A Cursed Forest

A Cursed Forest

Synopsis: in which you journey on with dragon!sukuna who runs into someone he knows Word Count: 2k Warnings: cursing, not proofread Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

You have been walking for hours and hours since dawn break when the first light lit up the entrance of the cave. On that morn, the Cursed King had shifted into the form of a man — hulking and terrifying, a true beast — and strode forth from the cave with no instruction to guide you. Yet, you knew better than to utter a query or seek command, for his will was plainly wrought: follow him wherever he pleases. 

So you did. 

The ground was dry, cracked, and parched as if no rain had ever lay even but a kiss upon it. The sky darkened with the threat of tempest, though no breeze stirs the air, nor no sound, and no sign of life in the forest. It frightened you impossibly further, for you were so certain the trees were alive all through the night, but then, as your captor, or your saviour, you’ve yet to know, marched along, with you in tow, you knew then that it was his very presence that commanded an eerie stillness upon every branch, every leaf, and every critter that had made this place its home. 

Sore and bruised, your feet ache with every step; you dare not complain. Instead, you pray to the Heavens that your stomach will not grumble so loudly and that this destination the King has in mind arrives soon, for there is not much more you can give. 

Power coursing through his veins, he does not seem affected by this long journey through the forest. He is not lost, he does not thirst or hunger, he does not stumble or slow his pace. He is as steady as time and just as silent and merciless. 

A step for him is a leap for you, and you are struggling to keep up. When you stop by a tree, leaning against the rough bark to catch your breath, he stops, too, but he does not meet your eye. He simply stands tall, his unclothed back rippling with tension, and you rush to your feet, not wanting to irritate him with your weakness. 

He journeys on wordlessly. 

Midday passes, and you have not eaten, drank, or rested. Your mortal limitations are dragging your limbs down, forcing your mouth to dry and your vision to spin. 

“M-my Lord,” you stutter, nails pricking your palm, “if I m-may, I do not think I can go on much longer.”

Halting ahead, he turns and regards you with his full attention. He’s looking, really looking, and what he sees displeases him greatly. With a sneer, he makes a sharp turn and mists away. 

You slump to the ground, ashamed of the way your knees quiver and how blood so easily leaks from shallow cuts on your bare feet. You are just as your family says: weak, pathetic, and useless. Nothing had ever prepared you for this twist of fate, from being cast out to being offered as sacrifice for the drought and then to taking on the role of companion to the most monstrous beast that plagues the Kingdom of Eden. 

It is a mockery. 

The salt in a wound that runs deep and defines you. 

“Drink.”

Your eyes had shut without your realisation and when they open, you think perhaps you are delirious, because you are somewhere different. Still imprisoned in the Dark Forest, you are now at the river that pierces straight through. Rushing forward, you slurp down the fresh water. Life pulses in your very heart. It is cool and refreshing and everything you needed.

Dripping down your chin, the water you cup in your hands is soaked up by your dress more so than your own lips, but you cannot find the decency to feel shame in front of the King. 

Heat blasts your back, sudden and light, and you feel it tickle your skin. Behind you, your captor holds a charred bird, smoke curling out of his mouth. He throws it in your lap when you turn, staining your dress and threatening to burn your thighs. 

“Eat.”

It is as delicious as the meat he had allowed you to feast on the previous night. Strength floods your stomach, rich and filling. This is the most fortunate you’ve ever been when it comes to food; your family would throw scraps at you, watery oats and bones to gnaw on.

Warmth dancing inside, you’re much more comfortable now and ready to journey further, but you do not want to let him know just yet, lest he drags you onwards for another half-day. Slowly, you pick at the meat, pretending to savour it.

“Thank you, my Lord,” you mutter, barely above a whisper.

He grunts. Leaning against a tree himself, he watches you, lip curling slightly in something that might have been amusement or disdain. Your eyes dart downward, and you know what he sees—the dark mark upon your chest, a twisted design resembling his dragon shape, now burned into your skin. The heat beneath it intensifies under his stare, but neither of you speak of it.

Swallowing and carefully, you find the courage to ask, “To where do we venture, my Lord?”

“The nearest town to the north.”

That would be Agartha — a bustling place nestled within the heart of the northern mountains, a haven for traders and merchants. It is a place you have only heard whispers of in stories uttered of by those in your home who dared not venture beyond the village borders. It is said to welcome all manner of folk and creatures, so long as they have something of value to trade, but few have dared to travel its roads. 

It’s over a day’s travel, and the closer one gets to that part of the land, the more likely they are to encounter a cursed being, even if one avoids passage through the Dark Forest, skirting along the edge instead. 

“Why?”

His amber eyes cut through yours, and with disdain, he orders, “Finish your food, and do not question me anymore.”

“But why walk when you can fly?”

The question leaves your mouth before you could mull the thought further and the flex of his hand makes you gulp. You know not where the stupidity came from and you resent yourself for it. A moment passes, the leisurely flow of the river the only sound filling this gap between you. 

Assessing you with a cock of his head, you wonder what he’s thinking. Perhaps he’s regretting his choice of companion, or perhaps he’s considering whether you are better off as a meal. You hope it’s not the latter. Or either. You hope he likes you. 

Why, you cannot bear to ponder. 

“Because you cannot.”

His voice…

It’s softer than before. Not quite gentle — it is still very much rough, raspy, and deep in a way that rattles your bones — but there’s a vulnerability, a sincerity that leaves you reeling. The mark on your chest burns, and you grow breathless, shivers running up your spine and tingling in places you cannot linger on for too long. 

He grunts, his large hand clutching a pec. His eyes meet yours with disbelief. Something clicks inside again, that turn of a key, that slotting of a puzzle piece, which he seems to feel, too. But that can’t be. 

“You,” he hisses, and then he shakes his head. Inhaling deeply, you feel the forest rumble beneath you, shaking with the force with which he’s gripping the tree bark behind him. “If you are finished, get to your feet and walk before I drag you by your hair.”

He is already turning away, walking ahead with more force than before. You quickly wash your hands and mouth before you rush after him, afraid to be left alone as the afternoon falls. 

Hiking closer to him than before, you cannot help but eye his marked back. The black lines are pigmented and clean. They do not appear like the marks you’ve seen on other men in your village. No, they look to be a part of his body, just as any of his limbs are. 

You wonder how they feel under your fingers. 

Another hour or two passes in silence. You do not ask questions and he does not offer answers. This is a mere glimpse of how the rest of your time with him will pass, you gander. Though, it is unclear for long he will tolerate your existence. A man like him, or rather a creature like him, does not seem like the type to desire company, and yet here you are.

The temperature drops considerably. Goosebumps rise along your arms. A sharp crackle sparks in your chest.

You have unknowingly ventured somewhere odd. The branches are sparser, the grass is balding and dull, and fog is blanketing your feet. Somehow, the sky has darkened quickly, as if the clouds had thickened within seconds. You feel a chill prick your spine. 

“Stay close, rat,” the King of Curses snarls. 

When you approach him, he gives you a firm look and then jerks his chin. You press closer. In the distance, you can hear whistling —mocking and taunting. Your breaths get more and more shallow. You are being watched. 

Hesitantly, fearful you might set something off, you whisper, “Where are we?”

“We are on the brink between the edge of this forsaken forest and the land surrounding Agartha. There will be dangers around these parts. Do take care to not allow yourself to be ripped apart; you will stain my skin with your filthy blood,” he growls. 

You have only heard of tales from drunken men in taverns you’d pass by. Tales of hunched beasts ranging in height, some with the ability to tear into your flesh and kill you instantly and others with magic that lure you to your death. And though you’d like to know more about what exactly the King is sending along these parts, you are far from keen to learn first-hand. So, you follow the angry man’s lead. 

The recent turn of events has you reeling, but you are given little to no time to ponder anything. Indeed, you have no choice, just as you have never had a choice in life. 

More whistling. 

It has grown nearer. 

“Fuck,” the King growls. He flexes his arms, hands closing to fists as he marches ahead. You cannot tell how he feels, whether he is afraid, anxious, or enraged. Best not to find out. 

“If it isn’t the great King, out of his domain,” a woman’s voice sounds out.

It is melodic and enchanting. Bumps on your skin rise. There is something frightening in her tone. Too sure, too confident, too in control, you cannot breathe with the weight of her presence, though you see her not.

“And with a mortal girl, no less.”

The voice, bodiless, float around your head, lifting locks of your hair as if marveling at the tangible feel of your body. 

Squealing, you run to your companion’s side, holding his arm in spite of yourself. He glances down at your quivering form and rolls his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics, Kuchisake. We are merely passing. Answer me: Is Agartha still as it once was when I was awake?”

The voice chuckles and replies, “It has not changed. Time does not pass by in that corner of the kingdom.” 

He nods and moves to continue on his way before she speaks again, and the underlying threat in her voice stops him in his tracks. 

“I know what you seek. But Mother has made her intentions clear; you must see through the bonds that tie you down.”

A force knocks you back into a tree and away from him. The impact knocks the breath out of you but it does not hurt.

It is impossible to tell who pushed you, and you dare not dwell on it. They are having a stand-off, asserting power over each other, whilst you remain as mere collateral. That is how it has always been with these cursed beings, indeed with any who held power over you. 

“Mother has chosen to play a cruel joke, one in which I want no part. Not even she can stop me. So keep your advice to yourself, Nymph.”

She hums a melancholy tune, it is low and slow, a bastardisation of a sacred melody. She sings the wedding march.

Sukuna flicks his wrist and you’re lifted up, floating in the air until you land on your own feet next to him. Then he walks on, with you in tow, feeling red tendrils of smoke tied around your wrist, keeping you from running or being snatched away. It is as if he has collared you, his very own pet.

Still invisible to the human eye, she hums that tune all the way through the forest, even once you’ve left the border of those crooked trees, and only stops when a mountain in the distance comes into view. 

That is where you are headed. And deep inside, there is something the King of Curses wants desperately enough to stomach mockery from, who you can only guess to be, his sister. 

What lies ahead, you do not know. 

You have no choice but to trust him, and you hope that at the end of this cursed journey, you will make it out in one piece.