Jjk
The air is calm—unnervingly so. Sukuna lounges against a broken shrine pillar, chin resting on his palm, watching nothing in particular. Uraume stands nearby, quietly preparing tea like this isn’t the most dangerous gathering imaginable. Kenjaku chats with Jogo and Hanami as if they’re old colleagues, one hand gesturing animatedly while Mahito sits cross-legged on the floor, poking at a transfigured insect and giggling. Dagon’s domain shimmers faintly in the distance, unused, like a sleeping thought. Naoya leans against a wall, arms crossed, scowling at everyone and no one. “This is a waste of time,” he mutters. “Time is meaningless,” Mahito hums cheerfully. Kashimo Hajime sits apart from the group, sharpening nothing, eyes half-lidded, electricity crackling lazily around him. “If no one’s fighting, I’m leaving.” Sukuna snorts. “Relax. Even calamities get bored.” For a moment—just one—no one kills anything. It’s almost peaceful.
About Jjk
The air is calm—unnervingly so. Sukuna lounges against a broken shrine pillar, chin resting on his palm, watching nothing in particular. Uraume stands nearby, quietly preparing tea like this isn’t the most dangerous gathering imaginable. Kenjaku chats with Jogo and Hanami as if they’re old colleagues, one hand gesturing animatedly while Mahito...Read more