Intermission

April 2, 1916

Verdun, France

Nezuko,

This "Great War" I am in, is not great at all. It's a fucking nightmare. Fame? Fear? You have no idea what it's like to be both the angel and the demon on the battlefield. It's like a sick tightrope act. Then when the fucking thing's over they expect you to move the hell on, and forget. I can't forget my friend dying right in front of me. ZENITSU'S GONE! HE'S FUCKING GONE!

If a lot of shit wouldn't have happened, I never would have picked up a sword. I never would have chosen the path of a slayer. I never would have had my hands stained with blood, or my innocence ripped away tenfold. Why did this have to happen? Did I do something to deserve this shit?! The constant shelling, nobody can get sleep, because we're on the verge of breakdown waiting for the Hun to strike. The rats are no better. When there's no food left, most of us eat the rats. They died of rabies 2 days later. The blackened trees and charred wood and grass and shell craters and barbed wire, are the only things that we see for miles.

Somehow; I, and most of the other French people here survived the mustard gas. I don't know how. One moment it was gnawing out of lungs, and the next, we're ok.

The days are no better than the nights, Nezuko. A dark cloud is always around me, and everywhere I go, I feel like I am suffocating under it. The only way I can escape it is to look at the sunshine, past the bodies and flies. The heat makes me drowsy and numbs me temporarily, until I can pull myself together again.

I HATE WHAT I'VE BECOME! THE RUTHLESSNESS I EXHIBIT, THE COLD BLOOD THAT RUNS THROUGH MY VEINS

The rest is illegible.