Vivamus, morienndum est

He moved like he belonged here more than the ship itself. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features that seemed carved from something ancient rather than born. His skin was pale under the artificial lights, his hair a wild shock of pinkish that he kept slicked back loosely. Two arms, two eyes—one face. Human. Just like you. Yet something in the way he watched you made the hair on your arms rise. Maybe it was the way one half of his face took half a second to match it's other half.

You found him in the galley when you entered, leaning against the counter with that calm, almost lazy posture. One hand held a ration pack he wasn’t eating, the other resting at his side. He didn’t turn his head immediately, but you knew he was aware of you. He always was.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” His voice was smooth, laced with that strange amusement that never quite reached concern. He finally looked at you, eyes dark and unblinking. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, little one.”

You swallowed, forcing your voice steady. “Just... the ship sounds different tonight. Like something’s shifting in the walls.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Ships make noises. Metal contracts. Pipes breathe. Or maybe it’s just missing its crew.” He pushed off the counter and stepped closer, his presence filling the small space. “Or maybe it’s missing something else.”

You took a step back without thinking. He noticed, of course. His smile widened just a fraction, possessive in its gentleness.

“Come here,” he said softly, not quite a command but close enough that refusal felt dangerous. When you didn’t move, he closed the distance himself, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His palm was warm—too warm for the chilled air of the ship. “You’re trembling. Fear suits you, but I prefer you breathing.”

The touch was meant to comfort. It always was. But there was something off about it, like his fingers lingered a second too long, mapping your skin as if claiming territory.

That night, the nightmares returned.

You jolted awake in your bunk, heart hammering against your ribs. The dream had been vivid: corridors slick with blood, thick and dark, pooling in the seams of the floor plates. Satoru Gojo’s voice—bright, teasing, impossible—screaming your name as something dragged him backward into the darkness. His white hair stained red. His bright eyes wide with terror before the scream cut off.

You sat up, gasping, the sheets tangled around your legs. The room was dark except for the faint emergency strip lighting along the baseboards. And there he was.

Sukuna sat in the chair beside your bunk, legs crossed, watching you with that calm, amused expression. He hadn’t been there when you fell asleep. You were sure of it.

“Bad dream?” he asked, voice low and even. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. One hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-damp forehead. “You were calling for Gojo again. Poor thing. He’s safe back on Earth, remember? Mission logs say he made it to the escape pod in time.”

His thumb traced your cheekbone, gentle, almost tender. But his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—held a spark of something that made your stomach twist. Amusement. Like your fear was a private joke between you two.

“I... I saw blood,” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded. “Everywhere. And Satoru was screaming.”

“Shh.” Sukuna shifted closer, the chair creaking faintly under his weight. He pulled you against his chest with surprising ease, one arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other hand stroked your back in slow circles. The embrace felt secure, solid. Human. Yet the way his fingers pressed just a little too firmly into your spine sent a shiver down your back. “It’s only a dream. The ship is playing tricks on your mind. Isolation does that. But I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You let yourself lean into him because there was no one else. His scent was faint—something metallic mixed with the sterile air of the ship. His heartbeat was steady against your ear. Too steady. Like it had never known panic.

The next day, the lights began to flicker.

It started in the observation deck. You were checking the star charts—pointless, since navigation was offline—when the overhead panels stuttered. For a split second, the room plunged into blackness. In that darkness, you heard it: a soft, wet sound, like bare feet on damp metal, coming from the corridor behind you.

When the lights returned, Sukuna was standing at the threshold, arms crossed, watching you with mild curiosity.

“Jumpy today,” he observed. “The generators are old. They hiccup sometimes.”

You nodded, but your eyes darted to the floor. No footprints. No wetness. Just the endless gray of the ship’s plating.

Supplies started disappearing after that.

Small things at first. A protein bar from your locker. Then an entire med-kit from the infirmary. You confronted Sukuna in the engine room, where he was tinkering with a panel that didn’t need fixing.

“Have you been taking the rations?” you asked, trying to keep accusation out of your voice.

He turned, wiping his hands on a rag. One face, two eyes, calm as ever. “Why would I need to? We have enough for two.” His head tilted slightly. “Unless you think someone else is onboard.”

The implication hung in the air. You laughed nervously. “No. Of course not. It’s just... strange.”

“Strange,” he echoed, amused. He stepped closer, backing you against the console without touching you. “Like the way you wake up every night covered in sweat? Or the footsteps you hear when you’re alone?”

You froze. You hadn’t told him about the footsteps.

He comforted you again that night.

The nightmare was worse. Blood flooded the halls, thick enough to lap at your ankles. Satoru’s scream echoed endlessly, his body twisting in ways human bodies shouldn’t. You woke screaming, and Sukuna was already there, sliding into the bunk beside you as if he’d been waiting for the exact moment.

“Easy,” he murmured, pulling you flush against him. Two arms—strong, unyielding—wrapped around you. One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. The other rested low on your back, pressing you closer. “It’s over. Just a dream. Gojo is safe. Earth is safe. Only us here.”

His breath was warm against your temple. Too warm. His body heat seeped into you, chasing away the chill, but the comfort felt laced with possession. Like he was absorbing your fear, savoring it. When you tried to pull away, his grip tightened—just enough to remind you he could keep you there if he wanted.

“You’re mine to protect,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “No one else left to do it.”

The ship’s noises grew bolder.

In the dead of the ship’s artificial night cycle, you heard scraping from the lower decks. Metal on metal, then a low, guttural sound that might have been a voice or just expanding bulkheads. The flickering lights became more frequent, entire sections of the ship plunging into darkness for minutes at a time. Once, while walking the central corridor, the lights died completely. You stood frozen, breath shallow, listening to the darkness breathe around you.

Something brushed your ankle—cold, slick, gone before you could scream.

When the lights snapped back on, Sukuna was behind you. Close enough that you felt his chest against your back.

“Lost?” he asked softly, voice laced with that perpetual amusement. His hand settled on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “You shouldn’t wander alone.”

“I thought I felt—” You stopped, shaking your head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

His smile was small, knowing. “Of course you are. Come. I’ll walk with you.”

He did. Always. Everywhere you turned, he was there. In the mess hall when you went for water. Leaning in the doorway of the observation deck while you stared at the void outside. Sitting at the foot of your bunk when nightmares tore you awake, ready with those wrong, soothing touches.

Days blurred. Or were they weeks? Time lost meaning without the sun.

You started checking the airlocks obsessively. All sealed. The escape pods—untouched, their logs showing no activity since the incident that scattered the crew. Satoru had made it out. The logs confirmed it. You had seen the pod jettison with your own eyes before the systems failed.

So why did the nightmares show him dying here?

One cycle, you found the hydroponics bay door ajar. Inside, several nutrient trays were overturned, their contents scattered as if clawed through. No one had been in here. You hadn’t. Sukuna claimed he hadn’t either.

“Rats, maybe,” he suggested when you showed him, shrugging with casual ease. He crouched beside the mess, one finger tracing a gouge in the soil. “Or the ship settling. Metal fatigue.”

But his eyes lingered on the damage a moment too long, and that faint smile played at his lips again.

That night’s nightmare was the clearest yet.

You were running through blood-slick halls. The walls pulsed like living tissue. Satoru’s voice cracked over the intercom: “It’s in the walls—get out, it’s—” Then wet tearing sounds. You woke with a sob, and Sukuna was already holding you, his body a solid anchor in the dark.

“Shh, little one,” he cooed, rocking you gently. His hand stroked your hair while the other pressed against your racing heart. “Just dreams. Gojo’s voice is gone. He’s home. Safe. Warm. Not like us out here in the cold dark.”

His lips brushed your forehead. The kiss was soft, almost loving. But his teeth grazed your skin for the briefest second—too sharp, too deliberate—before he pulled back.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Let me warm you.”

He stayed with you until you fell back asleep, his presence a heavy blanket. Possessive. Calm. Amused by every flinch.

The dread built slowly, like pressure in a sealed chamber.

You began avoiding certain sections of the ship. The lower cargo hold, where the scraping sounds originated. The auxiliary medical bay, where supplies kept vanishing. Once, while passing the sealed observation lounge, you swore you heard humming—a low, melodic tune that sounded nothing like the ship’s systems.

Sukuna found you there, of course. He always did.

“Curious?” he asked, stepping up beside you. His shoulder brushed yours. “Nothing in there but old star maps and empty chairs.”

You nodded, but your eyes stayed on the door. “Have you been... using the other decks?”

His chuckle was soft, vibrating through his chest. “Why would I need to? Everything I want is right here.” His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a grip that felt final. “With you.”

The flickering lights continued. Sometimes they revealed nothing. Sometimes they left shadows that lingered too long in the corners of your vision—shapes that were almost human but stretched wrong.

Missing supplies multiplied. Your personal log tablet vanished from your quarters. When you asked Sukuna, he simply tilted his head.

“Perhaps you misplaced it. Stress does funny things to memory.”

But you remembered placing it on the shelf. You always did.

The nightmares evolved. Now they included glimpses of him—Sukuna standing in the blood, watching with that same calm amusement while Satoru screamed. In one, Sukuna turned to you and smiled, whispering, “Only us now.”

You woke screaming his name.

He was there instantly, pulling you into his lap on the bunk. Two arms encircled you completely, one hand tilting your chin up so you met his eyes.

“Calling for me even in sleep,” he said, voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Good. That’s good.” His thumb traced your lower lip. “I’m not going anywhere. Unlike the others.”

The comfort was suffocating now. His body heat enveloped you, but beneath it lurked something colder. His heartbeat—still too steady—seemed to sync with the ship’s hum.

You started sleeping with the lights on. It didn’t help.

The ship felt alive in the worst way. Doors that should have been locked hissed open when you passed. Sections you hadn’t visited in days showed signs of recent use: faint handprints on consoles, condensation on pipes as if someone had breathed there recently. Once, in the central hub, you found a trail of faint red smears leading toward the sealed lower decks. You told yourself it was rust. Old coolant leak. Anything but blood.

Sukuna watched your growing paranoia with open delight now, though he masked it as concern.

“You’re unraveling beautifully,” he said one evening in the observation deck, standing behind you as you stared into the endless black. His hands rested on your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly into the tense muscles. “Fear makes you sharper."

You shivered under his touch. “I’m not afraid of the ship.”

“No?” His breath ghosted your neck. “Then what scares you, little one?”

You didn’t answer.

The end came quietly.

You were walking the upper corridor toward your quarters when you noticed it: the maintenance door at the far end, the one leading to the sealed auxiliary systems. It had always been locked tight since the incident. Now, a thin line of darkness showed beneath it—ajar, just a crack.

Your steps slowed. The ship’s hum seemed louder here, almost expectant.

You approached, heart pounding. The door was heavy, reinforced. No reason for it to be open. No one had the access codes except...

You crouched, peering at the gap. Something dark and crusted stained the floor just inside, visible only because the emergency light above flickered weakly.

Dried blood.

Thick, flaked edges where it had pooled and dried against the seal. It wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t old enough to be from the initial chaos. The pattern suggested it had seeped under the door from the other side—plenty of it, enough to have come from something large. Or someone.

Your breath caught. Behind you, the corridor lights dimmed, then steadied.

You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.

Sukuna’s voice came soft, right at your ear, calm and laced with that endless amusement.

“Found something interesting?”

His hand settled on your waist, possessive and unyielding. Two arms. One face. Two eyes that you knew would be watching you with dark, knowing delight when you finally looked.

The ship hummed on, indifferent. The blood beneath the door waited in silence.

And Sukuna—everywhere, always—smiled.

The dread had been building for what felt like an eternity, but in that moment, staring at the dried blood, you realized the nightmares had never been just dreams. The ship wasn’t haunted by ghosts.

It was haunted by him.

And he was never going to let you leave alive.

The dried blood stared back at you from beneath the maintenance door.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, louder than the ship’s endless hum. You straightened slowly, Sukuna’s hand still heavy on your waist. His touch felt heavier now, like an anchor dragging you under.

“Found something interesting?” he repeated, voice velvet-soft against your ear.

You turned. His face was calm, almost gentle. One side of his mouth curved up a fraction slower than the other. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, forcing the words out. “Just rust. Old leak.”

His thumb stroked your hip once, possessive. “Good girl. Always so quick to rationalize.” Then he smiled wider, and for a heartbeat the expression stretched too far, splitting his lips in a way that showed too many teeth. The moment passed. He was normal again. Human. “Come. You need rest.”

He guided you back to your quarters with one arm around your shoulders, the other hand resting lightly at the small of your back. The walk felt endless. Every flicker of the corridor lights made your skin crawl.

That night the nightmare swallowed you whole.

You woke gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. Sukuna was already in the bunk with you, body pressed flush against yours from behind. Two strong arms caged you in. His breath was hot on the nape of your neck.

“Shh. Just a dream,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. One hand slid under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, warm and steady. “I’ve got you.”

You tried to pull away. His grip tightened instantly, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. “Don’t,” he said, voice still soft but edged with warning. “You’ll only make it worse.”

The next cycle, the visions started while you were awake.

You were in the observation deck, staring into the black void, when the room fractured.

For a split second the stars vanished. Instead you saw the central corridor slick with blood. A crew member—Kento?—being dragged backward by something pale and many-limbed, his screams cutting through dead comms that should have been silent. The image flashed and was gone. Your knees buckled.

Sukuna caught you before you hit the floor. He pulled you against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Easy, little one. The isolation is eating at you.” His voice was tender. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

Then his eyes changed. The irises bled from dark brown to something redder, deeper, like fresh meat. They snapped back to normal so fast you almost doubted it. Almost.

“You’re shaking again,” he cooed, affectionate, stroking your hair. “Fear looks so pretty on you.”

Later, in the galley, you heard voices through the comms panel that had been dead for weeks.

“—help—something in the walls—Sukuna—”

The transmission cut with a wet crunch.

You dropped the ration bar you were holding. It clattered loudly.

Sukuna was across the room in an instant, moving too smoothly, too fast for the cramped space. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs pressing under your eyes to wipe away tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “There, there. Hallucinations now? Poor thing. You’re breaking so beautifully.”

His smile widened again, unnaturally. The corners of his mouth pulled back farther than human anatomy allowed, revealing sharp canines that hadn’t been there yesterday. Then the expression softened into something almost loving. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, gentle as a lover.

But when he pulled back, his tongue darted out to taste the salt of your fear-sweat from his own lips. The hunger in that small motion was unmistakable.

He grew crueler as the cycles blurred.

One moment he would hold you in the bunk, murmuring soothing nonsense while his hands roamed your body with possessive affection, fingers tracing your ribs like he was memorizing every tremble. The next, he would pin you against a bulkhead without warning, grip bruising, voice dropping into something guttural.

“You think you can hide from me?” he’d growl, eyes flashing that unnatural red. “Everything you feel is mine. Every scream, every tear—mine to savor.”

Then, as quickly as the monster surfaced, he’d soften. Pull you close. Stroke your hair and whisper, “I’m all you have left. Don’t fight it.”

Your memories fractured further.

In one vision you saw Satoru clearly—bright blue eyes wide with terror as Sukuna’s form loomed over him, no longer pretending to be human. Multiple arms, mouth splitting open too wide, teeth sinking into flesh while Satoru screamed your name. Blood sprayed across the console. You remembered the wet sounds, the way Sukuna had looked straight at you while feeding, eyes glowing with ecstasy.

The memory lasted three heartbeats before it slipped away like smoke. You were left shaking, convinced it was another nightmare.

But Sukuna noticed. Of course he did.

He cornered you in the engine room, body blocking the only exit. “You’re remembering,” he said, voice deceptively calm. One hand tilted your chin up. The other—when had he grown a second set of arms?—rested against the wall beside your head. No. That couldn’t be right. He only had two.

Yet the pressure on both sides of you felt real.

“Stop fighting it,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted your lips. Affectionate again. “It tastes better when you accept it.”

His tongue traced your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Then he bit down, just hard enough to draw blood. The pain was sharp. He licked it away with obvious relish, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

“You’re delicious when you’re terrified.”

The ship’s lights flickered more violently now. Entire sections plunged into darkness for long minutes. In those blackouts you heard dragging sounds, wet and heavy, accompanied by distant screams that echoed through the vents.

You stopped sleeping. You barely ate. Every time you closed your eyes the visions came faster.

Crew members being torn apart in flashes: limbs wrenched from sockets, bodies dragged through corridors leaving red trails. Voices crackling over dead comms begging for help that would never come.

And always Sukuna at the center of it, watching you with that amused, hungry smile.

He no longer pretended to eat the rations. No longer pretended to be like you. You caught him once in the dim galley, staring at a protein pack with open disgust before tossing it aside. “Human food,” he muttered. “So bland. Your suffering is far sweeter.”

When he noticed you watching, the monstrous expression melted into tenderness. He crossed the room and pulled you into his arms, nuzzling your neck. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only trying to keep you safe.”

His body felt wrong against yours—too hot in places, too hard in others, bones shifting subtly under the skin like they weren’t fixed in place.

You decided you had to know.

While Sukuna was “tinkering” in the engine room (he never actually fixed anything), you slipped away. Your hands shook as you overrode the lock on the lower auxiliary section—the one with the dried blood trail. The panel sparked once, then hissed open.

The smell hit you first. Copper and rot, thick enough to choke on.

You stepped inside, emergency lights sputtering to life.

Remains.

Not bodies—remains. Scraps of uniforms torn and blood-soaked. A single white-haired scalp tangled in a ventilation grate. Broken glasses lenses scattered like shattered stars. Bones, some cracked open and sucked clean. A ribcage picked nearly bare.

Your stomach heaved.

In the center of the carnage sat a small data pad—your missing log tablet. The screen glowed faintly. On it, a looping security feed played silently: Satoru being devoured alive while you watched, screaming, until Sukuna turned toward the camera and smiled directly at you.

The memory slammed back full force.

He had eaten Gojo right in front of you. You had seen every tearing bite, every spray of blood. Then Sukuna had touched your forehead, and the memory had dissolved like sugar in water. He’d made you forget. Made you believe the pilot was safe on Earth.

A low chuckle echoed behind you.

You spun around.

Sukuna stood in the doorway, filling the frame. His smile was too wide now, splitting his face from ear to ear, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Four arms flexed at his sides, skin rippling as if something moved beneath it. His eyes glowed a deep, satisfied red.

“Naughty little thing,” he purred, voice layered with something inhuman. “Breaking into places you shouldn’t. Did you enjoy the truth?”

He took one step forward. The lights flickered and died completely.

In the sudden darkness you heard his footsteps—wet, deliberate, wrong.

And his voice, soft and affectionate once more, drifting through the black:

“Come here, little one. Let me comfort you.”

The door hissed shut behind you with a final, metallic groan. Your legs gave out first. Knees slammed into the blood-crusted floor, palms slapping wetly against cold metal still sticky with what remained of your crew. The data pad’s looping feed kept playing in your peripheral vision—Satoru’s bright eyes going dull as Sukuna’s jaws unhinged wider than any human mouth should, teeth sinking into throat while you screamed and screamed and—

Memory crashed over you like vacuum breaching hull.

Sukuna had killed them all.

Suguru first, in the cargo bay, calm and composed even as extra limbs erupted from Sukuna’s back and tore him open from sternum to pelvis. You remembered the wet rip. Then Kento, methodical even in death, trying to shield you before Sukuna’s claws punched through his chest and lifted him like a rag. Shoko—God, Shoko—had tried to kill herself before he could do it, cigarettes still between her fingers as Sukuna ate her hands first, savoring the way she was fighting against his hunger. And finally Satoru. Right in front of you on the bridge. Sukuna had made you watch every second. The most famous astronaut reduced to screaming meat.

And you—Sukuna had pressed two fingers to your forehead afterward, something ancient and wrong crawling behind your eyes, and every memory dissolved into soft, comforting lies. Gojo made it to the escape pod. The crew was simply gone. Only the two of you left in the dark.

He had kept you alive on purpose. A little terrarium of suffering. Fresh fear, day after day, seasoned with isolation and false comfort.

Your stomach heaved. Bile burned your throat but nothing came up—you hadn’t eaten real food in days. The remains around you mocked every ration pack he’d pretended to share.

A low, amused chuckle rolled through the chamber, layered like multiple voices speaking at once.

“There you are,” Sukuna said from the doorway. “Finally remembering. Took you long enough, little morsel.”

You looked up.

The lights in the auxiliary section died completely. Then the emergency reds kicked in, bathing everything in blood-colored strobe. Alarms began to wail—sharp, stuttering, as if the ship itself was screaming. Gravity fluctuated wildly; your body lurched sideways, boots scraping for purchase as artificial weight yanked you left then right. Pipes groaned overhead. Something in the walls shifted with a wet, organic sound.

Sukuna stepped forward.

His human shape fractured.

Skin split along seams that had never existed, peeling back like wet paper to reveal something ancient and wrong beneath. Four arms became six, then eight—long, sinewy limbs tipped with black claws that dripped viscous fluid. His torso elongated, ribs flaring outward like the petals of a carnivorous flower. The face you knew split vertically down the middle; the left half grinned while the right opened into a second, larger maw lined with rows of needle teeth. Eyes multiplied—four, glowing the deep red of old blood and fresh meat. His hair writhed like living tendrils. The pink strands thickened, sharpened.

He was massive now, filling the doorway, ancient hunger radiating off him in waves that made your skull throb. He was no human. He was something that had drifted between stars for eons, wearing human shapes the way others wore coats. Feeding on pain the way humans needed oxygen.

“You kept me fed so well,” the creature purred, voices overlapping—some soft and affectionate, others guttural and wet. One clawed hand reached out, almost tender, while another flexed with clear impatience. “All those pretty tears. All those little screams when you thought it was just nightmares. Delicious.”

You scrambled backward on all fours, palms sliding through dried blood and bone fragments. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. “Stay away—”

The ship answered before he could. A fresh alarm blared. Red lights pulsed faster. Gravity failed entirely for three terrifying seconds; you floated upward, weightless, while loose debris and scraps of crew uniforms drifted around you like macabre snow. Then gravity slammed back on at double strength. Your body crashed to the deck. Pain flared in your shoulder.

Sukuna laughed—deep, rumbling, vibrating through the floor plates.

You ran.

The chase began the moment your boots found traction.

You bolted through the open door into the main corridor. Behind you, metal screamed as Sukuna tore after you, claws gouging deep furrows in the plating. His bulk should have slowed him in the narrow passages, but he moved wrong—limbs folding and unfolding, body compressing like liquid when needed, expanding when the space allowed. Every footfall shook the ship.

“Run, little one,” he called, voice echoing from every vent at once. “It makes the fear richer.”

Red emergency lights strobed, turning the corridor into a nightmarish tunnel. Doors that should have opened automatically slammed shut instead, locks engaging with hydraulic hisses. You skidded around a corner, shoulder slamming into a bulkhead as gravity flickered again—your feet left the floor, body tumbling sideways into a wall that suddenly felt like the ceiling. Pain exploded in your ribs. You pushed off, gasping, and kept moving.

Hallucinations bled in at the edges of your vision. Or maybe they weren’t hallucinations anymore.

Suguru’s severed arm dragged itself across the floor ahead of you, fingers twitching. Shoko’s voice crackled over dead speakers: “Run… it’s still hungry…” Kento’s glasses lay shattered in a pool of fresh blood that definitely hadn’t been there seconds ago. And Satoru—bright blue eyes floating in the darkness, mouth open in a silent scream before dissolving into red mist.

You sobbed once, raw and broken, but didn’t stop.

Behind you, Sukuna’s laughter rolled closer. “Yes. Cry for them. Let me taste it all.”

A maintenance hatch loomed ahead. You slammed your palm against the override. Sparks flew. The hatch popped open with a groan. You dove through, landing hard on the grated catwalk of the lower engineering deck. The drop was farther than you expected—gravity shifted mid-fall, stretching the distance. Your ankle twisted on impact. Sharp pain lanced up your leg.

You limped forward, breath ragged. Pipes overhead burst in sequence, spraying coolant that turned to icy mist in the failing atmosphere. Alarms wailed louder, overlapping into a cacophony that drilled into your skull.

Sukuna’s form poured through the hatch behind you like smoke given claws. One massive arm lashed out, claws raking the wall where your head had been a heartbeat earlier. Metal curled like paper. “You can’t hide forever,” he growled, the affectionate tone gone now, replaced by raw hunger. “This ship is me. Every corridor. Every shadow. I’ve been inside it—and you've been inside me—for weeks.”

You ducked under a sagging conduit, heart hammering. Another vision slammed into you: Satoru’s final moments in crystal clarity. Sukuna’s stomach mouth descending while Satoru tried one last kick that landed uselessly against alien flesh. The way Sukuna had looked at you over Satoru’s dying body and whispered, “Your turn soon, but not yet. You’re too sweet to finish quickly.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and useless. You hated how right he was. The fear tasted like copper on your tongue.

The ship fought you too. Doors sealed shut as you approached. One refused to budge even when you pounded on the panel. Behind it you heard wet chewing sounds. You veered left down a side passage, boots slipping on fresh slickness—blood or coolant, you couldn’t tell. Gravity cut out again. You floated helplessly for agonizing seconds before gravity returned with brutal force. You slammed onto the deck, air driven from your lungs. Coughing, you pushed up and ran again, limping worse now.

The observation deck. If you could reach the emergency override there, maybe—

Sukuna anticipated it.

He dropped from the ceiling ahead of you, limbs splayed like a spider, body blocking the junction. His four eyes glowed in the red strobe. The central maw opened wide, revealing rows of teeth and a tongue that split into three writhing appendages. “End of the line, little one.”

You skidded to a halt, chest heaving. No way forward. The side passages had sealed while you weren’t looking. Behind you, the corridor lights died one by one, narrowing your world to the pulsing red circle around the monster that wore Sukuna’s face.

He advanced slowly now, savoring. One clawed hand reached out almost gently, while two others flexed with clear intent. “You fought so well. Made it so much better.”

You backed up until your spine hit cold metal. Nowhere left.

He was on you in an instant.

Massive hands—too many—pinned your wrists above your head with bruising force. Another set of limbs ripped at your suit, tearing fabric and seals with casual strength. The air was freezing against suddenly bare skin. His body pressed in, hot and wrong, exoskeleton plates shifting against your flesh. His mouth hovered inches from your face, breath reeking of blood and something metallic.

“Please—” the word tore out broken.

“Begging already?” he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. One clawed finger traced down your sternum, leaving a thin red line that welled blood. “Good. I like when you beg.”

He took you there against the wall, brutal and relentless.

No preparation. No mercy. His cocks—thick, ridged, far too large and textured with pulsing veins that moved independently—forced its way inside you in one savage thrust. Pain exploded white-hot through your core. You screamed, body arching uselessly against the unyielding grip. He groaned in pure ecstasy, the sound layered and hungry, feeding visibly on your agony as your walls clenched around the invasion.

“So tight,” he growled, hips snapping forward again, driving deeper. “Your suffering is the best part. Feel it all for me.”

Every thrust was punishing, ridges catching and dragging inside you, tearing soft tissue. Blood slicked the way, making each movement wetter, louder. One of the smaller mouths on his palms latched onto your breast, teeth sinking in just enough to draw more blood while a tongue lapped at the wound. Another hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing rhythmically in time with his thrusts—not enough to kill, just enough to make breathing a desperate struggle.

You sobbed openly now, tears streaming, body shaking with each brutal invasion. The ship’s alarms wailed in counterpoint to your cries. Gravity flickered again, making his weight shift impossibly, driving him even deeper at strange angles.

He ate while he fucked you.

A smaller mouth of his lower left hand opened and bit into the meat of your shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh with casual hunger. The pain was blinding. You felt teeth grind against bone before he swallowed, eyes fluttering in bliss. “Delicious,” he murmured against your ear, voice almost tender again. “Your terror seasons the meat perfectly.”

Another bite—lower this time, into the soft flesh above your hip. Blood poured down your side, hot and sticky. He lapped at it even as he continued pounding into you, hips never slowing. The mix of violation and consumption pushed you past screaming into raw, animal whimpers.

Your vision tunneled. Pain and fear blurred into one endless wave he drank down greedily.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural roar that shook the corridor. Something hot and thick flooded you—too much, burning—and you felt his body pulse, feeding on the final peak of your suffering.

Then he stopped.

The monstrous form hovered over your broken body. You lay crumpled against the wall, bleeding from multiple bites, core aching and torn, vision fading in and out. Consciousness slipped.

But Sukuna wasn’t finished.

One clawed hand pressed to your forehead—the same gesture he’d used before. Energy, wrong and ancient, flooded into you. Wounds began to knit closed, not fully, but enough. The worst tears inside you sealed just enough to stop fatal bleeding. Flesh regrew over the bites on your shoulder and hip, leaving raw, angry scars and phantom pain. Your breathing steadied against your will. The darkness receded.

He healed you just enough to keep you alive.

Just enough to feel everything again.

His true form began to fold back inward, shrinking, compressing into the familiar human shape with two arms and one face. But the eyes stayed wrong—still too many, still glowing faintly red. He gathered your limp, blood-smeared body into his arms almost gently, cradling you against his chest as if you were something precious.

“There, there,” he whispered, voice soft and affectionate once more, lips brushing your sweat-damp forehead. “Not yet. You’re far too entertaining to finish so quickly. We have weeks left in this ship. Maybe months if I ration you carefully.”

He carried you back through the failing corridors, past the sealed doors and flickering red lights, past the remains you would never unsee. Your head lolled against his shoulder. Every breath hurt. Every memory burned.

The ship’s alarms slowly quieted, returning to the low, constant hum.

Sukuna smiled down at you, tender and monstrous all at once.

“Rest now, little one. When you wake, we’ll start again. And this time, you’ll remember everything.”

The darkness took you, but not fully. Not enough to escape.