^ Chapter 48 - Brothers of Sun and Moon ^

"Children will be born into this world in the future, whether soon or far, and they will surpass us to go on to new heights. One towards the summit of life."

The final sentence of Kokushibō's younger brother's statement all those years ago passed through his head yet again as it lay there at his body's feet, staring up right into the face of that very little brother.

Somehow, some way, either through black magic or the divine, Kokushibō's younger brother, Yoriichi Tsugikuni, was standing there before him in the flesh. His long, messy black hair with red tips looked as young as it ever did, along with his face and eyes, which stared down onto his brother without a single hint of emotion.

That is of course before small tears formed in the corner of his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, almost exactly like how they had met hundreds of years ago, with Yoriichi in his older years near the extent of his life. As the brothers stared at one another in silence, Yoriichi's tears dripping from his jaw and hitting the tiled floor by his feet softly, Kokushibō once again was consumed by jealousy and rage.

"If what you said was true, about the future...how is it that you're still here right now…?!" Kokushibō thought angrily, the veins in his face around his six eyes bulging. "Our generation alone was extraordinary, and I was proud of the fact. For someone like me, with such pride, to talk about the future generations surpassing the old...what was so damn amusing about it?"

Kokushibō just couldn't understand how the opponents he was fighting against before his brother's magical appearance could hardly count as their successors. They don't let go of their blades even when in pieces. They used Blood Demon Arts even as humans, and they don't bleed out, even after getting cut down time and time again.

They grow and surpass their limits at a pace that could challenge a demon's, and they do not practice Sun Breathing. How could Yoriichi imagine such a future? How could he even consider these humans as their successors, when in the course of their duel, it took Yoriichi's own appearance to successfully decapitate him?

This, coupled with the very idea of losing to his brother, or anyone for that matter, made Kokushibō's blood boil. He vowed to never lose again, not after nearly dying to Yoriichi the first time. Even if his head were to be cut off again and again, he would not concede.

"Yo, who the fuck are you? And why did you interrupt us?!" Sanemi cursed with a gasp of air, clearly still struggling with his injuries.

"The four of you were able to accomplish so much...it truly does seem like my vision for the future was correct." Yoriichi replied. He dodged Sanemi's gruff question entirely, glancing back at them after drying his tears and smiling slightly. "You can rest now. Even if it's this one small act...I will not fail. Allow me to take over for you."

"You didn't answer the question. Who are you? And are you friend, or yet another foe?" Gyōmei questioned while raising up his weapons, despite his injuries.

"Tsugikuni Yoriichi is my name. It means nothing, and holds nothing, not any more during this age. All you need to know is that I will assist you, with what little strength I have."

As soon as Yoriichi finished talking Kokushibō's headless body then clenched his fists and tightened up every single muscle in his body, stopping the bleeding from his neck. By that time Muichirō was just barely holding on by a thread, with his blade still skewered through the demon's abdomen.

"The bleeding stopped! Shinazugawa, we have to-!" Gyōmei started to shout before Yoriichi drew the slightest bit of his blade and was gone in a flash.

Brilliant red flames burst forth from his sword as he personally conducted a gorgeous yet devastating display of swordsmanship on his brother's headless body. Pieces of flesh were lopped off here and there, but as quickly as they were removed, they grew back, with the tree Genya had restrained him with starting to break apart.

Kokushibō regained some of his senses after his original head disintegrated and started trading blows with his brother, even while his primary head wound was beginning to heal. During their fierce skirmish, he used a hand to sever Muichirō's one remaining hand from his arm by the wrist and let his limbless upper torso drop to the ground. He then gripped the Mist Hashira's sword by the handle and pulled it out harshly so that the injury it caused could heal in an instant.

Yoriichi's blows certainly stung, especially with his crimson blade, but from what he could feel, none of them felt quite as strong as the singular slash that nearly ended his life hundreds of years prior.

"My body isn't crumbling, and Yoriichi's slashes, if it is him, aren't as strong as they once were. My descendant is dead, and the false demon will soon fade." Kokushibō thought to himself as he wielded his blade against his brother, his demon flesh creating sparks against the red hot metal of Yoriichi's Nichirin blade.

Blow after blow came and went, with the brilliant flames produced by the user of the first breath leaving similarly awe-inspiring wounds on Kokushibō's body, before they healed once again. Yoriichi didn't show any sort of change in his emotions as he kept striking his brother's vital points, hoping to stop him, but failing. Gyōmei and Sanemi, not wanting to sit on the sidelines and allow this newcomer to fight alone, jumped in as well with their weapons at the ready,

As Kokushibō's head was halfway formed, the three swordsmen closed in for the kill, only to hit nothing but air as he ducked away. With an inhuman growl, Kokushibō's body became something straight out of Japanese horror. With his six eyes facing in several directions at once, the swords he grew from his body turning into spider-like appendages, and two huge horns growing out of his forehead, he looked truly despicable.

"He regenerated his head! The bastard!" cursed Sanemi as he and Gyōmei recovered from their missed attack, the two preparing their next techniques.

"I'm running out of time...this fight must come to an end soon, so that I may deliver them my message…" Yoriichi told himself.

"I have overcome. With this, I fear no attack. I am immune to decapitation...only the light of the sun threatens me." Kokushibō confidently thought as he readied two huge versions of his blades to fight. Now was the time to end this fight, once and for all. "With this, I shall never lose again."

Yoriichi, leading the small pack of swordsmen towards him, lowered his sword and grew closer with each step to his brother. The crimson metal of the blade, with light cast upon it from the chamber's source of illumination, caught Kokushibō's reflection and showed him what he really was.

He froze. In utter shock and disgust he looked at himself and what he had become. What kind of hideous monster was staring back at him in this reflection? His six eyes, the mouth of razor sharp, angled teeth, and the two horns. Not to mention the state his body was in, all of it was truly monstrous. It made him think back to something Yoriichi had told him, when they were kids.

Since he wanted to be the strongest samurai in Japan, Yoriichi had promised to be the second strongest right behind him so that he could fulfil his dream. He had sounded so innocent back then , and for a time, Kokushibō had even believed him. Fast forward to the present, where his brother was dead, and here he was looking like a rampaging beast.

"Is this the face of a samurai…? Is this really...what I wanted? All along?" he thought, a tiny little hint of regret sparking in his cold heart.

Just then, right in the exact same spot where he was stabbed by Muichirō, his body began to break down and crumble away to dust. Taken aback by his body starting to disintegrate, he did nothing to stop Gyōmei from obliterating the right side of his body with his spiked flail. Sanemi followed up by a devastating slash that completely bisected his body at the waist, and then lastly Yoriichi delivered another finishing blow by slicing his head clean off.

He willed his body to try and produce a technique, but nothing happened. Had he given up? Was he accepting his fate?

No, that was impossible. Kokushibō could not accept defeat, it wasn't in his blood. Knowing the bitter taste of defeat was not in his DNA, so the mere thought of it was utterly preposterous. A superficial wound like the one he sustained should be nothing to him, especially since he had proved he could withstand decapitation. Kokushibō had not lost the battle yet. He could still fulfil his promise to himself, to never fall in battle and to always keep winning. None shall hold victory over him. No one ever could.

"My deepest sympathies...brother."

Yoriichi's words rang like a bell within Kokushibō's thoughts as his body continued to crumble, his arms now totally gone from the elbow down. His torso was leaning forward, appearing as though it would soon fall over. His steadily beating heart, which had been beating strongly for hundreds of years, finally started to weaken.

"Cut off my head. Carve up my body. Smash it. I cannot swallow defeat. From that ugly visage of myself that I saw...I live in shame." Kokushibō thought while the severed pieces of his body were destroyed by Gyōmei and Sanemi, who wanted to leave little to no chance for the demon to survive. "Is this what I've lived these centuries for? What did I want? To not lose? To the point I even became a hideous monster? To become stronger, to the point I even consumed humans?"

All of these questions that Kokushibō's mind circled around back and forth, trying to rationalize what was happening to him, led the demon to the answer he had been trying to deny for years.

It was crystal clear, like a calm stream trickling along quietly through a forest or across a plain on a warm spring day. Kokushibō wanted nothing more, deep down, than to be like his younger brother.

People who feel no jealousy towards others simply have good luck. That's what one would say about a good person, but in Kokushibō's mind, his answer was always "You've never met someone like him".

This person who he referred to, of course, was none other than his little brother Yoriichi. A man who lived with the favor of the gods lavished upon them. A man who burned like the sun, with such brightness and intensity that he consumed everything around them in their glow.

In the age that Kokushibō, or at this time Michikatsu, and Yoriichi were born into, twins were considered ill portents. An omen. They were believed to have brought struggles over succession with them, because both could have a claim to what their parents had for them. What's more, Yoriichi was born with a strange, ominous mark on his face. Almost immediately after he was born, their father announced he would kill him.

The siblings' mother flew into an uncontrollable rage upon hearing that. Like an inferno, it took the efforts of several to hold her back as she spouted curses at her husband for saying he'd do such a thing.

To help appease her and control the situation, an arrangement was brokered between them. Instead of being killed, Yoriichi was to be sent to the temple upon turning ten, where he would enter the priesthood. Their upbringings as siblings were about as different as different could get, from their rooms, their clothing, to education they received. Even the food they ate differed wildly.

Perhaps these reasons were why Yoriichi was unable to pull himself from their mother. Whenever he saw her, there was also his brother glued to her left side. In Kokushibō's mind, a little brother like that, even as a child, how could he see him as anything as pitiful?

Behind their father's back, Kokushibō would go to the small, three-tatami room Yoriichi had been given to play and sleep in. Out of pity more than kindness, he gave him a small wooden flute that he had made for him since their father would have noticed if Yoriichi had gotten any of his brother's belongings. When he had given him that flute though, Yoriichi didn't smile or make any other reaction aside from a blank stare.

It was typical for Yoriichi to not smile. Not once had any of them ever seen him crack even the slightest grin at anything. He never spoke either, which led their family to believe that he was deaf.

The day Kokushibō and their parents realized otherwise was when he was in the garden, practicing sword swings as a part of his education. Yoriichi meanwhile stood soundlessly in the shadow of a nearby pine tree. That alone was enough to send chills up his spine, which only added on to the surprise of hearing his brother speak for the first time.

"Onii-san, is your dream to be the strongest samurai in the land?" Yoriichi had asked in a soft, innocent tone.

Kokushibō never would have thought he'd see his brother actually speak, and there he was, addressing him fluently without even the slightest of hiccups in speech. His breath halted in surprise and his wooden sword slipped from his hands. Then he began proclaiming his own intent to become a samurai, but Yoriichi would be ten before long, and would be sent to the temple.

He was to become a monk, not a samurai. Kokushibō wondered if his brother didn't realize that, and if he did, why was he intent on walking down the same path as him, even though since birth, they were placed on opposite paths. And then again, Yoriichi did something for the first time after finishing. His mouth split into a smile.

It unnerved Kokushibō to see such a thing from his formerly aloof little brother. Furthermore, about his proclamation, someone who ran to his mother and clung to her side the moment he saw her would become a samurai, risking his life in battle? It would never happen, or so he thought.

The next time that Kokushibō was training, Yoriichi stood expectantly off to the side, hoping to receive at least some form of instruction. One of their father's men, who was instructing him in the blade, decided to humor the small Yoriichi and handed him a bamboo sword. Yoriichi was told how to grip it, and how to make a proper stance. Just a simple verbal explanation. With that, their father's man took a ready stance and stood opposed to Yoriichi.

Silence persisted in the air, a light breeze disturbing it for but a moment. then the tiny Yoriichi moved with surprising speed, catching the trainer completely off guard with the agility he possessed. He struck swiftly three times, breaking his wooden sword into pieces, and landed a final blow on the man's ankle to send him somersaulting sideways flat onto his stomach.

To say that Kokushibō was astonished would have been an understatement. No matter how many times he tried, he had never taken a single point against the man. But Yoriichi, in the blink of an eye, had scored four points and knocked him flat.

A seven year old child had struck his neck, chest, stomach and ankle. Later he had heard that, though he suffered no concerning damage like broken or fractured bones, great fist-sized welts appeared where he was struck. In a stark turn of events, Yoriichi had said he no longer wanted to be a samurai after that display of power. Kokushibō remembered what he had said, how hitting people had made him sad. That of course didn't stop the young Kokushibō from hounding his younger brother for any sort of explanation that he could give about what he did. There had to be some kind of technique, or stance that had allowed the boy to so easily topple an obstacle that Kokushibō had struggled with and never succeeded against.

One of the most striking things Yoriichi had said came during one of their many conversations, while the boy was looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Before you go to strike, take a really deep breath. Then you take a good look at your skeletal alignment, muscle contraction, blood flow, that sort of thing." he said without stuttering.

Kokushibō didn't understand what he had meant at first, and thought it was utterly absurd for somebody to do that. They weren't some kind of divine being with special abilities, they were humans, mere boys.

Eventually though, after some time, he finally did understand what his younger brother had meant. For Yoriichi, the bodies of living things, no matter how big or small, were transparent. He was born with a mark, and with that mark came extraordinary sight unlike anything known in the world. Paired with that sight was extraordinary physical prowess too. The person who he had, until that moment, looked down on as pitiful, had far out-stripped him. And this person, who's skills far exceeded his own, had stated he would rather play Sugoroku or fly kites, rather than talk about swords or fighting.

Compared to his brother, Kokushibō sought mastery of the blade. On this path, pain and hardship went hand-in-hand with expertise. If one put every ounce of effort into their training, then it would pay on in the long run, and they would grow strong. Kokushibō accepted that fact, and had been ready to face it head on.

After that day though, he realized something. Next to that miraculous child prodigy who was his little brother, he was moving at a turtle's pace. How wonderful it would have been if that talent Yoriichi had would be gifted to him, Kokushibō had thought.

Yoriichi seemed painfully bored by discussions of sword-fighting. No matter how towering his genius with the sword was he found not even a shred of joy in it. For Yoriichi, the way of the sword, becoming a samurai, was nothing more than a game for children. And he was jealous of that.

Their positions had switched in an instant when Yoriichi had demonstrated his superiority over his older brother against their father's man. Kokushibō had little doubt that the man had informed him about Yoriichi. He would be the successor of their house, while he would be crammed in that three-tatami room. And when three years had passed, he would be sent to the temple. And his dream of becoming the strongest samurai in Japan would be shattered.

Thoughts like these kept him up at night, refusing to let him sleep. One of those nights, around three in the morning, was when he received another one of the shocks in his life.

"Onii-san?" Yoriichi asked, while sitting just outside of the young Kokushibō's room.

"What?" asked Michikatsu, his younger self.

"Okaa-san has passed."

Like a bolt of lightning clean through his heart, Michikatsu was rendered paralyzed for a moment by the news. He reacted like any young boy would at the news of their mother's death, by demanding why Yoriichi would tell him at such an hour, out of the blue. Yoriichi, in typical fashion, gave him a straightforward answer.

He wanted to tell Kokushibō's younger self as soon as possible, before he left for the temple. It was still three years too early, but Yoriichi was adamant on leaving. He wanted to say his goodbyes as well, and in doing so told him that he would cherish the flute that he had made for him.

With a soft and innocent smile on his face, he had said he would not lose heart and always thought of the older brother that gifted him the flute. Then, like a mother carrying her newborn child, he wrapped the flute in a cloth and tucked it away inside of his clothes. Even when it was literal refuse which could produce nothing but off-key notes, he held it as if it were some kind of treasure

That smile made him jealous, and angry once again. That flute was garbage. He couldn't understand how trash could bring him such joy, and because of it, it made the pain in his heart grow. He said nothing in response, and watched as Yoriichi, with almost no belongings, set off to parts unknown.

With Yoriichi gone, he thought things would go back to normal, and that he never had to worry about his prodigy brother ever again. That was the case until he got his hands on their mother's diary. Reading it, he learned the truth.

Yoriichi had realized he would usurp Kokushibō's place as heir of the household. He had purposefully set out earlier than expected because he didn't want the decision on who should gain the inheritance to be made. It also seemed Yoriichi had known everything about their mother too, specifically the illness she suffered from. It was almost as if he knew when she would die.

For years, she had suffered as the left side of her body grew more impaired with each passing day. Michikatsu, at that moment, saw how the gap between him and his brother was far wider than he could ever imagine. Yoriichi had not been clinging to their mother's side because he was pitiful, he had been supporting her body as she grew more feeble.

He could hear it. His body being consumed by the flames of jealousy, from inside out. From the very bottom of his soul, the young boy who would grow up to become the monster Kokushibō blazed with hatred for the genius known as Yoriichi.

Deep inside of his core, he desperately begged for his brother to die. He wished he had never been born, to have never seen the light of day. An existence liked Yoriichi's defied the laws of nature, and deserved to die in order to bring back balance. Days later, their father sent a messenger to the temple to bring back Yoriichi, thinking that he had gone there that night like he had said. But he wasn't there. He had suddenly disappeared without a trace.

Kidnappers? A landslide? Did a bear attack him? Unexpectedly, Kokushibō's wish had come true. His prodigy of a younger brother was now out of the picture, which meant now he could finally live without worry. His life was peaceful for the next ten years. He would go on and marry, as well as have children that he loved dearly. Every day was tranquil and somewhat boring, which led to the flow of time feeling as though it were in slow motion.

However, it would be a demon attack that would cause time to once again move. He and some of his men were nearly slaughtered where they had made camp, if it weren't for the unexpected arrival of a person Kokushibō thought he'd never see again. It was Yoriichi who had saved him.

Compared to when they were children, he was completely different. Not only had he mastered the sword, he could easily defeat inhuman opponents without so much as breaking a sweat. The moment he saw Yoriichi, his serenity was destroyed. Again his stomach burned with jealousy and hate. Among the bodies of his men, the youngest brother kneeled before the eldest and apologized for arriving too late to save everyone, which only further fueled his jealousy. As always, Yoriichi was strong, and was a person of faultless character. Kokushibō decided then and there, no matter the cost, he wanted to make his strength and sword skills his own.

"I abandoned...my home, my wife and children...and chose the path of a Demon Slayer—the same as Yoriichi."

Yoriichi would teach anyone sword and breathing techniques, but not a single person could match him. To suit a person's skills and capabilities, Yoriichi changed the breathing technique as he taught. Thus, techniques derived from Sun Breathing came one after the other. The number of marked ones increased, and the power of the Demon Slayers rose.

Before long, Kokushibō manifested his own mark, an identical one to Yoriichi's. Despite these gains though, he couldn't use Sun Breathing. He could only use a derivative that he later named Moon Breathing. He truly believed that he could catch up to Yoriichi if he continued to train, day after day.

But as he languished in frustration at his own inability, the marked ones began dying one after the other. Kokushibō would come to the conclusion that the mark merely gave you power in exchange for your life span, which meant the golden era of the Demon Slayers would soon end.

He had no future. He had already left behind everything he had gotten, and he had no time left for the requisite training. That's why, in desperation...he betrayed his own species.

"Then you should become a demon." Muzan said wickedly, staring at the older Michikatsu on the roof of some unknown building in some Japanese town. Michikatsu held his sword out, but he did not attack. "If you become a demon, you can live forever."

"That's impossible, nobody can live forever...that's against the laws of nature." he responded.

"You want to master Breathing Techniques. And I want to make a demon out of a swordsman who can use them. What do you say? You can choose, unlike the other sword wielders."

The weakness in his heart was brought forward from the depths of his soul. Michikatsu, betraying the ideals he had sworn to upon becoming a Demon Slayer, kneeled before the future Demon Lord of Japan. Finally, he could be free of all fetters. Time would mean nothing to him.

Or so he had thought.

"You appeared before me again. You transcended the laws of nature...and then lived out your life, defeating me again by escaping death at my hands." Kokushibō thought as anger consumed his deteriorating body and soul, the image of his elderly younger brother igniting that fire once again. "No one...not even Lord Muzan could defeat you. No single person was ever able to harm you. Why? Why do you always make me feel miserable?"

That fateful night, in a fit of rage he cut apart his brother's body, clearly slicing through his flesh and splattering his blood all over the ground. Hate engulfed him. All he saw was red. He wanted nothing more than to burn the world all around him with the fires of his fury.

Then he saw something among his brother's corpse, a memento of the past. In a sliced open pouch, separated into two halves, was the flute. The same flute that, out of pity, Kokushibō gave his brother in their youth.

That smile. The gentle care. The warmth. It brought tears to the demon's eyes, but still he cursed his brother.

"Just seeing your face makes me sick. Just hearing your voice makes me so angry my head hurts. Even after living hundreds of years...what I remember vividly is your face, the thing I most want to forget."

Kokushibō racked his brain, trying to remember anything and everything about his past, the people, the places, the things that took place. They were all blurry, and distant. The faces of his parents and his family were blank, eroded away with the passage of time like a stone at the bank of a river. Only Yoriichi's was clear.

After removing his body from this world after his second appearance, Kokushibō could once again focus on what he desired, until now, when for a third time his brother appeared from the dead to disrupt his serenity. How had he managed to do this? What kind of divine deal had he made with the gods to return to the realm of the living? It all made no sense to him.

"You're like the unequaled sun, and all beings around you, human or demon, have no other path than yearning, reaching out their hands and writhing in agony...until they become ashes."

In real time, only a fraction of Kokushibō's body was left among the tattered remains of his kimono. These were his final moments, before his soul would depart from the realm of the living and be on its way to what he was certain would be the pits of hell. And through it all, the one emotion that dominated over all the rest, even his jealousy and hatred, was regret.

He had given up everything that his life had to offer to achieve superiority. His home, his wife and children, and even his humanity. He had cut down his descendants and turned away from the path of a samurai to that of a monster.

"You said that those who master their paths all reach the same place. But I never did. I could not see the same world that you did. We even made sure, Lord Muzan and I, to kill the swordsmen who knew Sun Breathing and its forms. So why did your breathing techniques remain?" Kokushibō questioned himself and his life's choices, from beginning to end. "Why could I not leave anything behind? Why could I not become someone? Why in the world was I ever born…? Tell me...Yoriichi."

As the last pieces of his flesh drifted away to ash, Yoriichi saw the two halves of his flute resting among his brother's clothes and closed his eyes. Pain filled his heart and he held a hand up to his chest, promising to be there with his brother shortly.

He was disturbed from his thoughts when he heard Gyōmei shout behind him at Sanemi, who was still swinging his sword around as if the enemy was alive. His eyes were blank, as if he were on auto-pilot.

"Shinazugawa! Stop, the demon isn't regenerating anymore!" Gyōmei bellowed to try and stop him, but his words fell on deaf ears. Gritting his teeth he rushed to Sanemi's sad, locking an arm around his waist and keeping him still with his monstrous strength. "Shinazugawa! It's over! Upper Moon One is defeated, the battle is now over!"

A few seconds later Sanemi's whole entire body went limp in his arm, his sword clanging against the tiled floor. He passed out from both his injuries and exhaustion, a dangerous combination if he wasn't given proper treatment and rest before their final opponent.

Gyōmei found it hard to believe that the Wind Hashira had gone on fighting for as long as he did with the injuries he sustained. He dropped his own weapon and lowered Sanemi down to the floor, glancing over at the sound of barely sustained breathing and spotting Genya's left half, the other nowhere to be seen.

"Genya...Tokitō...both of you…" Gyōmei thought, before Genya started to speak in a raspy voice.

"Hime...jima-san...is he..okay…? And...Tokitō-san…"

"It's alright, we're alive! Tokitō is...he is…" Gyōmei trailed off, his head turning to where Muichirō was laying after being flung away during the course of their battle.

"I'm fine…" Genya said, his eye twitching lightly. "Go help...Tokitō...san...hurry…"

"He's still alive in that state…? Is it because of the demonification?" thought Gyōmei while resting a hand gently on the side of Genya's head. He cried, saddened for the two brothers, because he could already see the end that was awaiting the youngest sibling. "Shinazugawa's blood does make demons intoxicated, but since the blood loss is taking the demonification effects with it, it shouldn't be a problem of putting Shinazugawa next to Genya…"

Silently he stood up and wiped his eyes, walking over to where he had placed Sanemi's unconscious body and carried him back over to Genya. Slowly he rested him on his back and watched over the two brothers momentarily, crying again as Genya murmured his relief that Sanemi was still alive.

He then walked over to Muichirō, who was on his back, hanging onto the last thread of life that he had. Blood oozing from his waist and his newly severed arm had stained his once pristine uniform and formed a pool that he was laying in. Gyōmei took off his happi and gently spread it out over the Mist Hashira's body, patting his head with as light of a touch as he could muster.

"Tokitō, it's because of you...that we won. You have my deepest gratitude and respect...you're still so young, but you were absolutely incredible, to the very end." Gyōmei murmured softly, resting his hands on his knees and tugging at his pants. "I swear, we will defeat Muzan, no matter what...and then I'll be along as well. Be at peace, my friend."

Muichirō's eyes shifted barely to make eye contact with Gyōmei and he seemed to nod his head, acknowledging the Stone Hashira's words. He returned the gesture, and Muichriō returned to looking straight up at the ceiling for one last time before he took his final breath. His body relaxed, and his eyes, having once regained the life in them that he had formerly lost, became dull.

Not another word escaped Gyōmei's lips as he began to cry once more, his right hand moving to rest on Muichirō's face. With a slow and steady motion down, he used the smallest amount of pressure possible to bring his eyes to a close, and allow him to sleep. After tirelessly working since his family's tragic past, he had earned his rest.

Muichirō's eyes opened wide, the fourteen year old finding himself standing amongst fluttering leaves in a white, empty space, where the ground was littered with those leaves that had already fallen. He was wearing the clothes he wore in his youth, and right across from him just a few feet away was a near perfect mirror copy of himself, albeit with a color-swapped version of his clothes.

"Nee-san…" Muichirō uttered, only to be immediately shut down by his brother.

"Stay away! Go back!" Yuchirō shouted, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Why? I tried so hard...you're not even proud of me?"

"Why? That's what I want to know! You should've run! You're only fourteen!"

Muichirō was hurt that his brother could say such a thing to him during their first meeting ever since they had parted ways. After these three years, he thought that Yuichirō would at least be thankful he was able to do his job, but this? It wasn't right.

"I couldn't just abandon my friends and run."

"But you wouldn't have gone and died!" barked back Yuichirō. "What's the point in dying in a place like this?! It's a meaningless death! Why were you even born then? I don't know, do you?!"

"You died at eleven! You're way more pathetic than I am! 'Why was I born?' I know exactly why I was born." countered Muichirō, his own tears building up in his eyes.

"Muichirō…"

"I was born to be happy! Weren't you, Nee-san? No? Weren't you happy? You didn't have a single happy moment?" demanded Muichirō as he started to cry, his vision becoming blurry. The image of his brother standing in front of him got distorted from looking through his tears, but he kept talking without stopping. "I was happy! When the four of us lived as a family...once I was alone, there was a lot of pain and hard times, but I made friends. I had fun. I was able to smile again! The moments where I was happy were uncountable!"

Muichirō's head lowered and he closed his eyes while continuing to cry, talking to his long-dead brother about what he had done in the three years since then. None of it was pointless, and despite losing himself for a time, he was able to regain it all thanks to his friends and their efforts and care.

"I'm never going to regret laying down my life for my friends. Don't call it a meaningless death. Other people can say what they want...but I don't want my brother to say something like that!"

"I'm sorry...I get it…" Yuichirō hiccuped, his hands resting on his brother's shoulder. After a few moments they embraced, the two siblings crying together "But I...I didn't want you to die, Muichirō...anyone but you…"

Sanemi was beginning to wake up, his eyes slowly opening his eyes and adjusting to the soreness of his body, before they shot wide open and he screeched at the top of his lungs.
Gyōmei turned his head, wiping some of his tears away, towards Sanemi and listened to him frantically grapple at his brother's body half.

"What's happening to him?! Dammit! His body…!" stammered Sanemi, his usual powerful and domineering tone replaced completely by terror as he watched ash particles start to rise up from his skin. "His body's crumbling like he's a demon! Shit! SHIT!"

"H...Hey…" murmured Genya, his lip trembling slightly and tiny tears beginning to roll down over the bridge of his nose.

"You're alright! I'll figure something out! 'Nemi's gonna figure something out, I promise!"

"Ne...mi...I'm sorry…" whispered Genya, his tears mixing with the blood lake that had formed from his severed body half. "Back then...I'm sorry...I blamed you...I was...just a pain…"

"You were never a pain! Never! Don't die! You can't die before me! Sanemi shouted, his own tears flying off from his face as he shocked his head side to side.

"Thanks for...watching out for...me…I wanted...to take care of...you...like you always tried to...take care of me...you had a really hard time...I want you...to be happy...I don't want you to die..."

Genya's body continued to disintegrate into ash, the particles floating away into nothingness piece by piece, with Sanemi's trembling hands losing more and more places to hold his precious brother by the second. His heart was almost at the point of bursting from sorrow, and his tears were so numerous that he could hardly see.

His heart broke when he heard his brother praise him as the nicest person he could have ever known, and in his sadness he preached to the Gods as loud as he could, holding onto what remained of Genya. He didn't want him to go, not yet, not now. But even he couldn't stop what was happening to his younger brother.

With one final goodbye, the last few shreds of Genya's body drifted away along with his tears. He left nothing behind except for his clothes, with Sanemi standing over them on his knees with empty hands. With that, he resorted to holding onto the torn and bloody half of his brother's clothes and began to wail.

Gyōmei stood in silence with his weapon in hand, and Yoriichi was still by where his brother had perished with his eyes closed. He could feel the emotion coming from the Wind Hashira, and it struck him deep down into his very core.

At that moment the doors to the giant chamber were burst open by an explosion of fire and Kyōjurō and Giyū, expecting a fight, instead happened across a tragic scene. Gyōmei turned his head towards them and said nothing as they jogged over, the two Hashira soon seeing for themselves what the ruckus was about.

When they saw Muichirō at the Stone Hashira's feet, the two's expressions turned solemn and they both lowered their heads slightly out of respect for the young Hashira.

"Shinazugawa. We have to move. The others must be close to Muzan by now, and if we are to assist, we must go." Gyōmei said firmly, sucking up his own sadness and drying his tears with his sleeve.

"Himejima-san's right, hmmn. This won't be over until Muzan is defeated." Kyōjurō added with a confident smile.

Sanemi sniffed and wiped his face, grinding his teeth together before looking them dead square in the eyes and nodding. Yoriichi then reminded everyone of his presence once more by slowly walking towards them, his passive expression belying his sadness. The Hashira turned toward them, and he returned their gaze for a moment before closing his eyes.

"You all remind me of my former comrades...some of the first marked to have appeared. Especially you." Yoriichi said with a head nod to Kyōjurō, who's eye widened.

"Who are you? I don't recognize you at all." he asked, with Giyū cautiously reaching his hand towards his sword.

"A mere memory of the past. It took me all of this time to muster up enough to be able to come back, hoping to try and right the wrong I made." Yoriichi explained as he opened his eyes again and looked at all of them, his feet then slowly beginning to turn into sakura petals that started to drift away. "I have to cross the Sanzu River soon with someone important, so I'll be brief. You must be swift...end Kibutsuji and those with him at all costs."

"Wait, you know about that demon bastard?! Tell us what you know!" demanded Sanmei.

"All of you, including my inheritor, have the capability to finally bring an end to that man's reign. But I pray that you are cautious...a dark presence is lurking within the walls of this fortress, one that I cannot identify."

"A dark presence? And what do you mean about your inheritor? Who is-"

"He's taking care of my hanafuda earrings...they were a gift from me to his ancestor." Yoriichi replied with a small smile.

By that time his body had mostly dispersed into sakura petals, and by the time the Hashira recognized what he meant, he was already gone. The presence he had left had been brief, but for Gyōmei and Sanemi, it was of utmost importance. They looked at one another and nodded, before sprinting out of the door as fast as they could with the crow that led Kyōjurō and Giyū to that chamber becoming their guide.

It was Muzan who remained now. The clock was ticking towards his revival, and Tamayo's time was running out.

Kokushibō's eyes opened and he gasped a little when he saw the blackened space around him. It didn't take him long to realize that this must be the intermediary before Hell, and he sighed a little. He had known for a while that he would end up there, because of what he had done, so he had already prepared himself for if and when that day came.

What he was not prepared for was one final visit from his brother Yoriichi, who blinked into existence a moment later from the darkness across from him. Why? Why, of all people, did he have to appear? He had been dead far longer than anyone who he had seen in his life as a demon.

"Go away. Just let me go to hell in peace...I have no reason to talk to you again." Kokushibō said harshly.

Yoriichi said nothing to his brother and only stared at him still, before he took a step forward and dropped his sword from his hip. Kokushibō's then eyes widened when his brother then hugged him, and he was left utterly speechless.

"I'm sorry, Onii-san...that I had to make you carry the flute you gave me, all these years. And I'm sorry I couldn't save you...If I had just done a little more…" he uttered, his arms tightening around Kokushibō's body. "If I could have done...what you would have…"

"Why...after all this time, why? Why are you always so aggressively humble…?! I hated you! I always did, ever since we were young! You were a prodigy, even when I was the older brother!" Kokushibō shouted.

"I know...that is why I left our home three years early. If I had stayed, you would have never been able to accomplish your dream, Onii-san."

Kokushibō choked a little, his lips quivering and his six eyes widening. He had known the whole time? Even when they were kids? Had his assumption about Yoriichi's disappearance correct then?

"And when I saved you from that demon...I knew then that I had ruined your happiness. Being unable to teach you my techniques as a Demon Slayer was no exception either. You wanted to accomplish your dream so badly, and as your younger brother...I failed you. All I ever did was make mistakes in trying to make it a reality."

"You...you were trying...to help me? How is being better than me helping?!"

"I wish I never had this strength, because I knew you would have succeeded where I had failed."

That's when Kokushibō truly felt a weight come down right onto his shoulders. Yoriichi, the genius that surpassed him in every single conceivable way, wanted to not have any of it? His sword skill? His temperament? His humble nature? At first, he would have gotten even more angry, but then he thought more about it.

His brother would have never lied about something, and had always been the one to be honest with him about anything. He rarely showed emotion, and when he did, it was meaningful and true. Such as the night he cradled that wooden flute before leaving, and when he had cried for him before dying where he stood after a single attack that nearly decapitated him.

These words were true. Yoriichi was telling the truth. And that's when it all crashed down on top of him, all at once. The younger brother that he had hated for so long, the one he looked down upon, that he cursed, and that he unrightfully defiled after he had passed away, had never wanted the blessings in the first place. He well and truly wished that it was Kokushibō who had gotten them, and not the other way around.

Because of his humility and personality, he couldn't admit it and risk angering him more, so he had to keep it to himself throughout their lives. It was only now, when the two of them were finally together in death, that he could reveal the truth.

And with it now out on the table, Kokushibō was experiencing only one kind of emotion, the same that he was suffering as his body crumbled away in life. Regret. Regret at his past choices, regret for all of the lives he had snuffed out, and regret for not looking past his own pride and jealousy to see what was right in front of him.

"Yor...iichi…" he stammered, his lips starting to quiver. Slowly his demonic features, the ones he had for centuries, began to finally fade and revert back to what he used to be. The Kokushibō of the present was returning to the Michikatsu of the past. "Please...forgive me...I've been a terrible older brother…"

"I was never angry to begin with, Onii-san...to me, even after all these years...you still are my precious older brother, Michikatsu."

Tears began welling up in Michikatsu's eyes once the four extra he had made for himself disappeared and he returned to his former human self, before he started to cry. The last time tears of his had been shed were when he had seen the flute he had cut apart that night, after defiling his brother's corpse with his blade.

As he cried, Yoriichi continued to hold onto him, taking up his duty as the youngest to support his older brother through his sorrow. He waited there, silently, until the flames of hell began to beckon for Michikatsu to go where he belonged. On the flip side, Yoriichi was expected at the Sanzu River any moment now.

Their time was running short, so they couldn't stay together much longer. After patting his brother on the back, Yoriichi finally released Michikatsu and looked him in the eyes, smiling a tiny bit as he did. For once in his life, the elder sibling managed to return one, and wiped his eyes before bidding farewell. Once together, separated, and then together again before Michikatsu took a drastic turn down another path, the two brothers would now finally separate once and for all.

But for Michikatsu, the regret he felt was not the only emotion he felt as he stepped into the hell fire waiting to transport him to his final home. Finally, after centuries of living, he finally felt happy. In that moment, he remembered that the young demon he had taught his techniques to was still alive, in the Infinity Fortress.

"Maybe...leaving things behind to the next generation...isn't so bad after all...wouldn't you agree, Yoriichi?"

A/N WHOOP! Chapter out boys, and this one was a good one! Hope you guys liked it too! Not much else to say except THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT! This story has grown so much, beyond even my own expectations. I never would have guessed Id be here now, sitting on the largest Demon Slayer fanfiction (By word count!) on this entire site! That's crazy to me!
So thank you for choosing my story to read, and giving me the confidence to see this through to the end! Please leave a favorite and like if you haven't, and drop a review telling me what you think! Thank you guys so much again! see you in the next chapter!