The morgue in the basement of the old Tokyo hospital smelled of antiseptic and cold metal, the kind of sterile chill that clung to the skin even after you left the building.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like dying insects, casting long shadows across the rows of steel drawers that held the bodies of the recently deceased.
It was well past midnight, and the only living soul in the room was a man dressed in tattered robes that looked like they belonged to another century, kneeling on the tiled floor with a small vial of dark blood clutched tightly in his trembling hands.
Kurogane had waited a thousand years for this moment, hiding in the shadows of the modern world while the rest of the jujutsu clans went about their petty wars and fragile peace. He was the last loyal subordinate, the one who had kept the secret of the Devourer's Fangs alive through generations of silence and fear.
His heart pounded against his ribs as he uncorked the vial and poured the blood slowly onto the jagged, tooth-like object resting on the metal table in front of him. Wasuke Itadori's blood, stolen from the hospital records after the old man's quiet death, shimmered under the harsh lights as it soaked into the cursed object.
The Fang drank it greedily, veins of black and crimson energy pulsing across its surface like hungry roots spreading through soil.
Kurogane's voice came out in a low, steady chant, the ancient words of the unsealing ritual rolling off his tongue with the weight of centuries.
He had practiced this in his mind a thousand times, but now that it was happening, his hands shook and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold air.
"By the blood of the vessel that once held what was stolen," he whispered, pressing his palms flat against the table as cursed energy began to swirl around the Fang like smoke from an unseen fire.
"By the vow made in the womb and the hunger that refused to die, I call you back, my lord. Rise from the seal. Claim what was always yours."
The Fang started to crack, thin lines spiderwebbing across its surface with soft popping sounds that echoed through the empty morgue. Cursed energy exploded outward in a wave that knocked over a nearby tray of instruments, sending scalpels and clamps clattering across the floor.
The lights flickered wildly, and the temperature in the room dropped even further, as if the very air itself was being consumed. Kurogane kept his head bowed, his breath coming in short gasps, knowing that if he had made even the smallest mistake in the ritual, the thing awakening before him would not hesitate to turn its hunger on him first.
Then the Fang split open completely, releasing a burst of raw, ancient power that filled the morgue like a living thing. A figure rose from the shattered remains of the cursed object, tall and scarred, with skin marked by old bite wounds that had never fully healed.
Ryomen Taotie opened his eyes for the first time in a thousand years, the glowing red irises cutting through the dim light like fresh blood on white porcelain. He took a slow breath, tasting the sterile air of the modern world on his tongue, and a low, delighted laugh rumbled from deep in his chest.
"Ah… the air still smells like fear," he said, his voice smooth and layered with the echo of countless mouths speaking at once. The sound bounced off the metal drawers and made Kurogane flinch.
Taotie stretched his arms, cracking his neck with a satisfied sigh as he looked around the room, taking in the cold drawers, the flickering lights, and the terrified man still kneeling before him.
He ran a hand over the bite scars on his face, tracing the old wounds with something almost like affection, and his lips curled into a wide, hungry grin that showed too many sharp teeth.
Before Kurogane could even speak, Taotie's attention snapped to the lone morgue attendant who had been hiding in the corner the entire time, a young man in scrubs who had frozen in place when the ritual began. The attendant's eyes were wide with terror, his back pressed against the wall as if he could melt into it.
Taotie's grin widened further, and a single extra mouth tore open on his left shoulder with a wet, ripping sound, rows of jagged teeth glistening under the lights.
"Look at you," Taotie said, his tone light and conversational as if they were old friends catching up over dinner. "Hiding there like a little appetizer on the edge of the plate. Don't worry, I won't waste you. Modern humans always taste so… fresh. A bit bland from all that dirty food you people eat, but the fear gives it that perfect seasoning, don't you think?"
The attendant tried to scream, but the sound never made it out because the shoulder mouth lunged forward on a tendril of cursed energy, clamping down over his head and shoulders in one smooth motion.
The man's body jerked violently as the mouth began to chew, not killing him instantly but drawing out the process, pulling in the little bit of cursed energy and life force while he was still conscious. Taotie laughed again, a rich, rolling sound that filled the morgue as he watched the attendant's legs kick uselessly against the floor.
"There we go. See how nicely you go down? No chewing needed on my end, but the texture is delightful. Crunchy on the outside from all that panic, soft in the middle. Chef, remind me to thank you properly later for setting the table so well."
Kurogane remained on his knees, his face pale and his hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He had expected this, had steeled himself for it over centuries of waiting, but watching it happen in the flesh was something else entirely.
"My lord," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in it, forcing himself to look up at the figure now standing tall in the center of the room.
"I am Kurogane, the last of your faithful. I have guarded the knowledge of the Fangs through the long night of your sealing. The world has changed since the Heian Era, but the hunger remains the same. I brought the blood as instructed, from the vessel that once carried a piece of what should have been yours. Wasuke Itadori is dead now, but his line still lives on in the boy who carries your brother's soul. If there is anything more you require of me, any preparation or offering, I will provide it without hesitation."
Taotie tilted his head, the shoulder mouth finishing its meal with a final satisfied gulp before sealing shut again, leaving only a faint smear of red on his skin that quickly faded. He wiped his hands together as if dusting off crumbs from a light snack and walked slowly around the table, his bare feet leaving faint prints of cursed energy on the cold tiles.
"You talk like a man who knows he might be the next dish on the menu," Taotie replied, his voice carrying that same easy, mocking warmth.
"I like that. Honesty with a side of terror makes the conversation so much more flavorful. Tell me, Chef, what year is it in this shiny new world of yours? A thousand years is a long nap, and I can already tell things have gotten… softer. All these metal boxes holding dead bodies like they're waiting to be reheated. Back in our time, we left the corpses out for the crows and the curses to pick clean. Much more efficient, don't you agree? No waste, no pointless preservation. Everything returns to the feast eventually."
Kurogane swallowed hard and rose slowly to his feet, keeping his posture respectful but not cowering. "It is the year 2025, my lord. The jujutsu world still stands, though it has grown complacent. Your brother's influence lingers everywhere, his fingers scattered and sealed as cursed objects just as you once planned for yourself. The clans fight among themselves, and the boy Yuji Itadori carries Sukuna's soul within him like a reluctant host. I have prepared a safe place for you to regain your strength, and I can guide you to the nearest of your own Fangs if you wish to begin the collection immediately."
Taotie's red eyes gleamed with amusement as he listened, circling the subordinate like a predator examining a new ingredient before deciding whether to season it or devour it whole.
"2025," Taotie repeated, tasting the number on his tongue as if it were a vintage wine. "Sounds like a good year for a family reunion. My dear brother always did love making a show of things, splitting himself into twenty little toys so the world could chase him around like children hunting for sweets. I did the same, of course, but mine bite back. Twenty Fangs, Chef. Twenty perfect little pieces of me, each one hungrier than the last. And now I'm awake, standing in this cold little room that smells like bleach and regret, with the taste of that attendant still fresh on my palate. Not bad for a first bite in a thousand years, but hardly a main course. I can already feel the rest of me calling out there in the night, scattered across this city and beyond. Nineteen more waiting to come home. And those twenty familiar little toys of my brother's… I sense them too, pulsing like weak candles in the dark. One of them is close enough to borrow for a while, just to send a polite hello. Nothing says 'I missed you' like stealing your sibling's finger and using it as a toothpick."
He laughed again, the sound rich and unrestrained, echoing off the walls as he finally turned toward the exit door at the far end of the morgue.
Kurogane followed a step behind, his robes whispering against the floor, ready to serve and equally aware that one wrong word could make him the next meal.
Taotie pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the cool Tokyo night, the city lights sprawling out before him like a buffet table laid out under the stars.
The air was thick with the distant hum of traffic and the faint undercurrent of cursed energy that blanketed the modern world. He stood there for a long moment, breathing it all in, his scarred body drinking in the sensations of freedom after so many centuries of nothing but darkness and hunger.
Then he closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his senses, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as the full picture unfolded in his mind. There were nineteen more Fangs out there, scattered and waiting, each one a piece of his power ready to be reclaimed.
And beyond them, pulsing like mocking echoes of his own hunger, were twenty familiar little toys belonging to his brother, Sukuna's fingers calling to him across the city and the wider world. The game had just begun, and the table was already set.