Chapter Text
It was an odd sensation, the kiss of steel at his own neck.
The metal was cold against his skin, eliciting shivers even when the temperature outside was warm, even as the rays of the sun caressed his kneeling form.
Kyojuro breathed deeply and brought his own blade down, tearing himself from the dream as his blood pooled on the ground, no shadow of doubt slowing his motion.
He had one duty, after all, and one duty only, no matter the sting from his father’s words or from his brother’s happy smile as they trained together under the sun -
Dreaming of a peaceful life was not it.
He awoke to complete chaos, the metal husk of the train turned to flesh, the passengers unaware and so frail in their sleeping state.
Shame and anger swirled in his gut before he quieted them, focusing on what he could do now. It was useless to think about what had happened and how he could have prevented whatever this was, when nothing could be changed.
Instead, Kyojuro drew his sword and prepared for a breathing technique, intending to deal as much damage as he could and go up to the first car of the train to make sure everyone was safe for now. It wasn’t long before the young Kamado boy was looking up at him with wide eyes as Kyojuro stopped in front of him and told him of the plan - protecting passengers. Beheading the demon, train or no train.
“No matter which form it assumes, so long as it’s a demon, it’s got a head,” Kyojuro told him confidently, almost nose to nose with the other slayer. “Find it and cut it! Show me how fired up you are!”
He had no time to lose, not with such a wide range to oversee, so he pivoted on his heels and jumped back towards the rear of the train. He had no doubt the slayer would be able to find the demon’s weak spot and bring an end to it, and the boy with the boar mask also would help. He was less confident about leaving some of the passengers under the care of a demon - but the girl had shown a strong will and had already taken the job on her shoulders before he even awoke. He needed her help, too, hers and the boy in yellow’s. No matter how fast he was, eight cars to protect was stretching even his abilities thin, especially when the demon was everywhere at once.
The train shook once more under the power of his jump, and he slashed at the few tendrils of flesh slowly reforming. The demon’s sudden transformation gave it an incredible range, but it also made it an easier target. Its regeneration speed wasn’t anything to laugh at, but Kyojuro could handle it.
He ran back and forth between the five cars at the back of the train, his sword cutting the flesh every time it elongated again. Luckily for him the passengers were still deep into sleep, and it was likely they would stay that way until the demon was defeated. Humans could be unpredictable, especially in the face of surreal danger, so Kyojuro was glad he wouldn’t have to make sure no one did anything crazy.
It wasn’t tiring, to take care of the protection of the passengers, but he had to keep his senses wide awake to catch the smallest tentative of the demon to grab an innocent. Eighth car, seventh car, sixth car, fifth car, fourth car, then reverse, over and over again, flames blooming in his wake in an unending dance.
He had just cleaned up the sixth car when the train shook anew, the wheels outside screeching on the rails as a sudden pressure was put on them, sparks flying into the darkness. It came from the very last car and Kyojuro immediately jumped towards it, fearing a different kind of attack. He could feel that something was wrong even before he arrived at its door - it was not the current demon, who had made the train its whole body. It was something different.
Something else.
Something worse.
He stopped just before entering the compartment. A hole had been opened in the ceiling, the metal forcefully torn apart. The lights were all off, the cables ensuring they worked most likely ripped in the process, plunging the car in a darkness only slightly illuminated by the pale glow of the moon, coming from both the windows and the newly made opening.
Just under the gaping hole, there was a humanoid shape slowly standing up.
Kyojuro could only see the two bright yellow eyes shining strongly even in the dark, and the words inked into them.
Upper Moon 3.
The demon jumped as soon as their gaze locked and Kyojuro drew his sword in his second technique, slicing neatly through the arm aiming a punch. The Upper Moon immediately withdrew to the end of the car, blood staining the floor after him, a sharp smile appearing on his face, white fangs gleaming.
In the dark of the compartment, it was difficult for Kyojuro to really grasp what shape this demon took - he could make out a pale skin covered in odd shadows, from the face to the upper body, almost entirely bare. Something was catching the light around the feet, smooth and shiny.
“Nice sword,” the demon said in a pleased tone, before he brought his newly healed arm to his mouth and licked the blood that had trailed there.
Kyojuro narrowed his eyes. This was an unexpected complication and he was already fearing he would not be able to protect the passenger and handle such an enemy at the same time. He desperately wanted to look behind him and make sure the rest of the cars were safe for now, even if his instincts weren’t picking up on anything yet, but such a move would be foolish.
An Upper Moon.
He had never encountered one before. He knew none of the current Pillars did, and his father never had either.
His fingers tightened on the handle of his sword.
Why now, of all time, when they were already fighting another demon? Was this why this one had decided to show up? To help his ally?
Kyojuro ascertained his chances and wondered if he should try and bring him into a conversation. He knew he had no hope to defeat such a powerful enemy quickly, and the passengers were his main priority. Could he stall him until the young slayers were victorious?
“Are you here to help that other demon?” he asked, deciding to try and get information.
“Help?” the Upper Moon scoffed. “Of course not. I could not care less what happens to that Lower Moon.”
So it was a Lower Moon indeed, Kyojuro’s hunch on the matter had been right. Still, he trusted the two boys to take care of him. He had seen their potential and their determination.
“Why not?” he pressed further, somewhat perplexed by what else could have brought this demon here if not for helping his brethren. “It’ll be defeated soon enough. Shouldn’t you try to avoid that?”
“If he is weak enough to be defeated by the likes of demon slayers, then he deserves his fate.”
“You don’t have mercy for your own ally?” Kyojuro gaped.
The demon laughed.
“Why should I?”
It was a take so inhuman Kyojuro felt a wave of pity towards the Lower Moon. That Upper rank had most likely the strength required to wipe out the entire train, could probably save the other demon from the fate coming for it - but he wouldn’t. There was no compassion, no kinship, no bond of any kind. It made Kyojuro sick.
“Then why are you here?”
The bright eyes opened wide, like they were looking to swallow him whole.
“For you,” the demon breathed in an excited tone of voice. “You’re a Pillar, aren’t you? I can see that your fighting spirit has been honed to the hilt. It’s close to the supreme realm.”
Odd words, one after another. Still, Kyojuro answered, respectful even against such an opponent - and the longer the conversation would stretch, the closer he would be to the Lower Moon being defeated.
“I am the Flame Pillar, Kyojuro Rengoku.”
Satisfaction flashed on the demon’s face.
“I am Akaza,” he introduced himself in return, before extending his arm towards Kyojuro, his hand open in an offering. His fingers brushed the moonlight spilling from the hole in the ceiling, colors appearing at last in the form of blue skin and red nails. “Become a demon, Kyojuro.”
“No,” he immediately replied in a sharp tone that bode for no further discussion.
“I can see your strength,” Akaza kept pushing. “But do you know why you can’t enter the supreme realm? Because you’re human. Because you’ll grow old, and you’ll die. If you become a demon, you can train for a hundred, a thousand years.”
“I have no interest in training for that long. I will never become a demon. What good would that do me, when you are so heartless you won’t even help your allies when they are in danger?”
“Still stuck on that, are you?” the demon clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Would you like it better if I told you I did not consider him my ally?”
“This is even worse.”
Akaza sighed.
“I see,” he said, and his fingers closed into a fist, his arm brought back in a fighting stance. He smiled and Kyojuro steeled himself. “Then I suppose I have no other choice but to kill you.”
In a blur the demon was on top of him and Kyojuro parried the upcoming attack with his sword. The train was a cramped space, unfit for fighting with such a weapon, putting him at a considerable disadvantage - he had no other choice but to step back or push forward, stuck in a straight line to avoid injuring any of the passengers. Akaza forced him back and Kyojuro took that opportunity to have them go all the way to the fourth car, blocking the Upper Moon’s attacks and looking for any tendrils forming on the walls of flesh. He burnt any he noticed in a move that would also keep Akaza at bay. When they reached the start of the cars he had under his care, he felt relieved to see no one had gotten hurt during their chat. He then took on a more offensive stance and attacked Akaza in turn, watching his every move carefully, gauging his speed of regeneration, trying to get an idea of his strength.
He was waiting for the moment the Upper Moon would go for the sitting passengers, if only to open the space so they could fight in a better way, their sword and fists doomed to repeat the same patterns in just the corridor - but it never came. Akaza never spared them a glance, never even hinted at the fact it was a hindrance he wanted to get rid of. Kyojuro was dumbfounded.
He pushed the Upper Moon back once more, the demon jumping a few times to put some distance between them, his yellow eyes a constant weight running around his body.
What did he even really want, Kyojuro wondered? His words and his actions were conflicting with each other. He seemed to be enjoying this, not taking it as some kind of mission.
His musings were broken by a sight he had prayed not to see. There was a tendril of flesh reforming close to Akaza, too close to the demon, too far away from Kyojuro himself. It grew towards the seats on the left of the demon, towards two women still deep in sleep, unaware and defenceless. Kyojuro’s eyes flicked to the tentacle as dread gripped him - could he cut it and make it out alive, could he protect them without giving an opening to the Upper Moon?
He tensed his muscles, ready to jump no matter the outcome, before stopping his action and almost stumbling as Akaza reached out a hand. His fingers curled around the flesh tentacle and crushed it without a care in the world.
“Keep your eyes on me, Kyojuro,” he purred.
The Flame Pillar answered by coming straight at him in his first form, earning himself a pleased chuckle from his opponent. But no matter how deep his sword cut through the flesh, the injuries were healed in the blink of an eye, the demon never breaking a sweat.
Kyojuro jumped and used the seats as a support to get on the walls, trying to surprise Akaza with a horizontal slash and aiming to get behind him. The demon kept him in his field of view, turning to follow his motion, bringing his arms up to block the attack, uncaring about Kyojuro’s sword severing both forearms. He had them regrown already as the Flame Pillar found his footing once more on the ground.
“Beautiful!” Akaza exclaimed happily. “You should really become a demon, Kyojuro! We could fight together for all eternity!”
Kyojuro didn’t want eternity, even less so if it was only to fight, fight and fight again. He held his sword in front of him, red blade catching on the moonlight.
“I will not become a demon,” he repeated with a tone that broke for no discussion.
Akaza’s smile only widened. He lowered himself in another stance, the kind that reminded Kyojuro of martial arts, muscles taut and power coiling tightly around his fists.
“Kyojuro!” the demon called out as he pounced on the Flame Pillar, all sharp fangs and bright eyes.
Kyojuro readied his fourth technique, hoping to deflect whatever was coming, but Akaza’s eyes suddenly widened as he was getting closer. Kyojuro could only see the faint reflection of a blue glow on the white of his skin and he frowned as Akaza pulled up abruptly, his feet skidding on the floor and his gaze lost somewhere behind Kyojuro.
Then his eyes turned dull, his pale, thick eyelashes fluttering down. They closed and without warning the demon dropped to the ground in a loud thud - and stayed there, motionless.
Enmu felt the intrusion at once.
He had been laughing internally at the useless fight the demon slayers were still clutching to, at their pathetic attempts to protect the passengers when they were all trapped inside his belly anyway. It was only a matter of time before their vigilance would fail, just enough for him to get his first meal - and then it would only go downhill from there. Their confidence would be ripped to shreds and their determined faces would take on the sweet, sweet look of despair. Just thinking about it made him giddy.
The Pillar, though, was annoying. He knew where to attack to force Enmu to use the most of his regenerative powers - but that, too, was only a fleeting hindrance. He could aim to eat the passengers of the first cars, and then he’ll overpower the Pillar and crush the boy with the earrings, and Muzan would be proud.
He was not expecting the arrival of another demon.
Enmu felt the sudden entrance like a wound on his body, and then the intruder was inside him and there was no mistaking the powerful aura. Lower Moons weren’t very close with Upper Moons, not when their ranks were so prone to change, but Enmu had started as Lower Moon 4 and had been steadily gaining strength ever since. He could count the number of times he had met the Upper ranks on one hand, but their presences were unforgettable.
Akaza had crashed right through him, and for a moment, Enmu’s mind went blank.
Why?
Why would an Upper Moon show up? When Enmu had been given Muzan’s trust, Muzan’s blood, Muzan’s power? This was his mission and he was going to see it through in the best of ways. He was going to show his master that his choice had been the right one, that he had potential, so much potential, that he was worthy of the amount of his blood running in his veins and that he was worthy of getting even more. He only wanted to please Muzan, and his plan was perfect. He had everything under control.
Akaza was unneeded. Unwanted. He would not let the Upper Moon steal his glory, steal the praise Enmu had worked so hard to get - this victory was his and his only.
The boy with the earrings and the one with the boar mask were getting too close to his weak point to his taste - he needed to focus on them, so he had to think quickly of how to dispose of the Upper Moon, just long enough that the battle would be over when he came back. He could throw him outside, he supposed, but Akaza had caught up to the train once. He would most likely do it again.
No, no, the easiest way was obvious.
The Pillar may have been around, but it was of no concern to Enmu. What if the slayer managed to actually kill Akaza, after all? It would only open a rank amongst the Upper Moons - and Enmu had every intention to steal that spot once he would come back victorious to his master. It was general knowledge that Muzan was fond of his Upper Moon 3, but surely he would forget about him quickly enough. Enmu would make sure the loss wouldn’t be one, not when he would be there to take Akaza’s place.
Now that he had decided on a course of action, he didn’t have time to lose. He focused on the end of the train, where Akaza was fighting the Pillar, and grew five of his eyes close to the human, on whom the Upper Moon would have his attention. They opened wide and Enmu gathered his demon blood art in their blue irises, brought forth as much power as he could and unleashed it all at once.
Eyes of Forced Unconscious Sleep.
In the split second his eyes locked gaze with Akaza, Enmu could see the inside of his mind.
Memories were usually neatly lined together, thin threads shimmering in the darkness. Enmu just had to tug a few of those to gather the images hidden inside and spin a dream from scratch. He played them like music, like a stringed instrument, the notes crystal clear and colourful echoing inside his own being.
But inside the Upper Moon's deepest part of his mind, there was nothing but a mess.
The threads were all tangled together, half of them a huge ball of yarn that only spelt trouble - Enmu ignored those, focusing on the few clear ones. He didn't have much time, not with the demon slayers breathing on his neck and attacking him relentlessly, so he tugged at the first free thread he could see. It didn't give immediately, and were Enmu in any other state of mind he would have heeded the warning, would have stopped and considered it again - but time was short.
He tugged once more, harshly, and saw the thread unveil itself as expected...but not alone. Another one, almost invisible, was connected to it. It came down with the first one, and brought with it the tangled mess Enmu had been so keen on leaving alone. He didn't have time to feel guilt, or regret, or the slightest shame over this unwanted result - what was done was done. it was out of his control, now.
The dream started to take shape and Enmu quickly slipped away, his consciousness going back to his own body. He watched the darkness get illuminated by splotches of colors, the birth of a landscape bathed in daylight, and briefly hoped this hadn't been a mistake.
Kyojuro watched Akaza crumple to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been severed, unable to understand what was happening. There was a fleshy sound behind him, but when he swung his sword the blade only cut air. The silence was deafening now that the Upper Moon was quiet and Kyojuro held his breath, waiting for Akaza to jump back onto his feet and resume the fight -
But the demon wasn’t moving.
With careful steps, Kyojuro got closer.
Akaza had fallen in the middle of the pathway and he laid there on his back, arms open and fingers lax. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. He looked like he was sleeping, and Kyojuro wasn’t going to be fooled.
He brought the tip of his sword to the demon’s chest and bit into the skin there, drawing a red trail next to the marking tinting his skin in a dark color, all the way down to his navel. Blood bloomed in drops as the wound opened and closed in almost the same breath.
Akaza did not react.
And Kyojuro - Kyojuro couldn’t believe what was happening. There was no way the Upper Moon would have just decided to take a nap right in the middle of a fight. Something happened in his last attack, something appeared behind Kyojuro himself and somehow - did this. It wasn’t hard to spin a theory, not when he knew the Lower Moon’s blood demon art was about sleep and dreams.
But why?
First Akaza had sneered at the mere idea of helping the Lower Moon, and now it was that same demon that was endangering him by putting him to sleep. How selfish were they, how close-minded - what would this bring, to them, but defeat and death?
The walls were starting to grow new flesh tendrils so Kyojuro first focused on getting rid of them, taking the time to be thorough in his slashes in each car, to delay a new attack as much as he could. The deed done, he walked back to the car where Akaza had still not moved a muscle.
It was a unique opportunity.
This was an Upper Moon, one of the top dogs of Kibutsuji. He had probably lived more years then Kyojuro could even fathom, had probably killed and eaten enough innocents to fill an entire ocean with blood. He was an enemy. Even as he was now, prone and defenceless like the rest of the sleeping passengers.
Kyojuro ignored the heavy feeling twisting his stomach and lifted his blade, positioning himself to sever the demon’s neck.
This was an Upper Moon. He had no doubt, in his place, Akaza would do the same.
(Would he, though? When he hadn’t spared a glance to the fragile, sleeping humans around him as he fought Kyojuro?)
He gripped his sword tighter and quieted his foolish mind, too compassionate for its own good. He breathed once, twice, and finally brought his weapon down in his third form, the flames blazing in the darkness. The demon’s neck was tough, solid as rock, and he pushed down with all his strength. The flesh started to give way as his technique died out, half of his blade’s width embedding itself in the throat below. Kyojuro’s arms were shaking with the pressure he was exerting on his sword’s handle.
There were only his harsh pants as he kept nudging his blade down, and it felt wrong, wrong for Akaza to stay limp, wrong for Kyojuro to kill someone that was sleeping and unable to protect themselves -
It was only a demon. It was only a demon.
This life ending here would save so many human ones.
Kyojuro moved around, kneeling above Akaza’s waist, trying to get another angle where he could put more pressure and behead the demon as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to stretch it out any more than was strictly necessary, if only for his own peace of mind.
He kept his right hand on the handle and put his left one on top of the blade itself, directly above Akaza’s neck, and pushed down once again.
Bent like he was over the demon, there was no avoiding looking at his face, not when he kept waiting for him to suddenly awake. This close, he could see the markings tattooed on his skin clearly, bold lines drawn vertically in an odd pattern, the thick eyelashes and the roundness of his face. He seemed young - how old had he been when he had been turned into a demon, Kyojuro briefly wondered? He shook his head to get rid of unwanted thoughts and focused on his gruesome task, trying to ignore how intimate this kill felt, how personal. The flesh was giving way to the cold metal, blood running down to the floor in scarlet rivulets.
It felt like an eternity had passed when at last his blade was completely pushed down, yet it was still nowhere enough to decapitate the demon. Kyojuro moved his left hand to keep applying pressure on the sword from both sides. His palm brushed Akaza’s skin, the blood from the injury tainting his hand and the end of his sleeve -
And then he was falling.
There was a tug from deep inside his body, making him stumble when he should have been kneeling down, making him fall headfirst into a sea of black ink, heavy and suffocating.
Time lost any sense, his free fall ending as quickly as it started and yet his lungs were screaming for air.
Kyojuro awoke with a gasp to a blue sky and the gentle rays of an afternoon sun, to a light breeze swaying the leaves of trees and to the melodious song of birds. He could feel the earth beneath his hands, could feel the warmth of the daylight on his face. There was no night anymore, no train, no passengers to protect and no demons to defeat. He looked around him in complete and utter confusion. He had no idea what had just happened, no idea where he was - yet there was a familiar feeling in the air.
Screams brought him back to the moment, angry voices shaking the peaceful scenery.
Kyojuro jumped to his feet and ran towards the source of conflict. He was in the outskirts of a town, houses starting to line up just a bit further ahead. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks, shocked by the scene happening just in front of him.
Three men were insulting and kicking a boy who was curling up on the ground, his arms around his head to protect it from the worst of the beating.
Kyojuro’s blood boiled.
The next second he was pushing one of the men away from the boy, the adult staggering backwards as the sudden pressure on his chest. The other two immediately stopped their assault and stepped back, wary of him, surprised at being interrupted.
“Who the hell are you?” the first man spat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I think that’s my line. Aren’t you ashamed, beating up a kid?”
“Ha! He got it coming. He is nothing but a filthy thief. He’s lucky we are not dragging him up to the magistrate for what he did!”
“You should worry about yourself, stranger,” another one piped up. “With clothes as clean as the ones on your back, that little good-for-nothing will jump you at the first opportunity if you don’t keep him in your sight.”
The third man snickered at his friend’s words as Kyojuro frowned.
“Maybe we should give you a lesson, too…about how things are done around here.”
Kyojuro eyed the three of them as they prowled closer. He moved his left arm to the side to let his sword appear, pushing his cloak back and grasping its handle firmly with one hand. The men immediately stopped as they saw the weapon, sweat beading on their foreheads, confidence slowly draining from their faces. It was only to intimidate them, of course. Kyojuro would never draw his blade against humans - but it did the job. The men seemed to decide it was not a battle they should pick and started to withdraw instead.
“You’re making a big mistake,” one of them still told him before they disappeared in another street.
Kyojuro turned towards the kid, then. The boy had managed to stand up on his own during the chat and Kyojuro made a cursory sweep over his appearance, looking for any problematic injuries. He was dirty and bloody, clothes torn apart, but there was no swelling or open wound from what Kyojuro could see. He had no doubt that under his outfit, bruises were most likely starting to bloom already. The Flame Pillar moved his gaze up to the face of the boy, and he took a sharp inhale at the sight.
There was no doubt in his mind that he was looking at a very angry, very much younger and very much human, Akaza.
There was no denying the likeness, not when Kyojuro had been looking at the demon’s sleeping face in close quarters barely a moment before, each curve still fresh in his memory - and where were they? What was even happening?
The boy - Akaza - had pitch black hair and clear eyes, a blue so pale they looked almost white in the light of the sun. They were burning with fury, too, drilling into his own, angry at his weakness, angry at Kyojuro’s meddling. His fists were shaking.
There were tattoos around his forearms, a ring circling his fair skin, the dark ink a stark contrast against it.
Akaza turned on his heels without warning and took off running, fleeing between the rows of houses.
“Akaza!” Kyojuro called out, before he followed the boy.
His mind was in ebullition. This, whatever it was, could not be real. Akaza, the Upper Moon demon, had fallen asleep on the floor of the Infinity Train - was this a dream? Was this his dream? Was Kyojuro stuck in it? He tried to remember what had happened before that odd sensation of falling. He had been hovering over the demon, his blade deeply nested in his neck, trying to push it down until his head would be severed from his body.
He had touched him.
His hand had made contact with the demon’s neck, skin meeting skin - had this been the catalyst?
The boy kept running. The houses kept appearing in an ordered line, one after the other, unending, a straight street that seemed to stretch infinitely. Kyojuro wasn’t catching up either, regardless of his adult legs or his swordsman training, forever a dozen meters behind the boy as Akaza ran and ran at a wild pace, like he felt neither pain nor exhaustion.
It was a dream, Kyojuro was sure of it, now.
Could he escape it?
The dream the other demon had put him under had felt the same, once he had realized it was not reality. Like the air was heavier than it should be, like things were sometimes too clean or too bright. There had only been one way to escape…his own death. He was not keen on repeating the experience anytime soon.
And, would it even work? He was not the owner of the dream. He had been dragged into it by mistake. Would his death mean anything?
Did Akaza need to die, so they could both wake up?
Could the demon even die in such a dream? Would Kyojuro need to behead him with his sun forged blade, like in reality?
But Akaza was no demon, at this moment. He was a boy, barely a teenager, so very human. He was a thief that pickpocketed others and who got beaten in return for his crimes. Kyojuro had no idea what was happening - was this truly a dream? Why would Akaza dream of something like this? Why did he keep running away from him, like he didn’t know who the Flame Pillar was?
“Akaza!” he kept exclaiming every now and then. “Please wait!”
The boy did not heed his request. He kept running, Kyojuro kept following and the houses kept lining the street as the sun never got dimmer, no matter how long they kept at it.
“Akaza,” he called out, again, and again.
How familiar the demon’s name was starting to sound in his own mouth.
Akaza, Akaza, Akaza -
Then the boy suddenly stopped, turning to face him at last, his face still angry but with a confused shine in his eyes.
“Who the fuck is Akaza?!” he finally answered, screaming back.
Kyojuro stopped dead in his tracks, almost stumbling.
“Wh-What?”
“Who the fuck,” the boy repeated, “is Akaza?”
You, Kyojuro wanted to say. You are.
But he kept the words inside instead, confusion filling his mind. Wasn’t Akaza his name? Was the boy someone else? Or…was he called…something else?
The boy huffed and turned once more. Kyojuro watched him get further and further away. He didn’t know what to do. If Akaza wasn’t even Akaza in this moment of time, how could he make him understand what he needed to do to wake up? How could he even make him understand that he was sleeping, that he was dreaming, and not really living those events?
In the distance, the boy tripped and fell down.
It triggered a shockwave that rippled through the landscape, then the scenery melted. The colors dripped and mixed together in a wild kaleidoscope before getting washed out like drops of rain on ink, like watercolors on paper.
In the swirls of everything and nothing at the same time, Kyojuro lost his footing once more.
He managed to land upright this time, and watched as new colors spread from under his feet until another scene was given life.
Akaza was still in the same spot further away, still lying face down. There were men holding him, hands around his wrists and his ankles. Even from where he was, Kyojuro could see that his upper body was bare, his back an angry red, blood staining the skin as another man flayed him without pity.
Each strike boomed like thunder.
Kyojuro’s stomach lurched.
He didn’t know what kind of sick, twisted dream this was, but he could not stand there and do nothing. He was at the punisher’s side as the man lifted the whip high in the air once more, but when he went to grab the man’s wrist his fingers met nothing. The other’s arm smudged under his touch, colors losing their perfection, but did not stop its motion. Kyojuro looked at his fingers where odd drops tainted his skin. He had been able to interact with the men before. What couldn’t he do the same now?
Akaza gasped as the whip made contact.
Kyojuro’s gaze dropped to him, clenching his fists hard, frustrated at being powerless. Frustrated that he was subjugated to this cruel scene, where he didn’t know whether looking at what was unfolding or turning away would be the most disrespectful.
Akaza gasped once more and his fingers clawed at the dirt.
Two black rings circled his forearms.
The whip cracked in the air for the third time, and the whole world went black.
A lonely house slowly took shape in front of Kyojuro like a haven in the darkness, and time flowed so quickly every second seemed like another season, colors and weather changing in the blink of an eye. Birds chirping, flowers sprouting from the ground. The strong rays of the sun and the song of insects. Leaves falling down. The bright cover of snow on the roof.
When at last it stabilized in the glow of a late afternoon a street suddenly appeared, giving the scene context as the house no longer stood alone. By the time Kyojuro had looked around him Akaza was standing in front of the open door, hunched forwards, a paper tightly clutched in his hand. He was shaking.
Three black rings circled his forearms.
The house was empty, half of the room swallowed by deep shadows. It smelt of death. Kyojuro looked inside and had the disturbing feeling there was something in the dark he could barely make out.
He didn’t dare look closer.
He reached a hand towards Akaza instead as the boy tried to bite back his sobs. His fingers made contact, curling around a small shoulder and Akaza’s breath hitched as he turned towards Kyojuro, his big blue eyes filled with tears. They moved around his face, unsure, confused.
“Akaza,” Kyojuro said softly. “You have to wake up.”
The boy made a pained sound.
“This isn’t real. You have to wake up.”
Akaza kept looking at him, eyes searching for an answer, trying to understand, and Kyojuro hated the lost look in his eyes.
“...Wake up..?”
“Yes, this is a dream,” Kyojuro pressed on. He felt like he was almost there, that his voice was on the brink of reaching the demon hidden inside. “This is a dream, Akaza!”
“A dream… I… A dream…”
“Hakuji!”
The link broke.
Akaza turned the other way around, towards the owner of the new voice, and his body grew under Kyojuro’s hand, a young teenager no more. There was a man holding wooden buckets, kind eyes and a bright smile on a slightly scruffy face.
“Come here, Hakuji,” the man said. “Let’s get this chore over with!”
Hakuji.
Was that Akaza’s name? His human name?
Akaza went to the man’s side and grabbed one of the buckets with a smile, Kyojuro forgotten once again. They made their way to a well and started getting some water from it, chatting all the while and Kyojuro followed a few steps back.
“Ooh, I see,” the man was saying, “so the ‘haku’ in ‘Hakuji’ comes from the ‘koma’ of ‘komainu’! You’re the same as me, then, there is something you have to protect. Like a komainu guarding a shrine!”
Kyojuro watched them fill their buckets, curious. It was easy to see that Akaza trusted this man and that he was at peace here. Next to the violence he had witnessed before, Kyojuro felt relieved. Happy, even. How odd, to care for someone he didn’t even know, to care for someone that was already dead. This story, he felt deep down, had no chance to end well. Akaza being Upper Moon 3 was proof enough. But at least - at least his life wouldn’t have been only suffering.
“I have some time tonight,” the man was telling Akaza as they made their way back to a house further back. “If Koyuki is feeling alright, what do you say to some training? I can show you a few more moves!”
Akaza’s eyes shone and he smiled brightly. It was nothing like the threatening smiles Kyojuro had gotten aboard the train, the ones waiting for a fight, for blood.
It suited him.
“Yes, Master!” he answered, excitement bleeding into his tone.
Kyojuro learnt that Koyuki was the daughter of the man. It was easy to understand that she was sick, confined to her bed like she was. Akaza spent the rest of the day at her side and Kyojuro sat outside in front of her room, unwilling to intrude too much on memories that were not his.
Giggles turned into coughs and he thought about his mother. He missed her. He thought about Ubuyashiki and felt a wave of despair - what would he do, he was going to be stuck there, unable to get out? What was happening in the real world? Time had passed when he had awoken from his first demon induced sleep and he feared it would be the same here. He had no idea how many hours he had already spent in the dream, with the way time and space were distorted, how they jumped from memories to memories - like Akaza couldn’t stop remembering his entire life instead of focusing on a single point the dream would revolve around. He hoped the passengers of the train would be alright. He hoped the young slayers and the demon girl would manage without him for a while, that he was not failing them all by sitting there quietly.
He tried not to worry too much and focused on his breathing.
The night had fallen when the sliding door behind him was opened and closed again. Kyojuro turned as Akaza came closer, gazing at the night sky. Then his eyes dropped down and he suddenly seemed to be conscious of Kyojuro’s presence once again.
“Akaza,” the Flame Pillar whispered, unsure if the girl was sleeping already, unsure if she could hear him but unwilling to disturb her. “You have to wake up.”
Akaza looked at him in silence for a while, eyes searching his face.
“But I am not asleep,” he finally answered. Then, he frowned. “Wait, who is..? Who…”
He brought a hand up his face, like it pained him to think about it. The scenery rippled around them and Kyojuro pressed on.
“You,” he told the boy turned demon turned boy again, “you are Akaza. And you have to wake up.”
Akaza closed his eyes and grasped his head. The house faded into nothingness in smoky curls until only the night sky remained, before the stars disappeared in turn, getting smothered one by one and leaving behind a veil of the deepest black.
Akaza took a few steps backwards, staggering on his feet. Then he lost his balance and fell to a kneeling position, tatami mats appearing under his knees as they seemingly touched the ground in the dark. They stretched as far as the eye could see, with no walls nor ceiling to even create the impression of a room.
Yet, even with the open space it felt suffocating, the darkness heavy and creeping closer.
Kyojuro found himself sitting in front of Akaza, whose head was bowed. There were two bodies lying on the floor between them, paper covering their faces, blood staining the front of their clothes.
Kyojuro may have only seen them for a little while, but he knew who those two bodies were. His heart ached - for them, for Akaza.
The silence was thick.
Akaza’s shoulders were shaking with sobs, but no noise escaped him. He was holding Koyuki’s hand tenderly. The black rings on his arms shone oddly, like they were fresh ink on the brink of spilling free.
“Akaza…”
Akaza raised his head, slowly. His eyes were blank and his face was void of any expression, even as an unending waterfall of tears kept running down his cheeks. How Kyojuro wanted to reach out, to hold him tightly, to hide him from the cruelty of the word if only for a few minutes. How easy it was to forget that under the human mask was a creature that deserved no pity, that had killed over and over again and would keep doing so until it was put down, no matter how tragic its life may have been.
But how could he not feel compassion experiencing this dreadful memory, when Akaza’s pain and grief was making the air around them heavy and stifling?
How awful, to be abandoned by the ones you loved. To survive when they did not, until every breath hurt with the curse of being alive, instead of a blessing.
“I hate weak people,” Akaza said in a whisper, the words like poison seeping into the darkness. His eyes were looking straight at Kyojuro’s, but they weren’t really focused. “Cowards, the whole lot of them. Fighting dirty. Greedy, pathetic, heartless weaklings - I hate them. I hate them. I hate them, I hate them..!”
The dark of his tattoos pulsed a deep red before settling down once again, one drop breaking free and running down his arm. Kyojuro was disturbingly reminded of blood.
“Akaza,” he called out once more instead of dwelling on it. He kept his tone soft and gentle. “You have to wake up.”
The pale blue eyes focused on him, then, piercing and cold, so cold. A humourless smile stretched his lips.
“I wish it was a dream,” he shared.
His hand squeezed the lifeless one of Koyuki’s. The tears kept shining on his cheeks.
Kyojuro closed his eyes.
He opened them again when the world suddenly lurched once more, jolting him out of his sitting position. Colors were swirling anew, painting another landscape until Kyojuro found himself at the entrance of a dojo. He could hear shouts from inside, people training even at this late hour - he could see the sun starting to set.
Akaza was at his side, fists tightly clenched, his whole body tensed.
He took a deep breath, and opened the wooden doors.
Silence immediately fell as he stomped on the wood, as his footsteps echoed in the space like the beat of a drum, and the occupants of the dojo all turned to look at the new arrival.
There were a lot of them, Kyojuro noted as he slipped inside after Akaza. He could make out around sixty people, half currently sparring with partners, half looking from the sidelines. They were all men, though it did not come as a surprise. They were using wooden swords, the kind Kyojuro was familiar with - he used the same type to train. He felt a wave of confusion. It was an odd setting, especially after the last memory. He also knew that Akaza fought barehanded - what had he come here for?
A young man moved to greet Akaza, a sad expression on his face. Others moved to let him pass so Kyojuro paid a bit more attention to him, sensing he was most likely someone important to this dojo.
“I heard about Keizo and Koyuki,” the man said. “I am really sorry for your loss. They were great people. Getting poisoned like that, with your own well, it’s really awful..!”
Akaza’s fists shook.
Kyojuro felt something was wrong here. In the crowd, faces varied. Some were genuinely sad. Others would not look at what was unfolding, unsure. Some had a guilty look. A few were smiling, the satisfied kind when you just did a good job and were proud of yourself.
Cowards, Akaza had said. Fighting dirty.
Poison. The well. The guilty looks. The smug shine in the young man’s eyes even as his voice dripped with a well rehearsed grief.
It was not difficult to put everything together in a sad, cruel answer.
Was this how it ended, he wondered, as he looked at the hard line of Akaza’s shoulders and the shaking of his arms as he stood in front of more than sixty people armed with wooden swords. Trying to get revenge, and being beaten to death by all these people, left to bleed out like his master and the young girl?
Kyojuro was wrong.
He was so, so wrong.
Akaza moved first, throwing a punch with his right arm. His fist pierced through the young man’s stomach, skewering him on the spot. The victim hacked blood, his eyes wide and his arms limp at his sides, confusion and surprise painted on his face.
There was a tense moment of silence as they all stood frozen, looking but unable to understand what was unfolding before their eyes.
Then, Akaza removed his arm in one harsh motion and the body collapsed on the floor, its life smothered. The thud echoed like the rumble of a thunderstorm, so loud in a silence unbroken by any breathing. There was a gaping hole in the middle of the body, blood pooling at a frightening speed under the fatal wound, spreading on the wooden floor in a shining scarlet.
Kyojuro didn’t even know this was something a human could do.
There was a cold dread running down his back, a scream stuck in his throat as he looked at the corpse. It was as if time had stopped around him - his feet were stuck to the ground, refusing to move. His lips stayed shut. His fingers never got closer to the handle of his sword. His eyes stayed wide open.
He could only watch as screams erupted all around, some born from fury, others from a deep fear, and he despised the dream with an agonizing intensity as he was kept still by an unknown force.
Akaza moved around the rest of the students, silent like death, his fists the only thing talking. Crushing bones. Smashing innards. Snapping necks. Ripping off limbs.
It was the worst killing spree Kyojuro had ever witnessed. Bile was rising in his throat, his stomach heaving at the sight of the mangled bodies, the kind of atrocities befitting to a demon - but not a human. Not a human.
Not
A
Human -
It hurt even more, he knew, because he had come to understand Akaza’s struggles. His life as a human, with its share of grief and suffering and the consequences of harsh choices. He had witnessed his hardships and they had echoed within him, had made compassion and sympathy bloom in his chest. Disappointment choked him and trampled over those positive feelings.
He had thought only the demon was a monster, and he was proven wrong.
It was over quickly.
Way too quickly for the carnage left behind, for the amount of deaths dealt with a cold and merciless hand.
Way too quickly for a mere person to end the lives of sixty.
When Akaza was done, there was only the sound of his harsh breathing and of dripping blood. The planks on the walls and ceiling were stained red, a deep ruby that shone with the last rays of the sun. Blood was pooling on the ground in a rising tide, lapping at Kyojuro’s ankles in a grotesque echo of waves gently pushed by the wind at the seaside.
It rained scarlet as Akaza collapsed to his knees, head thrown back, and howled.
Kyojuro wished he could understand, somehow. But he couldn’t. His heart ached for Akaza’s loved ones, who had been poisoned by malicious hands, but this scene of carnage? He could never condone something like this. Could never even start to imagine how one had to feel to take on such an action, to even think it was a possible choice and the right one at that.
He didn’t know when Akaza had lost himself.
The memory of a bright smile on his young face seemed so recent, yet so far away from the darkness that was now swallowing him.
The minutes stretched into what seemed to be hours and still he was stuck where he stood, forced to gaze upon blood no matter where he looked. He ended up drilling a hole in the back of Akaza’s outfit, the white of his jacket an insult to the red coating the rest of the scene.
Are you happy, now? he wanted to scream at him. Do you feel better? Do you think this will change anything, that it will bring them back?
(Why -)
(Why!)
But the words never passed his lips, each getting stuck in his throat until he choked on them.
When at long last Akaza finally stood up, the blood was staining the white of his pants in an irrefutable proof of his sins. His bare skin was more red than not, too, up to his elbows and half of his face, painting his forehead down to his eyes. He turned and walked out of the dojo in slow, shaky steps. He did not acknowledge Kyojuro’s presence, and Kyojuro did not call out to him.
Once he had left, the Flame Pillar could feel his limbs once more. He gasped for a breath and fell to his knees, clenching his fists in frustration and despair, biting back a scream. He hated to see lives stolen in front of his eyes, to be useless and unable to save anyone - this was why he became a demon slayer, to protect people. It didn’t matter that this was part of the past, part of a time where Kyojuro most likely hadn’t even been born - he had witnessed it and he had been able to do nothing. Nothing to protect the students. Nothing to stop Akaza. Nothing to save him either, from this unending grief of losing loved ones and the anger that went hand in hand with it.
He stayed there in a spiral of despair and hatred and incomprehension until fingers brushed his shoulder.
Kyojuro turned to meet with the kind face of Koyuki, with soft eyes and the smallest of smiles. She looked ephemeral, pale and bright, like a ghost he was himself dreaming up.
“Do not grieve for the person he was,” the apparition told him, “nor for past actions that can’t be undone. Please… Just end the pain and suffering.”
She turned to smoke with her last words, white tendrils fading into nothingness like fresh snow melting away.
It happened so quickly Kyojuro almost doubted his own senses. He looked at the spot where she had vanished, confused, wondering if she had really been part of the dream, too, before shaking his head and standing up.
He left the bloody dojo without a glance back.