Chapter Text
The Ubuyashiki family is lined with rows of tombs. Hakuji would find peace in them, as well as all the others. But for some reason, he cannot muster up the courage to step into the gates this time; because it feels ominous. Unwelcome. Unusual. He feels as if he does not belong here.
He cannot shake this feeling off, and he does not want to. His instincts have never failed him, never have, not since he turned a blind eye to someone’s poison. Every part of him is screaming at him to run.
Hakuji,
I sense a strange disturbance. One of my subjects falls today. Regroup with the rest of the Pillars here.
But Master had summoned him. Master is bloodthirsty and cruel to cannibalistic monsters, and he pays little attention to the suffering of his subjects, so this shift in behavior startles Hakuji into practically sprinting here.
Perhaps this is a Blood Demon Art? An illusion? That would make sense. But the sun is smoldering, and he sweats as he runs. He would have to give credit where credit is due, for the demon to be able to capture how uncomfortable it is to walk in the blistering heat, and then beat it to death with his knuckles.
He humored this illusion far too long. Hakuji barely made it into the hallways when a clash of blades met his brass knuckles, and feels the blade almost dig against his skin. The blade retracts before it can, and Hakuji is almost entranced by the roaring pattern of flames engraved onto it.
He is confused. He may not brandish his rank like Gyutaro, but he is still regarded in high favor. Why a random swordsman decided to attack him, on sacred grounds no less, baffles him.
“Upper Moon Three.” The man seethes, a perfect stance in sync with the blade in his hand. There is pure, unadulterated rage in his voice, burning brilliantly bright, sending horrified shivers down Hakuji’s spine. “How dare you come to Master’s grounds and beseech his name with your blood!”
He was wondering why he looked so familiar, and it clicks almost a second too late. Blistering flames scorch his arm as he barely manages to sidestep his attack.
It is almost unbelievable. The man sported an eyepatch, wore decent clothes, and lacked the nine tails that trailed after him as he prowled at night. He didn’t have his disgusting smile with him, and instead a frowning gaze just as intense. Hakuji’s jaw nearly drops.
The surprise is quelled quickly by blinding anger. How dare he.
“Don’t you dare compare me to the likes of you, Upper Moon Three.” He grits out, his fists shaking as he goes. This was the demon that almost took his fucking life! He almost decapitated him! “For all my comrades that suffered because of your selfish nature, you will be buried alongside them today.”
There were a couple of things that baffled him. One: how did he enter? The place was heavily guarded by Kakushi and slayers alike. Two: what demon art was placed on him so that he would look like a human? Three: why was looking at Hakuji like he was the one that slaughtered innocents?
Kyojuro looked almost as confused as he was. “Upper Moon- pardon?”
Hakuji didn’t listen for an answer. If Kyojuro was here, he could imagine other Upper Moons weren’t far behind. This was an illusion, he concludes, readying his stance. He would take Kyojuro’s confusion as an opening and bust open his head while he had the chance.
He aimed with a speed only demons could parry, and Kyojuro did just that. It was an illusion. Kyojuro swings, as firm and sure as Hakuji remembered, forcing him to find refuge and hop from the hallway into the sunlight.
He scoffs. “You’re stupid if you think you can fight Hashira in broad daylight. Why did you come here? Where are your allies? Where is Ubuyashiki?”
Kyojuro blinks. His jaw is slack, and his eyes are bulged out. Hakuji can basically tell the questions loading in his mind.
“No? Fine.” Hakuji brings his fists to his chest. “Tell Upper Moon Two and his ragtag bunch of whores I said ‘hi’.”
His fists meet another weapon with a resonant clang. He jumps back, extremely annoyed, as Upper Moon One swings his ax, blocking Hakuji’s knuckles that would have otherwise split Kyojuro’s brain in two.
He hopes he doesn’t let his unease show. Two Upper Moon demons, infiltrating the estate, disguised as humans and parading their looks. How many lives have they taken on the way here? How many more will there be? Will he live to report about this?
He doesn’t think he can answer any of them right now. All answers to those questions make him nauseous. He cannot spare time to wonder. He just has to defeat them. He rams his fists together, wearing an easy smile. “What a fuckin’ treat, huh? Not one, but two demons to kill today.”
“Please wait!” Kyojuro roars, his volume surprising Hakuji into stopping. There is a worried crease in his eyebrows. “I feel that there is some misunderstanding between us. We are not your filthy comrades!”
“You expect me to believe that?” snorts Hakuji.
Upper Moon One sighs. “We are not demons. You do not seem to be either. Who are you?”
At that, Hakuji falters. He has never been good at reading intentions, nor is he good at deciphering lies, but he is good at detecting movements. He can see the second a swordsman reaches for the hilt of their blade, the tension of their muscles, and the moment they intend to strike- and neither demons have the intention for battle.
“I…” he pauses, continuing only by Kyojuro’s nod, “... am a demon slayer.”
A pause. Kyojuro frowns. “Is that all?”
“What the fuck did you think I was going to say?”
Upper Moon One lowers his ax. The hallway floor shakes and groans in pain at the impact. “You say you are a demon slayer and you can step into the sun. I choose to believe you. However, you trespassed Master’s grounds, expressed aggression towards the hashiras, and attempted to attack them. For that, you must repent.”
Hakuji blinks. “Wh-”
Upper Moon One is gone. There is a light tap on his neck, short and quick, before he is out like a light.
“Hakuji. That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Who are you- what- get away from me!”
“You are distressed. I suppose that is normal for the likes of you.” The man’s eyes are cold. So cold. “You have slaughtered sixty-seven men for revenge. You will rot in the pits of hell.”
You don’t care. You struggle against his grip. “I don’t give a shit. Let go of me!”
“I can give you revenge. You can train with me. You had a master, no?” The man refused to smile despite the amusement that laces his words. “The one who poisoned your well was a demon. Become a demon slayer. Seek revenge, and repent.”
Repent.
Repent.
Revenge.
For her.
When Hakuji comes to, he feels his body burn as he rubs his skin against ropes. White hot rage slams into his chest in full force. These damn fucking demons-
Bodies pile on him, one by one, until he can’t move a single inch.
“Calm down, fellow comrade!”
“Join me, Hakuji!”
Fucking hell.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do, damn demon-” He tricked him. Kyojuro tricked him, and now Hakuji was paying the price for letting his guard down. When he unties these ropes, he’s going to give him the beating of a lifetime.
“Why does this thing keep referring to us as demons, Master?” a light voice comments, high-pitched and sweet and doused with poison.
Master?
Hakuji’s head snaps up. The sun is setting, illuminating the sky into an ugly shade of red, signaling the impending doom nightfall brings. The last bits of the sun’s rays cast on the engawa in front of him, where a man draped in white stands above him. Black hair pools from his blinded face, a smile sending alarm bells in his head. His hands are clasped together, no doubt hiding a weapon in those arms.
Hakuji can’t move. He can’t breathe. His breath comes out in hiccups, his stomach dropping and dread encasing his entire body to freeze up.
This was undoubtedly Kagaya Ubuyashiki. The man who wears a cold smile. The man who coils around humans’ necks with his fingers, and paints the world red with his bloodshed. Always quiet, always composed, always ten steps ahead.
This was the man that made Ume cry.
He can’t breathe.
He’s a coward.
“You-” A firm grip squeezing on his throat chokes his words, and he rolls around even harder. He knows his rationality is slipping in favor of desperation clawing at his chest, telling him to get away, get away, beat this man until not even ashes remain.
Hakuji is torn.
“Hakuji.”
He stops. He wonders if he hit his head wrong, because the name that rolls off Ubuyashiki’s tongue is soft, and so gentle.
“My child. You are safe. This one begs you to calm down.”
The voice is so sweet. It is light and assuring, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm that rampages in his heart. He cannot let his guard down. This man poisoned Koyuki and left her to die. This man made Keiko collapse and forced Hakuji to bury their bodies side by side, when all he wished was for was to lay down and do the same.
Hakuji clamps down the arm, choking him with his fangs, sinking them deep until the arm lets go enough for him to speak. He glares at the pearly gaze.
“You,” Hakuji repeats, “I swear on my life and duty as a hashira and protector of humanity that I will bring your era of violence to an end- ark!”
Not a moment after the words left his mouth, he felt his chest crush by the weight of the other members above him.
Kagaya only stares blankly in great surprise. Hakuji sneers through the blood he coughed up. Serves that motherfucker right.
In his pitiful struggle, Kagaya steps towards him, but it feels odd. There is no fighting spirit in this man, no foreboding presence that commands the room. There is only calmness and patience settled behind his eyes.
“You are a hashira?” Kagaya speaks. He crouches on the floor and eyes him. “The people around you are too. I do not know who it is that fooled you, but I beg of you, child, to look carefully.”
Hakuji pauses, just for a second. He surveys the engawa around him. Though light is sparse during sunsets, any demon who walked out in broad daylight would be set alight in flames and perish under its glare. Every single Upper Moon here piles on him tightly, yet they show no sign of pain or disappearing into ashes. He hacks out a cough.
“We are the Demon Slayer Corps. Perhaps not one you are familiar with, but our duty aligns with yours. How can one prove to you so?”
How… how can this be?
No.
This is wrong.
This is all wrong.
Hakuji can’t trust his voice. “Let me go,” he says, so quiet he’s not sure if anyone heard him.
Kagaya shoots the people above him a glance, and everyone immediately clambers down from the pile, as if they weren’t wringing his neck a moment ago. Hakuji gulps in a breath, hands to his throat, hands trembling despite himself.
“I don’t— you—”
“Take deep breaths, child.”
“Deep breaths, son!”
Hakuji forces himself upright.
“When you’re ready, we can keep sparring!”
He breathes. His body is exhausted, and every move wears down his bones. His head is spinning, and the ridiculousness of the situation starts to dawn on him. He can’t be rash about this. Every person kneeling beside him radiates an aura only his comrades can parry. Whether they are demons or not, they are still powerful. Hakuji would be overwhelmed in an instant.
They could’ve killed him and feasted on his flesh. The power of a Hashira when consumed would have strengthened them. To deny his blood is to deny their nature.
Hakuji can’t exactly put his mind around it, but one thing is certain: these people are not demons.
His head feels so light. The sun trickles down into the mountains, as nightfall blankets the sky.
He’s out again.