that voice, the man who wore his face like a mask. Tattoos covered his skin, a mirror image of the boy’s own markings, and his chin rested upon his knuckles, one eye closed as he stared down at the boy with a casual and utterly relaxed smirk. That single red eye gleamed with amusement, a cruel sort of humor in his eyes.

The man wearing his face wore a set of white kimono with a black edge, black scarf and matching sandals as his chin rested on his knuckles, one eye closed as he stared with a casual and utterly relaxed smirk. “Truly, one would think you’d be used to it by now,” the man drawled, his voice dripping with condescension.

The boy felt a surge of irritation rise up within him, sick of that voice; that mocking, infuriating voice.

“One would think you’d be used to it by now,” the boy mimicked back, his voice high and whiny as he flapped one hand in a mocking gesture. He shook his head from side to side, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Why do you always talk like that? I get that you’re an old man, but you’re pushing it.”

The man on the throne tilted his head to the side as he raised a single eyebrow in a look of mild surprise. “Am I?” he asked, voice a low purr.

The boy snorted. “Y-”

But the word died in his throat, cut off by an invisible force that crashed down upon him like a tidal wave. It was a pressure unlike anything he had ever felt before, a weight that seemed to crush the very air from his lungs and buckle his knees beneath him. He felt himself being forced down, down into the pool of blood that surrounded him.

Only instinct saved him from being drowned in that moment as his arms rushed out to save him from meeting the ground. He could feel the force pressing down upon him, an unrelenting weight that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. For a time, his arms held against the force, keeping him from meeting the ground fully in something like a pushup but minute by minute, his willpower and strength began to fail him.

Grunts escaped him as pure force held him down fully and his cheek was pressed against the warm and sticky liquid, his bones groaning and his muscles protesting as they were pressed down by air that seemed to carry the weight of a full-grown elephant. He wasn’t sure how long he was like that, minute by minute passing as he was determined not to give in to the demon trying to torture him.

“Alright, alright, I get it!” he eventually gasped out, voice strained and desperate as he struggled to draw breath.

“Do you?”

“Yesssss,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure was gone, vanishing like a puff of smoke. The boy rolled over and lay there for a moment, his chest heaving as he gulped in great lungfuls of air, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils with each breath. 

“You know, I do miss the days when you weren’t quite so… mouthy.” The man on the throne let out a low, disappointed sigh, his gaze still fixed upon the boy with a look of utter disdain. “You had an air of reverence to you that was quite enjoyable, you know.”

The boy pushed himself up onto his elbows, his body trembling with the effort as he struggled to regain his composure. “Sure, yeah, enjoyable for you,” he spat out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But there’s only so many times I can wake up in a lake of blood and see you on that skull throne and be scared, Sukuna.”

The man known as Ryomen Sukuna smiled, his mouth spreading wide in a fanged grin. “Your impertinence never fades, it seems. You should be grateful that my patience knows no bounds.”

The boy snorted a second time, the sound echoing through the chamber. “I feel like it knows some bounds,” he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like a lot of bounds, actually.”

Sukuna’s smile only widened at that, eyes gleaming. “I disagree.”

“Uh, remember when you cut my arm off?” the boy shot back, his voice tight with anger and frustration.

“Mmmm…” Sukuna’s head tilted to the other side, his eyes narrowing in a look of mild contemplation.

“Or the nineteenth time you cut both my hands off?” the boy snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm and barely restrained anger. He could still remember the searing pain on every single instance, the way his fingers never failed to twitch and spasm on the ground like dying insects. Each and every time, Sukuna had casually crushed them beneath his heel.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at the accusation. “Oh, you counted,” he drawled, “How diligent of you.”

“Or when you cut my jaw off because you said my ‘shrill little voice’ was giving you a migraine?” he spat, the words rushing out of his mouth. As usual, Sukuna had laughed as his tongue lolled uselessly out of what used to be his mouth.

“I’m surprised you can tolerate the sounds that leave your throat,” Sukuna retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s a wonder you haven’t driven yourself mad with your own incessant whining.”

The boy growled at the insult, eyes flashing with barely contained rage. “How about all those times you cut me in half after making me fight you and I lost?”

The so-called ‘training’ sessions with Sukuna were more akin to torture than anything else, a never-ending cycle of pain and humiliation that left him broken and bleeding on the ground, his body ripped apart and torn quite literally a-fucking-sunder by the demon’s immense strength. Despite his own strangely increased speed and power, it meant nothing against the sheer, overwhelming might of the tattooed monster that sat before him.

Sukuna’s grin faded at the accusation, his expression quickly shifting to one of cold disdain. “Careful, boy, you’re beginning to sound rather ungrateful,” he warned. “Many would consider it an honor to spar with the Heavenly Demon.”

“Because you kill the ones that don’t!” The boy shot back, pointing an accusing finger directly at Sukuna.

As soon as the last syllable left his mouth, a slight whimper followed immediately after, the boy’s eyes widening in shock and pain as he drew his finger back. He stared at his index finger for a moment, or at least what remained of it, before glancing down at the bloody ground below his feet to see the tip of it laying there, still twitching faintly. “See what I mean?”

He knew it would grow back in a few minutes or simply appear back again whole whenever he woke up next, but it still hurt.

“That’s your own fault, boy. You should know by now not to point at a king,” Sukuna drawled lazily as he leaned back on his throne. “It’s quite rude.”

“Quite rude, he says,” the thirteen-year old fumed, repeating Sukuna’s words to himself under his breath. “Like I asked to be trapped inside my own soul with Satan as a roommate.”

“You know I don’t get your little references, boy.”

Sure, sure, whatever. The boy rolled his eyes, well aware that was a lie. Another mark on the Sukuna is Satan scoreboard. 

If there was one thing he knew after waking up for the first time to meet Sukuna, it was that the man somehow seemed to know everything about him and his life, while his own memory was sporadic at best. He couldn’t even remember his own name, or the faces of his family, but Sukuna could make jokes about “rock music” when guitars didn’t even exist in this weird, twisted old-timey world.

Granted, that river seemed to flow both ways on occasion. Many times, he could remember waking up with some of Sukuna’s memories having reached him while he was unconscious, the demon’s twisted thoughts and desires seeping into his own mind like a poison. He really didn’t need to know what people tasted like. Uggghhhh, really don’t want another eating memory.

“Whatever,” the boy said with a dismissive shrug, rolling his eyes before he turned his gaze back to the self-proclaimed ‘king’ perched on his bony throne. The question that left his lips next was one that had become all too familiar, the same question that he’d repeated countless times before. “How long am I going to be awake this time?”

Honestly, he’d lost count of the number of times those same words left him. There had been times when he hadn’t even managed to finish the sentence before his brain shut down again, sending him right back into the darkness.

Being ripped from unconsciousness and slammed back into the waking world for a few short minutes at a time, sometimes barely even a full quarter of an hour, was a special kind of hell on its own. But that was nothing compared to the torture that was a few short moments when he barely had time to take a breath before he was launched back into the void, eyes slamming shut before he could even fully open them.

The grin on Sukuna’s face returned in full force, sharp and threatening. “That’s the good news, brat.”

“There’s good news?” The boy blinked in surprise, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stared up at the demon. Good news? Since when does Sukuna ever have good news? he thought to himself, his brow furrowing in confusion. That means there’s gotta be some bad news too.

“I have finally been unsealed,” Sukuna announced, his voice booming through the chamber with a grandiosity that made the boy’s ears ring. The demon rose from his throne with a flourish, his arms thrown wide as if to fully embrace the world that had been denied to him since getting sealed away. “Ryomen Sukuna is once again free to claim his title as the Strongest.”

The boy’s eyes widened, red eyes gleaming with a hope he hadn’t felt in he didn’t even know how long. “We’re free?!” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper as the implications of Sukuna’s words sank in.

I’m free. I’m free. I’m free. I’m free!!!! The thought bounced around his skull like a pinball, a chant of raw joy that threatened to burst from his chest. The idea that he was no longer trapped within the confines of Sukuna’s mind, the twisted labyrinth of blood and bone that the demon called his “Domain,” was almost too much for him to handle.

Sukuna’s grin sharpened, his eyes narrowing to slits as he regarded the boy with a look of cruel amusement. “Yes, I’m free,” he repeated, his words unchanged as he vanished from his throne in the space of a single heartbeat.

In a literal blink of an eye, the ‘King’ vanished from his throne, his voice coming from behind the boy he had just been speaking to. “There is bad news, of course.”

The boy didn’t even flinch as Sukuna’s voice sounded from behind him, the demon’s breath hot against the back of his neck. He was too accustomed to Sukuna’s inhuman speed, too familiar with the way the man liked to toy with him.

Slowly, he turned around and met eyes with the demon, their matching gazes locking onto each other. “What is it?”

Sukuna’s smile had vanished, his expression like ice. “Almost ten thousand years and it seems like I’m still going to have to deal with some annoying benders, those upstarts,” he said, arms crossing over his chest as he spoke with utter contempt in his voice. “And of course, it’s those of fire.”

“Ten thousa-” The boy blinked in confusion, brow furrowed as he tried to understand Sukuna’s words. “Wait, what’s a bend-“

The words died in his throat as Sukuna’s fingers darted out, tapping him on the forehead with a force that sent a jolt of energy racing through his skull. The boy’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping up to meet Sukuna’s as the demon loomed over him. 

“Time to wake up, little Ryo.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Red eyes blinked.

The boy stared up at a dark ceiling, the red-tinted room seeming oddly unfamiliar. A moment later, he blinked again, confusion written all over his face.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, to realize that the ceilings were much lower than he was used to, missing the familiar adornment of bone-white in the form of a massive ribcage that had become a constant in his waking moments. What the hell?

He felt dry, his back resting on something comfortable and soft.

Not the warm pool of red that somehow still felt hard despite being liquid.

But something soft, in a room that wasn’t drenched with the constant copper stench of blood.

Sukuna’s last words suddenly rang through his head. “I’m awake?” he mumbled, the words feeling strange on his tongue, as if he’d forgotten how to form them properly.

His head snapped up as he sat up suddenly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of an actual wall in front of him, a wall adorned with a red banner emblazoned with what looked like a black flame. 

Not the same mountain of white ox skulls that greeted him every time he opened his eyes.

Not the throne of what might as well be the devil of this weird world.

But this… this was an actual wall. 

A real, honest-to-god wall.

“I’m awake!” he exclaimed, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning. He leapt up from where he lay, jumping to his feet on the cushioned bed, the action accompanied by a wide, gleeful grin as he thrust his arms up above his head. A laugh, almost as maniacal as some he’d heard from Sukuna, spilled from his throat, the boy throwing his arms out wide. “I’M AWAAAAAKE!!!”

“Yes,” a girlish voice — cool and calm — interrupted his loud laughter, the sound dying in his throat. “Yes, you are.”

He froze in place, eyes darting to his right as he realized he was not alone in the room as he first thought. “Oh…”

He was far from alone, in fact.

Two very old old Japanese men in red robes and weird-looking tall red hats with horns, one with a long white beard and the other with a gray one, stood there at the far end of the room. Both watched him with narrowed, wary eyes, neither of their gazes leaving him as he remained completely still.

Despite that, neither of them held his attention.

No, that honor belonged to the girl.

The girl positioned perfectly between both of the old men like a queen holding court, her hands firmly behind her back. 

She was Japanese, seemingly no older than he was and wore what looked like formal-looking black armor with shoulder pads and gold accents over red clothing in two different shades, and a gold fire-shaped ornament glinting in her hair like a crown. Two thick locks of hair framed the sides of her face, pretty gold eyes staring at him with a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce right through him, and below those, an amused smirk played at the corners of her lips.

In short, she was…

Pretty. Really pretty.

He swallowed a mouthful of saliva, hands slowly lowering to his sides as he turned to properly face the three staring at him. Before he could speak again, he shut one eye with a slight wince as a rush of memories hit him, the events of what Sukuna had done with his body upon their release suddenly filling his mind at once. 

With surprise hitting him from both sides at once, all he could properly find in him to say at the moment was a simple “…’sup?”

The girl stared at him for a few moments longer, eyebrows rising slightly at his greeting.

The girl stared at him for a few moments longer, her eyebrows rising slightly at his casual greeting. Great, now I look weird, he thought to himself, resisting the urge to smack his forehead with his palm. He took in a breath through his nostrils, suddenly wishing he could punch himself in the face without looking even weirder than he already did. Whatever, just find out where you are and get this over with.

Lowering himself back to the bed, he let his left leg stick out at an angle as it rested on the soft surface while his right was raised and his foot planted firmly on the bed. He draped his right arm casually over his raised knee, and stared back at the three watching him. Focusing his attention on the only person in the room who he actually wanted to talk to, he locked eyes with the golden-eyed girl, noticing something that would actually let him start a conversation. “Had enough time to change, I guess,” he began, remarking on the girl’s new outfit compared to her red silk tunic he vaguely recalled from before. “How long was I out for?”

The girl’s smile widened slightly, her real expression hidden behind a mask that seemed more polite than genuinely amused. “Not long at all, honored elder,” she replied, her voice smooth and measured. “Less than an hour, in fact. We just arrived in your room mere moments before you… awoke.”

Moments… okay. At least she probably didn’t watch me snore. Still, something else caught his attention as the noble-looking girl in front of him finished speaking, something that brought a confused frown to his face. 

“Elder?” he voiced, the single word a question that hung in the air between them.

Her brow rose, a single one this time, as her polite smile threatened to slip from her face entirely. “Are you not?” she asked, tone suddenly sharper, more pointed.

“Listen,” he let out a slightly nervous laugh, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m thirteen, okay? No idea how long I was trapped in the ground…” Ten thousand years, he thought back to Sukuna’s words, a nervous flutter in his stomach at the possibility of that. Can’t be. That’s insane. “I don’t know how long, okay, but I’m thirteen… I think. Actually, maybe…”

He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together the fragmented memories that swirled in his mind. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been conscious while underground with Sukuna roaming around in his head. Flickers of seconds and minutes of consciousness added together didn’t seem like a lot, but when they happened thousands upon thousands of times…

“Yeah, maybe fourteen, actually?” he ventured, a finger tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“Fourteen?” 

The smile almost fell completely from her face now, golden eyes going even sharper as she cast a narrowed glare at him. He didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped to his chest and arms before returning to his face, clearly eying the tattoos that had been forced upon him. “With all due respect, I have no time for jokes,” she said, her voice cold and unyielding. “Are you or are you not the Dark Avatar?”

His head lolled to the side, his chin coming to rest on his hand as he regarded her with a curious look. “Whoa, I can actually hear the capital letters on that,” he mused out loud as his lips perked up in a slight smirk. “What’s an Avatar, though?”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly at his question, her mouth opening as if to respond before snapping shut again. She glanced over at the two old men standing beside her, a silent conversation seeming to pass between them in the span of a single heartbeat.

Okay, that’s not weird at all, he thought to himself, red eyes darting between the three of them as the silence held. 

Far too often, his eyes would drift back to the girl herself, with her sharp eyes and her cold demeanor, her every word and action seeming to drip with a sense of barely restrained power. She carried herself like royalty, like someone who was used to being obeyed without question. Pretty as she was, and she definitely was, there was still something about her that set his teeth on edge, something that made him want to push back against her authority.

“Cease your deception, spirit.”

Red eyes flicked over to his left, gaze focusing on the white bearded old man as he finally spoke up, the man’s raspy voice barely above a wheeze. “Deception?” the bo repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.

The geezer nodded in a way that seemed both fast and oddly slow, actions jerky as if he was tired but trying to get the motion out quickly regardless. “The scrolls… the scrolls tell of the markings you bear, markings…. unseen for thousands of years among the Fire Nation,” he continued to wheeze, his words interspersed by raspy coughs that shook his aging body rather harshly. “Specific markings in… that configuration… only worn by the Dark Avatar alone.”

“Yes,” the girl interrupted, her annoyance visibly warring with the polite smile barely hanging on for dear life at this point. “And you somehow crawled out of a pit of lava unharmed and mere moments later, quieted an erupting volcano. That would make one wonder as well.”

Ohhhh. He nodded slowly, realization dawning on him as he finally understood what — or to be exact, who — they were referring to. “Ah… I see. That wasn’t me.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed further, her smile remaining firmly on her face despite the clear irritation brewing beneath the surface. “Well then, please do inform us, so we can find him then. Seeing as he bears such a unique resemblance to you, the search should be rather simple to undertake.

Raising an eyebrow at her sarcasm, the boy smirked back at her, undeterred by her thinly veiled hostility. “Okay… like I said, that wasn’t me. You’re looking for the guy that’s inside my head,” he began, jabbing a black-painted fingernail at his temple for emphasis. “I didn’t know he can just take over my body, but apparently, that’s a thing that I have to live with now.”

The other old man stepped forward slightly, careful not to get too close to him, before speaking up in a voice stronger than the other. “You speak of another that inhabits your body. Do you know his name?”

“His name?” the tattooed boy parroted, a scoff leaving his mouth as his lips twisted into a wry grin. “Of course I know his name. He never shuts up about his name. Do you know how many times I’ve had to hear him say ‘Ryomen Sukuna’?”

The moment the name left his lips, the room seemed to dim for a moment, the flames in the braziers blazing brighter even as a sudden chill swept through the space despite the strength of the flames. “That was weird,” the boy muttered, blinking in confusion. Like bro, what the hell?

The man with the gray beard stepped back, shock written all over his face as his hand rose as if to guard himself. “The Avatar of Chaos walks the Nations!” 

On the opposite side of him, the white-bearded old man nearly dropped to his knees in fright, eyes wide and haunted. “As written… as was written in the scrolls!

Okay… these guys are weird. Still haven’t told me what an Avatar is. Shaking his head, the boy turned his attention back to the person in the middle, the pretty girl, once more. “That answer your question?”

Instead of a fake smile, he was met with a real one, the widest he had seen on her face yet. But there was something about that smile that set his teeth on edge, something that was neither amused nor polite. “It does, venerable Avatar. Forgive my rude questioning,” she began, dropping into a slight bow that had him raising his eyebrow slightly as he actually felt the negative energy around her increase slightly as she swallowed her pride to apologize and do so. “The events of earlier left me rather on edge, if you can believe it, and I can only hope you took no offense.”

“Sure, we’re cool,” he replied, offering her a lazy thumbs-up.

“Excellent,” her smile brightened, albeit slightly more fake than it was moments ago for some odd reason. “Allow me to introduce myself then. I am Azula, Crown Princess of the Fire Nation. May I have your name, Lord Avatar?”

“My name,” he blinked, the question actually stumping him for a moment. He furrowed his brow, his mind racing as he tried to dredge up the memories that seemed to dance just out of reach, tantalizingly close and yet frustratingly elusive. “I… huh…”

He paused, his eyes clouding over for a moment as he searched the depths of his fragmented mind, seeking some scrap of his identity that he could cling to. Despite himself, the only thing he could find that felt… right came to his lips almost unbidden.

“Call me…Ryo.”