One of the women, the silver-haired beauty named Yulia, stepped forward, eyes wide but shining with something dangerously close to devotion. "If that's true… then we will follow you—wholeheartedly, from this moment on."
Ryder nodded, flashing what might have been a gentle smile, though Sukuna's inked face made it look like a devil's grin. "Good. Then wait here."
He turned and strode from the room. That night, the Red Room was painted in blood. His Sukuna form cut through every guard, handler, and scientist like they were paper. Screams echoed through the compound as curses—manifesting from years of agony—erupted in corners only to be obliterated by his hand.
By dawn, he stood in the largest training hall, surrounded by dozens of young girls—some no older than six, others approaching thirty—all staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes. They'd been herded there by fleeing instructors, then left behind when their captors met violent ends.
Ryder surveyed them, eyes glowing like embers. "You're all free now. The Red Room is no more."
There was silence. Then, hesitant at first, the girls began to cry. Some fell to their knees, clutching each other, overwhelmed by the realization that the nightmare was truly over.
Ryder simply watched, the faintest softness touching his expression beneath the demonic tattoos.
This… this was worth it.
[Congratulations, Host, on changing history. You have been granted one Yearly Sign-In Opportunity and 1000 Fantasy Points.]
'Oh, those are nice bonuses,' Ryder thought, smirking faintly as the system prompt vanished. Then he turned back to the three women he'd chosen—his new loyal shadows.
"Go and gather the rest," he ordered them calmly. "Lead these children and the other Widows somewhere safe, erase every trace of them from official records. Give them a chance at quiet lives if that's what they want."
Yulia, the silver-haired beauty, bowed her head slightly but then shook it, her expression somber. "Even if we wished to disappear completely, it's not that simple."
Ryder raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Killing that old director ended this hellhole, didn't it?"
She looked up at him with sad, knowing eyes. "You might think ending her ended the Red Room, but the real head is General Dreykov. This was only one facility—he's the architect behind it all. As long as he lives, or his network does, we'll never truly be free."
Another of the Widows added quietly, "But we can still serve you. We may not be completely unshackled, but at least under you, we won't return to the nightmare life we knew."
"Let us be yours," Yulia pressed, voice steady. "We're all trained weapons, more deadly than most armies' elite forces. Use us. Shape us. Especially the younger ones—they'll be hunted or exploited by others if left alone. But with you, they could become something new. You can build your own order… with your power, we might finally be truly free someday."
Ryder tilted his head, considering their words. They're right. If they scatter, they'll be picked off or forced into other programs. This way, at least they have me—and I can mold them into something far beyond what Dreykov ever dreamed.
"Alright then," he said at last, voice low and decisive. "Clean up this bloodbath. From today, this place will be my base of operations."
The Widows all dipped their heads in silent agreement and immediately moved to carry out his orders. Meanwhile, Ryder stalked through the carnage-streaked halls alone, crimson eyes glinting in the dim light.
Unlike before, he didn't finish off the wounded staff or guards he found. Instead, he healed them—just enough. A soft violet glow pulsed from his hands, reversed cursed energy knitting shattered ribs and sealing gaping wounds. They gasped, eyes wide with confusion and desperate hope—only for their relief to curdle into terror when they saw the cold, calculating look on his face.
One by one, he dragged them into what had once been a sterile medical wing, now repurposed into his private experimentation chamber. Metal tables, still smeared with old blood, made perfect surfaces to strap them down. Within the hour, he had more than a dozen men and women secured, trembling, whimpering, some babbling half-coherent prayers.
Ryder moved between them like an idle artist surveying blank canvases. His cursed energy rippled outward, thick and oppressive, feeding off the lingering despair that clung to the Red Room's very walls.
A smirk ghosted over Sukuna's tattooed features. If I can find a stable way to embed cursed energy into these Widows later, they'll become weapons beyond anything Dreykov ever imagined. But I don't have Mahito's innate talent for soul manipulation—I'll need to experiment the hard way.
He placed a hand on the first restrained attendant's chest. The man convulsed immediately, back arching off the table as inky streams of cursed energy poured into him. Veins bulged dark under his skin, eyes rolling back.
"Relax," Ryder drawled, almost amused by the man's strangled screams. "You'll only stay like this for an hour at most. Consider yourselves fortunate—I'm not like your superiors, who delighted in your pain without purpose. I'm simply conducting tests."
The man spasmed again, froth spilling from his lips. Blood vessels burst across his cheeks, forming grotesque spiderwebs. Ryder watched closely, studying how the human body resisted or crumbled under raw cursed energy.
No mercy flickered in him. Each table was another experiment—some erupted into grotesque masses of curse-tainted flesh before dying; others simply seized and went limp. Only a rare few stabilized, their eyes dim and hollow but bodies strangely strengthened, corrupted in subtle ways.
In Ryder's eyes, none of them deserved mercy. They were all part of the same monstrous machine that had tormented countless innocent lives. So he experimented on them without a hint of hesitation.
When the first subject's body ruptured under the surge of cursed energy—veins blackening and heart exploding in his chest—Ryder simply clicked his tongue in mild irritation and moved to the next. When that one screamed until his throat tore and died twitching, he turned to the next without a flicker of remorse.
Each failure was merely data. Each death brought him one step closer to discovering how to safely implant and stabilize cursed energy inside human vessels—especially the Black Widows he intended to mold into his personal shadow corps.
By the time the sixth subject lay silent, eyes bulging and skin marbled with dead veins, Ryder's gaze sharpened.
So close now… just a slight adjustment in the way I circulate the energy, perhaps infuse it more gradually at key spiritual nodes rather than flooding them outright.
He pressed his hand onto the chest of the next trembling attendant, eyes glowing with eerie focus. Dark energy poured from his palm, swirling with new precision.