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Douma just didn’t understand it, and he doubted he ever would. His Master very rarely sent images of potentially dangerous up-and-coming Demon Slayers, highlighting a warning to all demons to take out the particular anomaly as soon as they possibly could– the last one was nearly a decade ago: a blind, but mountainously tall man; the one before that was a whole three centuries ago: a Demon Slayer who had taken to eating demons rather than accessing breathing techniques to gain an extra boost of strength.
The Demon Slayer he had warned them of now scared many of the unranked demons and Lower Kizuiki, but all of his fellow Upper Moons and a couple of the Lower Moons were… intrigued, excited about this young man. Of course, for those two Lower Moons, there was still great caution, and Hantengu-dono was his usual cowardly self, but it was still a phenomenon– his sweet Daki hadn’t mentioned anything to him about her thoughts, and either Akaza-dono wasn’t ordered to kill the slayer, or was doing a rather rare unsatisfactory job of it. There hadn’t even been any reports– the slayer killed every demon it encountered…
This Demon Slayer hunted demons for a living; he freely killed their kind and got paid for doing so, which made it all the more confusing… It was like he was a dull ember burning through the veins of his fellows; terrifying, painful– but warm and full of grace and life, enticing those foolish enough to cultivate it. But at the end of the day, embers died– and so too would this slayer, either by slipping up against one of their number, or living to retirement, where he’d die anyway! There was nothing overly remarkable about a dying ember.
One thing that perhaps was remarkable about the slayer, however, was his appearance.
Douma himself had been born with heavenly platinum blonde hair, and sparkling rainbow eyes. That in addition to the overall fairness to his features were the simple facts that lead to his being placed as the head of a church; revered and worshipped, even though his parents and the people they had tricked had no idea what his abilities actually were and if he truly did have an ear for the Gods. Any modicum of a normal childhood had been stripped away from him, and he was forced into serving the humans that were being abused by greed.
At least now he did technically have the ear for a God, not that Master Muzan ever directed his actions within Douma’s Paradise Faith Church.
The Demon Slayer had a similar strange and usual appearance; hair that swayed like flickering flames, and eyes as sharp as the striking of a match to blaze like a candle reflecting in jewels. It was unlike anything Douma had ever seen before, despite how many people that to flocked to him for an audience. Douma couldn’t help but wonder if this slayer was someone that many people also sought out for audience and for comfort and guidance whose ear was bound to the mouth of the Master of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Just as how Douma was bound to service the patrons of his mother and father’s, the Lady and Master of the Paradise Faith religion, and had bound his ear to a faux God…
Ah, was that it…? Was that why this Demon Slayer was making waves through his enemies’ minds? The longer he thought about it, the more he was sure: this slayer could be related to… the goal of any Demon Slayer was to get stronger, like Akaza-dono was always so obsessed with. And yet, unlike a lot of rather wild or more cowardly members of the Corps, this particular member seemed to have the unshakable sense of honour that built with a samurai heir, not so much unlike Kokushibo-dono; but unlike the Upper Moon One, there was a touch of artistry and flamboyance in the way the slayer looked, dressed and fought that would be appealing to an artist like Gyokko-dono. And of course, the way the slayer fought to not immediately kill, but to prioritise the protection of his charges was so alike to his darling Gyutaro
And now, even Douma’s heart reached out to make a connection with the man, and he was sure the rest of the Kizuki and their Master had their reasoning– just as he was sure that perhaps some of the Demon Slayer Corps members had their own reasoning. It was most likely the one thing both sides agreed upon, but it was also just one more thing for them to battle over…
The crying of a child, especially a girl, wasn’t anything new to Douma– it probably wouldn’t be new to that Demon Slayer either, but for some reason it was that very thing that broke him out of his thoughts. Dawn had only been less than two hours away, but he’d decided to go on a walk as he pondered through his thoughts and understanding of the growing danger to demons. It had been so engraved in him, however, to walk and comfort desperate, often terror-struck sobs , and so he soon found himself watching a beautiful display…
A flick to the right, dispelling bright sparks to the stars. A backwards lean as the sword was drawn over the lip of the scabbard, before it was tenderly slid into the protective casing– fingers gliding over the tsuba and same, curling around the kashira just as the last of the demon burned away.
Douma knew that unusual hair, and that flamboyantly artistic haori… and those owl-like eyes that softened as the figure took steps towards the little girl, who had fallen to her knees sobbing her poor little heart out.
“Shh… hey, now… it’s okay, it’s all over now…” He reached out his hands to welcome the girl into his embrace– which she crawled into immediately, her cries now muffled the uniform just over his heart. “The monster’s all gone now…” The man finished, shifting to sit cross-legged to lay her over his lap, bringing his haori around her to hide her away in his warmth and comfort.
Douma suddenly thought how he didn’t want to get too close, instead opting to breeze into the shadows of a nearby building when he recognised the voice and visage from his Master’s visions. The girl couldn’t have met her eighth year yet, just as the man certainly had not yet reached his twentieth year. They were both still young, all things considered, and if he had been any less the wiser he would guess the two were siblings; the swordsman hadn’t pushed her away, or told her that life was dark and cruel and that she had to accept it like so many other Demon Slayers did. No… he covered her, protected her and kept her warm, holding her close. The world was full of monsters, the man didn’t deny, but where there were monsters, there were monster hunters who would protect everybody.
There was a certain naivety to it, almost. A very familiar naivety, a very familiar tenderness, and ease in comforting a child… Kotoha and this slayer were very similar in those regards, as if the stars themselves had written their purpose to raise and nurture the young– they were both eternally beautiful, unwaveringly calm, and endlessly patient…
And yet the magic never lasted; a handful of the elusive masked members of the Demon Slayer Corp showed up, fussing over the flame-coloured man– barely even seeming to pay attention to the girl that was so tightly tucked away in his arms, as if they didn’t need confirmation on whether or not she was okay.
“Is there anything you need us to do, Rengoku-san?” A rather small, but lean male asked.
“Yes, I intend to take her to the Wisteria House. Goto-san, will you please go give them a forewarning?” He asked, his neck muscles on perfect display as he looked up at the man. “She is unharmed other than a few grazes that I can tend to myself, but she will need a bath and a change of clothes– and a place to stay.” He kept his voice soft, but still loud and clear enough for the masked entourage, but for the little girl to also understand. It was then that Douma realised that he could no longer hear the crying that had attracted him in the first place.
He had simply come on this walk to make sense of his fellows, to bend his actions to their mindset– plan how to act around them and their Master. Only to run into the very same slayer plaguing the ranks, and to not only run into him, but… begin to actually understand why demons were getting so deeply obsessed with him…
But he was the Upper Moon Two; he had the strength, and the beauty and the power to get just about anything he wanted in this world. This ‘Rengoku-san’ would be his.
He refused to have it any other way.