5 A Nightmare or Reality

Cold. It was raw. Piercing.

A freezing chill reminiscent of my time trapped within that Hell encroached me. Silently; slowly - as if to mock my determination. My emotions, sneering at the feeble thought that made me hope. Yearn, that I was truly free. Letting me slowly savour the experience of liberty, like a drunken man - before soon looming over to capture me once again. Its haggard hands taking ahold of my bodily senses as I lay bare like a fool. Unable to control my own body.

Feeling numb. The itching river of crimson began to ascend. Voices of those that screeched at the unfairness. The overwhelming resentment falling upon my sole shoulders, whilst the scarlet ocean began to reach my bending knees. Besmirching me of the scent of its own. The stinging sensation of liquid, embracing my body to express its distaste. Hatred - as it cut away at my skin, trying to acquire some sort of reaction. Irritation finding itself into it as it receded in fetid agony.

I stood silently. My eyes travelling to observe the place I've known for all my life, as far as my memories would like to recollect. The scene of a dying world, embraced in fallen embers. Pale hands that had returned to to grasp a long lost friend. A forgotten visitor. The horrid imagery of twisted smiles at the back of their skin. Laughing, in joy as they sang. Humming, a tune that casted a biting chill that trembled across the cloudless sky.

The grounds my feet treaded emotionlessly was decayed long ago. Scorched inecesantly, incontinuously by the wrath of the man that contained all evil. The countless bodies of humans, and monsters alike sprawled motionlessly, limbs twisted. Flesh bitten. Skin shredded. Served to only emphasise the atrocity of the man who dared to commit such inhumane actions.

Some who may consider themselves as heroes. Noble, valiant men that are clouded by their ideals. Their resolve to fight and protect, finding themselves want to retaliate. To attack. However, at the single sight of the figure acclaimed to be the King of All Curses, even the most dignified of men would hesitate. Stumble, a single crack that would eventually create a rupture. A hole, within the ideal they had followed. Lived for.

That alone - is why it was called an ideal. Why it was so beautiful, ethereal - despite the inevitable futility. The ideal is of one's own conception of perfection, of what it should be. A flawless world. An everdistant utopia -

That unfortunately could never be achieved.

A flickering flame of a candle. Weak, fragile. So feeble hat would be irrefutably extinguished by the corruption of the world. The filth of humanity. Wisped away from the cruelty and ire of the human condition, and that is exactly why a fantasy is so beautiful. A solace for those that deny.

Because if reality is cruel, than the ideal must surely be kind.

"A foolish thought."

The thundering of a voice that I had grown so familiar with rung explosively within my ear. Forcing me to unconsciously gaze upwards. The languid, but deep tone that demanded your every attention. To analyse your every action. To obey his every command. No matter how hard i try to deny. Not matter how much I deny the simple fact, I will always accept the truth within the back of my mind. Why? Simple.

I was undoubtedly within the presence of a King.

Amidst a throne of corpses, that numbered in the millions, sat a man who lay his chin listlessly within the palm of his hand. Eyes, more incardanine than the layers of blood that drowned me. Sharpened by the battles and wars. Stygian attoos streaking itself into his body. Etched; burned - to become a part of him. All whilst an amused smile presented itself on his face by my heedless thoughts.

The aura that emanated from him, suffocating me. The sheer, and utter amount of what I now recognised as cursed energy, baring its weight on my body. Its fangs at my neck. Thirsting for blood - blood none other than mine. The image of a darkness so obscure. A night so dull, searing itself into my vision, clouding it with its murderous intent. Eight ruddy eyes, glaring down on my own, testing my will.

At the sight of this, only a single thought could only enter my mind. Only would enter my psyche.

If his sole overwhelming presence didn't deserve the title of a ruler, then who did?

At the uplifting of hand from the man who gazed down at the world. Scoring the Gods themselves, a heterodoxy found itself onto the soil of a lost world. A shrine that mocked. A temple that laughed - humming the hymns of those that died. Those that held unwavering resentment to the world. Abandoning their faith in what they once believed. Only praying for the name of the sinner that defied God. The man - who's name marked itself forever within my memory.

Earth crumbled. The screams intensified. The sky shook. All that remained was the smell permeating lifelessly. One that could never be vanquished, erased.

For it was the smell of the dead.

At such exposure of power. Of control over the will of the dead, at the single tilt of a finger moving them akin to puppets. Only a singular thing can be made clear. It was an indisputable fact.

This was the tyrant that ruled the world.

The King of Curses -

Ryomen Sukuna.

- - - - - - - - - -

The figure of a boy gasping for breath could be seen underneath the decrepit roof of a crumbled church. Droplets of sweat, dripping down his back. Drenching his neck. Eyes hazy, clouded from what he couldn't distinguish as a nightmare - or simply a reality.

The irregular, rapid and uneven breaths beating infrequently within his chest. Brisk in trepidation and agony. Forcing the boy to slowly copose himself as he took deep breaths, calming himself. A hand laying on top of his chest to check the pulse that raced. The sensation of it slowly, but surely becoming in sync tranferring to his mind. Eyes regained their light and steel as everything became clear.

Even in the slight assumption that it was real, he would not cower.

Emrys let out a breath he had unwillingly held. His lips letting out a mist of frost as it took the shape of a unchained cloud. Unfettered by the vicissitudes of life, as well affirming the unsual state coldness that lingered within the ostracised Church. A result due to the lack of heating, or any other human equipment that would usually keep the accommodation mellow. The only source of light being the sombre glow of the hearth that radiated comfort.

The ravenheaded youth took a brief glance at the clock that hung unevenly. The withered hands, creaking intermittently as it's hands pointed at half past six. A little earlier than the boy would usually wake up at, but it was fine. It wasn't as if he could go back to sleep any time soon, especially after witnessing the scene that was the incarnation of despair. As well as the countless possibilities that entailed fter observing the overwhelming nature of cursed energy.

Feeling a lot more at ease at the relief of being surrounded of what he now considered as familiar, Emrys attempted to uplift himself from the sofa. Its texture rough; a result of being weathered away at the repetitive passage of time, that waits for no one. Not even Gods.

However, the boy didn't take it to heart. Even then - feeling satisfied at the sole opportunity of living under a roof. A pleasure he grew quite addicted to, especially since he never had a chance to rest back then. A tragedy indeed. Rightfully, in his opinion a place to sleep in is better than none at all.

At the useless rumbling thoughts of a boy that lived years ahead of his age, the youth stood up. The unsual weight clinging onto him making him arch an eyebrow in surprise, but he payed no heed. Not sparing a single thought. All until he felt a foreign presence of two soft objects on his abodment clinging incredibly tightly. Unwilling to let go, almost as if in fear of him disappearing.

Emrys gradually turned his gaze downwards. The ominous feeling within his heart growing stronger. Rampaging, until the final symphony that confirmed his baleful thoughts - a wetness that drenched his clothes. Drool.

The Goddess of the Hearth. A lady usually worthy of respect due to her unshakable position of containing divine energy. The woman who welcomes, as well stays - Hestia. Such person of great status was currently drooling amidst her sleep. A lopsided grin on her flawless features as she grasped more firmly on the intertwining strands of cotton that Emrys currently wore. A welcome gift from Hephaestus for joining her dear friend's familia.

"Emrys..! Don't leave, I swear I can cook better than those chefs on that stall...that time I burnt the food was a fluke. Believe me..."

The gentle whispers of the poor woman that remained hungry broke the boy out of his musings. His eyes softening at her unconscious words, as her hands move to grab his clothes like they were hot, steamed potatoes. One of the few things he had come to know about her when accompanying her for the past few days. She was a klutz through and through.

"What should I do with this woman."

Unsurprisingly, the boy let out a sigh. Feeling a strand of pity at her usual demeanour that somehow never failed to make him smile. The bond of familiarity becoming firmer, a bemusing fact - even to himself. Especially since he was unaware of the reason himself, although it was quiet a strange sensation he didn't think ill of it.

Carrying the drooling woman that shivered slightly, with his two arms gently. The boy cradled her until he reached the bedroom that was right next door. Laying her down on the bed, that was in much better condition than the sofa itself, before picking up a blanket and covering her figure. Hoping to give at least the slightest semblance of warmth.

Despite having a whole room to herself, the unnaturally developed woman would continuously dive herself into his figure unconsciously. Almost instinctively; actions that only served to confuse him ever so.

Finally finished with the arduous task that tested his dignity and determination, the boy was finally free to do as he wished. Walking away slowly from the room in fear of waking her up, whilst taking one last glance at the woman who slept with a smile. Joyful.

Letting a small smile etch itself on his face at the sight of it, Emrys finally left. However, after a couple steps taken, the boy swiftly decided to write a letter that informed her of his following course of actions. Just in case she woke up early, or he came back late. Communication was key after all.

Stepping out the church with firm, but heavy steps the boy done a quick stretch. The luminescence of the light smiling upon him, as the sight of the City of Dreams was set alit the most ethereal glow. The sky bathing in the most beautiful shades of orange.

At this very moment, the boy made a decision.

With the sky as his priest and his heart that bore witness, Emrys vowed. His resolve hardened by the flames of ambition. He would tread an adventure that would be remembered by many. A tale never forgotten, lingering in the annals of history.

"Orario." a whisper was let out from the boy who gazed at the dawn of beginning, hair fluttering gently at the voice of the wind. "I'll discover everything about you."

Every journey begun with a single step, and for a man who had walked on for eternity - patience was something he did not lack.

* * *

[A/N: First things first, before some you begin to bitch around to why the MC joined Hestia's familia, the reason will be revealed in a couple of chapters. I thought about the best Familia for the current MC regarding his current circumstances and a big Familia such as Loki and Freya wouldn't cut it. Nor would Takemikazuchi or Soma.]

[Its quite annoying to see a couple people be all whiny about it due to a singular decision that I myself took several hours to decide while researching all possible familias. If you don't like it then simply drop it rather than wasting your time on commenting on a story you clearly don't want to read. It's as simple as that, respectfully.]

[P.S. Before you also bitch around when the MC uses a sword, he will also be using a bow and arrow made out of cursed energy. I looked up what weapons Sukuna uses and it was namely a bow, arrow and sword.]