Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer 7 (Patreon)

The first week was almost enjoyable, he had to admit.

But the almost part was the thing.

Ryo blinked himself awake that first day, sun already high in the sky and blasting him through a window that was too damn big honestly, bigger than the whole wall of his old bedroom. At least, he was pretty sure he remembered having an old bedroom, anyway. 

Most of the time, the memory was this blurry thing, like a picture somebody left out in the rain. But sometimes, late at night when the palace got quiet, he could almost feel that scratchy blanket he used to have. …was I poor?

He couldn’t really dive that much back into what he remembered, though. Because that was exactly when a knock came that morning. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It would come tomorrow and the next day and every morning after that.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Just three little taps that somehow managed to sound respectful and piss him off at the same time.

Her. Saiyu.

According to the older girl, the Fire Lord had assigned her to him, his "personal guide and attendant," she'd said with a smile that was way too polite to be real. 

He couldn’t lie, though. She was kinda pretty.

But not his type. The scary-pretty just wasn’t there. She didn’t have those golden eyes that looked right through you.

Just basically... pretty. It was like looking at a human NPC with a good character model, all the way from her black hair tied up with a pretty gold pin, dark eyes she almost always kept closed, all programmed with a perfect customer-service smile.

"Good morning, my lord," she said that morning, bowing low but never lowering her head. "The palace chefs have prepared a selection of dishes for your breakfast."

Lord… what? He blinked at her, confused at the title, unsure what to even say to that. Do I tell her not to call me that? Being real, it seemed way more trouble than it was worth, and honestly, after getting called everything from "vessel" to "Dark Avatar," Lord Ryo was pretty… pretty okay, he wasn’t gonna lie.

"Yo, is Azula around? Kinda wanted to talk to her about... you know. The thing." He had asked that the first day, still running a little bit high on the fact that they weren’t cutting his head off for… well, murdering four royal guards literally twenty-four hours ago.

Well, Sukuna did it, not me. Still, he didn’t think they would care about the technicalities.

Saiyu's polite smile didn't move an inch as she tilted her head just a little bit. "Princess Azula is currently attending to matters of state, my lord. She is exceptionally busy."

Uh-huuuuuh… Busy, or grounded, it was the same difference. Dear old dad’s not happy with the princess, I’m guessing.

After breakfast, which was always this ridiculous spread of weird-looking fruits, savory meats that tasted better than they had any right to, and strange-colored breads laid out on a low table in his room, he'd get dressed. Specifically, servants would dress him up in those fancy looking clothes. Two of them, older women led in by Saiyu; they moved like ninjas, almost completely silent with both their feet and mouth, and eemed to have mastered the art of never ever making eye contact. 

Creepy, sure, but they were quick and good at their jobs.

Then his guide would lead him out into the palace grounds. 

Why? He had no idea. It wasn’t like he asked to.They would just walk him around, like he was a dog or something they were worried about pooping on their nice floors. Worse, there was nothing to see on the outside even. They would take him to the gardens, because what kid wasn’t a fan of plants and flowers, right? 

The only real interesting thing was this pond full of these weird half-duck, half-turtle things that were kinda cute in a freakish, unnatural way. Still, that was only interesting for as long as ten minutes. After that, he'd just walk, and his guide would follow a few steps behind like some kind of polite shadow, and two regular Royal Guards, guys in different skull masks than standard soldiers, would trail them from a ways back.

Always the same two. He'd already nicknamed them in his head. Bert and Ernie.

He'd tried to lose them once, on day three, just for kicks. He was walking by a big-ass gnarled tree, red leaves and black bark that was evil-looking as it was pretty (kinda like the princess). It was right then he had a thought, and… well, he just went with it.

Ryo sprinted, legs pumping with raw power, bare feet pounding against the stone paths and holding nothing back. The garden blurred past the edges of his vision as Ryo booked it, pouring in more speed, easily hitting twenty-five, maybe a good thirty miles per hour. He was aiming for this high wall he thought he could probably just jump over, make a break for it and just go wild.

And then both of them were just... there.

Bert and Ernie. Standing in front of him like they'd teleported, barely breathing hard, and definitely not even looking winded. They just stared at him through those skull masks, silent, immovable objects that happened to be shaped like people.

Ryo skidded to a stop, bare feet kicking up dirt and loose stones. Neither guard moved, no weapon in their hand, or fire, or even any threatening moves. 

That, he could handle.

But these guys just stood there, making it real clear which direction he could and couldn't go.Damn.

It only took Saiyu a few seconds to catch up, and even though her breath was far from even and sweat was clear on her face, she still had that same fake smile on her face. "The gardens… are vast, my l-lord Avatar. It is… easy… to get lost."

Message received. 

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The second week, the novelty wore off like cheap paint peeling in the sun. The golden cage started to feel less golden and way more like a cage with better upholstery.

The routine was a prison built out of politeness and breakfast trays. Wake up, knock knock knock, breakfast, get dressed by ninja servants, walk around the same garden paths or sit in the same library full of scrolls he couldn't read because apparently this world never figured out how to bind pages together into actual books.

The food was still good, but it was boring now, the kind of boring that got under your skin. Always some variation of the same spicy meat and weirdly sweet rice that stuck to your teeth. The clothes were still fancy as hell, but they itched like crazy, those high collars making him feel like he was getting slowly choked all day. The garden was still pretty, sure, but he'd seen every weird-ass flower in it at least a dozen times.

How many different ways can you look at a turtle-duck before you go insane?

The next time he asked about the princess… when was it? 

Maybe… yeah… on, like, day nine… or was it ten?

Whatever.

If it wasn’t clear enough, it was getting harder and harder to keep track without a cellphone in his pocket. Maybe it was because he was a little pissed, jaw tight as he tried to keep a smile on as he stared at the servant-guide-NPC-girl.

"Seriously, where's ‘zula?” You guys got me locked up in here and I can't even talk to the person who brought me to this place. No joke, that's kinda cold, man."

Saiyu's smile was a little thinner this time, stretched at the edges with no give to it like saran wrap pulled too tight by a mom on a budget. "Princess Azula remains occupied with her duties, my lord. Her schedule is determined by the Fire Lord himself."

Ah. So she is grounded. He wanted to smirk at that, but there wasn’t any satisfaction in knowing his suffering was shared. Still… it was kinda funny. Princess perfect got her ass chewed out by daddy for bringing home a stray.

The library sucked the most out of everything. Massive as it was, with huge ceilings that made every other step echo and packed with more books and scrolls than anyone could read in a lifetime, most of it just sucked to read. He'd asked for something fun or interesting, anything, and they'd brought him a book with a detailed history of the Fire Nation's glorious military campaigns over the last century, complete with illustrations of people getting burned alive. God, these people are sooooo fun.

He'd used the military history book as a coaster. A day later, Saiyu had shown up, wearing that ever-tightening smile, and replaced the thing with another, identical book, which he'd coincidentally also used as a coaster for a fresh cup of tea. This is my life now. 

He was bored. 

Bored in a way that made him feel like slamming his head into the wall to see what would be quicker; knocking himself out or a bunch of guards rushing in to restrain him. …my head’s pretty hard though. 

The third week, something started to give. Patience, sanity, nerves, whatever you call it, it was getting raw.

He stopped getting dressed in the fancy robes. Most of the time he stayed shirtless, markings on his chest and arms exposed to the air, Ryo simply living in nothing but the loose silk pants they gave him to sleep in. 

The servants still did their jobs, though.

They’d lay the robes out on a chair every morning, he'd ignore them, and a few hours later, they would come to take them away.

Saiyu never said anything about it, but her smile got even tighter around the edges.

He stopped going to the garden. Or the library. Or anywhere else, really.

He just stayed in his room, eyes dull, and stared at the walls till he fell asleep. The walls were covered in these intricate paintings of dragons and historical battles and other Fire Nation propaganda. He'd seen them all, memorized every detail, could probably describe each one with his eyes closed.

I wonder if this is what prison feels like. Fancy prison where they bring you tea.

He asked for Azula one last time, on day seventeen. 

This time, there was no waiting for Saiyu to give her whole little speech about the princess being busy. None of that. No, the second she opened the door with the servants wheeling in the tables and breakfast tray, he was there, blocking her way inside. 

He stared her in the eyes, red to brown, close enough to see the tiny beads of sweat on her forehead despite the cool morning air. "Where is she?"

A demand. 

Saiyu didn't even flinch, though. Her polite mask was perfect, impenetrable, like it had been carved from marble and painted with customer service training. "My lord, I have told you. Princess Azula is—"

"Busy. Yeah, I got it." He laughed, a short, ugly sound that had no humor in it whatsoever. "She busy, or is her dad keeping her busy?"

Something flickered behind those dark eyes, the first bit of unsteadiness he’d seen from the girl since she’d first shown up at his door.

Fear. 

Deep, real fear that she hid so fast he almost missed it, but he knew what that looked like, the way he knew the back of his hand.

"The Fire Lord has always had many duties for his daughter. Her schedule is simply... demanding."

Ryo stared at her.Saiyu stared right back.

Just like that, he knew exactly what this was.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Over three weeks.

Twenty-six days.

Almost four.

Did they want him to murder someone? It felt like that’s what they wanted.

If they wanted him to get rid of the next person to open their mouth while he was around, they should have just said so. Hell, I’ll do it right fucking n-

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

His eye twitched. Speak of the devil.

Same time as always, the same polite, rhythm making his eye twitch.

He ignored it, rolling over on the massive bed, silk sheets cool against his skin.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He pulled the pillow over his head, trying to muffle the sound. It was still there, though, bleeding through the silk and down feathers, a rhythm that was grinding on his last raw nerve. It was the sound of his cage.

TAP. TAP. TAP. Louder this time. Insistent. Saiyu was getting impatient, which was new. 

A low rumble from his chest slipped out, a raw, frustrated sound half-muffled by the pillow. His hand snapped out beside him without looking, fingers closing around something heavy and cool.

He knew what it was without eyes; a jade statue of a dragon, all intricate carving and fancy craftsmanship resting on his bedside table.

TAP. TAP. T—

He roared.

The dragon flew.

The heavy wooden door stood firm against green rock and a loud, satisfying CRACK echoed through his oversized prison cell.

The knocking stopped.

Finally.

Maybe now they'd get the message.

He was alone. Again. 

The way he'd been for most of the last three weeks, except for the daily walks and the polite conversations that never went anywhere and the constant feeling that everyone was watching him, waiting for him to explode again.

Which, to be fair, I just did.

He almost wished he could remember what Sukuna had done in that arena, more than just the mess he’d seen after the demon inside let go of his body. Crushed skulls, bodies sliced in half, one dude burnt to nothing but ash and bad memories. Hell, the demon had broken the damn arena floor…somehow.

He remembered the look on Azula's face too, and the looks on all the gathered nobles and military guys and everyone else seated in the arena.

They were scared of him now. All of them.

Good. But he was still bored as hell.

No bending. No magic. No control over anything. 

He didn't know how long he sat there, just stewing in the silence and his own irritation. An hour? Two? The sun drifted across the floor, painting long golden rectangles that slowly faded to orange, then purple. He was bored. He was pissed. He was useless. A weapon in storage, gathering dust while everyone else got to do interesting shit.

He needed to do something. Anything.

A memory drifted up from somewhere that didn't feel like his brain, uninvited and weird. Monks in simple robes, sitting cross-legged in this cavernous, dark room, eyes closed, so still they looked like statues carved from rock.

Meditating.

The memory was a fragment, something he must've picked up from Sukuna's ten thousand years of doing whatever the hell ancient demons did when they weren't busy torturing kids.

What the hell. He slid off the bed, bare feet hitting the cool stone floor. Got nothing better to do. Maybe I'll learn some ancient wisdom or some shit.

He sat criss-cross applesauce in the center of the room, trying to copy the posture from the memory. Straight back, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed, and sat there breathing… 

…

…

…This is stupid.

…

…

I wonder what Saiyu's doing right now? Probably writing a report about how I'm a violent psycho who breaks expensive shit.

I wonder if Azula heard about it. Does she care? Probably not. Probably just annoyed I'm making her look bad.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the thoughts out of his head. Focus. Just... focus on nothing. How do you even focus on nothing?

In, out. In, out. He did his best to clear his thoughts and just think about his breathing but that didn’t do a damn thing to help either. The rhythm was slow, boring, like watching paint dry in slow motion and it didn’t help that his knee started to cramp. 

An itch started on his nose that felt like fire ants crawling across his skin. 

He ignored it. 

His back started to hurt from sitting so straight. 

He ignored that, too.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes and the whole time, he felt nothing but a hot, tight ball in his gut that wanted to explode into violence and broken furniture.

This was pointless. Useless. So fucking stupid, just like everything e-

The floor beneath him faded into nothing, distant palace sounds disappearing completely, as the air in his lungs went cold, heavy, and thick with the coppery tang of old blood.

He opened his eyes.

He wasn't in the palace anymore, which was both a relief and the exact opposite of a relief at the same time.

The familiar, hated black sky stretched above; no stars, no clouds, an expanse of empty black nothing that went on forever. Massive perfectly-white rib bones that looked too human to be that big, but could be nothing else, arched overhead like a cathedral built for Satan himself.

Once again, like he had for the better part of a year, Ryo was standing knee-deep in a vast, calm ocean of blood that was exactly as warm and gross as it sounded.

Home sweet home.

His gaze traveled across the bloody lake, over to a small mountain of bleached white skulls, past the countless empty eye sockets and all the way to the very top, where the devil with his face was lounging on his throne as if he was waiting for room service. The demon had his chin resting lazily on one hand, a single crimson eye open and fixed on him, that familiar, infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

Of course he's smiling. He’s probably been waiting this whole time till I pulled myself in here.

"You didn't pull yourself here, brat," That low, sharp voice echoed across the blood-soaked world that Ryo knew was his own soul. "I dragged you in. Don't flatter yourself with ideas of sudden mystical agency. You have none but what you glean from me."

Ryo's fists clenched at his sides, warm, sticky blood sloshing around his legs with every small movement. He gritted his teeth but didn't bother saying anything back because what would it even matter? He knew what it was like arguing with Sukuna; I’d be better off punching the ocean.

He was here now. That's all that mattered.

He waded through the blood, the thick liquid pulling at his legs like it was trying to drag him down, until he stopped at the base of the skull mountain. He tipped his head back, looking up at the demon wearing his face, and decided to just say what he'd been thinking for three weeks straight.

"I'm sick of this shit," Ryo said, his voice flat as roadkill. Not pleading. Not angry. Just a statement of fact that needed to be said. "I'm sick of sitting in some room waiting for people to knock on my door. I'm sick of being dead weight while you get to have all the fun."

He jabbed a finger toward Sukuna, not caring if it was disrespectful or whatever. "You got all this power. You can do all this crazy shit. Regrowing hands, crushing heads, whatever the hell you did to that other guy in the arena. But I can't do anything. I'm just the car you get to drive around whenever you feel like taking a joyride."

Ryo crossed his arms, stance stubborn like a sumo even while knee-deep in a literal lake of blood. "I want it. Bending, sorcery, whatever the hell that was you pulled in the arena. I wanna fight back instead of just almost dying till you feel like pulling my ass out of the fire."

Sukuna's smirk widened as the demon pushed himself up from his throne, the movement slow and deliberate. "Bend? Child, there are many things you can do, but that?” The monster laughed like Ryo had just told him the world’s greatest joke.“What?”“That you cannot," Sukuna said, the word dropping like a stone into still water. "Bending is tied to the spirit. An innate gift from the world itself. It requires chi of the... harmonious variety." He said the word like it was something rotten he'd found stuck between his teeth. "The positive kind. A bender works with the world, adapting to its natural flow. We... are not built for such cooperation."

He shrugged, casual and unbothered by the cosmic unfairness of it all. "Some are born princes. Some are born peasants. You cannot change the fundamental nature of what you are, boy."

Ryo scowled back at the shrugging demon, accomplishing nothing but getting more pissed off by the second. "So that's it? I'm just stuck being the guy who gets his ass kicked until you decide to show up and save the day?"

"Bending is harmony," Sukuna continued, ignoring his question as he walked down the steps of his throne, each footfall echoing in the vast, bloody space. "Sorcery... is not. Sorcery is power against the world. You define your reality. You manifest your will against what already exists. Bending is defined by what is. Sorcery is defined by what you want."

The demon/god/monster/whatever came to a stop just a few feet from Ryo, close enough that he could see the way those four glowing crimson ones fixed right on him; each one laser-locked past skin, muscle and bone, all the way down to his soul.

"But..." Sukuna said the single word with a drawl as he raised a single hand, palm up.

Fire flared to life there, cupped and cradled by sharp black nails. Not the orange and yellow of the royal guards, or even the bright blue of Princess Azula. This was something else. A deep, blood-red flame shot through with veins of pure black that writhed and twisted like something that wanted out. 

It looked dangerous. 

It looked powerful. 

It looked like the kind of thing that could burn down the world just because it felt like it.

I want that.

"Others," Sukuna said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "are born gods."