Long before the age of heroes…
Before Quirks reshaped society…
Before humanity placed its hope in caped saviors…
There existed a monster.
During the Edo era of Japan, when samurai governed the land and villages were scattered across vast forests and treacherous mountain ranges, rumors began to spread of a being that could not be killed. Whispers of an entity beyond comprehension, an aberration that defied the natural order.
They called him Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses.
Sukuna manifests as a preternaturally tall, muscular man bearing four arms, four eyes, and a grotesque mouth embedded within his midriff. His short, spiked hair possesses an unnatural pink-red hue, complementing his crimson eyes. Most disturbingly, his two right eyes are positioned at divergent angles, protruding from the warped bone structure that has pushed through the flesh on the right side of his face.
His body is covered in elaborate tattoos, which manifest upon his vessel whenever he assumes control and remains naturally present in his true form. The markings consist primarily of black lines encircling his wrists, ankles, upper arms, torso, abdomen, and face. Large black dots are tattooed prominently upon each shoulder.
When these tattoos manifest upon a vessel possessing only two arms, the lines encircling the upper arms and wrists become doubled, and concentric circles form around the black dots on the shoulders.
The vessels also acquire a horizontal line across the bridge of the nose and a crown-like symbol emblazoned upon the center of their forehead. Sukuna's monstrous appearance led many throughout the ages to describe him as a demon with four arms and two faces—a creature born from humanity's darkest fears.
Sukuna, an arrogant demon who claims to be the strongest to have ever existed, unleashed unprecedented chaos and calamity upon the land. He was no mere demon; he was the Disgraced One, and he believed with absolute certainty that every living being existed beneath his notice.
He reveled in chaos and destruction, his boundless pride causing him to despise any form of control or subjugation, ultimately making him the most formidable enemy in the recorded history of Edo.
At first, the stories sounded like nothing more than frightened whispers shared by travelers along desolate, lonely roads. A village found abandoned overnight. Fields soaked in blood that refused to dry. Bodies torn apart in ways no sword or spear could possibly inflict. But whispers soon became screams, and the truth became impossible to deny.
Sukuna was real.
The monster did not move like a man. He stood tall and terrifying, his body marked with strange symbols resembling curses etched directly into living flesh. His presence alone carried a palpable pressure that made even the bravest warriors hesitate, their resolve crumbling before they could even draw their blades.
Some claimed he possessed four arms, each capable of wielding a different weapon simultaneously.
Others insisted his smile alone could make a grown man fall to his knees in sheer terror.
But everyone agreed on one thing: wherever Sukuna walked, death followed without exception.
Entire villages burned to the ground in a single night. Samurai patrols sent to investigate never returned. The few survivors who escaped his wrath spoke of a demon that cut through warriors as if they were nothing more than blades of grass beneath a scythe.
Steel shattered against him, arrows could not pierce his preternatural skin, and even the most skilled swordsmen of the era could barely survive a single exchange with him. Within months, fear spread throughout the country like wildfire; families fled their ancestral homes, and shrines filled with desperate, unanswered prayers.
None succeeded.
Sukuna slaughtered them all.
News of the devastation eventually reached the most powerful clans of the era. Realizing that no single army could defeat the monster alone, rival samurai houses did something previously unheard of in their blood-soaked history.
They united.
Warriors gathered from across the land—hundreds of them clad in ancestral armor and carrying blades forged by the finest smiths of the age. Alongside them marched monks and spiritual practitioners, men who had devoted their lives to studying ancient rituals said to bind demons and curses to the mortal realm.
Among them was an elderly monk who had spent his life studying forbidden texts hidden within temple vaults. He understood something the others did not. Sukuna was not merely a warrior, no matter how powerful; he was something far worse.
"A curse given flesh," the monk warned the assembled samurai, his ancient voice carrying across the silent gathering. "He cannot be killed by ordinary means."
The warriors listened in absolute silence.
"What must we do, then?" Asked the leader of the samurai alliance, his hand resting upon his sword hilt.
The monk closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing upon his weathered features. "We must seal him!"
And so a plan was formed.
The samurai would engage Sukuna in battle, holding him in place long enough for the monks to perform an ancient sealing ritual. It was a desperate strategy—one that would almost certainly cost many lives.
But there was no other choice.
If Sukuna continued unchecked, the destruction would never end. And so, the final battle took place in a valley surrounded by dense, ancient forest.
It was night when Sukuna arrived.
The wind fell silent as he stepped onto the battlefield, his four eyes scanning the hundreds of warriors waiting before him. Lantern light flickered across polished armor and drawn blades. For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the beating of terrified hearts.
Then Sukuna laughed, throwing all four arms wide in a gesture of mock welcome.
The sound echoed across the valley, deep and mocking, carrying with it the weight of countless deaths.
"So many insects gathered in one place," he said, his voice carrying easily across the battlefield despite its conversational tone. "Did you truly believe numbers would matter against me?"
The samurai leader stepped forward, his blade gleaming in the lantern light. "We are here to end your slaughter."
Sukuna's grin widened, revealing rows of teeth that should not exist in any natural mouth. "You're welcome to try."
The battle began instantly.
Samurai charged forward with battle cries tearing from their throats, swords flashing beneath the cold moonlight. Arrows darkened the sky as archers fired volley after volley toward the demon king.
But Sukuna moved like a storm given physical form. With a single motion of one arm, invisible forces tore through the charging warriors like a divine wind. Armor split apart as if struck by invisible blades. Steel blades shattered into countless fragments. Bodies fell to the ground before they even understood what had transpired.
Chaos erupted across the battlefield, yet the samurai did not retreat. They continued to charge, wave after wave of warriors sacrificing themselves to keep Sukuna occupied, their fallen comrades serving as a gruesome testament to their courage.
Behind the battlefield, hidden within the forest's shadow, the monks began their ritual.
Sacred talismans were placed upon the ground in a wide circle, each one imbued with centuries of prayer and devotion. Ancient symbols were painted with ink and sacrificial blood as chants echoed into the night air, rising toward an indifferent moon. The valley trembled with the power gathering there, the very earth groaning beneath the weight of forbidden magic.
Sukuna noticed.
His four eyes narrowed as he looked toward the chanting monks, recognizing the danger they represented.
"So that's your plan," he said with dark amusement, casually cutting down several warriors who dared approach him. The ground shook beneath his power as he advanced toward the ritual site, but the samurai leader blocked his path.
Dozens of warriors joined him, forming a final, desperate line between Sukuna and the chanting monks.
They knew they would die. They accepted this truth without hesitation. But they stood their ground nonetheless.
"For the people!" The leader shouted, raising his blade one final time.
Sukuna sighed, the sound carrying the weight of infinite boredom. "Very well."
The samurai could not apprehend the state of chaos that would befall them. Invisible flying blades cleaved each of the warriors one after another, their bodies falling like wheat before a harvester, while Sukuna approached the monks with a sinister grin spreading across his terrifying features.
This wasn't a battle; it was a massacre, pure and simple.
The battlefield transformed into a pool of blood and viscera, with bodies laid scattered across the once-pristine soil. Houses and trees alike were all cleaved into shreds by Sukuna's devastating technique, making the survivors realize they faced a true king of destruction.
The last line of samurai fought with everything they had remaining. Blades struck, spears thrust, warriors screamed battle cries as they attacked the demon king with desperate fury.
One by one they fell, buying the monks enough precious time as the ritual reached its climactic conclusion.
Light erupted from the talismans, forming chains of glowing, otherworldly symbols that shot toward Sukuna before he could dodge.
For the first time since stepping onto that blood-soaked battlefield, the King of Curses stopped smiling.
The chains wrapped around his body, binding all four of his arms and both of his legs as the ground beneath him erupted with ancient, glowing markings. The air itself seemed to solidify around him, pressing against his power with the weight of human desperation.
The monks chanted louder, pouring the last of their strength into the binding spell, their voices cracking with exhaustion and holy fervor.
Sukuna struggled against the restraints, his power shaking the very foundations of the valley. "You think this will stop me?" He said coldly, his voice carrying no trace of his earlier amusement. "You think mere mortals can contain a god?"
The chains tightened.
The light intensified.
With one final surge of collective energy, the ritual shattered Sukuna's essence, dividing his unimaginable power into cursed relics.
Fingers!!
Pieces of the demon king's power sealed into physical form, each one containing a fragment of his soul. The relics fell to the ground with soft thuds as the light finally faded, leaving only darkness and the aftermath of battle.
The battle was over.
Most of the samurai lay dead across the valley, their sacrifice written in blood upon the earth. The surviving monks gathered the relics carefully, wrapping them in sacred talismans and praying over each one with trembling voices. "We must hide these," the old monk said weakly, blood trickling from his nose and ears from the strain of the ritual. "If they are ever brought together…"
He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.
Far away, deep within one of the sealed relics, Sukuna's consciousness remained.
Waiting.
Watching.
And before the final seal closed completely, his voice echoed faintly into the night, carrying on a wind that should not have been blowing. "You may have won today… But one day… I will return."
His voice faded as the relic was sealed away, the last traces of his power retreating into darkness.
Centuries would pass. The world would change beyond recognition. Quirks would emerge, transforming humanity itself. Heroes would rise and fall, their stories written in the annals of a new age. And the ancient terror known as Sukuna would be forgotten by history—forgotten, that is, until the day someone inevitably found one of the sealed relics again, unwittingly unleashing hell upon a world that had long since forgotten the meaning of true fear.