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“Oh?” whispered a soft voice, “Did you finally die?” In the stark darkness of the void, an image of a woman blurred into his vision. Her eyes made themselves known through their serene and purple irises, and for a while, that is the only thing he was capable of seeing. There’s something eerie about this, about her. He’s seen them before, hasn’t he?
“Good”, she remarked. Her voice cut like soft wind through his ears. “Now, I too, can rest in peace”. Ah, so that’s who she was. Adorning the same purple haori, with her hair held up with a butterfly clip, was the insect Hashira.
What was her name?
There were only two people who wore that butterfly clip. “Ah..” he mutters, unconsciously trying to reach for his fans to cover his face. It’s a habit he’s gotten used to whenever he doesn’t know how to properly react. That's weird. He doesn’t feel anything. He glances down only to find that his body is nowhere to be seen. He glances back at the lady, “You’re Shinobu, right? Or Kanae?” No wonder she looks so close; she was holding his head up by the cheek.
The Hashira froze for a moment. Her eyes curved into a soft crescent as she whispered with a small smile, “Oh, that's alright.” Her tone was patronising. “You don’t have to remember whether it was my big sister or me that killed you”. She opened her eyes slightly to look down on him, a smile still gracing her lips. “You make me sick, so don’t say my name”.
She said those harsh words with such serenity that it unintentionally brought a smile to his lips. It seems like he’s not the only one who hides behind a fake personality. “That poison was incredibly powerful,” he started, trying his best to appear genuine despite only possessing his head to act out his supposed sincerity. “I didn’t even notice until it circulated all throughout me”.
Her eyes widened, and her grasp on his head tightened. It seemed that his remark somehow offended her. Why? He hadn’t said anything rude; he merely complimented her efforts.
After a while, she loosens her hold on his head and settles on closing her eyes before smiling thinly. It’s almost like she wanted to pretend that it wasn’t him that she was talking to in the afterlife. “I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
Was she dissatisfied with the results? Did she hope that her poison would have been enough to kill him on its own without making her apprentice fight him? No, that shouldn’t be right. The wisteria poison couldn’t guarantee his death. The poison had been designed to weaken every part of his body, from his heart to the tips of his blood art’s vines. The only way to fully stop his regenerative abilities was to chop his head off; all of the demon slayers knew that.
“A demon called Tamayo…” she gritted out through her teeth. “Helped us make it.” Seems like her pride was deeply hurt that she had to turn to a demon in order to make a poison that is effective in weakening an upper-rank like him.
“Tamayo?” That name rang a bell. “Oh, her?” he said, stories of a gentle black-haired demon came to his consciousness. She used to aid the demon king in his experiments. Despite growing sickly as a human, she was an exceptionally gifted demon. It’s such a shame she ended up betraying her own kind.
The Hashira sighed, “But it's frustrating,” she confessed. “If possible, I wanted to put you in the ground with a poison I made myself.” Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she opened her eyes again to gaze upon the fruits of her labour. “Still, I’m satisfied,” she breathed out, “the results were perfect.”
Something trembled in him. His chest felt too tight and too light at the same time. How odd, if he focused on the sensation, it almost felt like his heart was beating. “Whoa…” he gasped as a toothy smile stretched across his cheeks.
Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
A small laugh escaped his lips. “I don’t have a heart anymore,” he pauses, “but it feels like I’m still alive.” It’s such a strange sensation. He knows that he is dead, but why does he feel this strange throb in his chest? Why is his heart beating so loudly that he can hear it echo throughout his consciousness? If he still had his physical body, he would have been clawing at his chest to examine his heart. Back when he was a demon, whenever his heart started beating irregularly, or when his lungs felt like they would burst, he would simply rip them out of his body. It's pretty effective at suppressing those worrying symptoms.
Unfortunately, he can’t do that in the afterlife. He heard her scoff. “We’re dead, and you know it.” She no longer tries to hide her annoyance. “Sooner or later, we will go our separate ways. I look forward to whatever punishment they will bring upon you.”
They? Who are “They”? What are “They”?
“Do heaven and hell exist?” He asks, ignoring the way his face heats up uncomfortably in her hands. “Will I forever rot in the flames?”
She stares at him for a moment before clicking her tongue in annoyance. She lets go of his head.
Unfazed, he meets the floor with a quiet thud. It was a softer landing than expected. He shuffles so that he is propped up by his neck before turning his head to see that the Harshira had begun to walk the other way.
Is she about to leave? Can she even leave?
“Hey Shinobu,” he calls out, before pausing. “Is that your name? You’re Shinobu, right?” He watches her fists clench as she stops in her tracks. It seemed like he got her name right, at least. “Where are you going?” He starts, “I don’t see anything that way!” He watches as her shoulders tremble. “You might be stuck here with me for a while!” He said with a lilt, purposefully dragging the last vowel.
She grits her teeth and whips around to face him. Her hands instinctively reach for her sword, only to find that it wasn’t there. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” she grasped her chest, trying her best not to lose her composure in front of the monster. If he were a lesser demon, he would have flinched from her sudden change in behaviour. “Don’t you dare stand there all childlike and innocent, acting like you did nothing wrong!” She heaves heavily, enunciating each word like she was fighting for her life. “You killed my sister. You took away everything that was precious to me. You led those believers into a false sense of security only to profit from it. You’ve killed innocents, ripped families apart, ruined countless lives, and you still have the nerve to put on that righteous, fake facade. Where’s the end to your madness?”
“You’re a monster,” she swallows. “A monster that's truly beyond saving.”
There was a deafening pause.
“My name is Douma,” he manages to say.
Mother always said to start with a proper introduction. Maybe the afterlife was getting to him; he couldn’t believe he made such a rookie mistake.
Refined child, he tries to say. His name means refined child.
He had heard his parents whisper that name countless times when he was about to give his speeches to make sure his followers would listen. He had a role, and that was to alleviate their pain, to guide them onto the right path, and to ultimately lead them to paradise. He was above all of them. He doesn’t care about worldly matters; he wasn’t supposed to.
When you die, you just become nothing. Your heart stops, and your brain stops. You rot and return to the earth. As long as you are a living creature, it is unavoidable. His followers had been alive for decades, yet they still couldn’t understand something so simple. Why fear the inevitable?
That’s why they were so keen on going to paradise. The thought of being a part of something bigger brought hope into their eyes. They wanted to continue living, so he consumed them. They will continue to live inside of him, as a part of him. He wanted to make those pitiful people happy.
Isn’t that why he was born?
Even when he was turned into a demon, he could have broken out of his gilded cage. He could have carved a new life for himself where he wouldn’t need to listen to the incessant complaints of his followers, to be set under their expectant gaze for hours each and every day. Nevertheless, no one could fill his role, so he continued to fulfil his duty. After all, someone needs to care for those poor souls.
All these noble slayers strive for the sake of humanity, act for the sake of humanity, and even kill for the sake of humanity. Why bother? The main cause of suffering for humans are the humans themselves. They are the ones who go out in the sun every day, adorning a mask of counterfeit care. They are the ones who wage war on one another, the ones who leech off the weak, the ones who treat others as mere objects and live off other people’s sacrifices.
He drops the cheerful facade he puts up initially. There's no need to continue acting in front of her. As Shinobu finishes her rant with shaky breaths, he merely stares at her with a face devoid of emotion.
“It's hard to convince people to believe in a god that doesn’t show itself.” He tries to explain as she draws closer. “But I exist in front of them, I took in their troubles and tried my very best-”
“They were nothing but cattle to you!” she shrieked. He feels himself get yanked by the hair and hurled. “They were nothing but flesh and meat for you to toy with, to play with until you got bored.”
He clicks his tongue in annoyance as she steps on him. “Don’t you raise cattle?” He asks from under her heel. “Don’t you consume the chicken you grow in your own backyard? What makes a human life more important than any other life?” She slows down in her assaults, and he takes it as a chance to breathe.
“You know how life works, your consciousness is stored in a block of fat encased in a structure of flesh and bones. Is that not what an animal is, too?” He pauses again. What’s this weird lump he feels in his throat? It’s making it harder to speak. “Aren’t you cruel, too?” He continues. “You expect too much from the people around you and yourself. You hide behind a smile when all you can feel inside is rage, when all you think of is revenge. You mask your bloodlust for demons through a noble pursuit and lose your livelihood in the process. Did you really think your apprentice would leave the fight unscathed?”
“Don’t lump me in with the likes of you.” The pressure on his hair increases, and his cheek is forced into the ground. “You’ve never had someone you care about die in your arms. You’ve never had your happiness taken from you!”
All his life, he truly tried to feel something, anything. They were nothing more than fleeting sensations to him. Whatever emotion he lacks, he makes up for it elegantly. He acted theatrically and always exaggerated his expressions to hide that he was empty inside. No one tried to understand, and no one dared to look inside.
He feels dizzy. “That’s because-” He pauses. Everything is a mess of colours; he can barely see her anymore.
Gritting his teeth, he pieces together his thoughts. “It's because I never had any to begin with.” He confesses. “I never had a chance to be human.”
It hurts to say those words out loud, and it hurts even more to say them in the afterlife.
He couldn’t see her anymore. The assaults on his head ceased, and he was left to lie on the ground. The silence that accompanied his words is torturous. Something about the serenity of the void aggravates him, and he finds himself trembling uncontrollably.
Gasping for air, he calls out, “Shinobu?”
There was a puddle underneath him. It wasn’t until he saw his reflection in the water below that he realised that water had started flowing out of his eyes.
What was that on his face?
He watches as his lips quiver and his eyes glisten. An endless torrent of tears rushes out, making his cheeks and nose uncomfortably wet. His eyebrows furrow, and he struggles to breathe.
Oh, he’s crying.
"They" must have had fun playing with him.
He was gifted with an eloquent mouth, so he mustn’t scream. Instead, he laughs.
Tears roll down his face. It’s not fair that he finally felt something, something remotely human, in the afterlife. The corners of his eyes inadvertently crinkle, and his whole consciousness hurts from the intensity of his laughter.
He was their plaything, and that's all he was to them, to everyone. No one had loved him, not even his parents. Even his followers who prostrated themselves on his feet every day, the ones who endlessly chant their adorations, never truly cared. You can’t love someone from a pedestal. Their worship towards him was nothing but distance disguised as devotion.
He knows he won’t be reincarnated and that he will forever rot. Yet his laughter continues to echo.
He laughs at the pale hair that the demon king had marked with blood; he knows that his crown was never proof of his strength.
He laughs at his etched iris that had been engraved with his rank; the same ones that his followers praised so devoutly.
He laughs at his kaleidoscope eyes that never knew how to feel and are only capable of staring blankly at him in the mirror. He knew there was never anything special about his eyes. He was truly worthless from the beginning to the end.
It was never his role to make those people happy. It was never his role to guide them to paradise or to carry out the duties his parents bestowed upon him. He was just a child; there was nothing divine or refined about him.
As the flames drew closer and the glare of the light blinded his eyes, he could pretend that he was simply being embraced by the sun. Although he could feel his skin crack from the effort, he forced his eyes open to stare at the reflection in the puddle below. Sadness, regret, gratefulness, love, peace. He chants endlessly as the clawed tips of the fire grazed his skin.
He’s never felt this warm. Was death supposed to hurt this much?
His laughter escapes the flames even as his lungs burn, and somewhere in the distance, a lady with a butterfly clip shudders as she is swept by the cycles of reincarnation.