CW: brief mentions of underage marriage and the consummation of it since it's set during the Meiji-Taisho era and canon-compliant
02.
Like a Sunshower
parry this, you filthy casual
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(Japan, Late Meiji Period, 189X - 190X)
Tamayo first meets the eccentric slayer during one starless, stormy night. She's half-engrossed and elbows deep into a body, scavenged earlier from an abandoned road, pushing down the muted animalistic instincts into the back of her mind in favor of medical research when a thunk comes from the windows.
"I've finally found you, lady Tamayo-"
She lashes her claws out immediately on instinct; this stranger knows her name and she will not take the risk of dying to an agent sent by Kibutsuji, not after all these years. But the stranger takes her attack head-on, to her absolute shock, and doesn't twitch a muscle.
"Fuck," it grits out instead, smooth tenor muffled behind its red smiling Hannya mask. "Fucking shit. Goddammit. Goddamn fucking shitballs- that hurts, lady, fuck, listen- I know you hate Muzan's guts, okay? I'm here to ask if you're interested in helping us kick his ass."
And then it collapses forward, face-down.
Tamayo isn't proud to say that its words intrigued her, or that she had nudged the unmoving wet body with her feet a few times before she rolled her sleeves up to pull it onto her spare cot. What shocked her, however, wasn't the multitude of wounds that littered all over its- his body under his old kimono, old and fresh scars overlaying each other like patchwork, or the crawling pungent curse lurking under his skin, but the familiar face under the wooden mask.
Straight black hair that reaches his shoulders; full lips and soft cheekbones. Tamyo can recognize the face of an Ubuyashiki anywhere, but the last time she has actually seen one face-to-face was almost several centuries ago. All the way back during the Sengoku Era, no less. Back when she was still serving Muzan.
After one particularly gruesome slaughter by Upper Moon One that almost wiped them out, the family had entirely disappeared off the face of the land and into hiding. And yet, the first one she'd just seen in centuries just flat out swore like a sailor and asked her if you're interested in helping us kick Muzan's ass.
How… unexpected.
So Tamayo folds up her sleeves and gets to work. Even if she has broken the Hippocratic Oath back when she was first converted and succumbed to the accursed hunger, before she was a demon Tamayo was a doctor. She peels away the old kimono, carefully avoiding the toxic patches of wisteria hidden in its seams, and folds them neatly away with the Hannya mask and the chipped sword. Her hands are steady as she stitched wounds and staunched blood. Then a poultice of turmeric and willow bark, to avoid infections and help with the pain, before she finishes up with a fresh roll of bandage.
There's nothing much to do afterwards. She couldn't muster up the energy to return to her research from all the mess, so she cleaned her tools and wiped away the rainwater by the window. Then she settles onto a chair by the bed and waits, busying herself with fixing an extra yukata she dug from her closet.
It's near dawn when her guest finally wakes up with a groan. Tamayo quietly draws a small line of blood by her inner wrist. Mystical Aroma of Daylight wafts into the room, just as he shifts to look at her.
"My apologies," he makes to sit up, but winces before he settles back down. "That was incredibly stupid of me. Probably should have started with something else instead of 'I finally found you'. I sounded like a serial killer, shit."
Tamayo stared. "That is quite alright. But what does a demon slayer wants with me?"
"Not a demon slayer," he grunts, "Even though I'm kinda with them. My brother is the Corps Commander, and I'm just here to help him with… stuff."
She raises an eyebrow. "Most of your scars came from demons."
"Job hazard," the boy shrugged. He's a thin little thing, and couldn't be older than ten. "Scouting and investigating. Researching how demons work and all that. Can't exactly avoid them."
"And you're here to make a request from me, a demon, to help you?"
"You've regretted it, Tamayo-san." He says, smile smoothing back into a grim seriousness unbefitting of his age. "I know that you've been surviving on animals and corpses. That you refused to obey your instincts, and never attacked any humans ever since you left Muzan. That you hated him for turning you into a demon. That's why you've continued with your medical research all these centuries, isn't it? To make amends for your past sins."
Tamayo took a deep breath. Broken bodies and the splatters of blood blooms behind her eyelids, an age old sadness and anger flaring deep within her chest as she digs her fist into her lap. The memory of that night after she turned never left her, never let her forget what she had done. She will know no peace until the day she witness the Demon King dissolves in the sunlight.
"Who are you?" She asked, meeting her guest's eyes, watching his every move. "What are you?"
Because it's nigh-impossible for him to know all that. Because there's not a hint of deception from the boy. Tamayo has lived for centuries; her heightened senses allow her to pick up even the most minute changes in the human body. Yet, under the minor influence of her blood demon art, there is no stuttering of breath nor a skip of an heartbeat. Just who is this human?
Her guest beams. "Katsuya, ma'am. No need for honorifics or surname, but I won't stop you if you want to. And foresight has always been in our family's blood."
Katsuya holds her gaze, sparkles seemingly surrounding him with his chipper tone. Then, with a widening of his eyes, he slaps a hand onto his mouth. "Ah fuck, uh, I wasn't supposed to tell you that. Was that your blood demon art? Oh- oh, its okay, I understand. Why you did it, I mean. I'll probably sound like I'm insane otherwise. Can you please keep my real name a secret?"
"My apologies for this, Katsuya-san," She regrets having to resort to this, but it's the price for a lifetime of running and hiding. At least her guest isn't truly an enemy, not yet. Not with how much risk Katsuya is taking as well by revealing himself to her. "…Why exclude them?"
"I'm allergi- oh, well, in-case the curse flares up of course. You've felt it, haven't you?" He pats a hand on his navel, smiling. "My time here is limited. I'd be lucky if I can push twenty-five, even with Breathing."
It's almost an unsettling sight against what swims dormant under his skin, slowly writhing and churning like rot-slick waters. Still, it's not a smile laced with shame or poisoned with insanity. No, all Tamayo senses is acceptance. Pure, unwavering acceptance, despite everything.
But to defeat the progenitor of all demons is not a simple thing. She has seen what Muzan is capable of, has witnessed what he can do all those centuries ago when she was by his side. And yet, this human is willing to dedicate the rest of his remaining lifespan into pursuing this impossible feat with nothing but determination in his voice.
"Why would you commit your life into pursuing Muzan?" She ask, stomping down the hope surging from within her chest, so tight that it hurts. "He has survived despite being cut into pieces. Survived an attack from the strongest slayer centuries ago, who's breathing style has been lost to time. Why pursue something impossible?"
"It's possible, Tamayo-san. I have seen it," Katsuya says, a steel-hard conviction in his eyes. "I've seen the future and saw the motherfucker dissolve in sunlight. It'll be a difficult fight, and many people will die. I know it's hard to believe- hard to even imagine, but it will be done, and I'm here to give some of those people a better fighting chance." His fingers dig into the sheets, bunching it up. "And even if I don't possess the foresight, it's still worth trying for. It's why you've been fighting for so long, isn't it?"
And Tamayo can't help but agree with that.
.
.
Their meetings afterwards are sparse and few in-between, mostly communicated by letters written in wisteria ink. It's nowhere near the amount to harm a demon, but it's still pungent and unpleasant to her sensitive nose. A necessary sacrifice for privacy, Tamayo supposes, as she hovers the letter over a candle and watches words appear over the flames.
Katsuya is an enigma, always polite despite the crude tongue Tamayo comes to know him for. He pokes and prods, meeting her questions with more questions, hypothesis after hypothesis as he navigates the world of demonology now that he has her help. And in truth, it's refreshing. Katsuya reminds her of herself, back when she was younger. Back when she was human. The world of medicine and the human body had been her muse, and that same spark has carried on in her ventures into the mystery of demon biology.
Why do demons die after decapitation? Do demons feel even pain at all? Katsuya would ask, and Tamayo tells him that the brain and heart governs the nerves and veins running throughout our bodies, and by severing their connection to each other with a Nichirin blade, we are unable to command our body to regenerate or heal before it collapses. The touch from sunlight renders the end of the demonic cells dead. And contrary to most beliefs, we do feel pain, though it correlates to our endurance. The older demons are, the easier to ignore it.
Do they decompose poisons because of physical symptoms, or when their bodies detected it? To which Tamayo had said both, similar to flu and fevers found in human bodies. Demonic cells recognizes poisons for what they are. It's also why demons are not affected by illnesses, as their body purges any foreign substance before it may cause any harm.
Does that mean we can bypass the instinctive regeneration response if they did not realize that they're hurt, or in need of regeneration at all? Or an attack that does no damage but incapacitates movement, like pressure points?
And Tamayo had paused, mulling over his words on the letter, before penning Perhaps so, perhaps not. I had puzzled over this same theory years before, but there was no way to confirm my hypothesis. I was not able to cut my finger without regenerating almost immediately, without severing both my nerval and visual feedback.
Well, Katsuya's next letter said. No need to hurt yourself, Tamayo-san. I can assist you with your hypothesis if you'd like me to.
And so marks the start of their unconventional partnership. Tamayo pens down old research theories on regeneration suppression that she has painstakingly hoarded over the centuries, while Katsuya collects data points and sends her his findings via his crows. Migi is a polite little thing, while Hidari brings her shiny pebbles every now and then. Tamayo finds herself looking forward to each of their visits, the little loop of wisteria flowers adorning their talons a familiar sight at her windows.
When Katsuya does drop by, his visits are preceded by his crows politely asking her for her permission before he tracks her down with the directions he's given. And Tamayo has to drag him to bed each time he does, because the reckless fool is nursing multiple wounds beneath his clothes and pretending not to limp.
"Your blood circulation will be cut off from how tight this is," she'd lecture, snipping away tight bandages with herbs that smells so pungent it nearly covers up the iron taste of blood.
Katsuya merely winces when she sinks a needle into a stitch. "Didn't want to make it hard for you, or give your hideout away. Demons have sharp noses, right? I'll use more next time."
And well. Tamayo doesn't know how to respond to that, struck speechless by the casual act of consideration. She focuses on stitching instead. Afterwards, she gives him poultices made of scent-dampening herbs and bandages soaked in petroleum jelly, enough for several men. "Clean your hands before dressing your wounds," she teaches him later, over a nasty gash on his arm. "Wind the bandage twice, firm but not tight. Check the circulation before you secure the end. I'll show you which herbs to mix in a moment."
In these moments, few and far in-between seasons and months, Katsuya would be confined to bed for the next couple of days to a week. Tamayo is honestly appalled. How does he live like this? If she did not force him to bedrest, the fool would drop dead at any moment. How he manages to hold his innards in until he reaches her is beyond her.
"It's just Breathing, Tamayo-san," Katsuya beams from where he's fixing his clothes. "Did you know it can hold back poison and diseases too?"
"If I may offer my honest opinion as your attending doctor," Tamayo fixes him a flat look. "No matter how powerful you demon slayers and your breathing techniques are, it will not save you when your organs are spilling out from your skin."
Katsuya, to his credit, merely nods. Other than his appalling survival habits, he fortunately has a far more polite bedside manners. He stays put until she deems him healthy enough to leave, and until them they pass the time consulting over their notes; her hypothesis against his field reports, as they comb through data point after data point.
Turns out, regeneration can be delayed if the wound is not recognized or detected, though it is a difficult thing to achieve. "Paralysis works only for a few seconds before the poison is broken down," Katsuya mused, thumbing through the papers. "But there was one time I aimed for a nerve point, and he didn't even notice that his arm wasn't working. Until he tried to swing it, of course. I've immediately cut him down as fast as I could after; hopefully the pain was minimal."
Tamayo eyes him carefully. "Why go through the trouble when they're demons?"
"Demons or not, no one deserves to suffer." Katsuya merely shrugged, scrunching his nose. "And I don't enjoy killing, much less leaving a person with his hands dangling and wounds gaping as it is. Even if I do catch demons alive for our selection exams."
Which is interesting indeed, alongside his preference for flowery kimonos and gender non-conforming appearances. But she does not pry. Some things are meant to be a secret until it's shared willingly, but something lightens in her heart upon his words.
"Turning a demon back into a human is unheard of," she tells him, when he brings up the question one winter. "I've never seen such a thing in all the centuries I've lived through."
"But you will," Katsuya says. "In twenty-years' time, a boy and his demon sister will find you. She refuses to eat humans, and regains her strength by sleeping alone. And she will eventually learn how to stand in the sunlight, unharmed, despite being a demon."
It sounds utterly ridiculous, almost something beyond her imagination. A demon that has conquered the sun, and capable of using a Blood Demon Art despite refusing the lure of fresh human meat. Can it be? Is such a thing possible?
"...Then I'll have to wait until then, so I may study her blood." Tamayo says, because she is a scientist and doctor foremost and underneath all her hope there was curiosity. "You will also have to provide me with the blood of the Twelve Kizuki, who have a large concentration of Muzan's blood in them. Only then I may complete my research, and hopefully find a cure."
Katsuya nods. The next time he comes back, he's got three wide gorges in his back, a fracture in his leg and a broken collarbone. "So, uhhh. I'm still not strong enough to face any of them yet, I think. I can't even handle three normal demons-" He mumbles into the pillow and hisses when Tamayo sets his tibia into place.
"Just how many of them did you fight this time-"
"-other slayers will, eventually, but is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"
Tamayo picks up an old cracked beaker, resisting the urge to sigh. "We may not be able to complete the cure at the moment, but we can still work on something else. Perhaps better equipment would help us in our endeavors. "
"Sounds great!" Katsuya beams. "The Ubuyashiki has plenty of connections. Glassware, metalware, herbs or medical books, name it and we're glad to provide you. My brother definitely would."
Which is true, because the next letter Tamayo receives is unlike the ones she usually gets from Katsuya. There's no seal nor name nor signature, but the penmanship is neatly scripted and sharp on the crisp white paper.
Dear Lady Tamayo, it says. It is an honor to finally write to you. You have my sincerest gratitude for your assistance with demonology research; your on-going contributions has helped us overcome a good number of difficult cases. Thank you for looking after my wayward sibling as well; I hope he has been behaving around your company. Enclosed are the custom traveling chemistry set you have requested for, as well as a list of places you may purchase any wares you need with no cost. If you'd like, we may set you up with several secret locations for you should you decide to settle.
She quietly burns the letter and thumbs through the pristine silverware neatly arranged in the light traveling suitcase, their custom schematics flawless as per her request. Ubuyashiki Kagaya quickly becomes another one of her… friendly associates, after she had sent her thanks and a refined recipe of wisteria ink. They discuss topics from chemistry to the newest medical advances in high society to warding boons, in which Tamayo had merely improved on a whim by comparing it to her Blood Demon Art.
Kagaya sends her several packages of high quality herbs, and asks for her opinion on the security seals they have. And well, she suppose that it's a nice way to pass the time when she'd trapped indoors during the day.
.
.
She ends up taking the offer for a permanent place to stay, after she saves a dying boy rotting from the inside out.
Tamayo supposes that she can believe Katsuya's claims of foresight now. You'll find a proper assistant soon, he had told her several months ago. He's hardworking and diligent but he's also a goddamn simp.
She doesn't know what a 'simp' is, but Yushiro is nothing but studious. He throws himself into the journey of medical study with a singularly ironclad discipline, and pledges his life to her despite her insistence that he doesn't need to. "What kind of man I'd be," he had declared, "If I do not repay you for saving my life?"
Perhaps it is due to the demon blood that now flows inside him, but Yushiro learns incredibly fast. He picks up stitching and minor operation procedures, memorizes all three hundred combinations of herbs and their concentration to toxicity in the span of five months, and takes to housework like a duck in water. Then he screams when Katsuya comes visiting, who drops to the floor and leaks blood all over the wood, but he begrudgingly helps Tamayo to drag his body onto the bed as she fills him in on their guest.
She keeps his mask on, because it's not her secret to share.
"What are your intentions towards Lady Tamayo?" Yushiro launches into interrogation immediately after Katsuya is awake, to her chagrin.
Katsuya eyeballs him. "We're friends," he says, simply, which actually surprises her.
A demon and a demon slayer being friends is virtually unheard of in her long life, but here he is, declaring it as easy as a breeze. But still, "You consider me a friend?" She couldn't help but ask.
"I mean- you knit with me sometimes," Katsuya shrugs. "And you exchange letters with my brother, who's all I have left. You're basically already a family friend."
That's… really nice of him. Until Yushiro throws a punch immediately and yelling "HOW DARE YOU MAKE TAMAYO-SAMA CRY-" and she has to stop him before Katsuya rips his stitches open.
(It's been such a long time since she had people who she can speak to freely without fear. And having a knitting partner and a pen-pal who talks medicine with her is… not entirely unpleasant.)
On the other hand, Yushiro doesn't exactly get along with Katsuya, to her concern. More than often the boy gets into countless one-sided arguments with Katsuya, who only laughs and brushes him off, yet sets off another round of insults. But Katsuya is but only human, and even he has his limits. So it comes to blows finally during one early morning as Yushiro wraps his bandages up, while she keeps a close eye on them as she's distilling herbs.
"Listen, simp," Katsuya sighed. "We both know Tamayo is the most beautiful, graceful, smartest, wonderfullest lady we know-"
"How dare you refer to her so casually!?"
"-but from the bottom of my heart," Katsuya says, solemnly. "I actually prefer dick."
Yushiro chokes on his tea.
Tamayo doesn't ask, much too used to his crude language. But she lightly-baps Katsuya's head for a good measure. "Language."
"But it's true! I prefer the warm embrace of men, and probably eventually sucking co-"
"YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH IN FRONT OF LADY TAMAYO-" Yushiro roars, launching himself at the beaming boy.
The ensuring tussle doesn't stop until Tamayo had to pry them apart with a broomstick, and she had lectured them both until sunrise, but Yushiro mellows down considerably. He stops arguing as much, but still glares at Katsuya whenever he looks over.
"Don't worry, you're not really my type," Katsuya had said, prompting Yushiro to crack a beaker. Thankfully he doesn't say anymore, instead playfully saluting him before he tumbles out the window.
(Yushiro doesn't really quite completely warm up to him in the end, but he dresses Katsuya's wounds whenever Tamayo is preoccupied, so she suppose that it's progress. It's also nice to see that Yushiro's bonding with someone other than her, even if he's hurling insults at Katsuya half the time.)
Seasons come, seasons go. Katsuya grows into a lanky teen, with more scars than skin crisscrossing his body. But he comes back with less and less open wounds, though bruises still decorates across his ribs and limbs. His palms are pockmarked with calluses, and most of his fingers doesn't even have fingerprints anymore, the skin rubbed and healed over too many times.
At some point, his breathing has smoothened to the point that Tamayo doesn't hear them anymore, even with her enhanced senses. When she pays attention, they are long and drawn out, a shiver of a whisper drowned out by the breeze. Katsuya's footsteps are equally as quiet.
("I've found a way to quickly incapacitate demons, Tamayo-san," he'd said, laying out his tools. A set of thin metallic needles glints neatly on the cloth, smelling of the sun. Senbons made from the same material as Nichirin blades, but a hundred times thinner than they can hope to be.
Tamayo can't help but gasp. "Which meridian did you put them in?"
"Behind the neck, right below the skull."
"And you can do this during battle?" Yushiro sniffed.
Katsuya droops. "Not yet. Only after I've tired them out. Had to hold them down before I can insert a needle."
"Is it almost time for the Final Selection test again?" Tamayo asked. She knows enough that the corps catches demons live for their entrance test. She does not begrudge them for it, despite the bitter taste on her tongue. It is a necessary sacrifice in the on-going war against Muzan. The corps need all the experience they can have.
Katsuya merely nods. "I promise that we will not use this technique for anything else, Tamayo-san."
Tamayo can appreciate the gesture of mercy. The horrors from live experimentation flits across her mind more than once. "I'd request that you teach us," she offers an extension of peace, "This may prove useful should we need to retrain unwilling victims to prevent further harm.")
His curse, on the other hand, grows like an unchecked weed underneath his skin. Slowly, but spreading its roots across his system. There were no physical symptoms yet, but on rainy days she catches Katsuya wince as his joints ache from the moisture in the air.
("I'm sorry," she tells him, folding back her sleeves and stethoscope. "As your doctor I have to advise you to cut back on using Breathing Styles, as they may bring unnecessary strain upon your body. At best, it leaves you with chronic pain. At worse, it accelerates the curse."
"Aw fuck," Katsuya sighs. "It be like that sometimes, huh?"
Yushiro slaps him over his head, though he settles into a proper seiza once she levels him a look. "Take it seriously, idiot. Your body is literally starting to fall apart."
"It's fine. I can't use breathing styles in the first place. Never learned them."
"...what do you mean you can't use breathing styles- how are you killing demons then?"
"The normal peasant way, duh. Nothing special.")
Tamayo offers to turn him into a demon once. "So it may ease your pain," she said. "And provide you strength in your quest. But only if you wish for it."
Katsuya merely shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. Kagaya will cry if I become a demon. And besides," he grins. "I'm not the one who's going to slay Muzan. I'm just here to help."
So she nods, and doesn't press for more. But she quietly sets aside time for a side project. She works and works tirelessly with Yushiro by her side, comparing blood and cells and drawing upon her centuries of knowledge. By spring, she presents Katsuya with a little wooden case; the pea-sized pills sit in it like little dewdrops.
"For pain-management," she explains. "And it'll hold back your curse for a little. But I regret that it's not enough to cure it completely."
Katsuya beams. "It's enough. Thank you so much, Tamayo-san!"
A letter comes for him that summer, in the beak of a crow with a purple cord around its neck. Asuka greets her in fluent Japanese, unlike the rest of his peers, and uses that skill to cuss about his master without a shred of shame. Katsuya takes a single glance at the letter, requested for a pen and some paper for his response, before hurrying into the spare room they've put aside for him to pack.
"Is everything alright?" Tamayo asked, because the boy is hastily throwing together his meager belongings into a rucksack haphazardly. He is packing for travel, with clothes and rations and poultices lining his bag.
"Nah," he said, smiling. "I'm just going to attend my brother's wedding afterparty."
.
.
Ubuyashiki Kagaya, in Amane's honest opinion, is brilliant.
In the mere three years since he stepped into the role of Corps Commander, Kagaya has established countless changes for the better of the Corps as a whole. Amane has heard, back when she was still a shrine maiden, that the survival rate for new recruits has increased twice-fold alongside corps efficiency. That more slayers walk away alive from demon encounters, and those that don't sends back enough information on their foe for the benefit of the next team.
All because of higher manpower and quality members, a result of the revision of the Final Selection Test, supervised and rolled out by Kagaya himself.
Before, in order to become a Demon Slayer, one must be recommended by an existing or retired corp member, and survive for seven days on Fujikasane Mountain without any aid from the outside world. It is a brutal entrance test, and she can count on one hand for those that survived each batch. Supposingly, it is necessary. To be a demon slayer is not an easy task, and the Final Selection serves to weed out the weak and test the resolve of the remaining survivors.
But Kagaya had pushed for a change. That teams ranking no less than Kanoe will now supervise the entrance test discreetly, and to step in when necessary. In exchange, the requirements in order to pass as a slayer has been revised. One must now survive seven days, and slay a minimum of two demons in order to be accepted.
"Their behavior during the test will be taken into consideration as well," Kagaya has said, to the stunned Pillars. "Whether a candidate is joining us out of selflessness, revenge, or fame matters little. What is important is that they understand cooperation, and are driven by the notion of protecting the weak."
"What of those that did not pass, Oyakata-sama?" The Rain Hashira had asked. "Will they not have the advantage over newer recruits, should they attempt again?"
"That's a good question, Ryota-san." Kagaya smiled. "The possibility has been taken into account. Should they fail, then they will only be allowed to attempt the entrance test in another two years, to give the rest a fairer chance."
"What of the demons, Oyakata-sama? I do not believe there are enough for each entrance test."
"That has been taken care of as well," Kagaya said. "I have a specialist leading the cause. And the number of captured demons are purposefully kept uneven to the number of recruits."
Murmurs ripple through the gathered Pillars. A frown sits on the Wind Hashira's lips, while the Storm Hashira look pensive. "Good call, Oyakata-sama," said Jigorou-san, both eyebrows raised. "This will test the speed and capability of each batch."
Kagaya nods. "We will judge those that survived but did not slay enough demons with other criterias. If they pass that, then we will accept them as slayers just as before, but we may take them in for other divisions should they be more suited for it." Then, he unfurls a scroll. "Of course, we will be observing the outcome of this over the span of the next three years, and making adjustments as we see fit. You're welcomed to speak with me over any concerns you foresee."
And what a eventful three years it was. Recruits that were accepted into the corps had been drastically reduced, but they had been the cream of the crop. The rest who failed the slayer criteria but passed the rest had been drafted into other divisions, expanding the Field-research, Kakushi and Scouting team by nearly a quarter. Students who gave up are aplenty, after tasting what fear and death are, but Mentors reported that their remaining ones had shown an increase in discipline. By the end of the second year, the quality and quantity of recruits had shot up to a rate unseen before in the past century.
"Thank you, Oyakata-sama," Urokodaki had said, bowing before Kagaya all those months ago. The man has a strange tengu mask on at all times, but the gratitude in his voice is unmistakable.
One of his students that year had been crippled from protecting the others, but his sacrifice was not in vain. There was a demon lurking deep in the mountains who had nearly devoured thirty would-be slayers, among which are ten of Urokodaki's past students. It was above the level of what fresh recruits are capable of taking on, and Urokodaki had been dispatched to take care of it. He had came back later, several cracked fox-masks in hand as he departs for the Estate Graveyard.
"Allow him some space," Kagaya had gently led her away, leaving the man alone as he grieves. "He was the slayer who captured the demon, and now he was the one who put it to rest. Perhaps this way it will bring him some semblance of peace."
Kagaya, she has come to find, is also kind. She has heard stories of course, when she was briefed on the history of the Ubuyashiki family and her duty to fulfill as one of the chosen ones from her clan. That there were many different commanders of the demon slayer corps. Some were ambitious to the point of ruthlessness, while others were too soft. Kagaya is the right balance between the two; strong in spirit, yet gentle and thoughtful, mind clear of any biases in his decisions as he takes each possibility into account in stride. His voice is akin to spring-water, fluid and tactful, able to sway even the stubbornest of men to his side and bolster morale as easy as breathing.
And to think he was just thirteen when they met. He had treated her with a sort of gentleness so soft it hurts. "We are both sacrificing aspects of ourselves for the cause, Amane-san," Kagaya had told her, a hand cupping hers. "Please, do not agree to this solely out of duty. If your feelings hadn't changed by the end of our engagement, that you will care for me out of your own free will, only then we will marry."
Their engagement lasted two years. Kagaya was entirely polite and respectful, yet did not treat her she was incapable. No, instead, he took one look at her neat transcriptions during the Hashira meetings and sought her opinion on their bookkeeping team, and later inviting her to overhaul the administrative system from the ground up.
And Amane had taken it, because she has always been good at detail-work, had picked and prodded at loopholes and streamlined processes. Before, the slayers had to file and submit reports after their missions and risk leakage. Now, Kasugai crows report mission details via their words alone, and she leads the transcribing team to put them onto paper before submitting them to the bookkeeping team, who safeguards their hidden scrolls and maintains the security. She screens and checks each member's background personally, and only accepts new hires with no less than three recommendations from current corp members.
Kagaya defers to her after meetings too, always quiet but attentive as he listens to her opinions before offering his own. He teaches her how to sew the Kanji on each corps uniform, and in turn watches her as she show him how to embroidery chrysanthemums on temari balls. He brews her favorite jasmine tea whenever she's upset. He confides in her when they're alone, patient as he guide her through the Ubuyashiki businesses and divisions.
He doesn't touch her, not even after the night they've consummated their marriage out of necessity of producing heirs, only holding a hand out for her to take if she wishes to.
"I hope that once I'm of proper age," he said, steadfast and serene. "That you will allow me to court you properly."
Yes, Amane thought, taking his hand. Perhaps she can come to love this young man, despite the circumstances that brought them together.
And today, at the age of fifteen, three years after stepping into his role as the Corps Commander, Kagaya has surprised them all again. Amane sits by him, a hand on her belly - still too early to show - as she watches the meeting descends into chaos.
"This is too far, Oyakata-sama!" Ueda hisses, slamming his sword down as the Rain Hashira holds him back. "This was established since the dawn of the Demon Slayer Corps has existed! To make such a big change- I cannot accept it!"
Kagaya's smile does not waver. "I suppose I could not, when I was the interim commander. But I would be grateful to hear your thoughts regardless, so let me guide you through the proposal again."
Amane jots down his words. It is impressive how Kagaya had expertly deflected the accusation into such an innocuous yet polite response.
"As mentioned previously - we will be revising the entire wage system within the corps itself." Kagaya continues. "The Kakushi and others have already been finalized, so we are now left with the slayers division. From Mizunoto onwards, the starting salary will be at twenty thousand yen, with an increment in each rank they move up to. As for the Hashira, previously you were paid as much as you want," here, he taps a paper. "However, due to certain circumstances, we will be revising the limit to two hundred thousand yen, and anything more will require sufficient explanation and discussion with us."
"Not that I have any complains, Oyakata-sama." Miyamoto Naomi, the Stone Hashira, drawls. She exhales a cloud of smoke from her pipe, lazily smiling as she looks upon the rest of them. "But perhaps an explanation may… ease the doubts in my fellow pillars."
"Of course," Kagaya nods. "Whether one joins the corps out of goodwill, revenge, or money does not concern us. After all, we need all the help we can have. But an uncapped amount only attracts several problems undetected down the line, and we would like to prevent that in its entirely."
Ryota has a frown on his face, obviously has his hands full with the Wind Hashira. "Like what, Oyakata-sama?"
"You stupid? Obviously shit like money laundering, or fraud." The Storm Hashira snipes, rolling her eyes.
"Huh…"
"Amano-san is correct," Kagaya nods. "We would also like to prevent cases of corruption as well. Absolute power brings absolute corruption, and it serves to remind us the core of what made us join the corps in the first place. And that is to slay demons and protect civilians, no matter your reasoning of joining."
"With all due respect, Oyakata-sama," the Wind Hashira grits out. He slaps Ryota's hand away, crouching as he narrows his eyes at Kagaya. Amane watches him carefully. "We're the ones fighting on the frontlines, putting our lives at risk. Surely you won't take away something that actually… makes it worthwhile."
"Ueda!" Urokodaki barks. "Watch your tongue!"
"Can't it, old man. I'm right." Ueda Shichiro smiles, all teeth. "Any pillar can choose to walk away right now, seeing that our efforts are now no longer respected. Surely you understand my concerns."
Kagaya merely smiles back, as serene as ever. "Of course, taking away the unlimited wage privilege was not made in light. We understand that we are in debt to the slayers for risking their lives on the frontlines. So here are the alternatives we are proposing."
Here, he spreads a scroll of paper before him. "An estate build in your name once you reach the rank of Hashira remains the same. So does Medical care being free of charge alongside lodging and meals in any of our Wisteria houses in the country. However, the stipend you receive should you be forced to retire early has been increased, similar to those who chose to retire after a reasonable period of active duty. Should you perish in action, your chosen loved-ones will receive the portion instead, and none shall change the will other than you."
"We have several other policies in place to prevent abuse of this new policy, such as how students are not allowed to list their master as the recipient of their retirement wage, but a master may choose to leave part of their will to a student or successor if they choose to."
Kagaya rounds it off with a flutter of paper as he passes a copy over to Urokodaki. "Ah yes, and finally, there are additional benefits if you slay a Lower or Upper moon that does not undermine the current employee benefits already in effect. Information too, after it is verified to be correct."
None of them spoke for a good while, digesting the information.
"Pardon me for asking, Oyakata-sama," Ryota speaks up, low and quiet. "Why go through the trouble at all? I believe that none of the pillars have any problems with using their wages responsibly."
"Yes, the most of you do. However, we do have some bad eggs slip through now and then. Don't you agree, Ueda-san?" Kagaya says, and for the first time since she has met him, this one is cold. "After all, you have been tempted."
Ueda Shichiro froze. None of the Hashira move. Amane draws herself closer to Kagaya, sensing the change in the air. It prickles like ice on her skin.
It takes a moment before Ueda uncoils. The hiss in his voice is dangerous. "What do you mean, Oyakata-sama?"
"Well," Kagaya thumbs a wad of documents, then slips them forward to Urokodaki and her. Twenty-two instances of information trading, leakage of secret routes and rotating schedules, the compromising of three scouting squads and five hunting teams. Each line she reads drops a lead into the pits of her stomach. "You have been feeding information to outsiders in exchange for money, which I do believe that is a violation of our rules, Ueda-san."
Here, Kagaya isn't smiling anymore. "Especially when you're working with a demon, hm?"
The rest of the Hashira shifts. "Is that true, Ueda?" Naomi-san asks, a rumble in her voice, a hand on her blade.
"Of course not," he hisses back, before turning back to them. "What have I done to displease you, Oyakata-sama, to warrant this sort of accusation?"
"We have found several evidence," Kagaya cuts in, like a pin-drop. "Which my associate should be here with them soon. Then we can review where exactly did you d-"
In a burst of wind, the Wind Hashira throws a slash to his right and launches towards them with his blade. A splurt of blood and a scream, as the Crane Hashira takes the sudden attack right in her torso. Blades are unsheathed, a canopy of singing metal and flashes of haori, and then two of the Hashira cuts in, meeting Ueda's blade in a harsh screech. He goes flying back, dragging a trail of dust in his wake, as he spins his blade in a backhand grip.
"You have gone soft, Ubuyashiki Kagaya," he spits, wild and hissing, black hair unfurling behind him like a trail of smoke. Urokodaki positions himself in front of her, as the Stone and Storm Hashira stand guard between them and the spitting traitor. "You sit on your throne and know nothing of the hardships we face on the frontlines, just like your father. And you call yourself a leader? Ha!"
Amane swallows her anger, clutching onto Kagaya's sleeves. Ubuyashiki children are born to serve; duty-bound from birth to death, each minute and breath dedicated for the sake of the corps. The respect given to him is returned back to his men twicefold with no hesitation. Ueda Shichiro is so blinded by the prospect of money and power that he has lost sight of himself and the oath he has once sworn on his very sword.
"You can't even lift a blade, only capable of commanding us," Ueda snarls. "I'd say it's high time we have a change, don't you agree, Suzuki?"
"Suzuki?" The Crane Hashira despairs, shivering in her puddle of blood, clutching the stump of her left hand. Nobu-san hovers over her, the Flower Hashira's blade unsheathed as he stares Ueda down.
"You too? You're in this?" Naomi roars. "You would betray the Corps?"
Suzuki Ryota sits, still as stone, though the Rain Hashira's hands were white and clenched tight on his katana. "Not like this," he whispers. He doesn't draw his blade.
"Tch. You were always soft," Ueda spits. "Should've known you couldn't do it. You disgust me- but no big deal." He smiles, all teeth. "You kill me, and you'll never know who I sold the information to, and you'll never know which of your teams dispatched will be in danger. Like your Tsuguko, Naomi-chan. Your Kinoes too. Is that wise, Oyakata-sama? Will you really risk that?" Ueda spread his arms wide, mockingly at them.
The Stone Hashira sharply inhales. She does not move.
"That's what I thought," Ueda grins. "After all, I've been at it for almost five years."
"Actually, we already know all that."
Ueda swings behind him. Third Form: Clean Storm Wind Tree is devastating, especially in close quarters, and the shockwaves immediately digs a series of slash marks surrounding him.
There is no blood nor scream of pain, however. Amane pulls herself to her feet, trying to get a clue of what is going on beyond the pillars standing guard before her.
The newcomer that just appeared out of nowhere is… strange. They stand in the middle of the courtyard, right by Ueda, a smattering of lavender flowers crawling up from the hem of their yukata, stark against the black. Neither skin nor face nor hair are exposed, their clothes neat and tidy, resembling the swordsmiths in their attire.
The only difference is the mask. Unlike the pale pink Hyottoko mask that are commonplace among the Swordsmith Village, theirs is an oni mask, smiling in a sneer as its fangs glint against its blood red vintage. A pair of short horns protrude at the forehead, tilting the torioigasa back from its perch on their head.
What an unusual hat to wear in this season, Amane thinks. After all, the fan-shaped headwear is usually worn during festivals.
"Who goes there?" Naomi demands, at the same time Ueda spits, "Who the fuck are you?"
The stranger ignore them both to step forward with a bundle of scroll. "Sorry I'm late," they say instead, nodding at them. "You won't believe how much traffic there is on the countryside during this time of the year. I almost got ran over by a cart."
To her side, Kagaya unfurls, and a slow smile spreads across his lips. "I'm afraid you've picked a bad time to come."
"Yeah well, I definitely didn't expect to walk into an attempted coup. Should I leave you to it-"
"Fucking look at me when I asked you a question," Ueda spits, as he brings his sword down at them.
They say you can tell a lot from the way someone fights. Amane does not see much, from where she is shielded by the Hashira, but Urokodaki herds her backwards as multiple swords sing, unsheathing, as a canopy of metal screech from two blades locking. Kagaya's steadying her, and she catches a glimpse through the spaces between tense shoulders and uniforms, right as the stranger calmly parries a blow from the frenzied Wind Hashira.
"If you kill me, then we will be down with one less pillar," Ueda roars over the fight, wet and spiteful. "Is that what you want-"
Seventh Form: Gale, Sudden Gusts. He whirls like a hurricane, blade singing towards them. Amane can't breathe, can't move, as she watches in horror as the blade descends-
"Shut the fuck up," the stranger sing-songs, as they meet the attack in a spin. Amane is not familiar with sword-fighting, not yet, but the form they just pulled weaves right into the attack. Before anyone can blink, Ueda's blade goes flying across the courtyard just as they bring their own down on Ueda's hands.
With a sickening spurt of blood, both of his hands are sliced clean off.
Someone gasps. Ueda howls, dropping to the ground immediately. There's so much blood everywhere, staining the ground. The stranger brings a leg down to press him into the ground, forcing him into a kneel.
"Naomi-san's Tsuguko had already been warned on the ambush waiting for him. Himejima-san is more than prepared for his mission. He won't lose to Lower Moon two."
"You…" The wounded Hashira grits out, bleeding out on the ground. "H-how did you… parr-"
"What?" They tilt their head, and raise their sword overhead in a two-handed grip. "Like it's hard?"
Then they bring their blade down once more. A squelch, then a thump. When Amane manages to grab a glimpse again, Ueda's body is slumped onto the ground. His head is resting several feet away by the grass.
Bile crawls up her throat, and she forces it back down. The stench of blood is heavy in the air, as the rest of the Hashira take in the scene. None of them lower their blades.
After what seems like an eternity, Kagaya motions for the pillars to stand down, as he wades his way through. "Yasu-san," he calls. "It's great to finally see you."
The stranger's voice is cheery as they call, "You too, Kagamacchi!"
.
.
Later, after everything is settled and the mess at the courtyard is taken care of by the Kakushi, and the Rain Hashira is taken into custody and to be interrogated by the rest of them, Amane finds herself seated in the inner sanctum of the Estate.
The room is soundproof, the entrance hidden along a particular corridor and only accessible by the head of the family. Kagaya had shown her before, a year into their marriage, but she hasn't needed to enter before. Until now, as Yasu-san takes a seat before Kagaya and her.
"I'm surprised that you're willing to join the meeting with the Hashira earlier," Kagaya pours them a cup of tea. "Usually you insist otherwise."
"Yeah, well, I can't just sit there and let the idiot insult you like that."
He pulls his mask off, and then Amane is staring into an exact copy of her husband's face.
…What?
"Dear," Kagaya smiles at her, a hand rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand. "This is Katsuya, my sibling. Katsu-nii, this is Amane. We married three months ago."
"It's an honor to meet you, Amane-ane-san!" Katsuya beams, every bit of the sun in his wide smile.
He has the same lavender specks in his eyes as Kagaya, as well as the straight black hair. The only difference that she sees, now that they're sitting beside each other, is that Katsuya's hairline parts slightly to the right than Kagaya's.
"Just Amane will do, Katsuya-sama." She says, choosing to swallow the shock and head straight down into acceptance. She can ask more later. For now, it catches her off-guard on how easily the other refers to her as part of the family, even if she is already technically married to her husband.
"Then I ask that you call me Katsuya, then! No need for honorifics," Katsuya grins. "I'm allergic to them. And please keep this a secret from the corps!"
It's a whirlwind of explanation afterwards. Amane does not quite recall the exact perimeters, days and weeks later, but she understands that this was done for the sake of the corps. And having a undercover field agent who's also a body-double is an once in a lifetime opportunity, especially when there's already a risk of assassinations and ambushes. She supposes that she understands the necessity of it.
And well, she finds that her brother-in-law is easy to get along with, despite the hectic introduction.
Amane likes Katsuya. It's obvious that he's used to a more explicit vocabulary from his time growing up away from the estate, but he bites on his tongue whenever she's around and attempts to switch to a gentler tone. He insists on calling her ane-san, and each time he drops by - which is far and few between, thanks to his undercover status - he's always ready to greet her with a chirp and offers help whenever he can as her pregnancy progresses.
(He gifts her a handmade baby quilt adorned with a pair of traditional cranes. It's a lovely thing, hemp leaves pattern made endearing from the wonky stitching, though she wonders why is it so... long, as if it's made for three or four newborns laid side-by-side. Katsuya just winks, pats Kagaya on his back, then vaults out the window.)
He's perfectly polite, respectful, and has a dry sense of humor, meaning he laughs at Amane's more morbid jokes much to Kagaya's exasperation. He's good at what he does, excellent in fact. Politics make his head spin, but he keeps up alongside her and her husband in everything else, offering a third, unique opinion as someone who's on the field out there like their men. Demonology is his bread and butter, and there's no one better to ask than him.
He also tends to wear his clothes out to the point of the seams hanging on by barely a thread, and so Amane has to drag her brother-in-law into the inner sanctum to fix his clothes or press a new set into his objecting hands.
Today is one such morning.
Her husband is off fetching tea, after a quick peck on her cheek and locking the doors to the inner sanctum behind him. Katsuya unrolls the bandage with his teeth, fussing with the first aid kit even as he tidies up a stack of notes from his past three months out in the field. "Sorry for the trouble, ane-san," he says, sheepishly, as Amane gently maneuvered his left arm out of his torn sleeves.
"No need," She tells him. Her sewing kit is in her lap, but this particular damage to his sleeves seems beyond help. They'll have to get him a couple of new sets before he leaves again, no matter how much he protests. Amane will not be sending her brother-in-law into the field without any sort of dignity. It's the least she can do.
She's halfway into cleaning a new wound when she notices the scattered notes beside him.
She picks it up. It's full of schematics and little scribbled observations across lines of field research. But what catches her eyes are the breakdown of familiar seals, and some interesting concepts that involves sunlight.
Amane's more than familiar enough with Onmyōjutsus, though her own clan's hadn't been anything special. Theirs were a clan of perfumers and incense makers, and the wards they make consist of retaining the scents of various herbs and different concentrations of wisteria sap.
In contrast, she has seen what the Five Senses Seal can do, has watched the skies through the eyes of a Kasugai Crow, and traced the recent warding seals that Kagaya has developed with the help of his associate that guards the estate perimeters. It humbles and both fascinates her, to find out what other Onmyōjutsus are capable of.
This one though, she traces, is nothing like she has seen before. A circular, looping stroke, nicks around its perimeter, yet with a little opening that sits by the lower right of the circle. It somehow reminds her of her clan's wisteria wards, a storage seal that locks and releases the scent in a continuous stream.
The kanji for shine sits in the middle. 耀, in looping strokes.
"It's just a passing idea."
Katsuya's looking at her, a little smile on his lips. Amane hasn't noticed that she's holding the notes in her hands. "My apologies, but it's something I've not seen before. What's the idea behind this seal?"
"Oh, well, it's something like a storage seal," Katsuya shrugs. "To store and release sunlight. Though it's just a wishful thinking- I'm not even sure if this is possible."
A seal that releases sunlight. Amane can't imagine what something like this can achieve if they actually manage to get it to work.
"Demons need to be exposed to sunlight for several minutes straight in order for them to burn away completely," she says. "How will this work?"
"I was thinking more of incapacitating than outright killing them. Perhaps by pairing it up with a loud noise it may affect their sensitive hearing, or even block their sense of smell and sight."
It could work. The combinations are endless. By interfering with their ability in regeneration just for a brief moment might give their slayers an edge that may decide the outcome of the battle. "I wish to offer my help," she blurts, before she can stop herself.
Katsuya's eyebrows shoots up. "R-really? I mean, sure, though I'm not too sure if this will even work-"
"No harm in trying," her mind is already whirling through what she knows. "Nichirin Ore are capable of absorbing sunlight, and I suppose that is something that we can start from to see how they work. My clan's wards as well, with their functions as a storage for wisteria."
It doesn't take much to convince Katsuya. "Don't push yourself, ane-san. Kagacchi would be sad if you overworked too much." He tells her later, before he heads out into the night.
"Don't worry, I'll be assisting her," her husband pats him on the shoulder, before turning to her. "I think it's something interesting to look into. Perhaps you'd like to write to Tamayo-san and see if she can offer you any insight?"
And so begins the Flash Bomb project. She's grateful for it, all the help she gets from her family. Tamayo discusses with her the inner-workings of blood demon art and wards, while her husband digs up old family records of Onmyōjutsus and makes sure she gets enough rest. Katsuya offers to test them out in the field, once a prototype is ready, even though it will be a few years before she would see any progress.
The only missing piece she has is the bomb component. All she knows are firecrackers from her old village.
"No rush," Katsuya had smiled almost discreetly. "Maybe you'll find your answer from one of the Hashira in the future, as flamboyant as he can be."
It's a little unfortunate that she has to put the project on a brief pause once she's into her late trimester, and then another year or two when she ends up having quintuplets, to Kagaya's disbelief. "You have the gift of foresight, dear," she teased from her bed, watching her husband fumble with two of his daughters. The other three are snoozing away to their side, long baby quilt draped over them in a colorful splash.
"It is unfortunately selective in the future it shows me," he only smiles sheepishly at her.
It's a busy life, time passing in a blur from raising five babies and preparing their lessons early. Hinaki, Nichika, Kiriya, Kuina and Kanata were only officially introduced to their uncle when they were three years old, after they understood the importance of the family mission. Kiriya in particular adores him, who shyly asks for stories of his travels. And Katsuya indulges them wholeheartedly, dodging her teasing with a blush on his cheeks.
She doesn't exactly figure out what Katsuya meant, until a few months later. Sound Hashira Uzui Tengen is a bright young man who quite literally enters the battlefield with nothing less than an explosion, based on the reports. Though his demeanor is quieter than she expected, noting the way his eyes widen at her formal bow before him.
"I regret to say that I… cannot disclose the recipe as it is a clan secret, Amane-sama," Uzui says carefully, after a long moment of quiet consideration. "But my wives are specialists in their own right, so perhaps they can assist you in your research instead. All I ask for is to keep them safe and away from the fight."
Amane smiles. "That won't be an issue at all, Uzui-san. Thank you."
.
.
(Japan, Taisho Period, 191X - 192X)
Sanemi has seen a lot of fucked-up shit in his time as a Demon Slayer - tragedy, stupidity, bravery, desperation, to name a few - but he will readily admit it's the first time he's seen anything like this.
Masachika and him were deployed to the island of Kyushu. There has been multiple reports of demon sightings around the area, a spike in demonic activity ever since the Hashira assigned to this area was forced into retirement. Poor bastard lost a leg and an eye to a Lower Moon. Sanemi had practically leaped at the chance to take on this mission, to Masachika's amusement. "You're the only one I know from my batch who's salivating for a fight against a Lower Moon."
"Duh," Sanemi had smirked. "I don't give a shit if its a Lower or Upper Moon, I'll kill them all."
But apart from two demon nests that were preying on the villages scattered along the mountainside, there was no sign nor hair of the Lower Moon in question. Sanemi had disposed of the nests with relatively ease, and now he's about a week away from crossing the borders of Ōita. "There's a village here that's famous for their onsen," Masachika had told him before he departed for Southern Kyushu. "Meet me there after your mission. It's a great chance to relax, and maybe we can buy something for those girls at the Butterfly Mansion."
To which Masachika, the coward, ducks a cuff aimed at his head and ran away cackling before Sanemi could grab him in a chokehold. Just because he mentioned once that he'd like to thank the Flower Hashira for her work doesn't goddamn means anything more, fucking hell. It's like the corps are full of uncultured hooligans - didn't they know how to appreciate the efforts of the doctors that keeps their innards from spilling out?
Still, he's halfway across the farmlands when he catches the whispers from a couple of villagers. "It's been five days," the old man had leaned in to murmur, his companions around him grim-faced. "The strange noises on the mountains still hasn't stopped. We should let the others know to not to enter yet, who knows what can be in there?"
"I've heard that there were man-eating bears from the village up north. Do you think…?"
"It's demons," the lady hissed. "I'm telling you there are demons up there."
"C'mon, Ito-san, you really believe in those rumors?"
And that's where Sanemi had downed his cup of tea, left the payment alongside a generous tip before heading out. Shame that Sorai is already gone with his report to the estate, but it's not a big deal for him to investigate on his own. If it really turns out to be a demon, then he'll make quick work of them. Masachika can wait a few more days for him too, the bastard deserves it.
The sun's already setting when he was in the teahouse, and as the night blankets over the cold forest air Sanemi keeps a hand on his Nichirin Blade as he makes his way up the mountain trail. It's quiet, too quiet. Apart from the leaves rustling, there is no chirping of insects or the croaking of frogs. Even the fireflies are spooked, their faint blinking hidden among the grass. Fucking unnatural, especially when they're midway into summer.
Then the smell of blood hits him, and he withdraws his blade with a quiet hiss. It's heavy in the air, a telltale sign of a drawn out fight. Definitely a fucking demon then. Only demon blood smells this pungent and unnaturally sour.
He follows the scent. Then the blood trails, once he sees them. Splatters and splatters upon the ground, dark hued streaks in grass blades and the root of trees. It leads him deeper into the forest, until he's by the foot of a cliff and looking into a dark cavern.
And his mark is there, curled up right at the entrance. It's an ugly thing, drenched in blood and open wounds. Sanemi watches it carefully, the skin of its back expanding and deflating in shallow breaths. Spikes adorn its skin like some sort of fucked up porcupine, and oozing some nasty slime from open pores. Its a disgusting sight, that's what it is.
He takes a step forward. The demon doesn't move, doesn't react. Whatever, Sanemi spits, raising his blade. He was hoping for a fight, but ended up with this pathetic looking thing. At least the consolation prize is that he'd ridding one more demon from this godforsaken world. Good fucking riddance-
"No! Don't you fucking dare!"
Sanemi spins around and swings. Third Form: Clean Storm Wind Tree howls in his ears, dust and soil twisting into the air around him. A duck, a kick of his legs, and he lunges forward towards the blurry dark blob, bringing his blade down in an overhead swing-
Clang! And he jerks back from the rebound, force numbing his hands as he lands a few feet away, soil digging into his heels.
"Fuck's wrong with you?" His opponent barks. "Do you swing before you look? What the hell? What if I was a civilian? Are you gonna accidentally maim someone because you swing first and ask questions later?"
A rush of heat buzzes through the back of his scalp. "Who the fuck are you?!" Sanemi snarls, curling his lips back. The hilt of his sword digs into the skin of his palm, a prick of pain from the pressure.
"Who the fuck am I? I should be the one asking here! Now whooOOH SHI-"
First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter. Sanemi rushes forward, the cool stinging air of Wind Breathing digging past the corner of his lips as he chases after his wind slashes. The masked fucker side-steps one and brings their own blade into the incoming three and somehow deflects them off, did it just deflect his wind breathing off and twisting the attack to the side just as Sanemi ducks under and swings-
-right into their blade as they lock into a standstill.
"I asked you first, motherfucker!" Sanemi snarls into the fucker's face, pushing with all his strength. His arms buzzes with the friction, sparks flying between them.
"And I asked you second!" Demon Mask sneers, contempt dripping from its voice behind its sneering facade, ghoulish in its horned glory and under the moonlight. Crssk, tssk, hisses their swords. Is that a fucking Nichirin blade?
What the fuck. Sanemi is going to kill whoever this fucker is. Stopping him from slaying a demon is already suspicious as fuck and outright treason, and looking like a goddammit demon while they're at it too is an one way ticket to hell by his hands. It doesn't feel like a human too. Now that he's properly zeroing in on this motherfucker, Sanemi barely feels anything akin to a presence aside from what's in his vision, and it sends a chill down the back of his spine-
"Oh fuck," says Demon Mask. "Are you Umami?"
"IT'S SANEMI-" he roars just as a spike of pain bursts through his arm and- everything's going sideways and he's twisting as blood roars in his ears and then another pressure on the back of his neck and-
He's on the ground and staring into his own reflection in his blade. He can't move.
"God fucking dammit," Demon Mask groans. "Not again. Ugh. Why the hell do I keep running into you guys when I'm just tryna do my job here-"
He's gonna kill the motherfucker as soon as he can move and what the hell has it done to him-
A swift bap to his head. "Chill, you overgrown dog. You're not going to die. I just need you to stop moving."
Which is basically a death sentence on its own, and what kind of dumbass does it think he is? Sanemi heaves with all his strength, but no matter what he does, his body just doesn't listen.
A set of feet steps into his peripheral vision, and a rustle of fabric as Demon Mask crouches down before him. Something small is pressed onto his cheek.
"It'll wear off in about half an hour," it tells him, a sigh in its voice. "The wisteria ward will keep demons away from you until you get up. Sorry about this, you almost killed my demon and I'm so not going through another five nights of hide-and-seek again. I need it alive."
Well, tough-luck. Sanemi is a Demon Slayer and he's going to kill every demon he comes across, no exception. And whoever this traitor is. Once he gets back on his feet, god fucking dammit.
Demon Mask pulls itself back up to its feet and steps away. The footsteps goes around and behind him, then a shift of dirt and a heave. "Anyways, you never saw me here," it calls. Its footsteps, now heavier, grows fainter and fainter away.
Sanemi struggles harder. His limbs won't move.
Then the footsteps stopped. "By the way, that partner of yours," it hums. How the fuck does it know Masachika? "Both of you should be more careful in your next few missions. I'd hate to see someone as young as you die prematurely just because you can't control your temper."
Yeah, Sanemi's going to murder this motherfucker, whoever they are. It's just unfortunate that by the time his limbs start getting feelings back and he stumbles to his feet, they're nowhere to be seen.
The demon is gone from the cave too. All that's left is him, the boiling anger curling in the pits of his stomach, and the chilly night breeze.
.
.
He doesn't exactly remember the encounter until months later, because it was an absolute fucktangular of a nightmare. After an exhausting battle against a Lower fucking Moon, winning by the skin of his teeth and pulling Masachika out, sans a leg but still alive, Sanemi finds himself promoted to Hashira. He's being lectured by three of his fellow pillars when he finds out more.
(To be fair, Masachika is now forced to retire and Sanemi's so fucking pissed that Ubuyashiki Kagaya is just sitting in his cushy fortress, all safe and sound when they're all risking their lives out there. Until he finds out that Kagaya knows who Masachika is - and every single corps member - from memory alone and that his former partner is provided with a pension and medical care enough to last him for the rest of his lifetime that he takes a deep breath. Oyakata-sama merely smiles and assures him that it's all good. "It warms my heart to see you care for your partner this much," he said.)
"-you met them, didn't ya?"
Sanemi has to crane his neck to squint up at the Sound Hashira, who's smirking down at him. Uzui Tengen is a tall buff fucker and his bedazzled jewellery refracts the sunlight into his eyes in a really painful way that pisses him off. But still, "Met who?"
"The demon mask!" Uzui exclaims, slapping Sanemi's back. Motherfucker, that hurts. His stitches aren't fully healed yet and something in his lower back cracks.
The memory of the encounter surfaces in his mind. A demon mask with twin horns, dressed in a black yukata. A splash of lighter hues on it, flowers maybe? And an old Nichirin blade, chipped and scratched but somehow still able to fight him into a standstill.
And the complete lack of bloodlust, despite its scathing words. Sanemi recalls now, the absolute absence of a presence despite it standing right in front of him. The same memory that surfaced when he was back in that mansion, pulsating flesh-walls and a crying little girl that felt like air before he's pulling Masachika back from the illusion as he swings his blade forward, beheading the demoness in one slice.
"All Kinoe-ranked slayers run into it eventually, but for some reason it avoids Hashira," Uzui hums. His eyes are narrowed, sharp in contemplation, before he turns to look at him as a shit-eating grin spreads across his lips. "Wanna join the hunting squad?"
Sanemi blinks. "The what squad now?"
"Oh y'know, to track the demon mask down in our spare time." Uzui waves a hand dismissively. "It's just me, Kocho and Himejima for now, though Kocho junior joins in every now and then. Girl's out for blood ever since her first encounter. Tomioka's too depressed to join us."
"I did not agree to this yet," Himejima rumbles. He clasps his prayer beads as tears start spilling from his unseeing eyes.
"Aw, c'mon, big guy!" Uzui swings an arm over at the Stone Hashira, only to stumble as the man is way too tall. Instead, he settles for clasping a hand on his shoulders. "I know you're curious about it too. Didn't it fought you for three hours straight?"
Three hours? Against this mountain of a man with arms that can crush rocks and carries a chained spike and axe bigger than his fucking head?
Himejima merely sighs. "No, Uzui-dono. I believe it was," he tilts his head, seemingly pondering on his next words carefully. "It… spoke of nothing but insults and avoided me for the three hours I was in the valley."
Ah, okay. Seems more plausible this way-
"But," Himejima continues, "I could not land a hit. Not even once."
Sanemi twitched. Himejima Gyomei has been the Stone Hashira for over three years, and he has seen how the man fights. His blindness has never been a problem before because Himejima has the most terrifying ability to lock onto his target alongside his skill at controlling a twenty or thirty feet long chain of fuck you spike. For him to not land a hit… is unthinkable.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Uzui tsked. "It's like the bastard doesn't even breathe. No sound, nothing, other than the insults it hurled at me, that little-"
"Don't mind him, Shinazugawa-san," Kocho smiles, as calm as ever. "Uzui-san is just grumpy because he got poisoned and placed out of commission for a week."
"Bastard called me an eyebrowless fuck! And that my poison tolerance is pathetic!" Uzui grits out, a vein popping by the side of his head. "Just wait 'till I get my hands on them- I have eyebrows, goddammit. They're right here!"
Sanemi squints. To be fair, Uzui's white eyebrows are almost invisible in the light.
"…But why are you trying to find them again?" He levels a flat look at Uzui. "You're a fucking Hashira. You have better things to do than trying to find a weirdo prancing around in a demon mask."
"Because spite," Uzui rolls his eyes, before glancing sharply down at Sanemi, a flash of something swimming in his gaze. "And because I've never met someone who can deflect my bombs before, or poison me with something that actually works, what the absolute fuck."
Alright, that's fair. Sanemi turns to look at Kocho and Himejima, raising an eyebrow.
"Well," Kocho smiles. Sanemi shivers from the glint in her eyes. "It did also try to poison my sister and I."
"...The fuck?"
"Some kind of paralyzing poison gas. Holding my breath helped, though Shinobu got caught in the brunt of it. But I'll admit, fighting against them was pretty interesting. They seem to not use any Breathing Styles nor Blood Demon Art at all, yet they can keep up. Which I think there's plenty to learn from."
"Yes," Himejima nods. "I would also like to find out how exactly they hide their presence. It may serve as an interesting challenge and assist me with my techniques."
"Exactly!" Uzui throws his hands up. "I demand a rematch- my flamboyant reputation depends on it!"
Sanemi considers. It's true, his own Wind Breathing is superb and the best out of his generation, period, thankyouveryfuckingmuch, and he's absolutely confident in his technique. Yet, the masked fucker had defended against his attacks like it was nothing. With a chipped blade and no breathing style, the fucking gall of them.
…yeah, he's itching with the familiar anger, indignation, and curiosity. Just who is this guy?
So Sanemi grins, all teeth. "Sure, why the hell not?"
.
.
To my beloved brother,
CONTROL YOUR HASHIRAS, PLEASE. WHY DO THEY COME AT ME ON SIGHT. I'M GONNA PISS MYSELF.
.
.
A/N:
TAISHO SECRETS - KATSUYA
Katsuya wears flowery clothes to ward off the Ubuyashiki family curse. He's not too sure how effective it is, but he's still alive, so why the hell not. He actually doesn't mind what other people perceives him as, girl or boy. There's better things to worry about.
To add on, a Hannya mask is a mask used in Japanese Noh theater, representing a jealous female demon. A Torioigasa is a straw hat that's usually worn by girls in particular during festivals in Japan.
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look, man, did i have to spend 12k to finish setting up the 10 years timeskip? no, but i somehow did it anyways so please take it. Covid has been kicking my ass for a week but I refuse to die
not an expert in how demon biology works, but the concept I came up with is this; In simple terms, the brain controls the heart, the heart controls the blood, and the blood controls regeneration for the rest of the body. so if you cut off the connection between the brain and the heart, tada, no more regeneration. only works with nichirin blades and sunlight tho
i love Tamayo, and i think she deserved more screentime considering how good of a doctor she is. Amane too, she's so sad i just had to throw Uzui's wives at her to be besties. and listen i think the canon final selection is a waste of recruits LIKE why don't you just reassign the ones who cannot slay demons into other divisions like i don't know, scouting or the Kakushi? you're already lacking in manpower why are you killing them kids off smh
anyways we're finally entering the canon timeline- or at least, a few years before the Kamaboko squad debuts. in the meantime, i get to write katsuya terrorizing the hashira squad and vice versa. i didn't even like sanemi at first but his part just spilled out from my fingers and now he's one of my favs. Alongside Uzui, and Himejima, and Kanae, fucking love these bunch of frat party young adults
once again, thanks for reading!
(I'm crossposting this from AO3, so if you'd like to catch the latest update you can find me there!)