If anyone ever asked about his sickly condition, Kibutsuji Muzan would reply with a simple shrug, then dive in to read his book, refusing to answer.
For you see, at the tender age of 15 years old, Kibutsuji Muzan has Existential Crisis.
Honestly, he is glad he is sick. As those few noble families lucky enough to be educated, Muzan knew nothing but War awaits outside. Had he been healthy, he would have been sent to another province for any clan in favor of Kibutsujis right now, be it Minamoto, Sakamoto, or whatever, fighting their wars. It was early death all the same.
On his sick bed however, he could enjoy the tranquility of the sun while he drowned his mind in books; poisons, language of flowers, tales of myths. And every time his curiosity would be satisfied as it grows. He could demand more information normally would not be available for other teenage boys of his age. And he is happy with it, for he could set a slight puppy eyes and say, 'guess i'd die with my curiosity' and his fool of a family would get whatever scroll it is he wanted. Easy.
But therefore lies the problem.
Kibutsuji Muzan was a curious being. Had he not been sickly, maybe he could wring his way out of battle to be a scholar. Traveling around Japan, reading, studying, researching.. That would be heaven. All those knowledge he could dig out of the dark...
Plus, he thinks tiredly, being sick is not fun. He feels tired all the time. His could feel his every bones ache with every minute twitch, he wanted to scream and cry but he is too tired to do anything. But then again, he doesn't want to be healthy either; not out to those stupid wars. And since he is destined to rot away here all alone, it would be nice if he could die quickly instead. But, he thinks again, rather than battlefield, he prefers dying sickly like this, surrounded by his books.
But again, being sick is not fun, but healthy only leads to grown up children with knives and—
Again, Kibutsuji Muzan, 15 years old, has Existential Crisis.
His family loves him, he knew.
His family is trying their best to cure him, they never gave up, no matter how fruitless it is, he knew.
And those are the only reason Muzan forced himself to be obedient to this Doctor. How did his family managed to find a super sketchy one, he thinks, is beyond him. But his older sister and mother, who always back him up in his bed-ridden books scavenger, are the one who recommends him.
So, pulling his scowl back and forcing his skin to stop crawling in disgust at the sight of that very suspicious smile, Muzan gave the Doctor his noble, polite, yet obviously fuck-off smile. Sure, he'd drink his medicine. Sure, he'd be polite and behave (he scoffed at this, as if he doesn't know his manners, please) in front of this pervert, but only because his mother and older sister insists.
It doesn't help that the medicine smell and tastes disgusting, what the hell.
Muzan sighed, putting his glass of water down and laying down on his futon; face scrucnhing up and trying not to vomit. The things he do for love.
Muzan was cured.
It was a miracle. Just as that sketchy Doctor miraculously disappeared.
When he tried to step out to his garden on the morning spring however, his skin burned from sunlight. And almost instantly they vaporized. His scream was apparently agonized enough his mother ordered to find that Doctor and make him pay.
They never find him however. Not even a trace of him. He disappeared to thin air.
Fucking asshole, he hissed under his breath, glaring to the afternoon sun. What good is he healed if he can't even travel like a normal person?
Sometimes, his home smells of blood.
His brothers, returning from war, did not return in pristine condition. It was normal, he had used to the smell of blood since his father and grandfather returned with blood soaking their clothes. What he did not expect however, how his hunger abruptly intensified. Sure, he has always been hungry since he was healed and banished from the sun, but it was sated bit by bit with strictly red meat diet, half cooked as it was. He had bulshitted that it was one of the last thing that asshole doctor prescribed to him, and apparently his family has no business not trusting their sickly son.
But smelling the coppery tang of human blood, he so very badly wanted to take a bite off of his brother's shoulder. He is muscled well, so it should be very chewy, his meat, and fresh, and juicy too. Or he could take his hand and picked his skin apart from his fingers. He could bite them off slowly but surely, an endless satisfaction as blood flows to his mouth—
What the fuck?
Muzan whirled around, punching the wall to quell his creepy thoughts which had come out of nowhere.
What The Fuck?
... His fist was burrowed in the stone wall, spider-web cracks crawling from the hole he just—just punched through.
Suddenly, he was more aware of footsteps coming his way than his bleeding fist and elongated nails, and in a fit of panic, he ran. The night covered his figure as he easily jumped through stone wall and jumped over rooftops (WHAT THE FUCK?) in such impossible speed and feats no human capable of, without sound whatsover, no problem, to the streets.
After saving one of his gardener from being raped in the streets by biting the neck of the man off, and subsequently made her scream in terror, Muzan sat down. Alone on the corner of the streets, his face a perfect mask of calm.
He is an asshole, Muzan thinks, looking at the corpse of the man with blood leaking out freely from where he chewed his neck. And Ayame-san was an excellent gardener. As if a Young Master like him would let his subjects in danger. Also, his meat vaguely taste like grilled chicken but chewy like red meat. He wonders if other human meat also taste like chicken. Or maybe he's finally losing his mind, who knows, right?
...
FUCK.
...
That fucking Piece of Shit Doctor has turned him into a Vampire. Or Ghoul. Or other similar creature.
What manner of bullshit is this?
He knows his shit, he had suspected since he couldn't get out of the sun. But he could maintain human diet just fine, and he thought—he thought—
A low, feral growl tore the calm night. It came from him, he realized.
He had killed someone. It was easy, his nails tore the man's chest like paper. His mouth, his fangs, bite the chunk of meat off the man's neck like any other food. He had killed someone. He needed human meat to survive.
He would be discovered by patrols, Muzan thinks, locating said patrol some hundreds of meters from his location just fine. His senses are sharp, too sharp for a human; he could see clearly even in the dark, could hear rats moving around and down the sewer, and could smell blood and fresh corpse in front of him with such sweetness it made him want to puke but also want to lick it clean.
(His family couldn't live with him like this, he thinks, they would find the corpse and his trail. He couldn't live with coppery tang around the house for days, he'd go mad for sure. He'd attack his family in no time. Holding back this hunger and bloodlust has been hard enough all this time, he did not need any bait.
He had to leave. Muzan doesn't exactly want to, considering his family but—he had to.)
Steeling his resolve, Muzan jumped over another rooftop and ran.
"I'm going to find you," he promised, hissed lowly; red slitted eyes glinting in the dark, "you will fucking pay."
Living on the streets has been... illuminating, to say the least.
Apparently he couldn't get poisoned. Poison ivy had no effect to him, nor any other poisonous berries he chewed on (and fully expected to die). Or sick, as he had not sleep and simply sit under a waterfall when he sulked on his condition for days. He could also glare a bear away apparently, if he growled hard enough. Falling down from a cliff and smushing his head is also fine, he could grow his organs back in like, a minute. His twisted ankle would right itself in seconds. Starving himself only leads to an unconscious rage and he had come to consciousness with a corpse of another poor sod, gnawing at his hand.
So. He's essentially immortal now.
Nice.
He could go incognito and travel anywhere spreading murder while researching and dig a lot of things. Whatever he wants, easy, no problem. He can even sneak in and stay at local Library if he wanted to.
Very nice.
(He pointedly doesn't think how he will probably outlive his family, or be bored for eternity, or forever unable to attend hanabi in the afternoon spring. Alone walking on this stupid earth with stupid humans forever. If he does, it makes him want to scream.)
It also illuminates his limits on this body; or lack thereof. His steps are light and without sound even when he did not try; he had sneaked to whoever house at night, take some clothes, and get away just fine.
Among his other... crimes, however, killing gets easier.
Humans are assholes by default, himself included. So what if he jumped down on a bandit and chew his hand off? So what if he cut their limbs with his nails and easily keep them for later? So what if those assholes probably has families? He doesn't care, for sure. And if he got fighting experience from them, that's all the better.
(If you don't get the memo, he does care. Sometimes.)
In a twist of his clumsiness during battle, he found out that, by giving his blood, he could turn other humans to demons.
The soldier who raided a Raijin Temple bite his hand and promptly convulsed. Muzan slapped his head away until it twisted but, the man hadn't died. He himself had jumped up to the ceiling, standing on the supporting wood and watched as the man grew horns and fangs, twisted his neck back in place—and proceeds to murder all his comrades in a very gruesome, messy slaughter. He had been reluctant to jump down; after he perfected the art of killing while keeping himself pristine, he refused to step on such mess. But the newly-made demon had then looked at him and knelt, head bowed down in a sign of complete loyalty.
Muzan blinked.
So. He could make armies with his blood now.
Hm.
Hmmmmm.
Gently stepping down, he ordered the newly-made demon to be off, do whatever, stay out of trouble. And then he had disappeared, mind working on plans and hypothesis. He needs more research.
And what better place than to do research than in Hospital?
If his blood can heal twisting neck, it could probably heal other diseases too. It's high time he does something good for humanity, he thinks. Muzan easily sneaked to quarantined wing of a hospital, entering a room from the window. Experimenting, he gave the first person on the row one drip of blood, the next two drip, the next one third, and promptly disappointed when the fifth one exploded and the fourth one screamed before her feet exploded and she, too, died.
The first and second one convulsed, just like that soldier demon, and their sickly, thin body filled in easily to healthy and muscled being. Hearing footsteps, Muzan retreated to a corner, hidden by curtain. Curious on his experiments.
Nurses and a doctor filled in. His two newly made demons devoured the humans, unsurprisingly. He frowned though; they don't show the same intelligent the soldier demon has, he mused. Why is that? Stepping out of his hidden place, one of his newly made demon quiver in fear. Another one, Dumbass, he dubbed in his mind, tried to attack him. He cut Dumbass's limb off, but he still continued, and thus he punched a hole though his chest. Dumbass still moved, Muzan is slightly impressed. Scowling, Muzan decapitated him, and he finally dropped like a ragdoll.
Licking blood off his fingers for show, he glanced to the other demon.
"Begone." He said, voice cold and pissed as he had to dirty his hand, no matter how happy he is on how resilient his creation (and probably himself) is.
She 'eep'ed, before bowing down with a quivered, "Y-yes My Lord!" Before she ran off.
Muzan snorted.
This night was, at least, educational.
With such resilient soldiers, to be the shogun or to not be the shogun, that is the question.
...
Who is he kidding? Who the hell wants to deal with imbeciles and human stupidity feat paperworks on daily basis? Not him, thank you.
Maybe his approach was wrong on this. Maybe they need... education?
Murdering a lone doctor who experimented on children, Muzan took the man's identity easily. Willing his face and body to shape like the man, he moved. With him not needing much sleep, he could brainstorm medical knowledge needed for a doctor in a week. In his study, he almost forget his purposes on studying this feverishly. Almost.
He attended houses. Offering his help to those with 'Incurable' label on their profile. Muzan is in his Doctor's shoes now, offering shady treatment, charming his way to families. However disgusting this is, he had to. For science.
Muzan asked for a night to heal this family's sickly son; a night for the family to be off from their house except their sickly member. With a drop of his blood he turned their son to a demon. With his chilly voice and hands which digs to the new demon's shoulder, he explained his circumstances, his name, how he has parents and blabla about his life. Muzan also explained to the parents that he needs strictly red meat diet, not to be let out on sunlight, and introducing their demon son to their parents.
The family thanked him feverishly. And they seemed fine, after that.
Until two weeks later that demon son went rogue and killed his entire family.
Muzan scowled.
He tried four more times, because one data is not objective enough. And between one to four weeks, all four results are the same with his first experiment. Family slaughter.
Muzan scowled harder.
Well, a laugh which suspiciously sounds like his mother rings in his head, every time he did something which is apparently stupid for her, at least you tried!
Life gets boring after some decades.
Muzan learned a lot of things about the world and about himself. His presence has become a myth, his name whispered in fear. A decade ago, he had found a cult worshipping demon and promptly appeared in one of their creepy ceremony. He turned the leader to a mindless demon, and watched he slaughtered his cult members with his Blood Demon Art. Serves them right, creepy assholes. That was probably when he had become (in)famous, as he had introduced himself then.
His scattering demons reports to him time to time, as he discovered they could communicate through telepathy. They brought him news, rumours, development on their powers (they grew more powerful with each human they eat, apparently), and such. Things to confirm his suspicions on political climate and other things.
In his long life, he had shape-shifted to a lot of people, had studied medicine, architecture, art, history, mythology, and worked on a lot of projects at once. It was during this time he discovered he could make organs in himself; more brains, more hearts, more kidneys to drink himself stupid. He made educational books, and debate on his knowledge with other scientists, under several wonderful years.
True, sometimes people who knew who he truly is (usually cult members) asked for immortality and such from him. And depending on how much of an asshole they are, he either exploded them on sight, made them dinner, or watch them convulse and survive. From time to time, families of those people hunt him down and tried to kill him; they rarely succeeded, or if they do, their katana can't kill him, and he got to watch them gawk as his limbs grew on remarkable speed.
Life gets boring when knowledge stops sparking his curiosity, and he retreated in a small estate under the woods. It was owned by a couple of amnesiac elders who thought of him as his lost grandson when he wandered there. They still count him as his grandson even after a year later, and Muzan is content on playing grandson, mostly doing nothing.
The cult members still find him, probably because his demons telling his whereabouts, but he doesn't mind much. As long as he didn't dirty the tatami with blood, grandpa and grandma wouldn't yell at him.
And then a Samurai named Tsugikuni Michikatsu came at him.
Michikatsu twitched, apparently miffed at how cold Muzan's expression is. How cold and bored his red eyes are as he heard the man talk and what he wanted. Muzan smiled to grandma who served them tea though, expression broke to something warm as grandma pats his head and 'be good with the handsome guest won't you?'
When grandma was out of earshot, he ignored how Michikatsu opened his mouth to talk, purposely sipping his tea while closing his eyes. Michikatsu twitched more.
"So," he put his tea down, voice bored, "you want to grow stronger than your twin brother?" He asked; confirmed really.
"He is a Demon Slayer." Michikatsu bit out, trying very hard to stay still.
Ah, those. The Demon Slayer Corps, an organization founded by the Ubuyashikis, his Cousin family, had appeared and apparently they are hellbent on killing him, hunting his demons one by one. He had wondered about his own family, but at the time one of his demons told him his family was slaughtered by rivaling clan some twenty years ago, he had gone numb. Sometimes he wanted to apologize to his Cousin family because they are cursed because of him. Cursed for generations and generations until he died.
Tough luck cousins, he doesn't know if he could die either. They can suffer together from afar, in family spirits and all.
Muzan peered to his katana, observed how the Samurai breathed, and snorted. "What betrayal," he sighed, mockingly dramatic, "a demon slayer asking to be demon, what tragedy."
Michikatsu was very, very still. Trying very, very hard not to scowl because of course he values his life in front of Muzan.
Muzan tried hard not to snort again. Riling him up was so fun. "Okay, Slayer." He agreed, "I will make you the strongest yet." And he will. Those who mastered Breathing Technique are stronger, they can withstand a lot of his blood. "I have but one condition."
Michikatsu waited.
Muzan smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"You have to kill me in the end."
(He loved his studies, he really does. He loved every inventions humans made. He loved their happiness and silliness, their genuine curiosity.
He loved human just as he loathed them.
He loathed their greed. How he loathed their wars. How he loathed their stupidity.
He would look at his reflection and something tiny in his brain said, you are monster.
It said, you are a wretched creature. causing all those deaths, turning blind eye and humoring wretched ideals.
If he is going to hell anyways, he thinks, just do it quickly. Anyone. Just send him to hell already.)
Michikatsu can handle a lot of his blood.
Muzan had gone slowly, giving bits by bits for Michikatsu's body to get used to it. But it was clear that he is far stronger than regular Breath Users. He transformed, as per the usual. His swordsmanship has sharpened and sharpened every time they sparred. Breath of Moon is breathtaking to see and face, and Muzan found himself enjoying himself in adrenaline more often than not.
He gave a lot of blood for Michikatsu to convert whoever it is on from his own blood, in the end. It took nearly eight of his total blood.
But.
No matter how powerful Michikatsu become, he didn't manage to kill him.
Instead, Muzan discovered a whole lot new tricks he could do for himself. Apparently he can grow tentacles far easier now. Tentacles with mouths. And blades, and new hearts mid battle. Breath of Moon was amazing, but it could never slow the rate of his regeneration, which is terrifying in its own rights. Though Michikatsu's own regeneration is remarkable, it was still seconds slower than Muzan. He had been wanting to try to shapeshift to mythical creatures too, and he did so in his battle with Michikatsu. Sure, the slayer turned demon is powerful, rightfully so.
But at the end of the day, after days of battling and trying to subdue each other, Muzan was stil the winner.
"What the fuck?!" Hissed Muzan to the dirt, absolutely horrified as he just reviewed the battle in his mind; realized the length of what he can do, again. He thought he has grown out of this 'what the fuck' phase, but obviously not.
Not too far away from him, Michikatsu flipped him off, exhausted and totally mutilated.
Michikatsu was a bitter bitch in defeat.
After he was done regenerating himself, he disappeared. To God knows where. He hadn't care too much, never did track his demons when they are off on murder spree. He was a bit disappointed that he can't see his reaction on Muzan's branding of Michikatsu though; a 'tattoed' kanji of 'One' on each left side of his eyes. Muzan had given it to him because he was his first demon student, but for Michikatsu who hated defeat, it must be some kind of brand or reminder of defeat. His rage would be funny. But no matter. His demons are grown men regardless of their human age, including Michikatsu, and for Muzan it meant they handled their murder spree responsibilites on their own.
He didn't count how many years has passed after that. Eventually, grandma and grandpa died. He dig them their graves himself, left Nakime to include the house in her Interdimensional Labyrinth Blood Demon Art (because he likes her enough) to take care of it and promptly wandered off some more.
Muzan decided he wanted to update his knowledge on current science development since he had gone and rolled in university easily. A new branch of medicine, of toxins, has opened. Interested, he became close to his mentor there, a gentle woman named Tamayo. They would discuss poisons from animals and plants, break their components down, and combine them; the last one if only to humour Muzan.
Life was moving again from Muzan. It was slow, but it was enjoyable. Still with the same 'assholes demanding immortality' things, or if he's bored enough, he still came to bust Cult Gatherings to turn few of them to demons, and few of them to dinner. Demon Slayer Corps never get a hold of him and his demons are cutely loyal to him; choosing death than telling his whereabouts. Few well placed praises, head-pats, and cruel punishments do you wonders, apparently.
So he was understandably shocked when one night, coming home from library, he was assaulted by a demon slayer with blazing red blade.
"Where are your manners, Slayer?" Muzan snarled.
The long-haired man in red haori stayed silent, and continued his assault.
His cut stings like no other thing he ever felt. His regeneration slowed down considerably, which baffled him and scared him a bit. The Slayer was nimble, strong, slippery, blinding, and when he he hits, he hits hard. It was like fighting rays of sunlight; his blade shines, he could almost see lava trailing its swings. They burn his skin, he couldn't get a hold of him, and Muzan was left snarling in burning, scorching pain in his wake.
He had wanted to die, yes, he thinks quietly, but not like this. He wanted to, at least say goodbye to Tamayo. But, he thinks again, parrying the burning blade homing for his neck with his hardened nails and replied with his dancing bladed tentacles, maybe he did not get that kind of luxury after all. After all he has done. Maybe this is his time to die. This man, this Slayer, whoever he is, has rendered his regenerative abilities, he has burned his skin and wound him like no others. He had burned his heart in a lucky stab, and he knew how the man is homing for another of his hearts. Like he could see where his hearts are. Not even Michikatsu was able to do that.
It's hard to shape-shifts to creatures with such wounds. Muzan pulled his bone from his mutilated right hand out, parrying his sword with his hardener bone as his hand grew. Too slow. The Slayer knew this too. In the end, Muzan slowly half-assed his efforts, tired already and wanting to die. The Slayer easily burned his remaining hearts, and Muzan barely registered the pain as he was high on adrenaline, trying to parry and regenerate as much as he can while still, hopefully, looks serious.
(Finally someone who can kill him.
Finally he can rest.
Finally. He is getting too bored already. And lives vaporizes when he is bored.)
Muzan widened his eyes when the Slayer's blade was ready to decapitate his head. His reaction time was purposely slowed just so it's enough to decapitate him while Muzan dodged half-heartedly. Muzan closed his eyes, and sighed almost in relief to his upcoming death.
...
His entire body is burning. His wounds are aching. Death isn't supposed to be like this.
Muzan opened his eyes, this time genuinely shocked to see the red blade has stopped to graze his neck. His red eyes met that of the Slayer's, then, still shocked.
"You're a decent human being." The Slayer said, sounding confused himself.
What.
"I don't kill decent human beings."
What.
The Slayer stepped back then, offering his hand for Muzan to get up.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
After the battle; after Muzan minutely shocked as he waited for himself to regenerate properly and the Slayer had stayed and watched, they talked.
So this is Tsugikuni Yoriichi, Michikatsu's twin which he wanted to surprise. Breath of The Sun, Muzan guessed, from how his blade moved, almost a mirror to his twin but not; far more powerful and heavy than Michikatsu's swings could ever be. And it nulls his regeneration almost useless.
Annoyed, he asked, "How do you even know where i am?"
Yoriichi shrugged. His face, Muzan learned, is naturally expressionless. "A demon told me."
Red eyes squinted. His demons are awfully loyal, though. "Describe it."
"One horn. Yellow eyes. Checkered skin. Demon Blood Art of poison needles."
Muzan was quiet, reviewing his brains for memories of such demon and, after the fifth sweep of his memory, he is pretty sure, none of his demons are like that. He told as much, voice genuinely puzzled, regardless his stone cold expression. "I have no such demon."
It was Yoriichi's turn to be puzzled then, as he must sense Muzan's genuine confusion. "There are rise of demon activities this past decades."
Muzan stared blankly at Yoriichi.
Yoriichi stared back blankly.
Muzan broke the staring contest first, holding his own grudge to grumble against his tea. Instead, he forced himself to think. He hadn't do shit for the past decade, though. It was, as Nakime put it delicately, 'his vacation, unproductive years.' Late Kikio bluntly said 'this is Muzan-sama's lazy years.' But then if not him, who—?
"Michikatsu." Muzan realized. "I was his mentor. He have almost ninth of my blood." Michikatsu is building his own army, Muzan thinks. But why? Does he want to take over the world or something?
Yoriichi, Muzan realized, looks pinched. For any other people he was still the perfect picture of calm, but Muzan could see minute twitch of his face muscles. Like he doesn't know how to react exactly. Understandable, because if Muzan have a twin who turned people to demons while he somehow become demon slayer, he'd be confused too. Maybe. Or he doesn't care much.
"He's you Slayers's problem." Muzan said, grouchy from his aching limbs.
"He's your student."
"He's your twin brother."
"You created him."
Muzan didn't think this man could be pissed, but there it is, a frown. He raised an eyebrow, voice sounding bored. "And? I did what he asked of me." Without payment, no less. "Apparently he tried to kill me by sending you my way. Why don't you kill me?"
"You're a decent human being." Yoriichi said, not missing a beat.
Muzan snarled. "I'm a demon, you fool."
Yoriichi shrugged, as if saying 'whatever you can do with it?' and say, "A decent demon being."
He was pretty sure there's something wrong with Yoriichi's head somewhere. Some screw loose maybe. No wonder Michikatsu naturally pissed at him every day, every time, every little mention of him. They don't made for each other.
Yoriichi followed him. He wasn't obnoxious enough to follow him when he have night classes and researching with Tamayo, but Yoriichi still followed him. Muzan was determined to ignore him, though. He will probably be gone taking care of other demons right?
But after two weeks, the man still following him like a puppy, Muzan snapped. He dragged the man with a force he was sure breaking his wrist, and drag him down to nearby tea house. Muzan needed tea to be civil, even though he wondered why he even need to be civil, King of Demons and all those fancy titles the Corps gave him.
Don't you want to go out, Muzan-sama, Nakime had asked him one day, apparently boredom rotting her mind just as his, don't you want to go crazy apeshit sometimes?
I do now, Nakime, he thinks, sipping his tea, particularly including snapping this sun idiot's neck in half.
"Do you have no other demons to hunt? Other things to do than stalking me?"
A pause. "No."
Muzan squinted at him, a glare which would render his demons to submission. "What kind of Demon Slayer are you, taking vacation from hunting demons?"
"I was kicked out of Demon Slayer Corps."
Muzan snorted. The guy must be joking. The silence stretched—Muzan looked at his black eyes, and realized with dawning confusion that Yoriichi was serious. The Corps was ready to kick someone as strong as this guy because his brother has become a demon? A guy who made the sun itself his blade?
Humans. Ridiculous, greedy, scared things.
"It's fine."
What?
"It's fine." He repeated, tone still monotone.
Apparently he had said that out loud. "I heard you the first time."
Yoriichi was looking at him strangely then, and Muzan is ignoring it by sipping his tea again. "You're a kind one." The slayer said, soft enough to be carried out by the wind, but it was loud and clear for Muzan's sensitive ears.
He almost choked. Almost.
Choking was beneath Muzan though, and he set his cup of tea down, delicately. His red slitted eyes appeared, face contorting to another snarl with elongated fangs as he glared at Yoriichi.
"Do not test my patience, Slayer. What is it do you want?"
Not bothered or flinch, Yoriichi replied, "You know where my brother is."
"Indeed." They still have a telepathic connection, though it was weak as Michikatsu actively blocked him out. Blood still sings to blood, though. His.
"Tell me where he is."
Of course. Stupid twin brothers.
Muzan closed his eyes, concentrated on his bonds to his demons, to Michikatsu in particular. It was not surprising, but still upsetting, when his bond with him was hazy. Like there's a fog surrounding him. He can't detect or see anything. This usually means he's away from Muzan, too far away, but it could also mean the other side is trying to cut him off.
Now he could only give a vague direction on where to go.
"South." He said, once opening his eyes again.
Yoriichi looks on blankly.
"That's the only thing i can give you. Your beloved brother blocked me out." Scoffed, as if Michikatsu could do that for long, "Now scram, slayer. And never return. Consider this payment of your idiocy to spare my life."
The Slayer looks amused, folding his hands under his red haori, definitely not going to go away soon, to Muzan's exasperation. "You want to die, though. You gave up on our battle. Why?"
Deep breaths, Muzan, deep breaths. One, two, three, four, five...
"If you really want to die, why don't you just stand under sunlight?"
Fuck this guy, he decided.
Muzan shot forward, not enough time for Yoriichi to duck, and he easily feed his blood on the Slayer's bloodstream. Yoriichi fell to the tatami, choking and convulsing, his hanafuda earrings clinking as he struggled. Muzan watched with bemusement and satisfaction rolling him off in equal measure. To the user of Breath of The Sun, how will his blood, the very antithesis of his Breath, react? Will Yoriichi just fell dead? In coma due to contradiction?
He watched, sitting back down and sipping his tea serenely, a total contrast with the sound of thrashing and choking in their little, private tea room.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni did turn to a demon.
Unlike his brother however, he did not undergone any transformation except his elongated fangs and nails. Muzan was sure he feeds enough blood in that short time, but as if his blood was burned by the sun, it held no effect whatsover to Yoriichi. No bloodlust, no crazed looks or losing memories. He is still the same, expresionless Slayer of The Sun.
What the fuck?
Muzan thinks, watching the Demon Slayer turned Demon actually sunbathing on his porch. Sunbathing.
It seems like the universe is determined to not let Muzan pass his What The Fuck stage of his life.
And Yoriichi Tsugikuni did not leave.
Muzan was fed up enough that he battled Yoriichi to shoo him off, like shooing a very violent chicken out. Yoriichi was defeated repeatedly only because he isn't used to his newfound strength and speed, seeing him fumble was fun, slamming him to nearby and through walls was enough to make him grin in glee. After first several battles though, Yoriichi learned; and he learned fast. He returned to his feet and proceeded to give Muzan another beating of his life.
Anonymously they agreed it's kind of a spar; a very deadly spar, but a spar nonetheless.
Eventually, Muzan decided, Yoriichi is like a mold. No matter how he scrubbed it off he would always come back. Or a weed. Or cockroach. The point is, he would let the man around. Besides, its not like he ever did shoo his demons away when they visited.
Besides, Muzan wouldn't say it out loud; but Yoriichi is a lost man.
(Guess you picked up another stray, Muzan-sama, Nakime says, in a strange tone of hers when he turned another dying orphan on the street to demon on a whim.)
Muzan didn't realize it at the start, but the man was downright suicidal. When they sparred, considering Yoriichi is a demon now, Muzan was dead serious, and far, far more ruthless. And even then Yoriichi did not afraid to sacrifice his limbs for a win. As if he had nothing more to live, except a spark of determination and purpose; to kill his older brother.
But right now, right now Yoriichi would win for sure. Michikatsu did not win against Muzan, but Yoriichi did, and thus Michikatsu would be ultimately defeated. And Yoriichi doesn't want that, Muzan realized. That's why he doesn't seek Michikatsu. He wanted to kill him but also, he wanted to die in the process. A stupid honorable man.
Between him and his brother, who was hellbent on defeating him, it seems like Muzan has a penchant for picking up idiots.
Author's Note:
I have posted this in AO3 before, but maybe it's a good idea to also post this here?
This fic is a massive canon divergence, would be focusing on crack; especially how the demons and the world reacts to this Muzan who is still a cruel demon but ultimately is just some immortal guy who is bored out of his mind, featuring the legend OP good guy who also become immortal and is now Muzan's only moral compass. I am excited of this fic, so i'm hoping you guys are too!