The last thought that passed through the boy's fading mind was—
"Am I going to die?"
Then came darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness.
Time had no meaning there—it could have been an instant, or an eternity.
And then—Kibutsuji Muzan's consciousness suddenly surged awake. His eyes flew open, and the familiar ceiling of his room came into view. But before he could even process where he was, agony exploded through his body.
"—Ngh!!"
It felt as though every bone within him was being shattered by a hammer. Pain ripped through him from the deepest part of his being, unbearable and all-consuming. He couldn't move. Not a finger, not a breath, not a single sound escaped his throat.
The pain struck so violently that his eyes bulged wide, veins bursting within the whites until his entire vision burned crimson. He could no longer see—only feel.
His blood began to race, surging wildly through his veins as his body temperature climbed. The vessels across his face and neck stood out like cords, flushed a dark red.
And then—they began to burst. His fragile human body could not contain the torrent of blood coursing through it at impossible speed.
The agony tore into his mind again and again, like waves of fire eating at his consciousness, trying to erase him.
But in that storm of pain—something else ignited.
A desperate, monstrous will to live.
"I won't die… I refuse to die! No matter how much it hurts—never! I'll live through this!"
"I'll kill him… I'll kill him…"
The torment went on for half an hour, every heartbeat a knife. But within the agony, hatred began to grow—hot and poisonous. Hatred for the doctor who had given him this medicine, who had forced him once again to hover on the edge of death.
"Why… why only me?"
"Why must I alone endure such a miserable, wasted life?"
"Why didn't you just let me die… instead of letting me live like this…"
"I hate this world! I hate it all!!"
The boy's dark soul screamed soundlessly, railing against fate, against heaven, against the cruelty of life itself.
No one could have imagined that, in that moment, a monster beyond human comprehension was being born in the quiet of that room.
Not far away, the old doctor—unaware of what his medicine had done—slept soundly, never dreaming that his "miracle cure" had awakened a nightmare.
An hour later, Muzan's body finally stopped convulsing. His senses returned, sharper and more vivid than ever before. He could feel the power flowing through his veins—hot, alive, surging.
He rose easily from the bed, standing barefoot on the tatami. His limbs, once frail, now thrummed with unnatural vitality. It was as if he had been reborn.
But the first thought that filled his mind was not wonder.
It was vengeance.
The one who had made him suffer—who had dragged him through the fires of hell—was sleeping peacefully mere steps away.
Muzan picked up the knife lying beside the table. Without a sound, he walked toward the slumbering doctor. His dark eyes gleamed like a void.
Shhht!
The blade slid cleanly into the old man's chest. Muzan twisted his wrist. The heart ruptured with a sickening sound.
"Uhh—"
The doctor's body went limp.
Pulling the knife free, Muzan stared down at the fresh, red blood dripping from the blade. Something inside him stirred—a primal, overpowering hunger.
His body trembled. The scent of the blood filled his lungs, his head, his entire being. He brought the blade to his lips and, almost without realizing it, ran his tongue along the steel.
The taste of blood—warm, rich, intoxicating—flooded his senses.
And in that instant, he understood.
What his body desired.
What it craved.
Human flesh. Human blood.
"Hah… hah…"
His mind screamed that it was wrong, forbidden, but every cell in his body howled the opposite—demanding, pleading, devour it. Consume it all.
"Why… why… what's happening to me?!"
Confusion and terror flickered through him—but the hunger drowned it out. His instincts clawed at his reason, urging him to eat, to tear, to feed.
And then—
"Host conditions met. Initiating first mission."
The voice echoed directly in his mind, calm and mechanical. A red, translucent script appeared before his eyes, glowing in the darkness.
[Binding Mission: Overcome your Ghostly Instincts]
Reward: Binding Pack
Failure Penalty: Forced Stripping of Consciousness
Muzan froze. The strange presence, the blood-red words—it was far beyond his understanding. It felt divine… or perhaps demonic.
Whatever it was, it wasn't human.
He didn't yet understand why he had become this way, though he suspected the cause was the doctor's medicine. But if he allowed himself to sink fully into instinct—to become nothing more than a beast—he would soon cease to exist as himself.
"To survive…"
That thought anchored him. Muzan clenched his fists tightly, forcing his trembling body to still.
He sat down cross-legged on the tatami, closed his eyes, and began to calm his mind.
In the darkness of his consciousness, waves of scent—sweet, intoxicating, alive—assaulted him from all directions. His nerves, his cells, his very soul screamed for it. His body shook with hunger, his veins thrumming like taut strings.
They wanted flesh.
They wanted blood.
They wanted life.
He clenched his hands tighter, nails piercing his palms, blood dripping down—but even that pain couldn't drown the craving.
"Come on…"
A voice—soft, feminine, sweet as honey—whispered from the shadows.
"Come to me. I can give you power beyond imagining. All you have to do is eat him…"
Her tone was gentle, almost loving.
"Eat him, and you'll gain strength. Don't resist this instinct—it's your true self. Accept it. Embrace it. Let it guide you."
"Devour, and you will surpass all humans. You will shatter injustice. You will become the master of your own life… and of theirs."
The voice coiled around him like silk, rich with temptation, leading him step by step toward the abyss.