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The acidic taste of demon flesh. A horrible taste no one quite understood. Not the tangy, irony taste of human blood. It was anything but pleasant, especially for someone of heightened taste. But you'd do what you had to survive, to stand a chance in this demon infested land, even if it tore you down in the process. Brought the likelihood of sickness, of the immune system shutting down, of dying in the process. Anything to live. Anything to be stronger. Anything to have the respect of your beloved older brother.
But even the strongest needed breaks, didn't they? No! No, he'd get by without them! How would he ever become a Hashira if he had to slow down so close to the end of a fight? So close to sunrise. So he continued running, chasing the tiny figure of the main body, his gun at the ready. But the damned thing was fast. How could something with such tiny legs move so much faster than them? How could they kill it if this thing if it could hide under a leaf and survive the rays of the sun? It was no bigger than a field mouse! The whole tree he'd thrown had even stumped the tiny demon. However, it had put him behind in his chase. He had to hurry up if he wanted to help Kamado, had to get there if he wanted to prove himself.
He skidded to a halt. The ground had stopped — a cliff. A cliff that the two Kamados had fallen down, and so had the demon! Something kept him rooted to his spot. He knew he should help. Should fight. Should try to take the last strike to that demon's neck. Wait— was that the same demon? It was much... taller now. Near rivaling Himejima-dono's stature, but not quite. It likely made itself bigger to prevent burning up so quickly when the sun started to rise.
However, there was little time to think. He had to get out of this demon form, he couldn't be in the sunlight after consuming demon flesh. It'd kill him. Suddenly, a cold dread formed in the depth of his chest. A dread that almost rooted himself to his spot. Almost.
He felt a presence, the sound of soft, almost inaudible footsteps behind him, quickly gaining on him. He quickly turned around to see what seemed to be a young girl. A sword held firmly in her callused hands. A young girl with a nichirin sword headed straight for him!
Lunging out of the way, the older, half-demon running off of pure instinct and a fear he couldn't shake off. Who was this kid? Didn't she see the uniform he was wearing? He's a demon slayer, not an actual demon! However, looks said a lot more. He looked like a demon. His fangs, his now dark scleras, his yellow tipped hair. And he couldn't fight a girl! One with long dark hair, the ends fading to cyan. A small frame packed tight with muscle, obvious from an opening in the uniform where it had been ripped open. Her— wait... THAT'S A GUY! THAT'S A BOY RIGHT THERE! Shut up, shut up, it's not the time! Your life is on the line here!
Embarrassment colored his cheeks a rosy pink. He probably looked so stupid and he knew it. But now wasn't the time. The girl— no, wait, that’s a guy! Focus, dammit, not the time! The boy in front of him was trying to kill him, thinking he was an actual demon! But the way this guy carried himself... it was terrifying, at least for an opponent. The cold, unruly eyes, empty and lifeless like the only thing this boy was meant to do was kill and be better than others. His stance was so advanced compared to his childlike size and attributes.
There was something odd too, markings on the boy's cheeks. They looked like clouds, almost. Clouds with a stinger? What? Whatever it was wasn't important, he needed to get the point across to this younger slayer that he wasn't an enemy.
But as he opened his mouth to speak, the boy advanced on him, a glint of light caught the older slayer's eyes. The fading moonlight shining off the Hashira's buttons, or at least at what was left of them. The buttons were gold. This wasn't any ordinary demon slayer, this is a Hashira!
However, the exhaustion in the boy's frame was palpable. There had been reports around the rest of the village of another Upper Moon elsewhere. Had he fought that Upper Moon? But even in his exhausted state, he had an unshakeable stance, an unshakeable determination. The half-demon was as good as dead and it settled on top of him like a corpse. He couldn't fight the Hashira. He wouldn't stand a chance. He wouldn't land a hit, and if he did, it would cause unnecessary harm to the boy.
He hardly had any time to react, instinctively blurting out words, "Whoa—HEY!" He shouted, raising his broken sword to parry the attack that had been swung straight for his neck.
The vibrations of the brutal strike travelled down the sword and into his hand. Almost numbing in its vibration. The Hashira reacted quickly to the block, aiming to strike him again in the neck. It was almost like the Hashira thought of the older slayer as weaker, seeing how he didn't even begin to try, didn't try to use any breathing forms. He was aiming for a quick fight. But truly, he didn't have the energy for a prolonged fight after Upper Five. It was obvious in the way his legs trembled slightly beneath him. His skin pale and damp, blood, watered down, streaking down his cheeks. Even Hashira had their limits, no matter how proud.
The taller slayer narrowly dodged the Hashira's next attack. His heart thumping in his chest. How was he supposed to face on a Hashira and get out of this demon form at the same time? The sun would be rising soon. This really wasn't the ideal situation.
"Hey, hey, what the hell?!" The older slayer barked out, sounding more confident than he felt. Truly, he was terrified. The Hashira was weakened and yet he still felt like he was shoved in a corner.
When the young Hashira didn't respond, a panic started to set in his gut. This kid wasn't gonna let down. He was going to keep pushing him until sunrise and he wouldn't dare draw his gun. He wouldn't shoot a Hashira. He couldn't shoot a Hashira!
So when the dark haired Hashira struck for him again he jumped back, hoping to find himself in the safety of the woods once again. He'd be getting closer to that clone but if it meant avoiding dying in the sunlight, it just might be worth it.
A shout was heard from beyond the cliff. Where the Kamados were still fighting the Upper Four. The young Hashira seemed to stop momentarily in his chase of the older slayer he thought to be a demon. A moment of uncertainty passing through those usually blank cyan depths.
Suddenly, he took off, leaving the older slayer suddenly, much to his surprise. The slayer stood frozen for a moment. He thought he was going to be killed. He really did. But the boy just... ran off.
Not wasting any time, the older slayer shoved his index and middle fingers down his throat, triggering his gag reflex. Doubling over, a viscous mix of sickly dark flesh and dark, congealed blood spilling from his mouth, streaked with sour yellow bile and half-digested remnants of whatever he’d eaten before.
And he did it again, shoving his fingers right back down his throat until he gagged again. A wet, chunky mess of dark flesh and yellow bile splattered the ground. And he did it until he couldn't spit up another drop. Until the stench of acid and demon blood was thick in the air. Until the yellow tips of his hair and the dark scleras of his eyes were gone. Until he was back to looking normal. Until he was back to being completely human.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood back upright. His throat burned raw with every heave, the taste of acid clinging to the back of his mouth. The world swam, his stomach cramping as his fangs dulled, his vision clearing, the yellow bleeding out of his hair like watercolors on paper. He grabbed a longer lock of his hair. It had indeed lost the yellow in it previously. Looking up, he could see the sun peering over the mountains in the distance. It was sunrise and he'd gotten out of his demon form and not gotten killed in the process. In was a win in a way. He’d survived a battle with an Upper Moon — and a Hashira, if you could call it a battle. Speaking of the Hashira, where'd he gone?
Turning his head, the tall slayer scanned over the nearby area, searching for the Hashira who'd fought him on the well over the line of exhaustion. And there he lay, beside two fighting swordsmiths. Well, one fighting and the other trying to stop him. Unconscious the Hashira was, out cold by the looks of it.
It was truly amazing how someone so young, so delicate-looking had so much power lying inside him. He could only wish he saw the way the young Hashira handled Upper Moon Five. The way Kanroji-san had handled the hatred clone seemed almost effortless. She'd taken complete control of the situation and was fighting this demon for a good portion of the night. How did this young slayer fare? Obviously well if he made it out with only a few wounds on his face and only exhaustion to accompany him.
To be as strong as a Hashira. If only... no! That attitude would never get him there! He'd learn. He'd fight. He'd get stronger until he was the newest Hashira to the ranks, Shinazugawa Genya!