"For his unforgivable atrocities and undying gripes against humanity, the proclaimed King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, has been sentenced to death."

The words rang aloud, signaling a cheer from the surrounding crowd. His millennia of terror have ended, and his day of reckoning has come. To Sukuna, however, it was all mere noise in the back of his mind. His death was inevitable, and he already had accepted that he'd, too, perish like the people he slaughtered.

Yet Sukuna's expression remained hardened as he was escorted to his dungeon, his muscles nearly bulging through his enchanted shackles. He desired nothing more than revenge. To be outsmarted by a mere sorcerer was no easy pill to swallow. Even all of Japan could hardly believe it till the sorcerer dragged his fallen body and presented it to His Imperial Majesty himself. There, Sukuna was flaunted off to the entire country, a reminder to curse users and cursed spirits alike that there will always be the light of hope to pierce the shadows of doubt.

Forced behind bars, Sukuna sat and awaited his execution, his clawed fingers tapping the melody to some eerie tune. The cell was cramped and reeked of blood, earning a small scoff from him. Was this supposed to make him heed?

He leaned his cheek into his palm, his eyes wandering but staring at nothing, and no one in particular. Being imprisoned was one thing, but Sukuna hated being bored even more. It was disgraceful. Disrespectful.

He sat in his cell, his wrists bound by enchanted shackles that stopped him from using his curse magic. He watched as a small team of nurses trailed down the hall, a smirk crossing his face at the sight of them.