Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer III

Book 1: Episode 3

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Son of a bitch, the ocean sucks.

The iron railing he leaned on was hot enough to brand skin but Ryo kept his elbows planted anyway, metal half-burning him while he stared out at all that water. Too much water. 

Like, an offensive amount of water stretching out forever, making his eyes hurt just trying to find where it stopped.

First time being actually outside in… shit, who even counted that high? 

Apparently, a whole ten thousand years.

And this was what he got. 

The sun sat on his shoulders as heavy as a backpack full of textbooks, the black ink under his branded skin itching and crawling like it somehow hadn’t settled down. You’d think a thousand frickin’ years would be enough… Every tattoo felt alive, prickling with heat that went deeper than sunburn. All the while, ocean spray kept hitting his face, sticky and gross, leaving everything tasting like salt and fish breath. 

He clicked his tongue. Wow, I get Anakin Skywalker now.

The crew was shouting somewhere behind him, sharp voices cutting through the engine noise or whatever kept this metal boat moving. He clocked their positions without turning around, a habit he didn’t know he had. Three guys arguing about rope near the front of the ship, one dude complaining about something over by the weird fire-cannon things, a couple more just standing around looking bored. 

None of them were watching him right now, which was good because—

Don’t get comfortable, brat. A voice rolled through his skull slow and thick, dripping with that condescending boredom that was somehow worse than shouting. This world is just a larger cage, and these keepers are far more irritating. This vessel is still pathetically weak.

Ryo’s shoulder twitched. It wasn’t a big movement, just muscle memory from ten thousand years of getting his head split open whenever that voice showed up. He rubbed his temples, knowing it wouldn’t do shit but doing it anyway. Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re the king, I’m the guesthouse. Heard it before. At least the view’s better than your ribcage decor.

Sukuna didn’t bother answering, which was either good or bad depending on his mood. Ryo looked down at his hands, at the black marks crawling up his arms and chest. It was one thing seeing this stuff in the bloody darkness of his own head, but out here in actual sunlight it was different. 

It looked more real, even, more permanent. 

His body rolled with a sigh, Ryo already halfway over it the same way he’d gotten used to the weird strength in his body, different from anything he remembered. I’m a magic freak stuck in a magic fantasy world full of magic freaks.

He turned around, shifting his elbows on the railing to face the ship instead of all that water. Better view anyway. Old men in fancy robes clustered near the door leading inside, whispering under their breath like he couldn’t hear them. Almost all the time, they had all sorts of questions for him; sometimes the same ones every day, most of the time questions he couldn’t even try to answer.

Like, his red eyes narrowed tighter, what the hell is the Harmonic Convergence, anyway?

The robes kept shooting him looks, quick glances like they were checking if he was still there or if he’d grown extra arms since the last time they looked. One of them kept touching this scroll thing, rolling and unrolling it nervous-like. Another one had sweat beading on his forehead even though the ocean breeze should have been cooling him off. 

They were scared. Not of him exactly, but of what was inside him. Which was fair, honestly. 

Sukuna is a dick, he thought aloud and focused.

After a few seconds of no response, Ryo rolled his eyes as his attention drifted to the masked soldiers roaming around the deck. All of them apparently had fire magic, which was cool in theory but their armor was trying way too hard. Pointy everywhere, skulls and spikes and red paint splashed across black metal. Every single one of them looked like the faceless goons that would work for some evil dark lord. Weird pointy armor and masks that look like skulls and… they’re all vaguely Japanese.

His mouth turned downwards.

Honestly, if he hadn’t already asked about shinobi and gotten nothing but weird looks, he would have thought he was in some evil country in Naruto. That would be cool. But these guys moved wrong, stood wrong, not strong enough either.

Even if they did live in a place called the Elemental Nations, these guys were soldiers, not anime ninjas. And he was pretty sure the ninja world didn’t have iron boats. Wood ships, sure, but not iron. 

At least the magic world has some sort of tech.

One of the soldiers walked past, close enough that Ryo could hear the armor clanking. Dude gotta be sweating buckets under all that metal and fabric. The mask turned toward him for a second, eyeholes dark and empty, before the soldier kept walking.

Ryo sighed as the ocean kept doing its thing, waves hitting the side of the ship in a rhythm that was almost annoying. Everything out here was too much after what felt like a year of nothing but blood, darkness and Sukuna’s voice telling him how many ways he was about to die.

Free and I don’t even remember my old name.

Ryo’s red eyes widened as someone walked across the upper deck, a smile spreading across his face without permission.

Princess.

The princess had shown up almost every day, just like the old guys in robes. She never really had questions for him, mostly the demon inside his soul. Not like the demon was gonna answer either. But unlike the old guys, he didn’t mind her hanging around.

She descended the stairs, movements precise and silent, two more old robed dudes trailing behind her like nervous shadows. They looked like they were walking to their own funeral. She stopped a few feet away from him, and some soldier stepped forward beside her holding a bundle of folded, dark red and black cloth.

“Lord Avatar.” Her voice was crisp, poised and so princess-like, he could almost forget the fact that she could shoot out super-hot fire as easy as breathing. He’d seen the blue flames the girl had and they looked scary.  “I trust the sea air agrees with you.”

He crossed his arms, giving the soldier and the cloth in his hands a look. The fabric looked expensive. Probably itchy as hell, though. “Yeah, it’s cool, I guess. Better than volcano dirt, you know. What’s this?”

Azula’s smile tightened just a little bit  “A gift I had made. Your previous attire was… nonexistent. One of your station requires clothing befitting your divine nature.”

Ryo looked down at his own bare chest, at the tattoos that had been burnt into his skin by some strange witch doctor. “Right. Divine.” 

He took the clothes anyway. The fabric was heavy, ridiculously smooth between his fingers. It felt wrong. He resented it, resented her for it, but arguing seemed like more work than it was worth. He was a trophy, and she was just polishing him.

Later, after changing, the formal wear sat stiff and awkward against his skin. Every movement felt restricted, calculated. He was back on deck, trying to get used to breathing in the thing, when Azula found him again.

This time, she was alone.

She started asking questions. Not direct ones. More like she was circling something she wanted but wouldn’t name.

“I was thinking of the power you displayed upon our first meeting.” Her tone was light, conversational. “It is unlike any bending I have ever witnessed. Does such a style have a name?”

Ryo shrugged, deflecting. “He calls it a bunch of stuff. Mostly just yells. You’d have to ask him.” Her eyes were too sharp, too gold. He looked away, at the waves. Man, she’s pretty. Like, scary pretty. The kind that would laugh if you tripped and fell down the stairs. But still.

One of the Fire Sages, the older one with the white beard, approached. His steps were heavy, deliberate, each footfall echoing with purpose Ryo didn’t like. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, trembling chant that made Ryo’s skin crawl.

“Princess Azula. Forgive this intrusion.” He didn’t look at Ryo as he spoke. “The scrolls speak clearly, the signs are undeniable. The Avatar of Darkness, the King of Curses, the Lord of Chaos, is a wound upon this world. To allow such corruption to fester is an insult against Great Agni himself.”

Azula’s voice dropped, turning to ice. “Sage, you are forgetting your place.”

The Sage ignored her. 

His eyes were wide and wild as they finally locked onto Ryo, the eyes of a man who had nothing to lose. Oh no. 

The old man raised his hands, fingers pushed tight together. “By flame and will, I sever the shadow from the soul! I will purify this vessel!”

Ryo blinked. This dude’s really about to try and exorcise me on a boat.

The thought was almost funny. Almost. 

Except the Sage’s hands were starting to glow orange, and the tattoos on Ryo’s chest were beginning to itch. Not the regular itch from the sun. The deep, bone-deep itch that meant Sukuna was paying attention.

The Fire Sage’s chanting got louder, more desperate as the other old men scattered, shouting against the sage even as their brother in robes refused to listen. Even some of the soldiers were backing up, confused as they looked to the princess for what to do.

The princess in question stood perfectly still, golden eyes narrowed.

The Sage’s hands blazed brighter, and Ryo felt something shift inside his chest. Something that had been sleeping was starting to wake up.

And it was annoyed.

Red eyes widened as a stream of uniquely bright, almost white-hot fire erupted from the old man’s hands, aimed straight for his chest.

Ryo didn’t even think. Days of getting tortured by the Satan in his soul wearing his face had given him a whole new set of instincts. His body just moved, a fluid sidestep that was too fast, too clean. The blast of fire sizzled past him, scorching the deck where he’d stood half a second before.

“Jesus, man, I just woke up?”

Before the Sage could try again, there was a quiet hiss.

A single, concentrated jet of azure flame, no thicker than his wrist, cut through the air from behind the Sage; a neat, sizzling hole burned straight through his chest. The old man made a soft, surprised sound, his own fire sputtering out as he collapsed forward.

Dead before he hit the deck.

The other Sages gasped in horror, the crew frozen at the princess stood there with two fingers pointed out in front of her, not a hair out of place.

Ryo stared. 

First at the body, then at Azula, a wisp of blue smoke curling from her fingertips. Her expression was perfectly, chillingly calm. Shit, people die easy here.

“My apologies for that interruption, Honored Avatar.” The princess of the Fire Nation lowered her hand, her voice still calm as ever even after the straight-up murder. She was looking right at him, golden eyes holding his. “He had forgotten his place and his purpose.”

Ryo just watched her, the air thick with the smell of ozone and cooked meat, which reminded him of barbecue in a way that probably should have bothered him more.

Okay… so she’s like that. Good to know. He felt a flicker of something. Not fear. Respect? No, not that either. 

Inside his head, Sukuna laughed, low and amused. Oh, I like her.

Yeah, I bet you do, Ryo thought back, trying not to let that mess with his head.

“Someone clean up this mess.” Azula’s voice cut through the silence, not even looking down at the dead body. “Honored Fire Sages, follow me.”

The moment passed as Azula walked away, her footsteps precise on the metal deck. Two armored soldiers grabbed the dead Sage under his arms, dragging him toward the side of the boat. Without even a word, they tossed his body off the edge, the splash barely audible over the engine noise.

I mean… he did try to kill me. Ryo clicked his tongue, watching the water where the body had disappeared. But I can get it.

He shoved the thought down, trying to think of something else as he looked out at all that water stretching forever. The sun was getting lower, painting everything orange and red.

I’d kill for a fuckin’ burger right now, man.

The thought hit him so random and out of nowhere that he almost laughed. Here he was, standing on a magic boat after watching a princess murder a priest, and all he could think about was McDonald’s.

Ten thousand years and that’s what I miss.