Sukuna's Isekai Adventure 3

The ease with which violence came to him was almost intoxicating.

Sukuna's left hands moved with a fluidity that belied the brutality of his actions. The upper arm seized the man's head, forcing his gaze upward to meet Sukuna's pitiless red eyes, while the lower arm gripped his shoulder, locking him in place.

"This should be fun," Sukuna murmured, relishing as fear widened

 the man's eyes. The words hung in the air like a death sentence before Sukuna's fist crashed into the man's skull.

Teeth exploded from the man's mouth, accompanied by the sound of shattering bone and tearing flesh. The impact reverberated through Sukuna, sending a thrill racing down his spine, igniting something primal within him. Another punch followed, harder, faster, crushing the bones on one side of the man's face. His eyes bulged grotesquely, one of them slipping free from its socket, dangling by a thread of optical nerves as he struggled to draw breath through the wreckage of his pulverized nose.

Humans were resilient, but even that resilience had its limits. After three blows, the man was barely alive, his body clinging to the last threads of life. Sukuna stared down at the shattered form with a growing frown. He had expected more—this was supposed to be fun, after all. Yet here was this weak, fragile creature, already on the brink of death after so little effort. Had he caught the man off guard, or were they truly this pathetic?

The thrill that had electrified Sukuna moments ago began to fade, slipping away with each ragged breath the man managed to wheeze past his ruined nose.

The soft shuffle of feet ahead of him reminded Sukuna that there were others still standing, witnesses to the carnage. The man had not come alone. The fire within him flared again, a hunger that demanded satisfaction, a desire to prove his superiority. A smile spread along the lips on his stomach.

With a lazy, almost contemptuous backhand, Sukuna obliterated what was left of the man’s head. The broken body flew across the alley, crashing into the wall with a wet thud before slumping to the ground in a lifeless heap. The alley fell silent, the gruesome spectacle completed.

"I hope you will prove to be more entertaining," Sukuna drawled, glancing at the remains of the dead man as if to emphasize his point.

The two remaining men shuffled nervously, their hands trembling as they gripped the hilts of their unsheathed blades. Fear and uncertainty flickered in their eyes as they exchanged glances, neither willing to be the first to face the monster before them. But Sukuna had no patience for their hesitation.

He lunged forward, a blur of speed and power, his balance impeccable even on the uneven, dirt-streaked ground. He closed the distance between them in three heartbeats. The first and lead man swung his blade in a wide, desperate arc aimed at Sukuna’s head, but Sukuna effortlessly ducked beneath it. His two left arms shot forward simultaneously, delivering a devastating double blow to the man’s midsection. The sound of ribs cracking filled the alley as his fists buried themselves deep into the man’s chest.

The second man seized his chance, darting forward through the narrow gap between his partner’s flailing form. His blade lashed out, aiming for Sukuna’s heart with the frantic precision of the desperate, and guided by the blind luck of the favored.

Dodge

For a split second, Sukuna felt his left leg freeze as his foot hit the ground, a brief moment of doubt flashing through his mind. Was he going to retreat? Against such pitiful dregs of humanity, unworthy even to breathe the same air as him? The sheer audacity of the thought rekindled the fire within him, burning hotter than before.

Instead of stepping back, Sukuna planted his foot firmly, bracing against the ground. With a snarl, he surged forward to meet his opponent head-on.

The man's eyes widened in shock, disbelief flickering across his face as Sukuna charged him head-on. There was no time to dodge, no room for retreat. Desperation drove him to raise his blade in defense, and he watched in horror as it plunged into Sukuna's palm. The blade sank in, inch by inch, driven only by the force of his lunge. Yet even at its deepest, it had barely penetrated a quarter of the way.

Sukuna felt a flash of insult at the blade’s intrusion. That such a pitiful weapon could mar his skin stirred a simmering rage within him, but he pushed the feeling aside. With a twisted grin, he forced his hand further onto the blade, closing his bleeding fist around his opponent's trembling hand.

"In a fight, you should be willing to sacrifice at least this much," Sukuna muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. The thought was fleeting, but he gave it voice, letting the man hear the lesson he would not live to learn.

With a vicious twist of his wrist, Sukuna shattered the man’s elbow, forcing the arm beyond its natural limits. The sickening crunch of bone snapping was followed by a scream that was swiftly silenced as Sukuna delivered a hammer blow to the man’s face. Teeth shattered, flying back into the man's throat, choking off any further sound.

"Hahahahaha!" Sukuna's laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained, as he drove another blow into the man's face and simultaneously slammed a fist into his lower ribs.

Sukuna’s lower hands gripped the man’s midsection, the frailness of his frame evident in the way Sukuna's fingers pressed against the ribcage, feeling each bone like brittle twigs ready to snap. An idea, dark and irresistible, imprinted itself in Sukuna's mind, and as the man’s eyes widened with terror, his lips quivering in a futile attempt to beg for mercy, Sukuna's focus only sharpened. His free left upper arm grabbed the man's head for leverage.

"P-please..." The word was barely a whisper, lost to the fever of the fight.

So Sukuna was deaf to it. The thought had taken root, a seed of violence that would not be discarded. His grip tightened, fingers digging deep into the man’s chest, pulverizing the sternum with a sickening crunch. His hands tore through skin and muscle, blood splattering across his arms as he slipped past the shattered bones, his fingers wrapping around the ribs with cruel precision.

“No please no, gods noooo.” The man’s scream was cut off as Sukuna flexed his arms.

With a savage twist, he wrenched the ribcage apart, the sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing echoing in the alley like the crack of thunder. The white of the exposed ribs gleamed in the darkness, contrasting against the crimson gush that followed. Blood dripped in thick, heavy drops, each one adding to the pool forming at Sukuna’s feet.

Yet the thrill that had ignited at the start of the fight continued to wane, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. The ease with which he had torn through these men left him unsatisfied, like a beast denied a worthy prey. The electricity that buzzed beneath his skin remained, but it was muted, incomplete. These men had simply not been enough.

He let the corpse fall, a lifeless heap at his feet, and turned his gaze to the last man, whose chest still rose and fell with pitiful effort. Sukuna's lips curled into a sneer as he closed the distance, his steps slow and deliberate. The man was nothing—a twig of a creature with more rage than skill. Weak. Pathetic. Everything he hated.

The realization fueled his next move. Sukuna’s foot slammed into the man’s chest, the impact cratering flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. But that wasn’t enough. He stomped again, and again, each strike fueled by a growing disdain, and annoyance at their inadequacies until his foot broke through the man's chest, burying itself in the squelching mess of organs that should have been protected by the ribs.

Was this all their strength amounted to? Was this the best they could muster? Was this pitiful strength all that fueled their pride?

Sukuna felt his frown smoothen into something colder, more calculating, as he yanked his leg free from the ruined body. Blood soaked his foot, dripping in thick, viscous trails as he pushed his hair back from his face, the motion instinctive, almost absentminded, yet it brought a smile to his lips.

He was still uncertain of many things, he realized, as he surveyed the carnage he had unleashed. The three bodies lay forgotten around him, mere remnants of a fight that had stirred something deep within him, something that had been dormant for far too long. Vague memories flickered at the edges of his consciousness—a whit haired man, who was so much like him. The crack of lightning tearing through the skies towards him. Battles that mattered. But these memories were hazy, like shadows dancing just beyond his reach.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the metallic tang of blood in the air, the warmth of it still clinging to his skin. A smile played at his lips as he whispered his name, a promise to himself, "Ryuomen Sukuna." This fight had spurred him in ways the past few years had not, shaking off the rust and awakening something primal within him. But he knew he was not yet complete.

He shrugged off the lingering uncertainty with a certainty of his own—he didn’t truly care. It was only a matter of time. If these small fries had been enough to stir even a fraction of what lay dormant within him, then all he needed was to find something stronger, someone stronger. And that wasn’t going to happen if he remained in this backwater corner of the city.

The smile on his lips widened as his eyes caught something—a flicker of movement. His gaze sharpened, focusing on the figure hidden in the shadows atop one of the buildings lining the alley. Yellow eyes stared back at him, gleaming in the darkness. A shift in the clouds revealed the moon and its light cleared his misconception. No, not eyes—lenses. Yellow lenses in a mask that eerily resembled an owl’s face.

The masked figure inclined its head slightly, a silent acknowledgment, but Sukuna didn’t care. The thrill surged in his veins once more, his heartbeat quickening as blood and adrenaline flooded his limbs. Another fight? His smile shifted into a grin.

But before he could act, the figure stepped back, disappearing into the shadows as if it had never been there. Sukuna's eyes traced the uneven wall, calculating the force and momentum he’d need to scale it, his hands itching to dig into the stone in pursuit of that instinctive need to challenge and be challanged.

"Oh, my little baby, you've gone and painted yourself all red."

His mother’s voice rang out, laced with a familiar tone of exasperation that bordered on amusement. There was no shock, no horror—only the weary affection of a mother used to cleaning up her child's messes. "Now I have to take care of this mess."

She moved with a calm, deliberate grace, cutting through the oppressive silence that had fallen over the alley. The others stood frozen, their faces a mixture of fear, shock, and a twisted sense of vindication

Somehow he expected something different, a similar look in the eyes of the people around them reflected in hers, but whatever he was searching for was absent.

She stepped past the two mangled bodies, utterly indifferent to the blood and shattered bones that littered the ground. One of the corpses lay in her path, but she simply nudged it aside with her toe, as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture.

"My little glutton," she murmured, her voice softening as she reached him. "You’ve splattered it all over yourself. You should have told me you were hungry." Her hands, delicate yet firm, fussed over him, wiping the blood from the edges of his face, her touch tender despite the gruesome task.

His lips slipped out and tasted blood. Had he somehow taken a bite in the chaos of the fight?

She worked with maternal skill, cleaning his bloodstained hands, smoothing back his hair, her fingers lingering as if to reassure herself that he was still her child beneath all the gore.

"You should've said something if you were hungry," she chided gently, her voice a mix of scolding and affection, as though this were nothing more than a spilled drink or a dirty shirt.

She got to his arm, frowned at the blade that remained imbedded into his palm, then she pulled it out and ripped the hem of her dress, using the relatively clean fabric to stop the slow bleeding.

She finished her task, unmoved by the horrified stares around them. With a casual nudge of her foot, she nudged the nearest man once again, his lifeless form rolling slightly on the blood-slicked floor. "Your mother may not be the best chef, but I’m sure we can work something out," she mused, her tone almost playful, as if contemplating what meal to prepare next.

Her attention shifted from him to the onlookers, her gaze settling on two prominent men who had been watching the scene with pale faces. "Mark, Caleb," she called out, her voice smooth but carrying a weight that left no room for argument, "can you two be darlings and take care of the bodies?" They blinked at her in surprise, then their gazes drifted to his imposing form behind her. They quickly muttered their affirmations, moving swiftly to obey, their fear of him outweighing the revulsion at the task.

She turned back to him, her expression softening into a guileless, almost innocent smile. "It’s alright, my little Suki. Come along now, you need a bath." Her hand, still slightly damp from wiping away the blood, found his, the touch warm and reassuring. "After that, Mama will prepare something special for you."

He glanced at the corpses strewn across the floor, the thought of feasting on them bringing an instinctive smile to his lips. But her grip tightened, gently pulling him away from the scene. Her calmness was infectious, a soothing balm that dulled the edge of his hunger and replaced it with something warmer, more unfamiliar.

Weakness.

As she led him away, she called out over her shoulder to a woman with brown hair and a burn scar marring one cheek. "Bethy, can you get the hot water running as soon as possible? The fire’s still hot, and we’ve got plenty of rainwater trapped in the tanks."

Bethy nodded quickly, her eyes wide as she hurried to fulfill the request. There was no hesitation in her movements, just as there had been none in the others.

As they walked away from the carnage, his mother’s voice softened, almost a whisper meant only for him. "You’re my precious boy, no matter what. Now let Mama take care of you, alright?"

Her words settled over him like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the world felt strangely normal, as if they were just returning home from a long day instead of leaving behind a trail of death.

A/N: Yes Mama Suki, is not quite alright in the head. Anyway considering making this it's own thing. A weekly release alongside CE. Its chapters are generally shorter than CE, so it can work... I think. Might not be as regular as cursed eyes but i can try anyway, It's either this or AOMR. Let me know what you think and if i should put it to a vote. Afterall, VIVA LA DEMOCRACY.