Work Text:
She didn’t even have the strength to scream, the only noise leaving her being a dull, strained gasp.
Her throat tightened, the muscles straining in brutal agony, her cries silenced by her own dismay.
Gojo Satoru was dead.
Bisected by the King of Curses in one foul, inconcivable blow.
The World Cutting Slash.
And all she could do was watch, the shock reigning heavy and unrelenting.
She had no time to think, let alone grieve, before her sleeve was quickly taken hold of. Her eyes darted to her side, UiUi yelling words at her that she just couldn’t make out. Before she could process the change, she was there.
Laying before her was the mutilated corpse of her lover. The sickness came first, her head spinning endlessly as the realization hit her like a brick, then, slowly, the dread.
She couldn’t bare the sight; The man she had known for most of her tenure in the world of sorcery, the man who relentlessly teased and mocked her for years, the man she had finally sat down and expressed her feelings and stress with just the night prior, and he had done the same. A silent understanding between both of them finally coming to fruition through hushed words and confessions heard by nobody else but themselves.
And now he was but a shell on the floor.
“Grab his torso, try to keep it together as best you can!” The young boy commanded, quickly pattering out of her view. She dropped to her knees, the weight of the situation almost crushing her as heavy, hot tears began racing down her cheeks.
What was she doing? How could she?
She hesitated, the thundering drum of silence ringing in her ears. The world was so blurry, so alien in its cruelty. Why was this happening to her?
She gagged, bile rising in her throat as she did her best to scoop her partner’s bloody viscera back into his upper torso, the cut clean, as if surgical. Her head was pounding, blood rapidly soaking into her Miko robes as it gushed and spurted out of the man.
It was then that she noticed it. In the corner of her eye, she saw it.
A mere few feet away, were his legs. Standing, almost like a monument of his defiance to the King of Curses. His white gi covered in his own gore. Was this a joke? Some sort of sick jest meant to torment her?
UiUi lowered them to the ground, doing his best to keep what remained of his organs inside the stump that was his lower abdomen.
“Hurry up, Utahime-Sensei!” He called out, dragging the other half closer to her. She couldn’t focus, her eyes having finally caught his. What was once a set of brilliant, lively, and radiant azure eyes was now a pair of dull, grey, and glossy optics, completely devoid of any sparkle or life. He was truly, undoubtedly dead.
Utahime could only bend down, grasping at his shoulders and hoisting his weight into her chest. The sound she made couldn’t even be categorized as a scream. She wailed, her cries strained and painful. Her entire figure shook and jittered as she sobbed, her tears mixing with the drying blood streaming down his mouth and chin, giving it a second chance to flow.
UiUi went silent, albeit not out of understanding, but of something colder. She was prolonging their task. He grabbed ahold of them, and within a fraction of a second, the atmosphere shifted yet again.
Through tired, wet eyes, Utahime lifted her gaze, her pants and sobs quieting into distraught, breathy whimpers.
They were in a hospital room of some sort, the air cool and sterile. Shoko stood before her, her eyes heavy and cold.
“What has he done to you…” She questioned, silent but audible. Utahime could only infer that she was speaking to the corpse.
“Sho-“ She couldn’t even force the words out, the grief ravaging her mind. She watched helplessly as the doctor and UiUi lifted his halves onto a small operating table that he was simply too big for, his legs dangling limply over the end.
All she could do was sit back and spectate as Shoko began working on doctoring the corpse, Reversed Cursed Technique flowing through torn flesh and nerves, stringing the two segments back together, along with his severed arms. Utahime choked, gagged, recoiled, any form of sickness imaginable torturing her body relentlessly.
Soon after the corpse was shottily strung back together, UiUi had returned with the mangled body of Okkotsu Yuta, having been hit with the same exact attack used to finish Gojo.
Utahime observed in horror as his shikigami held his segments together as Shoko hurriedly went to work. A horrible, selfish thought forced its way into her head. A thought that made her visibly recoil. Why had he survived, albeit barely, but her Satoru hadn’t? She did her best to shake it off, but the fact that such a thing could weasel into her mind left her disturbed.
She was too lost in thought to realize what was happening right before her eyes, but when she eventually did, her heart immediately sank.
Shoko was cutting into Gojo’s forehead, his white locks soaking up the new rush of blood from the wound created by his own friend.
Utahime covered her mouth with both hands, the urge to vomit rattling her entire body.
When his crown was finally removed, the brain matter inside nearly flopped out entirely. Shoko caught it, gently lifting it and placing it into some sort of sterilized bowl before turning her attention to Yuta.
This had to be some sort of hellish nightmare conjured up by the devil specifically to torment her and her alone. Her gaze affixed to her lover’s corpse as Shoko stepped closer to it once again, a second clump of matter in her hands.
What was happening? The concept seemed too foreign and brutal for her to grasp.
She bore an unwilling witness as Shoko angled Gojo upwards, slipping the gore into his head before using Reversed Cursed Technique yet again to connect nerves, stem, and tissue and finishing with a large row of stitches on his forehead.
The horror of the scene was simply too much for her to handle any longer, her legs seemingly moving on their own, shakily dragging her out of the room and against the wall just outside the door. She slumped to the chilling tile below, tears and blood having stained her soft, delicate features. She simply stared at the wall opposite to her. Her lips quivered, but no sound escaped them. The shock and fatigue having finally caught up to her. She raised her knees, her head dropping with the weight of exhaustion.
How sick.
How could the same world that had given him to her also allowed her to witness the desecration of his carcass.
How sick.
The plan fell through. Okkotsu couldn’t exercise Gojo’s abilities to their extent and collapsed, having utterly failed to truly change the tide of the battle. However, in the end, Sukuna had been defeated and killed by Itadori Yuji.
Gojo was adamant about not having a funeral, yet despite her protests, they held one anyway. Even in death, the Jujutsu world wouldn’t honor his wishes, no matter how small. That’s truly all he was, a weapon. A tool for a society he had no interest in but forced to live under regardless.
Utahime stood before a small, crude gravestone. Despite his family’s infinite wealth, Satoru Gojo’s grave was constructed poorly, like a mere afterthought. However, multicolored flowers and small gifts covered the surface. A testimony to the few students that had truly seen him, truly loved him. More than a cog, more than a weapon.
Utahime rested the yellow and white bukka atop the stone. A small but pained smile curving into her cheeks.
“Your students are doing well, my love. I’m sure you’d be proud of them.”
She hesitated, a light choke slipping from her throat.
“We all miss you, no matter how annoying you were.”
She finally stood, using a sleeve to wipe away the plethora of tears forming in her lashes. She bowed for what seemed like hours, although it had only been a small beat in reality.
“Goodbye, Satoru. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”