Demon Slayer

Word spread swiftly: demon armies were vanishing overnight under mysterious circumstances. The one responsible was said to wear a strange red clothing over a beige-colored robe and wield an oddly shaped sword. This figure, known only in whispers, was said to have eradicated demons that threatened nearby villages. Yet, the identity of this warrior was impossible to confirm—he disappeared faster than anyone could recognize his face.

The few witnesses were always soldiers, left bloodied and broken on the battlefield after a demon attack. Their tales of salvation were dismissed as hallucinations. After all, demons turned to black dust when slain, leaving no trace behind.

In a northern village constantly threatened by the Demon King's forces, fear had become a constant companion. The Hero Party couldn't defend every village, and the knights often arrived too late. Yet, the village remained standing, unscathed.

"Miracle! It's a miracle! He's back!" cried an old shopkeeper, a wide grin plastered on his face. He woke that morning expecting to find his village in flames, but instead, it was whole. He had refused to leave despite the danger, certain that their mysterious protector would return.

The younger man beside him sighed, his arms crossed. "How long can we rely on this 'miracle'? We can't count on this forever, old man."

"As long as the 'Slayer' is out there, we're safe, Son. This village is in a danger zone—we should have been dead by now. But look at us, still breathing!"

"It's dangerous to trust a stranger we've never even seen."

"And what else are we supposed to do, Boy? Flee and leave everything behind? Wait for the knights who'll never arrive in time? The 'Slayer' is no stranger—he's been protecting us for years."

The younger man shook his head, baffled by his father's confidence. Staying alive was all that mattered to him, but the old man couldn't bear to abandon the place where he had lived his whole life.

"I don't understand why you insist on staying. If the Demon King's army attacks, we're finished."

The old man chuckled, his gaze distant, lost in memory. "When I was a child, this village was raided by demons. I hid under the remains of our home. I remember hearing my mother crying, screaming for help when everything went to hell."

He paused, his expression softening. "Then, he came."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "A hero?"

"No… He wasn't a hero. He was the Fire God."

The older man's eyes lit up with reverence. He described a figure dressed in strange robes, with hair like dark flames. No demon could match his strength. None survived his wrath.

"Is that what the 'ghost' has been called? The Fire God? Isn't that just a legend?"

The old man smiled. "He saved us. He saved this village. That's why we named this place 'Feuer Village.' And ever since, we've prayed to the Fire God for protection."

The younger man remained skeptical, but the villagers believed. They built an altar in the center of the village and prayed monthly, trusting that the Fire God—or whoever the Slayer was—would keep them safe.

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He wakes up to see the world in flames. This person is supposed to be gone yet the colors unravel before him.

Yoriichi Tsugikuni awoke to a world of flames. For a brief moment, the colors of the fire and the screams of the dying made him think he had returned to the battle against the demons of Muzan Kibutsuji.

"That's not the correct description."

This person should be dead for he passed away when dealing the last strike to the creature that was once his brother.

Brother.

A tingle of sadness is present within this heart.

I still remember.

"No, I lost that privilege a long time ago."

The Old Demon Slayer left this world, having many regrets and not making any amends. He lived a lonely existence after his wife with a child was brutally killed and then eaten by a demon. There was no one left to live for.

His hands, once aged and scarred, were now youthful, unmarked. His body, which had been riddled with the years of countless battles, was whole once more. He touched the haori he wore—the one his late mother had made for him—and felt its familiar weight.

His posture is unmoving while countless thoughts run down his head. That shouldn't be possible unless there is a greater intervention at hand.

"The Gods, I have truly angered them, haven't I? For failing such a simple task when granted this incredible strength at birth. It was foolish of me to think I won't be condemned to such fate."

Yoriichi gazes solemnly at the empty field and sees the results of the battle wrought here. There are missing limbs and faces of the armored people lying around who could have been once soldiers of some unfamiliar nation. None of them are breathing or show any signs of living. The stench of rotting flesh and the metallic smell of blood is ever-present across the place.

How cruel.

As he walked the Swordman noticed that none of the bodies were fully intact. Each of these people had their limbs torn off forcefully. It was like they were killed and then consumed by wild beasts.

It is not a sight dissimilar to when groups of samurai attempted to fight head-on a demon. Yoriichi had seen far too much of such inhuman carnage in his life.

Yoriichi's heart ached with a familiar pain as he took in the scene. He had witnessed this many times before—innocent lives torn apart by demons. Kneeling, he silently prayed for the fallen.

Let their souls rest in peace after death and reunite with their loved ones.

The suffocating smell of smoke fills his nose after that, one of burning wood in the distance. Yoriichi starts closing towards the smoke and sees a village in flames. Humanoid creatures are everywhere and killing innocent lives.

"Demons." The village was being ravaged by humanoid demons, their twisted forms slaughtering indiscriminately. Yoriichi's expression remained calm, but his heart clenched with sorrow. So much pain brought by these demonic creatures.

How many needless death is caused by these hellish monsters?

They look a little different than what Yoriichi remembered since the last time he was young.

He unsheathed the sword faster than his mind could follow. This is an old habit caused by years of battle.

"It's still here." Yoriichi is surprised that the weapon accompanying him is attached and ready for deployment. The black Nichirin Sword waits patiently to be used. The same blade he had used to slay countless demons. It was not supposed to be here with him. Yet, somehow, it was.

The village is rundown by demons. He wasted enough time as it is.

He fully unsheathed his sword—the obsidian Nichirin blade, sharp as ever. It felt strange in his hand. He had died once already, hadn't he? Why was he here, fighting again?

A man once wished for a peaceful life where he could spend time with his family and have a great time together. He left his duty of eradicating demons and married an honest and warm woman named Uta.

One day he would come home and find his wife and child killed on the floor. The feeling of hopelessness weighed over this body.

He began searching the whole land for the one who stood behind all this yet Kibutsuji disappeared and was never found again.

In the end, he didn't make it.

I failed.

He had failed to kill Muzan. Failed to protect his wife. Failed to save his unborn child.

I deserve to be here.

"I'm dead so this should be my hell."

That's why…

"I have to take on that mantle again."

He could hear the screams of villagers, and Yoriichi wasted no time. The demons swarmed, but they were no match for him. His sword cut through them like paper, each strike swift and precise. Demon heads soared into the air, their bodies dissolving into ash before they hit the ground.

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Versto was a powerful demon who managed to secure his position by gathering a large group of demons under his banner. Naturally, having so many of their species was dangerous to Versto because he could be stabbed in the back at any notice and then replaced as soon as other demons showed a stronger premise to lead.

Demons were not herd beings however when one of immense power showed up then acquiring obedience was possible. As long as your mana exceeded the others there was nothing to worry about. Mana is status and power. It wouldn't be a sketch to say possessing high amounts of mana meant control. No one dared challenge him—his mana was too great, his power unmatched.

Securing his position was hard at first although the longer Versto lived in this role the longer he realized how easy and pleasant it is to have lesser demons under his feet.

Versto decided to attack humans both to weaken mankind's morale and to get food of course. Humans were something he enjoyed eating, especially the most begging ones so it should be a delightful way to end the day. That night, he decided to lead an assault on a human village. The humans would scream and beg for mercy, and Versto would enjoy every second of it. His subordinates obeyed his every word, eager to feast on human flesh.

"Lord Versto, it appears the humans are still hiding under rubble. Should we go through that and find them?" A demon subordinate asks, eager to get his hands on human meat.

"There is no need to dirt our hands, is there? Let's pretend to leave and wait them out. It would be a few minutes before they come out to see if it's safe."

"Understood."

The demon whose Versto cared not to remember the name of nodded and left to share the plan with the rest. Versto licked his fangs of sipping blood and brushed his long hair, pleased at everything going smoothly. Soon they would leave this village for the next one after being done. Versto silently hoped to meet more resistance from the human armies. It's easy to increase his magic and mana while killing prey. If you kill enough strong humans then you will get stronger.

The easy way to destroy a human village is to burn it to the ground until nothing is left. It greatly saves the use of unnecessary resources and doesn't use up too much time. If a strong warrior is present then just trick him or kill him under worse circumstances.

"H-help...p-please..." Versto sees a young human boy crawling out of the cracked walls. The flames caused horrible burns on the youthly face. The demon walks closer until the distance is covered.

"Do you want my help?" He asks in a casual way, remembering how some good-natured humans have spoken, but not enough to imitate them that well. His actions do not properly reflect the concern. The boy nods hesitantly, "Take my hand then, no need be shy."

"Thank yo-ARGH! AAAHHHH!" The boy's arm is twisted and then removed forcefully. He screams in agony, bleeding out before surrendering to his death.

Versto stares blankly at the scene.

"Huh?" Just as he is about to enjoy his prey Versto furrows his brows at the shadow approaching at the edge of his vision. There shouldn't be any soul freely walking around.

Then, he saw it—a lone figure approaching through the smoke.

"Human? Why is that human not dead?"

The fact that Versto or any demon could recognize the intruder, at first sight, is invisibility, no matter how contradictory that sounds. Because there is no mana present in that human at all.

If you are not careful, you won't be able to perceive it, even the smell seems useless.

How a human does not possess even a shred of mana is beyond what Versto can provide the answer to. The presence is empty, there shouldn't be a person standing in front of Versto for there is no chance this possibility exists, yet the reality is different.

The demon drops the meal and straightens akin to a dignified noble. He waits for the human to speak their mind before killing them immediately.

"Tell me, Demon, are you the leader?"

Suddenly, the human in unusual clothing opens his mouth and speaks gravely upon seeing Versto eating the arm.

"And what if I am?" He sneered.

The pressure that arises is nothing like ever before, making Versto have difficulty standing.

The body freezes and can't move.

"Why kill needlessly? What's the point of this carnage?"

Why is it so heavy?

For a moment Versto takes a hesitant step back, sensing something greater than himself before it is overtaken by the hate of having his pride damaged.

Wait, why am I intimidated by a human?

"What ridiculous question is that? Why else would we kill humans if not for eating them and getting stronger? This type of rumbling is the reason you are decided as our prey. For trespassing and making foolery of myself, you will be our next target." Versto growls at the idiotic human, he is about to use magic and kill him.

That's when Versto notices the number of surrounding demons is reduced than what should be, the empty path is exactly from the direction where the swordsman had arrived prior.

There was no sound of a struggle, the demons that were supposed to alert him of incomers were gone and Versto cursed, for how was that possible?

"I see," The human replies calmly yet it is akin to having a guillotine about to fall. There is no previous weight in these words, merely a defeated exhaustion before it hardened. He looks at Versto with dull eyes, "Then it is appropriate for me to respond accordingly."

There is a flash of red-

Versto's head spun, the image of the Swordsman tilting sideways.

Versto's world is spinning continuously until he is buried in the ground. Shock and anxiety plugged his mind as the action was too fast to follow. What just transpired?

Something loudly impacts the ground and Versto sees his body twitching in the corner of his eyes.

My head was cut off, He thinks absentmindedly, lamenting this absurd fact. The movement of this human was something his eyes couldn't perceive. No matter how many times the vision repeats itself in the demon's head, all Versto can glimpse is the sword clicking out of the sheath.

His world darkens, it's strangely warm.

...

"Lord Versto…" One of the demons says emotionlessly, seemingly uncaring even.

Versto's body dissolved into particles of dust as the remaining demons became aware their leader was dead, killed by the lone human standing in the middle of chaos.

The ascension of new leadership can wait, now it's the focus on getting rid of the weird-clad man.

However, if their leader had fallen that easily then what does it say about them?

The ominously glowing red sword blurs and other demons who were still caught in a daze had their head decapitated instantly.

'Slay'

The words are engraved onto the blade in an unknown language, and it does just that. None demons were spared the wrath of this individual. He cut them down mercilessly, slashing his sword rapidly. Most had their heads soaring through the air while the rest who managed to keep up were cleanly sliced into pieces.

The roles were so quickly reversed it wasn't even funny.

It could be called demon slaughter.

"Why are you not regenerating?" The monster of a man who started this massacre questions with a terrifying expression, looming over a demon whose all limbs and head were cut off in a single motion. He then stared down the remaining man-eaters trying to escape, "Why flee when you, Demons, were the ones who wished to kill viciously?

Some demons felt a chill running down their spines while others were even more enraged. Demons weren't meant to feel fear of their enemy, especially one that is human, so why is the one before them making these pathetic sensations real?

In the face of overwhelming power, every being experiences fear.

The blue-haired demon gritted her teeth and started to cast her magic, making deadly ice spikes burst from the ground while the other sent sharp rock-shaped projectiles in the human's direction.

Suddenly, the sword held by the man seemingly catches on fire which illuminates the night. He is faster than ever, piercing through the ice spikes effortlessly and deflecting the sharp rocks with scary precision. The blue-haired demon's balance is unsteady and failing from the agitation it is feeling, she conjures an ice wall that is meant to be harder than steel only for it to be slashed to pieces a second later.

The demons with weapons that served as the guard intercepted the advance and suffered from having their blades melted followed by near-instant horizontal beheading, forming a ring of fire. The human's expression remained unchanged throughout the whole ordeal while the demons found it harder to keep a strong appeal.

"Bastard!" The human didn't even have a scratch on him.

'How can we be killed so easily, by a human no less?' These were the last thoughts of the blue-haired demon before her body disappeared into ash.

...

Yoriichi took care of the last demons who fired their attacks at him. Some had their weapons strengthened by their Blood Arts while others used range-oriented combat.

One demon started apologizing and begging to be spared yet the lack of serenity in his eyes told another story.

It didn't matter what strategy would be undertaken, in the end, Yoriichi ended their lives regardless if some appeared stronger.

"..." His eyes surveyed the destroyed buildings, there wasn't a sense of victory.

After the work was completed, Yoriichi finally collapsed on the ground, not from exhaustion but from witnessing the burning village first-hand. He let the blade rest and the moon cast its light on his form.

A sense of nostalgia flared inside him; of good moments and worse, when everything seemed uncorrupted. His hands slowly touched the earrings present. So even the gift for the friend was insignificant? That hadn't come true either.

He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of his past bearing down on him.

Yoriichi wished for a company in this lonely existence.

Brother, I hoped you would be by my side.

"This is my hell," he whispered to himself.

In this hell, Yoriichi is stranded alone.

His task wasn't over. Not yet.