Chapter 2: Ghost Dance – Muzan Kibutsuji
Ghosts only roam the world under the veil of night; by day, they vanish—fading back into the shadows they call home.
For Akira, a Demon Slayer, that meant waiting for nightfall—waiting patiently until monsters revealed themselves.
And so he waited.
As the sun bled beneath the horizon, the world shifted. Crimson faded to violet, and violet to a heavy, suffocating black. Darkness swept over a remote mountain village, the moon rising pale and watchful above the rooftops.
On the quiet street below, an older boy trudged forward, carrying a bamboo basket heavy with charcoal. His younger brother lay drowsing on his back, head resting against his shoulder.
"Brother," the younger murmured, voice muffled with sleep, "when can we go home?"
The boy's gaze flicked toward the basket, then to the shuttered homes around them. He sighed softly. "Once we sell all this, we'll head back."
But the night was already deep. The air still held the day's heat, though the streets were cold, lifeless. Charcoal wasn't in demand here; the people had no need for it. Shutters were drawn tight, lamps extinguished, as if the village itself had curled in on itself to hide.
Their chances were slim.
Then, at the far end of the street, a man appeared—tall, calm, walking unhurriedly toward them.
"I'll take all the charcoal," the man said, his voice quiet but unwavering. "Doesn't matter the price."
The older boy blinked, startled. "All of it?"
"Yes."
The boy hesitated, then named a modest sum, almost embarrassed to ask.
Coins clinked into his hand. The man—Akira—lifted the charcoal with practiced ease.
"Take your brother and go home," Akira said, his tone firm but gentle. "It's dangerous to be out this late. Don't linger in the streets after dark again. Understood?"
The boy's eyes widened, gratitude washing over his face. He bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir! Truly, thank you!"
His little brother raised his head, smiling brightly. "Thank you!"
The older one hurried down the street, clutching his brother's hand, joy replacing weariness. Their laughter faded into the night.
"They're all sold!" the younger cheered.
Akira watched them disappear, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Then his gaze fell to the charcoal bundle in his arms.
"Ugh… Akito's going to scold me for this," he muttered under his breath. "Buying all this when I don't need it… he'll think I've lost it again."
But he didn't regret it.
Behind him, unseen, crimson eyes gleamed from the shadows.
Drip. Drip.
Saliva splattered onto stone.
"Hehehe… what fortune. Two children… tender flesh, delicate skin… oh, how delicious."
The demon slithered along the wall, its body stretching unnaturally thin, limbs clinging like a spider. Its hunger pulsed in every twitch of its clawed fingers. It crept closer, closer.
The children laughed, unaware.
"Brother," the older said as they hurried along, "we were lucky tonight. That man was so kind."
"I hope you won't have to work so hard anymore," the younger murmured.
"If I don't work, how can I buy snacks for my little Xiaoyu?"
"I don't need snacks," the younger protested. "I just don't want you to be tired."
The older chuckled, but his voice cracked slightly. "Heh, it's nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying. We won't have to struggle much longer—"
A voice like splintering bone sliced through his words.
"You really won't."
The air grew heavy.
The boy froze. A massive shadow stretched beneath them, too wide, too twisted to be human. Slowly, trembling, he turned.
A pale face grinned at him—skin waxy, lips peeled back to reveal jagged teeth. Hunger dripped from its mouth.
A demon.
Before the boy could scream, flame erupted in the night.
"Sun Breathing, Second Form—Clear Blue Sky!"
Akira's blade whirled in a radiant arc. Fire blazed along its edge, a perfect circle of searing brilliance that split the darkness like dawn itself.
The demon's eyes bulged. For a heartbeat, it grinned wider, as if mocking death.
Then its body slid apart.
It looked down—only to find its torso already gone.
"What—?"
Its head soared into the air, vision twisting. It tried to laugh, to curse, to scream. But the fire had already claimed it.
Beheaded…? By… who…?
Thud.
The head rolled twice before coming to rest at Akira's feet.
The Slayer stood still, sword drawn, eyes burning with calm focus. His blade glowed faintly, reflecting moonlight like liquid flame.
The demon's lips twitched soundlessly. Its flesh ignited, golden flames racing across skin, until its body crumbled to nothing but ash.
Silence returned.
The older boy trembled violently. "Th-that… that thing… what was that?"
"A demon," Akira said simply, sliding his Sun Blade into its sheath. His tone was quiet, unshaken. "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. His silhouette, backlit by the moon, carried the same calm strength as his master, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The boy stood rooted, staring after him. The image of that blazing sword was seared forever into his memory.
Beside him, the younger tugged his sleeve. "Brother… are you hurt?"
"…I'm fine."
"And you?"
"I-I'm okay too."
Their voices faded into the night.
But Akira didn't look back. He knew this encounter was only the beginning.
His night had only just begun.
Caw!
A black-feathered crow swooped down, wings slicing through the dark. It landed gracefully on his shoulder.
"Where to next?" Akira asked, not breaking stride.
"To the southwest," the crow croaked, voice clear and sharp. "A demon sighting. Far from here. You'll return late."
"No helping it," Akira replied evenly. "Danger doesn't wait for convenience. Akito will understand."
The crow ruffled its feathers. "Still, I was hoping for some of Akito's rice balls…"
Akira smirked faintly. "Then don't complain—just ask him nicely when we get back."
"Deal!"
Langwei, his messenger crow, was more than a tool. He was a companion, a trusted partner.
Akira strode on, leaving the village behind. Soon the dirt path stretched into wilderness, trees looming like shadows of giants. The wind whispered through their leaves, carrying the faint scent of earth and blood.
He stopped.
Up ahead, two figures walked side by side—a man and a woman.
At once, Akira's body tensed. His instincts screamed.
This wasn't an ordinary demon. The air itself warped around them, twisting, suffocating. His skin prickled, every hair on his body rising.
No… this is different. Far worse.
The man didn't even glance at him. Yet Akira felt crushed, like a moth pinned beneath the sun.
He drew his Sun Blade in a single fluid motion, the steel whispering free. His muscles coiled, his breath sharpened.
"…Kibutsuji Muzan."
The name tore from his throat like venom. There was no mistake. This aura could belong to no other.
The man stopped. Slowly, he turned his head.
Crimson eyes locked onto Akira. Cold. Detached.
Like someone glancing at an insect crawling across the floor.
"A Demon Slayer?" Muzan's voice was smooth, hollow, impossibly empty. "How tiresome."