Chapter Text
Choso knows he has limited awareness of the world- an unfortunate side effect of “living” within a jar for a century and a half. He is aware of his consciousness, and he is aware of his cursed technique, of the blood seeping and shifting beneath his skin. He knows that what he is is the reason he has only ever felt cool liquid across his skin, within his lungs- the reason his awareness of the world is whatever seeps between the glass and liquid of his confinement.
Most acutely, though, he is aware of the eight others that follow him. Eso. Kechizu. Noranso. Sho-oso. Tanso. Sanso. Kotsosu. Shoso.
Choso and his brothers have never felt the warmth of the sun, of a parent, or of jujutsu society. The storage room in which they are kept clouds their jars with musk and frost. They are cold, so they must compensate with each other's warmth.
Choso holds the bonds of blood that he is so acutely aware of; he has them deep within his misshapen chest and feels their existence beat alongside his.
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Then it got colder, and… brighter. This happened every decade or so; Choso is pretty sure it’s sorcerers locking away more cursed objects. However, it’s always hard to tell exactly what's happening. Even then, Choso felt his brothers perk up in curiosity.
Something is happening, something is happening, something is happening! Kechizu and Tanso chanted in tandem.
Choso isn’t going to spoil their fun, but he knows it is likely that whoever has entered will leave without even looking their way. However, Shoso didn’t have any such reservations and cut through the two chanters. Eso was about to add something to quell the more excitable brothers when Choso felt it.
Warmth. Warmth from human flesh weaselled into the jar encasing him, and he saw the blurry outline of a hand wrapped around him. Choso attempted to calm the panicked chatter from his younger brothers, even as he could feel them all being grabbed and moved; the vibrations wracked through their cages like an earthquake. The sensation is jarring in its novelty; no sorcerer has dared to disturb them since they have been locked away. It’s been so long that the heat bordered on painful in its intensity.
Then it gets very, very dark again. But Choso can still feel his brothers. So, he assured them that it’s okay, they’re okay, even when the words feel empty.
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Choso is violently and mercilessly ripped into a level of existence that he has never experienced before.
For the first time, air caressed his skin and forced its way down into his lungs. His chest burns, his muscles burn, and his eyes glossed over with tears. His nerve endings are alive with sensations, unburdened with the weight of fluids; he could feel the hard floor dig into his knees and his shoulders as he curls into himself.
He can feel his brothers responding to his turmoil with their own, but he can barely hear them over his own blood pounding through his ears, his heart. It feels like it's going to rip out of his throat with every cough and wheeze that forced itself past his lips.
Something is wrong. Choso’s body didn’t feel right; it was lean and smooth where it was once shrivelled and malformed. Through the haze of his own crisis, he could make out other writhing forms that must have been his little brothers.
Just as he was on the cusp of settling into this new skin and getting his bearings, a voice spoke.
“Ah, I must say I wasn’t expecting much,” The voice was liltingly patronising, “but at least you all look so…unique.” Choso whipped his head around from where he was cataloguing the changes amongst his brothers and found that he was kneeling in front of a woman. She was dressed in clean-pressed, simple clothes, and her hair was straightened. However, in contrast to her perfect appearance was a jarring, wicked scar that ran across her forehead. Choso’s brow furrowed at the familiar feeling that rang throughout his gut at this.
“Wh- What is this?” He forced the words out between his laboured breaths and past the dry cavern of his mouth. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she roved her eyes across the hacking and writhing forms of Choso’s newly formed brothers. She watches like she's dissecting them, like she’s considering how to pin a bug to a frame or mount a head on the wall. Choso felt himself bristle, his hair stood on end as he demanded again, “What is this? What have you done to my brothers?”
Her attention turned back to him and she tsked, “Careful not to sound ungrateful, I was the one who got you out of that place and gave you this new form.” She smiled, and it felt like she had copied it from someone else. “Besides, you should probably check on your brothers. I’m hesitant to believe that they survived the incarnation process.”
Choso felt dread swirl in his stomach. He scrambled and stumbled towards his brothers. He was frantic and uncoordinated, but he had little care for that; all that mattered was his little brothers. They were gathered around each other in a writhing mass of hacking coughs and first breaths. Out of all of them, Choso had gathered his senses the quickest and now checked over each one.
Eso. His arms were wrapped around himself, and he hissed through his teeth. His dark sclera was glossy with gathered tears, and Choso took care to wipe them as they fell, his own pale skin contrasted with the tanned tones of his little brother. His form was humanoid, except for the maw and eyes that cut across his back. The extra set of eyes darted around in a panic, seemingly unable to latch on to any one thing, the mouth heaving with panting breaths.
Kechizu stood stock still, eyes unseeing and uncomprehending. His hunched form wasn’t moving; it wasn’t even drawing breath. Choso panicked (he was pretty sure they needed to breathe air now) and rubbed his hands along Kechizu’s gangly arms to draw his attention. Under Choso’s direction, Kechizu managed to copy his breathing. The large lower mouth formed a strained grin in the face of Choso’s reassurance.
When Choso turned to Noranso, he was concerned with how quiet the younger one was. The skin of his new form had taken on a pinkish tint, and it was clammy to the touch. Noranso sat kneeling with his forehead to the floor and eyes closed, taking measured breaths. His hands similarly positioned themselves to Eso’s, yet remain hovering over his shoulders. His shoulders, which were rapidly developing welts and blisters that began to spread across one side of his neck and face. Choso watched as Noranso’s skin swelled in some places and tore in others, as Noranso’s breathing became harsher. The older brother made a move to comfort him, placing his hand on the younger’s. Noticing his presence, Noranso looked up and gently shook his head. It’s fine, I’m okay.
Sho-oso’s raspy wheezing and crackling joints drew Choso’s attention from Noranso. Sho-oso’s thin and leathery arms were shaking so hard they were practically a blur of movement. His stomach was hollow, and his body ended at the pelvis. Blood pooled from where Choso knew legs should be (if they were normal). But Choso could tell that Sho-oso is quickly gaining his bearings, as evidenced by the rapidly hardening blood on his lower half.
Tanso seemed to be faring as well as Sho-oso. He was sitting on the floor in a daze. Tanso, if anything, seemed mostly focused on understanding what he had become. His new body was rounded and hunched, with large bug eyes and an even larger mouth. His skin was a mottled blue, which faded into coarse grey fur in patches and along the tail which had sprouted. Blisters formed along its underside, and wings erupted from his back. Tanso looked to Choso in confusion, looking for clarification, for validation. Choso could only give a furrowed brow and a hesitant nod. He cursed his helplessness, but he felt the same uncertainty regarding their transformations.
Kotsuso sat quietly with his knees to his chest; his head tilted when Choso looked over at him. His frame was large and hulking, his skin rippled with muscle. Yet, he gently held a bone within his large palm. Similarly, his body is adorned with a small number of bones that were fused to his body. Once Choso caught his eyes, he frantically shook his head and gestured to the last two of Choso’s brothers before shuffling towards Noranso. They were the most concerning.
Sanso and Shoso were intricate swirls of undefined mass. Sanso was a stormy sea of blood, constantly hardening chunks and dissolving them back down, forming a face and melting it once again. Shoso was in a similar state of deterioration; parts of his body evaporated in bursts of bloody mist and condensed back down just as frantically. His wings twitched along his back as he let out growls and screams of frustrated pain. On instinct, Choso rushed over and gathered them both into his arms. His voice was level as he offered empty reassurances to them, but inside, he was panicking. He was panicking because these are his little brothers and he didn't know what to do. He’s their older brother, and he didn't know what they needed. How could he fix this?
Schf.
The shuffle of the stranger's shoes pushed Choso back to reality. He berated himself for forgetting the situation he and his brothers were in, too lost in his worry to recognise the greater threat. He whipped his head around and saw that in the time his attention lapsed, she had grabbed a bundle which she held in her right hand. The rest of Choso’s brothers also faced the unknown woman defensively.
Eso stumbled forward and pointed accusingly at her, placing himself between her and his brothers, though the effect was lessened by just how shaky he still was. “You!” He exclaimed, “Who are you? What is it you want?”
“Well, let's just say I finally found a use for you.” She shifted the bundle in her right arm and tilted her head, back to analysing them with morbid curiosity. The movement of her head drew Choso’s attention to the scar that ran along her forehead. It was so familiar. Choso couldn’t exactly describe it, but she was making him uneasy. She must have had the same effect on the others, as he could feel Sanso and Shoso manage to still from where they had settled within his arms.
It is this tense standoff that allowed centre-stage for Sho-oso’s rattling gasp of realisation. “I- It’s you,” Sho-oso pushed himself up on spindly legs made of dried blood, “...Noritoshi Kamo.”
Now Choso could see it. The same scar, the same speech pattern, the same uneasy feeling that their presence always inspired. This was the monster that bore them into this world. He could feel the others reaching the same conclusion; the rage built within each of them at the audacity of this thing to have presented itself in front of them again. After what they had done. The experiments, the jar, the 150 years of isolating cold.
At this point, every single brother had risen to his feet to the best of his ability. And, even though they were still weak, even though they were unused to movement unimpeded by liquid and glass, they all began to access their cursed techniques.
“Cursed technique reversal: Antigravity system.”
A colossal weight stamped down on Choso and his brothers, forcing them onto the ground- almost through the ground, as Choso could feel the concrete crack below him.
“Now, now,” whoever Noritoshi had become chastised the Death Paintings, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I just need you to do a small job for me, like good sons.”
“A job? Hah, why would we ever do a job for you?” Choso supposed Shoso seemed well enough, if he was making comments like that at a time like this.
The weight settled around them increased tenfold, turning from excruciating to downright debilitating for their newly acquired bodies. “Do not interrupt me. Instead, you are going to listen, and you are going to do as I say.” It seemed the facade of friendliness had finally dropped. “I need you to look after something important for me. I will come collect it in 15 or so years. This is all I ask, I expect even failed experiments such as you will not disappoint me in this endeavour.”
Noranso tried to croak words past the crushing weight that's settled on his lungs. He’s weary, suspecting something that the others haven't caught onto yet. “Why are you so sure that we will do this for you?”
The Death Paintings progenitor smiled that same taxidermy smile once more, “Well, you nine are all about the importance of brotherhood…right?”
She must have been able to localise her technique, because the Choso felt his heart sink 6 feet under at that statement. There are only so many things that a statement like that could mean, and none of them were good.
Noritoshi Kamo gestured at the bundle held in the crook of her right arm, “This is Yuji, my latest, most promising son.”
No.
“He’s only a baby, so he needs your protection.”
There was no way.
“It is because of him that you are finally useful.”
This couldn’t be happening.
“So, do not disappoint me.” She punctuated the final statement with a harsh push of her technique. For a moment, Choso felt as if nothing existed beside the suffocating weight that whited his vision and rang within his ears. It choked coherent thought from his mind, and it felt like it took a lifetime before he was present once more.
When he finally looked, Noritoshi Kamo was gone, and only the bundle and the sting of failure remained. It wailed from its place on the floor. Choso rose from the floor and rushed to help his brothers from their places. Once they are all situated, Tanso made the first move towards the baby, ignoring the concerned sounds from Kechizu and the words of caution from Choso. He stared for a long moment before slowly reaching out his hand.
The wailing stopped, and a small human hand reached out to grasp Tanso’s fingers. Tanso let out a breathless chuckle and turned to his brothers with a smile and his eyebrows raised. Instantaneously, they all clambered forward to gather around the baby, crouching on the floor. Shoso, in all his short glory, climbed onto Kotsuso’s shoulders to see past his brothers.
“Is this…an actual baby?” Kechizu asked.
He looked approximately like what Choso imagined a baby looks like, if only… cuter. He was round. And wiggly. He had a fluffy tuft of pink hair that sprouted from the top of his head and giant eyes that blinked uncrompehendingly at the strangers (brothers) gathered around him. Choso reached out and picked up the baby, copying how Kamo had held him (Choso really hopes that this was actually how you're supposed to hold a baby, and not just Kamo being a horrible parent and holding the baby wrong).
“Yes,” Choso replied, “this is our baby brother.”
Sanso slithered his ever-shifting body up and rested as a blob draped across Choso’s shoulders, forming a face as close to Yuuji as possible. “Really? I mean, if you say so, but he doesn't really look like us.”
Choso simply huffed a laugh at this, because he knows they can feel it too.
As a Death Painting, Choso had only been aware of eight other people in his long existence. Aware of eight hearts beating alongside his. But now, faintly, he could feel another- a ninth.