Drawing for Chapter 2 of Recurrence, with the original text as follows:
“You won’t get the chance. Not even if I die.”
And that sounded like a promise, like truth.
“Nah. Not unless you use one of those questions,” and then, with a grin, “or beg.”
“You’re impudent,” Sukuna said. “I’m tired of humoring you.”
Sukuna reached forward, to Satoru. The technique burned into life between them. He didn’t care. He forced his way through, amplification boiling in his fingers, fire and rot in his gut.
Satoru caught him by the wrist. He caught Satoru by the throat.
Satoru’s hand was cold. Sukuna wasn’t sure why he noticed that. It didn’t matter. It was unimportant.
Satoru leaned forward, into his hand, into the vise of his grip.
“Gonna snap my neck, Sukuna?”
“Stop me,” Sukuna dared, and flexed his fingers.
Sukuna crushed that pretty throat, just as Satoru snapped his wrist.
It wasn’t enough to kill. Oh, it would have been, with most people. But Sukuna could already see the damage healing, skin weaving back into place, blood and muscle settling. Satoru had crushed his wrist before he could snap the spine.
What an obedient sorcerer.
Sukuna laughed, and healed his hand.
“Yes,” he decided, pulling away, “you’ve convinced me.”
“That’s all it took?” Satoru’s voice started rasping, hoarse— remade around Sukuna’s grip. It ended smooth as oil. “You should have higher standards.”
I’m not sure if I can quote the original text. Hope you like it!
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
