Update: Revised. 2/7/25 Dear readers, I hope this message finds you well. I've been deep in the editing process, carefully revising Chapters 3 to 6. While staying true to the original storyline, I've enhanced the narrative with some tweaks. My goal is to create a story that captivates with dynamic action, resonates with emotional depth, and features strong dialogue, bringing the characters and their journeys to life. Thank you for your continued support and understanding. I apologize if Ume came across as harsh or mean-spirited or if Tanjiro come off wrong. My intention is to add as much life and emotion to Ume's character as possible.
"Nezuko, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
It was with these soft-spoken words that Ume exploded with emotions that she couldn't even balance. Fear, shock, horror, rage, relief, and just utter confusion flashed through her eyes at the same time. Ume could only blink slowly. She wasn't sure if she was seeing and hearing things, but she was certain that Tanjiro, the Demon Slayer who successfully beheaded her brother, was now perched on her back with his arms around her.
Nezuko? What's the matter, Nezuko? Why is he asking me… if she's okay...?
Ume blinked and blinked.
It took her a moment to fully recollect all that had happened. The vivid images crept into her mind, almost harmonious imagery of blood, agony, tears… Ume remembered the gruesome battle with the Demon Slayers, the decimated district of Yoshiwara, burning to ashes. Agony. Swords. Fighting. Crimson blood. Fire. The resounding crunching of the neck bone. Crimson blood raining from her and her brother's severed neck bone. Her mind wanted to sink back into the darkness. And then sheer silence.… The pitch-black abyss that bordered Heaven and Hell. Gyutaro entering Hell without her….her hysterical pleas, those strange, horrifying memories…Tanjiro's tears…Master Muzan's cruelty…
A dozen needles danced their way across her forehead. I...I'm alive, but...Gyutaro isn't. I…I can't feel him at all. He's not with me, he's not…alive. I should be dead...
Ume's jumbling thoughts fell short when she felt a stare burning into the back of her skull. A piercing stare that only one person she knew could bestow. She hesitantly looked up to see a pair of burgundy eyes peeking through the curtains of auburn hair soaked with blood and sweat. For a fleeting moment, Ume caught a glimpse of Tanjiro regarding her with a smile, a beautiful, warm smile. Ume felt her chest tighten—that smile looked so genuine, so warm. His beautiful burgundy eyes held the same soothing warmth that had comforted her and her brother in their final moments. He pressed a rough, calloused thumb on her cheek. Ume stiffened when she realised he had wiped off a few stray diamond tears that had escaped her eyes. She was so keenly aware of his arms cradling hers, that the warmness seared, making it almost unbearable for her. The feeling of his hands enveloping her felt tender, comforting almost. They held her so close and it reminded her hauntingly of Gyutaro.
And Ume was utterly terrified.
"Get off me!" Ume swung her right arm back, the back of her fist colliding with Tanjiro's cheek, in an infinitesimal moment, she caught the glimpse of his red eyes widened—a momentary shock and confusion—before it narrowed down to palpable pain again. This small reaction was enough for Ume to tell that Tanjiro didn't expect her to react this way in the slightest. Before Ume knew it, she leaped away a good twenty feet into the air, creating a miniature shockwave in her wake, the ground and debris and Tanjiro propelled from where she was.
The second Ume's feet touched the ground, the sashes of her belt sprang alive with frightening velocity, eight obi sashes unfurling from her waist like serpentine tendrils. She tore a piece of leather that was attached to her mouth, her fingers flexed instinctively for an impending fight. Her heartbeat elevated in adrenaline as her senses intensified tenfold as she turned to face her opponent just in time to see an airborne Tanjiro hurtling through the air like a stone skimming the surface of a pond, before crashing into the long line of wooden posts with a resonant thud, scattering splinters like shrapnel.
"How dare you lay your rotten hands on me, you shithead!" Ume growled menacingly with utmost hatred. "I will claw out your windpipe, you—"
Ume cut herself off when her peripheral vision snagged the vast, decimated landscape encompassing her.
What is this cruelty?
From the smoky night sky, ash drifting down like delicate snowflakes, the cold, dusty winds caressing her warm, soft kimono, the wafting stench of iron-filled blood, the sounds of humans conversing and crying amongst each other in the distance, the dark, ravaged landscape stretching endlessly before her as far as she could see. In the far distance, familiar, bloodied faces blurred together and their battered forms huddled, filling up her field of vision. Three weeping women struggling to support the heavyset frame of the bloodied Hashira as they slowly descend around the corner. A tall man with mismatched eyes with a tiny serpent entwined around his neck vanished from the rooftop. The yellow-haired brat with two bows tied in his hair…the pretty-faced brat with the boar mask, both boys barely clinging onto life as they're carried away on stretchers by pairs of masked figures in black…
I'm back in Yoshiwara…back in Hanamachi… Ume's eyes darted to her left and right, absorbing in her devastated surroundings to ensure that she was not hallucinating. She could feel the ground beneath her feet, a solid reminder that she was, indeed, alive. But how?
And…
Her throat tightened, and she swallowed dryly, the motion almost painful. Her thoughts raced, each one more chaotic than the last. There was a hollow ache in her chest as if her heart was descending down her to her stomach. Her breathing almost seemed to cease.
"W…where is Oniichan…?" The words seeped through her lips in a barely audible whisper. Tears pricked her eyes as she strained to catch a glimpse of him in the corner of her eyes, but all she saw were smoking rubble and cold ashes clouding around her. What happened to you? How are you still gone and I'm not?
What is this cruelty?
Amidst the heart of a devastated street, Ume stood, surrounded by a sea of smoldering ruins and towering remnants, the ghostly outlines of where Yoshiwara once thrived. The silence was deafening—no other soul seemed to remain. But, she couldn't stop her sinking gut from thinking about who else could be out there, lurking in the dark, just beyond the corner of this seemingly safe little spot. The Accidental Demon was the first to invade her thoughts, then that creepy-looking snake man slithered into her mind, followed by the unnerving faces of the yellow-haired boy and the boar-headed boy. Any one of them could jump out and gang up on her at any moment. She had to be quick, judging by the altered angle of the silvery moon hanging askew in the dark indigo navy expanse. She had just forty-seven minutes before the horizon would start to brighten with the first hints of dawn...
Then Ume heard a wet cough and stiffened.
Tanjiro was crouched on one knee, bloodied and twisted. One broken Nicchirn blade stabbed into the ground for support. She could see the obsidian blade glint as it was struck by the faint moonlight. Ume couldn't help but recall the moment that he was seconds away from beheading her with that very blade, only to just collapse into such a sickening coughing fit that she genuinely believed that he would just drop dead.
He was in a far worse state now. His jaw had already swollen to the size of a grapefruit. His nose cracked and bloodied, petals of crimson spreading across his face. The deep puncture underneath his lacerated chin left him with blood seeping out, staining his neck and tattered collar of his green haori a vivid crimson. The two broken fingers on his right hand were swollen purple and distorted, his deep shoulder gash had broadened and judging by the way his breathing was laboured, there were more internal injuries that she couldn't see.
It was beyond her, but Ume felt a twinge of phantom guilt slither up her chest as she watched Tanjiro double over into a violent coughing fit, scarlet droplets smearing his hand like spilled ink. His shoulders heaved with each agonizing cough, sweat glistening on his forehead. He really looks like he was at death's door once again. Ume quickly swatted away that foreign feeling. She had to remind herself that Tanjiro was still the dangerous enemy of hers, still the very one that took her brother's head.
She would never forgive him for that.
Shoulders squared, stance taut and stiff, Ume kept her feet firmly planted on the ground, her hard glare gleamed with deadly bloodlust. Brandished eight obi sashes dark and sharp poised to shred her approaching target to ribbons at any given moment.
Ume knew it was foolish.
It was foolish of her to even think that she could take this odd specimen all on by herself. Any other random slayers she knew she could dispose of, but this boy in question was none other than Tanjiro and it was exactly why she found it so disconcerting that this young boy who was capable of going beyond his human limits and was now seemingly helpless on his knees.
She won't underestimate him again. If she loses her head again, then so be it. At least she'd plunge into the fray avenging her dear big brother, finally carving her name into something meaningful. She'd let this brat, his friends, and that asshole Hashira witness the capability that her big brother had taught her all along, the very essence of why he had entrusted her with the Upper Moon status.
Retracted behind her, Ume angled one single obi for her opponent. It would be a single swipe across the throat in such a quick fluid motion that there would be no time to react, not even feel….
"You…"
Tanjiro was the first to break the silence that Ume expected to go on forever. His voice was soft and frayed, barely over a whisper, and Ume hardly caught it. He lifted his head, looking straight at her. Their eyes met. Ume froze. Nothing but overwhelming pain was apparent on his face. But it wasn't pain from his numerous injuries, Ume was sure.
No. That look was clear, she had encountered it countless times before. It was the raw pain etched into the hollow eyes of skeletal women cradling their dying infants in the alleys. It was the pain that carved itself into Gyutaro's face upon finding their mother's lifeless body. It was the pain that enveloped Tanjiro's face as he wept. It was the purest form of agony, horror...grief.
But why…?
"You're…not Nezuko…"
Silence.
The world seemed to hold its breath, every fibre in Ume's body throbbing at that name. Her face contorted, a shadow flickering across her eyes. Bitter thoughts churned, twisting her lips into a snarl.
Nezuko…That one single name had cut deep, a succession of fleeting images ravaged her vision. Those vacant, dark pink eyes casting an eerie glow over her. The delicate leaf-patterned kimono drenched in a deep, sinister crimson. The vine-like pattern etched across her skin twisted grotesquely, a horn jutted menacingly from the side of her head. The Accidental Demon's blood-soaked foot spearing mercilessly into her splintering spine. Vivid pink flames of blood engulfed her world, searing her skin and flesh until she was reduced to a dark, unrecognisable crisp…
Terror. Agony. Hatred. Mortification. Fire. Memories. Her mind wanted to sink back into the darkness, back to where her big brother was.
"I…I…don't understand…" Tanjiro's voice was quiet, but his words reverberated deep in her ears. His face shifted, muscles tensing and releasing in succession.
Ume's grimace intensified, something about his pained expression made something deep in her chest twist. The rawness of his pain pulled at something deep inside her, a place she didn't want to revisit right now.
"Ne..zuko...this..can't be…real…" Tanjiro's voice emerged like sandpaper against stone, each rasping syllable clawing its way from his throat. As he said this, Ume's eyes widened, her fists clenching at her sides. For a second, she observed him silently, watching the pain that he held in his slumped shoulders. The sadness, the regret, the despair—it was all there, laid bare in his broken stance. It reminded her too much of Gyutaro. And in that moment, she despised it more than she could understand.
"Even you were once human, weren't you? Surely, you struggled against pain and suffering. You must have shed tears…" Ume flinched, her shoulders tightening as Tanjiro's past words suddenly echoed in her mind.
"You took her…" Tanjiro's voice broke through his busted lips, his words quiet, but sharp. He lifted his head slightly, his burgundy eyes locking onto Ume's with a piercing gaze that sent a small ripple up her spine. It was almost the same cold, damning glare he had given her on that rooftop after she decimated that neighborhood. "You...took my sister..."
"SHUT UP!" Ume screeched in acrimony, but all eight of her obi were trembling uncontrollably. Her voice cracked severely as if she was not used to screaming. But right now, the anger radiating from her was too much. It all came down like an avalanche on her, burying her deep within the layers. Ume could feel it crawling up the back of her throat. It was so repulsive she almost felt like throwing up.
But, it was more than that. Something that oddly rose above all those intense emotions was this one single emotion she knew like the back of her hand; the sting of a fresh wound, the ache of an old scar, the relentless throb of a bruise that never fully faded. Pain. It was hurt. It was sorrow. It was betrayal.
Tanjiro didn't even try to understand her. He didn't care about her or her brother—he never had. So why did she ever think he would? Why did she let herself believe, even for a second, that he was any different? He was just like everyone else.
Ume had already thrown herself into the firestorm of rage and hatred over her brother's death—letting it scorch through her, letting it take over. And yet, something else wouldn't die. Something sharp, something ugly. Sorrow. Betrayal. It clung to her like a stain she couldn't scrub off. Why? Why wouldn't it just disappear? Maybe because, for a second—just a second—she actually believed Tanjiro's mercy had been real. Or maybe because she never, ever thought someone like him, with all his righteousness and preaching would twist the knife so deep.
Ume had no clue.
Nevertheless, the pain coiled around her throat like a vice, thick and smothering. It pressed against her ribs, winding tighter, tighter—like she might snap apart at any second. It was overwhelming—too much happening in her heart and head, emotions crashing in waves. She had experienced all hideous forms of betrayal and knew all too well the heart-wrenching aftermath it left behind. Maybe that was why she felt the low growl rumbling in her throat as she heard the Demon Slayer's weak voice again.
"…where is she…?"
Her fist hammered the ground, sending sharp pebbles skittering away. The jagged sensation bit into her knuckles, but she didn't flinch. Her glare remained locked on him. "All you do is prattle and prattle on! I do not know where that brat is, and I do not care!" Ume snarled, steel hostility threading behind her words. From Tanjiro's expression that was slowly twisting, her brusque tone seemed that this was pissing him off even more. Maybe he had expected her to fall to pieces to his petty mind games?
Fat chance.
She straightened herself, her muscles tensing as her eyes narrowed to slits at the ugly brat approaching her, struggling to even hold onto his fractured sword.
"I—"
"Face it—you're a shitty excuse for a Demon Slayer," Ume's sharp words cut through his fragments of words like a blade to a fresh wound. "Look at you. Still just as ugly as before, and now your sword's broken, too. You don't understand a damn thing because you're weak. Useless. What have you or any of those so-called elite Tsuguko ever done? Nothing. You saved no one. Protected no one. So don't you dare act like you have the right to talk down to me!"
At those last words, a haunted shadow swallowed his burgundy eyes, carving deeper trenches of pain into his crumpled face. "I…I…" Tanjiro's voice emerged like sandpaper against stone, each rasping syllable clawing its way from his throat. "…Nezuko…I—"
"Cut the crap, already!" Ume's fingers balled into fists, her knuckles paling as taut, white lines emerged. "You're not gonna creep me out! You are not skilled enough to pull off a trick like this. You just look stupid, you hideous pest!"
Tanjiro's cracked lips parted as if to say something before he clamped them shut again.
Ume made an angry sound through her nose. "What is it? Spit it out," she demanded hotly, the frustration piling in her voice. Her irritation doubled when he stubbornly continued to hold his tongue. "Do you need me to knock your teeth out? Speak!"
Still, Tanjiro didn't cave in to her threat; instead, he only responded with his persistent silent stare that almost seemed to urge her to look at herself.
And in an instant, everything stopped.
It was such a strange feeling—to feel her scorching blood raging through her veins only to freeze solid; to hear her thunderous heartbeat pumping with adrenaline come to a screeching halt.
Don't fucking tell me…
Another fleeting glance at Tanjiro's horrified expression confirmed her own horrified suspicion.
All of her senses erupted at once. The chill of the air as it began to suffocate her under its weight. The sound of her shallow breaths, discordant against the static now piercing her skull as she peered down. Her hands were….not her hands—the crimson-pink stiletto nails stark against her smooth, fair skin. Her trembling fingers traced invisible patterns, exploring the unfamiliar terrain. No fractures, no harsh contrasts—just unbroken softness. Her hand moved through the thick cascade of black and orange hair, brushing against the small, silky ribbon nestled within. She was no longer the willowy, curvaceous Daki with her silken cascade of white and jade-green flowing like a shimmering river, adorned with exquisite kanzashi hairpins that sparkled in the light and her stilettos. She was no longer the tiny, scrawny Ume in her tattered, threadbare kimono, her wild, tangled mass of white hair. Now, she wore a delicate light pink kimono with a striking red and white chequered hanhaba obi and a tattered dark haori with only one shoe on.
Comprehension flooded into her faster than she could have blinked. She clenched her fists. That was when it all made terrible sense. The reason why she was engulfed in that inferno of pink flames. The reason why she saw those horrible memories that did not belong to her. The reason that she had returned to the world of the living. The reason why she awoke in this boy's arms. The reason why Tanjiro accused her of taking the Accidental Demon from him…
Her prayers were answered. All of the fervent promises she had made to be reunited with her beloved big brother—offering her heart, her soul, her looks, and everything she possessed—had led to her soul being placed in the body of the Accidental Demon.
But…
Why? Why was she brought back to life within this girl specifically? Why was she brought back to life at all? She did not ask for this. She wanted to give up everything she had, not to be granted a new body. What is this debt that the divine had bestowed upon her that she was supposed to pay here? What does any of this have to do with her reuniting with Gyutaro? What does this have to do with Gyutaro at all? She just couldn't understand. Her mind was a whirlwind, desperately sifting through the chaos for a shred of logic to explain this.
"Big Brother..." Was all Ume could choke out in a hushed tone within her foreign voice that hardly conveyed the indescribable horror she felt at this moment. A symphony of images cut through the white noise of her one-way mind—
Whimpering. Screams. Agony. Heat. Hellish flames swallowing, devouring, licking his form. Gyutaro is still in Hell, still suffering in the relentless sea of flames, still all alone…
Her whole body resonated in pain at the thought as she stared at her foreign hands.
What is this cruelty?
"Ne…zuko…?"
A small voice intruded Ume's mind, her train of chaotic thoughts halting upon the intrusion. She stiffened when she recognized the hoarse voice belonged to the Demon Slayer struggling to prop himself up. "Are…you…still in…there, Nezuko…?" Tanjiro had made it up to his legs, supported only by his flimsy blade by his right hand, and limped forward towards her; his left leg seemingly fractured. "Can you hear…me? Please….please…hang on, please…"
"Wha…?" Ume breathed out incredulously, not believing what she was seeing and hearing. She was utterly confused about how this brat approaching her was still living and breathing. He winced, whatever movements clearly aggravating the injuries he had sustained from their battle and now. Her breath hitched at the blood oozing from the ragged edges of his rendering shoulder wound. The blood shimmered like dark rubies under the pale, waning moonlight.
Every violent motion…he's making is wrecking him inside out. Ume could see it all—the twitches and spasms contorting his pallid features, as if his bones were on fire and white-hot knives stabbing every inch of his skin, his head splitting alongside the rest of his body—almost to the point where she could almost feel his physical pain seeping over into her own skin. She clenched his fists. This kid...he's breaking himself just to reach me, reach his sister…That pain...it must be unbearable…
"Is…she…still here…?" Tanjiro slurred. When Ume said nothing, he took another step forward. It wasn't a step really, more like a faltering, clumsy stumble, his serrated blade barely buried in the ground, just enough to stop him from collapsing. Ume noticed the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw muscles. His nostrils flared wildly, blood trickling down his face. His movements were jerky, his left hand gripping his nose in a desperate attempt to ease the pain.
"Is… Nezuko—" His voice faltered, the words dissolving into another ragged cough that splattered the silence with droplets of crimson. "Is—"
"Enough already!" Ume summoned every ounce of her remaining strength to cut through his sentence. The sheer finality of her harsh words cleaved through the air, freezing Tanjiro in mid-step. She clenched his fists. "I am not repeating myself. Just give it up already!"
"You…" The way he spat out that singular word drawing with such repugnance that Ume could almost see as it oozed with a sluggish, viscous crawl from his twisted lips.
Weakly brandishing the halved blade, Tanjiro pointed the jagged edge threateningly towards Ume and he staggered forward, "You will not get away with…this…"
Ume narrowed her gaze, noting the muscles tightening dangerously in his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, the muscles of his battered hands gripping the hilt of his blade hard, and the coiling position of his body. If this wasn't a clear sign that this brat was about to attack her again, then she didn't know what was.
She reaffirmed herself into a battle posture, her eight brandished obi sashes flexing through the air, their edges glinting readily in the moonlight.
"I…won't…I won't…let you do this…" Tanjiro slurred. From the way his eyes were hazy, Ume knew that he had physically exerted himself and wouldn't be able to stand up much longer. His hands were trembling as if to hold back his rage, his bloodstained eyes were protruding and even his hoarse voice sounded strained—as if anchored and sore from the surge of agony he was feeling, "I…I promised her...I'd help her…I'd save her…"
Tanjiro continued to ramble on weakly, his words barely audible.
"But…I didn't...I never did…even now…I was never strong enough…never there…I left her…them…she couldn't depend on me…no one…could…"
Suddenly, Tanjiro stumbled forward, losing his footing.
Two sashes caught him just in time before he hit the ground, snaking under his armpits.
Ume found herself standing over him, though she didn't even remember moving a foot. Tanjiro coughed violently, sweet-smelling crimson blood and sickly, yellow phlegm burst from his mouth, splattering her pink kimono with a grotesque pattern. She felt her disbelieving frown deepen. She knew she should have hurled him to the ground and driven one of her obi sashes through his neck just as he did to her brother with his blade. She knew she should've killed him by now, but she simply couldn't do anything in response.
"P…Please…don't take…my little sister…"
Tanjiro could barely choke the last few words out. Then, he reeled forward, shoulders slumped.
"Dammit!" Ume cursed when she felt the unconscious Tanjiro begin to slip away from her fabric. Her fingers latched onto his shoulders, her knees buckling under his weight as she steadied him upright. Her eyes darkened when she saw the red streams of blood trickling out of his deep shoulder gash, painting the dusty ground with the vivid colour of roses, crimson and thick.
From the position she held him, the full extent of the grievous wound she had dealt on his left shoulder yawned open, exposing a gruesome tapestry of torn flesh and sinew, with nerves and blood vessels shimmering like frayed, glistening wires with tiny specks of glass and dirt. A jagged shard of alabaster bone jutted through his shoulder blade.
Her chest constricted significantly.
Ume gave him a quick once over to check if he was still breathing. He was, but hardly. Tanjiro was so incredibly immobile that one might mistake him for a dead person if it wasn't for his faint pulse.
Her two obi sashes tucked between his armpits began to regain their strength. But oddly enough, Ume made no effort to slide them away even as she watched his bloodied fingers squeeze the hilt for a heartbeat, before his grip loosened, and the sword tumbled from his grasp, clattering onto the bloodstained earth, the sharp sound of his fractured blade filling her ears.
Then, she felt his bloodied, calloused hand touch her wrist, and gripped for a heartbeat before dropping down, limp.
"P…Please…don't take…my little sister…" Tanjiro's final words lingered like a phantom, threading through her mind.
Ume clenched her fingers at her sides, her fingers curling tightly into her palms. She could feel an insistent tingle snaking through her fingertips, making them jerk and spasm against her will. The sudden, electric-like pulses seemed to radiate outward, sending shudders up her arms and through her frame.
Her bloodied fingers squeezed his shoulders, her heart quickening as if she had grasped a live wire.
She could not describe what she was feeling at that moment. There was an indescribable fire burning through her: a searing, unquenchable thirst for slaughter blazed within her chest, igniting a raging, loathing wildfire at the mere sight of him. The same burning in her chest that wouldn't die out. The endless rage and resentment burned relentlessly, and all she wanted was nothing more than to tear this kid to ribbons. He was an annoying shithead that tried to take her head off, even ripped her leg off. The hideous brat who had reduced her grand scheme to ashes. The Demon Slayer who had torn away her one and only family in this merciless world. She hated him.
However, amidst that seething hatred, no matter hard she tried to forget, the memory clung to her like a stubborn shadow. The image of Tanjiro pressing his hand over Gyutaro's mouth, lingered like an imprint burned into her mind. His soft words echoed in her ears, his deep burgundy eyes heavy with sorrow as he pleaded for them to stay together in the end. Even after all the cruelty and agony she and Gyutaro had inflicted upon him, Tanjiro still chose to extend his hand to them. That single act touched Ume in a way that she had ever felt before, leaving a mark deeper than any wound, leaving her with a great debt she knew she had to repay him...somehow…
Ume released a long, shuddering breath that she didn't even know she was holding in.
Fuck it.
So, the next thing she knew, she slowly wound her obi sashes around his bloodied, broken form, cocooning him into a tight, secure bundle before adjusting him overhead with two extra obi sashes to guarantee that he would remain firmly in position.
o o o —xπ{Ö}πx — o o o
With the next throb of her heartbeat, Ume pivoted on her heel and surged forward, unfurling two additional obi sashes from her belt with fluid precision. Their ends danced through the smoky air, weaving effortlessly to grasp the debris that blocked her path, sweeping it aside like fallen leaves in the wind. A long, desolate road, strewn with remnants of buildings and flanked by towering columns of rubble came into view. The skeletal remains of buildings, their wooden frames twisted and contorted, stood skyward. Shattered glass glimmered like countless stars scattered on the ground, and the crunch of crumbled concrete echoed beneath her feet.
Not a soul in sight, it seemed.
But Ume knew that she was sweeping through the epicentre of Gokachō, the sprawling pleasure quarter near the one and only entrance of the city. She recalled those masked individuals she had seen earlier, they were clearly not Demon Slayers themselves as they had no visible swords or donned the usual uniform, just some mere servants meant to peel the broken Demon Slayers off the ground.
They couldn't have made it out of these treacherous ruins. There is only one entrance and exit for Yoshiwara and it was two miles from here. Her and Gyutaro figured that out pretty quick when they first migrated to the Hanamachi from the slums.
Ume's throat tightened, a dry gulp barely audible as she pressed forward, her belts effortlessly shoving aside the jagged rubble that littered her path. She remembered this street so much. She was shorter then, her head had barely reached Gyutaro's shoulders. Submerged in that memory, everything vibrated with colors and came back to life around her, as if time had painted and plastered everything around her in vivid hues.
A lively street brimming with color and sound. Stalls laden with spices, fresh produce, and mouth-watering sweets. Geishas filling the teahouses with melodies of shamisen, Oirans gracing balconies with elegance. The smiles and laughter. Gyutaro's proud smile as he cradled her tiny hand. Though their time here as humans was fleeting, the warmth and joy felt eternal. Laughter, praises, and his presence—etched in her memory.
But the vivid colours, the joyous laughter, the inviting warmth, and her big brother were gone in just a second, and nothing but cold, crumbling ruins coated in the dark veil of ash and dust greeted her.
A gust of sudden wind flew past her and she shivered, it was almost as if it was chastising her. The temperature around the city was such a numbing cold that she could feel it burrowing deep into her bones. She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper, but at the same time, she could feel the bloodied body clutched overhead in her fabric, stirring and wincing. Slowly but surely Ume became conscious of his gentle heat transferring through her.
Warm. Tanjiro was warm, unlike the relentless coldness around her.
And oddly enough, his warm presence seemed to be the only thing keeping her eyes from wavering from the smoky horizon. It comforted her in a small sense. The feeling of one single sign of life in this unrecognizable wasteland, the feeling that she wasn't completely alone here. Even if it's this particular human. At least it was something familiar.
Perhaps that'd be enough for her…
As the dense veil of smoke slowly began to dissipate, Ume caught five figures gliding seamlessly through the haze, their movements fluid and ghostly against the still-wavering curtain. At first, they were subtle, like the faintest outlines in a fogged mirror. But as Ume focused, the edges quickly grew sharper, revealing five defined human shapes. Even though they were shielded by billowing deep grey smoke and scattered rubble, Ume was positive she could see accurately where they were. They were all a heated presence; glowing almost.
All the commotion she was making quickly snagged their attention; they halted and swiveled around. Through the narrow slits of their masks, wide eyes emerged, growing in astonishment as Ume advanced from afar. "Nezuko!"
The assistants rushed forward in relief. "Nezuko!"
"Get the damn medic! It's an emergency!" Ume's sharp voice thundered through the vicinity as she approached. The moment her words reached the air, the small group of masked figures erupted with controlled chaos at her command.
"Tanjiro-san!"
A tall assistant with deep indigo eyes approached her first. Ume observed the cascade of emotions flicker across his face—from overwhelming relief to sheer shock to paralysing horror—as his gaze fixed on the bloodied figure draped over overhead. Tanjiro hung lifelessly, and without the support of Ume's sash, he would have fallen apart.
"Tanjiro-san…what happened to him…?" The male assistant demanded, his voice laced with a frantic mix of disbelief and horror so intense that Ume had to muster all her willpower to suppress a cringe.
"Take him," Ume ordered, directing Tanjiro's form towards the male assistant.
The commanding nature of her tone was enough for the stupid assistant to comply, albeit nervously. "Yes…of course…but I can tend to him until the others arrive," The assistant muttered, his hands trembling as he rifled through his pouches, a jumble of mismatched items spilling out. With a frantic haste, he finally pulled out a crumpled white sheet and smoothed it on the ground, the fabric fluttering in the breeze like a forgotten flag.
Without a moment's pause, Ume approached the side of the sheet, unfastened her straps of obi around him and lowered Tanjiro on the sheet. Immediately, the assistant hurried to provide first aid.
"How is he?" Another assistant, a small female, approached to provide further aid, her voice barely above a whisper.
The male assistant's indigo eyes paled as he examined Tanjiro's injuries, his hands trembling and blood dripping from his fingers. He looked up, locking eyes with the other assistant. "It's grievous," he said regrettably. "It's a miracle he's even alive after losing so much blood. This shoulder wound, broken ribs, fractures in his legs... and I suspect internal bleeding." He withdrew his bloodstained hands, his expression darkening. "I'm afraid he may not make it back to the main camp—"
His words were cut off when clawed fingers latched onto the mask's cloth, yanking him toward her. "Shut up, you! Just tend to him already!" Ume cut through her sentence admonishingly.
"Yes…forgive me…"
In one fluid motion, she relinquished her grip on the cloth, her sharp eyes darting over the other three assistants, who stood frozen like deer caught in lights. Their hands trembled, and anxious glances flitted around the vicinity like trapped birds.
"All of you, tend to him, now!"
Her voice cut through their fear like a knife, spurring them into action. Instantly, the four assistants sprang to life, their movements synchronized as they gathered around the Demon Slayer and administered first aid, their earlier hesitation vanished in the face of her command.
I did it, Big Brother…
Gyutaro's voice…
That was all Ume wanted to hear as she wrenched her gaze away from the bloodied Demon Slayer being tended on the sheet. She needed to hear it, to feel the reassurance it once provided. She spun around, her movements aligning with the direction of their nest, her and Gyutaro's one and only home.
The thought alone brought the familiar, cool touch of the underground shelter's earthy walls to her fingers. The rich, damp aroma of the soil seemed to envelop her senses. In her mind, their dimly lit haven came alive, adorned with her treasured Kanzashi hairpins and headdresses, and the glittering array of Nichirin swords they had amassed. Gyutaro's laughter echoed faintly, mingling with the exhilarating memories of their shared victories. For an ephemeral moment, Ume felt transported back, immersed in the essence of those cherished times...
Her eyes lifted upwards, capturing the smoky sky above. The skies were painted in dark, rich blues and deep purples, with patches of gray drifting through. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she watched helplessly at stars slowly fading, their twinkle barely noticeable, and the full moon was half gone, casting a faint glow as it approached the darkness.
In a few more minutes, the sun will rise and their precious long night will finally be over.
"Nezuko!"
Almost instinctively, Ume's gaze snapped up to the sound of the Accidental Demon's name just in time to see three masked assistants approaching. Two tall males carrying a stretcher and a female with shimmering teal eyes grasping a large wooden box. It was an all too familiar sight—Tanjiro's box, the very one he used to shield the Accidental Demon from the sun's lethal embrace.
"Get inside!" With a hurried motion, the female assistant wrenched the door ajar, revealing a confining void that seemed to swallow the light. The space inside was not just empty but oppressively narrow, as if the walls could close in at any moment. "Hurry, Miss. Kamado, get inside," the female assistant urged, her voice full of urgency. "The sun is coming soon…"
Chapter 4 is coming in mid-late February.