SUKUNA TREMBLES WITH wrath. Pain and rage surge through him.
"I told youto leave her alone, you deranged paupers." A snarl curls his lips. "And yet you still didn't listen.
"So now you have to watch me burn your wives, and cut all your minute little pricks off until you die twitching with your hands around your sorry cocks."
Sukuna grabs one woman by her neck. She clutches a child to her breast, one she shoves into the hands of who must be her husband. Sukuna holds that man in place with cursed energy. Holds the family hostage as the rest of the village goes up in smoke around them.
But through the chaos, many still choose to watch the brutality.
A black nail traces the woman's stomach, slides up to hold her face in his fingers. The nail rips her garments with ease.
None of you will ever be the same as her, Sukuna thinks with dead eyes, sliding his finger into the woman's mouth with an unnatural gentleness before pointing it upward and driving the finger in further. The tip of his nail meets the wet mass of her brain after a few moments.
The woman struggles in his four arms, flailing about like an asphyxiating fish. Her husband watches in horror. Screams with her as her throat erupts with gurgled screams of agony.
Sukuna blinks with slow somnolence. Sees the child wailing in its father's arms as its mother dies in his. He retracts his finger from inside the woman's brain. She cannot die without seeing this.
Sukuna pulls the child out of his father's arms with only one hand. The father lets his flesh and blood go with an ease that sickens Sukuna.
If this were his child, he would protect it with his life, with whatever powers fate would let him have past death. You would never forgive him if he let your child go.
The things we could have done. Sukuna holds the child by its head. Its arms and feet dangle helplessly. The mother watches with terrified eyes as Sukuna crushes its skull inward with five fingers. His thumb pops one of its eyes open. Its blood wets its mother's and father's faces.
The things we could have made. He smells smoke as he tosses the dead child aside and onto the dirt. It is trampled upon by the scrambling feet of its fellow village men and women.
Sukuna raises his hand into the air and over the head of the woman in his arms. She lets loose one last scream before he plunges his hand into her stomach to split the flesh there wide open.
