"Muzan."= Talking

"Muzan!"= Thinking/ Flashback/ Emphasizing a Word

"MUZAN!"=Shouting

"Muzan."= Whispering

The Prologue

"I don't understand."

"How could I let this happen?"

The ponytailed man knelt in his home, both he and the surrounding area covered in blood as he gazed upwards, so that his maroon eyes landed on the ceiling above, thoughts of his failure and self-loathing floating through his head. Sunlight leaked into his house from an open window, across the red-stained floorboards and onto the side of the man's clothes. The man's face remained impassive, as no facial expression that he could make could ever represent the grief that he currently felt. His arms had the most blood on them out of everything in the whole house, and yet he didn't cry out in pain or fear. After all, the blood was not his own.

It was his wives'.

The man held the body of his wife close to him using one of his free arms. It was not a pretty sight. Her stomach had been torn open so that her crimson blood and guts covered the flooring around him. Long gashes covered in dry blood were etched horizontally across her arms and legs, and her jaw was hanging open at a strange angle, most likely it had been broken when she had started screaming. Her eyes were now closed, but they had been open when he had arrived home. Dead, dull eyes that he knew must have been full of fear and pain before passing.

His other arm held the body of his unborn baby, who, unlike his wife, had been born dead with a peaceful expression on its face. As though it were still in it's mother's womb, rather than being deceased on the ground, next to his wife. The poor infant had so many bloody holes riddling its body that it looked as though the skin itself had been dyed red.

He still said nothing, still staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to cry, yet he did not, he knew she wouldn't want him to. Even more so, he wanted to find the man who did this and murder them, yet he knew that his wife wouldn't approve of that either. She always cared about others, even if they had done wrong onto her. She was such a kind soul. A kind soul with such a soothing voice and eyes like gems. A voice that he would never hear again, and eyes that would never again hold the mirth and happiness that he was so used to.

He should have been here, so that he would've been able to defend them or to die with them. Why had he decided to help that old man? If he hadn't, then perhaps his family would still be alive. He never should have left, perhaps if his brother had been her wife, she-

"O-Oh. Pardon me."

The man, an impassive expression still locked onto his face contrasting with the emotions he felt on the inside, slowly lowered his head downwards when he heard the masculine voice interrupt his thoughts of self-loathing. He slowly turned his head towards the open door, where he saw the figure of a young man standing in the doorway. The young man had golden hair with red tips, wearing traditional clothing. The only thing that seemed rather off about him was the sword in his scabbard on his hip. Was he a sort of samurai...?

"I know you must be grieving," the man said again, his golden eyes full of pity as he addressed the man that knelt in his home before him. "But I think that you-we should bury her. I'm sorry for your loss, and I'm sorry for not being able to save your wife from the demon."

Demon?

This was the only word in the sentence that had caught the man's attention. Demon? Was that some sort of title of some killer? The Demon?

The maroon-eyed man stood up slowly off the ground, although his hands continued to hold his still wife's body alongside his child's. He couldn't lift his hands off them.

"Who..." His lips parted as he spoke for the first time, catching the golden-haired male's attention. His voice, rather than being full of sadness, anger, or grief, was completely calm, as though that his family was sleeping rather than laying rotting on the floor. "Is this... demon?"

"Well, um... there are multiple, sir. It's quite hard to explain." The swordsman seemed taken aback by this question, expecting for the man to either attack him out of anger or to tell him, quite rudely, to leave him alone with the remains of his family. "I think it's best if I explain it to you, perhaps, while we..."

The golden-eyed man trailed off, not wanting to seem rude as he made his implication quite clear. Seeing what the swordsman was implying, the grieving man then stood up and stared down at the corpses of his family, around at his bloody home, and down towards his dirtied, bloodied clothing. He would have to leave it all behind, his memories, his dreams.

His life.

He brought down his head, so that his ponytail came down the side of his face, and kissed his wife, one final time, on her forehead, a forehead which he had kissed so many times before, not seeming to realize at the time how easily it could have been taken away from him. Every single memory that he had with her came rushing back. Every meal, every sleep, every time the two of them hiked through nature, just so she could see the tadpoles and frogs that she loved so much. He then maneuvered his head up slightly, so that he now stared down upon his beloved and his baby's corpses.

And then, he did something that he never done before. Something he hadn't done when his brother was beaten, or when he ran away from home, or even when he first discovered his dead family.

He shed tears.

Tears came out of his maroon eyes, sadness filling up in him like water in a bucket. The tears trickled down his face onto the open wounds of the corpses of his wife and child. He had cried on them. Now, a bit of him would travel with them to the afterlife, to make sure they had a safe journey.

He stood up, gently laying the two still bodies on the wooden floor. Brandishing his blood-stained clothes free of any dust it had picked up over time, he addressed the man once more before shaking his head free of any other stray tears.

"Of course. There is a shovel leaning against the house outside. I would appreciate the help."

For the second time upon their meeting, the golden-haired man was left bewildered. The man did not sound sad, depressed, or angry, even after he had seen tears fall from his eyes. He spoke as passively as though he were simply a visitor. Just who was this man he was conversing with?

Realizing that the ponytail-haired man was staring expectedly at him, his face flushed a shade of red. The armed man murmured an apology, and immediately went to go retrieve the shovel that was leaning against the house, not wishing to disturb the strange man any further.

Hearing the door shut behind him, the red-tipped-haired man turned his attention back to his family. He carefully tread over to their bodies as though the pair were resting before picking up his child in his arms. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped the baby's corpse up with part of his kimono, as gently as he possibly could, as though he were afraid of waking the dead child. He stared down at the little human before inclining his head to the baby's chest in mourning.

What he would give to be a father. It had only taken a day and he had lost-

*Ba-bump*

...everything?

The man allowed an expression of genuine confusion to cross his face. He retracted his head, looking down at the child before carefully repositioning his ear to the little baby's chest again. How strange... it sounded almost as if-

*Ba-bump*

The man's maroon eyes widened with shock as he placed his ear on the child's chest. It almost sounded like... but that was impossible...

The man's breathes become faster and more ragged as he analyzed the baby up and down, from side to side. Carefully and quickly, he began to unwrap the baby from his stained kimono, his breathing becoming even more askew by the second. Finally, when just one bit of cloth remained, he stopped. His hand was now hovering over the final bit of his kimono that covered the baby, as he remembered the harshness of reality. This was probably just his mind trying to cushion the blow of losing his family. He inhaled deeply, gazing at the wall opposite of him, before moving his gaze downward and calmly unwrapped the baby's body, only for his breath to hitch again as he stared down at his child.

The baby's wounds... ones that were severe...

Were gone.

Despite the blood-soaked cloth it currently donned, there were no wounds on it! It's skin had even returned to its previous luster, to its state before it had been so easily ripped out of it's mother's womb! But this... this was impossible! His mind must be playing a trick on him!

The ponytailed man stared down at the naked baby before slowly brining his head down to the baby's chest. He pressed his ear gently against the baby's chest, only to harshly retract it a moment later.

*Ba-bump*

It wasn't real! It couldn't be real! But it sounded just like... like...

*Ba-bump*

A heartbeat.

"WAHHHH!"

The man could count on one hand how many times he had been surprised in his life. He could also recall the events in which he, himself, had been surprised. How hitting someone with a sword truly felt, realizing that his mother had passed, and walking in on his dead family. That was it, as far as he could remember.

Then that made this the fourth time in his life he had ever been truly surprised.

The baby, his baby, the one who had been full of holes and dead, had let out a cry, and waved its arms in front of itself, as though looking for something to grasp. A look of unadulterated shock spread across his face. It was a miracle! Had he pleased some god without knowing? Was this his wife looking out for him from beyond the grave?

His alive baby let out another cry, startling him once more. His instincts kicked in, causing him to immediately wrap the baby up in the bloody cloth, the cloth that was not only dripping with the baby's own blood, but as well as-

He stopped suddenly and harshly, the baby beginning to whimper from the cold. He stood there, in his blood-covered house, as a sudden thought occurred to him as the sound of crunching dirt passed through his eardrums. The ponytailed man then made out a mumbling from outside, hearing a quiet "Where the hell is that shovel?" Ignoring the man who had unknowingly shared his mind with him, he slowly, but surely, turned over to his wives' corpse with wide eyes.

The wounds, wounds that had been cut so deep that he could make out his wife's bones, had vanished as well. Her jaw, her beautiful jaw that had been dislocated and open in an awkward position, had been relocated and closed, so that she looked as though she were sleeping. Her blood still stained the floor, but he could no longer make out the gruesome wounds from where the blood had spilled.

The man nearly stumbled as he made his way over to his still wife, his crying baby still only half-wrapped in his own cloths still in his other arm. By now, there was a trudging of footsteps that he heard near his door, yet he paid it no heed as he knelt down in front of the love of his life. The one whom he had failed.

Now moving even slower than he had previously, he knelt down in front of his wife. He looked down at the child, who in turn let out another whimper, before looking back at his wife. Then, while holding the half-naked baby in his free arm, he moved his head downwards so that he was now doing the same thing he had done with the baby to his wife. His head lay on her chest as his knees stayed bent on the stained wooden floor. He was listening as though his life were on the line as the baby let out another cry. If the baby's wounds healed, and her wounds had completely disappeared, did that mean...?

*Ba-bump*

Joy.

Shock.

Astonishment.

These were the only emotions that flooded him as he looked down at his wife, as he was too flabbergasted to feel anything else. He had heard it as well. But this just couldn't be. Did he fall unconscious while holding the bodies of his family? Was he sure this was still real life?

He brought back his head, as he now reassumed the kneeling position he had assumed when mourning his family. He looked down at his wife, and then back at the whining baby in his arm. Slowly, he wrapped the baby back up in his clothes, causing the baby to coo and giggle as he continued to stare down at his dead wife. With a loud *rip* he tore the clothes off his body, so now he was missing his arm sleeve. The baby snuggled into the sleeve that the man had ripped off as the man gently lay his offspring onto the stained wood below.

The pony-tailed man turned over to his wife, who lay next to where he knelt and had placed the baby. He slowly maneuvered his way over to her while staying on his knees, the floorboards creaking underneath his weight until he arrived, looking directly at his wife face-to-face as he loomed over her.

He put a tender hand to her cheek as the crunching noise of approaching footsteps was heard from outside. Unlike the other times, however, this one was growing closer, meaning that the golden-haired man had indeed found the shovel. He heard his door open from behind him as the swordsman addressed him once more, holding the shovel in his hand.

"I think it's time sir... I'm truly-" The swordsman trailed off as he gazed upon the baby that the maroon-eyed man had wrapped up, who was now soundly sleeping in his ripped sleeve. To the swordsman, however, the baby had stopped whining, and still looked seemingly dead. He tilted his head in confusion before gazing upon the man of whose house he had entered, only to see him holding his wife close to himself once more.

"He's still in shock." This was the first answer that entered the golden-haired man's head as he continued to gaze down at the man in pity before clearing his throat in an endeavor to get his attention. Yet the ponytailed man did not acknowledge his presence. He continued to stare down his wife, as though he were expecting her to wake up at any given moment.

"Sir, I'm sorry. I think it's time we-

What the swordsman was originally going to say was how they should hurry before dark strikes, hurry before the demons might come again. After all, this man looked incapable of defending himself. He would be a terrible person if he left him to die, or to mourn alone. Yet, his eyes had become nearly the size of plates as he continued watch the man and his dead wife, more specifically the latter who had been wounded beyond repair. Whose injuries and wounds showed that she must have suffered much before she had finally died.

Injuries and wounds that no longer existed.

*Clang*

The shovel he had held in his right hand fell to the ground loudly. Her creamy skin, which had been coated in her own blood and ripped apart viciously, had come back together as though the event had never happened. Her clothes were still ripped and covered in gore, but the ugly wounds that the ripped clothes had revealed had faded completely. Her jaw, which had been dislocated and was stuck forever open in what appeared to be a terrified scream, had been closed along with her wide, vacant eyes. Just what had the man done to her?

A sudden cry startled the golden-haired man once more as the swordsman's hand immediately grabbed the hilt of the sword that hung on his waist, more out of instinct than anything else. He looked over at where the cry had come from, only for his hand to fall loosely from the hilt of his sword back down to his side as a look of astonishment came across his face. The baby, who too had been ripped out of his mother's womb and had been mostly eaten by the demon, laid whole, unharmed, and crying on the stained wooden floor below.

While the swordsman stood there, completely dumbfounded at what seemed to be the ponytailed man's unrealistic medical prowess, the man continued to stare down at his wife. He stared down at the face of his beloved, his own face now merely inches from her's as he held her fragile, soft body in his arms.

*Ba-bump*

But this just couldn't be...

*Ba-bump*

What had happened? Was this his doing?

*Ba-bump*

He had to know. He had to figure out this mystery.

*Ba-bump*

And then, his wife, of whose obsidian-colored eyes he was sure would never gaze upon him nor open again, opened. She blinked once up at their ceiling before moving her beautiful gaze from the roof from which she had been staring at to her beloved husband whose face still didn't give away his internal shock. Her bottom lip quivered as her eyes watered, her lips parting as she whispered in her sweet, soft tone for the first time since her apparent revival.

"Yoriichi..."

That's all... for now.

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