Work Text:
He wanted to be a Pillar. Pillars were strong, capable of holding up people, mountains, even the world. Become a Pillar, become strong. Earn his brother’s love back.
“Worthless shit like you is not my brother. Get the fuck out of the Demon Slayers.”
Try harder, work harder.
It doesn’t matter what he has to do. He will break his body, crush his soul, throw away his very humanity, all so that his brother could love him once more.
It was exhausting.
Did his brother hate him that much?
“He got really mad about you joining the Demon Slayers, but I don’t smell a tinge of hatred in him.”
Tanjiro…
“The weakest person has the most potential in them.”
Tanjiro, Tanjiro…
“Genya! Don’t give up! Just go for it one more time! Go for his neck one more time! Don’t ever give up! You can get him next time! I’ll protect you! Just think about cutting his head off! Aren’t you gonna be a Pillar, Genya Shinazugawa?!”
Tanjiro, so sweet. A source of genuine encouragement. The blazing river that ignited his fighting spirit once more. So kind and tender, but so fierce and protective, too. The one who helped him bloom and open up.
The one he would give his life for, without hesitation.
Within the twists and turns of time, stories tend to repeat themselves. It’s the cyclical nature of life.
At the break of dawn, the strongest demon dies, and is reborn, as is his strongest subordinate. They survive and escape, and the story of the Demon Slayers - worn down and half dead - must continue, repeating itself once more. Rebuilt and expanded upon, but still identical at the core.
Two sets, two halves of siblings. An older brother as the new Demon King, guilt stricken but determined to live. And a younger brother as his Upper Moon One, loyal beyond reason to the one who ignited hope in him.
The younger sister and older brother survive as well, peckered in battle scars, both old and new, both surface level and beneath the skin. Before their wounds are even fully healed, they set off in search of their lost siblings. Is there a chance, they wonder. Is there a chance to bring them back?
If there is, they knew they’d take it without a second thought.
He sits on the Demon King’s right side. Poised, glaring. Loyal to the end.
Horns like spiraling tree branches grow from his head. Sharp claws, sharper fangs. Wooden lacquer gun, loaded with seedlings and thorns. Black mohawk tainted yellow, the hint of a long forgotten sun. Old scars tinted a rusty gold, like the vases repaired with dusted laquer to make the imperfections stand out in a new beauty.
“Upper Moon One” carved into his irises, shining a pale gold in the moonlight.
Not quite a Pillar, but strong, nevertheless.
The flaming Demon Slayer Mark is proof enough.
