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“Oh my.” Kanashi hums as they settle to a stop on the roof of a barn near the tracks.
“Unfortunate.” Akaza sighs, scanning the wreckage for the sun breather, unable to spot him amongst the handful of clusters of random civilians evacuating the train.
“I’ll go left, you go right?” he suggests, hopping off of the rooftop vantage point, donning a human disguise, shrugging the fabric over his shoulders, morphing his coloration into something less noticeable.
“Meet you in the middle.” She lands next to him, and they split up, closing in on opposite sides of the catastrophe strewn across the tracks.
He doubts the slayers that killed Enmu are still in fighting shape, many of the passengers are rather banged up from the crash alone, and the swordsmen definitely had quite the fight beforehand, so this shouldn’t be too difficult.
“Ah, excuse me young man, that wound seems rather severe.” he says, approaching the boy in the hanafuda earrings. “They’re setting up a makeshift medical ward at a farmhouse nearby, please, let me escort you.” Sure enough, he’s too rattled and inexperienced to sense the demonic presence Akaza can only stifle so well.
“Oh, um, okay, but then I have to go find my sister.” He agrees after a moment of deliberation, and Akaza reassures,
“Of course, we won’t be gone long, but the sooner you get that wound bandaged the better.”
They move away from the wreck toward the small copse of trees dividing the train tracks and the crop fields beyond, and he suggests, “Try to breathe a bit steadier,” as the hyperventilating is audible, even to a human.
“Right,” These may be his final moments, but there’s no need for them to be commanded by the pain of an injury.
It is unfortunate that the boy's sister must lose a caring member of her family, but they cannot disobey a direct order from Muzan, and he has ordered the retrieval of the sun breather’s head in no uncertain terms.
Moving the hand on the boys back up to his neck, he intones quietly,
“I’ll try to make this quick,” the swift noise of a blade leaving its sheath rapidly approaches from behind, and Akaza dives to the side as he turns, losing a hand instead of his head.
“Goodness, you’re a quick one.”
“You will not lay a hand on him,” the older swordsman declares, poised for a fight, positioned between him and the sun breather. “Kamado, find the others and stay with them, do not engage the upper moon.” he says, still looking at Akaza, though clearly speaking to the boy.
“So, those eyes are more than just gorgeous.” Akaza drops his disguise, donning his loose fitting pants held by a corded belt and sleeveless haori as he widens his stance. “I am Akaza, of the demon moons. Who might you be, slayer?”
“Rengoku Kyojuro of the Demon Slayer Corps. I will be the one to behead you tonight!” His words plainly reflect the bright shimmer of his true spirit, and Akaza already knows this swordsman will fight to his last breath, and then some, to win.
Personally? He can’t wait.
They meet in the middle in a clash of attacks, Kyojuro’s precise sword forms slicing through his body like warm butter wherever they land, moving with equally balanced strength and grace, matching him blow for blow.
Pain is a thing of the past, his limbs regrow just as soon as they fall, cuts healing near as fast as they’re made, nichirin searing through him yet still barely a footnote in the grand symphony of their fight.
But where Akaza is durable, Kyojuro is quick to evade, blocking and dodging his attacks at speed, knowing that even just one landing will begin to sap at his limited energy, and sink him like a vast sea vessel with a sprung leak.
Kyojuro is skilled, but not flawless. He is only human, after all.
He’s only ever heard rumors of the breath of flame users, but he’s crossed enough swordsmen to recognize how certain patterns and habits are passed from teacher to student, learned to see the echoes of the mentor in those they’ve taught.
There are none, in Kyojuro’s movements. His form is rigid and set, like an unenthusiastic dancer forced to repeat the same routine for the thousandth time. There’s plenty of determination behind his well practiced and skilled attacks, but no passion, no personality, no fire.
It’s like he learned the forms out of a textbook.
Though, he is still an amazing fighter, and deserves to hear as such.
“Four cracked ribs and you’re not even slowing down, incredible!” Akaza roars, delighted as he’s rebuffed for the dozenth time. “Most humans’ technique suffers when contending with injury, but it’s like they don't even exist to you!”
“Pain is meaningless, I will heal eventually!” Perhaps not entirely, but none of his injuries are lethal at the moment, so ignoring them isn’t foolish. “All that matters now is this battle,” he states. “Giving anything less than my all is a waste of time!”
“I hear that,” such absolute determination is a rarity, Akaza relishes in the pure power of it exuding from Kyojuro’s every breath. “My fiancée doesn’t like my blatant disregard for personal injury, but-”
“Fiancée?” he interrupts, though Akaza never turns down an excuse to shower his fiancée in compliments.
“My darling Kanashi, my starlight in the pitch black night, she is everything I want, more than I could ever need. If you were facing her, you wouldn’t land a single hit!” he boasts, taking a shot to the chest and winding up tacked against a tree, blade pierced through his right shoulder.
“So she’s Upper two?” Kyojuro questions, catching the hand that comes up by the wrist, holding it there with a rather impressive grip strength, bones creaking under the pressure as he answers,
“No, she doesn’t care for rank, or battle. She favors less violent ways to spend our time, watching this world change, finding the beauty in it despite its fragility and fleeting nature,” bending his pinned arm, tearing a bit more of the muscle in his shoulder, Akaza brushes his thumb through the track of blood trailing down Kyojuro's jaw.
He jolts, gaze hardening once more, and leaps back, taking his sword with him. Akaza rolls his arm, stab wound sewing itself back together seamlessly, and he calls out, “It saddens me to know that even you will decay one day, your unparalleled strength deserves to be immortalized!” no matter how he would change if turned, Akaza has no doubt that his strength and resolve would translate, he may even grow strong enough to interact cordially, unfazed by the aura powerful demons exude. “Become a demon, fight with me forever!” Unfortunately, Kyojuro doesn’t hesitate for a second, his confusion fading into resolute determination once more.
“I will live and die a human!” he bellows, and if Akaza was delusional enough to think it possible, he'd join the corps just to be able to truly make the best of Kyojuro's prime years, sparring and growing stronger together.
“You demon slayers are always so stubborn,” Akaza bemoans. “You would never age, never grow ill, never tire. All the burdens of your human life would be gone in an instant, with an eternity of infinite possibly stretched out ahead of you!" Comparatively, humans are far too easily killed, for as fun as they are. Few manage to earn this opportunity, but Kyojuro has more than proven his worthiness with just how lively he is.
“My humanity is far too important to me to give up!” He argues, deadset, and Akaza accepts the refusal.
“Very well. If that is your wish," just then, a melodious tone he could never ignore sounds from the other side of the wreck, urging,
“Darling, time to go.” and Akaza splits off, jumping back and sighing slightly, disappointed that the end has come but internally glad to not need to snuff out such a bright blaze.
Perhaps he will change his mind another night, if he manages to weather these injuries well enough to pick up a sword again.
“Ah, looks like we’ll have to continue this another time. My lady is calling.”
“She’s here?” Kyojuro falters in shock, but Akaza is already stepping away, calling,
“Stay alive, Kyojuro. I expect an equally impressive encore.” with one final polite bow, he leaps atop the nearest overturned train car, clearing ground quickly and catching up to Kanashi. Who has her hands full with a small demoness, who is in turn also holding a human wearing pants, sandals, and a rather realistic boar mask, shouting into the wind.
“She does not cower like most do," she explains, dropping her own disguise as they head north. "Even tried to claw my eyes out when I approached!” that is quite odd, every other lower ranked demon they’ve come across has held an instinctual fear of them, terrified of being consumed for power.
“Interesting,” the demon doesn’t appear to be much different than any other, save for the fact that she’s wearing human-made clothes, which isn’t very common either.
They’ll have to investigate further later, time is of the essence at the moment, but Akaza can’t help but add, “I’ve just met the most incredible swordsmen,”
“So I heard.” she teases, before the wind picks up too much to comfortably converse.
They fly over the landscape, just barely making it home in time, doors shutting just as the light of the dawn crests the mountaintop, and a command is spoken into his mind.
‘Niigata. Now.’ Akaza glances at Kanashi hoping to have been the only one summoned, but she wears the same grim, anticipatory look.
She disappears deeper into the estate to put the demoness into a guest room with her catch, and Akaza picks out the proper attire for a demon traveling during the day, with enough full coverage to prevent sunlight from reaching their skin.
To humans, it looks like they’re preparing for traveling in a blizzard, which is why they avoid humans, because they’re rarely traveling in an actual blizzard, and therefore, stick out quite a bit.
They move a bit slower, both because of the sunlight heating them up despite their coverage and threatening to cook them if they stay out of the shadows too long slowing their progress, and because they know their failure will not be taken kindly, and the punishment will not be light.
--------------------------
“Your task was simple. Kill a child. And yet, you have returned, empty handed.” their master drawls, his displeasure palpable in the air, but Akaza keeps still, gaze trained on the floorboards. “Do you care to explain yourselves?” any response will be seen as a pathetic excuse, they have well and truly fucked up this mission, there is no escaping his wrath. Akaza doesn’t hesitate to speak first, hoping to absorb it all himself.
“The other slayer he was with proved to be more of a challenge to get past,”
“You got distracted.” his master accuses, rightfully so.
Maybe Akaza could have ended things sooner, he definitely wasn’t giving the fight his absolute all right from the start, but whether or not his full might would have overwhelmed Kyojuro is unclear, he truly was amazingly powerful.
Not that it matters now, as Kanashi’s shoulders tense, eyes widening incrementally as her body is wracked with agony from their master calling on his blood to seize in her veins, growing , and Akazas heart plummets as he shifts closer, unable to do anything to aid her, simply producing a cloth to keep the blood bubbling past her lips from getting on the hardwood and waiting for the worst to pass, unable to bring himself to look away.
Any pain he feels would fade without consequence, but the abject horror of seeing this fate befall his fiance lingers much longer, and he stifles the instinctual rage only through the knowledge that lashing out will just make things worse. “You defied my orders, let a hashira live. I should have your head just for that.” he almost pleads for it, if only to absolve Kanashi of bearing the consequences of his actions any further.
“Rengoku Kyojuro, cannot be a hashira, his father has not yet been killed.” she points out before he can respond, speaking past the handkerchief she now holds to her mouth, body still straining to heal the immense damage done to her, warming under his hand from the exertion.
“A technicality does not change the fact that you have failed.” Muzan says, but the subject has been successfully changed, and Akaza jumps in again.
“Of course. We will find him, split up to search the country until he has been slain.” he offers, hoping to be dismissed sooner rather than later, clinging to any lingering faith their master has in their competence, and sure enough,
“Get out, then. Don't return until you've completed this simple task.” They rise to retreat back out the window, he’s half carrying Kanashi as they make it back to the street before fully sweeping her into his arms, exiting the city before slowing his pace to avoid drawing the attention of any early risers.
“I thought that may have been the end of us.” Kanashi admits quietly when he settles in the shade of a steep cliff carved naturally from what used to be a flat plain, keeping her encircled in his arms.
“Next time, I’ll cut to the chase.” he promises, lifting his head. “A worthy opponent is not worth risking you harm, I should’ve known,”
“Don't deride yourself for the way you are.” she urges him instead, “That passion is what I like most about you.” arguing the point is rather useless, as he’s found, so he lets the silence lapse until she requests, “So, tell me about him.”
“I wish you could have seen it,” he breathes. “His spirit alone nearly blinded me,” not literally, but it's the best way he’s been able to put his blood demon art into words in the past. “And he had the skill to match, he was, spectacular. He refused to give up, even in the face of terrible odds, straight out of his fight with Enmu, he wouldn’t even let me get close to the sun breather, kept trying to get me further from the crash. I could feel, he was holding back his stronger attacks, trying to outmaneuver me instead, and he nearly did.” Akaza recites, trying to accept the change of subject and refocus, moving past the nauseating guilt.
“Been a while since a slayer has given you a run for your money.” she hums, words ghosting over his collarbone.
“I probably could have ended the fight early on,” he admits, “shattered his sword and aimed for the head,”
“Probably?” Akaza truly can’t say for sure, as things had escalated further into the fight, it left him wondering how differently the battle may have gone in different circumstances, if they’d both been going for the throat from the start, inhibition-less.
“From what I saw, I may have had to rely on a bit of luck to land the killing blow, or leave an opening for him to take a shot at my neck.” he can lose and regrow limbs all he wants, but decapitation will kill him about as quickly as direct sunlight, so playing that card comes with high risk, for high reward.
“I don't regret how things went.” She decides for them both, and he doesn't voice an opposition, content to move past it like they always do. “We’ll make up for it. How hard can it be to find one child?”