Chapter Text
Kyojuro didn’t know why he was still alive.
At long last, Death had faced him. Death had manifested, offered its hand, and reached for Kyojuro, only to withdraw and disappear into the breaking morning.
A slight breeze drifted through the open door, and as Kyojuro sighed, the cool night air was flavoured with wisteria. His limbs continued to burn as his body knit itself back together, and the stinging across his face was easy to ignore but persistent enough to chase away his hopes of sleep.
Kyojuro didn’t wish for death, although his habit of jumping into danger without thought might convince people of the contrary. He was just confused. While he couldn’t understand why Death turned from him, why he walked away broken and bloody but alive, he also couldn’t understand why Death turned from him.
There was a rustle and the creak of feet on the engawa. If he kept his eye closed, Kyojuro could almost pretend it was just Senjuro checking up on him, worried by his slow recovery.
But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been the last time either. Or the time before.
Kyojuro didn’t open his eye until he heard water sloshing beside his head. The demon was wringing water from the rag Senjuro had left behind, kneeling on the floor, too close for comfort.
It smiled when it noticed him staring.
“I was wondering how long you’d keep up the charade, Kyojuro.”
Perhaps it was appropriate that Upper Moon Three addressed him by his first name, despite how the sound of it made his toes curl. Death held no regard for formalities. Why should it be anything less than intimate?
Then again, if this demon would have him dead, why was it so determined to keep him alive? Blue fingers reached to pull back the saturated bandages over his eye and wipe the wound clean with a dexterity of experience his brother lacked.
“I have begun to wonder the same thing,” Kyojuro replied, lying motionless as the demon lifted his head to remove the blood-sodden fabric.
Upper Moon Three chuckled as it reached for the roll of fresh gauze. “This is hardly a charade, Kyojuro. You are meant for better things than this.” Its touch wasn’t merely skilled but tender in the way Kocho’s hadn’t been. When it secured a bandage, Kyojuro never needed to tug it a little looser.
It hesitated after finishing, hand trailing down and ghosting over the outline of Kyojuro’s ribcage, so feather-light that the fractures were bothered only by his own breathing. “A sickbed isn’t where you belong. For a demon, a broken rib wouldn’t keep them down for a second, let alone weeks.”
“So you’ve said.” Kyojuro didn’t bother to keep the exasperation from his voice, but Upper Moon Three didn’t acknowledge it.
“You don’t have to be here; you shouldn’t be here. If only you’d say—”
“No,” Kyojuro interrupted. “There is no point in asking. I will never say yes.”
Kyojuro would sooner embrace Death like the old friend it was before stooping to such a level.
The demon was unfazed, that serene smile still plastered across its face. It pulled away and, after a moment, finally rose to its feet. Kyojuro watched as it returned to the open door and then stopped, turning back to meet his gaze.
“Don’t die, Kyojuro.”
What right did it have to say that to him? Kyojuro might have laughed, but something about the way it said those words sucked any malice from his thoughts.
It wasn’t an order, but it wasn’t a request either.
“If I live, Demon, it will not be for you.”
Upper Moon Three nodded and left.
Death visited Kyojuro for the first time as a child, motionless by his mother’s bedside as the final breath left her lips and his father crumbled to ash beside him.
It draped a sheet over her still form and patted him on the shoulder.
And then it never left.
He was hardly unique in this respect. That was just a fact of life for anyone who associated themselves with the Demon Slayer Corps.
You can see it in the way their eyes steel when they retreat too far into their thoughts; the lines of grief painting their faces from a parade of funerals; the way their fingers flex for a sword when there’s no danger for miles.
They are all haunted by the spectre of death and always will be.
That was why Kyojuro smiled. If someone is smiling, then surely there must be hope. Even as he waded through the blood of civilians he couldn’t protect, trampled upon the corpses of the comrades who couldn’t follow him on his climb to the rank of Pillar, he would force a smile.
In the hope that, if he shines bright enough, someone may see and be able to sleep at night.
And yet, he didn’t smile as he fought Upper Moon Three for the umpteenth time.
There was no need to, no one to benefit from it. Besides, the demon smiled enough for them both.
It would shout praise with each clash; for his strength, his technique, his breathing. Its face split in two when Kyojuro took a risky move, blade whisking past its neck. Once, he landed that hit and it giggled.
And yet, the demon went easy on him. Kyojuro could see how it left itself open, how it never aimed for his vitals and purposefully missed the swings carrying too much force. He knew the demon was holding back, if only because he walked from their battles largely unscathed.
After all this, it still wouldn’t kill him.
“You’re tired, Kyojuro,” it called out as Kyojuro put distance between them to readjust his grip on his sword.
His breaths came heavy, and he could feel the uncomfortable slick of sweat down his back. “Of course I am. You’re a formidable opponent.”
The demon preened under the comment, although Kyojuro hardly meant it to be a compliment. “As are you. If you had my stamina, you might even surpass me.” It held out its hand. “Join me, Kyojuro. Become a demon.”
Kyojuro sighed and sheathed his sword.
They were finished.
“I will not!”
He wiped his brow with his sleeve and pushed back his hair. Loose strands fell back into his face but didn’t glue to his forehead, instead fluttering in the breeze. Kyojuro closed his eye and appreciated the cool air on his skin, controlling his breathing until it returned to normal.
When he opened it, Upper Moon Three was standing only a foot from him. It did that a lot, and Kyojuro didn’t even jump now, but he scowled.
The demon cocked its head. “Why do you frown so much, Kyojuro?”
“Why is that any of your concern, Demon?”
“You smile for everyone else.” It wasn’t surprising to learn Upper Moon Three watched him. It reached out and ran a thumb along his jaw. “I like your smile. It’s… bright.”
Kyojuro swatted its hand away. “You give me no reason to.”
The demon pouted. “You don’t enjoy our fights?”
“No.”
“What? Why?”
Kyojuro rolled his eye. He turned to try and find the path he had been following before the demon showed up. He was only on patrol, but he was still neglecting his work. Occupying an upper moon should count as work; if it was here, it wasn’t out killing innocents. But it felt less like a viable excuse with each passing encounter.
“Why should I? This isn’t sport for me; it’s exhausting. And I don’t usually jump at the chance to spend time with murderers.”
“But you’re so good at fighting. And you’re even getting better! You’ve improved so much in only these weeks. Imagine your progress over an eternity.” Upper Moon Three followed him as he attempted to leave. “And fights to the death are one thing, but I have to eat.”
“Demons can’t starve to death.” Kyojuro didn’t look at the demon, but his gaze hardened. He’d faced final selection, come against the hoard of demons without prey, and they were alive, if frenzied. And Nezuko had never once drawn human blood. “If you chose to, you could stop eating.”
“Hmm, I guess. But it isn’t pleasant.”
Kyojuro didn’t bother responding. Whether something is pleasant or not is irrelevant where morality is concerned. He didn’t look back, but the second pair of footsteps continued to pad along behind him.
“If I stopped eating, would that make you happy?”
Kyojuro jerked to a halt.
“What?”
“If I stopped.” Upper Moon Three raised its eyebrows. “Would you smile then?”
Kyojuro furrowed his brow. He couldn’t understand what the demon wanted from him. And why did it want whatever it was so badly? But he couldn’t say no, could he? Even if the demon was lying through its teeth. If there was a chance it could reduce the number of victims…
“I don’t know. That isn’t a reason to smile. It’s the absence of a reason to frown.”
“True,” the demon agreed, crossing its arms and looking skyward. “But it would be a start, right?”
Kyojuro sighed. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
“Hmm, but I don’t really get anything out of it. Except for being hungry, which is pretty miserable.”
Kyojuro panicked for a moment, wondering what the demon would have him do in exchange. He didn’t think he’d be able to decline anything with human lives on the line, at least within reason. But then the demon shrugged.
“Well, as long as we can continue fighting, I don’t mind. It’s for you, after all. Oh, but it would be nice if you stopped calling me ‘Demon’ all the time. I have a name.”
Kyojuro blinked, mouth agape. As he stared, the clouds painting over the sky parted, and the moon highlighted their clearing. It shone in the demon’s eyes, obscuring the kanji slashed across them.
For a moment, Kyojuro couldn’t believe such innocent anticipation could belong to a monster.
And that it could be directed at him.
“But… why?”
“Because it’s my name. And being called ‘Demon’ feels dehumanising — or, well, you know what I mean.”
“That’s not what I—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Very well, De— I mean, Akaza. If that is all you would ask of me.”
The demon, Akaza, chuckled. Its expression — his expression, Kyojuro supposed — pulled up into a smirk. “Don’t tempt me, Kyojuro.”
“I shall not!”
“A shame.” Akaza looked out over the horizon, looking past the trees to something Kyojuro couldn’t see. “I should go.” He stretched his arms over his head before letting them swing down.
And then, as it always did, Akaza’s face dropped into something uncharacteristic. Something blank. Something desperate.
“Don’t die, Kyojuro.”
“I have no intention of doing so.”
Akaza nodded and finally left Kyojuro to his work.
Perhaps Kyojuro had been wrong.
Death would not take him as Akaza. The thing that killed him would not smile at him, would not praise him. It certainly wouldn’t beg for his continued survival. Death may have been without malice, but apparently, fate was cruel.
He would have preferred falling to something as formidable as Upper Moon Three. Better that than some random demon cowering in the forest and lashing out in a panic.
Kyojuro ducked as it swiped, large claws, an acrid green, safely passing over his head. He dodged to the side as its other hand followed from underneath. He pivoted and pushed off to swing his blade.
And his foot baulked under the force.
He crumpled to the floor and rolled away, rebalancing himself on his knee.
Kyojuro had stepped on something earlier, piercing through his sandal. It hadn’t hurt much, but he hadn’t realised he was already in the demon’s territory then.
He flexed his fingers, and his left hand barely responded. The demon had grazed his shoulder at the start of the fight, and he was rapidly losing feeling in it.
The demon lunged again and missed by a margin, but it was getting closer. Kyojuro could feel his limbs grow sluggish, and he was worried his brain would start to slow too. He needed to finish this fight quickly, but this thing was so slippery it was proving easier said than done.
He was the Flame Pillar. If he fell to something like this, it would haunt his spirit into the next life.
He dodged again, and the demon tripped on a rogue corpse. The singed holes in the young woman’s black uniform were rimmed green.
Kyojuro pushed off with his uninjured leg. His sword arced up and, with a scream, one of the demon’s arms fell to the ground. He let his momentum carry him until he faced its back. He adapted the easiest stance he knew, readjusting his grip and…
Was suddenly faced with a very familiar fist.
The demon gargled but couldn’t talk for the arm punched clean through its skull, jaw dangling by a sliver of skin as blood rained to the ground.
Kyojuro scowled and brought his sword up anyway, slicing through both the arm and the demon’s neck in one motion before falling to his knees. “I didn’t need your help.”
“I know,” Akaza agreed, kicking the demon’s body to the side as it decomposed. His arm regrew in an instant, and he stretched as if testing it. “But I was growing bored. And a coward such as this doesn’t deserve to waste so much of your time.”
Kyojuro wasn’t sure how to respond, to the demon’s words nor the sneer that pulled at his lips. Not that it mattered. The gash across his upper arm was almost entirely numb, and the sensation was spreading up his neck, his tongue increasingly heavy in his mouth.
It hadn’t felt quite so perilous in the middle of the fight, but Kyojuro hadn’t realised the effects of the demon’s art would linger past its death. He’d been infected by demon blood arts in the past, but he usually recovered by this point.
He breathed deeply, trying to flush the toxin from his system. But would he do it before he lost the function of his lungs? His heart?
“I thought I told you not to die, Kyojuro?”
Kyojuro jolted. He’d almost forgotten Akaza was there.
He was crouched down, face level with Kyojuro’s, one hand reaching out to touch his injured shoulder. Kyojuro looked down and saw Akaza running his thumb over the length of the gash. It should have shot with pain, but he felt nothing, not even the sensation of flesh passing over flesh.
Akaza’s thumb came away stained in blood, but Kyojuro knew it wasn’t all his.
In a panic, he scrambled away, as far as he could when half of his body wasn’t responding. He tried to shout. Only garbled sounds escaped his numb mouth, but the betrayal of their fragile trust rang clear.
Akaza frowned. “Do you really think that little of me?” He sighed and pushed back to his feet. “I wouldn’t turn you without your consent, I’ve told you.”
Kyojuro just glared. And then he winced as the familiar sting of severed nerves slowly returned to his shoulder.
“You’d need a lot more blood than that, I promise.” Akaza’s promises didn’t hold much water, but Kyojuro couldn’t help the part of him that believed it. By that point, he’d spent countless nights in Akaza’s company, and it was clear lying wasn’t in his nature.
He didn’t back off further as Akaza approached again, hands held out placatingly. “Just enough to neutralise the poison. That’s all.”
Sure enough, not just pain but feeling and movement quickly returned to Kyojuro’s shoulder. And it wasn’t just his arm; his toes began to tingle too, his ankle throbbing.
“You could have warned me.”
“Sorry.” Akaza grinned and sat down beside Kyojuro, crossing his legs. “But you would have said no.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have done it?”
“And risk your life? Never.”
Akaza spoke as if Kyojuro’s life meant more than it should. As if he mattered more than the people lying dead around them in various states of decay.
Akaza then leant back, reaching for the robe of the nearest body and ripped a strip from the hem.
“You shouldn’t disrespect the dead like that,” Kyojuro said, watching as Akaza stretched the fabric.
“They’re not using it.” Akaza then tugged at Kyojuro’s sleeve. “Besides, I doubt their spirit would mind it if it’s to patch the one who avenged them.”
Kyojuro sighed but obediently shrugged off the outer layer of his uniform so Akaza could bandage his wound. There was only so much his breathing could do, after all. The demon was so skilled at this and, not for the first time, Kyojuro wondered why. Why were hands designed to take life so efficient at restoring it, and so caring as they went?
“There.” Akaza patted the makeshift bandage, admiring his handiwork. “How does that feel?”
Kyojuro rotated his shoulder in the socket. The gash twinged and tugged with the movement, but the pain was dulled and the bandage didn’t move. “Comfortable.”
He looked around the clearing, barren and decayed, grass brown and brittle at the centre and the bark of the trees weeping with a luminous substance. He counted four bodies and countless more bones. Two of them were corps members.
Life in this place would take a lot of time to heal.
Kyojuro rose to his feet and started to gather the bodies, lying them side by side in the centre of the clearing.
“What are you doing?” Akaza asked. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, watching as Kyojuro set the third, a middle-aged man, beside the first two.
“Letting them rest in dignity until the Kakushi arrive.”
“What?”
Kyojuro rolled his eye and walked past Akaza to the final victim. It was a slayer, a girl who was much, much too young for this kind of fate. “Members of the corps. They won’t arrive for a few hours at least, and I believe it’s wrong to leave these people in this position until such a time.” They wouldn’t come until he sent his crow, but Kaname refused to approach when Akaza was around. Kyojuro couldn’t blame him.
Once finished, Kyojuro knelt beside them, taking care with his ankle, and lowered his head.
He heard a shift behind him, and soon Akaza’s footsteps stopped at his side.
“Why do you mourn people you don’t know?”
“I don’t. Not really.”
Akaza tensed beside him, surprised. “Not something I expected to hear from you, of all people.”
Kyojuro opened his eye and looked up at Akaza. Confusion and amusement were written across his face, and, in the presence of the dead, it seemed uncouth. Kyojuro frowned.
“I don’t expect a demon to understand.”
He turned back and lowered his head again, but this silence was short-lived too.
Akaza dropped to the ground. “Try me.”
Kyojuro sighed. He wouldn’t be getting his silence until Akaza was satisfied.
“I don’t mourn the departed. There’s no point. Life is beautiful, but it must end, and I like to believe that end is peaceful. So, I don’t mourn for those that are lost; I mourn for those that have lost.”
Akaza nodded and, after a beat, asked, “And the people who have no one left?”
Kyojuro looked skyward, at the night patterned with the silhouettes of fluttering leaves. “The passing of a human life is always a loss. The world mourns each of us in its own way. It remembers the hole we leave behind.”
Kyojuro waited for Akaza to say anything further. When he didn’t, Kyojuro returned to paying his respects, conscious of the quiet figure beside him. When he eventually lifted his head, Akaza hadn’t moved, staring across the clearing and into the trees.
He didn’t feel like waiting for Akaza to think through whatever he was stuck on and stood up, unsteady on his injured foot. He took a step and hissed in pain.
“Careful.” In an instant, Akaza was at his elbow, holding him steady.
“I’m fine,” Kyojuro insisted, pushing the demon away. “I’ve walked off worse than this.”
Akaza didn’t respond but hovered at Kyojuro’s side as he left the clearing, finding his way out of the trees and back to the path. In the clear sky overhead, Kyojuro could see Kaname circling, darting away once he noticed Kyojuro wasn’t alone.
“Kyojuro?”
“Hmm?” Kyojuro turned.
Akaza held his gaze for a moment as if choosing his words.
“Join me, please, become a demon.”
Kyojuro narrowed his eye. It was not like Akaza to beg. “I will not.”
Akaza didn’t look surprised, but for once, he did look sad. He usually shrugged off Kyojuro’s rejections with a jab about him wasting an opportunity or a patient smile.
The downturn of his lips now betrayed something more than mere disappointment.
“The hole you would leave behind in my world would be cavernous. If you join me, it might be filled forever.”
Kyojuro’s mouth hung open slightly. But then he shook his head.
“For you, maybe. To me, becoming a demon would be as good as dying, if not worse. The corps, my friends, my family will still have lost me. They will still mourn. I would never do that to them.”
Akaza blinked at him.
The moment dragged on as Kyojuro waited for Akaza to act, and with each second, it seemed more and more likely he wouldn’t.
Then he sighed. “Don’t die, Kyojuro.”
Kyojuro felt a need to be reassuring. Something about the way Akaza looked at him reminded Kyojuro of his brother when he left home. Wishing for his good health, anticipating his return, and hoping they will see each other again. He is never able to say he will. To promise such a thing would be impossible. There’s no guarantee he’ll live long enough, as much as he might want to.
With Senjuro, he nods. He smiles. Where there’s a smile, there’s hope, and he deflects the well wishes back at him.
But there’s no need to cushion it with Akaza.
“I’ll try.”
Akaza nodded.
And then he left.
He never asked Kyojuro to become a demon again.