born in winter

Distantly, the moaning of wood reached his ears. From a deep corner of his mind, it resounded from the concept of a man, what was once a man, who shed his skin in the pursuit of esoteric knowledge too vast to digest. Its echo diffused to the cadence of a chant, then to a vibration in his bones-- and then returned to the dark folds of his brain, where things as he knew them and the beliefs instilled by his name intersected.

Uraume knew little of the Sukuna prior to meeting him. It only occurred to them now that they have omitted questions they pondered aimlessly. For a moment, they criticized themselves for never considering the Ryomen-Sukuna before they entered his life. Then, realized it never mattered to either of them. What happened before they met does not matter.

The intimate connection and the immediate thoughts of the future feast warmed their soul. Like a tug on a leash, their consciousness retraced the forest floor to their body and Uraume recentered.

"..."

She stood there for a moment, frozen, her eyes fixated on all that blood.

It reminded her of a place, a town from two different times, two different lives-- it was the same, though, dyed in crimson and suffocated by death and viscera. An unwelcome yet sickeningly familiar voice whispered in her ear as she looked at those corpses and the bodies to soon become as such. "Do they look like monsters to you?"

With a sound of disgust, Cheryl finally tore her eyes away from what became of the religious mob; instead she now glared at Uraume, shock and rage clear in her expression. She had heard their words, yes, and had heard rumors that death meant little in this strange metropolis. Even so, just like that man, these people didn't deserve to be struck down so coldly.

"Why?!" Cheryl finally hissed, letting her emotions reveal themselves in her tone.

They were surprised at their lips moving in response. They questioned their naturally, cool tone that bubbled up to honor the child with a reply. They wondered if it would even be worth it. How much longer will they have to speak to brick walls?

"Do you mourn the grass when its cut? The rocks that split into two? You mourn lightening when it loses its energy?" Uraume dropped their chin to their chest, eye peering at the bodies falling limp. "We are the only true existence in this world. This prison is nothing more than an illusion to test our limits. When you accept its limitations, you become nothing more than the puppets that pollute this world."

This person's crazy, she finally thought, but at the realization that she was still smiling, Cheryl surmised she must be at least a little crazy, too.

(Well, she probably already knew that, but was now really the time or place?)

"Hah," Cheryl let out a sigh. "Jeez..."

"Well, duh. Do you want to stay here and get attacked by a pissed off mob?"

There was no time to ask about how or why anything was occurring, or what powers the person before her possessed. All Cheryl knew how to do now was live in the moment, so she pointed out a path behind the two of them, and began to run towards it.

Slowly, their palms rose, floating upward. Uncalculatable control left their motions smooth as if no resistance were to be found within and without. Glimmers of ice crystals followed their movements, gravitating towards their fingertips to shield each appendages with ice spires. The indignant dozens charged forward, arms and legs bending inhumanly in dementated half-sprints and half-crawls.

The young woman had warranted their interest thus far, and Uraume resolved to allow her to return home unscathed for today. Yet, her desire to abandon the course she desired to witness hindered their resolve.

"Do you fear the unreal?" Uraume called out to her as she made her escape. The distance between the Cursed User and the vicious mob shortened drastically. "Do you fear that you're powerless!?" Uraume's mouth yawned wider and increased in volume. "Have you caved before these delusions!?"

The hot breath of the berserkers misted Uraume's face. A blink later, glacial spires fractured the ground and penetrated the first line of offense. Blood seeped over the translucent, blue ice, mutilating the refracted view of the opposing mob.

Uraume's stretched mouth grew slack. "Death has no purpose here." A cacophony of unnerving scratching against the ice, rattling of last breaths, and desperate moaning suffocated the air. Uraume canted their head, one eye peering at the fleeing young woman. "When there is no death, there is no existence. This world is empty."

Uraume had paused their ministrations as they ruminated, but quickly relapsed into their pace. The ruddy droplets dribbled from the cloth. The spring babbled unintelligently, and slowly, the once worshipped force lost its appeal in Uraume's eyes. They resigned, however. Their purpose is not to reform the world, it is merely to serve their lord. The entire universe could erode, even Hansol and themselves could be naught more than dust, all in the name of Ryomen-Sukuna, and in that resolution, color in Sukuna's radius remained intact.

"I commend your resilience within this stagnant hell, my Lord." Uraume tugged the cloth tightly around their fingertips and etched into the deep crevices across the stony form. Shards of caked mud and blood flittered free and plopped upon the water's surface to be spirited away.

"I will perform a ritual in your honor to encourage the scared wind of the Land of the Dead to chill your soul and enrich your wisdom."

Water gushed from an open pore in the earth a short walk from the Hanok's grounds, the spring flowing until it churned over the serrated edge of a low cliff. Though visiting the location to bathe hadn't appealed to him in a while, his familiarity with it remained, and he shucked himself of his dirtied garments before sinking chest-deep into a hollow near the base of the waterfall that would rub him down with undertow.

Sukuna recognized the prolonged pause and motioned for Uraume to commence their duty. Uraume bowed in response and inched forward. They knelt at Sukuna's back and tugged off the sleeves of their kimono, utilizing a length of twine they kept at hand in their sleeve, they tied their sleeves at their waist.

Their choice on their vessel opposed their original form. The feminine bosom remained wrapped up in cloth to prevent the tissue from impeding on their daily tasks. However, they cared little for the physical gender of their body. They would always be Uraume, and their body did not pose a threat to the shape of their soul.

Uraume dipped a cloth into the water that returned to is limpid state and rubbed the hand soap bar into the cloth. They proceeded to scrub the remaining clumps from the curvatures off Sukuna's muscles.

Yet, when she arrived, all the blonde could think was...

'This is what everyone was making a big deal out of? An old, ugly statue?'

Cheryl was, obviously, less than impressed; yet, the sight of another person (and with what she presumed was an impressive dye job), was far more intriguing. The individual spoke, and a bemused smirk highlighted Cheryl's face.

"Seriously?"

"No, I do not."

The words of advise crawled to the edge of their mind, but Uraume held their tongue. Uraume predicted the impending backlash upon the statue's destruction and was prepared to protect their vessel. However, their mild interest in the girl had limitations. She was indeed unique, but her presence did not warrant protection.

Uraume stepped forward, palm open. The temperature sharply declined near the statue as Uraume's hand expelled mist as the warm water vapor morphed into crystalline structures. They touched the statue's stomach. The town center erupted in a deafening crack. Five large spires broke through the shape of the statue, severing the statue at its epicenter. The limbs of the marbled woman clattered heavily to the ground. Her head bounced upon the cobblestone and rolled to the edge of the crowd. Empty eyes peered up to its disciples and begged for mercy.

A shock of silence filled the air as followers looked on in horror at their deity shattered across the ground. Wide saucer eyes gaped at Uraume, and their horror mutated. A roar of demented screams and shouts slaughtered the silence.

He paused, turning to catch Uraume fling themselves into the mud he trekked. Though comical the sight, he merely crossed his arms.

"If it pleases you, my Lord, to begin your trek to the spring further uphill. I will reunite with you in time after I have gathered the necessary supplies."

Less than twenty minutes later, Uraume rejoined Ryomen-Sukuna as promised at the edge of the natural spring that bubbled from underground. Shy, maroon eyes cast down from Sukuna's presence. "Whenever you are ready, Lord Sukuna."

The generic text chime echoed from Uraume's sleeve pocket. They quickly retrieved Sukuna's phone to see Hansol's request to turn off the oven. They showed the illuminated screen to Hansol.

"Lord Sukuna fails to use his phone... and a certain annoyance of a monk refuses to cease requesting his presence. Thus, I acquired the task to filter wanted and unwanted missives."

Uraume bowed, "Forgive my miscommunication, Mistress Hansol."