Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is well-known that the Empire of Japan and the United States of America had good relations at the turn of the 20th century. Commerce has been thriving for years, to the point that in 1908, a group of distinguished Japanese business leaders, such as Shibusawa Eiichi, 1st Viscount Shibusawa and the founder of the First National Bank of Japan, met the first official U.S. business delegation.

As it happens, 1908 is the year when an enterprise under the title of Speedwagon Oil Company has been founded in the U.S.

 The lucky oil tycoon behind it, a British man named Robert E.O. Speedwagon made waves with his wit, charm and business savvy which quickly became legendary in certain circles. His rapidly expanding business branched out, in both its functions and its locales.

Speedwagon Foundation, established in 1910 in the name of medical research and environmental conservation, set one of its first offices abroad in Tokyo City in 1914. Mr. Speedwagon himself attended its grand opening, shaking hands with people like Dr. Wada Keijuuro, a researcher who aimed to review ancient medicinal practices of the country with modern methods and bring something brand-new and enlightening to the world.

If one was to study the pictures regarding that event from newspapers of the time, they would likely note a very remarkable man standing right next to the charitable scarred oil tycoon. A tall man with a very broad build, who, nonetheless, was dressed in the finest cloth and carried himself gracefully despite the bulk.

This man sets his foot on Japanese soil once more today, on March 16th, 1917. His name is Jonathan Joestar.

“Quite honestly, I’m surprised how well you speak the language, Joestar-hakase,” a youthful driver, Hiroaki, chats with the man as he carts him and his wife around Tokyo. The driver then winces and bashfully apologizes, glancing for a moment at the couple behind him into the front-view mirror. “Sorry, I mean, I heard Westerners find it very difficult to learn.”

The man with dark hair that almost seems to gleam with indigo color under certain angles chuckles and fixes the lapels of his formal brown jacket.

Streetlights of Tokyo illuminate his face as the car drives through the night city. A trip from the port in the Fukagawa district where the Joestars arrived would have normally taken a good part of the day, or, rather, night, by foot, but that’s the thing about the Speedwagon Foundation. It’s outrageously wealthy and spares no expenses on comforts of its employees and associates.

Hiroaki himself has a custom, form-fitting and very comfortable uniform with the Foundation’s logo on the cap, the logo even adapted into Japanese, and the Joestars, esteemed researchers, have a car drive them right to the Foundation office in the Nihonbashi business district, even in the middle of the night.

“It would be very presumptuous and rude of me to arrive into a country with an intent to stay without knowing at least the basics of the local language,” Jonathan hums. His accent is noticeable, but his grammar is impeccable. “And Japanese is very difficult, Hiroaki-kun, that much is true. However, learning it has been a worthwhile endeavor.” 

The man then feels the nimble fingers of his dear wife, Erina, playing with his messy ponytail.

“We would have been here much, ah… sooner, but I didn’t pick it up nearly as quickly as JoJo,” Erina adds, stumbling in her wording and with an accent much thicker than Jonathan’s own, yet her message is very clear.

For a moment a thought crosses Hiroaki’s mind about the age difference of the couple. Jonathan doesn’t seem that much older than himself, late 20s, maybe early 30s, and Erina, while graceful and beautiful with barely a wrinkle on her pale face, doesn’t hide a streak of gray beginning in her hair. The couple is well-dressed and carry themselves gracefully, like aristocrats, not that the driver has seen many of those, and he thinks about uneven marriages of the wealthy people.

Then Hiroaki shakes himself, it’s an unbecoming thought.

“So you’re here for research, Joestar-hakase?” the chatty driver asks, tilting his head while still keeping eyes on the road. It’s not like there are many cars to worry about, for there are few dedicated car roads around, but pedestrians and public tram transports. In fact, he has to stop the car as a tram passes right in the intersection they drive through. “I don’t know what you’re going to unearth here. You’re an archaeologist, aren’t you? I don’t think we have, like, di-no-saurs to dig up here.”

The way the exotic foreign word is pronounced by the young man in English makes the researcher chuckle again and Jonathan can’t help but to rectify the inaccuracy.

“It’s not that straightforward, Hiroaki-kun,” he begins and Erina shakes her head fondly, muttering in English.

“ There he goes… ”

The tram passes and Hiroaki pushes the gas pedal.

“Archaeology relies on cross-disciplinary research,” Jonathan explains. “Especially when the question is the analysis of excavated findings, which is exactly why I’m here. How do you explain a vase found next to a skeleton? Was it a personal belonging or a part of a ritual? One needs context, derived from culture. Like, say, local folk tales and legends. Though it’s an oversimplification, naturally.”

“Folk tales…” Hiroaki himself chuckles and grins. “You’ll find plenty of folk tales here, Joestar-hakase. Yokai, man-eating oni, we have a variety you Westerners likely don’t.”

The driver misses the sharp and aware glance the couple exchanges behind him.

“Man-eating oni, you say?” Erina asks curiously.

“Yeah, people in the country are really superstitious about stuff like that,” the young man continues casually. “Pretty much all the do’s and don'ts of behaving at night come from that. Keep to the light, carry a wisteria charm, that sort of thing. Dark ages, you would say.”

“Well, it will be interesting to learn where those legends take their roots from,” Jonathan hums, putting his large hand atop Erina’s as the woman grasps his knee, the only sign of her tension.

The rest of the way follows the same trend of Hiroaki dropping random trivia about Japanese culture without realizing it while asking questions about his passengers’ work.

By the time they arrive at the building boasting the large version of the logo on the driver’s cap, he’s surprised to learn both spouses are here for work. While only Jonathan boasts a recognized diploma, Erina is recognized by the Foundation itself as an experienced medical expert, having worked as a nurse in a variety of countries, from India, to her homeland, Britain, and other European countries, to the United States and Canada.

Erina is here to study the Japanese medical achievements and methods, while Jonathan, as they loop back to more than once, is here to study the cultural background to understand the Foundation’s latest archeological excavation findings.

“Best of luck in your endeavors, Joestar-hakase!” Hiroaki waves as the couple leaves for the office. It’s a tall dark building with the logo of the Foundation hanging about the grand front door. Quite a few windows sport lights, just like many other offices and businesses around, as despite the late hours, people are still working there, in one of the bustling districts of the grand capital city. Jonathan waves back at the driver with a soft smile before turning to discuss something with his wife as they go. The man opens the door for her and subsequently scares an office worker going home who hasn’t been expecting to see a giant of a man on his way out.

As he checks the notebook in the inner pocket of his jacket, Hiroaki knows his work isn’t done yet. His shift has another assignment before he can retire for the next two days. There’s another person, a Foundation science associate he has to accompany. Though he looks left and right into the car windows, he can’t seem to find the man fitting the description.

“Who that… Western gentleman might have been?”

Hiroaki almost drops his notebook in shock and quickly puts it back, taking a look in the front-view mirror to see the back seat. He never noticed the man arriving and quietly sitting himself down. It’s like he appeared from thin air.

His passenger wears an extravagant suit, with lapels of his black tuxedo embroidered with golden patterns. The shadow from his white fedora with a dark red ribbon that almost seems black covers the man’s face but doesn’t hide the brilliant red eyes that almost gleam right into Hiroaki’s soul even through the mirror.

“That… that was Joestar-hakase, the British archeology expert, sir,” Hiroaki answers, stumbling a bit. The other seems to notice his unease, giving him a smile and a soft smile. He raises his head and suddenly, the fedora no longer covers his face in shadows.

“Oh, have I startled you? My apologies, Hiroaki-kun. I’ve been told I have a quiet step,” the man says, leaning on the back of his seat in a relaxed posture. “My wife, mostly. Always startle her when she cooks.”

“Happens to the best of us, I guess, Minaguchi-san,” the driver chuckles, feeling a bit lighter and pushing the gas pedal to drive the associate researcher home. It’s far from the first time he’s been driving the man or his family around, yet somehow, he still takes him by surprise.

Hiroaki’s passenger gives a glance to the Foundation building before it disappears behind them, narrowing his eyes and murmuring to himself, so low the driver has no chance of hearing it.

“Joestar, then…”

According to the latest archaeological research, Chiba Prefecture, located south-southeast of Tokyo, has been settled since prehistoric times. Recently, this region has been militarized due to a war with one of the continental powers, in order to protect the capital of the Empire of Japan.

That said, this region sees some traffic of foreign tourists. Mostly for the views. If one is bored of the cultural landmarks of Tokyo or other cities inclined towards tourism, a stroll through the forests of Chiba is always a choice. The locals, however, will warn you of monsters lurking in the dark, the belief more wide-spread as one reaches the edges of modern civilization.

A Western man with jagged blond hair, sharp eyes of burning orange and three dots on his left ear, sporting a dark cape with feathers on shoulders, waves off concern an older couple shows him, instead inquiring curiously about where people go missing most often in the area.

“Are you… perhaps, a demon slayer?” the wrinkled woman asks hopefully, looking at the man so tall and strong it’s almost unnatural. “These forests out there are cursed with a demon, of that we’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m not a slayer, milady,” the man says with a chuckle, pressing a hand to his chest. “Though I am familiar with them. Perhaps, some of them will cross my path again. I thank you for your assistance.”

“And we thank you for hearing out our plight, young man,” the woman’s husband replies. “Please be safe in your travels.”

The mysterious man leaves the small village in the vicinity of Nikko.

He’s no demon slayer, but he’s more than aware that some monsters hiding in the dark are more real than others. He, of all people, knows the matter most intimately.

After all, Dio Brando is one of these monsters.

It’s been thirty years since he abandoned his humanity and became a vampire, an immortal creature hungry for people’s blood and living in the dark. Here, in the land of Japan, he’d be called a man-eating oni, a demon, but Dio finds the comparison unflattering and degrading to his refined being.

Fallen leaves rustle under his feet as he ventures deeper into the forest. The area is quiet, unnaturally so, with no wild animals emanating a single squeak because they know there’s a grander predator at large.

While initially intrigued by the rumors of beings even distantly rivaling himself, Dio quickly grew disappointed upon arriving to the Empire of Japan and witnessing those creatures first-hand. Most of them feral, possessing one-track minds and little thought beyond securing their next feast. Their cruelty is primitive and their powers are useless compared to himself, wasted on simple weak-minded fools.

Gorging on flesh, in Dio’s opinion, is also unbecoming, when he himself only needs human blood and, as such, can be much more efficient in infiltrating society and using humans in more ways than just a food source. Something those demon brutes don’t have the mental capacity to think of. 

The only thing of note about them are the Blood Demon Arts some of those creatures develop upon consuming enough human flesh. Party tricks, in the eyes of Dio who, after initial surprise, learned to pin these demons down to walls and trees, leaving them to burn in the sun for daring to challenge him.

Just as pathetic as the youthful demon slayers who dared raise their blades against him and pay with their lives in seconds.

As he reaches Mount Nokogiri proper, a low mountain in proximity to the Tokyo Bay, Dio finds something different.

It’s a solitary mansion, unremarkable in its traditional build if not for such a remote location.

The thing about most locations that serve as a demon’s base of operations is that those beasts lack the cognition to actually care for them. Overgrown, ruined, dilapidated, that’s how demon houses are. Not this mansion. While the greenery around it grows wildly and trees are so high they barely let the moonlight through, the house itself stands pristine.

“That’s a first,” Dio hums to himself, in no doubt that the demon haunting these woods actually resides here. He smirks, intrigued with what he sees. He decides that he’ll play a nice guest if that means an actual intelligent conversation with a fellow being that transcended humanity.

Companionship is scarce and precious, a mind unchallenged by another point of view is prone to degradation, and it’s been a while since Dio saw his so-called brother, to cut him with either barbs or knives.

In accordance with Japanese etiquette, Dio slides open the front door and steps into the entrance-way, no further than that.

“Please forgive me for bothering you.”

A second passes. Then two. Then Dio hears steps from within the plain-looking building. He’d prefer to decorate such a boring place with at least a few vases, though he won’t say that to his host’s face.

And then comes the said host, gripping the corner with a clawed hand.

To Dio’s surprise, the demon he sees might even be taller than himself. At the same time, despite the intelligence and cognition Dio deduced of the man, he might also be the most inhuman-looking demon seen by him so far.

The master of the house is a muscular man with grayish skin, long black hair and sharp black markings on his forehead. Blood-red sclera show no pupils. Most notable are the drums seemingly ingrained into his body, in his shoulders, on his hips, on his stomach. Most likely a part of his Blood Demon Art.

“I was hoping to find a sanctuary against the light of the coming day,” Dio says courteously as his cape billows behind him.

The two stand at a standstill.

“Hm. You’re… no human, and yet…” the demon murmurs, seemingly considering actually allowing Dio’s stay. “Something is off about you, you don’t feel like a regular demon, yet you are no Kizuki, too…”

“Dio Brando, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you…?”

Dio’s ease and confidence seem to take the demon off-guard as he blinks at the foreigner. Then he offers his own name in return, seemingly out of instinct rather than something conscious.

“...Kyogai.”

A pause. Then, Kyogai turns his back to Dio, revealing one more drum present there, between his shoulder blades, partly hidden with his long wild hair.

“You may stay…”

Kyogai ventures back into the depths of the mansion and Dio follows his host, curious about the demon, so quiet and reserved compared to the creature he’s seen before.

“You’re gracious to allow my stay.”

“Demons come and go…” Kyogai says quietly. “You’re the most polite one so far… Dio-san.”

It’s obvious Kyogai expects Dio to find a quiet corner to himself, but instead the man shadows the drum demon with a confident stride and the other doesn’t find it in himself to rebuff the man.

They two settle themselves in a room Dio suspects to be Kyogai’s study. Just like the rest of the mansion, it’s mostly empty, but this room in particular has a writing table with several shelves in it. It’s low, as is traditional, and Kyogai has to kneel to sit at it, shifting and deflating his form slightly to fit.

Dio is curious at the size-shifting ability, but he’s even more curious at the manuscripts inside the shelf Kyogai accidentally opens while looking for paper and writing utensils.

Almost unconsciously, Dio’s hand reaches for that shelf.

“May I?”

Red gaze pins down Dio’s hand but never stops him. Kyogai breathes heavily as Dio opens the shelf and carefully pulls out the written works. He can see the tension in Kyogai’s body. Despite his inhuman look, the vulnerability in his expression is so transparently human, so easy to bend to one’s will the foreign demon almost smiles.

However, Dio focuses on the writing first.

He’s not sure what he was expecting to see, but Kyogai’s writings turn out to be a poetry work, rhymes abundant, yet it’s structured like an epic, long and detailed, so Dio spends quite a bit parsing through it.

To his own surprise, he’s engrossed in the story about three warriors from the Heian period, protecting the peace of the lands when the Emperor’s forces were unable to. The point of view changes ever so often, yet seamless.

It’s… magnificent and refined.

His eyes just slightly widened, betraying his enjoyment, Dio looks at Kyogai, who’s Adam’s apple bobbles from how nervous the man is.

“Have you, perhaps, taken inspiration from Satomi Hakkenden?” Dio asks casually. “At first I thought of it as a coincidence, but with so many characters carrying similar names it has to be a reference, is it not?”

“It is… my favorite of classical works,” Kyogai replies shyly, yet there’s something like hope in his eyes. The guest at his home smiles at finally finding a worthy, refined conversation partner.

“Your artistic work truly is incredible,” Dio says, laying the manuscript carefully onto the writing table and Kyogai’s breath hitches at the verbal recognition of his talent.

Hook, line and sinker.

And yet, Dio feels like he’s not just manipulating an obviously insecure demon. He’s sincere in his praise, and while it’s to his benefit, he feels something more will come out of knowing his new… acquaintance.

Chapter Text

Dear Jonathan,

Since we last parted, my search for your brother led me towards the rumors of peculiar creatures the likes of which we study, in the lands of the Empire of Japan. It is probable that your brother lurks there, either the cause behind the rumors or chasing them as well, as they seem to be predating his birth.

I did not wish to refer to you prematurely, but there also seems to be something for your research here. A rumor of a scientific impossibility, a blue spider lily, the properties of which remind me of the Aztec masks we are familiar with.

If you wish to explore this venture, please, take your time, I believe I have it under control here at the moment.

My best regards to Erina, Elizabeth and George.

Yours most truly,

Mark F. Straizo

Since he doesn’t have a proper office assigned to him, Jonathan Joestar sits at a table in the large lobby of the Speedwagon Foundation’s building in Tokyo’s Nihonbashi district. It’s clear that no expenses were spared on the building, with grand pillars and bas-reliefs reminding one of Ancient Greece decorating the bright lobby and the logo with the Foundation’s signature wheel is imprinted on the shining marble floor.

With how engrossed Jonathan is in papers, cross-referencing legends of a blue spider lily with the botanical research he borrowed from the corresponding department of the Foundation as well as with many, many cultural notes one might even find far-fetched to be related to the matter at hand, he doesn’t even realize the day has long passed into its twilight hours.

“Pardon my interruption. You’re Joestar-san, are you not?”

A strong baritone pulls Jonathan from his deep academic dive and his gaze meets a man in a dark coat, white fedora in his hands. The man looks over his data curiously, helping himself to one of the sheets.

“Hm? Shuubun? Odd to see you being interested in the celebration of the Autumn equinox,” the man says, his bright red eyes flying across the page.

“Ah, I decided to acquaint myself with it since it’s been mentioned that red spider lilies, relevant to my current research, signal the arrival of autumn, among other things,” Jonathan explains on instinct, before accepting the page back from the man. “Thought it may be valuable to understanding the flower’s cultural significance.”

The man nods, and Jonathan catches himself, having not answered the other’s initial question. He stands up from the table, proving to be a full head, if not two, taller than the one who approached him, to say nothing of his muscular bulk absolutely dwarfing him.

“Also, yes, I am Jonathan Joestar,” he confirms with a nod. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of acquaintance?”

“Minaguchi Tsukihiko, a generalist in plant science. The Foundation requested my assistance recently and I’ve heard rumors of a man of your status arriving and inquiring about a certain impossibility of science,” the shorter man says before extending his hand with a smile. “I believe in the West it’s proper to greet each other with a handshake.”

Despite the man’s sickly paleness, his grip is supremely strong when he and Jonathan shake hands and his smile only grows when he notices the archeologist’s surprise at his strength.

“A pleasure to meet you, Minaguchi-san,” Jonathan then says with a smile of his own and gestures to his research. “I suppose as a botanist you may have heard something about the so-called blue spider lily? I’ve come across a… mention of such in my research and cannot decipher whether it’s meant to be a literal object or a representation of a higher concept.”

“Most would consider it to be a myth and discard it,” Minaguchi hums.

The implication is that the man himself isn’t like the most.

Two scholars sit down to look over the notes together.

“Well, I’m not looking at it from the standpoint of a natural science specialist,” Jonathan chuckles. “We, archeologists, are more patient with what most people consider impossible. Thomas Henry Huxley, a distinguished British anthropologist, proposed that dinosaurs, commonly believed to be reptiles, are in fact ancestors of most bird species. It may sound absurd to you, but it is not an impossibility as we have few ways to discern whether they had scales or feathers.”

“It is a fascinating point of view, Joestar-san,” the other man smiles. “If only more people shared it, my work might have been much easier over the years.”

“Your work?”

“You see, I too find the possibility of a blue spider lily being an actual yet undiscovered plant species rather than a beautiful myth to be feasible,” Minaguchi elaborates, picking one of the records Jonathan has on his table. “I believe if you dig deep enough, you might find mentions of its use for medicinal purposes dating as far back as the Heian period, though, rather unfortunately, I can’t cite the exact papers I picked it up from, or I’d use that as a point of reference in my own research. Where it grows, how it’s cultivated, it all remains a mystery, though with how resilient the more well-known red spider lily is, I have no doubt it has survived up to our days.”

Jonathan finds himself captivated with Minaguchi’s treatise, his sure low voice steady as he joins the Englishman in his work, mostly picking up the botanical data, at times too complex for Jonathan himself to comprehend fully, especially in a language that isn’t his native one. Sometimes one or the other has to leave for the archives to pick up materials on yet another obscure reference, and then it all starts again.

Time passes and two men continue their work.

“I must admit, Joestar-san, it is a fascinating way to look at the problem,” the red-eyed man chuckles. “Perhaps, that’s what I needed, a fresh pair of dedicated eyes looking at the problem.”

“A scientific breakthrough is rarely a single-man job, Minaguchi-san,” Jonathan offers, writing down a few bullet points of their findings. “Knowledge builds up over the course of generations, or, at least, few scientific works built up on top of each other. We’d never get anywhere if every scholar had to start studying their chosen branch of science from scratch.”

His companion nods in agreement. 

“Wise words for a man so… actually, I haven’t the idea of your age, Joestar-san, pardon my curiosity.”

“Oh, I’m turning forty-nine next month. How time flies,” Jonathan offers off-handedly and the other’s eyes widen slightly.

“Almost fifty? Yet you look so youthful, so… unchanging.”

“Ah, it’s all in the breath techniques, Minaguchi-san.”

“Please, feel free to call me Tsukihiko,” the botanist offers.

“Only if you call me JoJo, then. All my friends do.”

“I will take it under consideration, Joestar.”

Then Minaguchi or, rather, Tsukihiko picks up the notes Jonathan’s been working with, written in kanji for convenience as both of them contribute.

“Well, what do we know, as of now? Ah, you’ve got impeccable writing form, only fitting.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” JoJo laughs lightly while the other hums.

“Blue spider lily is likely to be a symbolic and literal opposite of its red counterpart,” Tsukihiko recites with an unerring smile. “Red spider lily, a guide of the dead. Blue spider lily, a salvation from death.”

“In practical terms, both are recorded to be accessible at Sanzu River, which the souls of the departed reach,” Jonathan adds. “While that location is mythical and supernatural, Mount Osore that is widely associated with it, is not.”

“While I would agree, I’ve been to Mount Osore once or twice over the years,” the botanist counters with a thoughtful hum. “Volcanic soil would normally be perfect for cultivating a variety of plant life, but Osore in particular is highly toxic. Fumaroles and a caldera lake there make it impossible for even human life to persevere, much less a more fastidious plant.”

The British archeologist can see the point in that chain of logic.

“Then it’s something else,” he concludes. “Perhaps, Japan's highest peaks are a place to start? Mount Kumotori right next to us is one of them, I believe? Tallest peaks have often been considered dwellings of gods around the world. It’s a bit of a stretch, since we haven’t found any references to myths surrounding this particular mountain…”

“I think it’s a solid lead for a single night’s work,” Tsukihiko chuckles. “More of a lead than I got in months of work on my one. It is true what they say about two heads being more effective.”

“Night?”

JoJo picks up his pocket watch, surprised at the late hour starting him in the face. It’s long past midnight and he winces, imagining Erina giving him an earful for staying at the building so late when she explicitly told him not to when she herself left at just six in the evening.

“My dearest wife will not be happy about it,” the man sighs, beginning to pick up all the research papers. Sorting and returning all the archive records they borrowed will take at least half of an hour on top of this.

“A married man, I take it,” his newfound friend hums, picking up his fair share of papers. “Myself as well. Rei’s already used to my own midnight strolls. Perhaps, I should introduce you at some point.”

“Oh, it would be an honor, Tsukihiko.”

After tidying up the archives as quickly as possible without making a bigger mess and earning the ire of the archivists, Jonathan and Tsukihiko finally leave the Speedwagon Foundation building, making a stop at the bottom of its stairs.

“A visit to Mount Kumotori is in short order,” the shorter man hums.

“By yourself?” JoJo asks in surprise. “Such an endeavor might be troublesome for a single person, it’s a mountainous region, snowy, I presume.”

“Do not concern yourself, Joestar,” Tsukihiko waves off the concern before giving the man a sly smile. “Rather, you should concern yourself with getting home before your wife grows murderous.”

Jonathan gives an awkward chuckle, chastised, and gives his quick goodbyes to the botanist before going home. It’s not that he’s afraid of his beloved, but he feels very bad making her wait for him. His stride is unhurried, but fast. If one looks closely, like Tsukihiko does, they can almost see golden sparks going off at his feet.

The botanist narrows his eyes with a frown before going his way, his ride already waiting for him.

JoJo makes his way to the house he and Erina are staying in by foot, entering the Kanda district of Tokyo not too far from the Speedwagon Foundation building in Nihonbashi. The change in scenery is notable as the extravagant and rich buildings give way to the more subtle and subdued ones, Kanda being a less rich neighbourhood than others in Tokyo.

Jonathan tried to convince his friend, the enterprise’s founder, Robert, to let him pay for his own stay, but the man insisted on assistance, since he was providing services to the company. The least Jonathan could do was to at least use one of the less resource-draining properties the Foundation owns. Of course, it’s not a completely low-end place, he wouldn’t want to subject his wife to that and has his own sensibilities, but it’s nothing extravagant like what the Joestar family mansion used to be in its glory days.

At least it’s a building in Western style. While Jonathan is respectful of the local culture and curious about it, he’s not sure he would acclimatize well to getting thrown right into the unknown and alien.

“Beloved, I’m home,” Jonathan calls out in English, closing the door behind him. In their home, with no visitors to disturb them, the couple welcomes a reprieve to speak in their native language.

Erina, in her light green nightgown, looks at him unimpressed as she crosses her arms. Then she sighs, not in the mood to even chastise her overenthusiastic husband, and turns to leave for the master bedroom. Jonathan thinks he got off easy as he takes off his shoes.

It takes a few minutes before he exchanges his suit for a soft bluish pyjamas that seem large even on his huge frame and gets in the bed next to Erina. The woman’s reading some book as she sits under the covers with the night lamp bathing her in light.

Sometimes Jonathan is caught off-guard thinking about how different life has become. In days of their youth things like an electricity-powered lamp that could fit on a nightstand were, at most, a curious novelty, rather than a common or at least semi-common household feature.

How time flies, how years pass.

“You’re so lucky we have no appointments tomorrow, JoJo,” Erina mutters in irritation, distracting Jonathan from his thoughts and making him huddle up, sitting next to his petite spouse while covering his legs with the blanket.

“I’m sorry, Erina. I met up with an interesting man and we both worked deep into the night,” Jonathan apologizes, making her raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “Tsukihiko Minaguchi, a botany specialist assisting the Foundation. He’s been very helpful in my blue spider lily research. I think you might like him.”

“I see,” his wife hums, putting her bookmark between the pages of her current read and leaving the book on the nightstand. She then frowns in worry when she turns towards Jonathan. “Still nothing on Straizo yet?”

“No,” the other shakes his head sadly. “It’s been almost four years now since that last letter. According to the Japanese Speedwagon Foundation records, the last of his communiques were a little over two years ago and as of now, he’s missing-in-action.”

“Do you think it’s the work of Dio?”

Jonathan grows quiet as his beloved’s suggestion.

It’s been years since he last confronted his adopted brother, Dio Brando, the man who discarded his humanity with the use of an ancient Aztec artifact, a stone mask, the origins of which the Speedwagon Foundation is researching even years after its destruction by Jonathan and his allies.

Over the years, Dio’s become more powerful, yet also more careful; more secretive, but no less ambitious, no less wanting to establish his dominance against Jonathan.

“The worst thing is, I don’t think it’s Dio,” Jonathan hums and feels his wife’s hand on his leg, as if to ground him. “You know how he is. Knowing Dio, if he defeated Straizo, he would have sent us something like a letter written in blood just to boast, inviting me to meet him. …likely somewhere extravagant, like the Asakusa district.”

He lets out a sorrowful chuckle while Erina furrows her brows.

“But what else could have taken down Straizo? There are no hamon warriors stronger than you two in the entire world.”

“That’s what concerns me as well, beloved,” her husband agrees, before sighing and giving his beloved a tired, yet genuine smile. “But we won’t find an answer just sitting here and discussing him.”

Erina smiles as well and reaches to turn the night lamp off.

The light goes out and the two lie down to get fully under the blanket, with Jonathan also tenderly holding his spouse with his large hand.

“Good night, beloved.”

“Good night, JoJo.”

Dio’s odd companionship with Kyogai proves to be not just generally helpful, with Tsuzumi Mansion being a most fortunate base of operations where Dio can return after a night of feeding in the city, but illuminating, providing him one thing his immortal body does not give him by default, information.

“Kizuki,” Dio hums and the fountain pen under the drum demon’s fingers goes still as the man sits in front of his writing table, working on a short story. “You’ve mentioned this word when we first met and it slips your lips occasionally. I am curious as to what it is, as to what they are.”

“You… you don’t know, Dio-san?” Kyogai asks in shock, turning his red scleras towards his guest in genuine shock. “Every demon knows it, this knowledge is in our blood.”

“Humor me,” the other chuckles, shrugging.

Kyogai rolls the question in his mind before setting his pen down.

“Twelve Kizuki are the most powerful demons in existence,” the drum demon says and Dio’s eyes gleam at the precious information. “They’re divided into the ranks of Waxing Moons and Waning Moons, each set one through six. Waxing One is the strongest, while… Waning Six… is the weakest. Waning Moons have a number engraved in one of their eyes, and Waxing Moons have their ranks in both eyes.”

The demon clenches his fists.

“Blood battles between Kizuki decide their positions, but the Waxing Moons have mostly remained unchanged for centuries. …and despite the Waning Moons changing frequently, to the point that slayers use us– them as a measuring stick to signify ascension of their own ranks, the latest Waning One remains unchanged for a good few years now.”

“How peculiar…” Dio hums, crossing his arms and leaning lightly on the shoji wall. “And how did this system come to be? Is it a self-sustainable creation born of tradition and instinct, or is there one more rank you neglect to mention?”

Kyogai’s eyes widen once again in surprise.

“You… don’t you know about Him? The Demon King?”

“Unfortunately, I do not, though it sounds like an appealing position,” the other smiles at the master of the house, eager to learn more. It seems to dawn on Kyogai that his guest, despite cognizance and presence worthy of a Kizuki, truly doesn’t have an idea of a person they talk of.

“I… I cannot speak of him,” Kyogai says, clenching his teeth and picking up his pen. “None can speak his name, even if they know it. It’s not allowed if you wish to live. That said…”

Kyogai works his pens, drawing several immaculate characters with a few quick sharp strokes and lifting the sheet up for Dio to look at without glancing at it himself or even realizing which kanji he wrote exactly.

Dio narrows his eyes.

“Kibutsuji Muzan… I see.”

Kyogai slowly turns his head towards Dio.

It’s like an eternity passes in the moment before the drum demon speaks, in confusion, in awe, in utter trepidation like Dio is a being beyond beings.

“You… are still alive.”

“This Kibutsuji Muzan… I suppose he chooses and appoints the Twelve Kizuki,” Dio speaks casually, making his acquaintance tremble a bit as his master’s name leaves his lips. He approaches Kyogai who seems to be frozen in shock, his pen and the sheet with the cursed name both dropping to the floor.

“What… are you?” he whispers.

Dio leans down to pick up the dropped piece of paper, smirking at the kanji depicted on it. He puts it on the table and grabs Kyogai’s cheeks, looking into the man’s red eyes with his burning gaze.

“A brand-new Demon King,” Dio proclaims firmly with an arrogant grin. “I’m not blind. You were a Kizuki once, haven’t you, Kyogai? I’ve seen your magnificent Blood Demon Art, I’ve seen your intelligence and dedication to your tasks. Kibutsuji Muzan is a fool if he discards a person akin to you.”

Kyogai’s eyes become watery from what’s possibly the highest praise someone gave him in his life, as his right eye rolls forward. It reveals his true deep blue pupil with black kanji and danji, a letter and a formal numeral, spelling out a Kizuki rank.

WANING SIX

A white x-shaped scar covers the characters, signifying his fall from grace and internally, Dio is pleased with Muzan being so foolish and wasteful that he’d leave a subordinate like that to his own devices, ripe for manipulation and subjugation. Then again, can he really blame him for not expecting Dio to invade his uncontested kingdom?

“I… I must eat more people,” Kyogai whispers desperately and his voice trembles and he puts his hands atop Dio’s as they rest on his cheeks. “No matter how long it takes. Then I can return to Twelve Kizuki… because what else is there?”

Dio’s grin widens.

“What if I offered you something different?”

Chapter Text

“Okaa-san! Joestar-san is here! Welcome, Joestar-san!”

Jonathan and Erina can’t help but smile at the cute little girl, five years of age, bowing and greeting them at the door of the Minaguchi household. The child’s black hair is arranged in two braids tied with pink ribbons which JoJo finds adorable.

From around the corner, the girl’s mother walks in, a graceful lady in a Western white dress, her own black hair put together in a fashionable bun, not too unlike Erina’s hairstyle. The woman pats her daughter on the head and the girl goes running off again in the richly decorated abode.

A part of Jonathan reminisces on how he used to play around the Joestar Mansion as a child. At least, until his widowing father adopted Dio and being lackadaisical became an unacceptable frivolity.

“Jonathan, Erina, I’m glad you have accepted Tsukihiko’s invitation,” the woman smiles, bowing slightly and the couple return the sentiment with their own polite bow.

“Thank you, Rei, a social call has been long overdue,” Jonathan chuckles as he and Erina leave their shoes at the door in favor of guest slippers. “Where is Tsukihiko, by the way? I’d expect him to greet us as well.”

“You know him, JoJo, he’s deep in research in his study,” Rei sighs. “If you manage to fish him out of there, it’d be much obliged. He works so hard lately, I don’t think I even see him eat. At least it doesn’t look like he’s losing weight over it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

“Rei, how about we concern ourselves with some tea while men concern themselves with… their usual matters. I have just the thing here,” Erina offers, while handing the mistress of the house a small box of mochi rice cakes the couple bought on the way as a little gift for the family receiving them.

“I’m sure Emi will love these,” Rei nods with a chuckle and the women promptly leave for the dining room.

Jonathan takes a moment to look around. His new friend strikes him as a person who enjoys the finer things in life and the Minaguchi household certainly reflects it. Being located in the richer Kojimachi district of Tokyo, the family’s Western-type house is much larger than the one the Joestars live in.

The walls of the rooms are decorated with exquisite small paintings of what seems to be Biblical motifs. Jonathan doesn’t doubt these are original works rather than copies, simply because Tsukihiko seems to be an appreciator of arts who won’t settle for anything less than perfect originals. A fall of an angel from heaven, a parade of the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, even a depiction of the plague of locusts from an Old Testament story, all these works of art, drawn in dark tones contrasting the white walls, seem to be made by the same author, realistic, yet just slightly uncanny, with features just a bit wrong.

Another notable decoration are painted pots of the highest quality Jonathan has ever seen in his life. A handwork of a master of the craft, standing on the shelves. These are more colorful than the artworks, depicting bright patterns of natural motifs, such as ocean waves or a flock of crows flying in the sky, with a katana blade almost interrupting their flight. The larger pots on the floor, housing large plants, seem to be of the same author, given the detailed patterns.

“What magnificent craftsmanship,” Jonathan hums before catching himself. He’s only been to the Minaguchi house once before and didn’t get to look around much, but he does remember where his friend’s office is.

While he thinks it’s considered rude in Japanese culture, Jonathan can’t help the instinct to knock on the door, given it doesn’t just slide open like in traditional houses.

“Enter.”

“Good evening, Tsukihiko,” Jonathan offers once he enters Tsukihiko’s office. The man seems to be drowning in papers on his desk. Most notably, in the center of it all right in front of him, lies what he thinks is a map of Japan with a few cross marks made in ink all around the country. He can’t really think of what those marks represent, poorly familiar with the country's geography.

“Ah, Joestar. It is a pleasure to see you,” Tsukihiko smiles pleasantly, standing up from his armchair. “I take it your wife has arrived as well?”

“Indeed. Erina and Rei are brewing tea, I believe,” the other nods, closing the door behind him. “I was surprised to hear from you so soon. How has your brief expedition to Mount Kumotori gone?”

“Not as fruitful as I’d prefer,” the botanist growls in frustration, covering his face with a hand. “Dredging through the snow for nothing. Not a sign of the blue spider lily anywhere on that mountain top. Perhaps, we’ve made a miscalculation in our conclusion.”

“That may be so,” JoJo hums, rubbing his chin in thought. “Have you really gone up to the very top?”

“Every millimeter scoured, of course I reached the top.”

“Well, maybe you might then at least make a record of that and enter the history of rock climbing,” Jonathan tries to lighten up the mood. “I don’t think anyone’s climbed Mount Kumotori yet.”

Tsukihiko’s eye twitches at the suggestion and the man furrows his brows, leaving Jonathan the slightest bit discomforted. Obviously, his attempt to brighten things up wasn’t quite successful with how nervous the other is. The larger man raises his hands placatingly.

“Sorry, Tsukihiko, I tried to lighten up your mood.”

“I… appreciate the attempt,” the man replies slowly, turning around to pick up one of the four pots decorating the shelf of his office and trace the patterns on it, as if to calm himself. “Though the lack of progress… leaves me in a rather disappointed mood. I thought we’d finally be getting somewhere with what I consider my life’s work… but it’s like there’s no use…”

A whisper so low follows, Jonathan will simply write it off later as a trick his ears and mind played on him.

“ ...in you. ”

What prevents him from noticing it is the sudden shaking of one of the pots in Tsukihiko’s office which surprises both men. Jonathan’s reflexes, however, are honed to perfection.

“Tsukihiko, get down!” Jonathan pushed the smaller man behind him when suddenly, the pot still on the shelf erupts with water like a miniature fountain, releasing a bright-red puffed-up floating fish. Its unseeing eyes seemingly ignore two men, but Jonathan can recognize an attack in preparation when he sees it.

The fish puffs up, ready to launch something .

Before this being, a man-eating oni, as Jonathan presumes, can do anything actively harmful, he acts. His controlled respiration directs his life energy to create the golden ripples in the air, ripples called Hamon.

SENDO FORM: HAMON OVERDRIVE

A chop carves through the demon, splitting it in two, and the ripples of Hamon burn the creature apart from the points of connection, subjecting it to the power of the Sun. A second chop breaks apart the pot it has emerged from.

Two remaining pots begin to shake, but faster than in a blind of an eye, Jonathan’s single horizontal chop takes care of them both, dealing with the demon issue without a single drop of water being able to rush out of the cursed vases.

There’s a sound of shattering pottery behind him and when Jonathan turns around, he sees the last of the vases broken at Tsukihiko’s feet, the man’s shrunken red eyes darting around, almost in panic.

“It’s alright now, Tsukihiko, they’re gone, you’ve done a good job,” Jonathan reassures him, approaching and trying to put a hand on the other’s shoulder before the botanist flinches away violently.

“Don’t touch me!”

Jonathan raises his hands placatingly at once at the near-beastly roar from the man, keeping distance, and lets his friend compose himself. Tsukihiko goes to lean on his desk, glancing warily at Jonathan, his eyebrow twitching.

A moment passes in oppressing silence.

“Let’s… keep this confrontation quiet from Rei. No need to stress my family,” the botanist says slowly. When Jonathan wants to raise a concern, it’s like the other reads his mind. “These pots were the only ones I bought recently from a questionable source, truthfully, on a whim. The rest is the handiwork of my… close acquaintance. No need to think they’ll do… that.”

“I see,” JoJo nods and glances at the shard of the demonic pottery.

While he worked fast in the heat of the moment, after the fact, Jonathan has many questions rushing through his mind. He has fought against his brother, Dio, arguably a demon as well under local terminology, and even with how imaginative the man got with his powers, experimenting constantly to surprise him, in the end it was always obvious biomanipulation except for, perhaps, his powers of hypnosis, which he rarely used in recent years, depending more on his natural charisma to recruit disposable pawns.

Fishes spurting from vases, to Jonathan, seems like magic, and if those are the demons people fear around these parts, he has an uphill battle to fight.

“Such speed and strength…” he hears Tsukihiko murmur, before the shaken man addresses him directly. “You may go join our wives. I’ll just… arrange my papers and see if that water has damaged anything.”

“Of course. Will you be alright here, Tsu–”

“I will!” the other interrupts sharply, looking over his shoulder to pierce Jonathan with his red gaze, before relaxing slightly, his usual soft smile returning to his face. “I will. Thank you for your concern, Joestar.”

JoJo nods and turns around to leave the office.

As he goes to the dining room to join Erina, Rei and little Emi, he can’t help but glance at all the other pots around the house. Tsukihiko said all these are the work of his friend, but while he’s no art specialist, he can’t help but feel that craftsmanship of these vases and the demon ones is remarkably similar. Then again, perhaps the similarity is the reason Tsukihiko felt compelled to buy the demon pots.

His brow twitches in concern, but he decides to table that thought for the moment. He can’t imagine the family will appreciate it if he just smashes their entire pottery collection on a whim. That would be rather rude.

For the night, he’ll have to enjoy the supper with a friend’s family, matters of demons shelved away until a later date.

“JoJo! What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, beloved, Tsukihiko and I got distracted. You know how it usually is. Nothing to worry about, I think he’ll join us soon enough.”

Chapter Text

The year is 1919.

For two years, the Joestar couple has been settling in their life in Japan, occasionally exchanging letters with their son and his wife back in the U.S. Jonathan’s research on the blue spider lily has hit a brick wall as did his search for his old friend and the father of his daughter-in-law, Mark F. Straizo.

Though tonight isn’t a night for sorrows, but for relaxation.

The family of Jonathan’s first friend in Japan, a botanist named Minaguchi Tsukihiko, arranged for both of their households to get out and take a stroll through extravagant and luxurious Asakusa, a major entertainment district of Tokyo where they could treat themselves to fine dinings or even a night theater production if they so wished.

“They’re late, maybe they got lost?” Jonathan worries as he pulls out his silver pocket watch to check the time. On the lively Asakusa streets it’d be rather easy to lose track of your destination. It’s surprising how active the district is even at such a late hour.

“JoJo, trust me, they’ll know where to go,” Erina laughs, holding her husband’s arm. True, with the man’s height and bulk he stands out notably against the busy crowd.

Her spouse gives a slight sigh.

“I just hope nothing bad happened.”

A familiar baritone graces the couple’s ears just as they discuss it.

“Joestar, there you are.”

The man in a familiar white fedora approaches them, flowing gracefully between people, his 7-year old daughter sitting on his arm and smiling at the couple. Jonathan is slightly surprised at Tsukihiko’s strength holding the child casually despite his less than imposing constitution.

“Joestar-san!” little Emi cheers while hugging her father’s neck.

“Looks beautiful as always, Emi-chan,” the man replies with a little bow, making the girl giggle joyfully.

“Almost missed you, but your bright head is basically a flashing signpost,” the botanist smiles slyly, getting both Joestars to chuckle at the friendly jab.

“That’s fair enough,” JoJo admits.

“He’s always been tall, but here he’s basically a giant,” Erina adds casually as she leans on her husband. Years in Japan strengthened her grip on the language enough to inject her signature wit into her words. “And where’s dearest Rei?”

“Okasan is buying onigiri!” Emi cheers, flapping her arms adorably.

“Sounds like a good investment,” Jonathan laughs, patting the girl gently and the other giggles in return. The Minaguchi family has always been a pleasure to socialize with outside of work, and Jonathan has rarely seen a researcher so driven as Tsukihiko, even if they didn’t make that much progress with their main project in two years.

Tonight looks bright.

Then a hand suddenly falls onto Tsukihiko’s shoulder from behind and the man frowns as he’s forced to turn around.

Jonathan sees the person at once from his height. It’s a boy, a teen he won’t give more than fifteen years of age, the youthful face seen clearly under the light blue headscarf. Yet, despite his age, his clothing makes the man’s eyebrows furrow. Beneath the checkered black-and-green haori, he wears what Jonathan finds similar to the Japanese military uniforms he’s seen, though the jacket is simpler in its design and the hakama pants are wrapped tightly around his calves. The odd sheen of the uniform’s material leaves it unknown.

Why is a child dressed like a soldier?

He sees the teen grip the handle of what’s undoubtedly a sheathed katana once he sees Tsukihiko’s face, but even before Jonathan can intervene, the boy stops at the sight of Emi.

“Daddy! Who’s that?” the girl questions, tilting her head curiously as she watches the boy whose eyes shrink in apparent shock.

“Is there something I can do for you? You appear to be quite upset,” Tsukihiko hums softly in concern. When the boy doesn’t reply, Jonathan carefully edges himself to serve as a buffer between the two.

The boy stutters.

“You…”

“Excuse me, young man, it seems like you might have mistaken my friend for someone else,” Jonathan offers cordially, not letting a single movement from the boy go unnoticed, not when he wields a dangerous weapon in the middle of the crowd. “Not your fault, of course. It happens to the best of us, especially in such a busy crowd.”

Rei’s voice reaches him from behind as the woman apparently comes back from her short trip to buy a snack for Emi.

“Oh, dear, what’s wrong? Erina, JoJo, good evening to you two.”

“Mommy!”

Jonathan feels something odd as the boy in front of him doesn’t even glance at him, instead covering his mouth in shock and growing a tone paler as he looks past him, at the other couple.

“Do you know this boy, Tsukihiko?” the woman asks, the Minaguchi couple coming just behind Jonathan.

“No, not at all,” Tsukihiko replies, before sighing. “As it happens, I don’t know him at all. Perhaps we, indeed, have a case of mistaken identity here.”

Suddenly, Jonathan hears a distinctly inhuman growl behind him and his training kicks in. He twists around, pushing Erina and the Minaguchi family behind him, Tsukihiko very visibly discomforted. The man’s frown makes sense in his mind, since they haven’t encountered a single demon for two years only to meet one here, in the middle of a lively street.

“Stop!”

…the boy from before jumps forward before Jonathan can even do something with the man who flashes his fangs at who appears to be his wife, hungry for blood.

The teen tackles the demon to the ground and Jonathan is surprised at his reflexes and his resilience as he forces the man down, stuffing the headscarf into his mouth as the demon thrashes and growls on the ground. Jonathan makes a surprised hum at the sight of the boy’s unusual earrings, reminiscent of hanafuda cards.

“Rei, this is dangerous here, we should leave,” Tsukihiko murmurs, leading his family away. His brow twitches as he looks at their companions. “Joestar?”

Jonathan and Erina both give them a glance, but ultimately stay.

“We have to make sure everything is fine here,” Jonathan says and it’s like temperature drops around him for a reason he can’t yet perceive. Tsukihiko stares at him silently as if JoJo’s condemning himself, but then that severe look is gone and the man walks away with his family.

“So be it.”

The boy’s burgundy eyes suddenly lift up and Jonathan can see the heat, the fury that can shake one’s soul to its very core.

“Kibutsuji Muzan! Where you go, you won’t escape! I’ll follow you to the depths of Hell!” the teenager shouts. “I will never forgive you!”

“Kibutsuji Muzan…” Jonathan murmurs, trying to follow the boy’s gaze but whoever he was looking at has already disappeared in the crowd. Is it a demon’s name?

Before Jonathan can do something, before the police can take hold of the young man, suddenly, a wall of flowers, a magical illusion, appears in front of them all, obscuring everyone's view like mist. Jonathan forces Hamon to spark around his clenched fists while Erina presses herself against him.

When the cover falls down barely a minute later, the boy, the demon and the man’s supposed wife to whom the people have been applying first aid, have disappeared.

“What a… confusing performance.”

“Those flowers were so beautiful. Do you think it’s Chinese artistry?”

Jonathan looks around, somewhat relieved the crowd assumes everything to have been a performance. The man’s height gives him advantage in finding their mysterious demon hunter and, finally, Jonathan sees it in the sea of people.

The checkered haori of green and black.

He nods to Erina and the Joestar couple, outwardly unhurried, but quick in their step, make their way through the crowd, following the mysterious boy.

Amusingly enough, they eventually chase him down to an udon stand, where the boy’s berated by the vendor for not eating the udon he has bought, along with a girl right beside him. Curiously, she seems to be, for the lack of a better word, muzzled with a bamboo stick.

In any case, the couple steps in.

“Perhaps, you could offer us two servings of your unquestionably delicious udon,” Jonathan says, announcing their presence, and while the vendor is shocked by the man’s stature before he gets to work, the mysterious boy stiffens, slowly turning towards the two.

“You…” he whispers, before his eyes widen with shock, anger and fear as he begins to look around. “Is he here?!”

“Who, dear?” Erina frowns, concerned for the youth.

“The– your companion, the man with red eyes who was with you?” the boy elaborates, surprising the Joestars with the answer even though they did witness their interactions. The two exchange wary glances before Jonathan gives a reply.

“No, Tsukihiko went his way when… that demon appeared.”

The other’s breath catches.

“You know what that man became?”

“And so do you, I imagine,” JoJo hums with curiosity. “I believe we have things to talk about, young man. Ah, but it would be rude to do so without introducing myself. I am Jonathan Joestar and this is my dear wife, Erina. People occasionally call me JoJo.”

“Erm, yes. My apologies. My name is Kamado Tanjiro, Joestar-san!” the boy bows immediately, face flushing. Then he gestures at the long-haired girl with the bamboo muzzle. “And this is Nezuko, my sister.”

“What a beautiful girl.”

Tanjiro smiles at Erina’s compliment, grabbing his sister in a hug.

“She’s the first beauty of our village, er, Erina-san.”

Jonathan can’t help his smile at the boy’s apparent guileless nature. Though there are many questions in his head, about his uniform, about his knowledge of the demons, about the muzzle his sister has in her mouth, and he doesn’t even know where to start.

There are fireworks in the distance, illuminating the night and the four look towards the sparks, enjoying their tranquility for a moment.

Then Tanjiro stiffens.

“Fireworks are so beautiful tonight, don’t you think?” a voice asks.

A man approaches them. On instinct, Jonathan hides Erina behind himself while Tanjiro steps in front of Nezuko. The man approaching them is not human in the slightest.

His skin is so fair it seems bright white tinged with green, decorated by a pattern of thick blue lines. His hair is pink, synchronized with his pink sleeveless vest which exposes his chiseled physique. By far, the most notable feature of the man are his eerily bright golden eyes. Beyond the odd color, there’s engraving on his eyes, a kanji in one eye and a danji in another, a letter and a numeral.

WAXING THREE

“I happened to overhear your conversation, and thought it prudent to introduce myself,” the man says, pressing his hand against his chest while smiling hungrily. “I am Akaza, and I’ve been told you are a fighter worthy of my attention.”

“Joestar-san, this demon feels much different from those I’ve encountered before. How many people he must have killed…” Tanjiro mutters, stepping in line with Jonathan while gripping his katana. “I think you should pull back while I hold him.”

Akaza’s eyes shift towards Tanjiro.

“Not you. You… you have such a weak fighting spirit, you’re nothing but a waste,” the man says with a frown, before chuckling. “Audience to a fight is such an excess.”

Jonathan’s honed reflexes go into overdrive trying to keep up with Akaza’s sudden movement. With inhuman speed the latter rushes towards Tanjiro, hand pulled back in preparation to chop the young man’s head off before he can realize what’s happening. However, Jonathan perceives the moment and grabs the demon’s hand at its wrist before it can touch Tanjiro’s skin.

Golden eyes sparkle in delight as Akaza looks up at Jonathan.

“He was right,” he laughs, before Jonathan throws the demon over their little group and the udon stand, where the shopkeeper stares in shock at the proceedings. Akaza breaks through the telephone lines with his body as he flies and crashes behind a garden wall.

“This strength… and speed…” Tanjiro mutters, looking up at Jonathan with wide eyes. “Who are you, Joestar-san?”

“Protect Erina and your sister, Tanjiro-kun, I will take care of him.”

The wall explodes in their direction along with the udon stand, thrown sideways, as Akaza stands there in a stance befitting a martial artist, with a wild bloodthirsty grin on his face. Erina and Nezuko, covered with debris of the wall, pull the poor scared udon seller from the wrecks of his cart and Tanjiro doesn’t hesitate to help them along and out of the area of imminent fight, giving Jonathan a worried glance. The man replies with his own calm gaze, silently assuring the boy he’ll be alright.

The golden-eyed demons side-eyes the young man as Tanjiro pulls out his katana, moving backwards slowly, away from Akaza and Jonathan.

“Protecting the weaklings… such a senseless endeavor,” Akaza smiles, before refocusing on his primary opponent. “Your strength is wasted on them, JoJo. And I can tell you’re strong. Your fighting spirit burns brightly, you’re a warrior of the calibre I haven’t seen in hundreds of years, you’re beyond so many of those hopeless demon slayers.”

The man files away the term.

“It’s the prerogative of the strong to ensure those who can’t protect themselves are safe and sound,” Jonathan rebuffs as he assumes a battle stance in accordance with Sendo, the martial art wielded by Hamon warriors.

“Disgusting,” the demon chuckles as if he’s told a funny joke.

BLOOD DEMON ART: DESTRUCTIVE DEATH — COMPASS NEEDLE

The ground under Akaza erupts, creating a glowing light blue snowflake shape on which the demon stands. Jonathan’s eyes widen at the sight of the technique, unashamedly supernatural and surpassing anything he’s seen from his brother and the demons he created in the past.

What Japan has… is an entirely different kind of demons.

Akaza flies at Jonathan with his tattooed fists swinging. Despite being smaller than the Hamon warrior, the demon’s strength is unparalleled, and Jonathan’s entire frame shudders from every hit he intercepts with his forearms. Akaza’s hits are so strong they shred the man’s jacket just with how sharp the air turns around his fists. Jonathan breathes deeply and uses his Hamon technique to stave off any bleeding the cuts from those attacks may induce on him. Instead of bleeding wholeheartedly, they sparkle with the golden energy of Hamon.

“Quite impressive to withstand my barrage, JoJo!” Akaza praises. “It’s been centuries since I’ve come across a man who would challenge me head-on, with his fists, instead of hiding behind the steel of their blade!”

Jonathan swings his fists, but despite his own speed, strength and agility, Akaza evades every single punch before jumping back in a flip to avoid a punch that seems to spark with gold.

…the demon’s flip leads him to Tanjiro who hasn’t yet escaped, but covers everyone else’s retreat.

“The brat with the hanafuda earrings. Maybe I should complete my mission first and dispose of you, and then have fun with your friend,” Akaza laughs.

That declaration comes as a shock to Jonathan and Tanjiro himself, that the boy is a direct target to the demons who apparently have a chain of command. Jonathan makes note of this as well.

Tanjiro swings his blade, trying to ward Akaza away, but the man dodges nonchalantly with a bemused expression on his face.

“Just as weak as I imagined. A waste of my time.”

Jonathan leaps forward, to grab Akaza in a firm hold from behind. He manages exactly that before the demon can strike Tanjiro, but JoJo has a feeling he only managed to do so because Akaza himself allowed it.

The demon looks over his shoulder and smiles at Jonathan.

“So full of vigor, for an old man,” he chuckles.

Then Akaza flips once again, flying high into the sky and carrying the larger man with him. Jonathan can only hear a distant distressed cry of “Joestar-san!” from Tanjiro before he and Akaza sail into the lit-up area of the city.

Jonathan’s eyes widen in shock at the idea of a mighty demon like Akaza being unleashed in a crowded area. The demon strikes Jonathan’s chest with his elbows in his moment of distraction, briefly interrupting his immaculate breathing and leaving him weakened enough for Akaza to break the hold. The two disengage in the air as people shout and point at them before the two warriors land on the ground. Akaza’s landing, while no less graceful than his opponent’s, is explicitly more destructive, creating a small crater along with causing a localized earthquake that makes people scream and fall down on the street.

“Look at them, falling down from a mere breeze while you stand strong and proud,” Akaza croons. He dashes to the side and then faces Jonathan while casually holding a man by his head. The people seem to sense the danger emanating from the demon. “Look, they’re so weak.”

“Let him go,” Jonathan warns, his body tense as he prepares for a new bout of battle.

A loud crack echoes through the street. It echoes in Jonathan’s head as well.

The man in Akaza’s hand goes limp as the demon cracks his skull. The screaming resounds as the crowd comes to life in panic, trying to escape Akaza.

“So fragile and pathetic,” Akaza says with little humor in his voice, lips flat as he drops the body to the ground and licks the blood from his fingers casually. “And you too, will grow fragile. Your age will catch up to you eventually and then you will die, all that power of yours is going to waste.”

Akaza then extends his hand with a smile.

“Become a demon, JoJo, and retain that beautiful strength! You can then hone it to perfection for all eternity!”

“Perfection is a folly,” Jonathan replies instantly and steels his resolve after witnessing the death of an innocent. “I would never forgo my humanity for an unattainable ideal.”

“Unattainable, you say?” Akaza hums, tilting his head. His smile grows wider and sharper as he assumes his own battle stance. “Like protecting the weak who will die nonetheless isn't!”

Akaza flies at Jonathan, raising his fist, and JoJo leaps forward to meet him, golden sparks of Hamon flying around his own fist to decimate the demon. However, at the last moment Akaza ducks under Jonathan’s fist… flying into the crowd, planting one deadly punch after another, killing one man after another, killing fathers, sons and grandfathers.

“How attainable is defending all these people, JoJo!”

Jonathan’s shocked at the brutal callousness of the pink-haired demon, but his mind works overtime to come up with a solution to protect the survivors before Akaza spills even more blood. With sparks of Hamon under his feet, signifying his accelerated movements, Jonathan wastes no time to catch up with Akaza and start deflecting his killing punches and chops, even burning the demon in return by covering his forearms with Hamon, serving as a deterrent.

Akaza grins wider, his hands burned with the energy of the sun regenerating instantly, and jumps away, forcing Jonathan to follow him, protecting man after man.

Jonathan can’t prolong the fight, not without more civilian casualties or the police force intervening and bringing attention to the demon issue which, he assumes, has been hidden for a reason, such as to not induce a nation-wide panic.

Akaza stops and flinches.

There’s a stick buried in his neck, one that Jonathan, from Erina’s many explanations, recognizes as a new design of an automatic syringe, the likes of which have been designed by an associate of the Speedwagon Foundation who only goes by “Yamamoto-san”. The stick takes Akaza’s blood, confusing him, and the demon casually brushes it off, letting it fall to the ground.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

This distraction gives Jonathan crucial time to think of a strategy.

SENDO FORM: HAMON PULSE

The giant of a man smashes his fist into the ground, sending waves of Hamon in a spiral around himself, stretching all across the street, sending tingling sparks up every person’s body, protecting them from Akaza’s strikes, less the demon hurts himself.

Akaza notices the glow at the ground and jumps up, hanging on the roof of one of the buildings. The pink-haired demon with engravings on his eyes looks down at the street, glowing with gold, with a giddy grin on his face, before his expression blanks out, though Jonathan can’t fully understand why.

He’d say he has a face one does when someone shocks you while talking to you on the phone. For a moment, the other contemplates, but then he smiles again.

“Keep up your training, JoJo! We will finish it another day when my orders make you a proper target for a glorious fight to the death!” Akaza laughs maniacally, leaping over the roof and leaving the premises.

Jonathan breathes out.

Hamon Pulse releases its hold.

As Jonathan dusts himself off, he notices a man, unassuming in his semi-traditional outfit, combining a collared shirt with haori and hakama. He’s not only noticed because he’s eerily calm while most people still on the street are in different stages of distress, but also because he kneels down to pick up the syringe that struck Akaza.

Jonathan chooses to approach him, though it’s like the man feels him approaching before he does and faces him. Lavender eyes narrow and look JoJo up and down.

“...your wife and that demon slayer brat are safe with Tamayo-sama,” he says flatly. He then blinks and bows slightly. “Yamamoto Yushiro.”

“Jonathan Joestar,” JoJo introduced himself on instinct with a bow.

Naturally, the name checks out in his mind as that of the Foundation associate who designed the ingenious automatic syringes. For such a brilliant mind, Yamamoto looks oddly youthful. The man stands quiet, before looking left and right, taking stock of shocked, recovering and grieving civilians.

“We should leave to meet Tamayo-sama before people ask you too many questions,” he says and Jonathan, sorrowfully, agrees.

Later, what happened in Asakusa will be called the Asakusa Incident, one of many cases of mass psychosis throughout history, caused by an unidentified madman who started murdering people in the middle of the crowd while spraying hallucinogenic chemicals around, perhaps, under influence of such himself.

For now, though, Jonathan and Yushiro make their way out.

What the Hamon warrior doesn’t notice, nor does his companion, is a figure observing them from the roof of one of the tall buildings of Asakusa. The young man in plain green kimono, with akoya necklace of large blue pearls around his neck, kneels at the edge of the roof, no care in his stance if he should fall.

With a cat-like smile and quietness of one, he watches the group carefully, without ever opening his eyes.

The ones on his face, that is.

Betraying his inhuman nature is a pair of pale-ringed orange eyes with green sclera on the palms of his hands. The pupils of his hand-eyes widen at the sight they see, the duo moving away from the loud despaired crowd of Asakusa into its residential part. If one is to look, they’ll see kanji etched into the eerie demonic eyes.

TEMPERANCE

“Are you seeing this, Dio-sama?” the demon whispers in satisfaction, his closed eyes on the face crinkling with amusement and pleasure. “After almost encountering a Waxing Moon, it’s such a fortune to find the doctor and the scholar. For you, Dio-sama, I will seek out them both. You will know their every move.”

As the Hamon warrior and his guide ventures through Asakusa, so does the demon haunting the night roofs of the city.

Chapter Text

Tamayo-sama, alluded to previously by Yushiro, turns out to be a demon and a benign doctor, an improbability Jonathan is fascinated by, as he is by the revelation that Yamamoto Yushiro and Kamado Nezuko are demons as well. These three people don’t fit the pattern of the demons he’s encountered in the country so far, granted, the pool of such being small, between the fish demons in the Minaguchi residence and the encounter with Akaza, still very fresh in mind.

“A sibling turned to demonhood, and you go above and beyond to restore her humanity,” Jonathan muses with a wistful look on his face, patting the quiet demon girl's head. “She is very lucky to have you by her side.”

“Do you have siblings, Joestar-san?” Tanjiro asks with a smile as they share tea at the table in Tamayo’s dining room.

“I’d… like to think that I once had a brother.”

It’s like Tanjiro catches the sorrow Jonathan tries to hide.

“Do you miss him?” the boy asks carefully.

“Maybe more than I should.”

Their chat over steaming cups of tea for the Joestars and Tanjiro and of donor blood for Tamayo and Yushiro, proves to be enlightening on more than one topic JoJo’s been curious about.

“Demon slayers have been around for a long time, Joestar-san,” Tamayo says, her dark purple eyes watching Jonathan curiously the longer their group sits. “I cannot say with certainty, but by the Sengoku Era they were already well-established, at least so that Kibutsuji was well-aware of them.”

“That name again,” Jonathan hums in reply. “Kibutsuji. Kibutsuji Muzan, I believe. Both you and Tanjiro mentioned it at one point or another. Is it the name of a demon?”

“Not just a demon,” Yushiro mutters, standing in the corner of a room with his cup. JoJo has a feeling he’d be louder in his interjections if not for Erina’s stern look straightening him up once in a while.

Tamayo nods to his words.

“Yushiro is correct. Kibutsuji Muzan isn’t just a demon, and more than just a monster. He’s the original, the first demon and so far the only one I know who can turn other people into demons with his blood.”

That concept pings something in Jonathan’s mind. An ability to turn other people into demons is one that his brother, Dio, possesses as well, if one is to equate vampires to demons, and JoJo’s had that hypothesis for a while, that the two may share the origins. In his final letter, his friend Straizo alluded to such. The man is nothing but thorough in his research and from what research Jonathan has conducted on his own in the last few years, he has to agree that stories of human-eating oni bear uncanny resemblence to newspapers with mystified accounts of the aftermath of Dio's attacks.

“He…” Tanjiro tries to say, glancing at Nezuko who’s sitting quietly next to him and is only half-aware of what’s happening. “He came to my family’s mountain two years ago… and so I remembered his smell, Joestar-san. It’s the same smell from the man who accompanied you!”

Jonathan’s grip on his cup tightens.

He does not question the boy’s truthfulness, even if he wants to believe that Tanjiro’s mistaken, that there’s another explanation for the conclusions he makes. Erina covers her mouth in shock as well, exchanging glances with Jonathan. She’s well aware of the demon attack he deflected at the Minaguchi residence years ago and she follows the same thought process.

However, there’s another thing on Jonathan’s mind, one that leaves a growing pit deep inside him.

“Tanjiro-kun… pardon me my non-sequitur, but could you tell me exactly where your family used to live?”

“On Mount Kumotori, Joestar-san,” the boy replies with surprise. “Why?”

It’s only Jonathan’s discipline as a martial artist with many years of experience behind him that lets him put his cup of tea down instead of dropping and shattering it in shock. The fact Tanjiro speaks of proves his train of thought better than any physical description of Kibutsuji Muzan could have.

Two years ago, Jonathan met Minaguchi Tsukihiko, and in his enthusiasm suggested that blue spider lily, the legendary flower they both sought out of scientific curiosity, or so it seemed, could, perhaps, be located at Japan’s tallest peaks, and the man departed for the closest one immediately.

Mount Kumotori.

Unwittingly, Jonathan condemned this boy’s innocent family, and guilt and shame now wash over him in droves. Erina lays her hand on her husband’s shoulder as the man goes a shade paler.

“Joestar-san, are you alright? You look ill,” Tanjiro frowns in concern.

“I…” the older man struggles to find words to admit his crime. Then his eyes widen and he stands from his place, surprising Tanjiro and Yushiro, though not the ladies at the table. “...I deeply apologize, Tamayo-san, I must part ways with you for the moment.”

“Wait, Joestar-san–!”

Tanjiro doesn’t even get the chance to finish his thought before the large man leaves the house with surprising speed. Though, perhaps, it isn’t as surprising considering his performance against the overwhelmingly powerful demon back there. That monstrous strength was something Tanjiro couldn’t ever hope to defend against, yet this man matched the demon with relative ease.

As the scholar leaves, Tamayo shakes her head sorrowfully.

“We’ve arrived here two years ago,” Erina picks up the thread of conversation in her absent husband’s stead, attracting Tanjiro’s dark red eyes. “Part of it was work for the Speedwagon Foundation. Tamayo-san, I assume you are familiar with the Foundation, given Yushiro-san’s association?”

“Indeed,” the demon doctor nods and then glances at the confused demon slayer, giving an explanation for his sake. “Speedwagon Foundation is an organization focused on medical research. They opened a branch here in Tokyo around five years ago. Their articles and some of the advanced medical equipment they brought and distributed have been helpful in my work.”

“Ah, I see,” the boy nods firmly. Erina nods as well before she gets back on track.

“Yes. Half of our visit is work. The other half is a search for our lost friend, Straizo, a Hamon warrior just like my husband. Beings similar to demons are something we’ve encountered before, and Straizo found something in this land that seemed close to what created those. A nigh-mythical flower, blue spider lily.”

Tanjiro tilts his head, frowning, while Tamayo’s eyes gleam curiously, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Erina, even if she doesn’t point it out, instead choosing to take a sip of her tea.

“I feel like I heard something about it…” the boy mutters, rubbing his chin.

“In any case, while researching it, JoJo– excuse me, my Jonathan met a man going by the name of Minaguchi Tsukihiko,” the British woman continues. “The two of them have concluded there was a significant chance of that flower growing on the tallest mountain peaks of Japan. One of those Jonathan considered on the spot was the one closest to Tokyo, Mount Kumotori. And Tsukihiko ventured there at once.”

“Wait, you mean that Minaguchi Tsukihiko…”

“Is the man you witnessed today in our company. The one you presume to be your Kibutsuji Muzan,” Erina continues Tanjiro’s words, before she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose with a worn sorrowful expression. “I can only imagine how Jonathan feels, like he condemned your family, Tanjiro-kun. I have to apologize, we’re both truly sorry for your loss and our part in that.”

“But it wasn’t your fault! Or that of Joestar-san!” Tanjiro retorts at once with deep conviction, gripping his tea cup tightly and Erina can see the slightest shake in his hands. “It was all on that man!”

“You’re too kind, Tanjiro-kun,” the woman replies. “Though I imagine Jonathan would say something on how being an unwitting accomplice does not absolve him from guilt when it’s his error in judgement that cost people their lives.”

Tanjiro purses his lips, dissatisfied, but unable to argue when the subject of the argument, Jonathan Joestar, isn’t even in the room. Erina sees the exact moment the boy begins questioning it.

“Where had he run off in such a hurry, Erina-san? You must know. He can’t have… gone after Muzan?”

Yushiro mutters something in his cup and Erina narrows her eyes at the youthful demon, just knowing he’s badmouthing her beloved one way or another under his nose. He averts his eyes grumpily but does stop with the muttering and Erina returns her cyan gaze onto the young demon slayer.

“My Jonathan is a man who wants to keep those dear to him safe and sound,” she starts with a frown. “While Tsukihiko might not have been as real a person as the two of us thought, his wife and daughter, who have both endeared us, are more than real.”

Tanjiro realizes what the woman is saying and pales, covering his mouth in muted horror. Tamayo decides to add her opinion to the discussion.

“Kibutsuji Muzan, above all, is a coward,” the demon doctor states dispassionately, though Erina can see a deep-seated rage and hatred within the woman’s eyes. “I imagine after the Foundation's resources failed him, he only kept up the charade of Minaguchi Tsukihiko because that way he could influence an unknown danger to himself, that is, Joestar-san, without revealing himself. Now that he most likely knows of his contact with a demon slayer, something I assume he’s been preventing for years given your obliviousness to the topic, he will behave like a threatened prey behaves.”

Tamayo puts her empty cup down on the table.

“He’ll disappear into the dark, cutting all links to his person.”

When Jonathan Joestar reaches the familiar splendid house in the Kojimachi district, running perhaps faster than cars go, golden sparks of Hamon flying from under his feet, there are lights in the windows of the building, and it raises his hopes that his worst thoughts haven’t been realized.

However, when he touches the handle of the front door of the Minaguchi residence, he finds it hasn’t been closed fully and his blood freezes.

Forgoing the courtesies, the large man barges inside.

“Rei-chan! Mei! Are you there? …Tsukihiko!”

Jonathan reaches the once pristine living room and grips the doorway before he can enter. The sharp metallic smell of blood is what greets him. A smell all too familiar to him, one that often accompanies crumbling peace and destroyed happiness.

Just two weeks ago the Joestars were invited to celebrate Minaguchi Emi’s seventh birthday, the girl happily receiving the treats and a stone carving with Aztec symbols Jonathan made for her. The girl never parted with it. Even now, as her lifeless body lays on the floor, there, in the pool of blood, Jonathan can see the stone on a handmade necklace laying there.

The little body is hugged tight and protectively by Rei, her hair spilling from the woman’s usually neat bun, face twisted in an expression of fear and horror, easily read even with the head grotesquely split on its right side, blood marring the once beautiful face and the white dress.

Jonathan dejectedly presses his forehead against his knuckles resting on the doorway. No tears escape his eyes as sorrow and righteous fury combine in his soul.

He freezes when he hears a rumbling noise. The vases within the living room tremble, and Jonathan realizes the attack within the residence two years ago was no accident. Either Muzan tried to kill him outright, or he attempted to measure his strength, posing as a victim himself while siccing demons, subservient to him, onto Jonathan. All the vases in this house carry the same style, they're made by the same demon artist who attacked him that first time.

From every corner of the room, dozens, hundreds, thousands of demonic fish erupt, splashing water all around, floating under the ceiling, gazing at Jonathan with their unseeing bulging eyes. As they form into a single swarm, their volume is so great it breaks through the ceiling as a chandelier that family that used to live here boasted about, crashes and shatters against the bloodied floor. The fish swarm gleams with their sharp teeth and launches at Jonathan, fast as a lightning.

Not a single demon manages to taste the Hamon warrior's flesh.

SENDO FORM: SCARLET FIELD OVERDRIVE

Jonathan strikes his fist, burning with sparks of hamon, against the palm of his other hand. The spark that the motion creates amplifies the hamon within his body, and while it requires completely concentration to the point the user can't move, he doesn't need to. The resulting aura of hamon explodes through the whole building. Just like an animal should burn up before even touching lava because of the heat emanating from it, fish demons turn to dust without ever reaching Jonathan. More than that, the vases and paintings within the residence crack, proving their demonic origins, and those trying to send more demons before they're damaged and lose their offensive ability, alight with the red flame of hamon and turn to dust competely.

“Tsukihiko… Kibutsuji Muzan… a person like you cannot be forgiven,” Jonathan mutters angrily, breathing intensly as the field around him dissipates in the aftermath of what can't even be called a battle. Not only is that man, that demon, is a violent madman, but a coward as well, not even staying to confront him face to face, cutting his losses and running with his tail between his legs, leaving a subordinate's traps to take care of his loose ends.

Dio would have stayed to confront him, Jonathan can’t help but think immediately.

What Jonathan Joestar doesn’t realize is the presence of a person atop a building, adjacent to the Minaguchi residence. The same Temperance that observed him and the young demon slayer visit the demon doctor he’s been sent to locate. The all-seeing orange eyes on his palms see within the rich abode, see through the walls and witness the massacre, witness the despair of the Hamon warrior and his effortless dismissal of lesser demons.

The superior demon whispers with a smile on his face.

“Are you seeing this, Dio-sama?”

Faraway, in a mansion hidden deep within the woods of Chiba Prefecture, a man sits with his legs crossed on a richly decorated platform bed that might as well be the couch of an emperor.

Dio Brando has his eyes closed, yet sees all he ever needed in his mind’s eye from his loyal subordinate.

“It is true then, as I have suspected,” Dio hums, sipping blood from his glass. “I had my reservations ever since I learned of that meddler Speedwagon opening an office in the heart of Japan. I cannot expect my brother’s lapdog to make such a move without expecting him to make an appearance at one point or another.”

The scratching of a fountain pen against paper that made for a consistent relaxing background ambience for the outsider demon, stops. Without ever opening his eyes Dio knows that his first and most reliable companion in this foreign land turns his head towards him.

Unlike when they first met, you couldn’t tell Kyogai’s demonic nature at a glance. Just like Dio himself, this demon has attained a more refined appearance. His drums are nowhere to be seen under the purple patterned haori he wears and his eyes, human and turquoise, turn towards his new master and, perhaps, a friend, with curiosity.

“Jonathan Joestar?” Kyogai asks and his companion chuckles.

“Indeed. It looks like JoJo’s been here for a while, making friends.”

In one hearty motion, Dio empties his glass and puts it on the floor before opening his gleaming orange eyes and meeting Kyogai’s gaze as he plants an elbow on his knee and leans his cheek against his knuckles.

“Summon the Arcana.”

Chapter Text

Kamado Tanjiro’s visit to Asakusa was nothing like the young man expected, even discounting the amount of bright lights in the city that never seemed to sleep, bedazzling the boy brought up by a humble family living in the mountains.

There was meeting Kibutsuji Muzan, the Demon King who murdered his family for seemingly no other reason than that he could, if not, perhaps, to take out his anger at not finding a mythical flower, and turned his sister, his dear Nezuko, into one of the creatures that could only survive in the dark.

There was meeting Tamayo, the demon doctor who gave Tanjiro hope for curing Nezuko, especially if he assisted her with her research by collecting blood of the Twelve Kizuki she graciously told him and the Joestars about.

And yes, there was something he couldn’t possibly expect.

There was meeting Jonathan Joestar, the Hamon warrior whose might seemed to surpass any demon slayer Tanjiro has ever met, wielding a demon-destroying breath without even a blade. Granted, he hasn’t met that many full-fledged slayers aside from Tomioka-san, the slayer who found two siblings and chose to spare Nezuko, and Urokodaki-sensei, Tomioka’s teacher who now also trained Tanjiro himself, guiding him until the boy passed the Final Selection.

There were two mysterious slayers presiding over the Final Selection along with the girls who instructed them. The only reason Tanjiro even knew at first that they were watching over the candidates from the shadows of the mountain trees and not just bodyguarding the girl instructors, was because of his heightened sense of smell. His nose heard the woman smelling of rage despite her smile, and the woman smelling exactly as bubbly as she looked. The two jumped in the exact moment it would seem the failing candidates’ death by demonic claws or fangs was a millimeter away. The precision they exercised was so much more than what Tanjiro himself could hope to present.

Tanjiro wonders how Joestar-san would compare with those no doubt high-ranked slayers as he travels through the thick woods towards the destination of his next mission.

There’s a scratching sound behind him and the boy smiles fondly, glancing at the sturdy wooden box he carries on his back. It’s a gift from his teacher, Urokodaki Sakonji, and a way for him to transport his sister in the light of day.

“Don’t worry, Nezuko, the sun is coming down already,” Tanjiro murmurs as he walks, looking up to see the first stars appear against the fading sunset light, just barely lighting his way through the trees. “I think by the time we reach the village I’ll be able to let you out.”

The young demon slayer’s prediction turns out to be rather precise as when he finally gets to a proper pathway he missed previously and sees a spreading village a few minutes away, there’s barely a ray of light illuminating the area.

Before he reaches the village proper, Tanjiro sets the wooden box down and unlocks it, letting his sister out to stretch her limbs. When inside the box, Nezuko shifts her body and shrinks to fit the box like a child. Released from it, she’s almost the same height as her older brother. The demon girl stretches her arms upwards and then follows Tanjiro as the teen continues his path.

Yaraha, the village that serves as Tanjiro’s point of destination, is a village just on the edge Saitama Prefecture, north of Tokyo, which is likely the reason Tanjiro was sent there by his kasugai crow, a bird trained to speak Japanese, serving as a demon slayer’s loyal messenger.

In fact, Tanjiro can see his own kasugai crow, the haughty and arrogant, yet ever reliable Tennoji Matsuemon, hovering in the sky high above him. The bird almost seems to nod to himself when he finally sees Tanjiro have arrived at his destination point, before he turns around to leave. The slayer is polite enough to give the messenger a parting hand wave.

The Kamado siblings enter Yaraha.

While it’s a village, make no mistake, it’s on the more sprawling and modernized side of things, busy and bright even late at night, with several vendors offering food and clothes to the passersby, many boasting colorful kimonos. It's wildly different from the small village next to the house Tanjiro's grown up at, high on Mount Kumotori. That was a reflection of older, traditional Japan and this place, in a few years, if not months, might even gain designation of a town.

“Excuse me, do you–” Tanjiro tries to address a man passing by, but the other just glances at him and hastens his step warily.

“I’m sorry, but could you–” a woman that the slayer tries to ask about the situation in the town just turns around and leaves the boy dumbfounded at the cold shoulder that doesn’t seem to fit the lively appearance of the village. Even when Tanjiro attempts to talk to the clothes street vendor inside a handcart, the one type who doesn't turn people away, he receives a chilly reception.

“Excuse me, young man, we’re closed!” the man says before smashing the window of his cart close, despite him selling a kimono to a woman just before Tanjiro approached.

One of the arguably harder elements of the slayer work, as Tanjiro learned so far, is to find clues to a demon’s location. In the first town he visited upon receiving his uniform and blade, he was reliant on the gossipy neighbors discussing the recent string of disappearances and in Asakusa he found Kibutsuji Muzan by being intimately familiar with his extremely repugnant smell, intrinsic to most demons but only discernible in that enormous crowd because of Muzan’s intensity.

In all honesty, Tanjiro quickly realizes he’s pretty much lost, and the only thing he and Nezuko can do is walk around the village more or less directionless, hoping to catch a sniff of the demonic odor or a stray rumor relevant to his search.

“We might be here for a while, Nezuko,” Tanjiro sighs after they cross a few streets and come to a shallow shimmering river with a wooden bridge going over it, lanterns hanging off the railings.

There’s a man sitting atop the railings of the bridge in a surprisingly plain white kimono, contrasting the colorful residents passing by him, a stack of papers held firmly in his left hand and a brush in the right. A well-cared for inkspot stands on the railing on the bridge firmly. As Tanjiro approaches to ask if he, perhaps, knows something that could aid him, the man extends the arm with the brush in a stop sign without even looking his way before the teen can even open his mouth.

“One moment, please,” the stranger says and then Tanjiro loses sight of that brush arm, it’s nothing but a blur as the man seems to draw something at a speed beyond mere mortals. Tanjiro’s not even sure that the brush actually touches the paper and doesn’t just drip ink onto the canvas. Then the man’s done and nods to himself. “There, now it’s complete.”

The man then jumps off the railing and shoves the drawing he made in Tanjiro’s face, almost smacking him if not for the teen leaning back at the last second.

“What do you think?”

Tanjiro… is genuinely impressed. While it’s mere black ink, it’s almost like he’s looking at a photograph of the street he just passed through, down to every indent on the wooden walls of the buildings, down to the detailed whiskers of a cat slouching lazily on the porch of one of the houses.

“It’s… it’s magnificent.”

The artist seems pleased with the reception of his work.

“As it should be,” the man replies, pulling the art piece out of the demon slayer’s face. It almost seems like he’s about to sit down and get back to work, but then he does a double take at Tanjiro and Nezuko’s appearance. “You two don’t seem to be local. It’s a small place, most people know each other and I haven’t seen you around.”

“Ah, we’ve just arrived, sir,” Tanjiro explains and the other hums.

“I see,” the artist hums, putting the long strands of his peculiar green hair out of his face and resting his brush behind his ear. “Quite an unfortunate time for you to grace Yaraha. Those with a sense to them would rather leave, not that sense is in high demand here.”

“Why?” Tanjiro asks, feeling like he might finally have a clue towards the demon presence in this village.

“A serial killer has shown up in this place, clawing his victims like a mad beast. At least, that’s what they say,” the man says casually, before narrowing his green eyes at Tanjiro and his katana. “You know, you’re the second person armed with a blade who’s come here today.”

“The second–?”

The artist pulls up another piece of paper with drawing on it. It’s a fit teen with a bare chest, brandishing two jagged blades, rushing past the viewer right on this bridge, which Tanjiro can recognize in detail. The picture almost seems enlarged, though, focusing on the young man’s blades and not fitting his head or his feet in the frame.

Once again the young demon slayer is bedazzled by the man’s skill.

“I think he was chasing a man down the old barns that way,” the artist explains, pointing in the direction opposite of where Tanjiro and Nezuko arrived from. “I have a feeling you might want to meet him.”

“Thank you very much, Artist-san!”

The man immediately laughs lightly at the address, leaving Tanjiro to flush in embarrassment, though the older man waves it off like it’s no big deal, fairly amused.

“No need to grace me with epithets like that,” he says, wiping a tear that escapes his eye from the laughter. “The name is Kishibe Shigeru, so Kishibe-san is more than enough.”

“Of course, Kishibe-san,” Tanjiro bows. “I am Kamado Tanjiro and this is my sister, Nezuko. We are grateful for your help, you don’t know how much you helped us.”

Kishibe then glances at Nezuko who tilts her head at the artist.

“Well then, if I helped you so much, then perhaps, while you search the barn for that mysterious swordsman, your lovely sister could help me as a model for my newest work on this fine evening, Tanjiro-kun?” the artist hums, pulling the brush from behind his right ear where it rested. He squeezes one eye and looks at Nezuko appraisingly while the girl tilts her head in curiosity. “Such beautiful proportions. She’ll look majestic against the bridge as a backdrop.”

Nezuko blinks at the man.

Tanjiro’s immediate instinct is to reject the suggestion, like he had rejected the offers from Tamayo-san to house Nezuko while he works, putting his blood and sweat into defeating demons and gathering blood of the Kizuki to turn his sister human again.

However, he catches himself. It’s an entirely different set of circumstances right now. And, whatever his brotherly instincts might say, Nezuko, as a demon, is strong enough to defend herself and her will, along with Urokodaki-sensei’s hypnotic suggestion to see humans as her family, won’t let her harm anyone.

If anything, Kishibe-san might need her protection from the demon roaming there, likely being the serial killer the man mentioned.

And there’s the other thing on Tanjiro’s mind, the other teen the artist witness, likely a fellow demon slayer, one who shouldn’t really meet Nezuko as, from both Urokodaki and Tomioka the boy knows how few people would even consider a possibility of a benign demon like Nezuko existing.

Tanjiro turns towards Nezuko.

“Nezuko, stay here for a bit, please. I’ll be back very soon,” the boy says, smiling softly at his sister and not even being sure if she understands his words completely, the demonic turn robbing her of at least a part of her cognition. He gives her a tight hug and almost doesn’t notice how Kishibe, entranced, quickly runs his brush against the paper.

“Please, do look after my sister, Kishibe-san,” Tanjiro then asks, turning towards the artist. The man seems to take in his serious expression, nodding in return.

“Of course, Tanjiro-kun, we’ll be right here until you return.”

The young demon slayer turns around and begins walking in a quick step in the direction Kishibe pointed out to him. The artist shouts out to him before he can leave the hearing distance.

“The old barns are on the outskirts of the village! Straight, without taking turns, Tanjiro-kun, you won’t miss them!”

When Kishibe-san said that Tanjiro wouldn’t be able to miss the village’s old barns, the artist had not been exaggerating or was being generous. Three large imposing buildings on the outskirts of bright and colorful Yaraha stand out notably, with only a few lanterns guiding the way around them.

Tanjiro is surprised to see that the barns he was directed to aren’t exactly places of storage alone, but seem to be fully functional, if neglected gassho-zukuri housefarms. Each building is essentially a giant perfect triangle with slanted roofs covered with straw, insulated so that in cold seasons even the cattle could be housed within the walls along with masters of the house.

Such buildings appear bizarre and clashing compared to the, for the lack of a better word, resplendence of the greater, evolving village that seems to want to leave these relics of the past where they, apparently, belong, in the past.

Most importantly, though, is that without the villagers trickling around with their natural smells and some ridiculously notable perfume, Tanjiro can catch that one smell he’s been searching for.

The smell of blood and rot, the smell of a demon.

Fortunately, Tanjiro doesn’t have to wonder long about which one of the so-called barns he has to aim for as he suddenly hears a furious shout inside one of them. The young slayer immediately rushes there, brandishing his katana at once.

Before Tanjiro can reach the barn, a figure gets blasted through the roof in a blue flash, crashing in a heap next to Tanjiro, getting the boy to gasp in surprise. Immediately, despite the height of the fall, that figure, that young man, jumps up, and his appearance mildly shocks Tanjiro.

“Stop trying to run away, you coward!” the bare-chested demon slayer yells at the barn, pointing one of his blades at the building furiously. “Stand still and get your ass kicked as it should, by the king of the mountains, Hashibira Inosuke!”

Inosuke is weird and it’s entirely because of him wearing a boar’s head as a helmet. There isn’t a demonic tinge from the boy himself, so Tanjiro’s confident he isn’t a demon, especially given how deer fur Inosuke uses as a belt was rather prominent in Kishibe-san’s drawing and there’s no doubt about his identity.

To add, the actual demon makes his appearance promptly, jumping from the hole he made with Inosuke’s body and landing on the roof.

The demon is a bald, middle-aged man of fairly muscular build, covered in dark blue tattoos and wearing a sleeveless blue shirt. His green eyes with black sclera look in amusement at Inosuke.

“You are one stubborn and extremely stupid brat,” the demon grins sharply before noticing Tanjiro who grips his blade tighter at the attention. “And you brought a friend! Slayers taste bad, but I think I’ll have a good time tormenting you two!”

Inosuke has a double take, turning towards Tanjiro as if only just noticing his presence, having previously been overly focused on the demon. The boar-headed boy jumps back and points one of his jagged blades at Tanjiro.

“Hey! Who are you! What are you doing here, hunting my prey!” the slayer shouts indignantly. The exclamation leaves Tanjiro momentarily stumbled.

“Your prey…?”

The demon doesn’t allow them to clear air, chuckling at their confusion, eyes crinkling in mirth as he scratches one of his fangs with his pointed dark blue nail.

“Oh, this is comedy gold! …but enough of that.”

His tattoos start glowing an ethereal blue light, reflecting the light of the moon, and that’s all the telegraphing Tanjiro gets before the fight truly begins.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GODSPEED

It takes all of Tanjiro’s perception and skill to just barely push himself back before the bright blue blur rushes between himself and Inosuke, and even then the demon’s nails, closer to claws when faced so close, leave a few bloody scratches on the boy’s cheek before the wind burst from his rush pushes Tanjiro even further back.

Fortunately for the boy, the Slasher Demon seems focused on Inosuke first and foremost, as the blue blur turns sharply to rush back at the boar-headed boy. He handles it more gracefully than Tanjiro, apparently familiar with the creature’s Blood Demon Art. As soon as Inosuke touches ground after leaping away from the initial strike, he jumps again to fly over the demon and then twists around mid-air in preparation of the next strike.

BEAST BREATHING — FIFTH FANG: CRAZY CUTTING

Inosuke spins wildly in the air, slashing everywhere around himself as the blue demonic blurs speeds around him, trying yet failing to nick him. Still, the demon continues his attacks even as Inosuke’s maneuver ends and he tries to initiate another technique of his odd wild breathing style the moment he lands on the solid ground.

Tanjiro can see Inosuke doesn’t have enough time and does the only thing he can, jumps into the fray with an attack of his own.

WATER BREATHING — TENTH FORM: CONSTANT FLUX

The young demon slayer charges towards Inosuke and the Slasher Demon that approaches him, the blade of his katana made of nichirin, sun-blessed metal that can defeat demons, whipping through the air like a graceful dragon. The metal of the demon-slaying weapon gleams in the moonlight and almost projects the raging waters behind Tanjiro’s motions.

His technique might not be equal to the demon’s supernatural speed, but the element of surprise catches the other unaware as he has to twist himself from the trajectory of attack, releasing a mighty gust of air as he has to change directions.

Inosuke, standing in a half-aborted motion, seems surprised by Tanjiro’s action while the demon, landing nearby, looks absolutely incensed, with a cut going diagonally through his chest.

“The audacity!” the Slasher Demon fumes, looking at his chest as the damage done to him steadily regenerates until the man looks as good as new. “How dare you intervene in my entertainment! Wait our your turn like a good boy.”

“And how dare you take the lives of innocent people living there!” Tanjiro fires back with a fiery scowl, the grip on his katana tightening, though the boy keeps his composure, trained with years.

The demon scowls harder until there’s something like an epiphany that hits him. He then grows a smug grin on his face and it unsettles Tanjiro far more so than an expression of fury.

“I haven’t done much in this village yet. A shopkeeper here, a hapless child there,” he smirks as if he doesn’t condemn people to death. “But perhaps I should turn this place into a ghost town! Are you fast enough to prevent this, slayer kid?”

Tattoos of the Slasher Demon begin to glow again and Tanjiro knows that the other doesn’t ready himself to attack Tanjiro, but to slide past him to wreak havoc on Yaraha. He cannot allow this monster such courtesy and is prepared to retaliate even before these tattoos reach their maximum glow, signaling the imminent use of a Blood Demon Art.

WATER BREATHING — THIRD FORM: FLOWING DANCE

Tanjiro swings his blade and the motion flows like a dance, catching every angle as the supernatural blue blur attempts to make it past him. Despite the demon’s speed, Tanjiro’s grip on his own technique is solid enough that he leaves a gash on his opponent's leg, almost severing it completely and making him trip and flip helplessly in the air behind the teen.

“You… you damned slayer!” the demon shrieks as he flies. “Why I–!”

Before he can spurt profanities, another figure leaps over Tanjiro’s head, two jagged blades launching into action.

BEAST BREATHING — SECOND FANG: SLICE

In a violent motion, Inosuke unleashes a double slash with his katanas, decapitating the Slasher Demon with a motion shaped like a cross. When Tanjiro turns around, the remains of the demon are already scattering in the wind while Inosuke laughs like a maniac, preening.

“That’s it! You thought you could go against me?! Stupid!”

Tanjiro is slightly unnerved by the other’s maniacal glee, but he doesn’t seem like a bad person, just extremely eccentric.

“We’ve made a good team. Hashibira-san, was it?”

The other slayer catches himself, immediately pointing his blade at Tanjiro.

“You! You got into my hunt! But since I landed the final blow, I, Inosuke-sama, will forgive you for that, minion!” Inosuke shouts at him, leaving Tanjiro wrong-footed at the brash and boastful address. Then the boar-headed teen tilts his head in confusion. “…what was your name again?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Tanjiro catches himself, sheathing his katana and bowing slightly to the other. “Kamado Tanjiro, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hashibira-san.”

“Kamoboko Gonpachiro, got it!” Inosuke nods.

Tanjiro sputters indignantly.

“It’s… Tanjiro.”

The eccentric slayer promptly ignores him.

Suddenly, Inosuke sharply turns around towards the village and spreads his arms, breathing in deeply as he seems to exercise another technique of his odd breathing style, stretching his senses.

BEAST BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: SPATIAL AWARENESS

Before Tanjiro can divine what the other’s doing, Inosuke jumps from his place, smelling of manic glee and bloodthirst, just as he did during the fight against the Slasher Demon.

“Come forth, minion! There’s another demon in the village!”

Tanjiro’s heart drops. With his technique, Inosuke has somehow managed to sense Nezuko’s presence, as she’s undoubtedly the only other demon in Yaraha.

“Wait, Hashibira-san!” Tanjiro shouts, but Inosuke quickly runs off.

The two fly into the settlement and through the colorful, yet dim and empty streets of Yaraha as, in Tanjiro’s absence, the village’s activity has finally slowed down.

Before Inosuke gets anywhere near the bridge where Tanjiro left his sister, however, the slayer leaps at the other slayer and almost misses him completely, yet grabs the wild young man’s left, making them both fall to the ground. Inosuke, in fact, caught off-guard, yells indignantly, before turning towards Tanjiro. The boy in the green-and-black haori open his mouth to explain himself, but the other cuts him off.

“So, you want to have that new hunt all for yourself!” the boar-headed boy snarls behind his mask and jumps up. Tanjiro has let go and rolls away before the other tries to cut him down with his blades.

“What are you doing! Demon Slayer Corps can’t attack each other! The blades are meant to protect people, not harm them!” Tanjiro sputters, but there’s a tinge of anger at the other’s aggression.

Inosuke glances at his blades, tilting his head, before simply dropping them to the ground. Tanjiro’s body begins moving before his mind catches up, his training kicking in as Inosuke attempts to sweep him off his feet with a sliding motion of his legs.

“Well, great Inosuke-sama doesn’t need blades to knock you down!” the boisterous boy laughs, keeping low to the ground in half-crouch as he begins to attack the fellow slayer.

As he dodges the wild punches and leg sweeps, Tanjiro’s eye catches how Inosuke always keeps low to the ground, rushing him whenever the distance grows too great, lunging like a wild animal, like a furious boar.

Tanjiro tries to leg sweep him in return, but Inosuke just flips over him, planting his hands on his opponent’s own shoulders, then twisting to wrap his legs around the other slayer’s torso and flip Tanjiro himself into the ground, for a moment more similar to a monkey than a boar. The wild slayer laughs all the while.

“What sort of slayer are you…?” Tanjiro groans, forcing himself up as the other shows off his flexibility by bending backwards and putting his face between his legs.

“The strongest! The king of the mountains beyond the weaklings of this village and beyond!” Inosuke laughs. “I’ve just conquered that mountain with flowers around it recently! There were no demons that could stand up to Inosuke-sama!”

The mention of the mountain with flowers brings to Tanjiro the test of Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane. It’s the only mountain he can think of, full of wisteria flowers blooming all year long, trapping the weakened demons within the testing area.

Inosuke’s offhanded mention would mean that he… is the fifth successful candidate who passed the selection, one Tanjiro didn’t get to witness on his way out.

“And who are you to steal my prey!”

“That’s not prey, Inosuke! That’s my sister, Nezuko!” Tanjiro shouts in reply, agitated by Inosuke’s abrasive personality and seeming lack of care for other people. “She never hurt a single human and she will not! If you can sense her, then you must sense a man right beside her!”

Inosuke stills in contemplation and then quickly jumps up in a flip, landing in that same pose with spread arms he used before to locate the demon girl.

BEAST BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: SPATIAL AWARENESS

For a moment, the air is still as Tanjiro breathes heavily. Somehow, the wild teen has managed to wind him harder than a demon with significant strength behind him.

“Hey! There is a lanky guy there!” Inosuke admits.

He seems to consider something in his mind before he comes to a conclusion. Tanjiro can still sense the unchanging glee and bloodthirst from the slayer which doesn’t fill him with much confidence.

“I’ll kick his ass too!”

That’s the last straw of Tanjiro’s tolerance towards the other slayer who, as he can now see, doesn’t care listening to reason and doesn’t really seem to care about protecting people from demons, rather, fighting them for his own pleasure… with an eerie similarity to the Slasher Demon he fought who didn’t even care to consume the people he killed.

More than that, there’s an even more eerie similarity between Inosuke and the greater demon Tanjiro met, Akaza, Waxing Three of Twelve Kizuki, as Tamayo explained to him, one of the twelve strongest demons in existence after Muzan himself. Akaza believes in a world where the strong trample on the weak, he showed as much in what little Tanjiro saw of his fight against Joestar-san, and the fact that a fellow demon slayer might possess the same worldview infuriates young Kamado.

“Do you not care for other people at all!”

Inosuke rushes at Tanjiro with a few of his wild punches that his opponent dodges, but before he can use his flexibility against the other boy, Tanjiro surprises him by furiously headbutting his forehead through his boar mask that flies off from the force of the attack.

For a moment, Tanjiro is surprised.

Despite the brusque personality and gruff voice, under his mask Inosuke is beautiful, with a pretty feminine face with large green eyes and thick black hair that reaches just past his shoulder as it spills from the mask, shifting into blue at the tips, along with forming an unruly fringe above his eyes.

The other boy’s beauty, however, is offset by his bloodthirsty expression, maniacal grin and the bleeding forehead Tanjiro gave him. The slayer can’t help but wince as he didn’t mean to be so forceful, even if he wanted to set Inosuke straight.

“That… was actually pretty good, Monjiro!” Inosuke cackles, irreverent of his wound. Any of his wounds, in fact. “Why do I need to care about them, though? I don’t know them! And they all seem weak, unlike you! Maybe I’ll start to care about you! Now come on, let’s get back to–”

Inosuke suddenly stills.

Tanjiro doesn’t fully get what got him silent, even glancing around cautiously, but then the boy’s eyes just roll back and he drops to the ground unconscious, earning another wince from Tanjiro.

“...yeah, that’s a concussion,” he mutters to himself.

When Inosuke comes back to awareness, he feels a hand in his hair, softly patting him. He’s reminded of something he can’t quite remember, of a soft touch of a woman with green eyes just like his.

The first thing he sees is a girl with a bamboo muzzle on her. She’s the one patting his hair as he sits on the ground, back leaning against the wooden bridge over a pond. He thinks he passed it while rushing to catch the Slasher Demon.

This girl is a demon too, but he, for some reason, doesn’t feel tense.

What he does tense over is the sight of a boy in a checkered haori talking to a lean beanpole with green hair. That gets Inosuke’s blood pumping and he jumps back up with a wild grin.

“Hey! Tanpachiro! I’m back! Let’s go back to fighting!” he shouts at him.

Oddly, the boy smiles at him softly.

“Oh, Inosuke-san, you’re alright. I was a bit worried about you,” Tanjiro says, before gesturing to the side. Inosuke’s boar mask and his twin blades are lying right there on the bridge. “I picked up your belongings, so don’t worry.”

Inosuke rushes to put the familiar comforting weight on his mask on his head and everything is again right in the world. The demon girl watches him curiously, tilting her head.

“Fascinating,” the beanpole civilian says, before waving his brush over paper so fast not even Inosuke’s eyes can keep up with the motion. “Quite a companion you found there, Tanjiro-kun.”

“I’m not a companion!” Inosuke shouts, pointing one of his blades at the pair. “Santaro is my minion! Or he will be when I beat the shit out of him!”

“Inosuke-san,” Tanjiro sighs. “We’re in the middle of the village and you need to rest after all the excitement. We both do. You can’t have a proper spar when both parties are exhausted.”

Something clicks in Inosuke’s mind and he cackles.

“You’re right, minion! Rest up and harden your head! I will harden mine and will knock you down the next time we meet, after I practice it on other stupid demons!”

Driven and agitated, Inosuke rushes from his place to the outskirts of the village and out to leave Yaraha, on the hunt once again, leaving the Kamados and their acquaintance in the dust and a lot of confusion.

“Eccentric, I like that,” the artist, Kishibe, remarks, done with his latest piece that Tanjiro can’t help but glimpse at. In just a moment, the man managed to capture Inosuke’s picture in detail as the boar-headed teen points his jagged blade at the viewer. “So, the killer won’t be an issue for the locals anymore?”

“No,” Tanjiro shakes his head. “Inosuke and I resolved it. It won’t bring back his victims, but… I hope they can find peace and be put to rest now.”

“I see,” Kishibe nods. “I expect you’ll be leaving then, just like this boy, then? Allow me to thank you on behalf of the locals, even if they don’t know what you’ve done for them.”

“Oh, Kishibe-san, you don’t need to–”

Kishibe pulls out one of the art pieces he made. It’s one of the moments he catched in a second, of Tanjiro hugging Nezuko softly as they stand on this bridge, both his hanafuda earring and his sister’s long hair waving slightly in the wind.

Tanjiro almost thinks he’s about to tear up. Nezuko wanders closer to him, looking at the picture curiously and making a delighted noise behind her muzzle when she sees what’s pictured.

“Kishibe-san… Thank you, it’s so beautiful.”

The artist smiles, both smugly and softly, nodding, before he sits back onto the railing of the bridge, just like the first time Tanjiro and Nezuko met him.

A crow flaps its wings above them.

“Head north! Your new mission is up north! In Tochigi Prefecture!” Matsuemon shouts at them and Kishibe looks up as well in shock, hands already working to capture the image of the bird messenger speaking human tongues.

“Well, we have to go now, Kishibe-san, take care,” Tanjiro nods at the artist and the artist nods back with a smile.

“You as well, Tanjiro-kun. You seem to have your hands full.”

Tanjiro and Nezuko leave the colorful village with light spirits and the boy can’t help but look softly at the picture the artist gifted him. He folds it and puts it in the pocket of his uniform before sighing as they enter the woods around Yaraha.

The sunrise is nigh, he’ll have to get Nezuko back into her box.

Chapter Text

Tochigi Prefecture, lying to the north of Saitama where Tanjiro received his latest mission, is one of only eight prefectures of Japan lacking a coastline. Despite this, the prefecture is a popular destination for the rich and foreign tourists, which is quite often the same. In particular, people frequent Nikko, the city at the north-west of the prefecture, renowned for its parks and shrines, most notably the mausoleum of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate that ruled over Japan until mere sixty years ago or so.

While Tanjiro’s path lies in the general direction of Nikko, he’s not aiming for the grand city itself. The three days’ journey has led him to a town in the vicinity of Nikko, full of greenery and with a track towards the hot springs at the shore of the Kinugawa River, one of the many famed onsens of the prefecture. Tanjiro finds the name most unfortunate, the river called an “angry demon” being menaced by an actual demon.

Despite the supposed splendor of Nikko, however, it doesn’t seem to Tanjiro like the city actually extends itself to fit the springs and the settlement around them yet, even if further urbanization is planned. The place seems a bit rundown and despite the obviously better materials used in buildings and the infrastructure, everything looks more subdued than even in the colorful Yaraha, much less the bright and overwhelming Tokyo.

Perhaps, some of it can be chalked up to the demonic presence.

At least the vendors here aren’t as paranoid as the ones in Yaraha.

“Bah, those springs are haunted, boy, you better stay away!” a man standing next to a cart huffs, crossing his arms. “People have been disappearing there. Sure, the police found no foul play and wrote it off but we all know there’s something foul there.”

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Tanjiro bows slightly in gratitude, mindful of the box he carries on his back. The young demon slayer walks further down the streets of the town, steam of the onsen seen even from this distance, which is rather impressive.

Tanjiro wonders if the hot springs are that hot or that sizable to produce such amounts of steam for the entire town to see.

However, as he gets closer to the worn entrance to the onsen complex proper, a surprisingly modest inn considering the steam above and around it, a sharp smell of fear strikes his nose, dulled a bit by the heavy lavender scent he presumes emanates from the onsen’s steam.

“No! No, you can’t make me go in there!” a shrill voice shrieks in absolute terror, almost making Tanjiro wince. “I’ll just die there! We’ll both die there! I’m too young to die in a dirty ugly onsen!”

“Stop whining, you little moron! Ugh, how in the world did dirt like you, a pathetic excuse for a slayer, pass the Selection?”

“I don’t know! Let me go!” the previous voice continues and, coming closer, Tanjiro sees it belong to a slayer in a yellow haori that fades into orange, with choppy hair of similar color gradient.

By the uniform under the haori Tanjiro can tell it’s a fellow demon slayer, but he can’t help but wince at the pitiful display of cowardice as the boy tries to literally crawl away on fours from his companion, crying all the while as the taller teen holds his haori firmly.

The slayer that’s standing straight notices Tanjiro and, with a huff, releases his smaller friend, who immediately crawls forward in a mildly impressive rush like the world’s fastest infant, nose bumping into Tanjiro’s foot before the boy grips the other’s leg and looks up with his cried out eyes, colored somewhere between brown and gold.

“You’ve come to save me! A real slayer!” the boy cries, before a recognition hits him. “I remember you! You’re from the Selection! Please! You must protect me, I’m too young to die!”

Before Tanjiro can say a word, the boy begins to wail again, wrapping himself wholesale around the slayer’s leg, to the other’s embarrassment, confusion and maybe just a bit of utter disgust.

The third slayer present, though, makes his disgust obvious as he approaches them and grabs the whiny boy by his bright hair, forcing him to stand up and cry out in pain, which does actually make Tanjiro wince in sympathy.

“Stop cowering, Zenitsu! Have you no pride? You shame the title of the Rumble Hashira!” the taller teen shouts at him, cold turquoise eyes drilling into the smaller slayer. The other can’t do much but whine pitifully in reply, with even more tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tanjiro grabs the taller slayer’s wrist firmly, pulling his attention away.

“Let him go,” Tanjiro orders calmly. “There’s no need to assault him like that when he’s already scared out of his mind.”

The young man with spiky black hair and plain dark blue-tinted slayer uniform, unbuttoned at the top, showing a green string with a magatama on it, looks at Tanjiro with a challenge in his eyes.

“Who might you be to say this?” he scowls.

The crying boy, for a moment, goes quiet, looking at Tanjiro with wide eyes in surprise, as if he truly didn’t expect him to intervene while the other was manhandling him.

“Kamado Tanjiro.”

The gruff slayer scowls harder.

“What care do I have for a name? What’s your rank, pipsqueak?”

“Mizunoe. What relevance does it have in how you handle him?”

A moment of silence rises up as burgundy eyes fight the turquoise gaze in a battle of wills. In the end, Tanjiro’s will proves to be stronger when the taller slayer scoffs, shaking Tanjiro off himself and then throwing the one he’s holding to the ground.

“This boy is a Mizunoe too, Zenitsu. Look at him and consider how pathetic you are in comparison,” the gruff slayer grunts before turning their back on them and walking towards the inn of the onsen facilities.

“Are you alright?” Tanjiro asks the other boy softly as he seems to actually make an effort to keep in his tears.

“No…” he whines still. “But… we should follow him.”

“Yes, I have a mission here,” Tanjiro nods, helping the other up. “I suppose you received a mission too? Again, I’m Tanjiro, pleased to meet you.”

“Agatsuma Zenitsu,” the other boy mutters, before glancing in the direction his companion went. “And that was Kaigaku, Inadama Kaigaku, my senior. He’s gruff, but he’s a Kinoe, and I… I could never compare to him. He’s trying to toughen me up the way he knows.”

“He doesn’t have to be cruel,” Tanjiro retorts and Zenitsu seems about to contradict him, but relents in the face of the other slayer’s soft gaze.

There are ten ranks to the active demon slayers. From the weakest to the strongest, Mizunoto, Mizunoe, Kanoto, Kanoe, Tsuchinoto, Tsuchinoe, Hinoto, Hinoe, Kinoto, Kinoe. Depending on the number and strength of the demons one kills, your status is elevated, and between the few demons he conquered, Tanjiro has risen through the ranks a bit since the Final Selection. So Zenitsu must have as well, to become a Mizunoe.

But for Kaigaku to be a Kinoe… at the moment it slightly boggles Tanjiro’s mind to imagine how skilled and experienced the young man is, likely feeling justified in his arrogant demeanor. He wonders if he’s around the same level of skill as Tomioka-san.

That said, something catches Tanjiro’s mind as the two walk towards the onsen inn, following Kaigaku's steps. Inside, the sullen elderly receptionist of the onsen tells them of a scowling young man who went past him deeper into the deceptively extensive facilities to get to the open hot springs, investigating the mysterious disappearances around the place.

"Perhaps, you'd feel lighter by leaving this box of yours here, young man?" the old man suggests, but Tanjiro just shakes his head with a smile.

"No, thank you, sir. You see, this box is very important to me, as important as my life, and I wouldn't like it to leave my sight."

The boy in the yellow haori next to him gives an odd look to the fellow slayer, but doesn't comment when both of the follow the receptionist's directions to the open hot springs.

“Zenitsu-kun… your senior mentioned something about the Rumble Hashira,” Tanjiro starts as the two walk through the simple, ascetic corridors of the onsen. “What did he mean?”

“Wait, what– Do you not know what Hashiras are?” Zenitsu looks at him in shock before crying out. “Like… there were two at the Selection, how could you not notice?! They were beautiful!”

Tanjiro thinks back to the Selection and is reminded of those two female slayers of unfathomable skill, watching over the candidates.

“Hashiras are the strongest slayers of all,” Zenitsu explains, gripping his fists in either excitement or nervousness, his facial expression is confusing and all the lavender in the air really impedes Tanjiro’s ability to read someone’s intentions by their smell. “Each is a master of their own unique breathing style, some even created one themselves!”

“And who is the Rumble Hashira?” Tanjiro tilts his head curiously.

Zenitsu grows quiet at that.

“There… isn’t a Rumble Hashira right now,” the boy replies quietly, before averting his eyes. “But Gramps… our teacher, he was a Rumble Hashira once, and we’re supposed to be his successors. Maybe Kaigaku can, but I–”

“You passed the Final Selection,” Tanjiro interrupts him casually, preventing Zenitsu from going on what he assumes to be a self-degrading rant. “You have potential to become a Hashira, then. How does one become a Hashira, by the way?”

That does pull Zenitsu’s attention.

“I think there were three ways,” he hums. “To become a Tsuguko, a student of one of the active Hashiras and succeed your master upon their retirement. To reach the rank of Kinoe and slay fifty demons… or to defeat one of Twelve Kizuki single-handedly.”

Zenitsu shudders just mentioning the Kizuki, twelve demons closest to Muzan… whose blood Tanjiro needs to obtain to further Tamayo’s research into her cure from demonism.

Just imagining more demons around the same level of strength and viciousness as Akaza fills Tanjiro with dread, but if he must, he will extract their blood. Tamayo tried to keep it easy, telling him that Yushiro managed to snatch a sample of Akaza’s blood, and there are few demons closer to Muzan than him, but Erina-san explained that the sample, despite its potency, will not last her research for long.

“Kaigaku has slayed fourteen demons since becoming Kinoe, and he might be the sole Kinoe-ranked slayer in the corps at the moment,” the boy then mutters, and Tanjiro’s eyes widen. He has already gathered that Zenitsu’s senior must be an impressive slayer despite his demeanor, but this just puts things in perspective.

Tanjiro and Zenitsu finally reach the end of the corridor and open the shoji doors into the steaming outdoor springs, with Kaigaku’s back turned towards them. The slayer already has his right hand on the handle of his katana, sheathed, unusually, on his back.

“Took you long enough,” Kaigaku scowls as he throws them a glance over his shoulder. Or, rather, he throws Tanjiro a glance, without even considering Zenitsu’s presence. “Thought the runt made you turn back. Though your presence here is, frankly, pointless, pipsqueak.”

Tanjiro sees three threatening silhouettes form in the thick steam in front of Kaigaku, the young man almost appearing unaware of the demon while his head is turned toward the juniors.

“Inadama-san–!” Tanjiro warns him, but in the very next moment the older slayer shows there was nothing to worry about.

THUNDER BREATHING — FOURTH FORM: DISTANT THUNDER

Invincible storm rumbles, like a snap of thunder, around the area.

In a blink of an eye, the heads of three shocked demons hit the ground, turning to ash instantaneously, and Kaigaku lands from the air gracefully, exactly where he stood before, sheathing his blade.

“Seventeen,” he huffs with a rare smirk on his face, and it’s a sharp and primal thing.

Tanjiro isn’t even sure when exactly the older slayer left the ground, he has so many questions about the art of Thunder Breathing now and he can’t help but gaze in amazement at the technique the other exercised.

“Thunder Breathing channels strength into one’s legs,” Zenitsu explains quietly, seemingly sensing Tanjiro’s curiosity at his senior’s effectiveness among the initial shock. “Fourth Form has the user launch at the enemy while spinning the blade in hand and around the user for a multi-directional attack. It’s… a complex technique, I never managed to learn it…”

Kaigaku seems to hear the quiet mutters nonetheless.

“You never managed to learn anything but the very First Form, the weakest of them all!” he scowls once more, approaching the younger slayers. “All the years Sensei spent training you only for you to become such a useless eyesore!”

“Inadama-san,” Tanjiro steps between Zenitsu and Kaigaku when the former begins cowering in fear at his senior’s approach. The older slayer scowls at Tanjiro derisively but keeps further remarks to himself.

“You can go and kill yourself against the last demon hiding in the steam, if you so wish,” he huffs, stepping to the side and leaning his back on the shoji doors while crossing his arms. Like a parlor trick, he seems to pull out a peach out of nowhere to eat with a smug look. “I’ll have to deal with it anyway, but you might as well prove your worthlessness first.”

Zenitsu begins to whine at the prospect of “imminent death to Kaigaku’s amusement”, but Tanjiro grips his shoulder firmly, shooting a steely glare in the smug slayer’s direction.

“Come on, Zenitsu, we can take them on,” he assures the other boy and Zenitsu makes an effort to wipe his tears with his haori, making Kaigaku scoff and mutter under his nose as he chews.

“Using Sensei’s gift as a handkerchief, that moron…”

To Tanjiro’s slight relief, as he and Zenitsu step deeper into the springs, steam thickens, mostly obscuring them from Kaigaku’s view. Zenitsu grips Tanjiro’s shoulder while glancing back where his senior stands, and with the boy being quiet, Tanjiro doesn’t have the heart to brush him off.

At least, until the last demon of the onsen makes itself known.

The lavender smell thickens close to water and Tanjiro doesn’t smell the demon approaching, but his sharp eyes catch the silhouette crawling atop one of the rocks surrounding the springs.

“Slayers… yes, slayers here…” the demon mutters, and Tanjiro has to push Zenitsu back, pulling out his katana for battle. “You should taste good.”

BLOOD DEMON ART: AKANAME TONGUE

With a sharp motion extremely long tongue shoots out of the demon’s mouth, flying in a deceptive arc before it crashes down, leaving Tanjiro and Zenitsu little time to evade it as rocks fly all around from the crater the tongue does in the stone floor.

“AIIIIEEEE!” Zenitsu shrieks, jumping and crying and sobbing, almost making Tanjiro wince, though he holds his concentration. “I’m not tasty at all! I have terrible aftertaste, I’m sure!”

“Won’t know until I try you!” the demon leers.

Tanjiro springs into action as he strikes at the demon’s tongue, slashing it, though it quickly regenerates. The demon’s figure, barely seen through the lavender steam, tilts its head, seemingly considering Tanjiro in irritation and curiosity before the tongue moves into action once more.

The Tongue Demon uses his tongue as a whip, trying to beat Tanjiro down before he reaches him. The tongue is surprisingly sharp and leaves cuts on Tanjiro’s face when it wheezes past him, though, luckily, he’s agile enough to avoid the worst of it. Fortunately, it’s nowhere near close to chipping Nezuko’s box on his back.

“What a jumpy brat!” the demon hisses as Tanjiro rushes at him. Now that they’re about to enter close combat, the teen sees that the crawling demon is a muscular man with gray skin and very dark hair with two small horns on his forehead. There are two sets of eyes on his face, a pair of green cat-like eyes and a squinted red pair above it.

Before the demon can redirect his tongue for attack, Tanjiro greets him with an attack of his own, breathing deeply to access one of the many techniques of Water Breathing.

WATER BREATHING — SECOND FORM: WATER WHEEL

Tanjiro leaps into the air and performs a front flip, expecting to slice the demon apart when it attempts to counterattack. However, the Tongue Demon proves to be more crafty than that. The stone he was crawling on is split in two once Tanjiro lands, but not the monster that sat upon it.

The young slayer turns around and sees the Tongue Demon sail through the air in a superhuman jump and his tongue, rather than aimed at Tanjiro, quickly wraps itself around a more accessible target, Zenitsu, who shrieks in fear, struggling and failing to get out of the tight grip.

“Let him go!” Tanjiro shouts out angrily once the demon lands on the roof of the inn.

“Why should I?” the demon cackles, casually lifting Zenitsu off the ground and waving the boy next to himself. “You wouldn’t dare attack me while I have your friend here, would you? Wouldn’t want to hurt him accidentally, would you?”

With Zenitsu held as a hostage and a human shield, Tanjiro doesn’t think he can attack the demon, especially with both figures partially obscured by thick steam. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead, both from the strain and the heat of the springs. Still, he holds his katana firmly, thinking hard on how to rescue his fellow slayer.

“Tanjiro!” Zenitsu cries out, wiggling around in panic. “Please, save me! I don’t wanna die!”

“Hold on, Zenitsu!”

“Sheesh, what a shrill child,” the demon complains, before smiling to itself, pulling Zenitsu a bit closer to his mouth. “Makes them all the more tasty–”

THUNDER BREATHING — FIFTH FORM: HEAT LIGHTNING

The Tongue Demon’s confused head finds itself on the stone ground before turning to ash along with its body that remains in its unchanging pose, still on the roof. At the same moment, Zenitsu crashes to the ground with an undignified squawk in front of a uniformed figure.

“Eighteen,” Kaigaku smirks viciously as Tanjiro rushes to help Zenitsu up, sheathing his blade with one hand and throwing the last piece of the peach in his mouth with the other. “Pathetic showing, pipsqueak. Had that demon had a bit more brains, you both would have been dead already.”

Despite his attitude, Tanjiro cannot deny the older teen’s skill. And despite his apparent disdain for Zenitsu, he saved the fellow student of Rumble Hashira the very moment an opportunity and a necessity presented themselves.

Kaigaku scoffs.

“And that’s it,” he sneers derisively. “Slayers went missing here and these are all the demons haunting this place? They deserved to fall against such pathetic beings.”

The remark instantly makes Tanjiro put aside his previous notions about Kaigaku as his blood boils in righteous fury.

“You have no right to speak that way of other slayers!” he exclaims, getting in Kaigaku’s face. “They did all they could and protected people to their last breath!”

For a moment, Kaigaku seems stunned before, for the first time, he looks genuinely angry and grabs Tanjiro by his haori, turquoise eyes peering into his soul. Tanjiro has his own hands on Kaigaku’s wrists, ready to fight the other if he tries to manhandle him further.

“All they could?!” Kaigaku shouts in Tanjiro’s face. “If they did all they could, they would have lived! They could have run, they could have begged, they could have lived to see another day, but they didn’t, and that’s exactly why they deserved their fate!”

This close to him, beyond the smell of lavender, Tanjiro can, surprisingly, smell Kaigaku’s feelings. His fury is palpable, but among those hateful feelings… there’s regret and self-loathing, not unlike those he felt walking besides Zenitsu.

“Inadama-san…” Tanjiro mutters, and Kaigaku almost seems surprised by the soft address. However, he never gets to address it when a quiet sound of splashing water distracts all three slayers.

At first, there’s just a silhouette of a head surfacing from the waters of the springs, cautiously looking left and right. Then the figure rises up a bit more, showing itself to be a fit youthful man with hair reaching his shoulders, even though his features are hardly distinguishable through the steam.

“Are they gone? Those angry monsters from before?”

Kaigaku and Tanjiro pull away from each other, both pleased, in their own way, to find a survivor from the demon attack. Zenitsu, meanwhile, still on the ground, frowns slightly.

“Yes! Don’t worry, we’ve dealt with them,” Tanjiro exclaims, waving his hand. “You come out now, please, it’s safe here.”

The figure breathes out in relief and does come closer, climbing out of the water of the hot springs confidently, standing at full height, being just slightly shorter than Kaigaku.

“I’m so grateful for your appearance,” the young man says, taking a few steps forward. For a brief moment Tanjiro wonders when the steam got so thick, because even with the man coming closer, he can hardly glean anything from his figure, though the soft facial features slowly become more apparent. “This place shouldn’t be haunted by wild beasts, so I’m rather thankful… demon slayers.”

“Watch out!”

Zenitsu tackles both Tanjiro and Kaigaku to the ground in a rush before something wheezes above them. When Tanjiro glances there, he sees the shoji door they were standing next to completely demolished, and the figure’s silhouette is suddenly behind them, gripping the edges of the adjacent wall, leaving claw marks there, as the man seems to be exiting the inn and entering the springs.

“That’s a rare one,” the young man mutters, his face turned towards the ground, hidden with his dark hair that ends in bright orange tips. “They usually never figure it out before it’s too late.”

Steam that smells of lavender exudes from the figure, immediately drying him from the spring water and all three slayers scramble to their feet, gripping their katanas and, in Tanjiro’s case, actively unsheathing them.

Up-close, the young man in front of them, wearing nothing but white fundoshi, has a surprisingly fit athletic body, his skin unnaturally pale to the point it seems white. There are a few straight dark green lines on his body that make a simple pattern, each line ending with a dot.

The man doesn’t remain undressed for long as, suddenly, to Tanjiro’s shock that seems to be shared by the students of the Rumble Hashira, clothes begin stitching themselves around the individual, the deceitful demon they face, almost growing out of his skin. First come the dark hakama pants, then the white button-up shirt. Finally, a brilliant white haori flows down from his shoulders, ending with a yellow scale pattern on the sleeves. The demon’s hair arranges itself as well, tying back into four fluffy buns at either side of his head and neck.

Then the demon raises his head in a sharp motion to gaze upon them and Tanjiro barely withholds his gasp. Zenitsu whimpers immediately, barely standing on his shaking legs, and while Tanjiro can’t sense his emotions due to the overwhelming smell of lavender that also obscures the demon’s presence, he can tell Kaigaku is uneasy as well.

Their enemy’s face is marked similarly to his body, by a thick line under both of his eyes and across his nose, running up vertically into a shorter horizontal line on his forehead. Four large dots are at the far ends of the line on his cheeks, the middle of the line on his forehead and below his lower lip.

His eyes are pale blue and cat-like in shape, but only the pupil in his right eye is actually a cat-like slit one. The left eye sports black kanji and danji, a letter and a numeral.

WANING SIX

It suddenly makes perfect sense in Tanjiro’s mind as to why no slayer sent to the Kinugawa Onsen reported back. The local hot springs have become a backdrop for a deceptive trap. Slayers would come to slay the demons haunting the locals and even if they succeed, they’d immediately be tricked and murdered by a demon masquerading as a grateful civilian. And even if they somehow saw through the ruse, few could survive a demon of this caliber to live to tell the tale.

“You do realize I can’t let you go, don’t you?” the demon asks quietly, almost nervously, as he lets go of the wall to face the slayers.

Somehow, Tanjiro and his companions have come across one of the Twelve Kizuki, the strongest demons in the world and closest to Kibutsuji Muzan. And while the demon’s disposition seems odd, none fall for his act and let up their guard.

Waning Six clenches his fist.

Chapter Text

Somehow, the battle between three young slayers and Waning Six doesn’t begin immediately. Despite his tense posture, the demon seems to be content studying the teenagers frozen in fear.

“It’s good form to introduce yourself when conducting business,” Waning Six states quietly, but in an oddly formal way as he stands against them, almost appearing to recite something. “I am Kamanue, Waning Six of Twelve Kizuki.”

To the slayers’ surprise, the demon then performs a Keirei bow, bending himself at perfect thirty degrees in a trained manner. For how harmless this gesture looks, Tanjiro feels cold going through him, for more than one reason.

Previous demons he saw, sans his peaceful sister Nezuko, Tamayo and Yushiro, were bloodthirsty hungry menaces who, even if they might have been decent people in life, whose humanity was to be mourned, were nothing like humans in their sadistic impulses, uncontrollable and animalistic.

“I will try to make it quick and painless. I always do,” Kamanue continues, straightening himself. Yet, he doesn’t attack still, looking at them questioningly, waiting patiently for their introductions.

Waning Six unquestionably retains his individuality, whether by a stroke of luck or the amount of people he must have killed and consumed to reach his position. Yet, it’s, without a doubt, a twisted reflection of what the polite young man might have been in life.

Tanjiro is the first to answer him, not yet ready to provoke the demon.

“I apologize for forgoing the bow, Kamanue-san, but you must understand our circumstances,” he says, clenching his katana. “I am Kamado Tanjiro, a Mizunoe of the Demon Slayer Corps, and I am here to defeat you. I too, will try to make it painless.”

A shadow of something that almost seems like a smile passes Kamanue’s face before Kaigaku interjects.

“What a farce!” the older slayer snarls, gripping the handle of his katana tighter. “You want an introduction, bastard? I am Inadama Kaigaku, a Kinoe of the Demon Slayer Corps who will become its next Rumble Hashira once I rip your disgusting head off its shoulders!”

THUNDER BREATHING — THIRD FORM: THUNDER SWARM

With the knowledge Zenitsu gave him about Thunder Breathing’s focus on speed and strengthening of legs, Tanjiro now knows how to concentrate to perceive Kaigaku’s movements, if blurry and too quick for him to see in detail. The point is, Tanjiro sees when the older slayer jumps high into the air, seemingly intending to dive down onto Waning Six like a ferocious hawk.

“Such bad form.”

However, Tanjiro also sees Kamanue up there at the zenith of Kaigaku’s jump, moving just as fast as the Kinoe, pulling his leg back for a violent kick as the demon spins around himself.

Instead of diving like a hawk, Kaigaku falls down like a shooting star, crashing into the waters of the hot spring and causing a large splash wave that almost reaches the younger slayers. Kamanue himself lands on the other side of the pool, turning sharply towards Tanjiro and Zenitsu, haori fluttering, the demon’s pale blue eyes focusing on the two younger slayers.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

The steam of the onsen immediately thickens, and Tanjiro loses the ability to see anything beyond his own nose. It’s only the scared squeak from Zenitsu that lets him know the other slayer’s still right next to him, so he moves in to cover his back. Zenitsu trembles as he grips the handle of his katana, but still presses his back against the box on Tanjiro’s back.

“T-Tanjiro… i-it’s a Kizuki, we’re gonna die!”

“Don’t lose hope, Zenitsu,” Tanjiro encourages him despite his own fear. He doesn’t know if the demon realizes it, but he has an upper hand on Tanjiro.

Aside from his training with Urokodaki-sensei, Tanjiro has his nose and supreme smell to foresee attacks from demons’ positioning and killing intent. Yet, within Kamanue’s mist Tanjiro can’t smell anything but the heavy lavender aroma that overwhelms the area. From the very start he couldn’t smell the blood of dozens of people Kamanue must have consumed, and with the Kizuki’s Blood Demon Art being actively employed against him, he can barely smell even Zenitsu’s overwhelming terror, despite the slayer being right next to him.

Just like any of Kamanue’s victims, Tanjiro’s rendered completely blind by the Steam Demon’s ability.

It’s silent and two slayers look around cautiously.

Zenitsu suddenly whips to his left with a stifled shriek, and despite there not being anything of note in the mist or a sound that Tanjiro can hear, the teen in a checkered haori trusts his instincts that say Zenitsu truly has managed to perceive Waning Six approaching them. It’s better to be safe than sorry just to conserve his energy, and so he whips his katana.

WATER BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: DROP RIPPLE THRUST

Tanjiro performs a quick, precise and confident thrust of the katana in the direction of Zenitsu’s panicked yellow gaze, while pushing the other slayer out of the way. He feels the resistance of flesh against his blade, and for a moment the thick mist parts around Kamanue, the demon’s expression surprised, his eyes wide.

The nichirin katana goes through Kamanue’s clenched fist, having caught Waning Six in the middle of a punch, the tip of the blade almost touching the demon’s nose. Had Zenitsu not noticed the incoming attack or had Tanjiro been any slower in reacting to it, in a twist of irony, the slayer in a yellow haori would have been the one beheaded right now. Instead, Tanjiro’s counterattack stopped all momentum of the punch.

“...how do you keep perceiving me?” Kamanue asks quietly, trembling slightly, whether with anger or some other emotion, Tanjiro can’t tell. Marked eyes don’t look at him, in fact, rather, they’re focused on Zenitsu, who shrieks and seems just about ready to back away, but seems to realize he’d be leaving Tanjiro’s very limited line of sight and corresponding protection, and instead just hides behind his companion, one hand gripping the checkered haori, but the other still clenching the handle of his katana.

The lull of the fight comes to an end when Kamanue’s expression stills and his eyes focus on Tanjiro and narrow. When Tanjiro tries to lead his katana to the side, to cut off the demon’s wrist, Kamanue pulls his arm back and shrouds himself in the mist once more.

Tanjiro looks around sharply, trying to pick up anything and glances at Zenitsu, who seems to have an actual idea of Waning Six’s movements, eyes going in a straight line around them. The demon circles them like a predator circles a prey… though, on second thought, he, just like Tanjiro, might be trying to understand Zenitsu’s gift that allows the slayer to predict where his attack will come from.

And then the attack actually hits.

“Tanjiro!” Zenitsu cries as the dark-haired boy barely dodges out of the way of the speeding demon who instead chose him to attack, and his claws leave three bleeding lines on Tanjiro’s face.

Kamanue flies between Tanjiro and Zenitsu, the latter falling to the ground with a terrified shriek, before disappearing into the mist once again. And once again the demon, judging by the movement of Zenitsu’s scared yellow eyes, circles them at high speeds.

If nothing else, Tanjiro can admire Kamanue for attempting to stand by his words. He’s not a demon who sadistically savors the terror of his victims. Every strike he aims at Tanjiro is intended to be lethal, but the impact is mitigated every time he moves just right, avoiding the flying punch if not the claws, or softening the blow by counterattacking when Zenitsu’s eyes stop before Kamanue’s attacks.

However, against a Waning Moon who keeps quiet outside of his barely heard movements, who doesn’t intend to toy around, Tanjiro’s survival is mostly a matter of luck, rather than skill, still not tempered into perfection by extensive experience, and luck can’t last forever.

Tanjiro falls for a faint lunge, wasting precious moments and slicing at the empty air too early, and the demon’s pale fist charges towards his face.

“Sorry, Nezuko–”

Before the deadly fist lands, the cracking sound of thunder roars.

THUNDER BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: RUMBLE AND FLASH

“Did you really think your weak kick would put me down, you little shit?” Kaigaku, drenched and scowling, grunts, suddenly standing next to Tanjiro and gripping the katana pointed towards the ground. The older slayer has his back turned towards the demon, as if he outran him to rub shoulders with Tanjiro.

Kamanue’s wrist is no longer in front of the younger slayer, but rather, is slashed off and lays on the ground. In a delayed flash of wind that parts the mist in the immediate vicinity of Waning Six, numerous grievous cuts appear on the demon’s haori and his body.

However, the demon’s head is tilted to the side, as if he expected the attack, and the final slash that appears on his body, the one intended to decapitate him, instead carves off a chunk of his face. …and then, to the shock of all three slayers, all those cuts heal, strands of flesh tying themselves together in a second, much faster than anything Tanjiro has seen from a demon before. Even Kamanue’s hand regenerates in a blink, and Waning Six raises it and makes an effort to show them the process.

“It’s futile,” Kamanue explains stoically. “You are the most capable slayers who have come into my onsen, but… you are no Hashiras, fortunately. Not yet. And not ever.”

That notion incenses Kaigaku. The shock on his face is gone and even through the overwhelming lavender smell, Tanjiro can feel the unbridled fury of the aspiring slayer.

“You’re eating these words, you fucking inhuman disgrace,” Kaigaku snarls, turning sharply towards Waning Six, ready to unleash the might of his Thunder Breathing.

THUNDER BREATHING — FOURTH FORM: DISTANT THUNDER

This time, Tanjiro sees it, as Kamanue doesn’t even bother strengthening his Blood Demon Art to obscure their vision. Kaigaku flies at the demon, spinning the katana in his hand and moving the arm in an arc around him, becoming a destructive force… that Kamanue evades, jumping and sliding away any time infuriated Kaigaku attempts to approach him.

Tanjiro sees the moment when the sequence of Kaigaku’s actions is about to end, and so does Kamanue, poised to strike the Kinoe. Not a single cell in Tanjiro’s body can allow him to simply stand by.

“Inadama-san!”

WATER BREATHING — TENTH FORM: CONSTANT FLUX

Not for the first time in recent memory, Tanjiro charges forward with a flowing attack of his blade, to protect a fellow slayer. However, unlike that previous demon, Kamanue isn’t caught unaware, immediately leaning away and dancing alongside the blade, avoiding the worst of the attack, despite the nichirin nicking him mildly. The little cuts are nothing for him to regenerate, for he’s much stronger and faster than a regular demon.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIFTH FORM: HEAT LIGHTNING

Unlike Tanjiro’s previous battle partner, however, Kaigaku is nothing but proactive and adaptable, inserting his own maneuvers in-between Tanjiro’s motions, striking with an upwards slash and jumping as Kamanue tries to evade the Water Breathing’s Tenth Form by flipping away.

However, Waning Six still keeps up with them, even if he takes more damage from the slayers’ combined efforts. He doesn’t seem to care about it, which is fair enough, since he simply regenerates every cut before they can strike the same place twice to make any of the wounds last more than a few seconds at most.

Kaigaku’s eyes widen as his tactical mind seems to scream at him, and even stronger than his fury, Tanjiro feels the tinge of fear for the briefest moment before it’s all covered by the lavender.

“Pipsqueak, step back–!”

Kamanue’s feet connect to the ground as he lands from yet another flip that Kaigaku used to guide his Heat Lightning at the demon. Before Tanjiro realizes what it is that Kaigaku perceives, he feels pain in his shoulder and neck, demonic claws carving him in another of Kamanue’s jumping slashes way too close to comfort, so close to killing him in one motion.

Kaigaku, while shocked, has managed to force himself away from Waning Six’s collision course.

“Tanjiro!” Zenitsu’s shrill voice cries out tearfully.

“Idiot kid…” Tanjiro hears Kaigaku mutter in disbelief as his vision becomes faded with black spots. “If you didn’t carry your stupid box, you could have moved away.”

Tanjiro feels one of the straps of the box resting on his shoulder snap. While he’s already been unbalanced by Kamanue’s hit, that makes him lose his footing completely, tumbling to the ground with the wooden box. The slayer in a checkered haori grips his blade still and his eyes widen as he sees the door of the box open up.

“N-Nezuko…”

From the moment the yellow-haired slayer who didn’t have the courtesy to introduce himself somehow sensed his inhuman nature and saved the other two from a swift, generous end, Kamanue, Waning Six of Twelve Kizuki, has been both irritated… and afraid.

No human could perceive him through the Lavender Mist. For a moment he doubted himself, but his Blood Demon Art wasn’t weakening, not with all the slayers and other visitors to the Kinugawa Onsen he consumed. The other two, Kamado and Inadama, proved as much.

Yet he’s perplexed.

And the three keep surviving his assault. Or, rather Kamado and Inadama continue surviving it. The nameless slayer is their weak link due to his mortal fear. Despite the boy’s superior perception, he hasn’t even drawn the blade once since entering the onsen. Kamanue can take care of him after he’s done with the main threats.

Despite their efforts in surviving him, these slayers aren’t Hashiras, and that’s good. He’s a weak demon, the only chance of surviving a Hashira he’d have is if he ran away from them as fast as he could.

The weak link shrieks and appears to fall down, losing his consciousness from fear when Kamanue strikes Kamado down and makes him drop the wooden box on his back. A very peculiar addition to a slayer’s equipment, though Waning Six can’t figure out its use. So far, all it’s done is hinder the young man. 

Kamanue steps closer, ready to finish Kamado now that Inadama appears to be losing his nerve, taking a step back while still gripping his katana. It almost looks like despite his previous bravado, the Kinoe is about to run away with his tail between his legs, leaving his comrades to their fates. In all honesty, with the speed he’s already shown, challenging Kamanue’s own, he might actually make it out, and he knows it.

The door of the box, tilted upwards, suddenly has its door opened… from inside, perplexing Kamanue.

“N-Nezuko…” Kamado wheezes, trying to force himself up but barely being able to use his elbow for support. He does still grip his katana, but he’s no danger anymore for Waning Six.

Instead, cold blue eyes turn towards the beautiful girl with a bamboo muzzle in her mouth, emerging from the box that should have been too small for her to fit in.

Inadama gasps uncharacteristically at the sight of her, gripping his katana even tighter, sweat covering his face, from the exertion, the heat of the onsen and the building terror.

Kamanue’s eyes widen in shock once the girl turns towards him. Her black slitted pupils are distinctly inhuman.

“These aren’t the eyes of a human,” Kamanue mutters, frowning, twitching unwittingly. But rather than anger, it’s a sign of his fear. People are usually afraid of things they don’t understand, and for all that demons differ from what they once were, that is one of things that doesn’t necessarily change for them. “You… you’re a demon.”

Why would a demon slayer carry a demon girl on his back? Why wouldn’t that demon girl attack him or the slayers surrounding him?

The demon girl, Nezuko, flies at Kamanue with surprising speed. He has to put in almost as much effort into dodging the swipes of her claws as he had at Kamado and Inadama’s united efforts to nick him with their katanas. Even though she’s less successful than them, barely landing more than a shallow scratch or two on him, Waning Six can’t help but widen his eyes in the shock and clench his teeth.

Such mighty strength, such impressive speed. But Kamanue is Waning Six of Twelve Kizuki, how can a random demon compare to him like that? And why is she working with the slayers, because that’s what Nezuko is doing, ignoring Inadama and her handler, Kamado, attacking him, her superior, instead.

A panicked shiver goes through Kamanue. He has to finish it fast.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

Steam obscures Kamanue’s form from his opponents, but within his Blood Demon Art he can see everything clearly. He can see Kamado’s despaired face, he can see Inadama inching further backwards, looking around more nervously by the second.

Nezuko looks around with an angry snarl in her expression, and Kamanue prepares to lunge, only to glance at the nameless weak link slayer for a moment.

Suddenly, the sound of thunder crackles.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

Just like when Inadama attacked him previously, mist parts violently around him. But this time, when he evades, it’s a much closer hit, Kamanue’s whole left arm is ripped away along with part of his head, blade cutting through his terrified marked eye.

“I misjudged you,” Kamanue whispers, trying to keep his nervous voice even, to the slayer he knows is standing behind him, having landed his hit. “I assumed you’re the weakest of the slayers… but no, it’s the opposite… you’re the mightiest, the fastest of the three, so much closer to a level of skill comparable to a Hashira.”

He turns toward the user of the Thunder Breathing in shock as he regenerates his wounds, leaving himself open to Nezuko’s claws that rip at his side.

With an undignified cry that Kamanue will chastise himself for later, and with his survival instinct overwhelming his higher functions, he grabs Nezuko by the hand that she buried in his side, throwing the demon girl at the yellow-haired boy with such strength that her right arm, still gripped by Kamanue, rips off, earning a panicked cry from Kamado.

The slayer, shockingly, catches the one-armed demon girl carefully even with his eyes closed, setting her on the ground afterwards.

“My name is Agatsuma Zenitsu, a Mizunoe of the Demon Slayer Corps,” the nameless slayer mutters quietly, nothing like his cowering pathetic self from before, and rests his hand on the handle of his katana once more, crouching.

It’s all the telegraphing Kamanue gets and perceives before the slayer, Agatsuma, launches into movement.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

Agatsuma dashes at Kamanue at a speed surpassing that of the senior user of Thunder Breathing and even knowing it’s coming, Waning Six can’t fully evade it. He feels the nichirin slicing through his leg when he kicks at Agatsuma trying to retaliate. The attack should have caved his chest in, pulverized the boy’s ribs, but with the limb being cut off cleanly, the impact is lessened and the slayer lands as if Kamanue hasn’t impacted him at all.

How can this boy be faster than him, Waning Six of Twelve Kizuki?

Kamanue tries to keep his balance as his leg regenerates, but he’s then assaulted by the one-armed demon girl, Nezuko, who kicks him in the gut, perforating him in the way he intended to do to Agatsuma. In return, Kamanue, scowling, grabs the girl’s head and rams his own against it, breaking her skull and forcing her to stumble back, pulling her leg out of him.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

The telltale crack of thunder makes Kamanue dive aside, hopefully, leaving Agatsuma to decapitate his bizarre ally instead, but the young slayer’s movement stops before the blade can touch Nezuko, and instead he changes directly, with a bit less grace, to swing at Waning Six in a flurry of lightning-fast slashes Kamanue has less to avoid and more so deflect with his forearms.

He launches an occasional swipe of his own, but Kamanue is too scared of his unexplainable change in attitude, this hidden power and how much more power this slayer may hide, to truly go onto an offensive. He’s stronger than humans, demons are superior beings, he knows it.

But he’s so scared.

Agatsuma is relentless, and while Nezuko is regenerating much slower than her strength would imply, she is regenerating and has already restored both her head and her torn-off arm.

The girl jumps into the fray with Agatsuma, slashing her claws at Kamanue in surprising circumstantial synergy with the slayer who makes an effort to step aside whenever she’s about to attack, as if he’s predicting her motions somehow.

Inadama looks less stressed and more confident, ready to charge.

Kamado is forcing himself to stand up.

Can he stand up to them?

He should.

Kamanue’s cat-like pupils shrink in fear and finally, the demon screams out in fury.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

Ignoring the bite of the nichirin and the claws of the demon girl, both confused momentarily from the thickest fog yet that he’s unleashed, Kamanue, instead of hiding, as they expect, immediately charges forward, slamming the duo with his forearms spread, launching them into their comrades’ field of vision.

…and instead of continuing the fight, Kamanue jumps high up, landing at the roof of the inn of the Kinugawa Onsen. One more jump, and he’s away from the area, fleeing from the enigma that terrifies him to the very core of his being.

Why? Why does that encounter make his hands shake?

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro cries out, rushing to grab his sister in a hug despite the stinging pain of the cuts Waning Six gave him. He can lie down and die later, he wants to make sure his sister is alright first, after how the other demon brutalized her.

The lavender mist lifts to everyone’s palpable relief, even if they can’t tell for certain why Waning Six, Kamanue, left so suddenly.

“Uggh… I’m dying…” the familiar whining voice of Zenitsu whimpers. He sounds like he’s waking up from deep sleep, which might actually be the state he was in during the battle, asleep. “Why does everything hurt so much?”

“Zenitsu-kun! You were amazing!” Tanjiro smiles, turning towards the boy who lies on the stone floor, mewling pathetically, at least until his eyes land on Nezuko’s figure.

Zenitsu seems stunned, glancing between Tanjiro and Nezuko.

“Tanjiro. That’s a demon. That’s a girl. That’s a beautiful demon girl,” he states flatly, still splayed on the floor, looking dumbly at them.

“Ah, yes, that’s my sister, Nezuko,” Tanjiro explains, suddenly nervous. Zenitsu and Kaigaku are demon slayers and if either of them were to turn on them because of it… Tanjiro has doubts in his ability to protect his sister at the moment, even if he gives it his all. “But don’t worry! She’s never attacked a human!”

“That explains the muzzle,” Kaigaku grunts, finally approaching them and Tanjiro stills. Among them, the older slayer is the one who took the least amount of damage and if he’s to initiate a fight, it’ll be an uphill battle for Tanjiro.

Nezuko turns around to stand in front of her brother protectively and it seems to surprise Kaigaku, as well as Zenitsu, slightly.

The Kinoe seems to consider something.

Then he turns towards Zenitsu.

“You knew she was in there, didn’t you?” he hisses, surprising Tanjiro. His expression must show it, because the other explains it for his benefit. “The brat’s got sharp hearing, he can perceive demons from across a village, he’d never miss a demon right next to him, even if it’s hidden in a hideous box.”

That odd ability makes Tanjiro realize how Zenitsu was able to find Waning Six even with the demon’s distracting Blood Demon Art active in full force. Kamanue could never hide his sounds from Zenitsu, and the way his lavender mist deceived eyes and nose never impacted him.

“...this box seemed important to Tanjiro…” Zenitsu mutters.

Tanjiro’s expression softens at the other slayer’s words. He can smell trepidation, fear and gratefulness towards him from the scaredy boy.

Kaigaku looks at the other sternly… and sighs.

“Aiie! Tanjiro! Nezuko-chan! He’s gonna kill me!” Zenitsu shrieks when Kaigaku picks him up with one arm and throws the boy over his shoulder like a bag of flour. “Save me, Nezuko-chan!”

“I’ll pretend I saw nothing but a pair of siblings,” Kaigaku grunts, ignoring his junior and picking up Nezuko’s box by the strap that remains whole with his free hand. “Let’s find a doctor to patch you up a bit, pipsqueak, and then to the nearest Wisteria House to rest.”

There’s something, a mixture of resentment, begrudging respect and lingering anger, at others and at himself, emanating in Kaigaku’s smell. In their brief encounter Tanjiro has come to learn that the Kinoe is a complex man. However, not unreasonable and not entirely ungrateful.

“Nezuko-chaaan! Help me!” Zenitsu cries, wiggling in Kaigaku’s grip as the taller teen is about to enter the inn building adjacent to the onsen. Tanjiro’s sister just tilts her head curiously, following the two at a distance.

“Zenitsu, shut up already, or I will kill you,” Kaigaku growls before looking over his shoulder and barking at Tanjiro. “Oi! Kamado! Stop standing and staring right there, get going!”

Tanjiro blinks the black spots out of his vision and begins limping after Kaigaku with a small smile. It might not seem like it, but he can see and smell the concern in the older slayer.

“Sorry. Already going, Inadama-san,” he replies as Nezuko slows down a bit to offer her shoulder for Tanjiro to lean against, making the boy huff out a pained laugh. “Thank you, Nezuko.”

Kaigaku scowls once more.

“...you are weird-ass kids, Kamados.”

Chapter Text

Despite the condescending nature of Kaigaku’s explanation, the Kinoe shed light on the system of Wisteria Houses for Tanjiro. Once upon a time, the Demon Slayer Corps saved a wealthy family from the assault of a demon. Reportedly, it was Waxing Five of Twelve Kizuki from late Edo Period, the last time a group of slayers managed to kill off a demon of such a high station. As their thanks, the family established the network of the Wisteria Houses, mansions and smaller houses scattered across Japan, mostly in Honshu due to the distribution of demon throughout the country, heavily dependant on Kibutsuji Muzan’s movements and his apparent complacency to remain on the largest Japanese island. All these buildings are warded from demons with wisteria, and demon slayers can come to rest and heal their wounds free of charge.

Quite often, Wisteria Houses are managed by former demon slayers or family members of slayers, along with kakushi, the ninja-like attendant force of the Corps. Tanjiro has seen a few of those ninja-like people at the gates of the Final Selection, serving as first aid to those slayers who needed it after they passed the exam, like Tanjiro himself, or found themselves disqualified, being rescued by a Hashira from certain death.

“...if what we’ve seen is the weakest of the Kizuki, I totally understand why no one’s beaten a Waxing Moon in a century…” Zenitsu moans, lying on futon in a guest bathrobe after their uniforms and haori were taken for cleaning and repairs.

“Not with your shitty attitude,” Kaigaku scowls, sitting on his futon with crossed legs, chiseled chest on display in the half-open bathrobe of his own.

The older slayer throws a brief look at Tanjiro, who sits next to a low table, recording Kaigaku’s words for a diary he writes for Nezuko for when she’s back to full awareness and he has to tell her what she missed during their travels.

The dim light of the traditional style lamp standing on the floor doesn’t impair the boy in the slightest, not as much as his injuries which make him write at a rather unhurried pace. Tanjiro’s neck and shoulders are wrapped in thick bandages where Waning Six scratched him, and as a result of his injury, he sounds a bit hoarse whenever he talks now. His demon sister, meanwhile, currently sleeps off the injuries in her wooden box, with its strap repaired by one of the kakushi, next to the wall. It was kept closed to hide her from the Corps members, though now, in the privacy of the boys' room, its door is left slightly open for Tanjiro’s peace of mind, granted Zenitsu and Kaigaku both tolerate the demon girl’s presence.

“...but maybe. Just maybe I underestimated how strong a Kizuki can be,” the older Thunder Breathing user scoffs and Zenitsu whimpers, because if even his senior admits how strong those demons are, then of course they’re too strong for him to confront.

“The gap between Waning Moons and Waxing Moons… it’s unbelievable,” Tanjiro whispers absent-mindedly, and that makes both of his companions perk up.

Zenitsu very slowly turns around on his futon to look at Tanjiro with wide horrified eyes and a pale face.

“...Tanjiro, tell me you’re not saying it from experience,” the boy whimpers. “Please, tell me you’re not saying this from experience. My heart can’t handle it.”

“Huh?” Tanjiro almost seems surprised by the reaction as he turns around, since even Kaigaku looks tense about it. “I… I did see one demon. He had symbols of Waxing Three in his eyes.”

“Eeeeei!” Zenitsu shrieks, turning white as a sheet. “T-T-Three?! How… How are you still alive? No one… no one even knows what Waxing Six or Four look like, much less Three!”

“Really?”

“Waxing Moons are the strongest demons in existence, brat,” Kaigaku hisses, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really think there are many people who live to tell the tale of meeting them? You can’t be that dense.”

Tanjiro stills, recounting how powerful Waxing Three, Akaza, was in those brief moments he saw the demon fight Jonathan Joestar. And while he was far from witnessing their fight spill over into the crowded area, from the Joestars’ words, as well as those of Tamayo-san, Akaza killed, perhaps, over a dozen people in seconds just to prove the point of his vicious and unforgiving worldview to Joestar-san, without even trying.

The young demon slayer purses his lips.

“...no. I suppose not.”

Shoji doors of their room opens, making the three teenaged warriors turn towards their gracious host. He’s a man on the silent side, which isn’t surprising if you just look at him. Despite being, perhaps, only twice Kaigaku’s age, the youthful man lacks his right arm, and the gruesome scar of his face, along with milky-colored right eye it clips, tells a story of a former demon slayer who met a threat he couldn’t conquer, though one he managed to survive.

“You must have been blessed by the gods, Kamado-san, to meet Waxing Three and come out of the encounter unscathed,” the man says as he carries a lantern in his only hand. “I’ve… encountered a Waxing Moon once.”

The man glances at his missing limb with the same neutral expression he does everything and Tanjiro feels a slight shiver run down his back.

“Was it… was it one of the higher Waxing Moons, Nagare-san?” the boy asks carefully.

“It can’t be,” Kaigaku counters, narrowing his eyes at their host. “But there is one Waxing Moon who occasionally allows others to live to spread the word of him. Most recently, there was a case of a slayer surviving that demon, built like a grotesque marble sculpture, the menace of seaside settlements…”

“Waxing Five,” Nagare nods. “A monstrous and prideful being.”

“I-I remember that story,” Zenitsu murmurs, still laying in his place, arguably the most injured of the three and refusing to move and aggravate his wounds. He looks at Tanjiro, mostly intending to retell the story for his convenience. “Gramps told us once. There was a village in Miyagi, a fishing village. Slayer after slayer were sent there to dispatch of a demon menacing the population, initially assumed to be a particularly… gruesome serial killer. They would fix their victims in poses of regular household activities, mother cooking dinner, fathers fixing furniture… children playing on the floor… yet horribly mangled.”

Tanjiro’s breath hitches at the description of such needless cruelty.

“And when the first slayer was sent,” Nagare takes over the narration. “They were decapitated and showcased along a chimera of house animals, representing a demon holding their katana. A group of mid-ranked slayers was sent, with one higher ranked Hinoto to lead them. All the slayers he led were slaughtered by the demon’s Blood Demon Art as soon as the moon rose up.”

The smell that emanates from Nagare, despite his neutral expression and his even voice, is one of sorrow, regret and guilt, and Tanjiro feels he knows how the story goes.

“The demon didn’t just wait for new slayers to arrive. He forced the surviving leader of the squad to send a Kasugai crow to request assistance from one slayer in particular. The acting Rumble Hashira. Otoishi Morimasa was his name. A man with long violet hair. Faster than a lightning, brighter than any star in the night sky. …when he made it into the village, Waxing Five complimented him for his sense of style… before laying waste to the entire village.”

Nagare’s gaze grows distant, the man deep in recounting the story and Tanjiro feels for him, as obviously does Zenitsu. Even Kaigaku, normally dismissive of people, remains respectfully quiet and subdued.

“It became a field of demons under his command, and even with his supreme speed Otoishi-san couldn’t save everyone, not even with the Hinoto’s help. Waxing Five then shed its false form, revealing its true form and its touch of death. Otoishi-san died before he could even perceive it, and neither could that Hinoto see how the monster truly looked before it let him go after getting mauled by his demon force, because to him it made a good story to tell.”

The former Hinoto stands still before refocusing his gaze on the slayers under his roof. He raises the lantern in his hand a little.

“But that’s enough sad stories of lost people for now,” he says. “I wanted to ask if you needed something before we all retired for the night.”

The three young men exchange thoughtful glances.

“No, I think we’re good, Nagare-san,” Tanjiro whispers politely. “Have a good night and thank you for your hospitality.”

Nagare nods.

“A good night to you as well.”

With that he closes the door and his silhouette, discernable in the light of his lantern, leaves. The recovering slayers are left with their thoughts and Tanjiro, in particular, thinks hard about the story he’s heard of for the first time, one that he doesn’t hesitate to write down, even if his wounds keep him from doing so quickly.

A story of a Rumble Hashira… that same title once possessed by Zenitsu and Kaigaku’s mentor, one that’s coveted by the two slayers. Tanjiro hums before he realizes it and Zenitsu’s glance shows that the other slayer heard both the sound and the question behind it.

“Otoishi-san… he wasn’t…”

“That fool wasn’t our Sensei’s student,” the older slayer interrupts with a scoff and Tanjiro only just restrains himself from confronting Kaigaku about badmouthing the dead. Only because it seems his more knowledgeable peer is ready to share information unprompted. “Former Hashiras are the best cultivators of Breathing Styles, obviously, but they’re far from the only ones, otherwise it’d be a ridiculously low number of slayers we have. I think Sensei and Otoishi’s old teacher know each other, participants of the same Final Selection and all that. He can’t be a Hashira, but he must be a decent enough slayer.”

That remark catches Tanjiro’s attention with how rarely Kaigaku offers praise to anyone but his and Zenitsu’s teacher.

“Otoishi was the first student he trained who’d become a Hashira,” Kaigaku grumbles. “...and current Sound Hashira, a man just as obnoxiously loud and foolish from what I heard, is his second. Tch. Wielding a bastardization of a clean form practised through centuries and calling it a Breathing Style… What a joke.”

“Current Sound Hashira?” Tanjiro whispers curiously and Kaigaku narrows his eyes and scoffs at the younger slayer’s lack of knowledge. Kamado turns bashful at the glare. “I understand that you have been raised by the Rumble Hashira and are much more knowledgeable about the Corps, Kaigaku-san, Zenitsu, but I only spent two years training with Urokodaki-sensei, so please forgive me for my ignorance.”

Kaigaku’s teal eyes widen in surprise for the slightest moment.

“Urokodaki, you say?”

“The Water Hashira…” Zenitsu murmurs with awe in his eyes.

The Kinoe looks thoughtful, before breathing out. He pulls a peach somewhere out of his bathrobe and takes a bite grumpily.

“Just the basics, because I’m so generous, brat,” Kaigaku huffs in disdain once he finishes chewing, but Tanjiro only gives him a warm smile in return as thanks, his pen raised to take notes. It’s rather telling that Kaigaku is unhurried in his explanation, seemingly because he takes time to bite and chew between sentences, yet with it, Tanjiro doesn’t need to aggravate his injuries by writing faster to keep up. “There are nine acting Hashira at the moment, one per Breathing Style, whether designed by the progenitor of Breathing Styles or their own bastardization. Flame, Water, Wind, Stone, Mist, Insect, Love, Serpent and Sound.”

Kaigaku bites on his peach again., humming as he chews.

“I don’t actually know all the Hashiras by name and in detail, but I’d say… about half of them,” he continues. “Flame Hashira, don’t know the name, but he has to come from the Rengoku family. Golden hair, fiery temper. They’ve been Flame Hashira for generations. Sound Hashira, the bastard, is Uzui Tengen, you won’t miss or forget that flashy bastard when you see him even if you want to. Loud, obnoxious and infuriating. Water Hashira, Tomioka Giyu–”

Tanjiro stumbles and accidentally leaves a small ink splatter on the paper. Hearing a familiar name takes him off-guard. He felt power coming from Tomioka-san upon their first meeting, when the man casually overwhelmed Nezuko who had yet to come to her senses, but to realize he was one of the strongest slayers of the generation is… a lot.

“Don’t know much about him, only know of him from Sensei,” Kaigaku hums, before growing quieter and more subdued. “...and Stone Hashira. Himejima Gyomei.”

An odd pause forms, in which Kaigaku finishes his fruit.

In the midst of it, Tanjiro feels the conflicting mess of smells emanating from the older slayer. Anger, shame, irritation and guilt, all related to the name of the Stone Hashira, whoever the man was.

“He’s the strongest slayer alive,” Kaigaku finally says, before his face grows sharper and his glares at both Tanjiro and Zenitsu. “And that’s enough of you. If you’re not out in five minutes like Nezuko-san, I’ll make sure you are.”

“Aiiie!” Zenitsu cries on his futon.

“Of course, Kaigaku-san. Thank you for your input,” Tanjiro whispers gratefully, nodding to the older slayer. Kaigaku huffs before lying down and making himself comfortable on his own futon, turning his back on the two.

Tanjiro takes a bit to finalize his notes for the diary, but he does, technically, finish it in under five minutes.

“They’re gone already?”

One of these days, as he, Zenitsu and Kaigaku recover from their injuries in the encounter with Waning Six, Tanjiro wakes up to an empty room. A brief conversation with the master of the Wisteria House they’ve been staying in confirms that the students of the former Thunder Hashira have left for another mission of their own.

“Quite so, Kamado-san,” Nagare hums, double-checking how Tanjiro fixed Nezuko’s box on his back, with his sole arm. “I didn’t imagine they’d stay with us for long after the doctor pronounced them fully healed.”

Tanjiro nods.

The teen is quite ready to leave for his own mission as well, he feels invigorated and restored under the bright beams of the sun.

“I’m… just a bit surprised I didn’t hear Zenitsu.”

“Kaigaku-san chopped him on the neck and knocked him out before dragging him out. He didn’t seem to want to interrupt your sleep,” the former demon slayer says flatly and Tanjiro winces, though he is somewhat grateful to Kaigaku, because when he’s scared, Zenitsu can be… a lot to deal with.

“I see. That would explain it.”

A loud caw of a crow makes both look upwards, where Tanjiro’s Kasugai crow, Matsuemon, is perched on the roof of the Wisteria House, right above the wisteria crest etched on the wall under the roof of the building.

“Kamado Tanjiro! Tanjiro! Head south-east! South-east! To Utsunomiya!” the messenger repeats for, perhaps, the third time since his arrival about fifteen minutes ago.

“Utsunomiya… it’s a large city, isn’t it?” Tanjiro asks, turning towards his one-armed host. Nagare nods.

“About three hours of travel on foot for a slayer.”

“I see.”

The older man accompanies Tanjiro to the wooden fence surrounding the Wisteria House and once they’re on the other side, Tanjiro wastes no time to bow to him.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for us, Nagare-san,” the boy says.

“It’s nothing,” the other replies flatly before eyeing the wooden box on Tanjiro’s back. “...just always keep in mind that no demon is as benign as the one you carry on your back.”

Tanjiro stiffens before sharply straightening up.

Nagare points to his milky eye.

“I might be blind in one eye, but I’m not senile. I can sense demons just as sharply as anyone of my rank should,” the former slayer says, before his smell adopts a melancholic feel to it. “I should be angry. I should report you to a Hashira as a security issue. …but the demon you carry let us rest uninterrupted through the night, and there must be a reason for it. You are a sincere person, Kamado Tanjiro, and those boys accompanying you… They are good judges of character.”

“Nagare-san…”

“Take care, Kamado-san,” the man bows slightly to Tanjiro as well. “And be careful. Meeting two Kizuki in a lifetime and living to tell of it… means you’ll have a very interesting life ahead of you.”

Tanjiro is overcome with determination and nods.

“Don’t worry about me, Nagare-san, I will be alright.”

He turns around and begins running, following Matsuemon who flies ahead of him, shouting directions. The master of the Wisteria House hums, looking at the small form in a checkered haori that disappears in the thick woods.

With a sigh, Nagare returns inside, hoping the bright boys he met won’t end up like him, wounded beyond capacity to fight, or even worse, like his peers, children, whom he led to die against a Waxing Moon.

Chapter Text

Utsunomiya is the center of the Tochigi Prefecture and the third most populous city in the Kanto region, right after Tokyo, the grand capital Tanjiro has visited briefly, and Yokohama, another city to the south of the capital. It’s not as grandiose as Nikko, the city of splendor and shrines that Tanjiro heard of, but the wild amount of lights and sounds still catches him off-guard even after the boy’s experience in Tokyo. It’s hard for him to get used to being exposed to such sensory overstimulation, having lived all of his life high in the mountains, with only a modest village in his family’s walking distance.

While he’s not as overwhelmed, in the end, it’s still a bit much for Tanjiro, just like during his visit to Tokyo’s Asakusa. Walking through the crowds on one of the streets of Utsunomiya, busy despite the late hours, the young demon slayer double-checks that the box on his back sits tight, cautious of losing his sister in the commotion.

He has no doubt in the craftsman that repaired the strips of the box, but he’s somewhat nervous.

“The city is so bright and lively,” Tanjiro chuckles under his nose. He glances back and there’s no reply from his box, which is fine by him.

Nezuko’s been sleeping for most of their journey to the city, as her regeneration speed, dependent on her sleep, is rather slow compared to regular demons, and she did need to recover a lot after their encounter with Waning Six which feels an eternity ago. Tamayo-san gave Tanjiro a drug that would speed up her regeneration, but the young demon slayer was told that it’s best to leave it for emergencies in which they have little time to recuperate between fights, or for a break in a very intense confrontation.

He never had the chance to administer it to Nezuko then, and by the time he was in position, she had regenerated the majority of her wounds on her own and was merely dealing with stamina drain.

If things go well, Nezuko will recover fully by the time Tanjiro finishes his mission in Utsunomiya and then the siblings will once again be ready to act as a team protecting humans from man-eating demons.

Shaking his head, Tanjiro returns to thoughts about his mission here.

Large cities like Utsunomiya, ones that never sleep, are tricky for demon slayers to deal with for more than one reason. There are many civilians who can become collateral damage should a fight against the demon haunting it get out of control. It’s also hard to find the demon in question in the first place, the sprawling settlements possessing all kinds of nooks and crannies for them to hide in, and the crime level compared to isolated villages and towns covering up irregular disappearances and deaths by demons.

Questioning a random passerby is out of the question with how ineffective it would be, not to mention Tanjiro will just make a fool of himself trying to explain what exactly he’s looking for.

The young demon slayer doesn’t know how others handle the issue, but at least he has a secret weapon to rely on, his supernaturally acute sense of smell.

Adjusting his grip on the straps of Nezuko’s box, Tanjiro steps aside for the busy crowd and takes a deep breath.

Wood, machinery, sweat. Pastries, lamp oil, dust.

Tanjiro sneezes.

There’s one smell that picks his curiosity, and so he starts walking in that direction. It’s a smell he has experienced not that long ago, a familiar, yet not exactly threatening smell.

The smell of a wild wet boar.

“Ngaaah! Stop pushing back! Give me my swords back and fight me, giant bear man!”

The shout in the distance certainly feels familiar to Tanjiro. The whispers all around are a new addition to that and make the demon slayer slightly cringe in embarrassment.

“Do you think we should call the police…?”

“I wonder what this kid’s parents were doing…”

“Excuse me, let me pass, please,” Tanjiro mutters, pushing carefully to make his way to the center of the excitement. The image that greets him is an odd sight that, nonetheless, is better than what he expected.

The slayer wearing a boar head as a mask, Hashibira Inosuke, is flinging fists at a giant of a man who stops him by just holding Inosuke in place by his head, surprisingly gently despite the ridiculous size and strength difference. With what Tanjiro knows of the boy’s skill, it’s also notable that somehow the man managed to disarm the crazy slayer, holding his katanas, wrapped in bandages, in his free hand.

…the fact he managed that isn’t really that surprising, considering the identity of the giant man with dark hair ending in a ponytail. Tanjiro is surprised to see him way out of Tokyo, but he is a welcome sight.

“Joestar-san!”

Both the man, Jonathan Joestar, and the boy struggling against him, turn towards Tanjiro. The Englishman’s face shows momentary surprise before a wide open smile graces it.

“Ah, Tanjiro-kun, what a surprise to see you here,” he says, before being interrupted by the teenager he’s holding.

“Kentaro! Great, go ahead and help me fight this muscle god!”

Tanjiro can’t help the awkward nervous laugh. Everyone’s looking at him, either judging or pitying him for being an acquaintance of an obviously insane kid.

“It’s… It’s Tanjiro, Inosuke-san,” he sighs, stepping closer to the two and giving the large man a reason to let go of Inosuke.

Now that Joestar-san and Inosuke stop being a circus act, the crowd begins to disperse, as they have their own business to handle. JoJo glances between the boar-headed boy and their common acquaintance.

“Is he a friend of yours, Tanjiro? I’ve noticed the…” the man nods at the wrapped katanas he keeps holding and Inosuke immediately jumps at them, remembering the fact that he’s disarmed. Naturally, Joestar-san casually holds the wild demon slayer back with his free hand pushing Inosuke’s chest.

“Give them back!”

“I’d say… Inosuke’s more of a colleague…” Tanjiro winces at the sight. “We’re acquainted, that much is true.”

“Momtaro here is my loyal minion and the two of us are gonna kick your ass!” the wild boy shouts, forcing a chuckle out of JoJo. “Don’t you dare laugh, you overgrown bear! What did you hunt down to grow like that?! I want that too!”

“Joestar-hakase! Are you alright! I heard the commotion!”

A frazzled man in a black form-fitting chauffeur uniform approaches the group, only to stare in confusion at the picture of Joestar-san casually manhandling a boy in a boar mask. Tanjiro makes note of the symbol on the man’s cap, a wagon wheel with hieroglyphs for “Speedwagon Zaidan” on it. The slayer deduces that it must be an employee of the Speedwagon Foundation that Joestar-san and Tamayo-san mentioned previously and that fact unconsciously makes him stand taller.

“Ah, Hiroaki-kun, it’s nothing to worry about,” the large man chuckles easily, meanwhile still keeping Inosuke away from his blades without a second thought. “I’ve just come across an acquaintance. This young man here is Kamado Tanjiro, he’s assisting one of our associates in her medical research, I might have mentioned him. And this is his friend…”

Joestar-san looks meaningfully at Inosuke, which makes the boy halt his attempts to gain back his blades for a bit. The wild demon slayer puts his hands on his waist and puffs up, laughing boisterously.

“Me? I’m Hashibira Inosuke-sama! Better remember this, minions!”

The Speedwagon Foundation employee startles, before bowing to the teens politely.

“Sugimoto Hiroaki. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kamado-san, Hashibira-san,” the man introduces himself.

“It’s a pleasure for us as well, Sugimoto-san,” Tanjiro nods with a smile.

“Himeaki. Got it.”

Hiroaki stares at Inosuke, furrowing his brows.

“It’s… Hiroaki.”

“Ah, Sugimoto-san… don’t even try, it’s hopeless,” Tanjiro laughs helplessly. The chauffeur blinks before turning back towards Joestar-san. The large man shakes his head fondly.

“Joestar-hakase, I wanted to remind you that your meeting with Akefu-hakase of Teikyo University is in about fifteen minutes, and we might need to hurry. I’m rather surprised he adjusted his schedule to fit your night activities, sir, it would be rude to make him wait.”

“It’s that late already?” Joestar-san hums in surprise, pulling a pocket watch out of the inner pocket of his long greenish coat. “Indeed. How time flies.”

He hands the wrapped katanas back to Inosuke, to the boy’s slight surprise at the ease with which his weapons were finally returned to him. Joestar-san turns to face both demon slayers.

“I have to meet with a researcher who had contact with my old friend Straizo before we lost contact with him. I take it you two also have business to attend to,” the man says, tilting his head meaningfully.

“Yes, Joestar-san, I’ve been assigned a mission here and I believe Inosuke was sent to follow the same trail,” Tanjiro nods, smiling at the man. “We won’t be holding you anymore, sorry if Inosuke distracted you from your work.”

“That was no trouble, really, Tanjiro-kun,” Joestar-san chuckles, patting Inosuke’s masked head, the boy growing even more stunned from the soft motion of the large hand. “Inosuke-kun here is a very spirited young man. I take it he hasn’t had much experience traversing large cities like this, so maybe you could take yourselves on a tour after you’re done.”

“I can’t say I have that much more experience myself, sir, I’m feeling just a bit less lost here than in Tokyo,” the boy with the hanafuda earrings rubs his cheek awkwardly.

“All the more reason, then. Well, I’ll be around. Tanjiro, Inosuke. Good hunting to you both. Let’s go, Hiroaki-kun.”

“Of course, Joestar-hakase!”

With that, Jonathan Joestar turns around and walks away along with his aide, carefully pushing through the lively night crowd of Utsunomiya, Hiroaki hurrying after him. It’s a bit ridiculous how the man towers over most people and apologizes whenever he pushes someone too hard.

“I feel… warm. And I don’t know why,” Inosuke mutters dumbly in a low tone, still stunned and holding his wrapped katanas the way he received them from Joestar-san, looking surprisingly vulnerable. Tanjiro’s acute smell takes in the confusion, embarrassment and fondness emanating from the boy in a boar mask. It occurs to Tanjiro that Inosuke may have had an odd upbringing, wild as he looks, with only some general idea of societal conventions, if at all.

“I think you’re fond of him, Inosuke,” Tanjiro offers softly, making the other slayer turn his head towards him.

Inosuke immediately clips his katanas back to his waist, before making a joyful sound and grabbing Tanjiro in a headlock.

“So, Mangiro! You’ve decided to join Inosuke-sama in his hunt! A glorious choice, my minion! We’ll conquer this weird giant village and find the demon crawling under it!” Inosuke exclaims, raising one of his katanas triumphantly. “...if only people went to sleep! I can’t focus on searching for the demon when everyone’s scuttling like ants here!”

The last angry exclamation has Inosuke grip Tanjiro’s neck even tighter, which leaves the other slayer wheezing.

“I-Inosuke! Can’t… breathe!”

***

“I can’t believe we haven’t found that demon yet! It has to be a crafty and sneaky vermin to escape the sight of the great Inosuke-sama!”

Tanjiro listens to Inosuke’s ranting patiently as the slayer walks back and forth, waving his arms angrily. Tanjiro himself sits on a bench with a bowl of ramen on his knees, a few steps from a wooden wagon selling said ramen. Nezuko’s box sits on the ground, and while Tanjiro tried to coax his sister out to stretch a bit, after his knock on the door received no response, he left the demon girl to sleep. On top of her box sits a second bowl of steaming ramen.

“Inosuke, we’ve searched for half of an hour and still haven’t even found a single lead on the demon. Perhaps, you should take a break. Your food is going to get cold.”

The other teen fumes, but ultimately grabs the bowl and sits down next to Tanjiro, lifting up his boar mask slightly and just grabbing the noodles with his bare hand, shoving it into his mouth and making Tanjiro cringe a bit.

After the first bite, Inosuke stills, before a wide grin plasters itself on his face.

“What the hell, Tanpachiro! This stuff is epic!” the slayer exclaims joyfully, before he begins shoving even more ramen in his mouth, muttering under his nose and, fittingly enough, appearing like an absolute pig. “Mhm! Never had that in the woods! So good, so hot! Ha-ha! Damn, I love this!”

Despite the atrocious manners the other displays, Tanjiro’s heart grows warm at the sight of Inosuke being genuinely happy for the first time since they met, and not just laughing in blissful bloodlust.

“Hey! You think you can get another bowl from the wooden wagon god!” Inosuke asks excitedly, having finished with his bowl of ramen before Tanjiro makes it even halfway through his. With a sigh, Tanjiro pays for another two bowls of ramen for Inosuke.

A slayer’s paycheck is surprisingly generous, Tanjiro found after receiving his first while recovering alongside Kaigaku and Zenitsu in the Wisteria House. What he received for a month of work and, to his calculations, three demons strong enough to possess their own Blood Demon Arts he defeated since receiving his nichirin blade and uniform, is over three times the amount he would have made selling charcoal at his village. Plus there was an extra stipend, half the monthly pay, for defeating a particularly powerful demon that was haunting the area of the Final Selection despite Hashiras’ efforts to keep it safe.

Tanjiro reminisces about that fight, eating quietly.

It was a massive Hand Demon hunting students of Urokodaki-sensei, the Hashira responsible for incarcerating him in the Final Selection area. He spent two eras menacing the participants and growing stronger, evolving and masterfully hiding itself from the Hashiras who came to investigate the area in the last two years, about which he raged greatly in Tanjiro’s face.

Even then, after he cut the demon’s head off and his predecessors were avenged… he couldn’t help but sympathize with the human that demon once had been, smelling grief, regret and pain, none of the murderous intent from before, as his body disintegrated.

He has to keep finding humanity in the demons he fights. If he forgets that they were once humans, how can he hold out hope for returning his sister’s humanity?

“So, Monpachiro!” Inosuke exclaims, slamming his bowl on top of Nezuko’s box, pulling Tanjiro out of his thoughts.

“Inosuke, careful with that, please!”

“Bah, it’s a sturdy box,” the other brushes off. “How do you suggest we find that demon!”

Tanjiro hums, taking the bowl Inosuke left along with his own, now empty, back to the stand owner so he can reuse them. He finds it incredibly odd how neither of them have, so far, sensed anything even reminiscent of a demon, nor have they heard much about odd disappearances or deaths. At most there are whispers of yakuza activity, with them kidnapping some young girls and Tanjiro shudders even thinking about that.

“This demon must be adept at hiding their presence,” Tanjiro hums after thanking the ramen wagon shop owner for the delicious treat. Inosuke watches his fellow slayer closely, nodding enthusiastically as he thinks aloud. “It’s entirely possible they’ve been around for long enough to make a base of operations inside one of the buildings, which is why their presence doesn’t register for our senses, even when we get past the disturbance the city crowd makes.”

“Genius…” Inosuke nods in agreement. “My minion is a genius.”

“However, given they were reported in the first place, I think we should go out and comb through the city, they must be abducting people nonetheless and– huh.”

Tanjiro blinks.

His sister’s box isn’t where he left it.

There’s a young man rushing, pushing through the crowd, carrying Nezuko’s box on his back. That very instance, Tanjiro sees red.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU ASS! PUT THAT BOX DOWN!”

The demon slayer breathes deeply and furiously, instantly accelerating to chase down the infuriatingly bold robber, rushing through the street, jumping onto the walls of the building to run against them in brief spurts, venturing over the crowd he’d have to apologize to if he were to push through them. That would have been inconvenient. And that way he keeps his eyes on the guy in a dark purple vest who’s trying to get away with Nezuko on his back.

Who in their right mind grabs a giant box off of random people?

“Woohoo, Tamataro! What’s the plan now!” Inosuke laughs wildly, barreling through the crowd with zero shame and successfully catching up to his fellow slayer rushing through the streets of Utsunomiya. “Do I get to kick this guy’s ass?!”

“YES, INOSUKE, YOU DO!”

“OH, YEAH!”

***

Jonathan raises the cup of tea to his lips. A spectacled man sitting opposite of him fixes his glasses nervously. Akefu Keizan shared all he could about Straizo’s visit to Utsunomiya… or, at least, that’s what the anthropology doctor says. The British archeologist stares him down.

“...daddy, I think he knows,” a boy sitting next to the man whispers. “You should just tell him what you told that fancy man.”

JoJo hides a chuckle in the cup and Hiroaki, standing vigil behind the larger man, covers his laugh with a cough. Little Satoru, even at ten years old, is very perceptive and blunt. It’s no honestly no wonder he likely bullied his father into joining his midnight meeting with a colleague.

Keizan glances around nervously.

“Have you heard about the Kurayami Tenshou, Joestar-san?” the anthropologist asks in a low tone of voice. Jonathan frowns, musing on the term, “Heavenly Darkness”, if he has his Japanese right, but it doesn’t ring a bell in his mind. He turns slightly to Hiroaki, in case the younger man can illuminate him.

Hiroaki looks a bit pale and bends to whisper in Jonathan’s ear.

“Kurayami Tenshou are the yakuza clan operating in Utsunomiya for the last fifty years or so,” the chauffeur, who has sort of become Jonathan’s unofficial aide and guide lately, explains. “They’re not focused on expansion, which is one of the reasons you haven’t heard of them, but they have a steel grip here. They’re very territorial and very brutal towards any other gang trying to stake a claim here.”

“Ah.”

Jonathan isn’t completely unaware of the dark side of the world. After all, his best friend, Robert E.O. Speedwagon, was a leader of his own rather infamous gang in London before turning his life around and becoming an honest man. He warned JoJo about the local crime scene after opening the Japanese office of the Speedwagon Foundation and, quite honestly, the idea of criminal syndicates being so tightly intertwined with governmental institutions gave Jonathan the most severe cultural shock yet in things regarding Japan.

He can see why this Kurayami Tenshou organization may be a big deal.

“You and I both know that some monsters under the bed are more real than others,” Keizan continues, glancing at his son who lazily drinks his own tea. “I mentioned it to Straizo-san, that from whispers on the street… The leader of that clan remained the same throughout these fifty years. I supposed he could be a long-lived man, but nothing points towards him being an old man by any means, quite the opposite.”

Jonathan hums and exchanges glances with Hiroaki. The young man’s been clued into the knowledge of the supernatural after the reveal of Kibutsuji Muzan’s identity, mostly to protect him from being targeted as the Foundation driver most frequently assigned to guide the man’s false self, Minaguchi Tsukihiko. Hiroaki’s a smart man, and right now he, just like Jonathan, quickly gathers the meaning of the researcher’s words.

“How peculiar” the Englishman hums. “Is there any chance you might know where I might find this esteemed gentleman, Akefu-san?”

“I don’t think you quite comprehend–”

“Find a guy in a purple vest, sir, any guy, they'll lead you where you need to. Rokuro-sama’s guys love their sleeveless purple vests, everyone in Utsunomiya knows it,” little Satoru says flatly, making his father sputter, before returning to his tea.

“Thank you, Satoru-kun,” Jonathan smiles softly, noting the name. Rokuro. That must be the founder and the leader of the Kurayami Tenshou clan. Satoru returns JoJo’s smile, before looking at his father with a flat, yet at the same time somehow smug look in grey eyes.

Hiroaki leans down in his Jonathan's direction once more.

“Joestar-hakase, should I… help you with that?”

“There’s no need, Hiroaki-kun. I think I’ll manage the investigation from here. You should return to the hotel,” Jonathan replies kindly. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep and it might get… a bit too intense for you.”

Jonathan’s mind buzzes with worry about the young slayers present in the city, Tanjiro and Inosuke. They are, without a doubt, capable individuals, but can they hold up against a demon who’s been keeping his tight grip on this city for fifty years?

Chapter Text

Some of the most lively Japanese establishments at night are the izakayas, informal pubs where people gather after work to relax with a friend with a round of strong drinks. For obvious reasons, some of such izakayas become very popular among less than savory characters as meeting places to conduct business of questionable legality.

Purple Sakura Bloom is the most notorious izakaya pub in Utsunomiya if you ask those in the know. Unassuming from outside, the first sign of something being off about it is that the business stands unchanged for over fifty years. The second sign are the guards at the front, always different faces, but always the same type of purple vests they wear. Those well-informed about peculiarities of the Utsunomiya underground scene might tell you that it unquestionably marks Purple Sakura Bloom as an establishment that belongs directly to Kurayami Tenshou, the criminal syndicate entrenched deeply in the city.

However, what most don’t know is that this particular izakaya pub isn’t just a random property of yakuza. It’s their birthplace, in a way, and their founder and leader can often be found in the underground section of the pub, partitioned from the rest and only open to those wearing signature purple vests of the gang.

In the darkness of Purple Sakura Bloom’s basement, there’s a room arranged like a Western office room. A work desk and an impressive armchair behind it, though the walls of the room consist of traditional shoji walls. It’s illuminated only by a few traditional lanterns.

A stocky older man with very dark purple hair slouches on a rich couch next to one of the walls of the office, reading a book while irreverently resting his feet on the coffee table in front of the couch. He wears a dark cyan Western suit with a black tie, but he does so carelessly, without any sort of footwear or even a shirt on him, exposing black, vein-like patterns on his chest, similar to the ones on his face. The intricate web of these black cracks, easily assumed to be a series of tattoos, marks the man as a member of the yakuza in the eyes of the public.

The man scratches his short jagged beard lazily, his golden eyes glancing to the right, at the shoji door when he hears slight commotion outside his office. It quietens down and the door opens with one of his men kneeling in front of the door with a large wooden box by his side.

“Rokuro-sama, I’ve procured the box you told us about, possessed by a boy with hanafuda earrings,” the man says.

Rokuro hums dispassionately and casually kicks the table in front of him, smashing it through the shoji wall on the opposite side of the room. It makes the gang member cringe in fear, but the leader of the Kurayami Tenshou clan pays no attention to his discomfort and simply nods to the free place in front of him, urging the man to place the box there.

The man in the purple vest stands up and pulls the box into the room by its straps. Rokuro can’t help but notice the impressive craftsmanship of that box. Not a single beam of light would be able to penetrate it.

Rokuro puts his book onto the couch and leans forward when the box is finally placed in front of him. The gang member stands to the side of the box.

With a hum, Rokuro taps the door of the box, making it fall on its back with a loud crash.

“Come on, get out. Don’t make me wait,” the man says with his deep voice. The man who brought the box looks confused, glancing between his leader and his trophy.

For a moment, there’s nothing.

Then the box slowly opens… from inside, which makes the gang member twitch. Rokuro is this close to scoffing at the youth, he’s barely twenty years old, so naive to the ways of the world and it’s annoying, even if young men have their uses, being the brute force to enforce his will without his presence.

Again, Rokuro refocuses.

From the box, a girl raises up, who shouldn’t have been able to fit inside such a small place. Long black hair with orange tips, pink eyes, a bamboo muzzle in her mouth. She looks around with a sleepy look, blinking lazily.

Rokuro smirks.

“I thought the youngster’s senses might have deceived him,” he hums. He reaches forward to caress the girl’s cheek, but her eyes immediately turn alert, shifting into angry slit pupils, and the hiss she gives is obviously the only warning Rokuro will receive before she tries to retaliate physically. Then he chuckles, pulling his hand back. “Hah, look at that, I was wrong for once. A demon girl, indeed, on the back of a slayer. Sweet and innocent. Unchanging.”

He stares the demon girl down and sees a defiant fire in her eyes.

“You’re not perfect yet, little princess, but you will be.”

There are new sounds of commotion outside the office. Those make all three turn their heads towards the door, since these aren’t just sounds of activity, but outright sounds, screams and roars of fight, with plenty of guns fired, though it doesn’t seem to be enough to deal with the invaders.

Rokuro exchanges slightly confused glances with his subordinate.

“Boss! Boss, it’s an emergency!” someone shouts right outside the shoji door before shooting the mysterious invaders a few times. “These crazy kids–!”

The shoji door breaks, falling into the room along with an unconscious body of one of Rokuro’s burly guards. A wild teenager wearing nothing on his upper body but a boar head for a mask stands on the man’s chest, laughing maniacally while gripping ugly katanas with jagged edges, like someone took a stone to the blades.

Rokuro and the boar boy lock eyes and the others shouts over his shoulder.

“Oi, Manjiro! Inosuke-sama found both your sister, that asshole thief and the demon! Am I great or what?!”

That exclamation makes Rokuro narrow his eyes. He frowns even harder when a second boy, a second demon slayer enters his office uninvited. A boy in a checkered black-and-green haori, with a scar on his forehead and hanafuda earrings hanging from his ears.

The boy glances at the younger yakuza member with the promise of murder in his eyes and that youth visibly shivers. Rokuro huffs in disdain, before standing up from the couch with a slight groan, pulling the boy’s attention.

He walks to his desk in no hurry, casually patting the demon girl on her head as he goes, completely ignoring when she lashes out with her claws. His young subordinate shouts in alarm, but bleeding cuts instantly pull themselves together along with Rokuro’s suit.

“...a demon living underground…” the boy whispers. “That’s why we couldn’t locate you by usual means.”

“It’s always been a curiosity to me whether you slayers are faster than modern firearms. I suppose now I have my answers. I’ll have to invest in something better,” Rokuro hums, leaning back on his desk. He crosses his arms smugly across his exposed strong chest, looking at the boys condescendingly. He then closes his eyes, huffing again. “Congradulations, demon slayers, you’ve found me. The first ones in what… twenty years, I think? I was perfectly fine not seeing those stupid uniforms of yours ever again.”

He opens his golden eyes again and the boy with hanafuda earrings gasps, as he should. With slayers here, Rokuro isn’t interested in hiding his true nature anymore, and his golden eyes now freely show two words engraved in his left eye. Words enough to inspire fear in any rookie slayer.

WANING TWO

Waning Moons of the Twelve Kizuki flip back and forth frequently and every few years a slayer or a group of them kills them off. However, Rokuro isn’t just a regular Waning Moon. While a regular lifespan of a Waning Moon is, at the absolute best, up to ten years, he’s been a Waning Moon for about fifty years. In matters of experience wielding his demonic powers there’s no Waning Moon more skillful than him, not even the Waning One right above him, who might be stronger with his own peculiar abilities, but who hasn’t even been a demon for five years.

In time, Rokuro will be able to overtake him as he overtook other Waning Ones before him.

Rokuro’s experience is exactly how he knows about the slayer in front of him. Kamado Tanjiro, the slayer that Rokuro couldn’t help but remember when he felt the tinge of fear from Waning Six of all people, the quiet youth, and took a look at the situation with his eyes. Twelve Kizuki can feel each other’s presence, that much every of them knows, but it takes experience to share senses with each other. Naturally, it’s something you can only do with those weaker than you.

“Rokuro-sama, you–” Rokuro’s subordinate stumbles, seeing his eye engravings, but the older man pays no attention to him when there are slayers he has to entertain.

He might’ve not fought a slayer in a few decades, but he’s squashed enough bugs in the form of rivaling yakuza daring to extend their operations in his realm that he knows to watch for how a man’s hand tenses, how their body readies to lunge forward or leap aside from an attack sent their way.

“So, boys, what do you plan to do now that you found me?” Waning Two hums lazily, before glancing at the demon girl with a faint smile. “Let’s not make a ruckus in front of my new daughter, though…”

His last sentence makes the boar-headed boy tilt his head in confusion, while Tanjiro stills, his fury growing along with murderous intent Rokuro can feel rolling off him.

“Nezuko won’t be your daughter!” the boy shouts at him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t lunge towards him even as he’s overcome with fury, and Rokuro has to give Tanjiro some credit for his restraint. He realizes facing Rokuro head-on is certain death.

“Nezuko… Such a beautiful name,” Rokuro chuckles, before looking straight at Tanjiro, ignoring his companion or the girl who stands tense in her open box, her slit pupils glancing warily between her brother and Waning Two. “Though I don’t see why not, boy. She’s beautiful and graceful, any man would love to claim her as a daughter. Not quite polite enough yet, and that degrading muzzle will have to go, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. …Tanjiro, was it?”

The boy grips his nichirin katana, pointing it at Rokuro. He’s ready to launch into battle at a moment’s notice. The demon standing across him tilts his head.

“Do you think you can deny me? No.”

Rokuro’s aura of malicious intent flares, the demon’s overwhelming presence stunning his insignificant human subordinate, the two slayers and even the demon girl.

Waning Two stomps his bare foot against the floor.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — GASHADOKURO MAW

The wall and ceiling of the room erupt in a series of sharp rocky stalactites and stalagmites like a giant skeletal maw. The young man who brought Nezuko in only barely avoids getting skewered by the rocks when Tanjiro leaps forward in a flowing motion, grabbing him and retreating at once.

“Inosuke!”

“Got it, Kentaro!”

The boar-headed boy picks up the unconscious bulky guard with ease that might surprise one who doesn’t know of the feats demon slayers are capable of. Two demon slayers rush out of the office, dodging the deadly stone formations.

Rokuro unfolds his arms, walking after the slayers at an unhurried pace. Before he can reach the door, Nezuko throws herself at Waning Two with a kick that might have actually hurt him.

The senior demon stomps firmly on the floor at one of his steps.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — KIJIMUNA PROTECTOR

Stone erupts from the floor, encasing Nezuko inside a large childlike statue. The girl growls and resists as the rock grows all around her, but ultimately, she’s too weak to resist Waning Two’s force, disappearing under the statue completely.

Rokuro stops for a moment, patting the statue on the head softly.

“I’ll return to you later, Nezuko-chan… Daddy has to deal with a few impertinent brats.”

***

This night is not going the way Tanjiro expected it to go. From having Nezuko kidnapped right under his nose, to encountering Waning Two of Twelve Kizuki in the basement of an izakaya pub belonging, without a doubt, to the local yakuza clan. Suddenly, pieces of information in his head make a whole picture. Those kidnapped and killed by the yakuza might as well be those fed to Waning Two, Rokuro-sama, as they called him, and given the mad demon’s intent on making Nezuko his daughter in some twisted attempt to gain a family, there was a distinct motif for outlying abductions of young girls every once in a while that Tanjiro heard about on the streets.

He has to admit that without that poor young man kidnapping Nezuko, he might have spent days fruitlessly searching for trails and not finding anything regarding Waning Two. …but he’s so tempted to throw the guy somewhere.

“W-What the hell was that?!” the young man shrieks as Tanjiro carries him out from the demon’s area of attack.

“A demon. You were working for a demon and you dragged my sister to him!” Tanjiro hisses angrily at the yakuza in a purple vest. The young slayer glances at the unconscious people they’re passing, the guards he and Inosuke had to knock out to get inside who are only just beginning to wake up, and he realizes he can’t carry them all out. “Everyone! Get out of here, quickly–!”

“What–” one of the yakuza guards groans, but doesn’t quite manage to finish the thought before a stomping sound and cracking ground echoes through the basement area.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — GASHADOKURO MAW

The floor and ceiling of the halls erupt in rocky spikes with a meaty sound of piercing flesh. There are a few screams as those yakuza guards who don’t die instantly suffer before a second or third spike pierces their heads or vital organs, bringing them to silence. The guy carried by Tanjiro goes a few shades paler.

Ground erupts under Tanjiro and he has to leap back as the rocks outspeed him and almost skewer him. The slayer, even with extra weight on him, flows graciously in-between the stalactites and stalagmites and mutilated bodies. Training and fighting while carrying Nezuko on his back all the time paid off in the most unexpected way.

For a moment, Tanjiro is concerned about his comrade, but indignant roars and a glance to the side show Inosuke to be doing quite well, even as he carries a burly man on him.

A flip lands Tanjiro in-between a few spikes… right in front of Waning Two who rubs his chin thoughtfully, almost seeming surprised that Tanjiro survived his assault, but not quite.

“I must be getting rusty,” Rokuro hums lazily. “Blood battles and gang trash just don’t compare to actual slayers, I suppose.”

The yakuza guy Tanjiro’s holding on sounds nigh-hysterical when he speaks.

“B-Boss, why?!”

Tanjiro looks around, taking note of the corpses skewered onto the rocky spikes around him. These are people who tried to kill him just a few minutes ago as he tried to rescue his sister.

“Hm? Should I care?” Waning Two chuckles, fixing his loose tie just slightly. “I can always recruit more. What, did you think you’re special just because you’re working for me directly? You’re all expendables.”

“These were your people! Do you have no honor nor dignity?!” Tanjiro shouts at the demon. He has no doubt that in their lives all the people around him caused enough misery to go around, maybe enough to warrant death, though he’s not the one who can cast that judgment. Yet, he can’t help but think of how unjust and utterly wasteful their deaths are.

“It’s a cruel world out there, don’t you know it, Tanjiro?” Rokuro replies. “Each man for himself. No one knows when their loyalty might have run out. Bonds between treacherous people are so flimsy… only bonds between family are eternal, and now I’ll have mine.”

Tanjiro clenches his teeth.

“You are right… in that familial bonds are unbreakable,” he grips his katana, ready to fight the man directly now that has to, surrounded by rocks and deaths. “And that’s exactly why I won’t let you have my sister!”

When Rokuro opens his mouth to say something else, he’s interrupted by spikes of rock cracking and collapsing behind him… with Inosuke laughing like a maniac and flying at Waning Two with his serrated katanas, while a very nauseous-looking guard from before grips the teen’s shoulders, flying along with him.

Tanjiro feels how Waning Two’s murderous intent amplifies, his eyes shrinking in irritation as he turns his head around and readies to stomp the ground.

“Inosuke! Look out!”

Rokuro stomps his foot.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — KAMAITACHI CLAW

In a circle around Rokuro, a ring of giant rocky sickle-like blades rises, forcing Inosuke to divert his jump sideways to avoid getting skewered, while Tanjiro just leaps backwards, trying to avoid them as the blades fold around Rokuro like a shield.

Even with that, the rocky blades are moving again, unfolding like lotus petals, trying to smash the slayers and their rescues into the ground, between which Tanjiro gets out only with a slight chip on his arm, and then folding back up. Tanjiro barely avoids getting split by the rocky blades that rise up to crash through the ceiling.

There’s distant screaming and Tanjiro, with horror, remembers that they’re in the basement of a building. Right above them is the izakuya pub, not all visitors of which are as crooked as the people guarding the demonic owner of the joint.

“Look out!” the yakuza on his back shouts.

Tanjiro suddenly sees irritated golden eyes right in front of him. He never saw or noticed Waning Two’s approach. The young slayer barely has time to put his katana as a guard before Rokuro knees him in the gut. Even though he sees the blade split the Waning Moon’s leg, the force the demon employs still launches Tanjiro and the young man on his back upwards, crashing into and through the ceiling.

Tanjiro blacks out momentarily.

When the young slayer comes to it, it’s to the sound of blades clashing against rock and someone shaking him.

“Come on, kid, wake up!”

Tanjiro almost jumps up, but is kept down to the floor, amidst the rubble, hidden from the demon's eyes and coming face to face with the guy who kidnapped Nezuko. He’s got to be a few years older than him, a bit tanner, too. His beady eyes are both relieved and somewhat afraid of Tanjiro.

“You…”

“Shh! I get it, I stole your sister, accidentally, I didn’t know what was in that box, but you saved my life,” the yakuza guy whispers, glancing around as nervous sweat rolls down his forehead. Tanjiro looks around as well, seeing corpses buried in the half-crumbled pub. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I can’t,” Tanjiro huffs, slowly standing up. He sees Inosuke jumping at Waning Two and Rokuro, arms folded in front of his chest, lazily tapping the ground with his foot as he leans against the bar counter, creating walls of stone in front of himself that launch Inosuke away every time he tries to strike, as if he’s humoring that wild slayer who only gets angrier with repeated failures. “A demon slayer cannot leave his comrade alone and sleep well at night.”

The yakuza guy gulps, glancing between Tanjiro and the hopeless fight raging a short distance from them. The slayer’s face softens for a moment. Despite his crimes, a person in front of him is still human, still a being with potential for greater good.

“You can leave. You should leave, please.”

The older man clenches his teeth but doesn’t waste much time lingering. As he goes, though, rubble shifts, so Tanjiro chooses to pull Waning Two’s attention on himself.

“Inosuke, pull back and get ready!”

Tanjiro knows that Rokuro’s Blood Demon Art makes his defenses incredibly hard to penetrate, especially in close quarters like the ruined izakaya pub. The slayers can’t risk the fight spilling onto the street because of their location in the bustling part of the city, which would lead to many civilian casualties if the demon chose to expanding his range of attack. What they can do is trap Rokuro in place, confuse him and pin him in place for a decisive strike.

With a deep breath, Tanjiro rushes into battle, swinging his katana.

WATER BREATHING — NINTH FORM: SPLASHING WATER FLOW

Tanjiro, with his breathing amplifying his speed and agility, rushes towards and around Rokuro, who raises his brow and stops down.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — GASHADOKURO MAW

Rocky spikes strike from below and above, but Tanjiro flows in-between them, spiraling around Waning Two. With the first circle he runs around the man, the blade slices through the rock, visibly surprising Rokuro judging by the slight widening of his golden eyes. He begins struggling to follow Tanjiro’s movements as the discombobulating swirls of water project around him in the gleam of the slayer’s blade and his rapid movements. Even when he surrounds himself with another row of spikes, these just fall to Tanjiro’s blade.

Tanjiro goes for an overhead slash and Rokuro perceives it.

He stomps the ground.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — KIJIMUNA PROTECTOR

A childlike stone statue forms around Rokuro like a set of armor, protecting him from all sides and cracking the floor underneath it, only barely not sinking back into the basement. Even worse for the young slayer, it begins moving, raising his chubby arms with surprising speed, even if it’s not quite as impressive as that of Waning Two himself.

“Now–!”

The hand of Rokuro’s stone statue grabs Tanjiro and smashes him against the rubble, making the boy wheeze. Within the statue, however, Waning Two realizes the signal to the other slayer too late. As the statue turns, its lacking speed catches up to it with the boar-headed demon slayer entering Rokuro’s range of vision. Rokuro and his statue raise their foot, but Inosuke is already in the process of performing his attack.

BEAST BREATHING — FOURTH FANG: SLICE ‘N’ DICE

Faster than the eye can blink, Inosuke slashes Rokuro’s stone statue relentlessly, twirling around and finishing the attack with multiple diagonal slashes. Stone parts and falls to the ground in large broken chunks, releasing Rokuro, who actually looks rather irritated now.

“Hah! There you go– Oh, fuck–!”

Inosuke doesn’t have the time to channel his movements into another attack, as Rokuro stomps down, uninterrupted even amidst the destruction of his stone protection.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — NURIKABE WALL

The stomp creates the largest wall Waning Two has bothered to make against Inosuke. The wall immediately rushes forward, smashing Inosuke through the actual wall of the pub and flinging the boy out onto the street. Rokuro’s face keeps its irritated state. He’s an experienced demon and he knows the fight isn’t over until he devours his enemies’ corpses. Even then, the resilience and rate of recovery of his human enemies manages to catch him off-guard for the briefest moments.

WATER BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: DROP RIPPLE THRUST

With him being distracted by Inosuke’s armor-shattering attack, Rokuro left himself open for Tanjiro’s attack from behind. Bleeding and wheezing, but still standing strong, he springs the final motion of his plan. A precise, fast, devastating thrust forward that buries itself in the side of Rokuro’s neck.

However, Tanjiro finds he can’t move his blade further into the demon’s neck to behead him.

“Did you… really think my Blood Demon Art was so limited?”

Rokuro slowly turns his head, glancing at the boy over the shoulder with a dark irritated look on his face. When Tanjiro looks closer, he sees how stone texture spreads from Rokuro’s wound, revealing that his ability doesn’t just allow him to create and manipulate stone from his stomps. If anything, it just was the most convenient way for the man to implement his ability that he seemed fond of.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — NURARIHYON PRESENCE

Waning Two’s whole body transforms into a rocky form, with the web of cracks that used to be his tattoos now turning into actual cracks in the stone, glowing with oppressive purple tint.

Rokuro cracks his neck, pressing his shoulder to his cheek, snapping Tanjiro’s katana in two in one swift, careless motion. The slayer stumbles back in shock as his weapon is rendered almost useless, now barely half of its length, while Waning Two turns around, facing his young enemy.

“An admirable effort, Tanjiro. What a shame it all went to waste,” Rokuro shrugs, picking the broken nichirin blade out of his body and then twisting it casually in his hand like a knife. “Did you really think you’d be able to deal with me that easily? You couldn’t even take on that Waning Six kid, Kamanue.”

Rokuro approaches Tanjiro slowly and with each step forward that he makes, the boy makes a cautious step back, trying to come up with a way out of this situation.

“That said, it’s the most damage a slayer has dealt to me in fifty years… Pretty gutsy. Never had to go all-stone outside of some altercations with fellow Kizuki,” Waning Two continues in a light tone. “If you didn’t come across me, I can see, you’d grow up to be a fine slayer. A Hashira, perhaps. It would be all the better to nip that in the bud…”

Rokuro’s head suddenly snaps to the left with a sharp crack.

A foot has connected with his cheek and the figure it belongs to twirls in the air, standing protectively in front of Tanjiro. A figure with long hair with flaming orange tips, growling angrily through her muzzle.

“...how did you get here, Nezuko-chan?” Rokuro asks with eerie softness, turning his head back. A soft, fatherly smile grows on his stone face that almost looks wrong on his face, chilling Tanjiro to the depths of his soul. “I didn’t want to involve you in this.”

***

A man with dark hair and red eyes sits in Rokuro’s office, counting money in the suitcase with no hurry, while the owner of the office kneels in front of his desk in a deep dogeza position submissively along with a long-haired girl to his right. The man at the desk seems to be satisfied with the generous amount of bills there, only perceivable by the slightest nod he gives.

“This slightly exceeds my expectations, which is favorable for us all,” the man says in that hauntingly beautiful baritone, before he closes the case and stands up from the seat. Rokuro keeps himself in a low pose because to show anything less than absolute respect and submission for this powerful man would be unwise.

“Should I be expecting you next month, as always, Muzan-sama?”

A hum in reply.

“No. I have arrangements next month, so we’ll be skipping that one,” the man, Kibutsuji Muzan, replies, standing up, picking up the case and making his way to leave the basement office. “Naturally, the month after that I want to see the tribute doubled.”

“It will be done, Muzan-sama,” the yakuza leader swears.

Muzan opens the shoji door, but holds off actually leaving.

“Your new daughter has grown up already… how time flies.”

Rokuro glances at the girl kneeling next to him and yes, now that his master has mentioned it, he can see it. Her growth spurt has already hit, she’s no longer as small, as defenseless and in need of her father as he was before.

The girl raises her face a bit from the floor, looking at Rokuro with her blue eyes. They look fearful, they look wrong. They have always looked wrong.

“F-Father?”

Without looking up from the floor, Rokuro channels his technique.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — KIJIMUNA PROTECTOR

The girl doesn’t even have a moment to shriek in fear before the stone statue envelops her. Rokuro is a caring father, he makes sure she doesn’t suffer much, even if she’s not quite perfect enough to be his daughter anymore.

“Perhaps, you’ll find the right one someday.”

Muzan hums before disappearing in the doorway.

Still in a dogeza position, Rokuro shakes slightly. There’s an emptiness inside him he’s been trying to fill for decades, but it’s a gap he doesn’t know how to fill correctly. The right piece is always missing, always out of his reach.

The man looks at the silent kid-like statue sitting next to him.

He feels so lonely.

***

For a long time now, Kamado Nezuko has lived her life in a thick fog. In that fog, however, her family is a shining beacon. Tanjiro, her dearest older brother, is a constant soothing presence, and now she must defend him from the monster with golden eyes that smiles at her and tries to act as if it can be anything resembling her father.

“You know… I’ve never raised a boy,” the monster says fondly. “Perhaps, for you, I can keep Tanjiro-kun as well. What do you say to that, Tanjiro? I imagine the two of you are all you’ve left. It would, perhaps, be cruel to separate you. Become a demon, join my family and the bonds between us three will become truly unbreakable.”

Tanjiro, standing behind Nezuko, starts moving forward even when she lightly tries to push him back, because he obviously needs to be protected, with his katana split in half. However, he’s stubborn and decisive. He’s always been like that, putting it all in whatever endeavor he found worth it.

“I’d rather die than become a demon,” the boy says, assuming a fighting stance. “...and Nezuko has never harmed a human, so you would have to kill us both, because we cannot accept your way of living, the way you disregard everything but your so-called family. If it really was the way to live… Why are you alone?”

The monster freezes, glancing around slowly. There’s nothing but rubble and bodies of strangers Nezuko doesn’t know. She recognizes the truth in her brother’s words. The Kamados have never been solitary, they’ve always helped their community. It would have been unfulfilling for them to be anything but.

“You cannot condemn and burn the world for your family,” Tanjiro insists. At these words, the soft and caring facade of the monster disappears, leaving behind a bitter scowl on its rocky face.

“...watch me,” it spits and stomps the ground.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — KAMAITACHI CLAW

Giant sickles made of stone rise from the ground, forming a circle around the demon and spreading around, shredding everything in sight. Both Nezuko and Tanjiro jump to avoid the blades, but they don’t expect the monster to jump at them in the middle of its attack, leaping at Tanjiro with a broken nichirin blade in its head, ready to stab the boy in the face.

Nezuko twists herself at once, bouncing off the swinging blade to propel herself towards her brother, kicking the rocky being and shoving herself along with the demon away from Tanjiro.

“Nezuko!”

Scythes rise up, forming a lotus where the monster initiated its attack, and two of them cut Nezuko’s arm and leg off as she flies. The demon girl flops to the ground with little grace, spilling her blood over the floor and the monster covered with stone.

“Nezuko, Nezuko-chan…” the demon mutters with irritation, shrugging off her attack and walking towards her slowly.

“Don’t touch my sister!”

Tanjiro jumps over Nezuko, charging at the demon despite his broken weapon. The monster snarls in response, parrying flimsy strikes with its own blade, before it begins overwhelming Tanjiro, one slash cutting shaving off part of his hair, the other grazing his face and making the boy hiss as he slides back, blood dripping freely from his face. The monster grabs Tanjiro's head, scowling and squeezing the boy, making him scream in agony, pushing him near death even as he struggles.

There’s something hungry growling in Nezuko, but she ignores it. It’s her brother, he’s much more important than that hungry feeling. Instead, she pulls on the urge to help Tanjiro. She growls beneath her muzzle, raising her full arm and squeezing.

The monster looks at the blood Nezuko left on him in confusion as the stains begin to glow.

“What–?”

BLOOD DEMON ART: EXPLODING BLOOD

The blood explodes in a brilliant explosion of pink fire that doesn't harm Tanjiro as he lands, breathing heavily, watching in brief awe at the explosion. His burgundy red eye almost see something else, as if life flashes before his eyes in that instance of near death. However, he recoveres with a newfound determination, jumping into the fray while the monster stands shocked, barely keeping itself upright as its chest, part of its face and part of its left leg are blown off in patches by Nezuko’s blood.

It has dropped the blade it stole from Tanjiro and the boy is quick to pick it up while the monster is in shock. The demon doesn't even tap the floor anymore, telegraphing its attacks, though the purple cracks on its broken stone-like body glow brighter as it activates its techniques.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — GASHADOKURO MAW

Rocky spikes surround the monster, attepting to pierce Tanjiro, but his movements are now more graceful and decisive than ever before. His breathing seems to leave trails of blazing fire in its wake. At that same time, Tanjiro realizes the ability Nezuko unleashed, seizing the moment, and Nezuko sees her blood splattered on both pieces of the broken blade.

“We’ve lost our family, but our bond with them is still there!”

HINOKAMI KAGURA — RAGING SUN

With a spirited roar, Tanjiro smashes his imperfect blades against the monster’s neck in horizontal motions even as its stone arms grab and squeeze the boy’s arms, trying to hold him back desperately.

“TANJIRO–!”

As always, Nezuko doesn’t fully comprehend her brother’s words, his words about their family muffled in her mind, but she squeezes the connection to her power once more.

BLOOD DEMON ART: EXPLODING BLOOD

An explosion of pink fire envelops two figures.

…and then Tanjiro is launched back, landing and crumbling next to his sister, spitting blood, wheezing in pain and glancing at the monster with wide eyes. He tries to lift himself up on his arms, but he only falls down with a pained wheeze, making Nezuko crawl closer to him to support him, as much as she can with her sole arm. There’s certainly something wrong with his arms. It’s likely that the monster squeezed them too hard and she hates it for it. To say nothing of his breathing, his body overwhelmed with the power he channeled.

Tanjiro’s will is not broken, but even though Nezuko knows he tries to be brave for her, like he always is, he’s scared.

Fire parts and the monster stands in place still.

Two blades are buried on the opposite sides of his neck. …yet despite the fact you can see the exposed neck bone, covered with black stone texture with purple cracks running over it, it’s still whole. The statue-like monster pulls the blades off and throws them away in disgust, breathing heavily as it regenerates.

“...that would have been enough for anyone else, Tanjiro,” it praises with wide eyes, before scratching its beard. “But I’m Waning Two, the oldest Waning Moon and there’s none of us who have managed to refine ourselves as much as I did. I’m a master of defense and you… are simply not enough.”

The monster, mildly shaken it may be, makes its way to the siblings slowly, good as new and even shifting away from stone texture into colors and materials that make it look like a human.

“...but now I see it clearly. You both must become my family.”

Tanjiro grunts, trying to stand up, gasping at the same time but never giving up.

The monster raises its foot, ready to stomp on the ground to enact another of its mighty techniques, and Nezuko readies to spill it with her blood. For her brother, she’s ready to spill all the blood she has.

“Good sir, I have to ask you to leave these children alone.”

The monster lowers its foot without stomping, turning towards the voice in slight confusion, as if it can’t comprehend someone interrupting it in such a manner. Yet this calmness, this easy confidence brings memories to Nezuko’s mind.

In the broken wall of the izakaya pub that leads into an empty street lit with nothing but moonlight, the figure Nezuko sees is that of her sickly, yet steadfast and deceptively capable father, Kamado Tanjurou. She knows everything will be alright.

Her brother, right next to her, wheezes out a sigh of relief, as his eyes, untainted with either the demon curse of the hypnosis his teacher, Urokodaki-sensei, cast on his sister to restrain her bloodlust by convincing her that all humans are her family, sees the looming enormous figure of a man in a green coat, with dark hair and a ponytail.

“...Joestar-san…”

The demon’s golden eyes meet Jonathan Joestar’s resolute light blue glare. At that moment Tanjiro, too, knows everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

Against Jonathan’s expectations, the search for a person in a purple vest, a member of the notorious Kurayami Tenshou, turns out to be a much less troublesome endeavor than Akefu and his son implied. Perhaps, it’s luck. Or maybe it’s fate. The fact is, that during his walk through the night streets of Utsunomiya, surrounded by worried murmurs of an explosion in some building not too far away, a person collides against Jonathan. Granted, he isn’t bothered in the slightest because of his height and muscle mass, instead that person falls to ground himself.

“May I help you?” JoJo asks on instinct before taking in the appearance of the young man. He’s around twenty, he’d wager, and while his black hair and beady eyes are unassuming, his vest is very notable in its purple tint. “Say, you wear such a vest while in Utsunomiya. Do you have an idea of whom you associate with due to that?”

“Fuck, yeah, I wish I didn’t–” the young man mutters rubbing his forehead from pain, before he lifts his eyes at JoJo. “What’s in it for you?!”

“I’d like to meet with your, ah, employer, should I say? The esteemed man at the very top of your hierarchy,” Jonathan says in a low tone, trying not to make a scene and helping the man up. When it connects what he’s saying, though, the man pales in the face.

“Are you insane?! This– this monster, this demon’s gonna kill you and gobble you up! I need to get out of there myself!”

The wording picks JoJo’s curiosity. Naturally, he doesn’t let go of the man’s arm and the youth pales even more as the size difference between the two of them suddenly starts to sink in.

“Mind you, when you say ‘demon’, do you mean…”

“I mean it in the most literal sense, now let me go!” the other interrupts and Jonathan hums in surprise. “Once he kills those crazy kids he’s going to come for me and I’m not staying here for it!”

“Crazy kids?” Jonathan asks, his features growing more stern and serious and the shift in tone gets the yakuza member freeze up.

“Ergh… Yeah. One with a boar head, another in that stupid checkered haori and with hanafuda earrings. You… Do you know them?” the man speaks carefully.

“Indeed. Would you mind showing me to the site of the fight?”

Both parties know perfectly well it’s not really a request the younger man can refuse and the yakuza teen begins tearing up in sheer frustration at his current situation.

Then he takes another look at Jonathan… with something akin to hope in his eyes. The man mutters to himself.

“...this guy already knew about the boss… maybe he can…”

“Please, er–”

“Nijimura,” the man groans before trying to both pull away from Jonathan and lead him. “Alright, let’s go, big guy, we don’t have much time, just don’t… just don’t expect me to stick around! I choose life!”

“Lead the way, Nijimura-san.”

Jonathan lets go and the younger man sprints back where he came from with genuinely surprising speed, as JoJo even has to channel the slightest bit of Hamon energy surge to empower his legs to keep up with the yakuza youth. Jonathan can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign of Nijimura’s supreme skill or that he’s growing older. It’s true, he keeps his youthful look due to all his practice with Hamon, but his wife doesn’t let him forget his true age, he’s over fifty and he’s not getting any younger.

As Jonathan follows Nijimura through the city, his thoughts drift to Straizo yet again, especially with the idea that this demon in charge of the yakuza, Rokuro, might have been one of the last people to see him. Straizo has always been sensitive about the fragility of human lives, ever since his best friend and fellow Hamon warrior, Dire, died in his fight against Dio back in 1888, not too long after the warriors met Jonathan for the first time. Straizo confided in Jonathan soon after the latter's marriage. He and Erina intended to leave England for the States for their honeymoon, but in the end chose to stay at home, while Straizo and his teacher, Tonpetty, left to the Americas in their stead.

As Jonathan learned in the aftermath, Dio, surviving the grand battle at Windknight’s lot, boarded that same ship and, whether by accident or by intent, his fight with Tonpetty and Straizo sunk the entire ship, with only him, the Hamon warriors and a lone baby whom Straizo later adopted, surviving the catastrophe.

“Humans are so fragile, JoJo… even for all our power, both myself and the teacher were this close to death. And despite our strength, we failed other passengers,” Straizo confessed as he was rocking little Liza. “I can’t help but wonder…”

“About…?”

The older man shakes his head.

“It’s of little importance now.”

Sounds of combat bring Jonathan back to the present. There are explosions resounding within one of the buildings and the very sound has Nijimura flinching, the young man obviously wanting to run away from the place and never return.

“Thank you for your guidance, Nijimura-san,” JoJo says, patting the man on the shoulder. “I can take it from here and you can leave. You should leave, it may not be safe for you here.”

The yakuza member clenches his teeth, looking between Jonathan and the condemned pub. Jonathan decides to go ahead without waiting for the young man to leave, hoping he keeps himself safe. What the man sees upon entering through the crashed wall of the building is a massacre. There are many dead bodies crushed under the debris, but fortunately Tanjiro Kamado along with his sister aren’t among them and he doesn’t see the boy’s companion, Inosuke, anywhere as well.

“Good sir, I have to ask you to leave these children alone,” Jonathan says toward the man looming in front of Tanjiro and Nezuko, who lay on the ground helplessly. The demon girl has one of her arms and one of her legs cut off.

“...Joestar-san…” Tanjiro whispers weakly in relief. The boy is obviously in need of medical attention.

The man, Rokuro, turns his head to look at JoJo in confusion as if he can’t believe he’d dare to address him. The thing that catches Jonathan’s attention are the symbols in Rokuro’s left eye, designating him as Waning Two. It’s not unlike the symbols in Akaza’s eyes, Waxing Three.

Tamayo-san has shared the facts of demon hierarchy with him, his wife and the Kamados. Muzan has put what little trust he has in others into twelve strongest demons he’s created, the Twelve Kizuki. Six upper ranks, Waxing Moons, and six lower ranks, Waning Moons.

By all accounts, Rokuro can’t be stronger than Akaza, but Jonathan doesn’t relax just yet.

“And who might you be?” Rokuro asks lazily, tilting his head.

“My name is Jonathan Joestar and I have a few questions for you. Rokuro-san, I believe?” Jonathan introduces himself and the yakuza leader scoffs.

“I don’t have time for you, foreigner.”

He stomps his bare foot against the floor.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — GASHADOKURO MAW

It’s the first time JoJo witnesses a Blood Demon Art in a fight after getting familiar with the term. Each Blood Demon Art is unique to a demon, a supernatural ability they gain after consuming enough humans. He’s witnessed the illusory curtain that Tamayo created and the mystical snowflake compass of Akaza, even if he has yet to divine its true functionality.

Rocky spikes that spring up from the ground trying to skewer Jonathan is something that’s more obvious, but no less fascinating. They don’t act as an extension of the demon's body and so direct application of  Hamon would be more or less useless in disposing of them. However, Jonathan himself is both skillful in the Sendo Form and traditional boxing and physically stronger than most people.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

The world slows around him as Jonathan concentrates his mind and his breath, assuming a Sendo stance. He channels Hamon into his legs and dulls any discomfort he may feel as he executes his technique.

SENDO FORM: ZOOM LEAP

The Hamon energy helps Jonathan dislocate bones in his legs in the moment he leaps forward, allowing him to traverse greater distance. Faster than the eye can see, Jonathan shatters the stalagmites created by Rokuro with his fist and punches through the demon himself.

Golden eyes widen in shock as Jonathan’s giant form lands behind Waning Two. The gaping hole in the man’s side pulls itself together in a feat of regeneration Jonathan has only seen Dio achieve in their latest encounter after decades of experimenting with his body manipulation, but the shock the demon experienced doesn’t pass.

“You… I recognize that rippling feeling of your punch…” the demon says slowly, turning around to look at Jonathan with fear. “You’re just like him…”

Against his will, a faint feeling of hope finally graces JoJo’s heart.

“I take it you’ve met my dear friend, Straizo, then?”

“Straizo… Yes, that was his name,” Rokuro mutters. “He came to me four years ago and wished to meet that man, the fool. Though I expect he got exactly what he expected to get from that encounter.”

“That man?” Jonathan echoes in mild confusion. “Could it be that you mean… Kibutsuji Muzan?”

Absolute panic graces Rokuro’s face as JoJo finishes.

“DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK THAT NAME!”

BLOOD DEMON ART: LITHOKINESIS — TENGU ARMOR

Rokuro’s body grows around itself a stone statue of a terrifying tengu twice Jonathan size, wielding two stone katanas with cracks that glow purple. To JoJo’s disappointment, it appears that there will be little chance to reason with Rokuro to learn more about Straizo’s fate. He can’t risk it, not with Tanjiro and Nezuko right here and not with the chance that Rokuro may cause devastation to grace the rest of the city and not remain contained within his izakaya pub.

The tengu statue raises one of its katanas, crashing through the roof.

Jonathan assumes a Sendo stance.

SENDO FORM: SENDO HAMON OVERDRIVE

The Hamon stifles any pain Jonathan may experience and his overwhelming physical strength is enough to halt the stone katana in its tracks. The wave of hamon sinks into the stone armor and it begins glowing from inside out, cracking and breaking in two, revealing Rokuro who drops to his knees, gasping in pain. He grabs at his body as it, too, begins cracking, each crack glowing with the gold of Hamon that tears the demon apart from inside.

“Sa– Sakura…”

The demon looks skywards as his body begins crumbling away into dusk, tearing up as if he remembers something as life flashes before his eyes.

As Rokuro fades, he remembers, for the first time in a long time, the humble life of Minagawa Yasuhiko, a peaceful and reserved man who was content with his small pub in Utsunomiya. A man just like any other, with a loving wife who, to his great grief, died in childbirth, leaving him with the greatest treasure of his life, little Sakura.

Yasuhiko lived for his daughter, spoiling her with ancient legends she adored, buying her everything she could ever want, doing everything to make her feel loved as his little princess. For a time, that idyllic life was all they knew.

However, then came to upheaval with the coming end of the Edo Period and the era of samurai and with that, the criminals felt themselves a bit more free.

“Old man, we’re not asking for much, you should be proud to receive our attention.”

“With all due respect, I’ve made my point clear, Nakatomi-san. My izakaya pub cannot cater to exclusive clientele. Perhaps, the esteemed establishment three streets to the left will fit you better,” Yasuhiko bows, his dark purple hair tied in a tight bun. His face is stone-hard, betraying no unsavory emotions towards the overly persistent guests. His 16-year old daughter, quiet and polite, is serving other guests, distracting the more lawful visitors from the scene these gangsters are making.

“Well, if you’re going to be obtuse, so be it,” the yakuza member growls, before bounding the bar stand with his fist. “Hey, girl! More sake, we’re dying of thirst here!”

It seemed to be the end of it, but one night, one of those rare nights where the pub was closed for a holiday, Yasuhiko woke up to the extreme heat and smell of smoke.

“Sakura? Sakura, where are you?!”

Yasuhiko’s pub and house were set on fire, and despite his best attempts to find and rescue his dearest daughter, he couldn’t do that before the girl who’s always been of shy constitution succumbed to smoke, barely opening her eyes as her tearful father knelt in front of her and their smouldering house.

As Yasuhiko cries and presses his daughter’s head against his chest, oh, how he wishes he could turn back time. To return to the perfect time when it was just him and Sakura, knowing no sorrow or pain.

“Hm. What a shame. I heard it’s the finest izakaya in the land,” a voice says. Yasuhiko raises his wet brown eyes to see a man in a rich black kimono with flowery patterns on it. He doesn’t look that much older than Sakura is, was, but there’s something regal and ancient about him. “Whatever could be the cause of such a sorry state of this place?”

Yasuhiko breathes heavily, he knows whom to blame.

“Ah, perhaps, we can help each other,” the man says as if reading Yasuhiko’s thoughts, putting his hand on his head. “I heard of a troublesome yakuza clan working here and they, let’s say, interfere with the research work of my associates. Deal away with them and I can grant you the weapon of your revenge.”

Blood spills and Yasuhiko dies that night along with his daughter. Rokuro is born then and it doesn’t take long for him to become the apex predator of the criminal world of Utsunomiya, the head of the newly established Kurayami Tenshou.

And now that his life is over, Rokuro sits in darkness and thinks of where it all went wrong. He’s a soul condemned to go to Hell and he knows he deserves it.

“Father?”

Rokuro turns around as sees the face he hasn’t seen in so long.

“Sakura?”

A petite figure hugs the kneeling man and he hugs his long-lost daughter on instinct, tearing up. He’s missed her so much. Rokuro is washed away, gold bleeding away from his eyes to show the soft brown of Yasuhiko. The man takes in Sakura’s appearance, just as beautiful as the day he lost her.

“We’re finally together again, Father! I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Yasuhiko admits quietly and smiles tearfully. “But our reunion is brief, I can’t stay here, dear, you know that, don’t you?”

“Father, please!”

He pats the girl on the head, standing up.

“If I must, I’ll go with you!” the girl tries to argue, but Yasuhiko puts his hands on her shoulders. “...Father?”

“It’s the prerogative of a parent to wish the best for their child. My sins are not for you to bear and I wish a better fate for you,” Yasuhiko looks behind Sakura and sees his dearest wife. He’s missed her so much as well. “Dear, please, take care of Sakura…”

“Father!”

The flames of Hell separate Yasuhiko from his family as his wife hugs their weeping daughter tightly. But however long he has to be cleansed before deserving a new incarnation in the world, it will be a time softened with the fact that he knows his daughter is in a better place, as she should be.

Jonathan pulls out the automatic syringe he planted in Rokuro’s body before the demon crumbled away fully. He nods when he sees it’s fully filled with demon blood and is about to put it into the inner pocket of his green coat when he hears a loud and distinct meow.

A look to the side reveals a tricolor calico cat sitting on the ground. It wears a necklace with a paper talisman that has an eye-like symbol on it and carries a wooden box on its back.

“Ah, Chachamaru. I suppose it saves me a trip to Tokyo,” JoJo hums softly, kneeling next to the cat and securing the full syringe in the box that has sections for several syringes.

Chachamaru is the beloved cat of Tamayo-san whom she uses to make deliveries when she can’t attend to it herself. While both the woman and her assistant, Yushiro, at first denied it to keep the little feline safe, Tanjiro’s sharp smell made them admit and reveal that Chachamaru is an experimental demon they created, the only animal demon in the world, as far as everyone knows. His Blood Demon Art allows him to leap wherever he wishes and Yushiro’s art, enforced through the talisman on his neck, notifies him of deliveries he needs to make and hides him from everyone’s sight until he wishes it so.

Jonathan pats the cat when he’s done, and with a pleased meow, Chachamaru disappears from sight like a mirage, well on his way to deliver his trophy.

“Such… a sad smell…” Jonathan hears Tanjiro murmur. That makes the man approach the young demon slayer and he winces at the very sight of him. His arms are very likely broken, though he’s not Erina to be certain about it. “The demon, Rokuro. …he had such a sad smell. May he rest in peace as a human he used to be…”

Jonathan smiles softly. His young friend has such a generous soul.

“Tanjiro, I’ll have to splint your arms,” JoJo says, looking around. There’s bound to be a few planks he can use. The boy shakes his head.

“W-Wait. First, Nezuko. There's medicine… in my uniform’s pocket,” the boy says before coughing. “Tamayo-san said… it can help her regeneration.”

Nezuko tilts her head, not concerned with her missing limbs in the slightest. Jonathan, though, nods and abides by the teenager’s wishes, finding a syringe with that medicine in the chest pocket of his jacket before gently applying it, injecting the drug into Nezuko’s shoulder. The girl hums, before she begins growing at her limbs at a rate comparable to that of the Waning Moon Jonathan’s just defeated, which is… rather remarkable considering she hasn’t eaten a single person in her life. It’s something he’ll have to note in his letter to Tamayo-san.

“Alright, Tanjiro, now let’s take care of you,” JoJo huffs. “Nezuko-chan, could you please help me find a few good planks to splint your brother’s arms? He’s going to need our help.”

The girl hums in agreement while Tanjiro breathes out in relief, tension draining from his frame.

Nijimura Chisaku has long since forgotten how it feels to have other people look out for you. An orphan’s life is hard and he’s made the best of it, being Kurayami Tenshou’s errand boy. He even got their iconic purple vest and got to work under their boss directly… though that boss turned out to be a supernatural demon right from Hell. He won’t be surprised if he also ate people he didn’t like. In fact, Chisaku has all the reason to believe he’d eat him the moment he was done with the crazy kids who broke into the pub to rescue the girl Chisaku kidnapped. He didn’t even know he was kidnapping a girl! There was just a general bounty for a box the kid with hanafuda earrings was carrying.

In any case, Rokuro-sama is now dead, the kid who saved Chisaku is being tended to by the horrifying giant of a man and the young wannabe yakuza can now leave this place behind and try to forget all about it. Maybe even leave the town because the crime world here is going to go wild with the power vacuum Rokuro’s death will leave. He might keep the purple vest, though, it’s very stylish.

“Kid… what the hell happened there?”

Chisaku takes a deep breath. Right, the insane boar-headed kid also carried out one of the guards, Hashimoto-san. The burly man in his late twenties frowns first at Chisaku and then his dull blue eyes find the destruction behind him. The man then sighs and combs through his short black hair.

“Let me guess… I’m not getting a paycheck this month, am I?” Hashimoto groans. Chisaku hisses.

“I… really doubt that. The boss is hella dead.”

“Of course he is,” the former guard huffs before he turns around and begins walking away. “Come on, kid, might as well get out of here before the police swarm the place.”

All things considered, Hashimoto isn’t the worst company to get stuck with. He’s always been polite, professional and generally an acceptable company to have off-clock, even if he and Chisaku haven’t interacted with each other much. Two men make their leave through the narrow alleyways connecting to the street housing the now-former Purple Sakura Bloom establishment, a perfect place for no-names like them to disappear.

Though it seems they’re not the only ones wandering these streets tonight, as two figures walking just ahead of them also hide in the darkness, not any taller than Chisaku. Both yakuza stop, feeling an unsettling aura around the two and in their chosen profession, gut feelings may save your life.

“...our bait seems to have worked, then,” a male voice hums. “This Joestar-san is as strong as a Hashira, if he was able to take down one of the Kizuki in seconds, especially one as tempered with time as Rokuro.”

“The old-timer had it coming,” a feminine voice scoffs. “But I think Dio-sama should consider these two siblings… the Kamados, I believe? This blazing dance… it makes something within me tremble… with primal fear that I despise.”

“We should bring it up when we get back and–” the male figure stops in his tracks and the feminine soon does as well, looking over her shoulder to gaze at Chisaku and Hashimoto.

Chisaku’s filled with dread at the sight of bright grayish purple eyes with dark red sclera that seem to gaze into his soul just to scrape it out. These aren’t the eyes of a human. And engravings on the woman’s eyes, like those on Rokuro’s eye, yet different, in both eyes, mark her as something distinctly different.

THE TOWER

“It seems we’ve got a loose end here…” the woman hums.

“What the–”

Chisaku sees the briefest moment in which the demon’s eyes glow brighter than the moment before. His reflexes and his speed have always been saving him and today is no different as he grabs Hashimoto’s vest and pulls the man back and to the side.

ARCANE TECHNIQUE: SPACE RIPPER STINGY EYES

Right as the former yakuza members pull to the side, twin beams of light spread from the female demon’s eyes faster than the lightning, and, following the two, swerve to the left… cutting cleanly through the building the two leap to. To Chisaku’s overwhelming horror, half of the building just slides down and crashes onto the empty street, shaking the earth horrifically, and that’s before the screaming begins as people wake up and realize the ongoing disaster.

“I think you missed them, Mukago,” the male demon hums mockingly.

The other demon, Mukago, huffs.

“You’re welcome to deal with them yourself.”

The youthful male demon suddenly appears in front of Chisaku and Hashimoto, terrifying at least the younger of two men with his inhuman speed, if not with his appearance. Grayish-white skin, three gruesome large cross-shaped scars cut into his cheeks and the center of his forehead are impossible not to stare at.

He wears a formal dotted, bamboo-colored vest with a pinstripe pattern and various scars that cover his chest and toned arms are on full display there, with the most gruesome ones just peaking out from under the white cloth on his neck, fashioned as a messy scarf. Neither the golden clips for earrings nor golden bracelets on his wrists distract from the brutal wounds imprinted on the body.

“You’re staring. It’s impolite.”

Chisaku’s eyes meet the demon’s and he sees the symbols of the word engraved on the tiny pupils in the man’s wide eyes.

JUSTICE

The younger yakuza is pushed aside and loud bangs echo through the street as Hashimoto empties what bullets are left in his gun into the demon’s face. Two bullet holes stitch up the moment Chisaku blinks, as does one of the eyes where the third bullet buried itself.

“That tickled,” the demon chuckles.

A fist rushes at Hashimoto’s head to return the favor tenfold, but that same wrist goes flying without reaching the man’s face, which comes as a surprise to all parties involved, before a boy wearing a boar head for a mask lands just a bit to the side of the three. He turns around right as the demon’s hand regenerates in a sharp motion as it was never hurt in the first place.

“I didn’t rescue your stupid ass just so you could get killed the second I leave!” the teenager shouts at Hashimoto, which makes the man stumble back, mildly indignant at the implication of his weakness, though he looks like he has to admit that the potentially man-eating monsters are much above his paygrade.

“A demon slayer… how troublesome,” the demon grumbles.

“Another demon slayer? I’d rather say it’s interesting,” the female demon, Mukago says, as she too, enters the open street. In the bright moonlight, it’s clear that she’s a beautiful young woman, even with short horns and dark red stripe markings on her face.

Her beauty is accentuated by her red kimono with a black-and-white fur-lined collar, tied up at the back with a large, dark purple bow.

The boar-headed boy looks back and forth between the two demons as he grips his serrated katanas, as if deciding which of two demons he should attack first.

“You’re dressed so lightly,” Mukago notes, looking at the young demon slayer’s bare chest and smiling slyly. “Don’t you know that the night is the coldest time of the day?”

BLOOD DEMON ART: FRIGOKINESIS — MIDNIGHT STORM

The world suddenly shifts from the pleasant coolness of spring into the freezing air that chills Chisaku to the bones as dark clouds gather above Mukago and spread throughout the street in seconds, snowflakes gathering up into a storm in seconds, freezing the ground.

“What? Do you think a little breeze will stop the great Inosuke-sama from cutting your neck? Ha! Stupid demons!” the slayer laughs uproariously, pointing one of his katanas at Mukago.

Chisaku has no idea how that teenager stands in the middle of the storm so nonchalantly when he’s freezing here, even pressed against Hashimoto’s bulk.

“We’ve got a brave kid here, Wakuraba,” the woman grins, looking at her unamused companion. “Don’t you just love brats like this?”

Wakuraba spreads his arms with a scowl on his face, attracting Inosuke’s attention.

ARCANE TECHNIQUE: RESKINIHARDEN SABER

The skin on Wakuraba’s wrists, just below his golden bracelets, hardens, extends and forms long blades, one for each arm, that goes up the man’s shoulders.

“Ho-ho! Now we’re talking!” Inosuke laughs.

Wakuraba launches forward, not waiting for the slayer’s offensive. Even with that, though, the slayer appears ready for him, ignoring the way the whirlpool of snow intensifies around him specifically.

BEAST BREATHING —

Chisaku can see it before it happens from how Inosuke’s chest contracts. From what he’s seen, demon slayers’ incredible abilities are rooted in their breath and Inosuke’s chest doesn’t contract in that perfect manner as before. The young man suddenly coughs and wheezes mid-lunge, the shock leaving him completely exposed to Wakuraba’s attack.

The former yakuza moves before he can comprehend what he’s doing, tackling Inosuke out of the way of Justice’s twin blades which instead cut through his vest and graze the man’s back. The two fall down into the snow that’s formed since Mukago started her snowstorm, and Chisaku can feel the painful sting from his blood freezing almost instantly on his back.

The demon in the bamboo-colored vest almost immediately jerks to the side and grabs the gun that’s been thrown at his head by Hashimoto as a way to distract the monster, if nothing else. His frown only grows as he looks at the older former yakuza in irritation and crumples the weapon with his single hand.

Inosuke, growling, scours to his feet and jumps at Wakuraba despite his broken pattern of breathing. The demon doesn’t even bother moving from his place and the moment Inosuke’s serrated blades clash against Wakuraba’s neck, they both shatter like glass.

“SHIT!”

The demon backhands the boy, throwing him back with a deep bleeding gash on his chest.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fall into the deep snow. Instead, he’s caught by the muscular arms of a large man who appeared within the snowstorm without anyone noticing. The dark-haired foreigner Chisaku guided breathes in an even more refined manner than Inosuke and the other kid, Kamado, if he got the demons’ mutterings right.

“Nggh… boulder man…”

Snow swirls around the large man, but never quite reaches him as an orange glow surrounds him. The two demons take a step back, outwardly cautious about the man.

SENDO FORM: HEALING RIPPLE

Inosuke groans a wave of warm energy courses through his body and the gash on his chest begins healing, the progress of months seemingly done in the course of seconds. The man then looks up at Chisaku, his features softening.

“Nijimura-san, you’re still here,” he hums. “Please, could you take this boy to his friend in the pub? My healing ability is not my finest talent and he’ll need rest and security. I would be much in your debt.”

“Tsk.”

And yet, the former yakuza hurries to the man’s side, gesturing for Hashimoto to follow while the demons don’t dare to move for an attack. Chisaku’s gut feeling tells him that now that there’s been an attempt on his life by these demons, his best chances of survival are to stick with these demon slayers.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

As Jonathan stands up from the ground, surrounded by an unnatural snowstorm that can only be attributed to the Blood Demon Art of one of his adversaries, he knows these two demons are something entirely else compared to Rokuro.

Tamayo-san has only told him of demons with ranks in their eyes, Waxing Moons and Waning Moons of the Twelve Kizuki. There was nothing about demons with different words in their eyes and the fact these two have engravings in both of their eyes, akin to Waxing Moons, puts JoJo on edge. The destruction they wrecked, falling a multistory building with ease before he arrived, shows their extraordinary power.

Now that Jonathan spends a moment reading these words, his mind works quickly to divine their meaning.

The Tower and Justice… These are names of tarot cards of Major Arcana, something he knows from many odd facts he’s learned working with the Speedwagon Foundation and their supernatural division. That is most unusual, considering how obscure tarot cards would have been in Japan. An organization of demons with names of tarot cards by all means cannot be as old as Kibutsuji Muzan, given that tarot cards have only just begun to enter the area of interest of local occult enthusiasts and even with Muzan’s fascination with Western culture it doesn’t seem like something he’d cultivate an interest in, as a man of more grounded sciences.

The easiest explanation that comes to JoJo’s mind is that only a foreigner could assign their Japanese organization titles of Major Arcana. And the thought of a foreign demon in Japan only brings one thought to Jonathan’s mind, the thought of a man he’s not seen in many years now, but it only makes sense he’d be there, as their fates have long become intertwined with each other’s.

“These words in your eyes…” Jonathan starts, pointing at the demons of the Arcana. “Mark you as something different from demons created by Kibutsuji Muzan.”

“Indeed,” the beautiful demon woman says. “We are Kami Arcana, a step up from what you’ve seen before, from the miserable vermin picked up by Kibutsuji Muzan.”

Two things jump at Jonathan. The first is how casually the demon speaks of Muzan. Rokuro, an experienced Kizuki, went berserk just hearing his name and, from Tamayo’s explanation, Muzan, a monster as paranoid as he’s ruthless, has the ability to hear and kill any demon who speaks of him in his absence, being the Impronouncible.

…this demon remains standing confidently in the eye of the storm.

And there’s the name itself. “Kami”, which means “god” in Japanese. God’s Arcana. Perhaps, not directly the same meaning as the word has in English due to the cultural difference of what it means to be a god, perhaps, also comparable to the word “spirit”, but it’s close enough. And in Italian, he knows well enough that this concept is described with a word and a name, “Dio”.

It’s all the evidence he might have needed.

Jonathan assumes a Sendo stance, but despite the tension in the bodies, neither demon attacks him, only exchanging a glance between themselves. They’re at an impasse, either side unsure of whether they could handle the other.

The careful balance is only broken by outside intervention.

WATER BREATHING — THIRD FORM: FLOWING DANCE

A shape so fast even Jonathan has issues perceiving it cuts in a flowing motion through the snowstorm. The man’s katana gleams in the moonlight, streams of water reflected and flickering in and out in the nichirin katana as it slices the surprised Justice Arcana into pieces, the demon falling into the snow as his legs are not longer connected to his torso to support it.

The young man standing between Jonathan and the two demons has choppy raven-black hair with a low messy ponytail. He wears what Jonathan knows is the regular demon slayer uniform with a slight blue tint to it, but his most notable piece of attire is his haori, split down the middle into two contrasting halves: the right half in carmine color and the left with traditional geometrical patterns of green, orange and yellow.

The slayer turns his head towards the female demon who takes a step back and momentarily looks scared at his appearance.

“We meet again… Waning Four,” the young man mutters with little inflection in his voice. “This time you won’t be able to get away.”

He casually shifts his feet position, ready for another strike.

WATER BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: DROP RIPPLE THRUST

The slayer leaps forward and thrusts his blade forward, aiming in the middle of the female demon's neck, which would shatter her neck bone, the critical junction for demons. However, the blade never quite reaches her neck as she grabs the nichirin katana’s blade as it moves forward, halting its momentum right as the tip is about to touch her neck’s skin.

The demon smiles widely, looking down at the slayer.

“This time… you’re not dealing with a Waning Moon anymore,” she boasts with a chuckle. Her blood covers the katana but the blade doesn’t quite cut through the hand. “Witness, little slayer, the power of an Arcana.”

ARCANE TECHNIQUE: FREEZING VAPORIZATION

Even through the snowstorm, Jonathan can see how the nichirin blade gripped by the demon begins turning to ice. His eyes widen as he realizes what technique the woman’s using. By vaporizing moisture in her body, she’s freezing her fists and transferring the loss of heat by touch. Nichirin blades, Jonathan hypothesizes, have innate resistance to Blood Demon Arts… but this isn’t a Blood Demon Art, it’s a technique that Jonathan’s inhuman brother, Dio Brando, developed through his extensive experiments with biomanipulation of his body. Even nichirin bows to the laws of physics.

“Let go of the blade!” Jonathan shouts and the shocked slayer does so immediately, jumping back, close to JoJo, just as his katana fully turns to ice, shattering into crystals when the Tower Arcana squeezes her fist.

Dio has imparted his knowledge to his followers and the only thing that saved the young man is that they’re not as brilliant in combat as him, because Dio has long been able to freeze an entire person with a touch like this.

“It’s getting crowded here,” the demon hums in disdain. “Wakuraba, let’s go. We’ve lingered long enough.”

The demon previously lying in pieces on the ground, the Justice Arcana, stands up as good as new, having regenerated his injuries, and brushes the snow off his shoulders. The slayer beside Jonathan looks just as shocked at Wakuraba’s recovery as he was at his partner’s freezing ability that bypassed presumed immunity held by nichirin blades.

“I thought I cut his neck…” he murmurs, yet he’s loud enough for everyone to hear. The female demon covers her mouth with a sleeve of her red kimono as she laughs maliciously while her friend cracks his neck.

“Perhaps, you’re not all they said you are, Water Hashira,” she mocks and the man purses his lips. “It’s alright, though. In Ancient Rome, during the persecution of early Christians, while those who practised their faith openly and got executed for it, were venerated, it’s those who hid and cowered who allowed the faith to survive. There's not much shame in being weak, little slayer.”

“Have to do what you have to do to survive,” the other demon, Wakuraba, chuckles meaningfully, rubbing one of his chest scars as he walks to stand next to the Tower Arcana. “You slayers are all useless without your toothpicks anyway. Time to go, Mukago?”

“Indeed. Until we meet again.”

Both demons leap to the sky and Jonathan, along with the Water Hashira, one of the strongest demon slayers employed by their organization, if he has his facts straight, has to cover his face as Mukago’s snowstorm intensifies before dissipating completely, only leaving snow laying on the rocky street behind.

Neither Jonathan nor the young man standing by his side relax until a few moments later when it becomes clear the Arcana left the area for good. After that JoJo allows himself to breathe a sigh of relief and face the new arrival.

“It’s a busy night, for certain,” he offers casually, attracting the young man’s attention. He’s barely over twenty, even younger than Jonathan’s own son who will be celebrating his thirtieth birthday anniversary this winter. Jonathan bows and introduces himself. “My name is Jonathan Joestar, esteemed demon slayer.”

“...Tomioka Giyu. I apologize for my lack of promptness,” the slayer, Tomioka, says while glancing at the destroyed building. Jonathan sees people in dark attire based on the slayers’ uniform, with head covering hiding their faces, help people out of the ruins, salvage the bodies and manage the aftermath. “If I’d been here sooner this could have been avoided.”

“Considering the strength of these demons, it’s not a certain fact, Tomioka-san,” Jonathan hums, trying to assuage the guilt the young man must be feeling.

Tomioka looks at him in consideration, his dull lapis blue eyes taking in the foreigner’s large form.

“You… seem familiar with the idea of demons and demon slayers. Have you encountered some before?” Tomioka asks, tilting his head in curiosity. The man nods in reply.

“Indeed I have. As a matter of fact–”

A shrill shout interrupts him.

“AIIIIE! Please, wait, demon-chan! I don’t want to harm you just yet!”

Both Jonathan and Tomioka turn around to see a small figure jump over a pile of debris which is then smashed into smithereens as a young woman barrels right through it with sheer brute strength that even Jonathan is impressed by, scattering a few of the men in the dark clothes and apologizing profusely to them, bowing quickly a few times before resuming her comical chase. 

The small figure turns out to be Nezuko Kamado, the demon girl now half her usual size. As soon as she sees Jonathan, she jumps right into his arms and the man is prompt to catch and hold her. He sees Tomioka’s eyes widen at the sight of Nezuko, but doesn’t think much of it when the other slayer approaches.

She has pulled out her katana, closer to a metal whip in its length and structure, and appeared ready to strike Nezuko, only to falter the moment the girl jumped into Jonathan’s arms. The young beautiful woman stops just short of reaching JoJo and Tomioka and Jonathan takes a moment to comprehend her heavily customized uniform which is… certainly bizarre by standards of what he’s seen of demon slayers.

The girl’s jacket is a snug fit, which, understandably, makes her keep the chest area unbuttoned and open, exposing her cleavage. Instead of the standard hakama pants she wears a short pleated mini-skirt of the same thick material with lime green thigh-high stockings with vertical stripes and teal cuffs at the top.

Jonathan wouldn’t describe himself as a puritan by any means, but the unexpected openness of the young woman’s uniform makes him blush slightly. At that moment the man feels his age for once.

“Sir, please! This is a dangerous demon you’re holding! She might be very well hurt you!” the girl exclaims loudly. “Please, release her so I can secure her!”

“Ah, I assure you, miss, to my knowledge this young girl hasn’t harmed a human being since becoming a demon two years ago,” Jonathan says politely, actively focusing on the slayer’s bizarre sakura pink hair that fades into a lime green color.

“Eeeeeh?” the girl squeaks, opening and closing her mouth wordlessly as if trying to find an argument against the demon girl while Nezuko just sits in Jonathan’s arms harmlessly, blinking at the slayer and snuggling deeper into Jonathan’s green coat. “Tomioka-san! Why are you just standing there?! This demon can hurt him!”

“I…” Tomioka stumbles, before murmuring so quietly even Jonathan, standing next to him, barely hears the man. “...I lost my sword.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you, Tomioka-san!”

The chaotic interaction halts to a grind when an elderly crow dives in, circling over their little commotion. It caws loudly, demanding attention.

“Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko, to be led to face Oyakata-sama…” the crow speaks and it makes Jonathan’s eyes widen. He wasn’t aware that talking crows are one of the slayers’ resources. “Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko… to be led to face Oyakata-sama.”

Tomioka extends his arm and the crow lands on the young man’s arm. Jonathan can see how the old crow visibly sags in relief at being able to take a break, and it still mutters, more quietly.

“Kamado Tanjiro… and Kamado Nezuko.”

“Kamado? Eh? Who are these Kamado?” the girl slayer tilts her head in confusion, before another crow flies in, standing atop a pile of snow and demanding attention. Tomioka and his companion both widen their eyes at its sight and Jonathan can’t help but tilt his head, for this crow seems familiar to him, like he’s already seen this slightly larger than usual bird with a royal purple scarf.

“Kamado Tanjiro, a slayer in a checkered haori of green and black, and Kamado Nezuko, a demon girl with a bamboo muzzle in her mouth, are requested at Oyakata-sama’s estate,” the crow says in a booming dignified voice that catch Jonathan off-guard. The girl slayer glances between the crow and Nezuko, gasping at the realization. However, the crow then gives a meaningful look to JoJo, before continuing. “Jonathan Joestar is welcome to join them, as Oyakata-sama has long since wished to meet you.”

That statement catches Jonathan himself off-guard as much as it does Tomioka who looks at him with a surprised expression.

“It seems I’m growing rather famous,” Jonathan hums curiously before the majestic crow takes off without another word.

The beautiful slayer girl quickly bows to Jonathan.

“You must be Jonathan Joestar, my apologies. I’m Kanroji Mitsuri, the Love Hashira. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” she introduces herself, before looking at both his and Nezuko with curiosity. “It’s so unusual… everything. You say this girl hasn’t eaten anyone and you’re not a slayer yourself even if the boy back there, Tanjiro, is. And Oyakata-sama requested you personally…”

“A pleasure, Kanroji-san,” Jonathan nods, the most he can do with Nezuko in his arms. He wonders, but his knowledge of the Japanese language ultimately does fail him for once and he can only ask. “But you and Tomioka-san have me at a disadvantage as I am lost in who this Oyakata-sama you speak of is.”

“Oyakata-sama is the Master of the Demon Slayer Corps,” Tomioka explains while petting the old crow who seems to be asleep on his arm. “Though, as a civilian, I suppose you might be allowed to call him… Ubuyashiki-sama.”

Against all odds… Jonathan is familiar with this name.

It’s a surprisingly small world.

“Well then, we shouldn’t make Ubuyashiki-sama wait,” Jonathan smiles softly, walking back where he remembers the ruined izakaya pub is. “Please, I’d like to join Tanjiro to assure him his sister is alright and make sure he’s alright himself.”

Mitsuri hurries after him excitedly while Tomioka walks at a short distance from them unhurriedly. The Love Hashira, now that the danger has passed, sheathes her blade.

“Of course, Joestar-san! Let me help!”

Chapter Text

When Tanjiro wakes up… the first thing he notices is that his arms are still in splints Joestar-san and Nezuko made for him and they still hurt immensely, which isn’t surprising given the man’s initial conclusion that Waning Two broke them when repelling Tanjiro’s attack. In fact, they might hurt even a bit more than before he fell asleep as the adrenaline from the fight against the Kizuki and the following commotion is now completely flushed from his system.

“Tanjiro-kun. Good morning.”

The next thing Tanjiro notices is that he’s been placed to sit on a wooden bench in a gravelled garden in front of a traditional, yet majestic mansion, with the warm bulky form of Jonathan Joestar just to his left, the man serving as his support. In fact, Tanjiro’s missing his familiar haori and the man’s green coat from the night before serves as his makeshift blanket, while Joestar-san himself sits in a white dress shirt and a dark blue formal vest with a pink tie, a perfect picture of a British gentleman.

Blinking the sleep away from his eyes, he sees Nezuko’s wooden box sitting on the ground at the man’s feet, the opposite side of Tanjiro himself and it takes weight off the young slayer’s shoulders, to know his sister is safe and sound.

“Err– Good morning, Joestar-san,” Tanjiro replies slowly, looking up to see the man’s soft fatherly smile. “Where are–”

“Ah! So he’s awake!” a loud boisterous voice interrupts Tanjiro’s quiet confused musings. “Now we can listen, judge and execute him along with the demon, as is proper!”

The sharp, cruel words wake Tanjiro up completely and he turns to his right, towards their source, with wide eyes to see seven people in the most eccentric variations of the demon slayer uniform. With his recognition of Kanroji Mitsuri, the Love Hashira who presided over his Final Selection along with a shorter woman here with a butterfly hairpin, and Tomiyoka Giyu, the Water Hashira standing at some distance from the rest, Tanjiro pales a bit at the realization of whose company he and Joestar-san currently enjoy.

“These ladies and gentlemen introduced themselves as the Hashiras,” Joestar-san hums, confirming what Tanjiro has already suspected. The man’s firm hand on the boy’s shoulder steadies him, though. “Don’t worry. They’re rather close-minded, but I won’t let them do anything to you, Tanjiro-kun.”

Distrust and anger are the most prevalent emotions he smells emanating from the group, and right after those is the strong protective feeling coming from Joestar-san. A bit of tension leaves Tanjiro’s frame at that.

“Rengoku-san!” Kanroji cries, covering her mouth. “We shouldn’t be so hasty! Nezuko-chan’s such an adorable child, she’s been so polite and calm all the time I’ve watched her! Maybe she really wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“It may be so now, but demons can be manipulative creatures, Mitsuri!” the Hashira from before shouts with a smile despite the girl standing right next to him. His bushy blonde hair with red tips, along with the white haori that end with red patterns reminds Tanjiro of raging fire. There could be no doubt in his identity as the Flame Hashira he’s heard about, Rengoku. “Not to mention that the Corps Code is strict on the matter! A slayer covering for a demon is an accomplice to all of the demon’s murders and is just as dangerous!”

“But Nezuko–!”

Joestar-san’s hand on his shoulder tightens and Tanjiro holds back his emotional rebuttal of the Hashira’s words. Instead, Joestar-san takes it upon himself to challenge the man while maintaining his relaxed state of being.

“A strict code of conduct is admirable, and it’s likely been built up over centuries from trials and errors, each cast in blood,” the man agrees, tilting his head. “Yet, experiences of old may come to be outdated and, in turn, inhibit your function in the present day. That can spill just as much innocent blood, wouldn’t you agree?”

“An interesting point of view!” Rengoku shouts, folding his arms.

A massive man next to the Flame Hashira, almost the same height, if a bit leaner than Joestar-san, takes a step towards the two, snapping his fingers with the loudness of a thundercrack and pointing at Joestar-san.

“Such unflashy behavior! Mr. Joestar, was it?” the man with a distinctive red eye makeup of alternative large and small dots on his left eye asks, the accented English sounding odd to Tanjiro’s ears. “Who are you, that Oyakata-sama invited you to the trial?”

The loud character and flamboyant look, with a sleeveless uniform, a striking headband with six pale pink gemstones on it and even more blue ones hanging off the chains at each of its sides, not to mention the golden hoops earring and many other accessories on his person, make Tanjiro realize why exactly Kaigaku described Uzui Tengen, the Sound Hashira, as a man he wouldn’t be able to miss or forget.

“He’s big…” a long-haired boy even younger than Tanjiro notes, before blinking his wide cyan eyes turn to the sky, completely uninterested, if not oblivious to whatever’s going on around him.

“Why should we listen to him at all when we should instead be holding him responsible as well?” a voice asks from above and while Joestar-san doesn’t appear surprised, it takes Tanjiro off-guard, making him flinch as he looks up to see a man with eyes of different colors, teal in one eye and yellow in the other, lying on a tree branch not too far from both the Hashiras and their little group. “Obviously, this civilian got duped with the teary story of a traitor slayer and his demon sister, as Kanroji told us, and he allowed it to continue on the few occasions he’s met up with them.”

“Good point, Obanai! Add Mr. Joestar to the execution block!” Uzui suggests with a smirk that can only read as cruel and mocking, though Joestar-san doesn’t give the slightest show of offense.

“If you can even take him on…” Tomioka mutters and Uzui is the first to hear it and to turn towards the quiet Water Hashira with pure outrage on his face.

“That. That was most unflashy, Tomioka! Whose side are you even on?!” the Sound Hashira exclaims, pointing at the man accusingly. “This! This is why people don’t talk to you. You either constantly look like you're at someone's funeral or you’re doing this!”

“Tengen! Let’s not badmouth our fellow Hashira without due reason!” Rengoku exclaims in the Water Hashira’s defense. The other man raises his hands as if giving up on the cause.

“Namu Amida Butsu. …if the girl is a threat, then there’s no other decision we can come to but to set her free along with her brother, these poor children,” another Hashira says, hands put together in a prayer as tears stream from his milky blind eyes.

If Tanjiro thought that Joestar-san or the Sound Hashira are large people, then this man is outright inhumanly humongous, a good head taller than either of them. Unlike other slayers, he doesn’t seem to carry his weapon on him at the moment, but, if Tanjiro was honest, he feels like the man might not even need it. His biceps, not ripping his uniform apart only by some sort of a miracle or divine intervention, seem wider than Tanjiro’s entire torso and the young slayer’s almost sure the man can just squeeze demons out of existence with no application of nichirin required.

“I don’t know, Himejima-san, everyone… Oyakata-sama must be aware of the girl’s circumstances if he summoned them here,” Kanroji adds shyly and Tanjiro recognizes the name from Kaigaku’s explanation. That makes the extraordinarily huge man Himejima Gyomei, the Stone Hashira… whom Kaigaku seemed to know personally.

“I agree with Kanroji, we should wait for Oyakata-sama,” the final Hashira agrees, that short woman with the butterfly pin and a false smile hiding the raging fury within, the feeling he’s felt ever since she attended his Final Selection.

One, two, three, four, five…

Tanjiro looks back and forth, but even as he counts the people again, he only counts eight Hashiras when Kaigaku told him of nine elite members of the Demon Slayer Corps.

The boy feels Joestar-san’s grip on him slip to his waist and tighten, and he only just spies how the man’s other hand grabs the straps of Nezuko’s box.

He hears him breathe in and then breathe out.

…and then he feels the sharp smell of hate.

SENDO FORM: SEATED JUMP

With ridiculous ease of the motion, Joestar-san, even from his relaxed seated position, jumps extremely high, higher than the top of the mansion where the Oyakata-sama resides and higher than the peak of the tree where Obanai-san sits, and then casually yet firmly lands on the other side of the small crowd of Hashiras while a scarred man with wild white hair stands next to the now-shattered bench where the two of them sat, having obviously done that with his bare arm.

The nine Hashiras, sans Himejima-san, for obvious reasons, stare at Joestar-san with wide eyes. Tanjiro stares at the man as well, in absolute shock. Yes, he realizes that this is the man who countered the assault of Waxing Three and casually defeated Waning Two that beat Tanjiro within the inch of his life, but, perhaps, that fact hasn’t sunk in properly just yet in terms of the strength and skill difference between him and the older man.

“...what the fuck was that?” the actual final Hashira spits, verbalizing everyone’s collective sentiment while Joestar-san just smiles gently at the group, carefully setting Nezuko’s box to the ground and allowing Tanjiro to stand on his two feet, even if offering his arm for support.

“May I ask why you felt the need to attack us, Hashira-san?” the man asks politely.

“Don’t play coy, foreigner, you harbor–!”

“Shinazugawa, you just broke one of Oyakata-sama’s benches. And that’s after you were late for the meeting. I know we’re ganging up on the kid here, but please, pick your battles,” the short smiling lady Hashira says with a smile that’s even wider yet more fragile than before.

The scarred Hashira, Shinazugawa, and that name for some reason also sounds familiar, scoffs in her direction, but also doesn’t say anything in his defense, instead glancing at the bench and wincing at the destruction he caused.

“...such grief… over a bench?” Tanjiro whispers quietly to himself. Only Joestar-san’s supposed to hear it, being so close, yet a glance of fuchsia eyes tells him that the Sound Hashira heard him as well, though, surprisingly, withheld his comments.

Just how respected is Oyakata-sama by the Hashiras?

What sort of man can inspire such loyalty and admiration?

“Oyakata-sama has arrived.”

Eerie voices of a pair of twins announce the entrance of the Master of the Corps and the Hashiras, the tone reminding him of the twins announcing the rules and conditions of the Final Selection. …could those children be Oyakata-sama’s children?

Despite their eccentricity, the Hashiras all as one arrange themselves in a single file and kneel on one leg at the porch of the mansion in this serene garden. Tanjiro, in politeness if nothing else, struggles to lower himself as well to sit, if not kneel properly in the presence of the highest authority of the Demon Slayer Corps. Joestar-san, seeing his struggle, quietly helps the boy to sit on his knees and bow.

…Joestar-san himself, oddly enough, keeps on standing straight, which makes certain Hashiras give him an aside glance. It seems rather out of character and impolite of him, though Tanjiro supposes the man has his reasons and, to be fair, given that by all accounts he’s a civilian outside of the command structure of the Corps, some compromises can be made, which is likely why none of the Hashiras voice their vehement objections at the Britishman’s conduct.

The doors of the mansion open and the daylight shines on the figure of the man Tanjiro heard being referred to as Ubuyashiki by Joestar-san before the young slayer lost consciousness last night.

“So you have come… my dear swordsmen.”

The man’s appearance both surprises and concerns Tanjiro and, from the brief glance he gives, even Joestar-san is surprised, a sorrowful frown gracing his face. The esteemed head of the Demon Slayer Corps is a pale and frail youthful man with shoulder-length black hair that’s parted in the middle. A gruesome illness eats at his upper half of the face, giving it a shriveled pink hue and, given the milkiness of his eyes, robbing the man of his vision, which is why he’s guided forward by two of his young white-haired daughters, each holding their father gently by his pale hands.

His attire appears simple, at least in comparison and contrast to the Hashiras. A black yukata tied with a weaved brown obi and a white undershirt, with white kimono atop them, simply light-purple and orange flame-like patterns adorning its bottom.

And yet… and yet, despite his frailty and illness, he feels like a steady and confident man, a calming presence, with a smile akin to that of a Buddha and a soothing voice that immediately puts Tanjiro at ease.

Ubuyashiki blinks and takes a shallow breath, tilting his head upwards as if hoping to see the bright sky. After a moment, he tilts his head back in the direction of the kneeling Hashiras.

“Good morning, everyone. We have some really nice weather today. Is the sky blue?” Ubuyashiki hums serenely. “I’m glad that everyone made it to our semiannual Hashira Meeting. It always brings a smile to my face to know you’re all here.”

“We find it most honorable to be in your presence, Oyakata-sama,” the violent white-haired Hashira, Shinazugawa, says with surprising restraint and poise meant for the Master of the Corps alone. “We pray eagerly upon great happiness for you.”

“Thank you, Sanemi,” the man nods.

…then his head turns in the general direction of Joestar-san and the two Kamados. At once, Joestar-san, with a soft smile of his own, bows formally, which seems to register one way or another for Ubuyashiki, as the man gives a soft laugh.

“And we have a special guest today, too,” he chuckles lightly, sitting down with the assistance of his daughters. Joestar-san follows him, sitting right next to Tanjiro. “It’s been a while since our last correspondence, JoJo. I’ve begun to worry for your well-being, though I must say that it’s a pleasure greeting you in person for the first time. I trust that Japan has been treating you and your wife well?”

The Hashiras, not unlike Tanjiro, look surprised at the address that Ubuyashiki directs to the foreign man. Especially Tanjiro who knows that Joestar-san only offers his moniker to friends, even if he does befriend people with a relative ease.

Joestar-san huffs in amusement.

“Thank you graciously, Kagaya-kun. Erina’s been doing well.”

At that, most of the Hashiras, along with Tanjiro, just stare at Joestar-san unabashedly, shocked at the level of familiarity he gives Ubuyashiki and how easily Oyakata-sama accepts it. There are, of course, exceptions. The absent-minded boy from before doesn’t seem to realize what’s going on, while Himejima-san, peculiarly, doesn’t seem surprised at all.

“I must admit that you have a way with words, to downplay the scale of your ‘family side-hustle of a business’ as you did,” Joestar-san chuckles lightly. “Had you been upfront, I’m sure that Robert and I could have given you more specific management recommendations.”

“Perhaps,” Ubuyashiki tilts his head, no less amused himself. “Though your suggestions have been welcome nonetheless and scaled quite nicely. With the Final Selection now under the purview of my Hashiras, this archaic trial has become less perilous for my children.”

The man’s smile fades into a sorrowful frown for a moment.

“...how many lives have tragically ended throughout generations when the solution was so simple…” the leader of the slayers murmurs with a heavy sigh.

“Please, Kagaya-kun, you shouldn’t go too hard on yourself,” Joestar-san offers kindly. “While you are the head of the operation, the foundations that have proved to be reliable were built centuries before you. The force of tradition is sometimes stronger than the will of the strongest men.”

Ubuyashiki hums, nodding to his words, the smile slowly returning on his pale face.

“Indeed. Now then, let us begin the discussion of all the relevant happenings, my dear swordsmen, JoJo.”

For a moment, everyone is silent, but then the Hashiras finish digesting the conversation that has just transpired. A few start looking at Joestar-san with a new look and Tanjiro himself does, connecting a few dots. From what he’s been told by his teacher, Urokodaki-sensei, it’s a recent change that the Final Selection is overlooked by experienced slayers, the man himself has been surprised when Tanjiro told him about the fact after returning. Before that, the trial was more perilous, with no such safety net and ended in many more casualties.

Entirely needless casualties, as both Oyakata-sama and Joestar-san have them believe now. For some that realization hits harder than the others. Most look sorrowful and put-out like Kanroji-san and the Sound Hashira, while Himejima-san tips his head and prays with a “Namu Amida Butsu” for fallen youths. It’s from Tomioka-san whose smell of regret and guilt is the strongest, the man looking at the ground with empty eyes.

“Oyakata-sama,” Shinazugawa starts, picking himself up first. “There’s a slayer among us, Kamado Tanjiro, who’s been traveling with a demon since completing his Final Selection.”

“Ah, I apologize that he has surprised you,” Oyakata-sama says, before shocking all the Hashiras present. “I have given my approval for Tanjiro and Nezuko’s operations and I ask everyone here to accept them.”

Two of the Hashiras, Tomioka-san and the short lady remain silent, but the rest are very loud in their various responses.

“I respect you deeply, Oyakata-sama, but I cannot understand your reasoning! Because of this I am, as of now, completely opposed to it!” Rengoku shouts the loudest.

“Even though Oyakata-sama wishes us to do so, I am reluctant to agree with this course of action,” Himejima’s deep voice resounds, the Stone Hashira’s hands put together in prayer. His sentiment is echoed by Uzui.

“I oppose this as well! It’s not in my ability to accept a slayer so unflashy he brings a demon along with him to menace the vulnerable population!”

Not all reactions are quite as Tanjiro expected them.

“Either way’s fine for me… I’ll forget it anyway,” the long-haired boy hums, without little thought given to the Kamados before he tips his head up, resuming his absent-minded cloudwatching.

“I will abide by all your wise accordances, Oyakata-sama!” the Love Hashira happily exclaims. The man next to her with differently-colored eyes and a white snake on his neck that Tanjiro hasn’t noticed at first, stumbles in the face of her enthusiasm, but then seemingly addresses her in particular.

“Don’t trust them,” Obanai, whom Tanjiro now suspects to be the Serpent Hashira, says. “We all hate demons for a reason!”

“We are demon slayers. We annihilate slayers,” Shinazugawa growls hatefully, at the end of his politeness, it seems, even in Oyakata-sama’s presence. “I insist on punishing Kamado.”

Ubuyashiki speaks and the Hashiras pipe down.

“Now, the letter, please.”

The white-haired girl to his right brings up a sheet of paper.

“We’ve received this letter from the former Water Hashira, now a cultivator, Urokodaki Sakonji-sama. I will now read an extract from it,” the girl says, unfolding the letter to read from it.

—please forgive Tanjiro for traveling with a demon. Nezuko has an extraordinarily tenacious spirit, for some reason retaining part of her human reasoning. Even when she’s starving, she doesn’t resort to eating humans but instead enters a trance-like state of sleep. She has stayed that way for two years now, for as long as I’ve been training the boy.

You may find that sudden and difficult to believe, but that’s the unmistakable truth.

If by any chance Nezuko attacks someone, Kamado Tanjiro, as well as Urokodaki Sakonij and Tomioka Giyu will wash away the shame by committing seppukku in apology.

Tanjiro can’t help but tear up at the trust vested in him, while Joestar-san purses his lips in visible discomfort and the Hashiras turn towards Tomioka-san with varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

“Tomioka? Did you… know of these unflashy brats?” Uzui asks with concern if not in his voice or uncertain expression, then in the smell Tanjiro feels emanating from him.

“I am the one who found them two winters ago,” the Water Hashira hums in a flat tone of voice. He doesn’t offer any more explanations and that agitates at least one of the men present.

“So what?” Shinazugawa growls. “If they wish to die, let them rot. It gives us no guarantee of anything whatsoever, if only proof of how deluded they all are!”

“I have to agree with Shinazugawa!” Rengoku nods, loud as always, though not as scathing in his words. “If she kills someone, that loss and sorrow will not be undone by their deaths!”

“That is very true,” Oyakata-sama agrees with a serene smile. “They cannot prove she will never attack people. But you can’t prove she will attack anyone either, can you, my children?”

That seems to stop the raging white-haired Hashira in his tracks and the scarred man hisses.

“The truth of the matter is that Nezuko has been living with humans for two years with no confirmed casualty to her name,” Ubuyashiki says, accepting the letter from his daughter. “Because of her, two people plus her brother put their lives on the line, and to deny this, the accusers have to present something more tangible than what’s present here.”

Everyone remains silent, with quite a few people looking at Shinazugawa to see his reaction as that of the most vehement critic of Oyakata-sama’s decision.

“...I do not understand, Oyakata-sama, and cannot consent to that!”

The man grabs his blade, and while Tanjiro tenses, the Hashira doesn’t fly at them, instead slashing at his own arm, painting the stones under his feet red and adding to the wounds on his body. Kanroji gasps and covers her mouth in shock and even Joestar-san stills in his place.

“Shinazugawa,” Obanai hums, pointing at the man. “You can’t do that in the sunlight. The demon won’t come out.”

The other tips his head.

“Oyakata-sama, forgive my rudeness.”

He zips from his place into the dark room of the mansion behind Ubuyashiki and looks at Tanjiro and Joestar-san with a challenge in his bloodshot pale purple eyes.

“Come on, if you trust that demon so much, surely you’re not afraid of her devouring me,” he chuckles nastily and while Tanjiro wants to protest, Joestar-san pats his shoulder comfortingly, standing up taking Nezuko’s box into the mansion room, putting it on the floor next to the aggressive slayer.

“Tsk.”

Shinazugawa scoffs… before thrusting his katana into the box once, twice and then thrice, before Joestar-san grabs the man’s wrist with a deep frown on his severe face, absolutely terrifying in the absence of his usual soft expression. The other relents somewhat, pulling back and sheathing his katana.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro cries out, launching forward.

“Know your place!” the Serpent Hashira hisses, catching the boy by his hair and about to smash his face into the gravel, before his hand is slapped away by Tomioka. The two Hashiras exchange glances, a disgusted one from the double-colored eyes, and one blank and empty as the ocean sees from teal eyes.

“Come out, demon, don’t you want to enjoy your favorite meal?” Shinazugawa teases, spraying his blood onto Nezuko’s box.

The box springs open and the demon girl rises slowly from her confinement.

Shinazugawa smiles widely in sadistic triumph, almost shoving his bleeding arm into her nose while the girl seems to drool behind her bamboo muzzle, her hands twitching, and Tanjiro scurries to kneel right next to the porch of the mansion.

“Nezuko!”

Pink eyes drift at Tanjiro and, after she gives her brother a blink, Nezuko flinches away defiantly from Shinazugawa, turning towards Joestar-san and hugging him tightly. The large man seems to be mildly surprised, but then he smiles and hugs her back gently.

“Everything is alright, Nezuko-chan,” he assures her and she hums.

“What happened?” Ubuyashiki hums, turning his head slightly inside the mansion behind him and one of his daughters replies.

“The demon girl turned the other way and hugged Joestar-sama,” she says with a small smile. “Even though Shinazugawa-sama cut himself and thrust his arm in front of her, she held herself back and didn’t mind him. Her bamboo muzzle remains in place.”

“That seems like ample proof that Nezuko will not attack humans right now,” Oyakata-sama concludes with his usual serene smile that seems just a bit more smug than before.

Shinazugawa clenches his teeth in frustration but doesn’t contradict the man. At the same time Joestar-san pats Nezuko’s shoulders but pulls away from her for a moment, instead approaching the younger man, looking worriedly at his bleeding arm even as the Hashira eyes him with suspicion.

“Shinazugawa-san, was it? You shouldn’t leave it like this,” the man says, reaching for the man’s arm, halting for a moment when Shinazugawa flinches, taking half of a step back. “If you would please allow me, I’d like to treat it. It saddens me to see you in pain.”

Tanjiro blinks at surprise at the gentleness the noble man offers the Hashira even after the other attacked Nezuko. He knows he’d hardly offer his help.

“I don’t see any bandages on you, Joestar…” Shinazugawa scoffs but does allow Joestar-san to take hold of his arm.

Tanjiro sees as the large man takes a breath in and makes a breath out.

SENDO FORM: HEALING RIPPLE

Shinazugawa flinches once again as a warm orange glow ripples from Joestar-san’s hands. Everyone, even Oyakata-sama’s daughters look at the action with wide shocked eyes, as the Hamon energy the man previously mentioned and used in Tanjiro’s presence accelerates the young man’s natural healing process and turns the cut into the lightest and least noticeable little scar on his skin.

“You were lucky it was a shallow cut, I’m not very talented in managing complex injuries,” Joestar-san hums, nodding to himself at a work well-done.

Shinazugawa scrunches his face, opening and closing his mouth and unsure what to say to the other man.

“That!” Uzui shouts, pointing at Joestar-san. “That was most flamboyant, Mr. Joestar! Also, what the hell was that!”

“That was a healing application of the Hamon energy, one that a person can produce with a technique you might call Ripple Breathing, that emulates properties of the sun,” Joestar-san patiently explains and Tanjiro can see how the Hashiras turn surprised and, in the case of the Love Hashira, starry-eyed about the man. “You’re not so different from the order of the Hamon warriors I’ve associated with, demon slayers. One might consider me a demon slayer of a sort as well.”

“That explains how he was able to defeat Waning Two,” Kanroji hums and the rest of the Hashiras’ to her with wide eyes, taking the young woman aback. “...what, did I forget to mention that? Kamado-kun and those two civilians mentioned it in the testimonies before we brought them here!”

“Don’t get a big head,” Shinazugawa mutters, giving one last glance to Joestar-san before leaving to join the rest of the Hashiras, while the Britishman helps Nezuko back into her box, closing it and rejoining Tanjiro outside the mansion.

“Yes. JoJo and Tanjiro’s surprising rate of encounters with the Twelve Kizuki and Kibutsuji Muzan are another matter that we have to cover today,” Ubuyashiki nods and at the mention of the Demon King the Hashiras riot with shouts and questions that Tanjiro’s mind can’t even begin to parse through, but at least they quiet down when the man presses a finger to his lips. “But first… Tanjiro. Despite what has transpired here today, there will still be people who won’t willingly agree about Nezuko, please, do keep this in mind. You have to prove from this point on that you and Nezuko can be useful enough to fight alongside demon slayers.”

Tanjiro kneels before Oyakata-sama in gratitude. The man’s soothing voice alone fills him with a soft, uplifting feeling.

“I… Nezuko and I will do everything to contribute to Kibutsuji Muzan’s defeat!” the boy exclaims his promise. “Against him and his Twelve Kizuki, we’ll wield the blade to cut the chains of grief that wrap every life touched by the demons!”

…even the lives of the Hashiras sitting right next to him. In-between the disbelief, anger and hate, happiness and distruct… there’s a faint smell of sorrow and grief in every one of them, even Oyakata-sama and Joestar-san.

There’s grief in Tanjiro himself. How could he not grieve when a regular happy day in the mountains turned into his worst nightmare as he came home to find his family, his dearest mother, his beloved younger siblings slaughtered by a man, by a monster who holds nothing sacred in his heart?

“Your dedication warms my heart,” Oyakata-sama smiles. “I believe something unexpected happened, so that Kibutsuji and his movements, for the first time in a long time, became visible to us. And I don’t want us to let go of that unique opportunity. Do your best, Tanjiro.”

Ubuyashiki makes a gesture with his hand, and two people in dark uniforms with their faces covered, members of the kakushi force of the Demon Slayer Corps, run into the garden and bow to the Hashiras and Oyakata-sama.

Tanjiro looks at them in slight confusion before Joestar-san hands one of them Nezuko’s box and nudges Tanjiro forward lightly to take a piggyback from the other.

“Please, be careful while transporting him,” Joestar-san asks. “His arms have been broken and I don’t want him to jostle the bones further than he might have already had.”

“Of course, Joestar-sama.”

As the kakushi take off with the Kamado siblings, Tanjiro looks over his shoulder and sees Joestar-san waving after him with a soft smile on his face.

“Get better, Tanjiro-kun!” Kanroji shouts, waving after them as well.

Tomioka-san also gives a small, almost imperceptible wave their way and Tanjiro sags a bit in the kakushi’s hold, relieved that he’s not alone on his trying road to find a cure for his sister and defeat the Demon King.

After the excitement of the initial Hashira meeting dies down, Kagaya, the Hashiras and Jonathan himself reconvene within the mansion proper. There was a suggestion of waiting until the night, with concern for Kagaya’s health, but with Jonathan here, the man insisted on reconvening as soon as possible, both to let the Britishman return to his work and to let the Hashira perform their primary duties.

Ubuyashiki Kagaya. Jonathan’s familiar with the name as that of the head of the Ubuyashiki Clan, some of the wealthiest people in the country, if not, arguably, in the world, renowned investors who have advanced Japanese medicine for generations, from the words of his friend, Robert. In fact, it was a representative of their estate who provided a major incentive for the man to expand the Speedwagon Foundation into Japan.

Robert has been exchanging letters with Kagaya since before opening the Japanese office of the Foundation, and that’s when Jonathan was at one point brought in to provide a second opinion on “improvements to an old side-hustle of the family”. With a limited number of people dedicated to the enterprise and the brutal testing process, it was hard to provide a way to improve numbers. However, it was Jonathan who suggested to think outside the box and appoint, if not the instructors, who’d be abandoning the areas they took care of, but assign business trips for the best employees to watch and see if there's an issue in the testing process that makes in unnecessarily unforgiving, focusing on building the total number of employee in the first place.

In practice that meant that the Hashiras, instead of covering certain areas of Japan, would begin attending the yearly Final Selection to save hopeful slayers from the demons in the trial area. A simple solution, but one that didn’t occur to Kagaya because he was used to how things were done before him, and one that didn’t occur to Robert because of his momentary case tunnel vision on the data Kagaya gave him.

Meeting the man face to face… It breaks Jonathan’s heart a little to see just how young Kagaya and his wife, Amane, sitting to his left, are. How all the slayers are, even the Hashiras, the elite fighters, whose skill Jonathan doesn’t doubt for a moment, but still mourns for their lost innocence.

“Now, my dear swordsmen, JoJo, let us resume,” Kagaya hums.

He and his wife, with two of the man’s oldest daughters, sit facing the main door to the large chamber within the mansion. The Hashiras and JoJo sit facing him at an angle from different corners of the room, Jonathan sitting solitarily in his corner, though he’s not in the slightest bit offended by that.

“You’re saying, Oyakata-sama, that Mr. Joestar here, along with that questionably flashy kid, met several Kizuki?” Uzui Tengen, the Sound Hashira, questions, giving a side glance to JoJo. “And Kibutsuji Muzan himself?”

Jonathan is quick to elaborate when others look at him as well.

“Kibutsuji Muzan has assumed the identity of a researcher I worked with, Minaguchi Tsukihiko. For two years I never found anything amiss about him, which can be attributed both to my obliviousness and to Muzan's exceptional ability of adaptation," the man starts and others look visibly discomforted by the notion that Muzan can simply walk among people and interact with human society with none of them wiser for it. He then continues. "Regarding the Twelve Kizuki… I doubt my first encounter with one of them was documented by you, but have you heard of the gruesome mass murder in the Asakusa District of Tokyo last month?”

By their expressions it appears they did.

“Such a sorrowful affair, all those people,” Kanroji Mitsuri, the Love Hashira, covers her mouth. “Are you telling us it was the work of a demon?”

“And how did you cover it up?” Iguro Obanai, the Serpent Hashira, adds his suspicious thoughts into the mix.

“The Speedwagon Foundation, the enterprise of my dear friend, has resources to deal with certain supernatural phenomena and to obscure them from the general population so as to not spread panic. You might consider them our alternative to your kakushi members, with a pinch more resources and influence,” Jonathan offers and the Hashiras nod in understanding. “When I fully realized the strength of the demon I fought, it was only reasonable to obscure it. The demon in question is Waxing Three.”

The Hashiras gasp in shock.

“And you’re still alive! That is most admirable, Joestar-san!” Rengoku Kyojuro, the Flame Hashira, praises him. “Perhaps, we have something to learn from your encounter!”

“I’ll describe the demon’s appearance later so that your organization is aware of him,” JoJo nods. “Next, there was Waning Six, he’s the one whom Tanjiro-kun encountered on his own, though I believe he had other slayers accompanying him, you’d have to ask him yourself.”

“Tch, they had to know he was traveling with a demon. Another weak link,” Shinazugawa Sanemi, the Wind Hashira, hisses with disgust.

“As far as I’m aware, Waning Six escaped their battle,” the Britishman continues. “However, Waning Two is most certainly defeated, I ensured it personally.”

“Mhm… Which means there will be a change in the ranks of the Twelve Kizuki once again,” Himejima Gyomei, the Stone Hashira and perhaps the first actual human in JoJo’s life who makes him feel small, hums. At Himejima’s words another slayer frowns, clutching his haori.

“There has already been a change… a very… disturbing change,” Tomioka Giyu, the Water Hashira, says, staring at the floor. “When I arrived at the scene, Joestar-san was about to confront two other demons. One of them I recognized as Waning Four who had evaded me last year and two years before, a very cowardly and skittish being. However… this time the markings in her eyes were different.”

“Did she rise up the ranks? Then again, does it matter… eh, what was I saying?” Tokito Muichiro, the Mist Hashira whose youth, along with his visible memory issues once again breaks JoJo’s heart, asks.

Tomioka gives the boy a glance before answering.

“Instead of the Waning Moon rank and number in her left eye, she had a word spread across both eyes. A word, and not a rank that by all accounts belongs into the Kizuki hierarchy. ‘The Tower’.”

All the Hashiras look confused at the words and even Kagaya tilts his head curiously at the Water Hashira. Glancing between everyone, Tomioka scratches his cheek and amends his statement.

“There was also a second demon with the word ‘Justice’ in his eyes.”

“Quite flamboyant… but what a strange choice…” Uzui mutters.

“That… is a most unusual tale,” Kagaya hums, for the first time since the start of the meeting appearing uncertain. Jonathan sees it as an opportunity to explain what he has divined from his brief encounter with these demons, something drastically different from what the people in front of him are used to.

“I think I have an explanation for you,” Jonathan starts, pulling the attention away from Tomioka and the man seems to sag slightly in relief. “They called themselves the Kami Arcana. These words in their eyes come from the set of the Tarot cards, a Western divination tool. Between this theme and certain abilities they demonstrated, I have reason to believe these Arcana demons haven’t been created by Kibutsuji Muzan, but by a demon who has arrived here from overseas, one I’ve been chasing down for years. He must be encroaching on Muzan’s domain now.”

“Another demon progenitor?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Shinazugawa shouts in fury, seeming to stand up and almost ready to jump at Jonathan before Himejima’s large hand forces the young man down. He then glances at his leader. “...sorry, Oyakata-sama.”

Kagaya himself looks concerned, furrowing his brows.

“Is there anything you can tell us about this alternate demon progenitor, Joestar-san?” Kocho Shinobu, the Insect Hashira, asks, her usual wide smile tightening.

“His name is Dio Brando,” he answers, making a pause as everyone takes in that name. “There are quite a few things that can be said about him, not all of them in polite company.”

A feeling of sorrow envelops Jonathan.

Even decades later, when he should have accepted that the man, once a boy who invaded his peaceful life, adopted by his father, chose to be a monster and a bane of the world, Jonathan, while adamant in stopping whatever malevolent scheme he’s planning to plunge the world into disarray and ridding the world of his presence… just can’t bring himself to hate Dio as vehemently as the youths in front of him hate the demons they fight.

“Though, perhaps, it’s fit to mention that he’s… my brother.”

There’s exactly five seconds of dead silence before the Hashiras erupt into a pandemonium opposite of Jonathan. He expected nothing else from this young rambunctious group.

Kagaya breathes out and his wife puts her hands on his shoulder, steadying him as new weight seems to be added to his shoulder. The two exchanged a loving gaze despite Kagaya’s inability to see Amane’s beauty, before the Master of the Corps tilts his head down towards one of his daughters.

“Hinaki-chan, please, bring us some tea,” he asks her. “It would appear that this long conversation has now turned even longer.”

The girl seems to be caught off-guard, as shocked by the information Jonathan disclosed as everyone else, before she catches herself, stands up and bows to her father deeply before leaving.

“Of course, Oyakata-sama.”

While the teenagers next to him shout over each other, not allowing Jonathan to actually parse what they’re asking, a thought graces his mind that he’s happy Tanjiro’s not here to witness this pandemonium. He’d have to inquire about the medical base of the slayers to visit the boy.

As the moon comes up, a biwa strums, echoing throughout Japan.

Chapter Text

The biwa strums.

Kamanue opens his eyes to a world of lamplit wooden rooms, long halls and countless corridors. The oppressive maze-like dimension surrounding Waning Six is incomprehensibly large, expanding endlessly in all possible directions.

As he looks around, too petrified to move in any way in what has to be a Blood Demon Art of an extremely powerful demon, Kamanue realizes he’s not the only one here. Walking around the narrow catwalks, walls and ceilings, on stairs that appear sideways from Kamanue’s positions, are various other demons. From his place he can spy at least twelve people, some looking less like humans they used to be.

“It is a most peculiar situation we find ourselves in,” a young voice says from above and Kamanue raises his head sharply to see a small child-like form standing roughly above him on one of the catwalks illuminated with orange lanterns, though gravity does not concern the boy, as from his point of view, it’s Kamanue who stands on the ceiling. “...don’t you agree, Waning Six?”

The boy with pure white skin, clad in a white oversized kimono with spider webs etches on the sleeves and the expanse of the hem, lifts his head full of snow white hair, in a shape that reminds one of spider legs, to meet Kamanue’s gaze. The bangs over his left eye of eerie white with dark black sclera flip momentarily, revealing a rank etched into the eyeball.

WANING FIVE

“Rui-sama,” Kamanue’s breath hitches, yet he tries to school in his growing terror. “Good evening to you, Rui-sama. May I inquire? If you are here… could it be that the rest of the Waning Moons are gathered here as well?”

“It would only be fitting,” the boy nods, tilting his head, before gesturing to the many demons exploring the mysterious space. “Though I don’t quite believe any of these are other members of the Twelve Kizuki that we don't know of, Waning Moons or Waxing Moons. A bunch of weakly hopefuls, at most.”

Kamanue looks at the scuttling demons as well, humming in agreement. Even from a distance, none of them carry the same intimidating aura Kamanue has encountered when meeting, even by accident, another Waning Moon.

“Kamanue-kun, Rui-kun! What a joy to see you kids here, it’s been so long!” a tender voice, superficially cheery in the most eerie way, greets both Kizuki. The spider-like boy doesn’t even flinch, while Kamanue looks down from the edge where he stands, seeing a pale youthful man stroll on one of the wooden catwalks, illuminated with orange lights of the lanterns.

The long black coat of Western cut that the demon wears accentuates his slender, almost feminine physique. His straight black hair fades into red-pink near the ends, though at the tip of two long strands that tip upwards at the base of his neck, the tint is bluish instead. Each of his cheeks has a vertical pattern of three square-shaped marks, of them each separated by a smaller square, the pattern fading from green to yellow in color.

The man’s bright blue eyes seem to peer into Kamanue’s soul, lurking within to search for the suffering these eyes’ owner can squeeze out of him. The demon doesn’t even shy away from chuckling delightfully at the brief shock of terror his aura causes Kamanue to experience as his image is reflected in his half-lidded eyes, the left of which is engraved with a rank.

WANING THREE

“Greetings, Enmu-sama,” Kamanue bows politely, his courteous conduct coming instinctually to him. “It pleases me to see you in good health.”

“Ah-ah, you’re always so polite and well-behaved, Kamanue-kun! The dream of every parent,” Enmu smiles widely and these words sting something deep within Kamanue. He freezes, uncertain and lost for a moment, which only makes Waning Three smile wider, before the older demon looks up at Waning Five. “You should be taking after him, Rui-kun. You never leave your mountain, it must be so sad.”

“I don’t need to leave my mountain,” Rui says dispassionately without ever turning in the demon’s direction. “Nor do I need your adulation, Enmu.”

“What a brat,” Waning Three laughs at the cold reception. “I haven’t seen Rokuro nor Mukago anywhere in this place yet. Have you happened upon them?”

Kamanue thinks and looks over the place.

“I do not believe I’ve seen either of them yet, Enmu-sama.”

“Quite an odd situation…” the man hums in reply, cupping his chin.

Before he can continue his trail of thoughts…

The biwa strums.

Suddenly, Kamanue finds himself on the same plane of existence as Rui, Enmu and every other demon in this twisted infinite dimension. More than two dozen demons surround him and Waning Five and once they see the marks in their eyes, they take a step back in recognition of the strength of the Kizuki.

Rui-sama, Waning Five, is the first to look upwards, with Kamanue and Enmu following to look the same way. There, at an elevated wooden platform, two demons are positioned in front of a beige shoji doors, with their shadows from the lanterns at each side of the platform falling right onto the doors.

To the left from Kamanue, a woman sits in a plain-loose black kimono with a striped pale brown-striped obi. She holds a four-stringed wooden biwa with a large bachi pick and despite her face, sans her little mysterious aloof smile, being hidden by her long black hair, Kamanue has no doubt she’s the demon that’s been playing these notes that command this dimension.

When he looks at the demon standing next to her, though, that’s when Kamanue feels the overwhelming terror and oppressing presence of a demon of a much higher station than him.

The man of impressive athletic build standing there is tall, easily taller than most demons present, with the exception of the few monstrous ones who retain little of their human appearance. He’s dressed, rather strikingly, in a white Western double-breasted coat, with black boots and a black scarf hanging off his neck. This man crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side, humming and looming over the demons gathered in this dimension. As he does so, the front bangs of his long black straight hair part, revealing the engraving in the left of his bloody red eyes.

WANING ONE

Kamanue has met this demon before when he challenged the previous Waning Six. Instead of Muzan-sama himself, Waning One was entrusted to be the arbiter of the Blood Battle, at the end of which Kamanue was allowed to absorb the loser’s flesh in its entirety, in lieu of lack of Muzan-sama’s presence to grant him higher concentration of his blood directly, the only acceptable case of demonic cannibalism.

From his chance meeting with Waning Four, whose now unquestionable absence in the current line-up of demons Kamanue feels as acutely as that of Waning Two, he knows that the current Waning One is an absolutely horrifying force of nature who, from the moment he became a demon, immediately challenged Waning One of the time, skipping the rest Waning Moons… and won in a matter of seconds.

Kamanue whispers Waning One’s name with terror and reverence.

“It’s Straizo-sama…”

The man looks over the demons below him, stopping for a moment on each of them, even Kamanue, which makes a shiver climb up his back as he feels seen, before fixing his black scarf with a casual gesture.

“Welcome, fellow Waning Moon and Kizuki hopefuls, to the Infinity Castle,” Waning One says in a soothing baritone. “Your fate will be decided here and now as, at the behest of Muzan-sama, we conduct the ultimate test of your capabilities.”

Everyone shudders as Waning One speaks the name… yet nothing happens to him. Even when spoken with reverence, the punishment for speaking of the Impronounceable, at least in his absence, is a certain death.

Waning One must be extremely trusted by Muzan-sama for him to allow it.

A large demon with a single horn on his head, a portly being which might even be taller than Straizo, takes a step forward boisterously at Kamanue’s left, visibly affronted.

“If that is so, then why isn’t the master here? Why isn’t… Why isn’t Muzan-sama here to—”

“What a fool,” Enmu whispers with a sadistic smile, as if sharing a joke with Kamanue.

BLOOD DEMON ART: HERMIT INFERNAL

The horned demon stumbles, and the next thing Kamanue and everyone knows, he’s wrapped from head to toe, completely immobilized by bloody-red thorny vines stretching from Straizo’s extended arm towards him.

The demon blinks and then he begins to scream as the vines begin to glow. They glow brighter and burn through the demon’s body. Kamanue takes a few steps back and even the usually stoic and reserved Rui-sama looks at it with wide eyes. Waning Three is the only one to look at the proceedings with an air of barely contained glee.

Instincts scream at Kamanue to run, because these vines almost feel like sunlight, yet at the same time he thinks they feel like how it would feel to experience Muzan-sama’s punishment for daring to speak his name aloud when you’re not allowed to, a vicious feeling burning your essence inside out.

By all accounts, the only way a demon should be able to kill another directly is by absorbing them, which is only allowed during Blood Battles, otherwise punished severely by Muzan-sama. Yet there Waning One is, pulling back the infernal vines of his Blood Demon Art, having turned a demon into nothingness, with not even ash remaining, entirely with his own ability, granted, without a question, by Muzan-sama.

All the demons, now one member short, look up at Waning One in stunned and, perhaps, for some like Kamanue, horrified silence.

“Don’t try to be brave, that will lead you nowhere,” Straizo states impassively, folding his arms and making it quite obvious that speaking Muzan-sama’s name is still the taboo it has been for demons. “What I gave him is a mercy, where our master would not be as forgiving.”

Waning One turns towards the female demon sitting at the floor.

“Nakime, if you please?”

The biwa strums.

Doors all around the Infinity Castle open, allowing a look into the expansive corridors, countless rooms and catwalks in-between some of them.

The biwa strums again and dozens more of doors open in the distance, with shocked humans falling, stumbling and otherwise making their entrance into the dimension of Nakime’s Blood Demon Art. The doors close behind them and all of those people become condemned, left with no escape from the Infinity Castle.

“You have fifteen minutes to kill as many people as you can,” Straizo says, beginning the explanation of the upcoming trial, with it distracting Kamanue from trying to see every human-like dot in the distance. The youthful demon focuses on the man immediately. “For each person you get one point. Each member of the Demon Slayer Corps you kill counts for five points. Five demons with the highest amounts of points will take their places in ranks of Waning Moons, from Waning Two to Waning Six.”

One person raises a charcoal black hand, a ninja-like demon whose face is covered with a large hood. Straizo nods, allowing a question.

“What becomes of the rest?”

“Oblivion,” Waning One states coldly. “Now, begin.”

Kamanue sees it for what it is, pruning of the weak. Each demon is for himself and given there were no rules about that, he’s entirely within his right to give himself a headstart.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

Waning Six leaps into one of the corridors as the starting chamber is filling with thick mist that smells of lavender and completely obscures the vision of every demon in the room, except, perhaps, Nakime and Straizo, which is a critical sense to have undisturbed in this confusing space. Kamanue quickly makes it in-between the confused demons, some of whom swivel around and lose precious time hitting each other. Yet before he disappears in the closest set of doors, he spies how his fellow Waning Moons leap into action disregarding his Blood Demon Art.

Rui is the only demon using one of the doors above them, jumping and seemingly flying towards them. Enmu, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, even if he walks towards the closest open doors with a purpose in his step, humming a cheerful tune. When another demon almost knocks him over, aiming for the same door, the man just raises his left hand, as if to smack the offender’s cheek, and that demon drops to the floor, out for the count.

Kamanue runs through the corridors of the Infinity Castle and the all-consuming lavender mist follows him, obscuring everything.

His first kill in this trial are a pair of brothers, unquestionably, they have to be, with the similarity in their facial structure and eye color. The older brother in his late teens covers the younger, much smaller boy with his body when Kamanue’s steam approaches them. For some reason, the sight of an older sibling ready to sacrifice himself for the other’s well-being… infuriates Kamanue.

Waning Six’s arm both perforates the older boy’s chest and shatters the younger one’s head into bloody chunks, with the headless body falling to the floor in a heap. The older sibling coughs up blood, looking over his shoulder in horror and devastation before Kamanue rips his arm out and the teen’s eyes go glassy as he joins his sibling on the floor.

The demon continues his run, fulfilling the trial’s conditions, but never being personally satisfied.

Kamanue runs and kills. Three people. Five people. Seven people and it’s more than he’s ever killed in a single night.

Then he comes across his first demon slayer.

WIND BREATHING — FIRST FORM: DUST WHIRLWIND CUTTER

The young man dashes at Kamanue right as he runs towards him, forcing the demon to evade the offensive. The slayer spins around as he leaps at him, slashing continuously in a horizontal pattern that reflects a violent cyclone in his blade. The attack isn’t as destructive as it could have been, merely leaving scratches all around on each wall it comes in contact with.

However, it’s strong enough to dispel the steam of Kamanue’s Blood Demon Art in front of him and expose the demon to his enemy.

Waning Six leaps in-between the gale-like slashes with ease, dodging the nichirin katana. He aims to take off the young man’s head, but in avoiding his assault he only manages to leave five bleeding gashes on his face that don’t seem to slow him down in the slightest.

The slayer lands on the floor once the fighters pass each other and Kamanue, as he himself lands and looks over his shoulder, sees his enemy’s footwork shift.

“Don’t run, demon.”

WIND BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: BLACK WIND MOUNTAIN MIST

With a crazed smile and a desperate cry, the slayer turns around sharply and leaps in the direction of the Kizuki, his blade going in a graceful upwards arc of an uppercut that forces Kamanue to jump back, his steam dispelling behind him.

Waning Six bounces off the ceiling after the attack’s sequence is finished, attempting to smash the human into the ground. The slayer, however, proves himself to be too resilient to be easily defeated and leaps away from the assault that sends a shockwave through the floor when Kamanue’s foot hits the wood. The slayer is pushed back and the floor collapses under Kamanue, leading the demon to a lower level, separating him from his opponent.

For a moment, Waning Six considers using the opportunity to retreat.

Waning Six has killed plenty of slayers in his time since becoming a member of the Twelve Kizuki two years ago. Perhaps, somewhere around twenty. However, most of those kills were from his traps where he used his Concealing Mist to trick them into assuming him to be a human before finishing them with a brutal attack without initiating a true fight. On a rare occasion, some would see through his mirage and each battle would be an extensive affair. He’s nowhere near as powerful as his superiors like Rui-sama or Enmu-sama.

And then there are these slayers he encountered after setting shop in the Tochigi Prefecture, attempting to stake a claim on a territory like Rokuro-sama or Rui-sama had done.

Kamado Tanjiro, Agatsuma Zenitsu, Inadama Kaigaku.

They saw through the illusion, they challenged him like no one had before, they reacted even to his motions beyond most humans’ speed and absolutely terrified him… especially with that demon girl inexplicably following them. Why was she following them? Were they just this strong? They almost beheaded him.

This slayer he’s facing now is fast enough to react to his motions and even if he can outlast him, the battle will take up precious time. A slayer’s life is worth five points over a civilian’s single one, but in the time it takes to kill this slayer, Kamanue might be able to kill even more civilians.

It’s only logical, isn’t it?

He’s about to dash forward to find another target… 

…and then he feels an overwhelming presence looming next to him, watching him like a predator watches over prey from its lair, waiting for it to lower its guard. Kamanue glances to his right where he feels the menacing aura emanating… and sees a dark silhouette of a man standing still through the beige shoji doors. From his posture the man appears relaxing, unlike every other human presence in the castle. Kamanue sees the figure tilt his head in silent amusement.

Instincts tell Kamanue that if he runs away from this slayer, he’ll die.

…yes, he shouldn’t run. He’s Waning Six of the Twelve Kizuki and this is just a single demon slayer who isn’t even a Hashira. He might even be as skillful as the warriors Kamanue encountered at the onsen, but he’s alone. Any of those three would have fallen to him had they been alone.

So will he.

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

The slayer jumps down through the hole Kamanue created… and right into the mist. Kamanue reasonably expects him to dispel his steam to return his visibility.

WIND BREATHING — FIFTH FORM: COLD MOUNTAIN WIND

Waning Six isn’t stupid. He can see patterns and from his fateful encounter with the slayers there, he’s been considering various forms they wield and how they interact with his Blood Demon Art.

Water Breathing, wielded by the respectful Kamado Tanjiro, is very ineffective in dispelling his technique, at most succeeding in doing so whenever his attacks struck Kamanue directly, affecting his concentration. Meanwhile, Thunder Breathing, wielded by the enigmatic Agatsuma and the rude Inadama, has varied results. Agatsuma’s attacks always dispelled the steam at a large radius, like a natural counter. Meanwhile Inadama’s attacks did so less effectively depending on the form… it’s almost like there was some ingredient missing from his attacks that Agatsuma mastered to perfection.

This nameless slayer’s Wind Breathing in each of its forms has so far been just as effective as whenever Inadama successfully dispelled his technique, which is formidable and points to the fact that a more experienced Wind Breathing user might become the bane of Kamanue’s existence… However, his blade only manages to do so at a very close distance, the visualization and the strength of his attacks not expanding too far from him.

As the slayer turns around in a swirling motion before he lands, swinging his blade in a horizontal sweep, a whirlwind of circular slashes clears out a small area around him… with Kamanue located outside of his area of visibility that momentarily unbalances the slayer, making him look back and forth.

Kamanue is both quick and fast. Agatsuma was the only one to be able to locate him within his thick mist, he shouldn’t forget that. So Kamanue starts running around the slayer, disorienting him by making particular steps of his louder, each time making the young man turn around sharply, expecting an attack.

Eventually, it bears fruit in unbalancing him completely.

“Enough games, demon!”

Another false loud step and the slayer bites the lure.

WIND BREATHING — FIRST FORM: DUST WHIRLWIND CUTTER

The young man leaps forward, slashing through the steam and dispelling it… only to find nothing. His eyes widen in shock and he barely has time to look over his shoulder with his wide eyes that betray the fear he’s been hiding behind his bravado, before Kamanue’s sharp claws cut through his neck.

The slayer falls to the floor, body separated from his head, like a puppet, whose strings were cut loose, the nichirin katana clattering as it falls from his limp hands. The attack was decisive and while his last moments might have been full of mortal fear, Kamanue makes sure not to add needless pain to it.

The biwa strumms and the oppressing figure behind the shoji doors disappears, to Waning Six’s unfathomable relief.

Kamanue turns towards the dead slayer and gives him a small respectful bow, recognizing his opponent’s skill and integrity, before he has to continue his hunt.

Foreigners bring the most unusual curiosities to the land of Japan. Finest cloth and refined sense of fashion, most advanced medicinal solutions the have ever seen at this moment, novel spiritual concepts, some of which have now entrenched themselves in Japan for centuries, like the ideas of Buddhism, of karmic punishment.

In the thousand years he’s lived since the Heian Era, Kibutsuji Muzan has yet to see someone, a Buddha of sorts, who’s reached true enlightenment, but mortals can keep to their bedtime stories while he’s focused on more grounded concepts.

Such as the latest boom of foreign influence on Japanese culture. The graceful Western fashion agrees with him, as does their extensive research base. Alas, even with all the information the Speedwagon Foundation possessed, there was nothing they could do to help him pinpoint the location and behavior of the illusive flower he’s sought for all these years, the Blue Spider Lily that has properties to rid him of the only weakness he has, the light of the sun. The Foundation’s disappointing inefficiency is one of the reasons he had no issues dropping the identity of Minaguchi Tsukihiko.

The other reason and one foreign thing that doesn’t agree with him is Jonathan Joestar. The Hamon warrior from Great Britain. A brilliant researcher, without a doubt, and, perhaps, the most dangerous threat to Muzan’s existence since that monster in the Sengoku Era. His presence in the country is why the part of Muzan most driven about his continued existence, one that might be called the Survivalist, has been vocal about staying within the safety of the Infinity Castle.

“I should just keep here for about fifty years. Maybe for a century. Joestar will certainly be dead by then,” the Survivalist thinks.

However, a more rational side of him, the Researcher, the side that has been awake like never before in this beautiful Taisho Era, doubts the efficiency of such a decision.

“Joestar might be dead, but as I’ve seen from Straizo, he and his Hamon are not an anomaly like Tsugikuni was,” the Researcher thinks. “It’s a long-established tradition, much more complex, unknown and dangerous to me than the demon slayers ever were. It predates me and if Joestar teaches the slayers its secrets, they might become more dangerous than they’ve been even at the zenith of their power in the Sengoku Era.”

Had he not been approached by one Mark F. Straizo, Joestar’s visit to Japan, unavoidable in highsight, would have caught him completely off-guard and might have ended tragically.

“I think I’m giving Straizo too much free reign. He speaks of me with no fear and he thinks…” the Survivalist thinks, worried and paranoid as always, and that instantly provokes a counter-thought of the facet of Muzan that has perfected human interactions and manipulation in the last few centuries.

“Straizo and I have entered a mutually beneficial partnership,” the Socialite thinks. “He has essentially given up his Hamon techniques and his previous allegiance to retain his youth and obtain a demonic skillset. As a Waning Moon he poses no threat to me. On the contrary, his idea of cultivating demons is a better alternative to that thought of just dismissing the Waning Moons due to their inefficiency.”

With the Socialite and the Researcher at the forefront of Muzan’s decisions, the man thinks he’s never been quite as alive. True, he has to involve himself working with his lessers, the disappointing demons that don’t answer his main criteria for being the demon to conquer the sun without Blue Spider Lily’s influence, however, data he receives from them is more fascinating than it’s ever been, each encounter with the hanafuda earrings-wearing brat, Kamado Tanjiro, carefully dedicated to his memory.

The fourth part of him, the Demon King, entirely dedicated to holding reign on his demons, lets Muzan see, in his mind’s eye, how his Kizuki perform in Straizo’s trial.

There’s Enmu, Waning Three, who walks casually through the halls of the Infinity Castle at an unhurried pace. That’s not to say the effeminate dandy is inefficient. Every human he comes across dies within seconds with a wave of his hand, whether it’s a civilian or a slayer, even if the latter case might require a graceful flip in the air first to avoid wild sword strikes.

There’s Rui, Waning Five, who almost flies through the corridors with a decisive look on his face. Civilians, slayers, even other demons who get in his way fall into chunks on the floor before they realize he’s coming. That’s why Muzan has always loved Rui, this child never disappoints when he sets out to do something. He has no doubts that he will be the one to become the new Waning Two, as he should have been if he cared enough to challenge other demons.

There’s Kamanue, Waning Six, who dashes through the castle and, Muzan has to admit, has become a curiosity for him, as the first Kizuki to truly fight Kamado Tanjiro. He’s been too preoccupied to dedicate his full attention to the encounter at the time, and it might have been for the better. The Survivalist, so cautious about Muzan’s own existence, has no regard for his creations and he might have punished Kamanue for his cowardly escape. However, the Researcher in him finds it fascinating how Kamanue adapts, now defeating slayers who could have been considered Kamado’s equal at that point. He might need to grow further to match him, considering recent developments during Kamado’s fight with Rokuro.

And Kamanue brought to light one revelation Muzan missed… the Kamado girl. He knew he turned her into a demon, but he, frankly, forgot about it, as with the Demon King receiving no backfeed from her, he assumed she perished at some point. Kamanue’s focus on her has brought the Researcher’s attention to the matter and Muzan wonders how it could be that a demon escaped his control.

…not to say he doesn’t know there isn’t a way.

Another foreign thing that doesn’t quite agree with Muzan is the alternate demon progenitor from Great Britain, Dio Brando, a “vampire” in their terms.

Nothing has been confirmed so far, but Muzan is a smart man, the Researcher in him has noticed the pattern of odd disappearances when the Demon King side of him suddenly experiences a buzz that doesn’t quite feel like the nichirin blade or the light of the sun. The closest comparison is that terrifying moment of encountering that monster and Tamayo ripping out of his control in Muzan’s moment of weakness.

Once Waning Four went dark, it was the last straw regarding Muzan’s tolerance for the arrogant invader.

The biwa strums and Muzan appears next to the shoji doors that separate him from Straizo and Nakime.

“The trial is going well so far,” Muzan hums, and even though his demons can’t see him, his serene Socialite smile is in place nonetheless, even as his Researcher thoughts take over. “I am assured existing Kizuki will remain standing, but I’m curious about your input, Straizo.”

“Most of the participants outside of my fellow Waning Moons are mediocre. Wasting time taunting their prey and gorging themselves when the objective is merely to kill,” the man replies stoically, crossing his arms, before contemplating the matter further. “There is one person of interest, however. Yukage, the Shadow Demon.”

The biwa strums and Muzan looks through the beige shoji doors where a figure disappears and reappears from the shadows of civilians and slayers alike, killing them instantly with either his claws or a set of kunai. Yukage’s face is hidden by a large hood and Muzan recognizes his outfit, fit for a slick ninja.

He didn't turn this person into a demon personally, rather, he was brought into the fold by one of his Kizuki, but Muzan saw the potential of the man at the time and it’s good to see his intuition paid off.

The biwa strums and in his mind’s eye the Demon King lets Muzan see how a figure drops down next to Straizo with a wild smile on his pale face with curved blue lines painted on his skin.

“That’s quite a gauntlet you’ve got running here, Straizo,” Akaza grins widely at the Waning Moon. As a fellow martial artist, with Straizo possessing the same knowledge of Sendo Form as Joestar, if not superior given his experience and formal learning within the order of the Hamon warriors in Tibet, Waxing Three holds a surprising degree of respect for the Hamon warrior and has sought him out for an occasional spar over the years. “Though I think they have it too easy.”

Straizo glances at the other demon who, between the two of them, looks younger in appearance, even if he’s got centuries of experience on him.

“Some of the participants have already fallen to the slayers,” he hums.

“That only means they were pathetically weak, not worthy enough to even be considered candidates for Waning Moons,” the other laughs joyfully, flexing his chiseled arm. “That’s what I suggest. To create a true challenge and hone the shapeless steel into a blade. We wouldn’t want a weak link to form in our ranks.”

All aspects of Muzan are in agreement and the two demons freeze momentarily, feeling the sense of approval the Demon King sends through the connection they share through his blood. Akaza has his permission to eliminate any human and consume any demon taking part in the trials within the Infinity Castle.

As he understands it, Akaza’s grin widens even more.

“Try not to overindulge, Akaza,” Straizo sighs in the end. “We need to actually form ranks and for that we’ll need some demons alive.”

The smug cat-like smile the other gives is very insincere.

“I’ll try my best.”

The biwa strums and the Infinity Castle rearranges itself to form doors in front of the three demons’ platform, allowing Akaza direct access into the maze. The demon chuckles and assumes a low fighting stance.

BLOOD DEMON ART: DESTRUCTIVE DEATH — COMPASS NEEDLE

The floor under Akaza erupts as a glowing light blue snowflake shape forms around him. Neither Straizo nor Nakime are bothered with the show of his mighty ability, even though Straizo’s scarf and Nakime’s hair wave in the wind the shockwave creates.

Wordlessly, but with a wide grin, Akaza launches from his place into the open doors, ready to enact horrors upon every soul unfortunate enough to be in the Infinity Castle tonight.

Five minutes remain until the end of the trial.

Muzan is curious to see the results.

Chapter Text

Kamanue’s in the middle of fighting his third slayer after slaughtering two dozens of civilians, his third proper fight within the trial, when he suddenly feels it. The slayer standing in front of him, gripping his blade defiantly, feeling it as well.

The overwhelming presence that paralyzes both of them, the menacing aura of a predator much stronger than both of them combined. Kamanue’s pale blue eyes shrink into dots from terror that courses through him.

What they feel is the presence of a Waxing Moon.

“W-What is this–”

BLOOD DEMON ART: DESTRUCTIVE DEATH — LEG TYPE: FLYING PLANET THOUSAND WHEELS

The floor under the slayer glows with bright blue and erupts. Kamanue’s instincts scream at him of danger and so he turns away sharply, dashing with all his might. He doesn’t see the figure that impales the slayer’s chest with his bare leg, but he knows the slayer must have died, as he feels the shockwaves going all around as the Infinity Castle crumples like paper for the Waxing Moon’s technique.

“Finally, one of you weak Waning Moons!” a voice laughs joyously from behind, from above, from all around Kamanue, echoing and chasing him. “I must admit, for all your weakness, it’s surprising how hard it is to find you!”

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — CONCEALING MIST

Waning Six doesn’t stop for a moment while the superior demon taunts him, releasing the concealing steam of his Blood Demon Art just trying to survive for a few moments more. Surely, when the trial comes to an end, the Waxing Moon will retreat, won’t he?

Kamanue runs onto the extensive catwalks hanging above the endless expanse of the Infinity Castle, for a brief moment thinking he has some breathing room. However, the ceiling high above the young demon collapses and as he jumps to the side, carefully balancing on the precarious narrow walkways alit with orange lanterns, he sees the pink-haired figure of another demon land, making an indent on the floor.

…even through the thick steam that smells of lavender, he somehow knows exactly in which way he has to turn to look Kamanue in the eyes. The engravings in golden eyes terrify Waning Six.

WAXING THREE

“Stop running, little coward!” Waxing Three laughs with a wide smile. “Such a pathetically weak flame of a fighting spirit you have. Even that slayer had more fight in him.”

Kamanue raises his foot to take a step back.

Waxing Three tilts his head slightly, his smile growing wider, as if he can see through the Concealing Mist, as if he dares Kamanue to try and run away. Both instincts and rational mind tell Waning Six that he can't hope to run away from his superior. What other choice does he have?

Against all reason, he dashes towards Waxing Three.

The demon’s golden eyes widen in excitement and he tilts his body sideways, evading the thrust of Kamanue’s claws which, from his point of view, must look both slow and clumsy. Before the younger demon can pull back, Waxing Three's right hand grabs Kamanue’s extended right arm and his left elbow slams down with monstrous force, casually ripping off Kamanue’s arm that’s immediately absorbed into his body.

Kamanue, aided by instincts more so than sense, uses the moment while his arm regenerates to spin and attempts to strike the other demon with his leg guided towards the pink-haired enemy’s head. The other seems mildly surprised at the audacity of the attack, yet still nonchalantly grabbing Kamanue’s foot and flipping the Waning Moon over him to smash him through the catwalks, leaving him to freefall through the Infinity Castle.

“You remind me of a cornered rattlesnake, Waning Six,” the older demon shouts while laughing, having jumped off and diving after Kamanue as the two fly through the endless expanse of the dimension. “When faced with certain death, you become a bit more interesting and your measly spirit finally begins to grow, but what will you do next? Your battle prowess is pathetic as is your application of your Blood Demon Art. Take a look at what a truly refined technique looks like!”

BLOOD DEMON ART: DESTRUCTIVE DEATH — AIR TYPE

Waxing Three punches empty space in front of him and for a moment, Kamanue is left confused. However, then the steam trail he’s been creating as he’s falling, begins to part in front of a tremendous invisible force and the demon barely twists himself to the side before the destructive breeze careens by his size, exploding part of the Infinity Castle they’ve been flying by.

“Quick thinking for a weakling!”

The superior demon begins punching the air in rapid succession and Kamanue, despite perceiving the shockwave attacks with the way they dispel his steam, is just not fast enough to dodge all of them. The air strikes rend flesh and bone along with pieces of the fortress surrounding the two freefalling demons.

When Waning Six finally crashes onto a solid platform, he has to regenerate all of his limbs to one degree or another, along with the left side of his head. Kamanue desperately crawls away when a heavy weight crushes his legs once again and he feels his regeneration stop, with Waxing Three’s feet phasing through his lesser’s legs, absorbing them.

A white hand tinged with green, with its blue fingers with orange nails, grabs Kamanue by his hair, and the terrified demon looks over his shoulder to see the golden eyes and white manic smile staring down at him.

“It’s better than I expected, Waning Six, but it’s still sickening how weak you are,” the man laughs, before smashing Kamanue’s head into the floor, cracking both the head and the floor. “Anything else to show off?”

Kamanue’s thoughts fly rapidly in his head, though he struggles to think clearly as the other demon smashes his head into the ground again and again, not allowing him to recover properly. He has to run, he has to escape Waxing Three before the demon absorbs him, he has to survive, but how can he do that with his underwhelming Blood Demon Art? His opponent has so far used his ability in a dazzling variety of destructive techniques…

Perhaps, Kamanue’s own ability can be used in more ways than just concealment, then? It’s with that stray thought that Waning Six reaches a glorious realization. Steam isn’t just a byproduct that creates mist he can use for concealment. When you pour cold water onto scalding rocks, steam erupts with a great force. If you amplify the force of that momentary explosion of steam generation, which Kamanue can do at will… Then…

BLOOD DEMON ART: LAVENDER STEAM — JET STREAM EXPLOSION

Waxing Three’s eyes widen slightly, the signature smile falling from his face as his body, almost against his will, rips away from Kamanue as steam gathers around the other demon. The steam explosion launches Kamanue away from the platform with a speed much exceeding his previous limits. Kamanue’s body breaks through the walls of the Infinity Castle, but he’s exhilarated to have managed to surprise the Waxing Moon he’s been fighting.

As he lands in one of the endless corridors, Kamanue gathers himself, finally having a breather from the fight. Yet, despite the excitement that vibrates his entire body, he doesn’t waste time. As soon as his legs regenerate enough for him to stand, he channels his Blood Demon Art before he can see the pink-haired figure approaching.

Kamanue accelerates with each steam explosion he manifests to propel himself forward, until the castle blurs into wooden lines alit with the orange glow of the lanterns.

The effects of the inclusion of Akaza into the trial were varied, but each case proved to be interesting to study for Muzan’s inner Researcher. Of course, most human lives were all obsolete the moment he got involved, the demon didn’t think twice of ending most civilians and slayers, except maybe one or two swordsmen who picked his curiosity for a few seconds before disappointing him with their lack of finesse.

Most demons, of course, were also absorbed by him with ease, despised even more so than the humans for wasting their potential on being mediocre weaklings. Muzan allows this, because even if he manages to absorb all the demons taking part in the trial, Akaza won’t be able to use it as a significant boost against Waxing Two, should another Blood Battle between the two take place.

“Akaza… Such potential, but such unnecessary restraint…” Muzan mutters as he watches the man come to a stop in his murderous rampage. He stands in front of a young woman who supports her ailing mother, both women in traditional clothing scared of the unexplainable oppressing dimension of the Infinity Castle.

Waxing Three’s expression is uncertain.

“Nakime,” he commands, pursing his lips when the women flinch.

The biwa strums and shoji doors next to the three open, revealing the serene night village the two must have been taken from. Akaza frowns as he looks at two women, clenching his fists.

“Leave. Think of what happened tonight as a bad dream that you’re waking up from,” he says in a strange tone of voice, beckoning the two to leave.

“Pathetic,” the Survivalist part of Muzan thinks. “He always restricts himself from killing and consuming women for a foolish sense of sentimentality. And these two have now seen Infinity Castle. They cannot be allowed to live!”

While before, Muzan would have acted on this first rash thought, his encounter with Straizo has solidified his more rational and patient parts’ grip on his identity and actions.

“Akaza has always been loyal to me,” the Socialite part of him thinks. “While I could dispatch these two mortals, a move in bad faith would upset him needlessly. I’m above such pettiness when I have other ways to ensure the outcome I want.”

“The odds of them encountering Joestar and the slayers are miniscule as long as I keep all the demons out of these women’s area,” the Researcher in him agrees.

The Demon King within him commands and the demons on the other side of the doors scatter in terror of his presence and indomitable will that he imposes upon them.

Akaza still the moment the shoji doors close behind two women.

“Thank you, Muzan-sama,” he says, and Muzan can’t help his satisfied smile. Akaza is one of his favored demons and he can allow him some grace.

Akaza rips away from his place and continues his massacre. Fortunately, with no more interruptions, as all female slayers, civilians and demons have already been killed off during the trial.

In all honesty, only Akaza’s fellow Kizuki, Waning Moons they may be, stand any chance of surviving Akaza. But even they’re smarter than to gamble upon that.

Waning Three and Five, Enmu and Rui, feel Akaza’s presence and make themselves scarce. Enmu has even gained some urgency in his movements upon Akaza’s appearance, finally.

Waning Six, Kamanue, hasn’t been as lucky or savvy and met Akaza face to face. Surprisingly, though, the boy survived, and that surprises and intrigues Muzan just as much as it does Akaza himself. In the heat of the moment that insignificant demon discovers a brand-new application of his primitive Blood Demon Art that manages to put him outside of Akaza’s reach.

“If something changes, it means it hasn’t reached its perfect state and where’s the worth in that?” the Survivalist thinks, but the Researcher within Muzan counters that line of thought.

“The process of evolution means that some changes might indeed be beneficial to the survival of the subject. Not all of the Waxing Moons discovered the true extent of their abilities from their early days, have they now? There might even be things neither they nor I know about their natures and they’ve been around for centuries. Waning Six is young… he might experience plenty of benevolent developments and mutations if I keep him around.”

Muzan nods to himself.

Fifteen minutes of the trial run out.

The biwa strums.

Muzan now stands behind the shoji doors separating him from Straizo, Nakime and Akaza at the platform that looms above the starting area. The most notable difference is that now instead of over two dozen demons there are only four standing on the floor below. The three existing Waning Moons and that ninja-like demon in a large hood, Yukage, who picked Straizo’s curiosity. Four demons, which means there aren't enough people to close full ranks of Waning Moons.

Straizo takes a look at the remaining demons and then glares at Akaza who laughs in response.

“I’m so sorry, it seems I just couldn’t contain my excitement,” Waxing Three chuckles, before shaking his head. “But look on the other side, it means that what you’re left with are the most resilient and efficient demons you’re going to find in this era, even if they’re still pathetically weak.”

Golden eyes find the figure in a white haori with yellow scale pattern on its sleeves. Akaza points his finger towards Kamanue, making the frightful Waning Moon jump in place while the other three demons turn their curious eyes towards him.

“You there, Waning Six! You’re the only one who actually had the gall to fight me head on,” he cheers. “You may be weak, but you managed to survive and I have to respect that tenacity. Perhaps, you’re not quite as weak as I presumed you are. What’s your name?”

The lesser demon is surprised, but he bows deeply in respect.

“Kamanue, Kizuki-sama,” he says and the other laughs.

“Ha-ha! Such formalities! No need for that. You’re stepping your toes in the realm of the highest, Kamanue, so you and the rest may learn to know me as Akaza,” the demon says before turning towards Straizo. “Do you think you can give Kamanue some extra ten or twenty points for surviving our encounter?”

Waning One hums.

“It is a commendable achievement,” he agrees with a nod, then addressing Kamanue directly. “If you cultivate that ingenuity of yours, in time you might contend to reach a higher position. You have potential.”

“Twenty points it is!” Akaza laughs and the other doesn’t object.

Muzan feels emotions surging through Kamanue’s mind and body now that his Demon King part of self watches him closely. The demon is euphoric at the praise he receives, even if he doesn’t understand why he yearns for it so desperately. Muzan smiles at just how easy it is to read this simple child who’s ready to do anything to be acknowledged.

Kamanue bows deeply.

“Thank you, Akaza-sama, Straizo-sama.”

The senior Kizuki seem satisfied, each in their own way.

“Now that the trial has come to an end, the time has come to assign new ranks to the ultimate and final generation of the Waning Moons,” Straizo announces before stepping aside from the shoji doors in front of Muzan.

Akaza sits down to bow deeply in a dogeza, forehead against the floor, and while he doesn’t quite do the same, Straizo still bows deeply from standing position. Muzan allows it given their cultural differences and the fact that Straizo has been so helpful to him these last few years.

The demons below appear confused before the shoji doors open and Muzan no longer conceals his overwhelming presence, his aura paralyzing all four of the lesser demons. The man takes a step forward and every demon drops to their knees. He smiles at their subservience, which is only natural in the presence of a being so infinitely superior to them. Muzan shakes off the non-existent flakes of dust off the lapels of his black tuxedo decorated with golden patterns.

“I haven’t sensed his presence, but it’s so overwhelming right now… this is truly the highest power,” Yukage thinks.

“It’s Muzan-sama! Has he been… has he been watching us all this time? How much has he seen?” Kamanue thinks.

“Muzan-sama… I can’t believe I’m bathing in your presence… Has he come to congratulate us in person? To give us his blessing or to punish us for underwhelming performance? I’m so excited!” Enmu thinks.

“Muzan-sama… I knew you would come… I’m so grateful,” Rui thinks.

“I hope you’re satisfied with the results of my trial, Muzan-sama,” Straizo thinks and the red eyes of the Demon King wander towards the former Hamon warrior for a moment. Unlike the rest, with his outstanding discipline, they both know how clearly Muzan can hear his thoughts. But he will not begrudge the man that because he brings results.

“Such a beautiful night, don’t you think?” Muzan says with his easy Socialite smile. He doesn’t need to indulge his demons with niceties like he does with humans, but with the Socialite and Researcher parts of him more active than before, he sees no loss in that as well. “You’ve all performed admirably and it’s time for you to be rewarded graciously.”

BLOOD DEMON ART: ULTIMATE BIOKINESIS — BLACK BLOOD INFUSION

Muzan points his arm towards the lesser demons and from inside the sleeve of his black jacket, veins rip and thrust forward, enveloping each surviving participant of Straizo’s trials that kneels in front of him and thrusting into their body to pump it full of Muzan’s concentrated blood.

“Yukage, with fifty-one points I designate you my Waning Five.”

The ninja-like demon seizes, breathing heavily in pain of the transformation, before Muzan’s veins rip away.

“Kamanue, with fifty-seven points, I designate you my Waning Four.”

The young demon weeps and sniffles in pain before Muzan’s veins rip from his body, his shifting pupils shrinking into pinpricks. A pathetic display, but as long as the boy does not disappoint him in the field, it’s acceptable.

“Enmu, with sixty-five points, you will remain my Waning Three.”

“T-Thank you, Muzan-sama!” Enmu laughs, shivering from both pain and his own masochistic excitement when Muzan’s veins retreat. Despite his station remaining unchanged, Muzan empowers him nonetheless as his standards for his Kizuki have risen. Akaza put it well, they’re now stepping their toes in the realm of the highest.

“And Rui. With seventy-seven points, I designate you my Waning Two. It’s been a long time coming.”

The little spider-like boy shivers when Muzan’s veins retract from him. If the Demon King paid special attention to make the infusion process as painless as possible for this particular demon, it’s for him and him alone to know, a whim not rationalized by either logical Researcher, pragmatic Socialite, paranoid and capricious Survivalist or dispassionate Demon King. Rather, it’s a whim from a facet of personality buried deep in his core, a weak empathetic aspect of the pathetically human person he’d once been.

Of course, Kibutsuji Muzan has long surpassed his humanity, but both selfish and selfless whims are something that can be engraved into both creatures much simpler and much more complex than humans, aren’t they?

“Now, my perfected Waning Moons, I have several goals I wish you to complete for me,” Muzan commands with a smile on his face. His overwhelming aura thins momentarily, so everyone knows they’re allowed to raise their heads and to gaze upon his perfect form. His Researcher side categorizes missions for his Waning Moons. “First of all, find and eliminate the kid with hanafuda earrings, Kamado Tanjiro.”

The image of the brat in the checkered green-and-black haori is put into the eye of each of the Waning Moons. Kamanue stills, recognizing the boy, though Muzan feels his confidence grow, he’s assured that Kamanue will run from him no more and that pleases him.

“Your second objective is to eliminate every Hashira you encounter. Lay traps, lure them in, hunt them in towns and villages, they must be dead. Weaken the Demon Slayer Corps as much as you can, for they sicken me. If you can find their bases of operation, hidden from me for generations, all the better,” the Demon King continues and he’s seen each of the nine active Hashiras and he puts the image of them in his demons’ mind. Enmu chuckles, Rui hums, Kamanue gulps and Yukage clenches his teeth angrily. After that the image of Jonathan Joestar appears, from the point of view of the previous Waning Two, Rokuro, whom the man defeated with insultingly casual ease. “However… confront this person at your discretion. This person, Jonathan Joestar, is more than a demon slayer. He’s a Hamon warrior and you do not stand in the same realm as him. My Waxing Moons will deal with him when the time is right.”

He lets the sentence sink in. The Kizuki who have known Rokuro before appear to be stunned at Joestar’s strength, which is within acceptable parameters regarding their reactions.

“As for your final objective…” Muzan hums and lets the image of Dio Brando, sourced from Straizo’s memories, appear, the tall blond man emanating menace as he stands with a rose in his hands and a shattered ice shards around him on a Western castle floor. “Defeat every demon whose allegiance lines up with Dio Brando, an invader upon my domain. His mere existence disgusts me and so, like an illness within a perfect body, he must be expelled.”

Muzan turns his head towards Akaza.

“Akaza, you shall return to your search for the Blue Spider Lily. Continue scouring the mountains of Japan,” he commands, only just realizing that somewhere in the middle of his rant about Dio his polite smile fell off. Never has anyone infuriated him quite like that foreign being he has yet to meet.

“As is your wish, Muzan-sama,” Waxing Three responds.

Muzan renews his Socialite smile and pats Akaza on his hair.

“Happy hunting, everyone,” he wishes, before looking towards the demon in charge of the Infinity Castle, the finest Blood Demon Art his creations have ever developed. “Nakime.”

The biwa strums.

A tsuzumi drum bangs.

In a dimly lit room of a mansion hidden in the woods, bright only with ethereal blue lanterns standing on the floor, Dio Brando sits with his legs crossed at the head of a table, with another by his right hand and four more people who suddenly manifest within the room, sitting down at the table in kneeling positions to his left and right. With most of his followers here, none of them let their eye engravings show. These engravings, Dio thinks, are one of his finest works of biomanipulation. Aside from showing off a person’s allegiance, they serve a practical purpose of transmitting visuals from another member of the Arcana. When the engravings show, you can see the point of view of another, as if it's a one-way radio.

Dio has in general spent plenty of time experimenting, manipulating his blood in its interactions with samples of diluted blood of Kibutsuji Muzan over the last two years. As it is, he’s been able to overwhelm it, even in a former Waning Six of the Twelve Kizuki, even in an active Waning Four of the organization, but try as he might, Dio can’t replicate all the abilities the Japanese Demon King is implied to have, such as tracking his demons everywhere at any time and destroying his creations remotely. Dio’s control over his minion is limited, at least, when it comes to the power he holds on them through their shared blood.

The man drinks from his cup full of blood with little hurry, savoring the moment. No one dares to speak before the man, keeping respectful silence as they, too, drink from their cups.

There is little fear shared at the table. Instead, reverence fills the demons surrounding Dio. The dozens of years he’s spent fighting the Hamon warriors taught the foreign demon of how valuable trusted assistance is. From his very first, long-dead, demonic assistant, Wang Chen, he’s witnessed how his charm brought him benefits that strength alone could not. Would a fearful minion rescue him at his weakest, twice in a row at that? He doubts that. But a minion who adores his master is an entirely different beast, willing not only to fight for him until the bitter end, but to perform to the best of their ability.

That mindset, of cultivating adoration, is a part of why Dio has adopted, to an extent, the Japanese culture of the demons he recruits in the Empire of Japan. Another reason is his own natural curiosity, of course. He’s a well-rounded person and another culture gives him insight he hasn’t had before.

“So it would appear that my brother has joined up with the Demon Slayer Corps,” Dio says as he puts his cup down with a smile. “A predictable outcome, all things considered. When we first learned he’s in the country, he has already contacted one of them, so it was a matter of time before things became official.”

“Shouldn’t we do something about that, Dio-sama?” the demon woman in a red kimono frets, sitting to Dio’s left. Her expression is mildly fearful, but she’s confident in how everything will turn out well, because she’s in the presence of Dio.

“Not at the moment, my dear Mukago,” Dio purrs, bringing flush to her cheeks with his timbre. “Rather, I am curious about this boy you spoke of. The one in the checkered haori. Kamado Tanjiro. And his demonic sister, Nezuko. A demon slayer traveling with a demon, how peculiar.”

“From what I heard following Joestar-san, he unwittingly targeted him by pointing Kibutsuji towards the mountain the Kamado family lived in his research,” a demon with closed eyes on his face, but an acutely aware pair within the palms of his hands hums, holding his cup carefully with but his fingertips. “Though that wouldn't explain why Kibutsuji went out of his way to find that family in the mountains. Perhaps, frustration?”

“Are you quite sure of all that information, Yahaba-san?” the man to Dio’s right asks, fixing his purple patterned haori nervously. His reaction to the whole idea of Kamado Nezuko has been one of great surprise and while they haven't discussed it yet, that alone has Dio’s curiosity. Kyogai isn’t that easily surprised after the initial revelations of what Dio was. The man’s been a demon since early Meiji period, so, to Dio’s estimation, around forty years or so, but he’s learned a lot about being a demon of Kibutsuji Muzan despite rarely leaving his property.

“This guy’s eyes don’t lie, Kyogai-san! You had to have seen that conversation yourself!” a girl at Yahaba’s left laughs boisterously, patting the demon on the back forcefully. The man pushes her back with an irritated frown, ruffling her orange kimono and the haori she wears atop.

“Susamaru, please, no need to saddle us and Dio-sama with your immaturity,” he huffs, though, quite honestly, Dio is apathetic towards any of his followers’ quirky personalities. He turns toward his second-in-command, the oldest of the demons he wrestled from Muzan’s control for his own cause, tilting his head and questioning him silently.

“By all accounts, a demon akin to Kamado Nezuko shouldn’t exist,” Kyogai explains, holding his cup tightly. “She was created by Kibutsuji Muzan personally, unquestionably, yet she’s not affected by his curse, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to avoid Muzan’s gaze. The only other case of demons escaping his control, outside of us, Dio-sama, is the case of Tamayo the Renegade. That case was, I believe, not for the existence of proof, but to call it a feeling, is somehow tied to that eerie feeling Mukago felt in the presence of Kamado Tanjiro’s unique breathing style.”

“How do you suppose, then, that Kamado Nezuko could have become an independent demon?” Dio hums, sloshing the remaining blood in his cup lazily.

Kyogai remains silent, ruminating on the matter.

“Does it really matter, Dio-sama?” the scarred demon to Kyogai’s right asks. Wakuraba is Dio’s only original creation, since he chose not to forget the basics of his biomanipulation in transforming a regular human into a demon, not to mention he needed a control sample aside from himself to compare with demons who inherit both a fraction of his magnificent power and a Blood Demon Art which are inherent to powerful demons created by Muzan.

“In the long run, maybe not,” Dio shrugs, admitting Wakuraba’s point. “However, the world’s mysteries intrigue me and this mystery in particular might point out one of Kibutsuji’s weak points, should we solve it. Not that I believe it is critical to our success.”

“Of course, Dio-sama, I don’t dare to question your judgment,” the demon bows his head submissively, as if apologizing for his doubt, which Dio finds amusing, but welcome nonetheless.

“What is our next step, Dio-sama?” Susamaru asks excitedly with a wide childlike grin. “We got the slayers to kill one of the Kizuki! Where to go from here?”

“By all accounts, everything is set up to work in our favor, friends, with Kibutsuji now homing in on killing the slayers and the slayers killing his demons. The former’s temper means he’ll be sending his strong demons forth after his eighth strongest demon’s defeat,” Dio chuckles, before taking another sip of blood from his cup. “And JoJo’s Hamon techniques mean that the slayers might have a relatively easy time against them nonetheless. They might even start making their way through his Waxing Moons.”

Both Kyogai and Mukago, the only ones realizing the full weight of his words due to their intimate familiarity with the structure of the Twelve Kizuki, shudder in both fear of Jonathan’s implied strength, and the mix of excitement and awe of their master arranging events like this.

“However, I must admit that I can’t rest fully while the mystery of these Kamado siblings remains,” the Britishman hums, putting his cup on the low table and closing his eyes. “How come Nezuko remains outside of Kibutsuji’s influence? How come Tanjiro’s breathing style triggers that deep sense of wrongness within you, Mukago? Are these two phenomena connected?”

The members of the Kami Arcana exchange glances between them.

“I say we keep an eye on the boy,” Dio hums, opening his burning orange eyes. The engravings in them now shine brightly, connecting him to the only member of the Kami Arcana not present within this room.

THE WORLD

There is one more person among his ranks and he knows they’re keeping a close eye on Jonathan and his new, very peculiar friends.

Chapter Text

Nijimura Chisaku fixes the cap on his head, one that carries the sigil of a wheel, the logo of the Speedwagon Foundation, and takes a deep breath.

“Oi! Open up, people, your delivery’s here!”

The young man pounds his fist on the gates in front a massive traditional manor in the middle of the forest, well hidden from human eyes… and eyes that might not be quite human. That last point is why he and his companion have only been on the road to reach this place from Tokyo on foot during the day, taking breaks at the closest Wisteria Houses when the sun as much as began going down, careful to keep their tracks hidden from the demon forces.

“Kid, you don’t need to shout like that, I’m sure they have someone ready to receive us,” a tired voice mutters behind him.

“Yeah, I don’t see anyone just yet, so we have to let them know we’re here first,” he retorts, banging on the gates some more. The other man sighs in resignation.

Hashimoto Yujiro, Chisaku’s former yakuza colleague and now his current partner-in-crime in running errands for the Supernatural Research Department of the Speedwagon Foundation, carries a comically large box of supplies on his back, almost twice the height of the burly man, and the strength he has to wield to actually carry it the way he does slightly terrifies the younger man. His own backpack, half its size but still ridiculously large, seems paltry in comparison, even with a small basket of fresh fruits he carries additionally in his hands.

The gates of the place, the Butterfly Mansion, as Chisaku has been told the place is called, open and the former yakuza has to steady himself to avoid falling as he was mid-banging when they chose to open. Then he has to tilt his head down slightly to look at the petite young woman meeting him.

“Erm…” he stumbles, looking at the woman who smiles patiently, looking between the two men in purple vests.

She has raven-black wavy hair that fades into dark purple at the ends, styled at the back of her head into a complex bun fixed with a butterfly ornament. But the most notable detail of her appearance is the haori atop the purple-tinted version of the uniform Chisaku remembers other slayers wearing. Her haori is patterned after butterfly wings, in a gradient that fades from white into pale turquoise and then pink on the sleeves and hem which are cuffed with a black trim.

“You must be the couriers sent by the Speedwagon Foundation?” the woman tilts her head, encouraging the visitors to introduce themselves.

“Ah! Yes! We’re supposed to meet the person in charge of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, Kocho Shinobu!” Chisaku exclaims, nodding. “Do you know her, miss?”

The woman chuckles lightly.

“I should hope to know her, seeing her in the mirror every morning.”

Chisaku stands there, without a question, looking like an idiot as he struggles to decipher the words. He’s not dumb, he’s only alive because he thinks quickly on his feet… but there’s more than one reason he’s only ever been an errand boy for the mafia.

“Nijimura, this is Kocho-san,” his partner takes pity on him from behind and somehow that makes him feel even stupider. Hashimoto comes closer, still carrying his ridiculous box of supplies. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Hashimoto Yujiro and this goof here is Nijimura Chisaku.”

The older man pats Chisaku on the back as he squawks indignantly.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the Insect Hashira chuckles.

“Where should we put these supplies, Shinobu-san?” Hashimoto continues, and Chisaku wonders where the man’s been hiding that smooth talking side of him all this time. Then again, yakuza guards don’t really have to talk much, so there’s that.

“Please, follow me.”

Shinobu guides them onto the mansion’s territory, locking the games behind them and leading them inside. Next to one of the mansion’s flower beds, three small girls in white nurse uniforms with cute button-like eyes watch the two men, or, mostly, Hashimoto, carry the weight effortlessly with awe.

“He must be as strong as Himejima-san,” one of them murmurs to the others and the rest nod in excitement. The man doesn’t give any indication of having heard the praise, though Chisaku can’t help but wonder who that Himejima guy is, to be compared with Hashimoto.

Inside, the mansion’s main building is modest, utilitarian, but sturdy.

“Here, please,” Kocho gestures to one of the rooms.

What’s located in that room, Chisaku finds, is a study with two work desks, various books and research equipment laid across them. A cabinet to the man’s left that almost reaches the ceiling is stacked with books on scientific matters far above his paygrade. However, the most surprising part is the other occupant of the room, sitting at one of the desks. It’s a beautiful, gracefully aged woman, a Westerner, in a simple white dress with blue cloth laying on her shoulders, white choker with a blue jewel shining on her neck. The woman pulls herself from whatever she’s been looking at through the microscope and, after writing something down in her papers, she glances towards the new arrivals.

“Erina-san, your requisition order has arrived!” Shinobu says joyfully and the older woman nods with a smile, getting up from her seat, even such a simple move graceful and elegant when performed by her.

…what surprises Chisaku even more is how tall the woman is, a bit taller than Hashimoto and absolutely dwarfing both Chisaku and especially the Insect Hashira.

“W-Wait, you’re… You’re the wife of Joestar-san, aren’t you?” Chisaku stutters, his pointy eyes bulging in surprise.

After the trainwreck that was the night when Kurayami Tenshou was effectively ruined with its leader death and Chisaku learned about the world of demons and the Demon Slayer Corps, the man who defeated Rokuro-sama, Jonathan Joestar, offered both him and Hashimoto employment, as gratitude for guiding him and helping the young slayers, however inadvertent that help might have been. Chisaku was just about to pass out at the time when Hashimoto explained just how big the Speedwagon Foundation and, by extension, Jonathan Joestar, was, but the two gladly accepted the job.

…and now it turns out the man’s wife is here, working with the Demon Slayer Corps at their Butterfly Mansion, implied to be, from Chisaku understood, a major base of their operations where injured slayers are sent to recover if local Wisteria Houses can’t provide sufficient care for them in-between missions.

“And you must be Nijimura-san and Hashimoto-san my husband told me about,” Erina hums, bowing slightly to them. “I'm very glad to meet you in person and I thank you for making this delivery so promptly. Quite honestly, I expected you a few days later. Your efforts will help us save many lives. Please, set them here, the personnel of the mansion will sort everything out.”

Chisaku and Hashimoto nod, settling down their carry and the former is just about ready to fall down onto the floor from the relief he feels setting this large weight off his shoulders.

“Oya, oya, and what about this basket?” Shinobu asks curiously, tilting her head at the fruit basket that Chisaku doesn’t put down. The former yakuza blushes slightly.

“It’s… a gift I bought. I intend to leave it… here.”

“Shinobu, can you manage the delivery distribution? I have the requisition list in my desk,” Erina asks as she approaches the two couriers. “I’d like to show these young men around and make sure they’re well-rested before they head back.”

“Of course, Erina-san, don’t worry about this,” the young Insect Hashira replies with her signature smile. Her purple eyes focus on a kakushi passing by the door, Chisaku remembers these ninja-like support members of the corps handling the aftermath of the events in Utsunomiya. “Ah! Goto-kun! Can you please find Aoi-chan? And maybe a few more people, we need to sort out a delivery from the Foundation!”

The kakushi jumps in surprise, but then turns around and nods.

“It will be done, Shinobu-sama.”

Erina gestures for Chisaku and Hashimoto to follow her.

“You must be exhausted, gentlemen,” the woman hums. “Your journey must have been a perilous one.”

“Not that much, given we only traveled during the day to avoid demons catching the sight of us,” Chisaku replies somewhat awkwardly, instantly feeling he should’ve just accepted the woman’s concern for them. “And, ahm, we’re not exactly helpless…”

Hashimoto looks at Chisaku, raising an eyebrow pointedly, and the younger man feels even more stupid.

“...but you already knew that, didn’t you, Erina-san?”

The woman hums softly.

Chisaku has been made aware of just how important his and Hashimoto’s positions are, serving as some of the few liaisons between the Demon Slayer Corps and the Speedwagon Foundation. The former organization operates in secret, officially unrecognized by the government and thus remaining hidden from the Demon King, Kibutsuji Muzan, as well. The latter organization, in turn, can’t funnel its support openly or in large quantities, as it would both attract Muzan’s attention to them and make him take decisive actions against them and force the Japanese government’s hand in recognizing the slayers’ association with a foreign corporate entity, not only exposing them, but shackling them by the chains of bureaucracy.

It’s said that Speedwagon-sama, the man in charge of the Foundation and its parent company, personally approved Chisaku and Hashimoto’s appointment, citing their less than lawful job experience as something valuable in the position they wanted them to fill.

As a sign of goodwill between two organizations, the Demon Slayer Corps supplied the Foundations’ couriers with custom nichirin weaponry to protect themselves from demons, should they encounter such despite all other precautions taken to avoid such an unfortunate encounter. This is why Hashimoto carries a handgun with nichirin bullets in the inner pocket of his purple vest and Chisaku himself carries a sheathed nichirin wakizashi, a short curved sword, on the belt of his uniform which, despite the different cut, is implicitly made from the same material the demon slayers’ uniforms are made.

The weight of the research equipment and medicine delivery may be gone from Chisaku’s shoulders, but the weight of expectations on them sure isn’t.

“I can’t help but worry, I suppose,” Erina says before choosing to fill in the silence. “This property predates the establishment of the Wisteria Houses, I believe it was established in the late Sengoku period as a refuge for demon slayers hunted down by the strongest demons of the era on orders of Kibutsuji Muzan. The original building is where we place healthy guests these days.”

The couriers exchange curious glances at this tidbit of history.

A group of kakushi passes past the three in a hurry, guided by a short girl in a demon slayer uniform with a nurse dress atop of it. The sight almost makes Chisaku stumble in his step.

“Go, go, people! Shinobu-san wants us to sort the delivery yesterday!” the girl commands enthusiastically, walking faster and the kakushi almost run to catch up to her.

“Yes, Aoi-sama!”

Hashimoto can’t help his chuckle when the commotion passes them.

Right after that, however, a shriek reaches them and Erina stops in her tracks, as do the men following her. At the doors, a most peculiar sight greets their little group right outside the mansion as a slayer with spiky hair and a golden magatama necklace showing under his uniform, unbuttoned at the top, carries another slayer in a yellow haori over his shoulder like a bag of produce through the gates, with kakushi closing the gates after them.

“AIIIIE! Let me go!” the slayer in yellow shrieks, making Chisaku wince from the high pitch and volume. “I promise I can walk on my own! If you bring me in like that everyone will think I’m a pathetic weakling!”

“Everyone already does, you shrill moron,” the other, older slayer grumbles in response as his eye twitches and he almost looks two seconds away from throwing his companion over the fence. “Stop squirming, you’ll get those wounds re-opened and infected. Why didn’t I just leave you in the woods, you dumb lowlife?”

“Maybe you should have! Maybe you should have just let me die!” the other cries, rather pathetically in Chisaku’s opinion.

“Ahem,” Erina clears her throat sternly, shutting down both slayers. The one on his feet straightens up immediately and the other stiffens in his companion’s grip even if he can’t see the woman. Her severe frown is very efficient. “This is a place of healing and residents here require rest, so I would like to ask you to exercise restraint.”

“...sorry…” the yellow slayer goes limp in his compatriot’s grasp.

“Now, what seems to be the issue?” she asks in a slightly softer tone. “You mentioned something about the possibility of a wound infection?”

The older slayer nods.

“We had a mission not too far away from here and this idiot here got his legs clawed by a demon,” he explains stoically. “I wrapped him up, but I’m no expert on first aid, might have messed up, plus the demon had some sort of poisonous Blood Demon Art. The Butterfly Mansion seemed like the better option than to look for a Wisteria House, since we were so close and you’d have all sorts of… medicine.”

“That is indeed true,” Erina nods and gestures inside. “Please, come inside and turn left from here. There will be a study on your right. Ask for Kocho Shinobu, she’ll be able to inspect your friend on the possibility of wound infection or demon poison influence, though his chances are looking up if he doesn’t show any symptoms of being poisoned right now.”

“...a Hashira… she’s got to be a Hashira… she’s not going to hurt me, right?” the boy on the older slayer’s shoulder squirms in his hold. His companion growls in a low tone.

“The Hashira sure won’t have patience for your bullshit.”

Erina’s face goes softer at that and she gives a small sigh, approaching the two slayers. The older one stiffens and, along with him, the other does as well. The woman walks around to face the younger, scared slayer.

“What’s your name, young man?” she asks politely. “I am Erina Joestar, one of the nurses here at the Butterfly Mansion.”

“Joestar…” the older slayer mutters, narrowing his eyes.

“I-I’m… I’m Zenitsu. Agatsuma Zenitsu, Erina-san.”

“Zenitsu, then. As I said, this is a place of healing and though the process may be a bit painful depending on your injury, you will get better under Shinobu’s supervision, she won’t hurt you purposefully and she’s much more patient than both of you seem to be under the impression,” the woman says before chuckling with a faraway look on her face. “You’re too young to think of death, Zenitsu-kun, a slayer or not.”

“I… I see, Erina-san,” the young slayer murmurs wetly.

It occurs to Chisaku how very young the slayers are. He’s pretty sure that aside from Erina-san, Hashimoto and himself are the oldest people on the property right now, and he’s just a bit over twenty himself. Unless some of the kakushi might be on the older side of things, it’s hard to say with their face covering.

“Alright, Zenitsu. And you…”

“Inadama Kaigaku,” the older slayer introduces himself. “I remember where to go. I apologize for myself and this idiot taking your time, Erina-san. We’ll be going.”

Zenitsu seems like he’s about to say something, but Kaigaku squeezes him, making him squeak like a child's toy, and the two slayers are off, with Kaigaku pushing his way through Chisaku and Hashimoto to enter the Butterfly Mansion proper. The former almost drops his fruit basket and that would have ensured that the brash slayer would also need someone to tend to his wounds, because Chisaku hasn’t been paid on his new job yet and had to buy these fruits with his rather limited emergency funds.

“Man… Never thought how much worse one’s partner could be,” Hashimoto whistles and gets elbowed in the gut by the indignant Chisaku, not that it does anything since the other seems to have abs of steel and laughs it off. “Sorry, sorry, kid. But you did get a bit whiny asking when we’d get there.”

“Hey, Hashimoto, I’m a cheetah, not a horse! I run fast but my stamina sucks! Especially when I have to carry two tons of stuff on my back!” Chisaku complains, but it’s only a half-hearted complaint.

The two men continue following Erina-san as she goes around the main building towards one of the smaller buildings. Most of them are connected to the main mansion and, by the looks of it, you could reach them through the mansion corridors. There’s just one small building, a very modest traditional house with a single floor that seems to stand solitarily, surrounded by flower beds. Chisaku isn’t an expert on architecture, but he can tell just by looking that it’s built in a different style compared to the main Butterfly Mansion. It must have been the original mansion Erina spoke of.

There’s a kakushi waiting for them in front of the building.

“Ah, Sasame-san, how fortunate,” Erina greets the kakushi with a notable tan to his skin who bows to her at once, with her bowing in return before gesturing to the couriers beside her. “These are the couriers from the Foundation, Nijimura-san and Hashimoto-san. Please, help them get settled in the guest house for a few days.”

“A few–?”

Hashimoto elbows Chisaku in the gut before he can finish questioning the length of their stay, and unlike the reverse scenario, Chisaku feels the older man’s motion and wheezes like a fish thrown onto the shore, making both the kakushi and the nurse glance at him in concern.

“We’re very grateful for your hospitality,” Hashimoto says lazily, diverting attention from his companion.

Erina nods before turning around and leaving, apologizing as she does so, as she has plenty of work to do between medicinal research, tending to the wounded and, today, assisting others in sorting out supplies Chisaku and Hashimoto brought from the Foundation, being by far the most experienced medical specialist on the property.

“You… you bastard…” Chisaku wheezes once he feels his intestines aren’t trying to escape into his lungs after the other man’s casual gesture. The older man ignores him with a somewhat smug look on his face, in favor of walking into the guest house with the kakushi, Sasame.

Yeah, Chisaku thinks he will check out the entire property, find where that Kamado kid stays to give him the fruit basket for saving his sorry hide and then wait out until the older former yakuza goes to sleep so he can suffocate the man with a pillow.

The past two weeks in the Butterfly Mansion… were illuminating, if Tanjiro says so. First of all, he learned about the mansion’s existence in the first place and it was a surprise to know there is a central medical base of operations for demon slayers outside of local Wisteria Houses. One of the Hashira present for his Final Selection, Kocho Shinobu, is the head of the mansion and she’s been his primary caretaker, gentle and meticulous in her work despite the constant undercurrent of anger in her very nature, laying just below the fake smile.

Second, he met Shinobu’s Tsuguko, her student with a potential to succeed her as a Hashira, one Tsuyuri Kanao whom Tanjiro remembers as one of the successful participants of the same Final Selection as himself.

A very quiet girl who’s also been assisting his healing… mostly with the rehabilitation training regiment to hone his reflexes and get his arm flexibility back to where it was before he got his bones broken fighting Waning Two.

Tanjiro sits in a kneeling position in one of the mansion halls and Kanao sits across the small table between them. The girl of short stature wears a demon slayer uniform with a purple tint to it, with a skirt in favor of hakama pants and draped over the uniform, a short white cloak, fastened on her left side by a dark pink triple knot.

The young slayer can’t help but notice how beautifully her dark hair lays, tied into a side ponytail on the right of her head, pinned by a green butterfly ornament with a pink rim and white speckled spots, a variation of the various butterfly-themed pins he’s seen on girls running the mansion, from Shinobu to Aoi to the three little butterfly girls, the little nurses of the mansion, Sumi, Kiyo and Naho who sit to the sit, watching him and Kanao along with Inosuke who, unlike them, sits with legs crossed, shivering in anticipation.

“Come on, come on, Panchiro! You can do it this time!” he cheers.

Kanao looks at Tanjiro with her half-lidded eyes and a serene smile that, unlike Shinobu's, doesn't seem to carry any sort of emotion behind it, from what Tanjiro’s smell can tell. It’s a sad life, he thinks, when your smile is so empty.

“Ready, Tanjiro?” she asks.

On the table between him and Kanao stand several cups with medicinal tea. The game that tests their reflexes requires the opponent to grab and flip one of the teacups onto their opponent, drenching them in said medicinal tea. However, both challengers are allowed to block the opponent’s hand on the chosen cup and prevent them from throwing it, forcing them to attempt to switch to another cup.

“Yes.”

In the last week Tanjiro’s been unable to seriously contend with Kanao, as her reflexes far surpassed his even prior to his injury. As the butterfly girls explained to him, everything lied in an advanced breathing she used, Total Breathing Concentration: Constant. The same state of enhanced bodily functions he acquired at the moment of performing one of katas of Water Breathing, she maintained constantly, awake and sleeping, and it took a lot of effort for the other slayer to even start approaching the same level of mastery.

As it is, he manages to cover the first cup Kanao grabs, something that surprises her, judging by the slightest widening of her purple eyes. Tanjiro attempts to grab a cup of his own, but it’s instantly covered by Kanao’s palm.

Two slayers exchanging feints so quickly the butterfly girls cheering on them can’t even see the hands flying above the cups.

“Come on, Tamagiro, drench her in that leaf water!” Inosuke shouts excitedly. Despite the wild slayer’s clean bill of health and him leaving for solo missions, he always comes back to check on Tanjiro’s progress and manage his own Total Breathing Concentration training.

Tanjiro has to admire his friend’s tenacity, among other things, as this technique isn’t the only one he’s been studying and practising.

“Oh! Hey, boulder man!”

Inosuke’s sudden exclamation, along with the appearance of a large figure on the periphery breaks Tanjiro’s trance-like state of focus and the next thing he knows, he’s drenched in the lukewarm tea once again. Kanao keeps smiling at him, though her expression softens a bit, losing some of its sharpness now that their friendly duel is finished.

“You’re getting much better, Tanjiro,” she offers, while one of the butterfly girls, Sumi, with two long pigtails and blue butterfly clips, approaches to offer Tanjiro a towel, which he thankfully accepts with a nod to get the tea out of his eyes and nose.

“Thank you, Kanao-san,” the slayer bows once he cleans himself up before standing up. Kanao follows him and they both turn towards the excited noises Inosuke makes.

“Come on, boulder man! Poke me! Poke me again! I’ll get it this time!” Inosuke shouts, stomping his foot against the floor and beckoning the mountain of a man, Jonathan Joestar, to action.

Tanjiro can’t help but notice the outfit the Western man is wearing. Less that of a disciplined scholar, but more so of an experienced Hamon warrior who can rival the Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. A close-fitted orange tank top with black straps of a suitcase he carries on his back wrapped around his shoulders, thick greenish pants and brown boots. The man’s hands are clad in thick fingerless brown gloves and his forearms are covered by black armguards. Joestar-san’s long dark hair with a blue tint remains tied, as always, in a classy ponytail. Such an outfit speaks to the fact the man’s been spending his last week, if not more, assisting slayers in their hunt as an honorary Hashira.

“Inosuke-kun, I’ve already explained it to you,” Joestar-san sighs with a fond, yet slightly exhausted smile as he crosses his mighty arms on his chest. “I may attempt to force you into the breathing patterns characteristic of the Hamon warriors, but my technique may fail again, even more experienced warriors, such as my late master, had issues channeling it consistently. And with how your body is already being trained to consistently conduct Beast Breathing–”

“I don’t care! Poke me!” Inosuke shouts, ignoring all reason.

The man raises his eyes and can’t help but chuckle in the face of the boy’s pig-headedness. He uncrosses his arms and Inosuke gets even more excited, clenching his fists and vibrating from anticipation.

SENDO FORM: FORCED HAMON BREATHING

Joestar-san gut-punches Inosuke with his pinky finger raised, and the implied force makes both Tanjiro and the three butterfly girls wince as Inosuke almost folds in half, wheezing and losing his breath. Not Kanao, though, she doesn’t seem to empathize in the slightest. As Joestar-san explained it the last time Inosuke coaxed him into doing this, such a motion allows him to reach the other’s diaphragm, emptying it, but leaving it in the exact condition needed to perform Hamon breathing… if it succeeds, that is. According to the man, it’s considered one of the most complex techniques a Hamon warrior can pull off.

“Ah, Tanjiro-kun, I apologize if I ruined your match against Kanao-san,” Jonathan says with his usual soft smile. Kanao, ignoring the still-wheezing Inosuke, goes past the large man, nodding to him on her way out. Tanjiro, too, walks to leave the room, after Inosuke gives him a thumbs-up while still wheezing and bent in half following the punch from Joestar-san.

“It’s nothing, Joestar-san, truly,” Tanjiro assures the older man, two talking through the corridors of the Butterfly Mansion to the room where Tanjiro rests during his stay in the place. “I’m not exactly completely recovered yet, according to Shinobu-san.”

“I see,” the other hums before rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve begun checking the archives possessed by the Ubuyashiki Clan, looking for references of that Hinokami Kagura you practice…”

It came to Tanjiro as his life was flashing through his eyes during his final stretch of the fight against Waning Two of the Twelve Kizuki. The motions of the dance inherited by the Kamado family throughout generations, Hinokami Kagura, the Dance of the Fire God. A dance with a ceremonial blade to be conducted during the New Year’s night, from the moment the sun sets to the moment it rises anew. The moment he saw his sickly father performing it perfectly in his memories despite the man’s frail constitution and despite the cold winter air surrounding him, it clicked to him.

It had to be a set of techniques born of a breathing style of demon slayers, and his body performed it on reflex against the demon, following the instinct of the muscle memory inherited with the blood of his ancestors, as illogical and spiritualistic as it might sound.

A curiosity rose in Tanjiro regarding Hinokami Kagura’s true origins and nature. Who was the slayer who passed this art down to his family?

“...I never found anything quite like it, though, I must admit, a part of it might be my failure to translate older texts which use slightly different Japanese,” Joestar-san says with a tinge of embarrassment Tanjiro can smell in his emotions. “Amane-san, ah, Oyakata-sama’s wife, she is reviewing some of my findings as we speak, in hopes of finding something that may indeed help us. The only trail I may suggest you to follow while we’re parsing through the Ubuyashiki records is to ask the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro. The Rengokus have been in the positions of the Flame Hashira since the very dawn of the breathing styles. It’s quite possible some of the intimate knowledge lost otherwise may have been retained by them, especially how this Fire God may be associated with the Flame Hashira. I would also suggest comparing the general motions of two styles. It could be possible that Hinokami Kagura is a precursor to the modern version of the Flame Breathing.”

“Rengoku Kyojuro…” Tanjiro mutters, dedicating the name to his memory. He remembers the man he pinned down as the Flame Hashira. While he was not agreeable towards his and Nezuko’s situation, he also wasn’t unnecessarily cruel in his words or actions, following the letter of the laws designed within the Demon Slayer Corps.

A man who smelled of justice and fairness, who seemed ready, if reluctant, to give Tanjiro and Nezuko a chance to prove themselves, with a warm smile brightening his face.

Loud sobbing shatters the serene atmosphere between Tanjiro and Joestar-san. It… comes from the room assigned to Tanjiro, shared with a few other slayers. The older man frowns in concern.

“What a miserable cry…” he notes.

“I… I think I know who’s making these cries,” Tanjiro chuckles awkwardly, for these sounds are very familiar. “I’m pretty sure that person feels better than it sounds.”

Just as Tanjiro expects, once they make it inside, on a bed right next to Tanjiro’s own sits a blond slayer in a yellow haori, with an older slayer standing right next to him, crossing his arms. Both are situated so that they don’t see Tanjiro and Jonathan coming in. Two other people laying on the other side of the room either wince from the loud sobs or hide their heads under the pillow.

“They’re not even giving me a week of rest!” Zenitsu cries, hunching where he sits. “What if my legs won’t recover in time for a new mission? What if my cut opens up and I die of blood loss before a demon can eat me?!”

Tanjiro’s eyes widen when he feels a sharp hateful smell emanating from Inadama Kaigaku, clearer than it’s been during their first meeting at the onsen taken over by Waning Six. It’s like the older slayer kept his feelings bottled and now he’s reached the end of his patience with his junior. After his training with Kanao, Tanjiro is, unfortunately, too winded to intervene in time and Joestar-san, for all his strength, doesn’t have such acute perception of people’s intent as Tanjiro does.

“Keep yourself together!”

A sharp slap echoes through the room and Kaigaku’s violent smack against Zenitsu’s cheek sends the younger slayer off the bed and crashing onto the floor, clutching his cheek. His sobs turn more restrained and from that, much more painful to listen to. Joestar-san seems stunned by the cruelty, as do the other two slayers who can’t seem to add a word in.

“Can you be any more pathetic?” Kaigaku snarls viciously. “I carried you here so that your stupid cuts get cleaned up and re-dressed properly. It’s done and you can move just fine! Slayers stay here when they have actual injuries and–”

“But, Kaigaku-nii–” Zenitsu sniffs pitifully and the address seems to incense the other slayer even further as he raises his hand again and the boy on the floor flinches and covers himself from the inevitable second strike.

…which never comes.

Without anyone noticing, without Tanjiro feeling even a gust of wind beside himself, Joestar-san turns up right next to Kaigaku and, in a very surprising turn of events, Tanjiro feels sharp smell of pain and fear, exactly the same he felt just moment ago from Zenitsu, emanate from Kaigaku himself as he flinches at the strong grip holding his raised arm. When he half-turns to look at the giant man, Tanjiro sees how Kaigaku’s breathing stutters, how his teal eyes turn into scared pinpricks for a moment before he takes a good look at the man who grabbed him.

“There is no need for violence towards your juniors… Kaigaku-san, was it?” Joestar-san states severely. The slayer’s breathing normalizes and he takes in Jonathan’s form.

“You must be Jonathan Joestar…” he mutters, before averting his eyes. “It’s not something esteemed people like yourself should have witnessed.”

“It’s not something a member of your honorable profession should be doing, Kaigaku-san,” Jonathan chastises him, tilting his head, and Kaigaku’s hand grows weaker in the man’s hand, at which point the man lets him go. He instead gently helps Zenitsu back onto the bed, the younger slayer trembling and looking at Joestar-san with wide eyes. The man then turns back towards Kaigaku, softer in his expression, with a scent of sorrow hanging over him. “You… reminds me slightly of my brother, Kaigaku-san. Not one by blood, but a brother nonetheless. Such unforgiving anger at the world may leave you regretting leaving all that you’ve once had behind, even if you never realized what it was exactly that you had.”

Kaigaku remains silent, staring Joestar-san down.

In the tense silence, Tanjiro approaches Zenitsu, who flinches when he touches his shoulder, but looks elated to see him once he realizes his presence. Zenitsu opens his mouth to say something, but then throws a fearful glance at both Joestar-san and Kaigaku and, in the end, says nothing.

The flap of the wings accompanies a kasugai crow that flies into the room, carefully landing itself on the small night table standing between the hospital bed, gracefully avoiding tipping over a fruit basket which, now that Tanjiro notices, seems to have a note on it that addresses himself of all people.

The crow with a royal purple scarf rests there in a dignified manner, attracting everyone’s attention before it speaks in a surprisingly deep and majestic voice.

“Jonathan Joestar, suspected hunting grounds of one of the Twelve Kizuki have been located. Please, proceed to Mount Natagumo. The Wind Hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, and the Serpent Hashira, Iguro Obanai, have already been deployed there.”

“Thank you, Aizen,” Joestar-san nods. “I will depart at once.”

The magnificent crow nods as well before he flaps his wings and departs. Joestar-san turns towards Tanjiro and Zenitsu with a slight frown on his face.

“I’m afraid that’s where we have to part for now, Tanjiro. I hope your recovery will be swift,” the man says before noticing how Zenitsu grips Tanjiro, almost relying on him for protection, and his face grows softer. “I understand that you’re friends with this young man, I’m glad to know he has a person to rely on.”

“Zenitsu is a bit nervous, but he’s a reliable slayer, Joestar-san, he helped me greatly in my fight against Waning Six,” Tanjiro says before glancing at Kaigaku, who seems surprised by Tanjiro’s presence. “...as did Kaigaku-san.”

“I see. I will leave you to it, then,” the older man hums before turning to leave the hospital room. Tanjiro hopes he’s at least had a moment to meet up with his wife, as Erina-san was nothing but kind and helpful throughout Tanjiro’s stay here, assisting Shinobu-san, and the Joestar couple in general have saved his life on more than one occasion now, directly or otherwise.

“So you’re still alive, pipsqueak,” Kaigaku tilts his head haughtily before glancing at the signature wooden box in the corner of the room. “And so is your sister, I understand. A surprise indeed. Then again, I heard you survived an encounter with Waning Two. That makes three Kizuki encounters, so early in your career… Impressive, unlike with this worm beside you.”

Tanjiro, who holds Zenitsu’s hand as the boy sits on the bed, stares the older slayer down.

“Zenitsu is no less impressive than myself. He had much greater success fighting off Waning Six than either of us, need I remind you,” he replies, defending his friend, with Zenitsu blushing while being confused, obviously holding no memory from the time he spent sleep-fighting. Then Tanjiro smiles, even in the face of Kaigaku’s anger. An anger at the world, as Joestar-san so adequately put it. Perhaps, someone just has to show him the brighter parts of the world. “How have you been since our last meeting? I trust you’ve been well, closer to the Hashira rank than before?”

The other slayer huffs, crossing his arms.

“Twenty-one demons. Almost halfway done,” he boasts with a rare smirk, before pulling a peach out of seemingly nowhere to chew on. “I’d be closer to my goal, but this blond trash stole a few of my kills.”

“Please stop trash-talking my friend!” Tanjiro asks resolutely, still with a smile on his face.

“Tanjiro, please, don’t…” Zenitsu begs him, but Tanjiro just hugs him protectively as he used to do to his younger brothers, and the Thunder Breathing user, apparently starved for positive contact, sags into the gesture, squicking as he even surprises himself.

Kaigaku scoffs, biting a piece of the peach.

“Tch.”

“HEY, KOIJIRO!”

Inosuke’s intervention has never been as welcome and wanted as right now, with the wild slayer rushing into the room, cackling maniacally. While Tanjiro’s roommates are used to the boy by now, Zenitsu squicks, climbing onto the bed fully while trying to hide behind Tanjiro who stands next to the bed and Kaigaku just freezes in surprise with the most comical expression of outrage on his face.

The Beast Breathing user even barrels past the Kinoe, making him drop his unfinished peach and with that, the latter's comical outrage melds into such overdramatically murderous expression that Tanjiro has to bite his lip to avoid laughing and attracting the young man’s ire.

“I got it! I think I got it! I got the boulder man’s breathing style!” Inosuke boasts proudly. “I need to hone it a bit, but oh, man, you’re gonna see it, it’s gonna be hella badass, worthy of the Mountain King!”

“...you. You little shit,” Kaigaku mutters, before grabbing Inosuke by the ear of his boar mask. “YOU MADE ME DROP MY PEACH! I OUT TO KILL YOUR DEMON-LOOKING SCRAWNY ASS!”

“Who do you call scrawny?!” Inosuke retorts, twisting out of the Kinoe’s grip, which proves to be so tight he ultimately leaves the boar head hanging in his hand even when he climbs out, despite his best effort. “What’s your problem with this Mountain King! Are you looking to get your ass beaten?!”

Kaigaku is then stunned into silence, as are Zenitsu and Tanjiro’s roommates. The latter can understand them all perfectly. The last thing you expect is for such a brawny and boisterous guy to have such a beautiful face.

“...why the fuck do you have such a sissy face?” Kaigaku stutters out, scrunching his face in utter shock and confusion. Inosuke takes offense to that.

“Well, why the fuck do you have such a stupid face?!” he retorts.

The older slayer’s anger reignites itself and he throws the boar head at Inosuke, who uses it as a chance of show-off, jumping into a handstand, catching his mask with his bare feet, then folding himself forward with his ridiculously stretchy body to put it back on his head while cackling like a mental asylum escapee.

“Thank you, hedgehog-head!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Kaigaku screams outright.

While these two hotheads keep each other busy, Tanjiro just sighs, though he turns his head towards Zenitsu when the other pulls at his white medical garb’s sleeve.

“...hey, Tanjiro, who’s this crazy boar guy and why does he look so pretty? That has to be illegal!” the scaredy slayer asks while blushing furiously.

“This… is Inosuke,” Tanjiro laughs helplessly in response. “He’s always a bit like this. And as to your second question… I don’t know. Strong genes from his mother, maybe? Would you like an apple, Zenitsu-kun?”

“Oh… Yeah, sure.”

Tanjiro picks the fruit from the basket on the night table and gives it to his friend while sitting himself on his own bed and picking up the note addressed to him. He’s curious as to who might have left this fruit basket, after all.

To Kamado Tanjiro

Hey, kid. You got beaten up pretty badly, fighting my boss– well, former boss. So I decided to arrange a little thing in gratitude, you did save my hide. All’s fresh, just got these this morning before getting to the Butterfly Mansion.

Don’t worry about the cost, it’s nothing.

Plus I got this snazzy new job thanks to your buddy, Joestar-san, so if you hear about any badass Speedwagon Foundation couriers, that’s me. Maybe one day I’ll get to really pay back what I owe you.

Don’t remember if I said it, but sorry about kidnapping your sister.

Best regards,

Nijimura Chisaku, SPW Foundation Courier

“Huh, how mindful of Nijimura-san,” Tanjiro mutters to himself with a smile, picking one of the apples in the basket. There are apples, oranges and even bananas, he can’t imagine it coming cheap, but his heart warms up from the former yakuza’s gesture.

As he chews on the apple, with Kaigaku and Inosuke’s screaming match in the background, a thought suddenly occurs to him and he stares at the apple as it was the thing that granted him the understanding of the universe.

“Now I remember,” Tanjiro hums, attracting Zenitsu’s attention.

“Hm?” he asks mid-bite and the other waves him off.

“Nothing of concern, Zenitsu, don’t worry.”

It’s just that he finally remembered where he heard the name of the Wind Hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, before. In his Final Selection, there were only five candidates who succeeded in their tasks without requiring to be saved by Shinobu-san or Mitsuri-san.

There are Zenitsu, Inosuke, Kanao and Tanjiro himself.

…but there was also another boy whose last name was Shinazugawa. And his bad temper was a dead ringer for the Wind Hashira, the most aggressive and vehement protestor of Tanjiro and Nezuko’s continued existence.

If only he could remember his name.

Chapter Text

A young man trudges grumpily through the misty road.

He’s a tall and well-built individual, rough and feral in his looks, with long wild mohawk of black hair and several jagged scars on his face, most notably the one that runs over his right cheekbone from his ear and to over his nose.

“Tch. Can’t see shit in this fog,” the young man mutters a curse under his nose, looking around as he walks and only seeing silhouettes of trees if he’s lucky. The nighttime doesn’t make navigation any easier.

The black uniform with a purple sleeveless yukata atop it denotes this young man as a demon slayer. The slayer only has the directions previously provided by his kasugai crow to guide him.

Shinazugawa Genya prefers to work by himself. Other, lesser demon slayers just slow him down in more ways than one. His combat methods are unique to him alone and he’s assured that these will eventually lead him into the coveted position of a Hashira.

Since passing the Final Selection, Genya has thrown his whole self into the job, slaying demon after demon, travelling from one settlement to another without rest. His kasugai crow has been chirping about taking a break and huddling up in a Wisteria House, but what does the brainless bird know? In a few months he achieved the rank of Kanoe and there’s still much work to be done. It’s just the fourth out of ten ranks he has to conquer before the Hashira rank is within his reach.

Finally, Genya sees the shapes of buildings through the fog.

This has to be Shion, the town where his latest mission has sent him, a town in the Fukushima Prefecture at the eastern coast of Japan. Supposedly, it had a picturesque view of the surrounding hills and a great mountain, but with fog obscuring everything around the town, up to the night sky, Genya sure can’t see the appeal. The air is so thick he can’t even breathe properly and that’s not an overexaggeration. There’s something in the air that makes Genya’s chest tight and the young man leans on the nearest telephone pole, coughing heavily. He wants to move forward, but these coughs shake his whole mighty frame, paralyzing the young man for a moment.

His hand slips into the pocket of his uniform, one that’s hidden by his sleeveless yukata, and he pulls out a small bottle of medicine from it, demarcated as “epinephrine” on its label, whatever it is.

Genya’s crow, the annoying Hashibami, delivered it to him a few days back from the Butterfly Mansion, along with a note from one of the nurses. Apparently, his crow’s got a big mouth and has been bothering those working at the medical base of the Demon Slayer Corps about Genya’s occasional coughing attacks such as that. An entirely wasteful effort, in his opinion, yet some new foreign nurse hurried to identify these attacks as some sort of illness and sent a brand-new medicine to ease his symptoms. As if Genya is a sickly toddler. No, he isn’t a helpless weakling, he will become a Hashira.

…yet, as he takes a few drops of the disgustingly bitter medicine, he can’t deny it has been making his life easier. These few drops should last him the night and it would have been embarrassing to cough up a lung in front of a demon, not that it would live long enough to tell anyone of such an incident.

Putting the medicine back in his pocket, Genya focuses on his mission. He starts walking cautiously through the deserted streets of Shion, noting the lack of humans, lack of lights in the windows of the buildings he passes and the deeper he gets into the town, the more concerned and wary he grows. It’s not the smallest town around. There are lots of buildings that he passes, many closed-down businesses and signs of rather expensive infrastructure with dozens of telephone poles and tracks for trams, something Genya imagined only being in rich major cities, like the prefecture capitals. In times of peace, Shion should have been a place he imagines having at least ten thousand people living in it.

…it’s too quiet for it.

The thought chills Genya. A single demon shouldn’t have been able to terrorize the entirety of a town like this into graveyard-like silence. Something about this signals this to be more than just another run-of-the-mill mission against a pathetic demon.

The fog becomes a bit thinner as Genya enters a town square with a dried-up fountain which no longer functions. Or, perhaps, his eyes are just getting used to these conditions.

Someone stumbles into his back.

Genya’s hand reaches the handle of the wakizashi resting on his belt. His breathing issues leave him without capability of breathing style use, which is why he wields a short nichirin blade instead of a proper katana. However, he’s just as sharp with this weapon as any other slayer is with their sword and he whips around sharply.

WATER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: WATER SURFACE SLASH

The young demon slayer brings up his wakizashi to protect his neck from the quick horizontal swipe of a katana. As two weapons clang against each other, it’s almost like splashes of water flying from the point of contact, dispelling the slightest bits of fog and shedding light on Genya’s attacker. …a young man, shorter than Genya himself, if a few years older, but sharing the same demon slayer uniform as him. He pales in the face at once, getting a proper look on the man he attacked.

After a moment of silence, as the two lower their weapons, Genya becomes incensed, shouting at the other slayer, grabbing and lifting him above himself by his jacket with his free arm, seemingly horrifying the man with his physical might, proportionate to his intimidating height.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU FUCKING MORON!”

“Ssshhh…” he tries to calm him, looking around fearfully with his black eyes. “I’m so sorry, please, forgive me, but you have to be quiet. We– who are you? What’s your rank?”

“...Shinazugawa Genya, a Kanoe,” the taller slayer scowls, now looking around in concern as well. He lowers the other slayer who looks disheartened at the reply.

“A Kanoe too, huh…” he almost whines, clenching his teeth. “We’re doomed. Whatever’s lurking here, we’re not going to be enough, we need a Hashira. I don’t know how I’ve been surviving here.”

Genya’s eye twitches.

“I will become a Hashira, and I’ll be enough to deal with whatever has your ass shaking like that,” the slayer snarls at the worried slayer, gripping his wakezashi tightly.

“You don’t understand–!” he starts, before startling. He clenches his nichirin katana and looks around with wide eyes. “Wait. Do you hear it?”

Genya… does hear it. Steps. Many steps clicking from all sides of the square he and the other slayer are now appear to be trapped in, if these sounds are indeed of demons. But why, why would there be that many demons in one place? Scowling, Genya puts his free hand behind his back, pulling off his primary weapon, a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun with cartridges of nichirin projectiles. The weapon alarms the other slayer and he hurries to pull its barrel down when Genya aims it into the fog.

“Wait, Shinazugawa! These aren’t demons!”

“What?”

Human silhouettes come out of the fog slowly, by the dozens, like a matter of a horror story. These appear to be citizens of Shion, men, women and children, dressed in all sorts of clothes, people of all runs of life… and they all move unnaturally, as if forcefully led by someone. Genya’s eyes widen as he hears moans of pain and sees many of the people’s limbs twisted in wrong ways yet not impeding their movement. He’s pretty sure many of them don’t even breathe anymore, just corpses moved forward by some demented demon’s technique.

“W-What the…” Genya stutters in horror.

For all his brashness and ill temper, the young man values human lives and the way the demon haunting Shion plays with them fills him with revulsion.

“We have to run,” the other slayer says. “We can’t harm those who are still alive and our best bet is to find the demon responsible for it, it has to be somewhere in this town– Look out!”

The slayer jumps in front of Genya, having caught the sight of a figure emerging from the fog above them that’s been swinging a blade at Genya’s head. As the young man stumbles back, he sees his accidental companion fight… with a figure of another demon slayer, a girl with a ponytail who moves in twitchy patterns, wielding her katana clumsily, presenting no challenge at all to the more skillful slayer.

“P-Please… M-Mu… k-kill me…” that slayer cries weakly, her arms twisting at unnatural angles trying to overcome her unwilling opponent.

“Hang on, Ozaki, I’ll come up with something!”

Two other figures jump out of the fog and this time Genya reacts in time, swinging his wakizashi to parry the slash of two slayers forced to do the demon’s bidding. Their empty gazes tell the young man they’re already dead and he clenches his teeth at the vile loss of life. But even as he casually parries the strikes of two katanas, he can’t tell how exactly the demon exercises control over these bodies and that’s what makes the fight hopeless.

The pained crowd from the edges of the square slowly encloses him and his partner and with the possessed slayers taking their attention, he can’t think of a way they can make their getaway quickly.

Genya and his partner huddle up to fight back to back as two more possessed slayers jump into the fray out of the fog, forcing them to jump into the dry fountain and be each other’s eyes to cover all angles around them, but not a single angle shows them a way out so they could search for the demon responsible for this madness.

Suddenly, thunder rumbles.

THUNDER BREATHING — FOURTH FORM: DISTANT THUNDER, PERSISTENT

What almost seems to be a bright lightning surges above the possessed crowd, circling the town square with ease despite the size of the area, and just as they came by dozens, the people controlled by the demons begin falling down on the street, with the possessed slayers falling down last, and Genya’s companion hurries to catch his injured friend as she cries from both pain and apparent relief.

Genya looks up, pointing his shotgun at the figure that lands on the top of the fountain, only to feel the tip of a blade right under his chin. Cold teal eyes of a much stronger slayer consider him and, as if reaching an unspoken agreement, both the man and Genya pull back their weapons at the same time.

“Inadama-san! What are you doing here?” the slayer from before asks while holding his friend, wiping Ozaki’s tears and propping her up against the fountain, unsure how to approach treating her broken limbs.

“Murata. The same as you, I expect. Got a mission that turned out to be trickier than I thought,” Inadama hums disdainfully, before scoffing. “Lost my idiot junior somewhere in this cursed town.”

“I hope we can find him in time,” the slayer assisting Genya, Murata, nods. “Have you encountered the demon who did this?”

“If I had, it’d already be dead,” the slayer sniffs before looking at the fallen crowd with people beginning to pull themselves up in a much more natural way. “We need to regroup and secure the survivors. You two will look after them and I’ll deal with the demon.”

“Sure, Inadama-san–

“Who do you think you are to order me around?!” Genya exclaims in outrage. “I’ll find that demon myself and it’ll prop me up as a Hashira-to-be!”

The Thunder Breathing user, Inadama, stares him down with a frown before scoffing disdainfully.

“Get in line, fresh meat,” he says. “I am Inadama Kaigaku, the only Kinoe of the Demon Slayer Corps, who is twenty nine demons away from actually becoming a Hashira. Can you boast the same?”

Genya stumbles back, genuinely shocked at the other’s accolades. It suddenly makes sense how easily he managed to disrupt the demon’s technique. He can recognize the other has to have much more experience than himself even if verbally he just scoffs at the words.

“Thought so,” Kaigaku scoffs condescendingly before jumping off the fountain onto solid ground. “You might get at least one kill, though.”

“You think there’s more than one demon?” Genya asks warily as Inadama goes towards the civilians, intent on commanding them to safety. At the young slayer’s words, the other looks over his shoulder.

“Of course. Did you really think it a coincidence how this fog hinders us, but not the demons’ puppets?” the Kinoe hisses, as if Genya is stupid for not realizing it, before continuing his stride. “Besides, mist shouldn’t smell of lavender.”

Genya exchanges confused glances with Murata at the man’s latter remark, but as he thinks about it, odd as the words are, they’re not untrue. Since before he entered Shion, the air has smelled of lavender, but Genya discounted it as a local peculiarity.

Just what sorts of demons are in this town?

A human-sized ball of silk falls apart with a hiss, cut in two by the black blade of a nichirin katana with a jagged, jaw-like green pattern on both sides. Sickly green slime flows out of the broken silk ball, along with a skull, pieces of bones and a half-melted blade. The obvious signs tell the story of a demon slayer who died a horrible death high atop Mount Natagumo.

Shinazugawa Sanemi is surrounded by trees with dozens of silk cocoons hanging from them and the horrific implications make the Wind Hashira clench his katana in rage.

A voice from above attracts Sanemi’s attention.

“We’ve scoured the mountain, but there’s not a demon anywhere. Only dead bodies… and spiders. Lots of spiders.”

The Serpent Hashira, Iguro Obanai, jumps down from where he’s been perched on one of the trees once he reports his findings to Sanemi. Everything points to the fact that while a member of the Twelve Kizuki might have been residing here, for an insultingly long time given the amount of dead on this accursed mountain, the demon left before the two Hashira made it here.

“Cowardly beasts…” Sanemi growls angrily.

“I’m not quite sure it’s fear that made the demon abandon this place, Shinazugawa-san,” a slightly accented voice says, making Sanemi and Obanai turn around. Joestar’s presence irritates the demon slayer, especially with his stance on the Kamado siblings, treachery to their ideals, in Sanemi’s opinion, but the man has been nothing so helpful in scouring the mountain along with a group of low-ranked slayers and kakushi.

Sanemi stumbles back in revulsion as he sees what Joestar carries while his friend just drills the man with a hateful look.

“What the fuck is this, Joestar?! Get rid of that demon, you idiot!” the Wind Hashira rages.

What Jonathan Joestar has in his hands is one of the most disgusting monsters Sanemi has seen in his career, which says a lot. It’s a giant meaty spider clinging to the man’s thick left forearm, but instead of a spider head it has that of a human, bald and pale, with bulging scared eyes, little thoughts behind them.

“Maybe he found himself another pet demon,” Obanai scoffs disdainfully. “Is collecting demons a foreign hobby, Joestar? Between your brother and the Kamado brat it seems like it.”

The older man doesn’t rise to the bait and instead shakes his head, looking at the demon clinging to him.

“Shinazugawa-san, Iguro-san, you misread the situation and the nature of this being,” Joestar says, carefully caressing the spider-like thing’s bald head, seemingly easing its tension the slightest bit. Sanemi scoffs in disgust.

“What is there to misread–”

SENDO FORM: HAMON OVERDRIVE

The hand caressing the demon glows with the orange glow of Hamon, the energy so different, yet similar from the breathing styles the slayers use. …yet despite its application, gentle it may be, the demon doesn’t shriek or fall apart. Quite the opposite, a peaceful expression graces its face, making it look less ghoulish and more human.

“What is the meaning of this…” the Wind Hashira hisses.

“Shinazugawa-san, it appears that this being isn’t a demon… rather, a human, mutilated by the demon who used to live here, through what I suspect to be a Blood Demon Art rooted in biomanipulation, something I've seen my brother experiment with. A poison of sorts, perhaps.”

“...disgusting,” Obanai mutters.

Sanemi himself can’t quite believe it and approaches both Joestar and the demon– the former human, perhaps, even a fellow demon slayer subjected to even worse fate than those who died inside the silk cocoons surrounding them. The creature looks up at Sanemi blankly but doesn’t make a move against him.

“...yeah, that’s the power of a Kizuki, alright,” he growls, infuriated on this poor soul’s behalf, before looking up at the Englishman. “And what did you say about the demon leaving this place not out of fear?”

“The demon who inhabited this place is obviously a mighty individual who made this place their home for a long period of time,” Joestar hums, patting the victim in his hands, keeping them calm. “Waning Two whom I encountered, Rokuro, was just like that, claimed a territory for himself and had no reason to leave. Even when encountered with a strong slayer, few demons run away from the fight, if not due to their arrogance, then due to the directive given to them by Kibutsuji Muzan.”

Sanemi hisses, admitting the point, as Joestar finishes his thought.

“It’s quite possible that he gave them a new directive to follow.”

“What if I told you the demon you’re looking for hasn’t gone that far away?” am unfamiliar voice suddenly speaks. Sanemi, Obanai and Joestar all turn around battle-ready toward the figure that steps from behind one of the trees. A scarred young man in a bamboo-colored vest and a white scarf. For a moment Sanemi’s heart sinks as he assumes it to be a Waxing Moon, with symbols engraved in both of his eyes, but the rank there is all wrong.

JUSTICE

This has to be one of the Kami Arcana demons encountered by Joestar. Sanemi holds his katana tightly, ready for a battle, however, Joestar’s right hand against his chest holds him back for a moment. …so instead the Wind Hashira goes for verbal jabs, because this creature disgusts him.

“You’re one ugly-looking motherfucker,” he scoffs, looking at the other’s scars.

“Indeed, a horrible look,” Obanai jeers in tune.

The Justice Arcana scowls, looking between the two.

“You two aren’t much to look at yourselves.”

“Now, now,” Joestar tries to placate both sides before turning towards the demon. “I believe you’ve said something about knowing the location of the Kizuki who resided here? I take it my brother is all for us taking down the demons of Kibutsuji Muzan without lifting a finger himself?”

“You got it in one, Joestar,” the demon chuckles, licking his dry lips. “Call me Wakuraba. It’s Dio-sama’s wish to let you know that a foggy town to the east of the mountain, close to the shore, likes its seaside breeze full of lavender.”

“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?” Sanemi scoffs as Joestar considers the words. Then the Wind Hashira exchanges glances with his slayer friend and grins widely. “...but thanks for the message. Now that you’ve told us that, we don’t really need the messenger, do we?”

Both he and Obanai rip from their spots, launching towards the Arcana demon, but Wakuraba manages to catch them off-guard, acting faster than either Hashira.

ARCANE TECHNIQUE: BREAK DARK THUNDER

Wakuraba sparks with lightning as he spreads his arms. The mighty streams of electricity emanating from him outright melt the forest around him in a terrifying show of strength, and the only reason Sanemi and Obanai don’t share the flora’s fate is because of them using the steel of their unsheathed katanas to redirect the lightning into the ground, likely only possible due to the composition of the nichirin blades. Even then, the strong impact throws them back, sending them flying uncontrollably.

As he flies and ultimately lands on the ground, Sanemi can see Joestar dodge the lightning completely, leaping high up where Wakuraba’s attack doesn’t reach him.

SENDO FORM: HAMON PULSE

When the man lands, his fist smashes the ground, spreading burning waves of Hamon all around him and forcing Wakuraba to jump up to avoid being scorched. With a quick glance towards the Hamon warrior and the two Hashiras, the Arcana demon is leaping from one ruined tree to another, ultimately quickly disappearing in the dark of the night. It’s not surprising, honestly, as Joestar confirmed his primary objective has been to notify the slayers of the Kizuki movements, and in that he succeeded.

“Great, that little shit got away,” Sanemi growls as their group of three regroups. “Want to share what that stupid remark of lavender breeze was?”

“Lavender…” Joestar hums, patting the spider-creature on his arm, trying to calm them now that the brief fight agitated and scared them again. “I believe that Tanjiro and two of his fellow slayers, Zenitsu and Kaigaku, encountered Waning Six whose Blood Demon Art was described as steam or mist that smells of lavender.”

Sanemi curses under his nose, while Obanai looks around, conflicted and, truthfully, worried, which is seen even through the facemask he wears to hide the lower half of his face.

“The demon living here couldn’t have been Waning Six.”

They exchange glances from the implications. By Wakuraba’s words, it’s obvious that the Waning Moon who once inhabited Mount Natagumo moved into the town below, but at the same time Waning Six encountered by Kamado has also moved into that town.

Demons were never allowed to work together because Kibutsuji Muzan is a paranoid being, cautious of his own creations to the point they’re not allowed to speak his name, much less band together in something he can even remotely perceive as a threat.

…could it be that something changed his stance on that?

Kamanue sits on the edge of the fifth, highest roof of a Buddhist temple in the middle of Shion. While the building is similar to Chinese pagodas, the architectural style developed in the Heian Era that the temple follows, Wayo, makes it distinct with its simplicity. It’s most unusual given Shion’s location in the southern part of the Tohoku Region of Japan while most Wayo-style pagodas untouched by later influences are located far away in the western region of Kansai.

It isn’t something Kamanue has known before this night, rather, the man carefully balancing on the spire of the temple on the tip of his foot, illuminated him on the fact.

“You’ve done a great job developing your Blood Demon Art, expanding its basic application on such a massive scale,” Straizo commends him and Kamanue’s whole being vibrates from praise, something warm and needy burning deep in his chest.

“Thank you, Straizo-sama,” he bows his head as he glances at the senior demon.

Two Waning Moons gaze onto the town below, enveloped by Kamanue’s lavender mist, yet clear to them. The demon slayers invited here run around, meeting horrible fates at the hands of demons now in control of Shion, to say nothing of the feast this demonic group is having, with access to over twelve thousand civilians. Kamanue’s mist interferes with their navigation and bloody red vines Straizo has wrapped against many telephone poles around the temple close to the town centre disrupt communication. Naturally, all the demons running below do not allow anyone to leave this place physically, turning Shion into a ghost town cut off from the rest of the world.

“It’s unlike you to leave your usual hunting grounds, your home, Rui.”

Kamanue shudders at Straizo’s words as he hasn’t perceived the demon boy’s presence until he was noticed by the Western demon. Now he sees Rui walking casually in the air next to the pagoda and this close he can see the glistening threads of his Blood Demon Art while the boy plays with the demonic web, weaving a cat’s cradle between his fingers.

“Home isn’t just a place to be, Straizo-san,” the boy hums, playing with the threads without looking at his compatriots. “The people you’re with, the bonds we weave with our family are the true home every being is pulled towards, whether they admit it or not. Our lord wishes for us to hunt the Hashira, with the implication that he wants the Demon Slayer Corps gone. My mountain wouldn’t have sufficed. This sad town disappearing off the maps will guide every slayer in the region here, where they will die, and with enough deaths, the Hashira will pull up as well and by that time we’ll already have damaged the slayers’ numbers.”

Rui raises a complex cat’s cradle he wove between his fingers into a marvelous spiderweb, looking at the moon above, hidden from humans, but not from demons, all thanks to Kamanue. The moonlight shines onto silver strings and Rui’s eyes with an engraving glistening in his left eye.

WANING TWO

“This… is why my family now inhabits this town. To ensure our peaceful life. They’re my home, thus I lose nothing.”

Kamanue’s already been intimidated by Rui-sama when the other merely occupied the position of Waning Five. To learn he’s got an entourage of four demons under him, his family, to whom he bequeathed parts of his strength even at the cost of his own, is sobering, if just to imagine how mighty he would have been on his own, especially now that he’s been empowered by Muzan-sama along with the rest of the Waning Moons.

It’s a matter of fact that every demon slayer who steps into Shion steps into the deathtrap Rui has weaved, a web to catch oblivious flies and feast on them.

Chapter Text

A shrill whiny voice cries through the streets of Shion.

“Kaigaku! Kaigaku! Where are you?! Please, come back!”

Agatsuma Zenitsu had no doubt that his senior, Kaigaku, would indeed leave him to go ahead if he kept being his usual pathetic self, but he didn’t expect they’d lose track of each other and he’d like to believe that Kaigaku didn’t expect it as well. For some reason the Kinoe kept coming back for him, pulling him into missions along with him.

“The brat goes with me. With all due respect, Kuwajima-shihan, he might just die on his first mission and won’t that be a waste,” Kaigaku said, munching on a peach while sitting at their teacher’s house, as he had apparently taken a break in-between missions for a visit that just happened to coincide with Zenitsu returning from his Final Selection.

The short elderly man in a black haori with white triangles patterned across it akin to Zenitsu’s own, hummed grumpily at the way Kaigaku addresses his junior, but there was something soft in his dark eyes, a fondness for the generally abrasive boy finally looking out for someone.

“Perhaps you would benefit from watching an experienced slayer at work, Zenitsu,” Kuwajima Jigoro, the former Rumble Hashira, said, to which Zenitsu nodded gloomy before sniffing.

“Ugh, clean up at least,” Kaigaku scowled in disgust at the younger boy’s appearance. He had barely had a moment or awareness to even pull branches out of his hair after the Final Selection, he must have looked miserable.

Even then, something warm burned in his chest. Even after degrading his efforts at every turn, Kaigaku seemed to be acknowledging him finally, looking out for him… for some reason. His mind was an enigma to Zenitsu.

As Zenitsu shakes himself out of his memories, he tries to find his way in the town covered by thick mist. He has to find his senior and quickly, because he can smell lavender in the air, he knows that they’ve stumbled into the domain of Waning Six, Kamanue, who has already almost killed them both on one occasion, along with Tanjiro and his very cute and adorable sister.

“Kaigaku!” Zenitsu cries, yet there’s nothing but silence greeting him in return. It’s eerie, since the boy can tell that Shion isn’t the smallest town around given the advanced infrastructure. He’s been a city boy before Gramps– before Kuwajima-shihan picked him off the streets and helped him pay the debts he found himself in, trying to cater to girlfriends who all left him with nothing but a broken heart.

This town is too quiet, it’s too empty, it’s a town, why aren’t there noises of human huddling up, running around, doing anything? The unnatural silence creeps the young demon slayer out. The most he can hear is a pitter-patter of some spiders in odd corners.

It’s a demon’s domain and Zenitsu is scared to encounter Kamanue on his own. Waning Six has already been terrifying to meet with Tanjiro and Kaigaku by his side, and now the demon must be even stronger to envelop the entire town in his steam when previously he could barely cover the cursed onsen he inhabited.

As he looks around, Zenitsu stumbles through a large cobweb, squicking and waving his arms around to shove it away. Why is there a cobweb in the middle of a town street?

“...elp…”

There’s a voice Zenitsu hears in the distance and begins approaching it carefully while on the lookout for a demon. He’s scared, but he still grips the handle of his katana. Kaigaku would have slapped him over the head for being so unready for a fight otherwise, if he could have seen him.

Zenitsu passes another large cobweb.

“...help…”

…and looks up where he finds the voice from before, a woman old enough to be his mother hanging, tied up into a cocoon of spiderweb, hanging off the giant cobweb with only her scared face barely visible. Now that Zenitsu has walked deeper into the fog, the web seems to stretch from one building to another. And there are many cocoons, there are many cobwebs in the street intersection he wandered into, dozens of cocoons hanging around and the boy’s teeth clatter in fear.

A shadow suddenly looms over him and Zenitsu lifts his head quickly.

“Ah, welcome, demon slayer!” a cheerful voice greets him.

Zenitsu screams shrilly in horror.

The demon hanging above him is decidedly not Waning Six. It’s a giant spider dwarfing Zenitsu’s whole body with his size and possessing a human head with pure white skin and short hair of the same hue. His face carries a bizarre pattern of red dots, one line of which goes through his right eye and the other line encircles his left eye, both eyes being eerie teal rings with red scleras.

“We’ve got a screamer, I see,” the spider demon chuckles, twisting himself around on the webstring he hangs on to look at Zenitsu properly and not upside-down.

Suddenly, all the pitter-patter of spiders around Shion that Zenitsu has heard so far becomes a much more sinister observation.

“I’ve got a special place for your friends over there,” the spider demon grins widely, pointing one of his eight elongated legs striped with dim purple and orange towards a web to Zenitsu’s left. What he sees there makes the boy pale and squeak in shock even louder.

Aside from many cocoons hanging there, there’s a number of bizarre creatures, smaller spiders akin to the spider demon himself, with bald white heads and bulging empty eyes, crawling all over the web.

“W-What… W-What are those?!” Zenitsu stutters, his eyes jumping wildly from small creepy spiders to the big creepy spider hanging above him.

“Oh, these guys! That’s what you’re going to turn into! That’s the power of my Blood Demon Art or, at least, the most fun part of it.” the demon laughs joyfully. Since the slayer under him is horrified to the point of losing his speech, the spider demon continues uninterrupted, focusing his eyes on Zenitsu’s frozen figure. “…you know, at this point other slayers would have raged, cursed me out, jumped in with their blade, I think I like you, you’re a good little listener. The name’s Henidoku and since you’ve been so nice, I’ll even tell you how my technique works!”

Henidoku laughs, swingly slightly on his web, grinning at Zenitsu.

“First, my poison touches you and you begin feeling a tingle in your limbs,” he explains happily. “Then comes the dizziness and nauseousness, a very nasty part, you may hack up a lung or vomit your guts if you’re particularly unlucky, but I’m not sure anyone died from it. At most, people lose their consciousness, which is an inevitable step when your body shrinks anyway. When you’re back up, you’re a pretty spider with an empty head! Isn’t it beautiful?”

The spider demon pulls a golden pocket watch from somewhere on his person, holding the delicate chain easily with one of his legs despite only having one claw per leg and pointing at the time running there with another of his legs.

“Before, it took full thirty minutes for a full transformation to occur,” Henidoku chuckles, tapping the glass on the clock. “But my little brother, Rui, got much stronger since then and so did our whole little family. Now, it all takes fifteen minutes!”

“R-Rui? B-Brother?” Zenitsu stutters in shock. The idea of even more spider-like demons in this town frightens him and on its own wouldn’t have made him speak again. But what is this about Henidoku speaking of a sibling? Can demons have siblings? There’s the beautiful Nezuko, but she’s an exception to all rules regarding demons.

Unbelievable, but the spider demon’s smile grows even wider.

“Rui, my precious little brother, is a Waning Moon and a very strong one at that,” Henidoku grins and Zenitsu takes a step back in shock. He can’t believe there are two Kizuki in this town. It’s as inconceivable as it is horrifying. “He’s shared the power given to him with our whole family because he’s very generous. Though I like to think I’m his favorite, my techniques are the best, my body is the best and I’ve been with him since the very beginning, never wavering, always by his side. That’s what the role of an older brother is.”

These last words Henidoku says in a more haunting even tone as if reciting something that’s been drilled into him until he remembered it. Even then, these words strike something within Zenitsu.

“I… I have a… an older brother here…” he says, each word more quietly than before, as if ashamed to say it, though the spider demon hears it immediately, his eyes widening, looking around in what seems to be genuine curiosity that quickly turns to mocking derision.

“And yet I don’t see him anywhere, don’t see my spiders bringing him here, he must be one shitty brother if he’s not here to help, guide and protect you!” Henidoku jeers with the same wide crazed grin.

“Don’t say that about my senior!” Zenitsu shouts, for once overcome with a sense that resembles courage, standing up to the slander the demon spews and holding his katana, sheathed it may be, tightly. “You don’t know anything about him! He’s one of the strongest slayers around, he will become the next Thunder Hashira and I’m proud to be… with him.”

“Oh, oh, little slayer got claws, it seems!” Henidoku cackles, quickly rising up on the web string he’s hanging from and fixing himself to the web stretched above the street intersection, barely visible through the fog.

Zenitsu’s knees tremble from fear, he’s challenging a demon, the older brother of one of the Twelve Kizuki. He can’t possibly win the fight between them, he should run, but this spider-like monster insulted Kaigaku. He couldn’t stand slander towards the boy he wished would acknowledge him as a brother from fellow slayers, a demon has no right to speak of him like that.

“Ow!” Zenitsu squeaks as he feels a pinch on his legs.

He looks down.

…one of Henidoku’s spiders, having approached Zenitsu quietly, has prickled him with its claw. A glance at his tingling hands shows the slayer they’re rapidly covering with purple bruises born of the demon’s poison already. The creature from above cackles maniacally, tapping the pocket watch that starts counting fifteen minutes.

“It’s on, little slayer!” Henidoku shouts down at him.

Glancing between Henidoku, his bruised hands and the spider-like creature at his feet, Zenitsu goes cold. He doesn't want to become a horrible small bald empty-headed spider. He’s absolutely terrified. He’s doomed.

He… loses consciousness out of sheer primal fear, crashing to the ground.

“Eh?”

Henidoku looks at the fallen slayer with confusion and exchanges glances with the spider standing next to the fallen slayer, the empty-headed being almost appearing as dumbfounded as its master. He actually knows the identity of this boy and has known it the moment he mentioned his brother, Kaigaku. It’s one of the names that Rui-kun’s friend, Kamanue, told him to be wary of. This one has to be Zenitsu, given all the yellow. The fastest of the three.

…he's really not living up to the expectations at the moment.

“What a hoot! I wonder if his brother will be just as easy to take care of,” Henidoku laughs, looking at the unconscious slayer, before pressing down on the strings of his web, instantly calling his absent-minded spiders’ attention. “Wrap him up with other slayers. Little worth in it, given he’s going to join you instead of serving our feast, but just in case.”

Henidoku is so proud of himself. He caught one of the more dangerous slayers, he expanded his army beyond what it ever was at Mount Natagumo, he collected many, many people for his family to serve at the feast they’re arranging at the daybreak under the most lavish mansion they could find. His family deserves the best. His little brother deserves the best, and if Henidoku has a lot of fun on the way… all the better!

His spiders begin to converge on Zenitsu…

When the boy suddenly backflips from his position, escaping their lunge. The spider demon instantly goes on high alert, seeing the boy’s hand grip his katana firmly, with no hesitance nor cowardice he’s shown before.

“What the–”

Zenitsu assumes a low crouch.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

It’s only his superior reactions as a demon, along with the fog parting violently even before the slayer attacked, that allow Henidoku to retaliate in time as a lightning-fast yellow figure flies in his face.

BLOOD DEMON ART: SPIDER VENOM – POISON SPUTUM

The spider demon spews his acidic purple drool, covering everything in front of him, but with shocking grace and speed Zenitsu dodges out of the way, landing in an entirely different part of the street intersection. Now Henidoku is beginning to see what it is that Kamanue saw as dangerous within this boy.

Zenitsu assumes a low crouch again.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

Having foreseen the same move being performed, Henidoku leaps from his cobweb at the top of the street intersection onto the web containing captured slayers, while Zenitsu casually breaks through the one he’s been sitting on, fog parting as he flies. His landing is less graceful this time, he stumbles as the poison slowly affects him.

…too slowly, now that Henidoku glances at his golden watch.

Could it be that his breathing evened out so much, totally and constantly, that it slowed the speed of the poison coursing through the boy’s veins? Inconceivable, but all too possible.

“And yet even with that ability, all you do is use the same old attack! Your brother must be ashamed of you!” Henidoku scoffs, seeing as Zenitsu assumes the same low crouch position. He’s too fast and too far from his spiders to catch him, but the spider demon has positioned himself strategically. Webs holding people are much stronger than his other ones and if Zenitsu attacks him, he’ll leap away again as the slayer will just get stuck in the web even if he cuts a few of the cocoons off.

“My brother…” Zenitsu mutters sleepily.

Something changes in the lavender-smelling air. Henidoku steels himself, grinning as it appears the slayer will attack head-on, landing in his trap.

When the lightning-fast figure flies at him, the demon’s grin falls for a moment as he feels something’s wrong about this attack.

BLOOD DEMON ART: SPIDER VENOM – POISON SPUTUM

Henidoku spews the poison forward before he intends to leap away, with Zenitsu jumping aside from the acid… but it doesn’t stop his attack. Instead, the lightning jumps away, bouncing off of one of the buildings, cutting through one of his people-holding webs, not losing any strength put into the attack. The demon’s eyes widen as he jumps away as the lightning leaps towards him from a different sharp angle, and then another two, chasing him…

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH, SIXFOLD

Zenitsu only wields a single attack, but now it’s obvious to the demon he’s mastered it seemingly to perfection, able to change its direction on the fly. The last, sixth time he jumps at Henidoku, the demon has climbed one of the buildings, but somehow Zenitsu shoots upwards with a loud rumble of a thunder, bisecting Henidoku at his neck when the demon looks over the edge cautiously, in shock of the entire street intersection being cleared of the lavender fog.

“Huh?”

Memory comes forth unbidden as he flies down.

“Rui-kun! It’s such a good idea for a family trip!” Henidoku laughed, crawling on the ground, his younger brother, his superior, sitting on his back with his legs crossed and his usual, vacant expression on his face in contrast to Henidoku’s own mania. “Oh! Did you think of bonding activities? We could wrap up a villager in one of our sister's cocoons and play ball–!”

“Silence,” Rui cut him off coldly. “I’m thinking.”

Henidoku knew better than to argue.

He hadn’t argued when Rui challenged a Kizuki and he welcomed being tied to the boy by more than just a passing relation of an acquaintance once the his Blood Demon Art evolved to join up his family. It’s something that no other family member understood, you didn’t argue with Rui, your beloved son or younger sibling. You obeyed and protected him, that’s what an older sibling must do.

“...and what I think is that you will receive a gift from me, Henidoku-nii,” the boy hummed, just the slightest bit softer than before as he made a cat’s cradle with his webstrings. “It’s only fitting.”

He knew he was Rui’s favorite.

Henidoku laughs, his head stopping mid-air before hitting the floor, held on by a vein stretching towards his main body.

“You almost got me, Zenitsu!”

The sleeping boy lands on the ground, stumbling as he does so. Henidoku’s spiders jump at him, swarming him in his moment of confusion as the spider demon undergoes a metamorphosis.

What Zenitsu has actually cut is no longer his actual neck, but a seal created by Rui. With purple acid erupting around the stump, his main body regenerates a lean humanoid torso, the vein holding Henidoku’s head pulling him towards his actual neck where he puts his head with his pale white hands. As a monstrous hybrid of a humanoid and an arachnid, he's now much more flexible and adaptive.

Henidoku checks the pocket watch.

“Hm. Three minutes have passed. That’s the point where you’d buckle down with nausea,” the spider demon hums before looking at Zenitsu, who’s jumped away from his spiders, leaping onto a tall building, facing Henidoku. “But you don’t.”

The slayer once again assumes a low crouched stance.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH

“That’s not going to be enough!” Henidoku laughs, leaping up to avoid the attack and leaving his pocket watch on his spider half while stretching his human hands towards the slayer who lands on one of the buildings.

BLOOD DEMON ART: SPIDER VENOM – TOXIC THREAD CAGE

Webstrings, infused and glowing with purple poison, extend from Henidoku’s fingertips, forming a massive column of strings that envelop the building Zenitsu has landed on.

“This is a technique inspired by my brother’s beautiful Blood Demon Art!” Henidoku cackles maniacally, his spider half weaving threads between the building so that he can land high above the ground. “Did your brother impart anything to you? The fog is gone and he’s still nowhere in this district, it seems. What bond could there be between you two if he’s not here with you, neither in body nor spirit?!”

“...you’re…”

“Speak up! I can’t hear your mumbles!” the spider demon laughs.

“...you’re… mistaken!” the demon slayer mumbles.

Henidoku growls and squeezes his hands, forcing the poisonous strings to converge, shredding the tall building.

THUNDER BREATHING — FIRST FORM: THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH, EPHEMERAL

Zenitsu leaps through one of the gaps in the poisonous web so fast he disappears from Henidoku’s vision, even as the tall building collapses from being cut from every direction with the spider demon’s might. The demon doesn’t release his Blood Demon Art, continuing to wield the technique as a set of giant whips, shredding buildings as he struggles to catch the lightning jumping between them. He doesn’t realize he’s also cutting the supports of his cobwebs, leaving his cocoons to fall onto the ground without an anchor, his spiders scrambling below to catch them.

In the end, he doesn’t react in time when a yellow lightning appears right next to him, swinging the nichirin katana in a spinning motion that shreds through the web Henidoku’s standing on, bisects his humanoid half from his spider half and, finally, cuts through his real neck with insulting ease.

Henidoku doesn’t know it, but it’s a form inspired by Zenitsu’s sworn brother and his Fourth Form of Thunder Breathing. He doesn’t know it, but he feels the change, he feels that there’s a bond supporting the slayer’s actions.

Another, much older memory is suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

A short boy with a tooth gap stood, presenting him with a shiny golden watch.

“Happy Birthday, aniki! You’re always fretting about being late, so I saved up on this!” the boy said with a wide grin and the receiver of the gift felt a blush creeping up.

“You really shouldn’t have, … , it’s such an expensive gift!” he stuttered, but accepted it nonetheless. “Guess I'll have to keep it close to not waste your efforts.”

The boy hugged him.

In his final moments, Henidoku wonders who that boy in his memories is. Then lightning surges, thunder roars and the Elder Brother of the Spider Family only gets to widen his eyes in shock before Zenitsu’s might evaporates his body and shatters the hold of the lavender fog over the town district.

Zenitsu lands in the middle of the street, eyes still closed, breathing his constantly even, slowing down the poison in his bloodstream that got weaker but never disappeared even following its creator’s demise. With the spider-like victims now looking around lost and without an enemy to fight, Zenitsu begins wobbling around, muttering under his nose as he sleepwalks.

“Mhmmm… Kaigaku-nii…”

A golden watch with a crack in its glass falls to the ground, shattering.

Genya chases down after the haughty Kinoe despite the young man’s best efforts to lose him. When Kaigaku leaps over a crowd of demon-controlled people and somehow leaves them on the ground, freed from control, Genya follows, jumping over them. When he accelerates, so does Genya, keeping track of the dark figure in the fog. It’s much harder when random possessed slayers jump out of the fog, holding him back significantly.

“What is it with these people!” Genya cries angrily, swinging his wakizashi wildly above the latest two possessed slayers’ heads. Surprisingly, it works for him just as well as it did for Kaigaku and the two young men fall to the ground with a groan. “Huh?”

The slayer notices white tiny spiders running around on their clothes. These don’t even look intimidating with how tiny they are, scuttering about.

“Spiders?”

Genya tilts his head, watching a few of them on his sleeve, and then his arm is suddenly jerked as the spiders spew out a web that goes into the thick lavender fog. The slayers in front of him groan in pain as they are, too, jerked upwards.

“What the hell–?!”

“You idiot!”

THUNDER BREATHING — FOURTH FORM: DISTANT THUNDER

A thunder snaps above Genya and the others, cutting the thin threads, invincible in the fog, and the sheen of lightning from point of contact spreads downwards, turning tiny spiders to ash. Genya regains control of his limb and the slayers fall back again.

“These spiders are the Blood Demon Art possessing people,” Kaigaku explains with a scowl, gripping the katana sheathed on his back.

For a moment, Genya stays silent.

Then he rages.

“You could have TOLD ME, you ass!” he shouts at the older slayer.

“And what would you have done?” the other spits. “For as long as you’ve followed me, you haven’t been using a single motion of any breathing style, you don’t even carry a katana and these measly weapons aren’t enough to deal with this technique. You should have stayed with Murata and the other useless slayers.”

“I’ll show you useless!” Genya growls, gripping his wakizashi tightly. “I will find that Kizuki you’re talking about, I’ll kill them and will become the Hashira ahead of your pompous ass.”

“Ha! That’d be funny to look at. At how quickly he’d pummel you,” Kaigaku cackles, before noticing the slayers, victims of the demon, standing up. “You two. There’s a house with the Corps’ crest carved into the door two streets to the left. Go there and don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” one of them nods hesitantly before picking up his much worse off partner with broken legs and slowly limping away from the two hot-tempered slayers.

Genya and Kaigaku stare each other down, obviously frustrated with each other. Surprisingly, Kaigaku gives way first, scoffing and turning his back on the young slayer and walking through the fog.

“Fine, guess you’re not entirely hopeless. Don’t slow me down. …Genta, was it?”

“It’s Genya, bastard,” the other hisses, but it’s with less heat than before, now that they’re on somewhat better terms. “How do you even know where to go with this fucking mist everywhere?”

“Instinct,” Kaigaku replies with a mocking smirk. “Something you’ll develop if you survive long enough.”

“I’ll outlive you and spit on your grave,” Genya growls back.

The two make their way through the town district steadily now that Kaigaku has slowed down and isn’t trying to break away from Genya intentionally. Possessed civilians and slayers attack them in droves, almost showing the demon’s desperation to stop them, and while Genya isn’t much use, as much as it pains him to admit, even if in his own mind, he does hold them back while Kaigaku primes himself for a swift and mighty attack of his Thunder Breathing, cutting the connection between the controlling demon and its victims.

“We’re close,” Kaigaku growls at one point. “Watch your step, there are more of those spiders and it’d be a pain to cut you out of these webs again.”

…then the wall of a building they’re passing collapses.

Both Genya and Kaigaku jump away in different directions as a giant muscular demon reveals itself, breaking through the bricks, sporting dark purple, almost rotted skin and enormous stingers for hands. Most notable, though, is that this demon doesn’t have a head to cut or shoot off.

“Fuck, is this the controller?” Genya swears. “There’s no head!”

“It can’t be the controller!” Kaigaku shouts back, jumping away from the smashing attack that craters the pavement under the demon’s stinger as it swings its arm down. “There are strings all over this thing!”

Genya narrows his eyes and only barely sees the telltale sheen of silvery strands through the mist. Kaigaku’s senses genuinely intimidate him if he sees these strings so clearly.

THUNDER BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: RUMBLE AND FLASH

Kaigaku suddenly appears right next to Genya, back turned to the demon, sheathing his katana with a smug look on his face. The mist suddenly and violently parts around the demon as it’s slashed into several pieces and the strings surrounding it, along with the spiders that created these webs, dissipate.

“Such a weak being, nonetheless,” the Kinoe smirks.

Genya’s brow twitches in irritation at the other’s arrogant attitude, but then his eyes widen as the undead demon body doesn’t dissipate as it should. Instead, it manages to regenerate, stitching itself together slowly, the sheen of spider strings reforming around it. Kaigaku turns around too slowly when it strikes with even greater speed than before, despite haven’t even finished fully regenerating. The breathless slayer does the only thing he can, pushing the older boy out of the way of the attack, which, however, leaves himself wide open for the attack.

The giant stinger pierces Genya’s chest, skewering him, splattering blood over the demon’s claw and Kaigaku’s face, the teal eyes wide in genuine shock, an expression that seems alien on the slayer’s face.

Genya knows he only has moments and his determination pushes him to grab the offending arm firmly, lean down through the pain of the lethal attack… and bite down on the rotting purple demonic flesh.

Since he started his training as a demon slayer and tried his hand against lesser demons, Genya has learned that despite not possessing the ability to utilize breathing styles, gods above granted him a physiological advantage to rectify this failing of his body. His jaws are supernaturally strong, able to pierce demon flesh with the same ease demons feast on humans, and despite the torturously disgusting taste, he can digest this meat just as fine. Demons become stronger by consuming humans and Genya has been gifted to be their natural predator, becoming stronger by consuming demonic flesh.

As the demon flesh makes its way down his gullet, the effects are immediate as his body bulges, growing slightly larger and beefier, stretching his sturdy uniform. He drools as his fangs grow sharper along with claws on his hands. His eyes turn red with bright teal irises and he realizes that he can now see everything within the fog that obstructs humans’ vision, but not that of the demons residing here.

Planting his feet firmly in the ground, Genya pulls, using his newfound demonic strength to rip the demon’s arm off in a sharp motion that comes easy to him.

“Inadama! Cleave this thing again!” he shouts at the frozen slayer.

The Kinoe, to his credit, collects himself quickly, turning towards their enemy and gripping the handle of his katana once more.

THUNDER BREATHING — THIRD FORM: THUNDER SWARM

Kaigaku leaps into the air so quickly he disappears from Genya’s sight, before he descends down, slashing at the headless demon puppet, bouncing off from it and then diving back at it like a ferocious hawk, carving it into several large chunks.

Then he lands on the ground and, as the one-armed demon stumbles, trying to regenerate its injuries before all of its limbs fall apart, strikes again.

THUNDER BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: RUMBLE AND FLASH

The older slayer reappears on the opposite side of the demon and the fog dissipates on the entire street as the demon is torn apart into tiny pieces along with the strings barely holding it together. Finally, it begins to disintegrate for real, as does the limb stuck in Genya’s chest. Fortunately, with him now possessing demonic abilities, the hole in his chest stitches itself together in an impressive feat of regeneration Genya still can’t get used to.

Then he finds a nichirin katana pointed at him. For a moment, his eyes widen in shock and fear. A part of why he prefers working alone is the warnings of his mentor that not everyone might see his abilities for what they are, an empowerment of his human nature, rather than rejection of it. However, once Kaigaku speaks, Genya relaxes slightly.

“...you could have told me, you ass,” the slayer hisses before sheathing his blade back. “You did not have to do that.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up! Or do you eat demons too?” Genya growls in response. “I saved your sorry ass, live with it now.”

Kaigaku rolls his eyes but doesn’t dispute the words.

BLOOD DEMON ART: THREAD PUPPETRY – SPIDER HORDE

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of web-weaving spiders suddenly crawl up from cracks of every building that surrounds Genya and Kaigaku, shocking both slayers. A single person possessed by the demon they’re searching has had so far, at most, a dozen or so strings on them. Wrapped into millions of strings at once, Genya doubts even Kaigaku’s masterful use of Thunder Breathing could do anything to break the demon’s control.

The Kinoe grips the handle of his katana so firmly his knuckles turn white from tension.

“...the demon we’re looking for is at the end of the street to the right,” Kaigaku says in a low tone of voice, making Genya’s cyan eyes glance at him in concern. “Once I’m done here, I’ll go and rescue you from whatever situation your ass finds yourself in.”

Genya thinks to contradict him, but, honestly, he’s nothing but a liability against these beings right now, even as empowered by demonic strength. Perhaps, even more so now, as he’d become a bigger danger to Kaigaku if he’s possessed by the controller demon. So instead of arguing and wasting precious time Genya nods and, after a moment of eerie silence, dashes away from Kaigaku, right as the spiders arrange themselves into a white tsunami coming onto the older slayer.

Thunder roars behind Genya as he rushes forward.

Yet, he hears, he feels it under his skin as even more spiders crawl out, chasing after him despite Kaigaku’s effort holding back most of them, and so Genya puts his demonic strength to use, accelerating and rushing down the streets, jumping into the dissonantly peaceful park with a stream running through it and webs hanging everywhere in sight… until he finally sees it, the demon. Both of them freeze as they lock gazes of similar teal-colored eyes.

The demon sitting on a rock by the stream, surrounded by a forest of white webs, turns out to be a short woman with long white hair, skin of the same pale color and a lengthy, layered kimono – maroon on the inside and same white on the outside, tied with a patterned obi. Blood burns in Genya’s veins as it resonates with the demon’s presence, not exactly connecting them, but granting Genya an understanding of what the spider demon feels as her control over her emotions and soundness of mind wavers in Genya’s presence.

Fear.

A loud slap threw a small demon girl with two messy black ponytails to the ground. The girl cried in pain.

“You’re improper, Hina,” a deep voice growled angrily.

“Oh, mom’s in trouble now!” a sadistic male voice jeered just out of sight. However, it wasn’t the giant menacing figure in front of her that horrified the girl but the small boy right beside. The boy’s spider-like white hair wavered, revealing symbols in his left eye.

WANING FIVE

“I– I’m sorry! Rui! It won’t happen again–!”

“Your role is to be a mother,” the boy said coldly. “Keep to it. We’re a family, after all. And everyone in our family has their role to play.”

“O-Of course, Rui!”

The demon girl sniffled before her shape shifted, growing into the appropriate mature form of the Mother of the Spider Family, gathered and nurtured by Rui, Waning Five of the Twelve Kizuki. To be a part of his family was an honor.

Genya blinks and he’s just quicker to come back from the onslaught of feelings and half-remembered images than the demon woman, a girl in front of him, having experienced it once or twice after resonating with some of the stronger demons he’s encountered. Gripping his wakizashi tightly, Genya rushes towards Hina, the unwilling Mother of the Spider Family menacing Shion.

At the very last moment she comes to her senses as well, fearfully attempting to put up last-minute defenses.

BLOOD DEMON ART: THREAD PUPPETRY – ARACHNID’S NEST

The webs of the white forest of strings that surround them stitch themselves into a thick protective cocoon around Hina. Perhaps, a nichirin katana wouldn’t be able to penetrate it reliably unless you possessed the strength of a Hashira, but Genya has an alternative and pulls his shotgun from his back, firing it and shattering the cocoon.

Hina’s eyes fly wide open in shock, tears flowing down her cheeks.

However, in the face of certain death she, instead of an even more desperate maneuver, spreads her arms, welcoming Genya. Following a feeling he can’t explain, one that resonates in his blood, he pulls his shotgun back and instead brings up his wakizashi, slicing the demon’s neck neatly. With a demon, for the first time in his career, not resisting his slice, it’s the kindest and neatest attack he’s ever performed. The moment he lands on the ground, along with the spider mother’s head, the serene forest of webs around them collapses, each string snapping and dissipating, the scraps falling down before they disappear completely, reminding one of a soft midnight rain.

He hates demons, but he can’t help a conflicted feeling towards this particular demon, joined up in a family that doesn’t make her feel safe as a family should be. Genya’s severe features soften in sorrow as he turns around to look at her dissipating form. He knows how a family should be, he knows how a family shouldn’t be. He experienced it all and he pities those whose families turn twisted, making victims of its members.

“Kind eyes… such kind eyes…” the demon mutters deliriously, before her eyes turn lucid momentarily. “...there are three Waning Moons in this town. Please… be careful…”

What kind eyes that boy has… it’s nothing like Rui’s gaze despite how similar they appear because of the roughness of the demon slayer boy’s appearance.

Yet, Hina feels like someone has looked at her like that before.

“Please, … , stay here. I’ll go check the door and get back, dear.”

Who was it?

The demon’s form disintegrates fully.

Despite all the bravado he’s been showing previously, despite the confidence he still has, Genya goes cold at the proclamation. He may try, he will try, but he will not be able to survive a confrontation with three Waning Moons at once and that’s not counting the rest of the Spider Family.

Steps resound behind him and Genya turns around sharply, pointing his shotgun at Inadama Kaigaku who, with a hand on the katana on his back, looks no worse for wear.

“Huh, you actually dealt with the demon. Not too shabby, Shinazugawa,” the Kinoe grins before looking down at the gun and scowling. “And point this thing away from me!”

Genya breathes out, lowering his gun down.

“...there are three Waning Moons in Shion.”

Kaigaku stands there in silence for a moment, digesting the words.

“Fuck,” the ultimately concludes.

“Yeah.”

As the two stand in place, thinking hard on their following course of action given the sudden revelation, a loud clap of thunder resounds from far away, likely from another town district, yet somehow reaching them. Genya doesn’t see any clouds in the sky beyond the fog above, so where did the thunder come from?

“Ah, there’s my idiot junior,” Kaigaku scoffs, looking in the direction the sound emanated from. “Might as well pick this weakling up.”

Genya… is certainly missing something if Kaigaku calls anyone who wields his Thunder Breathing so well he makes a thunderclap carries throughout the town a weakling. Nonetheless, he nods and runs after the Kinoe once Kaigaku gets going, at a much faster pace now that Genya's demonic abilities allow him to catch up easily.

Neither slayer notices a scarred figure sitting on the top branch of one of the park trees, dressed in a bamboo-colored vest. Wakuraba smirks, having seen the confrontation unfolding next to him.

“These slayers sure are peculiar, aren’t they, Dio-sama?” the Justice Arcana hums, standing up. “And plenty more powerful than we expected, if you ask me.”

After a moment of consideration, Wakuraba decides to make his leave. Joestar and his friends from the mountain will be arriving any moment now and he wouldn’t like to be caught in the crossfire when the real fighting starts. Especially now that he knows there are three Waning Moons in town.

One of the strings in the cat’s cradle that Rui-sama weaves snaps with a sharp noise that makes Kamanue flinch. Waning Two looks at it with an empty gaze, but his body is tense, his expression is tense.

“...Mother is dead,” the boy states in a low tone of voice.

Kamanue, Rui and even Straizo, all resting around the Buddhist temple they found, turn their heads towards the loud clap of thunder that violently parts Kamanue’s concealing mist around an entire district. Waning Four’s eyes go wide from the display of what he’s sure is an application of the Thunder Breathing, with how explosive that attacks was.

“...and now my brother is, as well,” Rui whispers with a growl, ripping the threads in his hands on what seems to be an accident, going by how his eyes widen slightly in surprise. “These slayers… are more troublesome than I expected. How dare they harm my family? How could they even…?”

“It could be that a Hashira has already stumbled into this town and we’ve been unaware of it,” Straizo hums, folding his arms on his broad chest. “In this case our intervention might be necessary.”

“No, it can’t be a Hashira. It’s too early for that,” Rui states, shaking his head and then looking at Straizo and Kamanue. “But I will look into this myself. My father can take care of himself… but, Straizo-san, Kamanue, can you look after my sister? Discipline her as you see fit if need be.”

Without waiting for a reply, Rui jumps off the strings that have been keeping him airborne next to the temple, leaping between buildings of Shion and the webs weaved across the town by him and his family, shooting straight for the epicenter of the thunderous explosion.

“...should we be going, Straizo-sama?” Kamanue asks carefully, looking up from where he’s been sitting at the top roof of the pagoda shrine. “Rui-sama wants us to keep his… family… safe.”

“I will check on Mayumi myself,” the man states instead, his red eyes narrowing as he looks over the town. “You, Kamanue, should stay here and keep an eye out. Just in case there’s something… off.”

“As you wish, Straizo-sama,” the younger demon nods.

Straizo jumps from the spire of the temple where he’s been carefully balancing, the man’s fit form shining against the brilliant moon in the night sky, before he pulls himself towards one of the buildings by extending fiery thorny vines of his Blood Demon Art.

Kamanue remains sitting in his place, just as ordered, looking around Shion and wondering what it is that his superior expects him to find. Rui-sama doesn’t believe any Hashira should be here yet. Could it be that Straizo-sama believes otherwise?

Iguro Obanai is many things. A rude, petty and frankly horrible individual, that one's easy to say and Obanai embraces this perception. He's also the only surviving son of the Iguro Clan, a tainted being who shouldn’t be in the vicinity of normal people, who can’t interact with any woman except, perhaps, those of the Ubuyashiki Family and very few particular members of the Demon Slayer Corps, without freezing like the pathetic being that he knows he is.

…however, he’s also the Serpent Hashira, a title he received despite his countless faults, a title he received to cleanse the world, to redeem his own miserable existence, a perversion of how a human being should be. It’s a title he takes seriously, managing, perhaps, the trickiest of known breathing styles, trying to make the cultivator he studied under, a man who took care of him for quite a few years, patiently dealing with his miserable self, proud.

While Sanemi and that foreigner, Joestar, on whom the jury’s still out whether he’s a danger of the Demon Slayer Corps or the very beneficial ally he presents him as, arrange for the other slayers and kakushi members’ arrival from Mount Natagumo to the town in its vicinity not too far from the coast, Shion, Obanai has made a point of rushing there ahead of them to clear the path and help as many people as he can instead of losing time where he’s not really needed.

What Obanai finds upon arriving in Shion is a foggy ghost town with not a single soul, human nor demon, out on the streets. Just as that wretched Justice Arcana said, this mist does smell of lavender, which makes his trusted partner, the snake laying on his shoulders, Kaburamaru, hiss a bit in displeasure.

“Yes, Kaburamaru, it’s rather disorienting,” he nods, walking through the streets of Shion cautiously, hand on the handle of his katana, the Serpent Hashira ready to jump into action whenever the enemy strikes.

Though it’s odd.

Shion appears to be a large town from the signs of civilization, from the relatively tall buildings surrounding Obanai. It has to have thousands of people within it, yet it’s ominously silent. No figures walking out on the streets, no lights in the houses. Could a single Waning Moon, Waning Six, at that, grip a town in such a horrifying grip of fear? Are there even people to save? Has Obanai been too slow–?

White scales rub against his face mask, pulling him out of his dark thoughts and Obanai, in gratefulness, gently pets Kaburamaru’s head, continuing his walk through the town.

Eventually, to both Obanai’s relief, curiosity and slight concern, he comes across the only building, a grandiose traditional mansion of three stories, reminiscent of a palace, where the lights do shine. He resolves to check on those inhabiting the place, if they know anything about the situation in town. Information is paramount.

The Serpent Hashira leaps over the mansion fence and makes his way to the front door, noting the small lake on the property and, most bizarre, cobwebs around the small garden. He shakes his head at how shameful it is, to be so rich yet so poor in taste and upkeep that you allow such disrepair. Perhaps he should let Kaburamaru out after the fog parts and let him eat all the spiders around.

Obanai opens the front door and bells that are tied to it ring, notifying the owner of the property of his arrival. Quick steps deep from the mansion tell Obanai of several people approaching him and as they do, the young man shudders slightly at the feminine voices. Absent-mindedly, Obanai notes, not without a degree of disgust, curling his lip behind his face mask, that there are even cobwebs within the mansion itself.

“Could it be Hina-sama? Perhaps she should be back by now? Tsuchigumo-sama will be so happy!”

“No, she has her duty until the sunrise feast. It must be Rui-sama, back from his walk around the town!”

A woman in traditional clothing with two girls by her side walks out from over the corner. They all have raven-black hair and that shade of teal eyes that gives Obanai a chill, like he’s seen such eyes before. The girls look at him with surprise while the woman frowns, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head in confusion. There’s something oddly familiar about the woman in particular, especially with this green kimono with flower patterns that she wears.

“Who–”

“Excuse me, I have been investigating this… odd… weather outside,” Obanai says, stumbling through human interactions as he often does. Kaburamaru rubs his head against his cheek through the face mask and it calms him somewhat. The girls look fascinated, while the older woman’s eyes widen as she starts approaching the man slowly. “My name is Iguro–”

Obanai’s head tilts sideways as his other cheek burns from the sharp slap the woman gives him. Despite his strength as a slayer, his frame is too small, too thin for his age, and since he didn’t brace himself, even such a slap from a civilian makes him stumble back slightly. The young man blinks, breathing heavily and shivering under his haori of black and white strips, trying to understand what happened, what he did wrong this time.

“Obanai!” the woman shouts at him and the sounds chills him. His chest feels tight, his knees shake, but why do they shake? He’s the Serpent Hashira. “How dare you show your face around here! How are you still alive?! Have you come to ruin my life again?!”

The slayer gulps quietly, slowly turning his head back towards the woman even though he really doesn’t want to. Her oppressive presence bears down on him and reminds him of things he’d rather forget and never remember nor relieve in his worst nightmare.

“Have we… met before? Have I, perhaps, wronged you?” he asks carefully, almost whispering his words, cautious of incensing the woman. She looks affronted at his questions.

“Have you no shame! What kind of cushy life have you been living that you’ve forgotten your own cousin, Obanai?!”

Obanai takes another step back just from the shock of the statement. He feels both cold and empty, lost on what he should do next.

He never should have entered this mansion.

Chapter Text

Obanai was told to be proud of being born in the Iguro Clan.

In the old days of Feudal Japan, the Iguro Clan was a minor samurai clan of no big name or glory and renown to carry with it. That is, until Uwabami-sama graced their household in Year 1528. A goddess, they said, with the torso of a woman and the lower half of a snake. In exchange for her patronage she demanded to be fed every man of the house and the women, with a heavy heart, had no choice but to agree, if anything of the clan was to survive.

However, the bounties she then provided them were great. None disturbed the Iguro Clan from then on, any armed intruder, any enemy of the clan was killed and devoured by Uwabami-sama’s great power, their riches free for the taking by the Iguro women. The wealth led to their lavish lifestyle and they began worshipping Uwabami-sama as the goddess she was.

Granted, no boys were born in the clan for centuries after. Outsiders would say it to be the divine punishment for their hubris.

…until Obanai, a boy with beautiful mismatched eyes was born over three centuries later, semi-blind in his golden eye, yet adored by the women and, most importantly, by Uwabami-sama.

Obanai was told to be proud of being a part of the Iguro Clan… but it’s hard to be proud of his family when his first memory of them was looking at them from inside of the wooden cage where he grew up, never allowed to leave it or the Iguro Estate. They fed him tons of rich food that Obanai could barely take in due to the pungent odor. They gave him soft tatami mats, but the boy could barely sleep due to the ominous sounds of something crawling around, of something watching him.

His mother, his grandmothers, aunts and cousins were so sickly affectionate, it made him feel wrong, dirty, violated.

At twelve years of age he was finally allowed out of his cage.

…only to be led to meet the horrible monster they venerated as a goddess with smiles on their faces. Young Obanai had never felt such terror as being observed by Uwabami-sama, the inhuman being, and her golden slitted eyes.

“Small… very small indeed. We’ll wait until he’s a little bigger,” the snake-like woman hissed, laying comfortably, surrounded by human skulls, rubbing her chin, before she stretched her intimidating frame, slithering towards Obanai. “In the old era, I was the fourth of the strongest, young one. How shameful, how shameful is my position now. Where have those good days gone? At least your family appreciates your goddess and so I appreciate you in turn.”

She chuckled, putting her hands on Obanai’s cheeks. The little boy, malnourished in his appearance despite the great foods offered to him regularly, trembled and felt like he was about to cry from sheer terror experienced from the oppressive aura of the demon in front of him.

“...I think, to show my appreciation, I will allow you the grace of looking a bit more like me,” Uwabami smiled and Obanai’s whole being froze in fear as his family cheered.

The twelve-year old boy struggled, resisted and cried, but couldn’t fight back as his cheeks were carved with a knife to split like the wide grin of the snake demon sitting at her throne of skulls, smiling at the display. When the sobbing Obanai was led away, Uwabami drank from the cup that was filled with his blood, savoring the taste with a chuckle.

The only good thing about the outing was the hairpiece he stole from his mother who smiles so sickly as she butchered her son.

It’s with that unwitting gift that Obanai, his wound bandaged tightly, began planning his escape, scratching away at the lattice of his cell, terrified of being discovered. The only being then that he could trust was a small snake that had somehow found its way into his cage, giving him hope that if one could slither into the demonic estate, one could also slither out. That snake became his only friend, Kaburamaru.

In the cold night, as the seasons changed and winter was soon to arrive, he finally managed to escape.

…what he forgot was that the night was the demon’s domain.

“HOW DARE YOU!”

The gigantic snake demon broke through the ground in front of Obanai, like a creature from Hell, looming over the small boy as she stood up on her tail.

“I gave you such grace for centuries and that’s how you paid me back, ungrateful little bastard!” Uwabami screamed. She swung her tail, flattening trees of the forest that surrounded their estate with ease, and Obanai was terrified of following their fate. He held Kaburamaru closely, wishing he could at least protect his friend. “Just for this outrageous audacity, brat, I will show you why your goddess is one of the mightiest demons to exist!”

BLOOD DEMON ART —

FLAME BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: FIERY COMET

A streak of flame flew through the demon, slashing rapidly, separating the snake-like being into chunks, her head, wrists, torso and tail all falling apart. Even as her surprised head fell down, one of her hands grabbed Obanai’s hair as it fell, pulling the boy along and making him shout in fear. A swish of a blade that seemed to reflect hot blazes, and the clawed limb dissipated.

Uwabami’s head melted away, her eyes still staring into Obanai’s cursed, unclean soul, until they rolled forward, no longer supported by the disintegrated skull, and revealed the engraving on the back of her left eyeball right before they turned to dust.

WANING ONE

“Are you alright, kid?” a strong and grumpy, yet not unkind voice asked as a figure knelt down next to Obanai, offering the boy a hand. He slithered back a bit in shock, not just at the offer and the slightly nauseating smell of sake emanating from his unexpected savior, but at the very constitution of the person in front of him. Broad shoulders and muscles clad in a uniform, white cape hanging over the shoulder.

…was it a man? Obanai had never seen men before.

That man was the Flame Hashira, a demon slayer who hunted vile beings like Uwabami. Who should have hunted a vile being like Obanai himself, but the boy was still coming down from the adrenaline high of his escape and he couldn’t say a single word to the tall blond man. The Flame Hashira allowed the boy to piggyback on him, intent on guiding him to his family.

His only surviving family, as it turned out. Iguro Matsuko.

As soon as the Flame Hashira set the boy on the ground next to the girl at most three years older than him, Obanai’s cheek burned as a slap from that girl sent the weak boy to the ground.

“It’s all your fault!” Matsuko shouted furiously as the Flame Hashira hurried to restrain the girl and prevent her from assaulting her cousin further. “Everyone got killed because you ran away! Fifty people died! And you killed them! You’re just a sacrifice! You should have just stayed quiet and let her eat you!”

Her hysterical cries grew distant as the wincing Flame Hashira dragged her away, regret visible on the man’s face, while Obanai kept sitting on the ground, Kaburamaru rubbing against his bandaged cheek. There was nothing reasonable about her vitriol, but it struck a bitter chord in the boy’s heart. It wasn’t like he didn’t think what would become of his family after his escape, but he just… didn't care about his mother or his grandmothers, about any of his aunts or cousins. He just wanted to live.

In his eyes, he’s just as selfish as everyone else in their shitty family.

The Flame Hashira returned, apologizing and hugging the boy who felt empty and cold. The two of them left the miserable remains of the Iguro Estate, to what the older man called a Wisteria House, managed by one of his friends.

“...I wish to fight demons, Rengoku-san,” Obanai whispered quietly, but with determination, set on absolving his dirty soul of its misdeeds. The man tried to dissuade him, but sighed once he realized he was getting nowhere.

“You’d just be wasting your life away, kid,” the man smelling of sake grumbled with a growl, yet he didn’t strike Obanai as dangerous, given he was still allowing the boy to piggyback on him. The Flame Hashira opened the doors of the Wisteria House. “Hey! Nagare! Are you here?”

The sullen man who greets them made Obanai’s eyes widen in shock. With a gruesome scar on his face that left one of his eyes dim and a missing arm he was worse off than Obanai and, when set on the floor, Obanai didn’t feel quite as dirty standing next to him, a man who truly understood pain.

“...Shinjuro, you should cut on this stuff,” the man says evenly, glancing at the bottle of sake clipped to the slayer’s belt. The other scoffs in disdain, scowling at his friend.

“That’s my business… It’s been a long year,” he retorts. “And you better worry about Obanai here. He wishes to be a demon slayer. Maybe you’ll get it into the kid’s head what a poor choice of profession that is.”

With that, the man left.

…the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro, wouldn’t ever return to check up on Obanai. Perhaps, he realized how despicable of a being he was and didn’t want to spend a second more in his presence.

However, the former slayer, Idagiri Nagare, was there. He put his hand on Obanai’s head, patting the boy gently and tilting his head with curiosity, looking at the white snake wrapped around his shoulders.

“Obanai, then. And who’s your friend?” Nagare hummed.

“T-That’s Kaburamaru, N-Nagare-san,” Obanai stuttered. The other nodded, satisfied with the answer. The boy then quietly asked. “Will you teach me to be a demon slayer?”

“...if that’s what you wish.”

Obanai struggles to keep his breathing constant and steady. Kaburamaru’s steady presence and the weight on his shoulders is about the only thing keeping the young man together. He hasn’t seen his cousin in almost ten years and certainly hasn’t expected to meet her in a situation that’s like a twisted mirror of the lives they lived before the fateful night of his escape that changed it with no way back.

“That’s ojisan?” one of the two girls behind Matsuko, her daughters, undoubtedly, given the similarity in their appearance, asks excitedly. Obanai blinks in surprise at the positive reaction and at the fact the girls seem to acknowledge him as their uncle.

“Step back, this man is a danger to us all!” Matsuko warns them back, making the girls flinch as she shouts their way, smiles disappearing in favor of fear.

Obanai’s brow twitches and, with his speed, enhanced by the breathing style taught to him by Nagare-san, he manifests between Matsuko and her daughters in a blink of an eye which makes the woman herself step back in worry, while the girls look at him in amazement. It’s so odd now that Obanai has recovered his equilibrium. Between the two of them Obanai is taller, stronger, faster and more dangerous, unlike the delicate woman in front of him. Has all his family been as slight and pathetic all those years back?

“Daughters don’t have to look at their mother with such fear,” the Serpent Hashira hums, resting his hand on the handle of his katana, which makes Matsuko even more worried.

Of course, he’d never turn his blade on a human, but she's unaware of that.

“Matsuko!” a roaring voice echoes through the halls of the estate.

The woman purses her lips and dusts herself off.

“Girls, let’s go,” she orders, hurrying down the halls. Obanai’s nieces obey her without a word, though one of them sneakily gestures for the slayer to follow them. Obanai does so at a steady pace, looking around cautiously. It’s… odd how empty this place feels, hollow despite appearing like a palace from outside.

Matsuko looks over her shoulder worriedly, visibly dissatisfied to see Obanai still following them, but knowing she can’t do much to physically oppose him.

Obanai wonders whose voice called them. It might have been her husband, yet something… something tells him it’s not quite right. There’s been something off, something otherworldly about that roar and the clarity with which it echoed distinctly from another floor. The slayer keeps his grip on his katana.

Once the procession of four climbs up the second floor, Obanai’s eyes widen in shock. The corridors are lined with giant web cocoons. Some of them are, without a doubt, of the same composition as those he and other slayers saw in the forest of Mount Natagumo. …the lack of struggle from inside makes the miserable fate of those inside quite clear.

However, there’s hope. There are also people webbed up to the wall in much less restrictive cocoons, unconscious, but alive.

Before, Obanai hasn’t carried much anger against his cousin. She’s only been taught what their family told her. According to his teacher, she could have turned her life around and become a better woman, freed from the Iguro Clan’s influence. But now he sees it’s clearly not meant to be and he’s beginning to hate Matsuko. The clan’s indoctrination made her resort to the same tactics they did, to sacrifice humanity to gain a powerful demon’s favor. Because that’s the creature that called to her, not her husband, poor man who might already be dead, but a demon now in charge of the estate, revered as a god. One of the Kizuki haunting Shion, undoubtedly. Naturally, Obanai doesn’t let his realization show on his face as to not drive his cousin to rash, foolish choices that may end in people’s death.

However, his thoughts come to a stop when he thinks about it a bit more. According to Joestar’s observations, Shion has to be menaced by Waning Six, the demon that blasphemous Kamado brat encountered, and by whichever Kizuki inhabited Mount Natagumo.

…but as he heard his family approach the entrance, they spoke of four names. Hina-sama. Tsuchigumo-sama. Rui-sama. All referred to reverently. Just how many demons are there in this miserable town?

The family reaches the third floor.

There, in a large room that seems to be fashioned after a homey dining room of all things, toys lying around along with certain items of luxury, a massive demon sits on his knees at the head of the low table. His skin is dark with a red dot-like design extending from his shoulders to his arms. His long white hair falls on his shoulders but barely hides his hideous face, identical to that of a true spider, with nine shiny teal eyes and large pincers for a mouth.

Obanai isn’t sure if it’s the monstrous visage or his family’s submissive behavior, dropping into a dogeza before the creature, that makes the Serpent Hashira want to vomit.

“Tsuchigumo-sama…” Matsuko says reverently, before the demon interrupts her, pounding his fist against the table furiously, cracking it.

“A slayer! You led a slayer here to hurt my family!” the demon roars.

Obanai blinks at the reference to a family.

“Tsuchigumo-sama, I—”

The demon’s fist flies at the woman, but before the creature can behead her, the Serpent Hashira unsheathes his twisted blade reminiscent of a snake’s body in motion.

SERPENT BREATHING — FIRST FORM: WINDING SERPENT SLASH

A winding motion of a singular horizontal slash slices off Tsuchigumo’s arm at an angle before it can bring harm to Matsuko, falling to the ground and dissipating. However, the demon itself leans back enough to avoid the decapitating strike, which makes it more perceptive that its appearance implies.

“A revolting being,” Obanai hums derisively, pointing his blade at Tsuchigumo as the demon regenerates its limb, before glancing at his cousin. “And you are a revolting human. Worse than that, stupid. Did you really think all demons would be like that snake who enslaved us before? All they wish for is to feast on human flesh.”

For some reason, the Serpent Hashira feels a bit lighter saying that.

“You…” the demon mutters, clicking its mandibles. “A Hashira!”

Obanai’s eyes widen slightly. This demon doesn’t seem to be strong enough to be a member of the Twelve Kizuki and those are the only ones who seem to be aware of what and, more importantly, who the Hashiras are. Then again, it mentioned a family, didn’t it? Could this being be a member of a Kizuki’s family?

“Stay away…” it hisses. “Stay away… from my family!”

BLOOD DEMON ART: METAMORPHOSIS — ARACHNID CLAWS

Obanai leaps back to protect the three women behind him as the demon’s body hisses. With surprising velocity, eight giant spider legs erupt from the spider demon’s back, surging forward and breaking the floor where Obanai stood and Matsuko with her girls sat. In a sliding motion the young man runs through the room and puts the women down on the other side of the door into the demon’s room.

“Leave and don’t get in my way,” Obanai hisses, pointing his finger at his cousin accusingly. The outraged woman seems to be ready to contradict him, but the slayer doesn’t want to listen to her drivel, not when there's work to be done.

The demon’s spider legs launch themselves at the four, but with a practised motion Obanai easily cuts them off and that appears to be enough to motivate Matsuko to run off, leaving her daughters who gaze at their uncle with awe.

“Girls, you should really be going away. Please,” Obanai says in a softer tone. The two seem to fall out of the trance, quickly bowing to the man before following their disgrace of a mother downstairs.

With that, the Serpent Hashira can finally pay full attention to the spider demon who’s already regenerated his spider legs. Obanai is filled with determination to protect, if not his miserable cousin, then all the prisoners of this estate along with his lovely nieces, apparent to be innocent in their mother’s implicit crimes against humanity born of her fear, an understandable act, but no less disgusting for it.

The slayer’s breathing is focused as he raises his blade.

Obanai’s right golden eye, an aberration of nature, is his weakness, as he was born partially blind in it. However, his friend, Kaburamaru, fills in for that weakness, reading and predicting their enemies’ attacks and relaying that information to Obanai by vibrating parts of his body, wrapped around the slayer’s shoulder, a symbiotic relationship born of their years of friendship.

Now, Kaburamaru tells him where to expect attacks from the multi-legged demon worshipped by his family, a creature filling a slot so painfully familiar, but this time Obanai doesn’t intend to run anywhere but towards the beast.

SERPENT BREATHING — FIFTH FORM: SLITHERING SERPENT

Obanai charges forth in a twisting a winding motion, slithering like a majestic serpent in-between Tsuchigumo’s strikes as the demon pierces the floor, curving his sword in multiple directions, slicing through the large hairs legs of the spider, almost reflecting a white snake following his blade. One, two, three, four, five, six—

This single form is enough to cut off all eight spider limbs and the final should have landed against the demon’s neck, separating its disgusting head from its neck…

When the floor suddenly creaks.

All the damage Tsuchigumo has done to the room left the floor unable to withstand the colossal demon’s weight. The wood crashes down, with both Tsuchigumo and Obanai losing their footing. The demon and the slayer fly down, crashing through the second floor and, as the spider’s limbs regenerate and Obanai tries to cut them off again, even through the first floor, which surprises the Serpent Hashira, though he really should have expected an underground floor in such a lavish building. What’s a palace without a dungeon, after all?

Obanai lands gracefully, avoiding the spider nets strewn everywhere in a hall that appears to be a dark and twisted reflection of the dining room above, with a table for a family to dine, yet with cobwebs everywhere and various victims either wrapped around in those harmless cocoons or dead and liquified in the opaque ones gathered in corners as a stash of snacks. The spider demon he’s been fighting is buried under the debris, but it’s not down for the count just yet.

BLOOD DEMON ART: METAMORPHOSIS — FINAL MOLT

When Tsuchigumo rises from the rubble, its skin cracks and slides off along with white hair, the shell too tight for the body under it. Somehow, it’s even more revolting than it’s been before. Dim green skin with blade-like protrusions sticking out of the creature’s arms and legs. No hair, sharper teeth and more pronounced mandibles surrounding them. Eighteen teal eyes instead of nine and above them, five spikes going upwards on its forehead.

“What a disgusting creature,” Obanai hums and his friend, Kaburamaru, hisses in agreement, rubbing his head against the slayer’s cheek.

Obanai brings his blade up, ready to put an end to this menace.

Tsuchigumo roars furiously and his spider legs, even meatier and sharper at the tips than before, fly at the Serpent Hashira. Obanai deftly avoids the legs and shoots for the demon that leaps and hangs on the half-broken ceiling of the dungeon.

SERPENT BREATHING — SIXTH FORM: LEAPING VIPERSTRIKE

Obanai leaps in the air and in a twisting and winding slash cuts through the spider legs directs his way. He flies even above the spider demon and the second, downward motion of his twisted blade both throws the giant demon towards the floor and neatly separates its disgusting head from its shoulder.

The colossal body crashes heavily against the floor before it begins melting away into gray ash and the one who slayed it lands right next to it. For a moment Obanai thinks he sees the creature’s shoulders slump in relief at its defeat, but surely it’s his imagination.

The Serpent Hashira takes a moment to steady himself after a fight, looking around and decides that even though the prisoners here have to be released, he can’t in good conscience do it while there are still other demons in the town.

Obanai finds the stairs and reaches the first floor of the mansion where he’s suddenly enveloped by two pairs of small hands that almost makes him grab the katana again. However, it’s just his nieces, the girls shivering and he’s not sure if it’s fear or relief he feels from them.

“Ojisan!” one of them cries. “You’re alright!”

“You slayed it, right? Did you slay Tsuchigumo-sama?” the other asks, raising her wide eyes at him. The slayer nods slowly, expecting to be pushed away, slapped, anything, but instead the girl just smiles. “...thank you, ojisan.”

“Of course,” he hums in slight disbelief, carefully laying hands on the girls’ shoulders. He gulps, unsure of how to be gentle, unsure of whether he should warn these children to stay away from him. “...I don’t think I caught your names, girls.”

“Oh, right! I’m sorry, we’re so rude!” the one to his left cries, he distinguishes her by the shorter hair than her sister. The girl bows and the other follows awkwardly. “I’m Kusumi Sakiko and my sister is Kusumi Keiko, Obanai-san!”

Obanai hums. Not Iguro. Which means Matsuko has taken her husband’s surname. He thinks it’s all for the better. It means that with two of them, the accursed name of the Iguro Clan will finally go extinct as it very well should. That thought makes him widen his eyes. There were three people attending to demons’ need in this mansion and however he looks around, he doesn’t see the eldest of them.

“Sakiko-chan, Keiko-chan, where is your mother?” Obanai asks.

The girls smile at his address, but turn worried at his question. They exchanged concerned glances before Keiko replies to his query.

“O-kaasan ran out the door when we saw her last,” the girl says, biting her lip in worry. “I think she might be trying to find Tsuchigumo-sama’s family…”

Obanai curses in his mind. That stupid woman. He could attempt to save her from her own stupidity, but in this thick mist he wouldn’t even know which way to go even if he gained elevation. Instead, the slayer looks down at who might be two of the most knowledgeable people about the situation in this town. He kneels in front of them and tries to soften his features as much as he can, though it feels very uncomfortable to let his brows unfurrow.

“...Sakiko, Keiko, your ojisan needs your help to help your mother,” he says, putting his hands on his nieces’ shoulders. “Please, tell me all you know about the demons who have been staying in your home.”

Jonathan and Sanemi warned off other slayers and kakushi from entering Shion until the fog has dissipated, which would indicate the defeat or, at the very least, escape of Waning Six from the town. His Blood Demon Art, enveloping the town in thick mist that smells of lavender is, without a doubt, a troublesome ability, limiting the slayers’ vision severely. Both the Hamon warrior and the Wind Hashira have to move carefully through the town. Obanai hasn’t returned to meet them on the edges of the town, which were hard to determine exactly in the first place because the fog extends beyond the town proper, which makes JoJo think that the Serpent Hashira has likely got caught in an altercation with one of the demons.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, making both men stand still for a moment.

“What the hell was that?” Sanemi mutters under his nose, glancing in the direction of the sound. “I don’t think there’s been a thunderstorm forecast.”

“Perhaps, a point of interest for us to investigate?” Jonathan suggests. “It’s been a clear night, so the thunder is an unusual occurrence. It could be a Blood Demon Art or–”

“I sure hope it’s not, that would mean three demons here! And if there are three Kizuki, we might be royally fucked,” Shinazugawa scowls at the Englishman, before growing contemplative in his expression. “I heard something about users of Thunder Breathing being able to emulate sounds and effects of thunder and lightning when their forms are performed perfectly…”

Two men consider this fact before nodding to each other and starting to jog in the direction of the thunder, hopefully to assist a fellow slayer. As they get deeper into the town, Jonathan is surprised to see how expansive and how empty Shion is. It’s obviously a work of more than a singular demon, keeping a tight hold on such a domain without anything getting out about it to either the government or the Demon Slayer Corps.

At one point, a figure emerges from the mist and the two men halt, readying for a battle, with Sanemi pulling his katana from its sheath and Jonathan’s fists already sparking with hamon.

However, the figure turns out to be just a terrified civilian woman in a kimono with flowery pattern who, oddly enough, reminds JoJo of someone he’s met, though he can’t put a finger on it. The woman looks over her shoulder fearfully as she runs and pushes past the men.

“Wait, ma’am!” Jonathan tries to call out for her, but she continues her stride despite there not appearing to be any demon chasing her. The man turns towards his younger companion. “Shinazugawa-san, do you mind if I ensure her safety while you–”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of that thunder, Joestar,” the Wind Hashira scoffs, dashing into the mist without allowing JoJo to finish his thought.

The man sighs but accepts what must be the most courteous response the brash young man has given to any of his requests yet. With that, Jonathan follows the mysterious scared woman into the fog, only to stumble onto the most peculiar and alarming sight of a town intersection full of cobwebs that carry the same cocoons from Mount Natagumo that kept liquified remains of the local demon’s unfortunate victims.

That civilian from before… kneels submissively in front of the unquestionable perpetrator of the crime, a demon girl with snowy white skin with a pattern of red dots on her face. She has long hair of the same white hue tied into two loose tails, a kimono that also fits the palette but also carries the pattern of black spider web on her obi.

“Mayumi-sama, a slayer who intruded into our house slaughtered Tsuchigumo-sama…” the woman reports fearfully while the demon girl looks at her aloofly. “Please, don’t retract your blessings–”

“I knew that already,” the demon hums in disdain. “You didn’t even try to stop them, did you, old hag? Really, what did you expect coming here to me, bearing news that… disappoint me so?”

The woman raises her head, her eyes wet and glassy.

“M-Mayumi-sama?”

BLOOD DEMON ART: SILK MANIPULATION — DISSOLUTION COCOON

In a blink of an eye, thick webs protrude from Mayumi hands and envelop the woman in a cocoon. The demon girl, holding onto the cocoon with a line of silk, swings it around with a chuckle before launching it to hang on the web stretched between two buildings of the intersection. Jonathan doesn’t have much time to act, and so he does, especially now that Mayumi turns towards his hiding place around the corner, likely able to see through the demonic mist.

“Now, little slayer, don’t hide–”

Ignoring the demon girl’s monologue, Jonathan runs out faster than she can perceive him, jumping towards the web, the only web, now that he’s out in the open and can see them closely, where cocoons still hold victims alive enough to struggle and try to push their way out of the acidic trap. As he flies, JoJo does a flip and, at the very top of the web wall, grabs onto the tight sticky strings, basically doing a handstand on the webs, an epitome of grace and balance despite his colossal muscular frame.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

The man channels the Hamon energy through his body in the precarious handstand while the demon looks at him in shock reflected in her wide teal eyes.

SENDO FORM: SENDO HAMON OVERDRIVE

The orange glow traverses through the webs before sinking into the silk cocoons created by the Blood Demon Art. The cocoons wobble and then crack from below, akin to eggs about to spill their yolk during the cooking process. JoJo flips down from his position mindful of the few cocoons closest to him, located at the terminal velocity of three stories. Enhanced by Hamon, Jonathan’s speed is so great he not only sets the first few cocoons down before they dissolve, but has the moment to leap up two more times to catch the falling disintegrating cocoons and land them, completely nullifying danger to the surviving victims.

When the Hamon runs its course, regrettably, there are more than just one puddle of green goo with human bones in the middle of it. One person dies right as they’re freed, burned beyond salvation. However, more survive, looking shell-shocked, including the woman from before who got off easy, with only her clothes being slightly burned. To Jonathan’s luck, there are even three functional demon slayers among the survivors, two of them in uniforms of various states of ruin and the third, spiky-haired one, who jumps up immediately, with his katana aimed at Mayumi, boasting nothing but his fundoshi, only covering his delicate bits. Jonathan can’t help but respect the young man’s tenacity.

“Please, take care of the survivors. I shall handle the demon,” Jonathan asks of the slayers, and the spiky-haired one jumps, looking at the large man with comically wide eyes, but nodding and going to rouse his allies to help the civilians.

The spider demon takes a fearful step back.

“A slayer without a blade? W-What are you?” she whimpers.

“A man who will release this town of the terror you induced on it,” Jonathan says with determination, walking in the demon’s direction. He readies to jump in her direction and she sees him tensing.

BLOOD DEMON ART: SILK MANIPULATION — DISSOLUTION COCOON

SENDO FORM: HAMON OVERDRIVE

Jonathan swings his hand casually as he rushes at the demon girl, dissipating her silk as soon as it touches him. Appearing right next to Mayumi and looming over the demon with his intimidatingly large frame, JoJo pulls back his fist to end her reign of terror with a single Hamon-infused punch.

BLOOD DEMON ART: HERMIT INFERNAL

A bloody-red vine with thorns wraps around Jonathan’s wrist, not allowing him to land his finishing blow. The spider demon carefully takes a few steps back and both she and the Hamon warrior turn their heads towards the source of this Blood Demon Art.

“And here I thought a gentleman wouldn’t strike a woman.”

Jonathan’s breath hitches at the English speech made by a voice he hasn’t heard in years. One he hoped to hear again, but never in the circumstances they find themselves in.

Out of the lavender fog, a figure of a well-built man walks out. His long dark hair waves as he walks at an unhurried pace, along with his white Western longcoat and black scarf. The other end of the vines wrapped around JoJo’s wrist is sinking into the raised right arm of Mark F. Straizo, his longtime friend and the adoptive father of his beloved daughter-in-law. By all accounts, a respected family member set up to be the next leader of the order of the Hamon warriors in Tibet once esteemed Master Ngapoi Ngawang Tonpetty passes.

When Straizo raises his bloody red eyes with an inscription in his left eyeball, something breaks inside Jonathan and sorrow spreads through his entire being.

WANING ONE

“Mark…” Jonathan whispers sadly. Emotions war within him, the outrage, the betrayal, the overwhelming sadness. He wants to ask if Straizo was forced to become a demon, but Muzan is unlike Dio in that his strongest are not allowed to be disloyal. Those allowed to retain their memories and identity, which obviously includes Straizo himself, join Muzan of their free will. It leaves only one question JoJo can ask. “Why?”

Waning One doesn’t answer him immediately.

Instead, Jonathan feels the demonic vines around his arm heat up.

Jonathan channels Hamon through his arm, tearing the thorny vines. Even as the energy flows, it never reaches Straizo himself who dissolves the vines before the sunlight, which he once coveted, could harm him.

“Lisa and George are expecting, you know…” JoJo says and sees the way the other man’s eyes widen just slightly. Despite his stoic, often cold demeanor, he’s always loved his adoptive daughter, has always been proud of the woman she grew up to be. “Just think of it, Mark. You and I… grandparents of a little bundle of joy.”

The demon’s expression grows soft and forlorn, just for the moment, before it steels, shutting off any weakness of humanity within.

“Exactly. We’re growing old, JoJo,” Straizo states coldly, crossing his arms. “Humans are so fragile. They wither away, they crumble so easily. Master Tonpetty doesn’t have much in this world, at his esteemed hundred and twenty years. But beautiful creatures like your brother? The demon king I serve now has been around since before the first king of England, William the Conqueror, was even born. This is true immortality and beauty that I have now gained access to.”

“Is that it? Is vanity what drives you?” Jonathan asks in disbelief, assuming the battle stance in accordance to Sendo Form which, obviously, the other doesn’t miss. However, something in Straizo’s words doesn’t quite ring true. “...or is it also fear and guilt of what happened in Windknight’s Lot? Have you always been searching for–”

Straizo raises his hand, pressing his point finger against his lips in a shushing motion. That surprises JoJo, who narrows his eyes. Just as he thought, there’s something more to Straizo’s motives. His discipline would allow him to sequester parts of his mind away from even Kibutsuji Muzan’s ability to read his subjects’ thoughts, as told to him by Tamayo-san. With the way Straizo has just shushed him… Jonathan now knows that Kibutsuji Muzan doesn’t know anything about the existence of the Aztec stone mask that could turn people into vampires, so eerily similar to the man-eating oni of Japan they might share the same source, at least partially.

“You should join your younger brother,” Straizo commands in Japanese, turning his head towards the spider demon who has, so far, been looking at their conversation in confusion, as did the demon slayers, none of them possessing the ability to speak English. “He’s investigating your older sibling’s death.”

“Y-Yes, Straizo-sama, of course!” Mayumi nods, growing terrified at the very mention of her so-called younger brother, before escaping into the lavender fog.

JoJo knows that Straizo is neither the Kizuki met by Tanjiro, nor is he the one previously residing at Mount Natagumo. Between the thunder, which Jonathan is now certain was a manifestation of a perfectly executed technique of Thunder Breathing and the fact that this demon girl isn’t a Kizuki herself by far, it might be that Shion is haunted by three Kizuki, three Waning Moons, with Straizo, undoubtedly, leading them, and this younger brother of the Spider Family implied to exist here might just be the Kizuki who used to live at the mountain. Alas, Jonathan cannot follow the demon girl, lest he’d be leaving the demon slayers and civilians behind him at Straizo’s mercy and he is genuinely unsure what the man’s course of action would be regarding them, whether there is still mercy for humans in him.

JoJo just hopes that Sanemi is strong enough to handle the spider sibling team.

Straizo tilts his head, red eyes glancing at the slayers and civilians behind Jonathan. The clothed ones help the victim, dressing their burns in what they can find, while the one sporting nothing but his underwear stares Waning One down bravely, holding his katana with an intent to protect his comrades should the demon attack.

“Are you going to protect them, JoJo? These weak kids who I doubt will see the next year given the insurmountable odds demon slayers face against local demons?” Straizo hums, pointing at the men who, frankly, stand no chance against the demon on their own.

“These kids have so far survived a life much harder than the one either of us led, Mark,” Jonathan says sternly, in Japanese, so as to not degrade his comrades. “Don’t insult them.”

Straizo furrows his brow.

In the next moment, the flurry of activity parts the fog in the middle of this town intersection, two Hamon warriors clashing in fight at such speeds that the present slayers can barely perceive their motions. While Jonathan expected the fight not to be an easy endeavor once he realized its inevitability, not against an experienced Hamon warrior like Straizo, he’s shocked when his punches, charged with Hamon, bounce flawlessly against his black scarf the man twists and uses as a shield, much firmer and sturdier than its flowing appearance would imply.

“Is it–”

“The Satiporoja Beetle Cloth, indeed,” the demon smirks.

One of many techniques developed by Hamon warriors throughout the centuries is a cloth woven from the dried intestinal fibers of the Satiporoja Beetle, a species of insect native to Southeast Asia that possess higher Hamon conduction abilities than the human body. A scarf woven from thirty thousand beetles can conduct the user’s Hamon energy at 100%… or, as Straizo uses it now, act akin to a lightning rod and completely absorb the opponent’s Hamon attack before it reaches the possessor of the cloth.

SENDO FORM: ZOOM PUNCH

Jonathan barely avoids having his right eye gouged out when his opponent’s arm extends to punch him from further away than he expected it, though it still grazes him enough to leave a bleeding cut above the brow that forces the Englishman to squeeze his right eye shut to avoid getting the blood there. Now JoJo knows his former friend has, among other things, adapted at least some of the Sendo techniques to amplify his fighting ability as a demon.

“Liza is still wearing the one you gave her for her wedding,” Jonathan says and his opponent stumbles, acting too slow to pull his limb back.

SENDO FORM: HAMON OVERDRIVE

The moment Jonathan’s hand, charged with Hamon, touches Straizo’s, the man immediately chops his arm away with the other before the Hamon energy spreads and scorches him into nothingness. A new arm, with a sleeve coat to add, forms almost momentarily and with that, Jonathan thinks Straizo's regeneration ability must have surpassed Dio, a fact that he’s sure the other man knows and is proud about.

Straizo kicks JoJo in the chest and flips away to build distance between them, seeing as close combat isn’t working out well for him.

BLOOD DEMON ART: HERMIT INFERNAL — BLOOD OVERDRIVE

The blood-red vines stretch from Straizo’s wrists all around the town intersection, tying a wide net around Jonathan and the survivors of the spider demon’s trappings. It catches JoJo’s attention that the gaps in this net are wide enough to allow slayers to continue their work leading people out, which seems odd… until they begin to emanate black glow, spreading from Straizo.

Jonathan leaps back, pushing civilians and slayers away from the space directly between each two distinct vines as the black demonic energy covers the spaces between them, creating countless numbers of planes that emanate with oppressive aura. The worry Jonathan had about this Blood Demon Art proves to be correct as he sees these energy planes split Mayumi’s cocoons with even more ease than Jonathan’s Hamon attack did.

Straizo puts his hands together and, resonating with the motion, the deadly web begins to shift. The surviving civilians begin to panic even as the slayers try to stand between them and the demon’s attack. Jonathan can’t allow anyone to fall here.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

Jonathan strikes his fist against the palm of his other hand.

SENDO FORM: SCARLET FIELD OVERDRIVE

The spark amplifies the Hamon energy within JoJo’s body in a familiar way. The complete concentration he keeps as stands in place intensifies the aura of Hamon that explodes outwards from him, burning away Straizo’s vines and the danger they presented. He can even hear the man himself groan in pain, but he then has to disrupt his concentration upon the technique when he suddenly has to jump away from the tram thrown his way. The public transportation vehicle crashes into one of the buildings, crumbling it and Jonathan is frankly horrified at this display of demonic power and raises his head to look at Straizo.

His skin and parts of his outfit have burned off under the effects of Scarlet Field Overdrive, but they quickly stitch back together. As far as Waning One is concerned, apparently, he can fight indefinetely for as long as he wishes, never running out of stamina, always capable to regenerate any wound Jonathan inflicts on him.

“I hope you’re not out of breath yet, JoJo,” Straizo smirks.

Jonathan, while can’t hold out forever, is strong and determined enough to keep Straizo away from the slayers and the civilians they’re moving away. Human tenacity is something one should never underestimate and Straizo, as it seems, knows it well.

Two former friends jump in to fight another round.

Rui, Waning Two of the Twelve Kizuki, is incensed.

Long ago, Rui heard a wonderful story. There was once a father who died trying to save his drowning child. A showcase of such astounding parental love deeply moved him, the way this father who drowned in the river had fulfilled his role as a parent. And not so long ago he heard a beautiful story of a demon slayer traveling with his sister turned into a demon, protecting her from other slayers even at his own peril, fulfilling his duty as the elder sibling, protecting the younger. These are true familial bonds, the strongest ties between individuals, a connection something deep within Rui ravenously starves for.

…yet, it’s never quite enough, with any of the family members he’s acquired throughout the years. Perhaps, Henidoku has been the closest to the elusive perfect family he’s searching for, standing by his side like a loyal older brother even before he truly became his family.

“Ha! Such a cute little demon,” the demon teenager with short flaming hair laughed, not in degradation, but with light-hearted amusement as he ruffled Rui’s hair and then flipped over him before the boy slapped him. “You really helped me out against this slayer. How about we share the spoils?”

The demon’s toothy smile looked too wide, but the way his arm was outstretched, holding a dead demon slayer’s cut-off arm like an offering tingled something with the spider demon.

“...perhaps.”

But now Henidoku’s dead and Rui doesn’t know what caused it. Mother is dead as well, but she’s always been imperfect, all too often she dropped the role she was assigned.

When Rui lands at the town intersection where Henidoku has made his shop, he doesn’t find the perpetrator he’s looking for. His older brother’s webs are ripped apart, leaving humans in their cocoons sleeping on the ground. Henidoku’s servant spiders with bald human heads crawl around, aimlessly and absent-mindedly, without his brother here to guide them.

One of the buildings is utterly destroyed, as if Rui cut it into pieces with his own Blood Demon Art. Undoubtedly, Henidoku has put on impressive resistance.

Which doesn’t make the audacity of the slayer that dared to kill him any less. How dared that vermin hurt his family…

Rui walks around to investigate, weaving a cat’s cradle in his hands to steady his thoughts as he tries to find anything that would point to the identity and the location of the murderer, but nothing seems to click. Kamanue’s fog has parted with the epicenter roughly in the middle of the intersection and the Blood Demon Art is still to cover this empty space, so noticeably lacking in the signature lavender smell. …Rui’s been getting used to it already, finding it something to associate with home.

Perhaps, Kamanue would agree to become his newest sibling. The younger Waning Moon has been rather dependable and ever polite so far, not to mention stronger and more resilient than he appears, to have survived a confrontation against Waxing Three during the trial in the Infinity Castle.

As Rui wanders the delightfully quiet and peaceful Shion, a snap of a bond inside his mind makes him stand still. Inside, the demon boy is furious. His bond with his Father has also just snapped. Father, the main protector of the family, the strongest member of the Spider Family in terms of physical prowess, especially after Rui imparted the newest gift of Muzan-sama onto him. A simple slayer couldn’t have defeated him. It must be a Hashira, but how and why? He hadn't expected the tales of his disturbances to reach the Demon Slayer Corps yet, before his family had the chance to feast on the citizens of Shion and grow several degrees stronger for it. True, Shion is rather close to Mount Natagumo, but there’s still a not insignificant distance between the two, especially with his family barring leave to any human here, it just doesn’t make sense.

“...why are the Hashira here so early…?” Rui mutters to himself.

A voice behind him distracts Waning Two from his ruminations.

“You look like easy pickings, demon kid. Can’t believe all this mess is because of the little old you, even I could take you on!” a cocky slayer huffs and Rui doesn’t even grace the insignificant human with an aside glance. He’s not the one he’s looking for. “You’ll certainly help me up the ladder.”

The foolish slayer leaps at him.

“Take this!”

Rui’s eye twitches in irritation.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GILDED WEB — CUTTING THREAD WALL

The demon turns around sharply and the cat’s cradle made of silk-like strings in Rui’s hands expands into a gigantic wall of spider webs. In conjunction with Rui’s frustration spilling out into the murderous aura he emanates, the sight and the overbearing presence makes the cocky slayer flinch back mid-lunge and look upon Waning Two in terror, especially once Rui’s hair waves in the wind, revealing his left eye that carries the engraving. The young man barely has the time to comprehend he’s staring his death in the face. It barely takes a second for the webs to reach the poor soul’s figure, already slicing his nichirin katana into pieces…

Before he suddenly disappears from Rui’s line of sight.

His Cutting Thread Wall flies forward, shredding one of the buildings into rubble, but Rui hasn’t felt the telltale meaty feeling of his string slicing a human body apart. The demon blinks. It’s not quite right, the slayer hasn’t disappeared on his own. For the slightest moment, Rui saw him being tackled out of the way by another slayer in a long-sleeved white haori.

“You fucking idiot!” Rui hears to his side, along with a meaty slap. “What the hell have you been thinking! How the fuck did you pass the Final Selection with this conduct, get out of my sight, you dumbass of I’ll kill you before this demon does!”

Waning Two turns a bit and sees a scarred man pretty much literally kick the cocky slayer’s behind to push him off the street. With his broken blade he’s useless in a fight. Rui’s brows furrow as he takes in the appearance of the newcomer. Wild white hair, white haori and scars all over him.

Without a doubt, the Wind Hashira.

…yet, somehow, he feels it’s not the person who killed either Henidoku or Father. Mother, perhaps, but for the others the timeline doesn’t add up. Rui would have come across him had he killed his brother and the estate where Father rested is too far for him to make his way here so quickly.

“So you’re that Kizuki from the mountain,” the Wind Hashira cocks his head. Unsurprisingly, from Rui’s perspective, he looks just as smug as the slayer before him. Though, he supposes, at least the Hashira can back up his arrogance with his skill. “You’re even uglier than I imagined.”

“And you’re the Wind Hashira,” Rui hums and a thought occurs to him. “You don’t happen to know which slayer or slayers killed members of my family? If you answer me, I will be merciful and make your death quick.”

“Family?” the man scoffs in disdain, disgust, glaring at him with even more hate than before, which is rather impressive. “Yeah, sure. I’ve seen demons with ‘families’. None of you beasts have the slightest idea of what family truly is, only a fucking sick facsimile of it!”

Rui’s body tenses in indignation at the Hashira’s implications.

“I assure you that the bonds between me and my family are true and unbreakable,” the spider demon says firmly. “Each member of our happy family has a role to perform, we follow them dutifully—”

“Yeah, sure. Next thing you’ll tell me is that sorry suckers actually had a choice in joining your family,” the Wind Hashira snarls. “And after that you tell me that anyone who doesn’t play according to your whims doesn’t get brutally killed like you demons aren’t all deranged hypocrites who don’t know the first thing of what it means to have an actual family! I have yet to see your family, but I know that all you have is a shitty forged bond, nothing like a true connection.”

A pause arises in the conversation as the scarred man almost seems surprised by his own heated words while Rui is stunned at the audacity, insulted by the slayer on the deepest level.

“...what did you just say?” the boy hisses angrily.

“You heard me, brat. Or are you deaf in addition to stupid and ugly? Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

That’s it. Rui’s extensive patience regarding the foolish human has come to its natural conclusion. The mocking smirk tells him that the Wind Hashira knows it perfectly.

Rui’s hands turn red along with his web strings as he infuses them with his blood, empowering them and granting the additional durability and cutting power to withstand the power of a Hashira.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GILDED WEB — CUTTING THREAD ROTATION

The cat’s cradle in Rui’s hands turns into a wheel of red threads rotating at high velocity that immediately shoots towards the Wind Hashira. The man doesn’t look worried for a single moment.

WIND BREATHING — SEVENTH FORM: GALE, SUDDEN GUSTS

The Wind Hashira leaps into the air, sailing over Rui’s threads that shred another building into rubble and, while being upside down, swings his blade in a spiraling motion, diving down towards Rui while generating gale-force winds that make the demon’s white kimono and hair flutter. However, the man is a fool if he thinks this single motion will be enough to get rid of him, Waning Two of the Twelve Kizuki.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GILDED WEB — THREAD BARRIER

To protect himself, Rui manifests a spherical cage from red threads in front of him that expands outwards to cut the slayer to pieces while deflecting his attack. The result is less than satisfactory, with the nichirin blade just screeching against the web, making Rui’s eyes narrow when the Hashira attempts to leap back to gain distance.

Rui doesn’t intend to give him a break.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GILDED WEB — CUTTING THREAD CAGE

Webstrings, infused and glowing with red of Rui’s blood, reform from a spherical barrier into a massive column of strings that surrounds the Wind Hashira mid-jump and immediately begins shrinking with a deadly intent to cut the arrogant man into pieces.

WIND BREATHING — THIRD FORM: CLEAR STORM WIND TREE

To Rui’s growing disappointment, the Hashira lives on, swinging his sword and unleashing a whirlwind of slashes around his body that pushes Rui’s strings back, allowing the man to quickly dive down and slip out of the column at its bottom where the weave isn’t quite as airtight and can actually be cut through with his nichirin katana in a single stroke.

When the man momentarily stops just out of Rui’s range of vision, he immediately capitalizes on it, dashing in Waning Two’s direction.

WIND BREATHING — FIRST FORM: DUST WHIRLWIND CUTTER

The Wind Hashira rushes at Rui at blinding speed while spinning around, his horizontal slashes turning into a reflection of a monstrous tornado that shreds everything around him. Yet, unflinchingly, Rui turns around, hand already raised to summon another technique.

BLOOD DEMON ART: GILDED WEB — THREAD WHIP

BLOOD DEMON ART: SILK MANIPULATION — DISSOLUTION COCOON

Both Waning Two and the Wind Hashira stumble in their deadly dance when a different spider weave surrounds the man in a white haori. While it interrupts his technique, it also unwittingly protects him from the whip-like threads Rui unleashes from his fingertips. Instead of cutting the man into ribbons, his attack now only partly digs into the cocoon, launching it aside, crashing through several buildings.

Rui turns around slowly to see Mayumi, his sister, who intervened in his fight. His displeasure is obvious from his frown and the stifling aura the boy emanates, which makes the other spider demon cower in fear. She immediately tries to justify herself.

“R-Rui, I’m sorry! I just tried to protect you like a good sister should–!”

Rui’s threads cut through her face, making the demon girl cry and fall to her knees, clutching the bleeding wounds.

“You weren’t here to protect me in the first place, which is your failing,” he says dispassionately. “And now you just got in my way. What sort of sister obstructs her beloved younger sibling in his undertakings?”

“I’m s-sorry! I’m sorry, Rui!” Mayumi sobs.

A presence echoes on the edge of Rui’s awareness before he can see three slayers actually stumble out of one of the alleys connecting to the street they’re in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” one of them asks with outrage.

“This night seems to have no shortage of uninvited presences. You shouldn't gawk at what is a private family matter,” Rui hums in annoyance before turning to look at them. Their appearance, however, turns out to be a surprise, even for him.

Two slayers Rui recognizes as those described by Kamanue as dangerous users of Thunder Breathing, Inadama Kaigaku and Agatsuma Zenitsu. The one wearing the yellow haori with patterns of white triangles, Zenitsu, appears to be sleeping as he stands next to his comrades, which is ridiculous, but more importantly for Rui, is the fact of how shorter he looks compared to his companions, and the purple bruises on his skin prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he’s been affected by Henidoku’s poison. Affected, yet still not turned into one of his spider servants? He is his brother’s murderer, it’s clear for everyone to see.

Then Rui’s gaze crosses with the third odd slayer who looks like a demon himself, large and beefy, with sharp claws and teeth, with red eyes with bright teal irises that almost make him appear like a member of Rui’s family.

It’s that thought that resonates within their blood, within two minds momentarily intertwined.

Family.

A happy boy with a black mohawk sat surrounded by a gaggle of younger siblings, about to savor a simple, yet heartwarming meal.

“Itadakimasu!” the boy, Genya, said along with his brothers and sisters. Their mother, a woman of slight stature, nodded with a kind smile on her face. Her portion of food was notably smaller than that of her children.

“Thank you, o-kaasan, this is delicious,” Genya’s older brother, white-haired boy who would become the Wind Hashira in the future, yet, at the moment, just Sanemi, unmarred by scars and pain, smiled at his beloved parent.

Genya finished his meal first, prompting friendly ribbing from his sole older sibling who ruffled his mohawk playfully.

“Someone’s ravenous today,” Sanemi teased lightly.

“He’s a growing boy, Sanemi,” their mother smiled.

Between the smiles of his family and the warmth of their food, Shinazugawa Genya, smiling in response, believed that life that day was perfect.

Rui blinks and comes back to the present to the worried glance of his sister, whom he doesn’t really think about at the moment. Instead, he looks longingly at the slayer, Genya, whose bizarre technique has pulled him into the memory that Rui wishes could become his reality.

Genya then shakes himself out of the similar trance to Kaigaku’s concerned glance, looking at Rui with a slight tremor. He wonders what he saw within him, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

“You…” Rui mutters longling, his pupil widening in yearning, his hands shaking slightly as they reach for Genya despite the distance between them. “I. Want. You.”