IGNITE | Sukuna

Chapter 24: Heart of Ruin

People were nothing more than pawns. Kenjaku had understood this truth from the very beginning. They held value only when used wisely, when positioned where they could serve a greater purpose. He had learned this lesson early, abandoned by parents who deemed him unworthy—a child born without a cursed technique.

But what the gods take, they sometimes return in another form. Kenjaku’s gift was his brilliance, a sharp mind that saved him time and time again. His intellect earned him favor with the clan head at a young age, making him a critical piece in the games of war. By the age of ten, he was already crafting strategies for the Ryomen and Zenin clans, treating battles like moves on a chessboard.

For a time, they praised him. They called him a prodigy. Until they didn’t.

He lost his leg to a curse in the chaos of war, a wound that marked him as expendable. No one thought to shield the boy without a cursed technique, and when the dust settled and the Ryomen clan ascended the throne, he was discarded. Broken and alone, cast aside by those he had once served, Kenjaku was swallowed whole by the dark.

"Do you need help?"

Those were the first words Subuhi spoke to him. He remembered it vividly—a rainy day by the pond, his walking stick shattered by cruel children, his body drenched, and his soul sinking deeper into despair. When he looked up, what he saw wasn’t pity, but kindness. Her eyes held warmth he had never known, and her hand, when it reached for his, felt warm. She helped him stand that day, and in doing so, unknowingly gave him a reason to keep moving.

Then there was Sukuna. When Kenjaku met the infamous disgraced one, he expected to face a monster. Instead, he found a boy of his own age, scarred and marked by curses, his eyes ablaze with fury. Their alliance wasn’t immediate, but inevitable, as though the world itself had willed it. They shared a vision—a dream of dismantling the corrupt nobles and ushering in a golden age of sorcery. Together, they believed they could overthrow anything.

But belief is a fragile thing.

Kenjaku sat by the window, staring into the endless void of the night, his mind heavy with the weight of loss. Subuhi was gone, and with her, it seemed, so too was the luck. Every stronghold they had fought to claim was now crumbling under relentless royal attacks. Their forces dwindled by the day, the rebellion hemorrhaging lives as though fate itself had turned against them.

His hand trembled as he pressed it to his temple. Surrender—such a word had once been unthinkable, but now, it loomed like a specter.

"Stupid girl," he muttered, his voice hoarse, speaking the words out to his own self because the warm hands that once helped him stand up was now gone.

"I needed your help," he whispered to the night, but only the shadows answered.

"Kenjaku," Yorozu called from the doorway, breathless, her face pale with urgency. "He's at it again."

He sighed, his grip tightening on the polished wood of his walking stick as he rose from his chair. The flicker of contemplation that had lingered in his mind was snuffed out, shoved into the shadows where it belonged.

Now was not the time for regret. Not when their king was teetering on the edge of madness.

She stood in chains, her mind a fragmented battlefield as the voices around her blurred into a dull hum. Her bare feet brushed against something cold and unyielding—a decapitated head, its lifeless eyes fixed on her, accusing, reminding. Her gaze dropped to her blood-soaked hands. They no longer trembled. They had ceased being human long ago.

“Lives are fragile. You freed them.”

“Shut up.”

Her voice was hoarse as she fought the venomous whisper of the Shinigami coiled in her mind. It had started as a faint murmur, but now it was her constant companion, weaving itself into her thoughts, her choices, her actions. It didn’t seize her body all at once—it consumed her slowly, deliberately, with full awareness. Naoaki had warned her. Be prepared. He had meant for this.