Chapter Text
It was cold. Flurries of snow were everywhere, a cascade of white that landed on top his head and between his blood-caked fingertips. On the top of a mountain, a boy lay, seemingly dead, his skin a pale white, blending in with the icy cage surrounding him. Then, he awoke. The boy blinked rapidly, rising from his awkward position on the floor. All around him, snow still tumbled downwards, remnants of it clinging to his kimono. He stood up, squinting past the violent storm at his whereabouts, unknowing of where he was. Did he?
The boy tried to recall what had happen to him. His memory seem even more confusing than the snowstorm that was wrapping him in a heavy white blanket. Where was he? He continued looking around himself, and noticed the bodies surrounding him, fresh blood still leaking from their corpses and painting the snow a brilliant scarlet. He quite liked the color. He could see the remnants of a fight happened.
A mother, tear marks streaking down her face, her back completely gashed open as she clutched a child to her chest. The boy felt a twinge of..something looking at this scene. He couldn't quite pinpoint what is was. Two boys next to each other, one who's mouth was still gaping open and blood dribbling down into the snow as his eyes were glazed and unseeing. The other had his eyes shut and still holding onto the other boy's hand. Both with no flesh wounds. A small girl, head twisted backwards turned towards the sky.
It took the boy another moment to realize that he was in a house, with the snow completely submerging the floor with the door savagely ripped open. There was a streak of crimson, barely seen, that lead out the door, still fresh but quickly being covered by new snow flurries. He walked out of the shambled house, curiosity beckoning him to walk outside and follow the trail. To his dismay, the trail ended on a steep hill, with the mystery person seemingly tumbled to their death.
Just to ensure, he walked to the end of the hill and look down, mildly surprised to see a large amount of blood pooled at the bottom, yet no body. He walked back to the house, hoping to find some form of identity that he could use to identify himself. He heard a choked cry, and saw that the mother was still alive. Strange. Why was he so sure she was a mother? Calling her alive would be an overstatement. Clearly she was fighting for a pitiful few moments before her demise.He rolled her so she was lying on the back, and he could see it caused her immense pain to move, her entire body spasming with the change of position. Like a fish, the mother opened and closed her mouth, indistinguishable words barely making it past her mouth. Frowning, the boy leaned in to hear what she had to say. A single word came out of her mouth before he even realized that she was still speaking. He was so concentrated on hearing her, however, that he didn't realize it when soft footsteps came near.
"What an interesting little thing you are."
His body registered the person before he heard him. Goosebumps racked his body, and he felt the instinctive urge that this man was somebody to be feared, that he could be killed with a flick of a finger. The boy felt another emotion when he heard the words, different to earlier when he was unable to pinpoint what exactly he was feeling. After all, how could he be unable to identify such a strong emotion when it was so powerful, he couldn't breathe? Fear.
Slowly, aware of his trembling form, the boy stood up, the mother below him long forgotten with his mind screaming to him to run. With fearful eyes, he made eye contact with brilliant vermillion ones, and a small part of him compared them to blood moons.
The man before him could be no older than his 20s, a crisp black suit and bowler hat completely unaffected by the torment of snow. However, was calling him a man truly the best way to describe him? It did him no justice. This was no man. This was a predator. A holy being perhaps, that has come to rescue him.
"Are you an angel?"
Before the boy knew it, he blurted out the words, believing this man to be his savior. The predator's eyes narrowed in amusement, as if a mouse had mistakenly called a cat a friend. A smile formed on the predator's face, one that radiated pure power simply by existing. Unexpectedly, the predator walked forward, slow, leisure steps that made the boy quickly back up. Before he knew it, the boy was back up against the house wall, trapped.
"Perhaps I am. Some have called me God himself."
The predator was now towering over him, the smile turning borderline vicious.
"T-then, what are you?"
The boy could not help himself from stuttering, and was even surprised that he was able to talk in the face of such a mysterious being. The predator regarded him for what seemed like an eternity, before finally speaking once more.
"I am your creator. "
The boy furrowed his eyebrows. The predator, from just those few words, seemed so unlike any holy being depicted. If anything, the predator was..tainted.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The boy, despite having no memories, was not stupid. His 'creator' had not even spared a glance towards the corpses around them, and was there at the perfect time, presumably right after the death. From the boy's deduction, the predator was the one who killed them. If this being was truly an omniscient being who came after he realized his creations were suffering, why not prevent the death from happening in the first place?
Surprisingly, the predator chuckled at his question, as if such a thought was preposterous and completely out of the question. The boy unconsciously relaxed his muscles after realizing that he was unlikely to die yet.
"What happens to you, whether you live or die, depends on the choices that you make from now on. I have come to offer you the first choice. Come with me, Tanjiro."
The predator reached out a hand, one that the boy knew he should take. However, he hesitated. Tanjiro? Was that his name? The name itself seemed so familiar, a distant memory of someone, somebody, calling out that name to him, it was on the tip of his tongue.
"Will I be able to get my memories back?"
Tanjiro was unaware of the emotions circling inside of him. It was like trying to catch fish with his fingers. He knew they were there, right underneath his fingertips, but still out of reach.
"Once again, that is up to you."
That seemed to be the best of an answer, and he slowly reached up to the hand with a clawed hand of his own. Since when did he have claws?
"What should I call you, my creator?"
Just when he tentatively grabbed the being's hand, Tanjiro's hand was gripped so hard he could instantly feel tears springing out of his eyes. His fangs stabbed through his tongue, making his pain greater, and he felt his vision spinning. Before he completely blacked out, he could vaguely hear words that seemed to resonate throughout his entire soul.
"Muzan Kibutsuji."