IGNITE | Sukuna

Chapter 30: Let The World Burn For You

The fallen soldier walked through the ruins of the palace, one agonizing step at a time. His hands—useless, broken things—hung limply by his sides.

The storm raged over the capital, howling like a wounded beast, lashing the shattered walls and the scorched earth. The rain did not cease, nor did the wind’s mournful wail. It was as if the heavens themselves grieved, as if the gods had turned away their faces, leaving only wrath in their wake.

Would he never see his family again? The thought pierced through his pain, deeper than any wound. A longing, sudden and unbearable, gripped him. He wanted nothing more than to go back—to sit with them, to hear their laughter, to forget the taste of blood in the air. But war does not allow such dreams.

Then, as if the world itself had gasped, the rain stopped.

Not because the storm had ended. No, the air still crackled. The rain had ceased because something had swallowed it—something unseen, something vast. A veil had been drawn.

His breath caught. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

Nothing good ever comes from a veil in the world of sorcery.

He ran. Faster now.

The ruins opened into a clearing, where a crowd of soldiers stood, their faces drawn and weary, their bodies battle-worn. And there, standing atop the remains of a grand staircase, was an old man—the head of the Zenin Clan. His voice, sharp and filled with self-righteousness, rang out over the weary men.

"So what if the king is dead? So what if a veil has been drawn? The clans will protect you. The Zenins will take the throne!"

The soldier moved closer. The crowd, however, did not share the old man's certainty. Doubt clouded their faces.

"You will be rewarded accordingly if you follow my lead—"

The words never finished.

Before the crowd could react, before they even felt the shift in the air, the Zenin clan head fell.

A single cut. A swift, merciless beheading. His body crumpled before his voice had even faded.

Silence.

Then—panic.

A soldier dared to look up the staircase, toward the source of the overwhelming presence. He saw nothing but a blur of movement before his throat split open. A gurgling sound, a spray of blood. He collapsed.

Cold sweat broke across the crowd. Some tried to run. They never made it.

They were cut down in an instant.

And then—pressure.

The cursed energy flooded the clearing, thick and suffocating, pressing against them like the weight of the ocean. The fallen soldier trembled, his knees buckling. He was not the only one. All around him, men collapsed under the sheer force of it, their bodies unable to move, their spirits crushed before a single word had been spoken.

"Sp—spare me... I have a family..."

The words escaped his lips with great effort, as if he had to claw them out of his own throat.

A pause.

Then a voice—deep, rich, and laced with malice.

"Do you now?"

A shiver ran through him. It was not just the voice. It was what it carried—something wrathful, something inhuman.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he forced himself to look up. His vision swam.