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The air thrummed with energy: dark, oppressive, and hungry. All the animals were silent, driven into hiding by an ancient, indomitable force; the embodiment of terror striking fear into their very souls. Even the nearby human village, filled with dim-witted, dull-sensed inhabitants, showed no signs of life-- all light extinguished in the hopes that the darkness would hide them.
Fools.
His master was pleased, and only Muzan-sama’s limited sense of mercy and the sun’s wrathful, purifying light could save them from this night.
Kokushibo approached the copse of pines at a brisk walk, neither rushing nor dawdling.
His master, elegantly dressed in a rich purple kimono, stood over a snarling man-shaped beast, his lips twitched up in the barest hints of a smile.
Kokushibo dropped to one knee, head bowed, ignoring the creature as it feasted on a freshly slain man. It was naked save for a blood-stained fundoshi, the remains of what might have been its clothing strewn about the forest floor as snowy-white and crimson tatters.
“Do you remember what I told you about the demon moons, Kokushibo?”
“You desire… twelve strong demons… to carry out your will,” he said obediently, head still bowed.
“I think I have found our first candidate,” Muzan said, his smile growing. “I was disappointed when I came all the way here, only to find a mere human, but he has taken to my blood well, and he has a ferocious appetite. This is his fifth tonight.”
Kokushibo lifted his head to take in the newborn demon once more.
A man, with pale skin and hair the color of cherry blossoms. The sclera of his eyes were blue, cracked by red lines giving them the appearance of broken glass. His irises were a bright gold, glowing incandescently in the moonlight. His face was branded by three blue lines on either side of his face, with a seventh running down the middle of his forehead.
Distantly, Kokushibo was reminded of the facial tattoos that humans forced murders to wear, branding them as killers.
A common killer was of little use to Muzan-sama.
“You doubt me?” Muzan-sama asked drily.
“I do not doubt that you have an eye… for that which can be refined into something great,” he said, taking in the rest of the demon's brands.
They were all over his body; his neck, his arms, legs, even his fingers and toes. The demon’s soul was certainly an unlawful one, of that there could be no doubt.
“Yes…” Muzan-sama purred, pleased by his servant’s observation. “There is much work to be done with him. He’s still feral, but that doesn’t worry me. They can’t all be like you, perfect from the start.”
Kokushibo preened under his master’s rare praise. “You honor me, My Lord.”
“I want you to see what you can make of him, Kokushibo. I want you to train him up into something useful,” Muzan-sama said, making eye contact for the first time.
“It will be done as you ask, My Lord,” he replied, lowering his head once more.
Muzan-sama nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave.
Alone with the demon, Kokushibo took in his bloody, indecent condition. The newly turned often shed their clothes during the transformation. Their bodies produced an inferno’s worth of heat that made even the lightest clothing unbearable to wear.
Kokushibo should be grateful that this demon at least had his small clothes… but if this urchin was to be one of the finest instruments of Muzan-sama’s rage, his current condition would never do.
Kokushibo rose to his feet, intending to wait a few paces away for the beast to finish his meal, but the pink haired demon’s attention was caught by the movement. His two eyes locked with Kokushibo’s six.
“Don’t,” Kokushibo advised calmly, reading the beast’s trail of thought as easily as one read a book.
He snarled at Kokushibo and sprang to his feet, fists outstretched to attack. Kokushibo effortlessly severed his arms at the elbows.
Despite the fact that this was likely the pink-haired demon’s first time being dismembered, he did not panic, nor cry, nor give up his assault. He merely howled in pain and rage and tried to kick Kokushibo.
His legs swiftly followed his arms.
Now, as the demon lay in pieces on his back, he looked well and truly afraid.
“You will… heed me… as if I am our master,” Kokushibo said, swordpoint at the demon’s neck. “Understand?”
The demon snarled and his arms finally grew back, but he didn't move to attack again.
“Can you… speak yet?”
The demon worked his jaw up and down for several moments, aborted attempts at sound escaping him. Then, just when Kokushibo was about to order him to stop trying, the demon hoarsely ground out, “Kill… you.”
Amusement briefly flared in Kokushibo. “You may… try. What is… the name of my would-be… killer?”
Confusion contorted the demon's features, then pain, then unyielding rage. His legs sprang back into existence and he kicked Kokushibo’s legs with all his might.
To the older, vastly more powerful demon, it felt like a gust of wind. This line of questioning clearly wasn't going to get them anywhere. The trauma of turning had clearly scrambled this creature's brain.
“You…will learn to obey me… dog,” Kokushibo said fiercely. “I will… call you…”
He paused then, unsure. He knew very little of this demon and his ways. Finding a fitting name would be difficult. Perhaps instead of naming the demon as he is, he could name him for what Muzan-sama wanted him to be.
“I will… call you… Akaza…” Kokushibo said, feeling inspired.
It was a name that spoke of obedience and the potential of growth.
He looked over Akaza again, nose curling in disgust.
Before he did anything else, this demon needed a bath and a fresh set of clothing.
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Bathing Akaza had taken more effort than it was worth, with the newborn demon refusing to cooperate at any level. Kokushibo had to sit on him at multiple points and forcibly scrub him down. But the stubborn creature came clean eventually.
Putting him in clothing was less of a fight. Akaza had some semblance of modesty despite his nearly feral state and gladly accepted fresh fundoshi and a dark pair of hakama. He fought the kimono tooth and nail, however, even managing to gouge out one of Kokushibo’s eyes in the process. But this was a battle the older demon inevitably won…
Only for Akaza to tear the sleeves off the second he was let loose.
He regarded Kokushibo smugly as the ancient samurai contemplated if it was worth punishing Akaza for his actions.
So long as he is covered… It does not matter.
Kokushibo didn’t bother with trying to stuff the younger demon’s feet into the zori he’d gotten for him. He was well and truly tired of being kicked for one night.
“It… is time for us to… find shelter from the sun. Come,” Kokushibo ordered sternly. And for once Akaza listened without fighting over it.
Although he did hiss unhappily. But whether it was a show of displeasure from being ordered around, or discomfort from the rapidly approaching dawn, Kokushibo had no idea.
He could find out if he really wanted to. All demons were connected in a great web of consciousness that bound them all to their master. And to each other.
He could feel Akaza’s thread as clearly as he could hear the feral’s incoherent mumblings and murderous threats.
But Akaza had not invited him into his mind. Nor could he currently do so. Exploring his mind without his blessing, even under these circumstances when Kokushibo needed to mold Akaza to best suit their master’s will, would be a most invasive and dishonorable thing to do.
No. Kokushibo would have to do this the hard way.
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The sun affected demons in two ways: it either induced overwhelming fear and anxiety, or it made a demon drowsy and susceptible to sleep if they had appropriate shelter.
The cave Kokushibo found for them was deep and dark, without an ounce of light to penetrate its depths, and Akaza was significantly mellowed as a result, although he did not succumb to the instinct to doze the day away.
Demons did not sleep in the way most living things did, but their minds did require a period of rest, where their thoughts, if any, slowed to a crawl. It was more akin to meditation than true sleep, but this period of rest was vital to staying sane. If a demon never learned to detach from their thoughts they would go mad after years of constant, uninterrupted consciousness.
Kokushibo would have to teach Akaza how to control this state of torpor if it did not come naturally to him. It would not do for Muzan-sama’s new instrument of destruction to return to a state of feralness after only a few years.
But there would be time enough for that. For now, Kokushibo merely observed the younger demon, watching to see what he would do now that his instincts were forcing him into a relaxed state.
Akaza stared at him, watching him with curiosity and thinly veiled contempt.
Kokushibo stared back blankly, unimpressed by the younger demon’s belligerent and ungrateful attitude.
The two demons stared each other down for the majority of the day.
Eventually, Kokushibo grew bored with the contest and closed all six of his eyes, slowing his breathing down to measured, steady breaths. The younger demon could not hurt him, so there was no reason not to rest his mind for the night to come.
He had the distinct feeling he would be needing it.
It was evening when Kokushibo felt Akaza shift on the edges of his senses, drawing nearer to the older demon.
Curious, Kokushibo came out of his meditative state but kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady, as if he were asleep.
Akaza crept up slowly on Kokushibo’s still form, watching and waiting, inching closer and closer until he could slide his hand into pockets of the older demon’s kimono.
Baffled by this behavior, and wanting to know what would happen next, Kokushibo allowed Akaza to rifle through his empty pockets for a few moments.
Until he found the only item to Kokoshibo’s name: the broken halves of his brother’s flute. His sticky, grimy, unworthy fingers wrapped around them with the intention to take.
Akaza swiftly found himself in thrice as many pieces as the flute.
Akaza was a hissing, spitting, bloody mess, and not cowed in the slightest. He was on his feet the moment they grew back, throwing himself at Kokushibo with reckless abandon, but not without some skill.
This demon clearly had some martial training. His stances were tight and his strikes were measured, but he acted thoughtlessly, without a sense of self-perseveration, completely blinded by rage.
This would not do.
For the rest of the day, Kokushibo punished Akaza severely for each careless attack, and rewarded him by allowing a blow to land whenever he used something close to strategy. It was a method that worked well, and it wasn’t long before Akaza was stopping to take the time to measure Kokushibo before each engagement, looking for weaknesses to exploit.
There were none, of course, but that hardly discouraged the younger demon.
At least until night fell and his regeneration slowed to dangerous levels, his thoughts clearly turning to retreating to feed.
Kokushibo allowed him to flee, but followed him at a distance. He was weak in his current state. If a high ranked slayer found him like this… Muzan-sama would be furious.
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Kokushibo smelled and heard the men-at-arms long before he saw them, and imagined Akaza did as well.
Akaza stumbled into their campsite off the side of a well-traveled road, hungry but seemingly unsure of what he intended to do. At least until he saw them.
Akaza’s stance went rigid as he took in the men, who immediately recognized him for what he was and went for their swords and spears. Akaza’s rage and hurt was a living thing, whipping and crackling through the air like lightning. His emotions were so turbulent and powerful that Kokushibo actively had to shield his end of the thread against it.
And even then, he could feel despair and vengeful anger that seeped into the air even as the soldiers’ blood seeped into the ground beneath his feet.
It was a wholesale slaughter, visceral and desperate; the men never landed a hit upon the newborn demon. They never stood a chance.
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Akaza stood among the bodies, lost at first, before instinct claimed him and he fell upon the dead men with the ravenous vigor of a man who had never known a full meal. He had an impressive appetite for a newborn demon. The freshly turned tended to have weak constitutions and fed mostly upon blood and prized organs such as the heart and liver. Akaza ate his prey down to the bone and then ate the bone as well. Not a scrap was wasted.
It was admirable and would serve him well on his journey to greater strength.
Akaza ran out of gusto by the third corpse, however, and picked about the remains of the rest, riffling through their pockets and claiming every wallet and coin purse the men had owned. His hands and face drenched in gore, his arms full of ill-gotten goods, he approached Kokushibo with something almost like pride on his countenance, like a dog who had fetched its master a fallen duck. The light in his eyes seemed to say, See what I did? Aren’t I a good boy for doing it right?
“You should not steal from the dead,” Kokushibo admonished. They were demons, they ate human flesh, but they were not above honor, they were not above the most basic of respects.
Akaza’s smile fell and he clutched the wallets closer to his chest as if he feared Kokushibo would take them away from him. And I very well should. An obsession with wealth will only distract him.
“Drop them,” Kokushibo ordered. “They will… only slow you down.”
Akaza turned away from him slightly, shielding his horde with body, and snarled.
“We are demons… Akaza,” he said with more patience than this creature deserved. “Where will you spend it? Humans will not… deal with you.”
Akaza merely continued to growl at him.
Holding back a sigh, Kokushibo said, “Very well… I will have to… show you, then.”
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It was late into the night now, the moon having long risen to and fallen from its apex. Sleep had the inhabitants of this dusty little town in a death grip, the humans all blissfully unaware of the potential danger that stalked their streets.
Well, perhaps “stalked” was the wrong word for Akaza, who still clutched his stolen money to his chest as he toddled along the dirt road, looking this way and that with the all innocence of a puppy.
“Well, then…” Kokushibo said as Akaza carefully examined and dismissed each long-closed shop they passed. “Do you see how pointless money is… for us?”
Akaza did not seem to hear him, for his eyes widened and he sped up his pace to a near run. Kokushibo followed slowly, knowing there was little trouble the newborn could get into that their master would disapprove of.
Akaza skidded to a halt outside a squat little two story house. There was a sign on the wall by the door, it read, Granny and Sons’ Herbs and Remedies.
Akaza stared at the sign for a moment, looking as excited as a child standing before a candy store. He made to open the door. It rattled and shook, but did not open.
“It is… locked,” Kokushibo informed him. “No one will service a customer… this late at night. What use has a demon need of… medicine?”
“Need it,” Akaza hissed furiously, ripping the door from its track.
“You do not.”
Akaza ignored him and stumbled inside. It was a small shop front, with a counter placed off to the side and several shelves stocked with goods behind it. Someone shouted from upstairs. Footfalls thundered down the stairs at the back. An old woman descended down them, a broom clutched tightly in her hands.
Brave, if not entirely foolish, she flung herself at Akaza, swatting him upside the head with the broom. Akaza yelped, dropped his bags of money, and skittered backwards, arms flung up in an attempt to protect his head.
“You… cannot be serious,” Kokushibo said from outside the shop. This demon just massacred an entire group of fully armed men, and he trembled with visible fear when confronted by an old crone and her broom? “Kill her.”
“Get out, get out, get out!” the woman screamed as she continued to beat Akaza. “Help! Someone help!”
Akaza whined, a submissive sound and turned to flee from the woman. Kokushibo caught him by the throat as he tried to run past, threw him to the ground, and backhanded the woman as she attempted to hit him with the broom.
There was a loud crack and she crumpled to the ground beside the newborn demon.
Akaza lifted himself up onto his hands and stared at the body of the woman, dumbfounded. He reached a hesitant hand to nudge her still body. When he received no reaction, he turned panic eyes to Kokushibo.
Someone shouted in the distance.
“She is dead,” he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Why did you… allow her to beat you? Why did you… run? Are you a coward, Akaza?”
Akaza’s face twisted from frightened and confused into a grotesque mask of rage and hate. He leapt onto his feet and flung his fist at Kokushibo, who tried to dodge by stepping backwards, only to have his face smashed in by a shockwave that extended from Akaza’s initial attack.
The wounds heal in an instant, but the surprise remained, allowing Akaza to score a rib-shattering blow to Kokushibo’s sternum that sent him stumbling a couple of feet.
There was more shouting now, firelight from torches shining brightly in the depths of the night’s darkness. Kokushibo drew his sword, lopping off Akaza’s arms as the younger demon went in for another attack.
Akaza, ever undaunted, continued to fight with his feet, unleashing shockwave after shockwave, each one that missed the now serious Kokushibo destroyed the houses behind the elder demon.
The humans around them screeched in terror, going from an aggressive defense of their homes to scattering in panic and horror.
So this was the newborn’s true potential. Kokushibo allowed himself the smallest of smiles, a mere cork of his lips, as he watched the carnage Akaza unleashed. He quickly calculated all the ways in which the raw ferocity of this blood art could be refined into something elegantly deadly. It was only a matter of bringing the younger demon to heel.
A task easier said than done, it seemed. Akaza had a new air about him as he fought Kokushibo, dodging the elder demon’s blows with an efficiency he previously lacked. It was almost as if he could predict Kokushibo’s every swing. Although this precognition mattered little in the end, for Kokushibo was still infinitely faster than Akaza and out paced him at every turn.
The younger demon lay in a bloody heap at Kokushibo’s feet, snarling uselessly up at him.
“You… will learn to behave… Akaza,” Kokushibo told him sternly. “Pull… yourself together. It is time… we leave this place.”
Akaza stopped his snarling long enough to heal his wounds and rise to his feet. “Kill you,” he hissed.
“Perhaps… one day, you shall,” Kokushibo said, looming over the newborn to emphasize his point. “Until then… you obey.”
Akaza huffed but did not argue or threaten as Kokushibo led him away from the ruins of what had once been a prosperous village.
Akaza would do well for himself in Muzan-sama’s new order. Kokushibo would make sure of it.