Chapter Text
Fire had always been familiar to him. Fire meant destruction, chaos, something Muzan had thrived on. But tonight, this fire felt different.
It felt cold.
He had planned for tonight. After years of searching, he had finally found the secluded Ubuyashiki estate. He had prepared his demons for tonight. Yet, it still felt — cold. In a skin-tightening way.
Although Muzan knew the Corps were expecting him to arrive sooner or later, he never thought to realise to what extent their expectations were. To the extent of using their precious Master as bait to lure the King of Demons to them. Or to lace the explosives with unfamiliar destructive substances. Their attempts to slow his regeneration may be unexpected, but it was futile against his demonic powers. But there’s still something else.
Fragmented thorns exploded around him, piercing through his dense body, around his torso, and finally, through his head. Muzan had not experienced these senses in hundreds of years— the feeling of utter shock. His body was locked in place with no clear way to free from. He may not have known how to escape the trap, but he knew one thing— it was a Blood Demon Art. Before he could rack his minds on who the culprit was that dared to attack him, his question was answered. A rough form plunged into his exposed midsection, a woman to be exact. Dark purple fabric moved with the body. Golden hairpin flickered against the dark hair. Although Muzan had a flash of doubt, the woman raised her head, and her eyes set his thoughts clear.
-
“I apologise for not bearing better news; however, we have little doubt she will make a full recovery.”
The voices are muffled, but the thin wooden walls still carried their conversation to her ears
“We shall do whatever it takes to ensure she is most comfortable, but I suggest we prepare for the worst to come.”
It was one thing to hear the news of her own imminent death, but it was another for her to listen to her husband’s muffled sobs without being able to reach and comfort him. She wished at the moment to have enough strength to get up and walk to the next room, but such simple movements were impossible for her weak body.
Yet, her wish to see her husband was granted as the shoji doors quietly slid open, with gentle light spilling into the dark room. Gentle steps moved closer as her husband slowly sat down next to the futon. Although the darkness could not define his features, she felt her hand slide over his that was stiffly on his lap.
The room was silent as there was no need for words between them. It was the comfort they both needed.
Although their marriage was initially arranged through the family, Akacho and her husband had found peace and comfort in each other’s company. And within a year, their mutual respect for one another became deeper feelings that one could only describe as fondness. And with a daughter and another child on the way, Akacho believed that she had found happiness within her new family. Many of Akacho’s friends could not relate to her, though, as they all had described their lonesome marriages and cried about their many struggles over hot tea. Though she sympathises with her dear friends, she could not help but feel grateful for her caring husband.
It was only two years into their marriage when Akacho suddenly fell ill. What started as sudden exhaustion that Akacho had brushed off as symptoms of her pregnancy had become an illness that doctors claimed to be incurable. Her muscles became weaker as the days went by, and her eyes became heavier with every blink, no matter how well-rested she was each night. Despite her weaker body, Akacho had yet to accept any procedures that involve risking the health of her unborn child. No words from various doctors or her husband were able to convince her to terminate her child. It had caused countless arguments between the couple, which always ended with tears and questions left uncompromised. Akacho’s husband was the first to accept defeat, finally promising her to take the best care of their young daughter and unborn child if the time were to come. “Please never compromise for them.”, she said that night. “And thank you for trusting me with my decision.”
Three days after that night, Akacho’s sickness had gotten worse. She could no longer sit up or keep anything down aside from water and hot tea. The realisation came to her that night. That anytime now, she would draw her last breath, hold the last hand, and see the last face. And she knew the last face would be her husband’s. If there is an afterlife, her soul would only remember his face frozen in time, without the wrinkles around his eyes or the grey hairs on his head. She would also only remember her daughter as a young toddler and never the woman she would later become.
That was when she had unleashed all her hidden emotion—fear.
She was afraid of death. Despite her facade of gentleness and acceptance of the inevitable death, Akacho’s fear remains.
And as a last resort, Akacho, through requesting her servants, called for another doctor—one she had never met, and had refused to meet before. It was once rumoured around the village that this particular doctor had miraculous medical knowledge and could cure practically any disease, but with a price. Some believed that price was the risk of the unknown, as his practices were experimental and not widely acknowledged. But Akacho is not a woman who blindly believes gossip or even passed-down legends. And so she called for the doctor. “Just as a second opinion”, she thought. “In case he could suggest something else.”
Even with her thoughts running with possibilities, Akacho did not fathom the doctor’s words once he arrived. “I see.”, he stood up. It was just her and the doctor in the room. Akacho had specifically requested the doctor to see her when her husband and daughter were away. Something she had never done with others before. “Fortunately, I carry good news for you.” The doctor reached into his bag, taking out a few items Akacho did not recognise. “I am able to bring back your strength and rid you of your illness”, he paused before reaching in and retrieving a small vile. “However, I must say, the procedure may be painful, and it can last for a few hours. But the good news is, you will be in no pain once the time elapses.” In his hand was the small vial. Akacho could see the dark liquid inside. It was dark red, almost black. “A simple injection.”