Chapter 2: Ghost Dance – Muzan Kibutsuji
Ghosts only roam the world under the veil of night; during the day, they vanish into shadows, hiding in darkness.
For Akira, a demon slayer, that meant waiting for nightfall—waiting patiently until the monsters revealed themselves.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, night quickly consumed a remote village. Under the pale moonlight, a boy trudged through the quiet streets, carrying a younger child on his back.
"Brother, when can we go home?" the younger one asked in a soft, sleepy voice.
The older boy glanced at the charcoal in the bamboo basket slung over his shoulder. He sighed. "Once we sell all this, we'll go home."
But the night was already deep, and the weather still warm. Charcoal wasn't in demand. All the houses were dark, shutters drawn tight, and not a soul roamed the streets. The chances of selling anything were slim.
At that moment, a man appeared at the far end of the street, walking toward them.
"I'll take all the charcoal. Doesn't matter what it costs."
Akira's voice was calm but firm.
The boy's eyes lit up. His little brother, riding on his back, perked up with surprise.
The boy hesitantly offered a fair price—modest, even cheap.
Without a word, Akira handed over the money and took the bundle of charcoal. "Take your brother and go home. It's dangerous this late. Never stay out at night again. Understand?"
"Thank you so much!" the boy said, bowing gratefully before hurrying off with his brother.
"They're sold out!" the younger boy cheered, grinning ear to ear as they skipped toward home.
Akira watched them go with a soft look in his eyes. Then, glancing at the charcoal in his arms, he rubbed his forehead in mock dismay.
"Ugh… Akito's going to scold me for sure," he muttered. "Buying all this? He'll think I've lost my mind again."
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of crimson eyes stared hungrily from the shadows.
Drip. Drip.
Saliva hit the ground.
"Hehehe… I didn't expect a treat tonight. Two children… tender flesh, delicate skin. So tasty!"
The demon crept forward like a spider weaving silently through the dark, its hunger palpable. It slinked along the edges of the buildings, inching closer with every second.
The children, still laughing and chatting, had no idea death was stalking them.
"Brother, we were lucky tonight," the older one said. "That man was so kind. We'd have been stuck out here for hours otherwise."
"I hope you won't have to work so hard in the future," the younger murmured.
"If we don't work, how can I buy snacks for my little Xiaoyu?"
"I don't need snacks… I just don't want you to be so tired."
"Heh, it's nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying. We won't have to struggle for much longer—"
A chilling voice interrupted.
"You really won't."
It was hoarse. Monstrous. Like nails dragging against bone.
The older boy froze. Slowly, he looked down—and saw a massive shadow stretching beneath them, cast by something unnatural.
He turned.
A grotesque face, white as death, grinned at him—fangs bared, arms reaching out.
A monster.
A demon.
"Sun Breathing, Second Form – Clear Blue Sky!"
A brilliant arc of flame seared through the night, turning it to day for a fleeting moment.
The demon stood frozen—grinning still—before realizing it no longer had a body.
"What…?"
It looked up and saw its own head flying, detached.
"I… I've been killed? Beheaded? By whom…?"
Thud.
Its head hit the ground, rolled twice, and came to rest at someone's feet.
There stood Akira, the same man who had bought the charcoal.
The demon's eyes widened. It tried to speak… but nothing came. Its body began to burn in golden light before disintegrating to ash.
"You… You're that man from before…" the boy stammered, horrified. He stared at the crumbling remains, throat dry. "What was that thing?"
"A demon," Akira replied, sheathing his Sun Blade. "Don't go out at night anymore. Even if not for yourself, do it for your brother."
He turned and walked away, raising a hand in farewell under the moonlight—his back echoing the calm resolve of Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The boy watched in awe, Akira's flaming sword strike forever burned into his memory.
"Brother…" the younger boy's voice brought him back to his senses. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. And you? Are you alright?"
"…I'm okay too."
Akira didn't stop. Killing that demon was only the beginning. His night had just begun.
A dark-feathered crow flapped down, landing gracefully on his shoulder.
"Where to next?" Akira asked without looking.
"There's a demon sighting to the southwest," the crow croaked. "It's far… You'll be back late."
"No helping it," Akira said calmly. "Danger doesn't wait for convenience. Akito will understand."
The crow sighed. "I was hoping for some of Akito's rice balls…"
"Then don't complain—just ask him nicely when we get back."
"Deal!"
Every Demon Slayer had a messenger crow for relaying missions. Akira's was named Langwei. But more than a tool, Langwei was a companion—a friend.
Akira followed the trail into a desolate wilderness.
Suddenly, he stopped.
Up ahead, a man and a woman were walking toward him.
His body tensed. The moment his eyes landed on the man, a wave of dread surged through him.
No… not just a demon's aura.
This… was something else. Something far worse.
It was like standing before a black sun—an oppressive force so vile, it made his skin feel like it was blistering.
The man didn't even glance at him. Didn't need to.
And still, Akira felt like he couldn't breathe.
In a heartbeat, he drew his Sun Blade, every muscle in his body poised for battle.
"…Kibutsuji Muzan."
There was no doubt.
This presence could only belong to the King of Demons—Muzan Kibutsuji, the progenitor of them all.
The man stopped, and finally looked at Akira.
His eyes were cold. Disinterested.
Like someone glancing at an insect.
"A demon slayer?" Muzan said, voice smooth and hollow.