Years Ago
The wreckage was devastating.
Another demon...
It was a sprouting scene of wooden debris and carved-up bodies. A wagon of wooden materials and steel chains still attached to wrists that had been flung across the old dirt road. Wooden beams of what seemed to be some kind of cage were scattered, and the horses were freshly slaughtered. Their blood mixed into the piles of bodies of men, with half sporting tattoos and a few wearing guard uniforms, that had been eviscerated and left forgotten. If he had to guess, he'd lean towards a few of these, having been a prisoner transport caught out in the middle of the night.
It couldn't have gone far.
The fact that the demon seemed to be in a hurry was telling. It either didn't want to waste time before sunrise or had found a human it was particularly interested in devouring. Enough to only take a few bites of the fresh prey before splitting off to chase the fortunate survivor of such a scene.
I can still save one if I hurry.
That was enough to get the man with the blue cloud jinbei and red tengu mask, who had wandered upon this scene of carnage, to shoot off into the forest at a speed incomparable to the average man's. Hunting down the footprints that shot away from the scene and deep into the forests, one a tiny set, a child no doubt, and the other heavier and gnarled, leaving footprints of hunger in the blood-stained grass.
Please don't be too late.
Urokodaki's footsteps were hurried, blurring across the grass as he sprinted through the dark forest. His nose searched for a scent until it hit a bloody, twisted one, paired with a fainter, deeper one. The scent of a rabid, lustful animal chasing a cub that smelled a few seconds from dying.
At least let me save one.
Urokodaki's footsteps echoed through the air as he approached the scent's origin. His eyes widened as he saw a demon hovering over a boy's fragile body, splayed out on the ground with a deep red haori still clutched in his fingers. The haori was caked in dirt and blood. It never once looked like it would leave the boy's death grip.
"Fourth Form: Striking Tide"
Urokodaki's voice was steady as his hands rushed the demon with a raised sword. The demon barely grunted before its head hit the ground, and its limbs fell to earth. The ashy flakes of the creature fluttered behind Urokodaki as the demon's clothes dropped to the world, and Urokodaki turned to the dying boy and attempted to-
"...sorry..."
To ease the pain?
"...I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
The boy wasn't dying; he had a scrape on his arm, but nothing lethal. It didn't make sense. Urokodaki could have sworn the scent he picked up during his sprint was of a dying child. Yet this boy was still alive, injured but alive. He didn't understand it.
What's going on...
Urokodaki's sword was sheathed silently as he watched the boy curl in on himself and continue muttering heartbroken pleas. The sight was tragic but didn't even compare to the scent. It was the most devastating scent, a dense cloud of despair, a mourning scent.
Oh...
So that's why Urokodaki thought the boy was dying.
He wants to die.
It was the most tragically painful scent Urokodaki had smelled. A deep feeling of sadness and pain was laced through the scent wafting off the shaking boy. His mutters of sorrow danced through the air with the fleeting dust that billowed from the demon.
"...I'm sorry..."
The voice that was littered with pain and stress broke Urokodaki's heart.
"...I'm sorry-"
"Boy," Urokodaki spoke, cutting off the boy's cries and catching the little one's attention. Urokodaki watched as the boy's tufts of pitch black hair, short and dirty, shifted upwards, and Urokodaki finally got a peek at the boy's deep blue eyes. They were stained with tears and red from grief—unimaginable pain.
"You are safe."
The boy's smell was tragic.
"You don't have to worry anymore."
Sadly, it wasn't an unfamiliar smell.
"I slayed the demon."
Although it was the heaviest scent that Urokodaki had smelled in a long time.
"There is no need to fret now," Urokodaki murmured as he cast aside his morbid internal analysis and watched the boy's deep blue eyes widen. His mouth agape as he turned towards the trail he had left behind, tiny frantic footsteps followed by gnarled ones. The trail the demon had left before its footsteps vanished, and its ashy remains were scattered to the wind. The demon was gone.
"Demon..."
Strangely, that wasn't what the boy seemed to be concerned about.
"You said demon right!? You saw it! Right!?" The boy gasped with wide eyes and a broken smile. His eyes were shaky, and his voice cracked as he stumbled to his feet, stunning Urokodaki to silence as the boy clenched the bloody haori in his hands.
"You saw it too..."
Urokodaki had never seen a child speak in such a desperately terrified manner. Every syllable had so many different emotions that they painted the air blue. Meanwhile, the boy's fingers clenched the blood-red haori like it was about to disappear. He seemed scared of something.
"The monster... you saw it... you said..."
Urokodaki couldn't tell if it was the demon or not.
"You killed it," The boy murmured with a gulp, his eyes wavering in trepidation as he looked at the clothes left behind by the demon. His distant gaze turned back to Urokodaki's masked one as the boy asked a question through trembling lips. His body was still shaking from earlier fear and confusion.
"Who are you?"
At least the boy's scent had lightened if only a little.
"Sakonji Urokodaki," Urokodaki said softly as he glanced at the boy's clothes. They were simple sleeping garments, white in color. The boy had been running barefoot, and the red haori he held like a lifeline was caked in dry blood that wasn't his. It smelled a couple of days old. "What is your name?"
This boy had been through too much.
"...giyuu."
Hadn't they all at some point.
"Giyuu Tomioka," the boy sniffled as he used the red haori to wipe his tears before holding them tightly to his chest. His blue eyes were glued to the dirty fabric before Urokodaki spoke, "There's a village nearby."
Then, the boy's blue eyes whipped up frantically.
"I'm sure they'll-"
"NO!" the boy yelled, his voice raised in a deep hysteria that failed to hide the sudden turn his scent took—the fear that had gripped the boy's entire being. "You can't take me back! Please!"
It stunned Urokodaki, but not as much as when the boy reached out with a single hand, leaving his red haori clenched in the other and his sleeves pulled back to reveal red marks on his wrists.
"I'll go anywhere but there..."
Fresh bruises where the skin had been rubbed raw.
"Please," The boy asked with a trembling grip as he held on to Urokodaki's clothes. The silence was deafening as the boy shook, afraid to speak loudly after doing so for the first time in days. Urokodaki didn't know what to do.
"Boy..."
He knew where to start, though. He would start the same way he started with all his other students. All his other children. He would ask a simple question.
"Do you have any family?"
He got the answer he was expecting.
"No, I don't," the boy responded after hesitating. "The monster..."
The scent was reminiscent of a secret but close enough to the truth that Urokodaki could believe it—which was essential. He couldn't teach a boy who had a family. It was a precaution.
"The demon killed her."
The path of a demon slayer wasn't meant for those with family who would miss them.
Present Day
Sakonji Urokodaki had lived a long life.
How ironic...
If not a full one, then at least he lived a long one.
For my body to give out before my lungs do.
Urokodaki gave a tired chuckle before a stray and rough cough escaped his lips, spitting up a stray wad of blood from his stomach into a bowl as he sat on a tatami mat in the center of his wooden hut. There was an old, weathered leather notebook by his side, dusted and dirty from age, and by his other was his old sword, which he was hoping to use one last time before he went. Then, he would be buried with it.
I have a few days left, at the very least...
The nearby candles lit his gray hair, and his cloud-patterned jinbei kimono still hugged his thin frame. His red tengu mask was tilted to the side of his face so he didn't risk throwing up in it. The last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself in front of his old student. His only living student.
That should be enough time for him to make it.
Urokodaki had waited until he was confident his death was inevitable and could feel the organs in his body shutting down one by one to send his letter. He had sent some before that, asking for Giyuu's well-being, but his boy never answered. Urokodaki would have thought his son died in the final selection if it wasn't for the fact that Ubayishiki gave him frequent updates on Giyuu's condition.
I hope he doesn't hate himself too much...
They never seemed to paint Giyuu as being in sound mind.
After I'm dead and gone.
To Urokodaki, it seemed as if the child he once knew had died with all the others.