Chapter 9: Traitor
Boots thundered against cobblestone.
"Don't move! You're under arrest for murder!"
The night shattered. Shadows descended from both sides of the alley, armored soldiers rushing as one.
Akira barely had time to look up before steel slammed into his back. Rough hands wrenched his arms behind him, shackles clamping tight.
He didn't resist. Couldn't resist.
Because his arms had been wrapped around Akito's body.
The sudden pull tore them apart. His brother slipped from his grasp, falling limp to the stones.
"Confirmed," one soldier barked after kneeling to check. His voice was clipped, cold. "One dead."
The lead officer stepped forward, face expressionless as frost. He glanced once at Akito's still body, then at Akira.
"Take him," he ordered flatly. "Dump the body wherever."
Those words pierced deeper than any blade.
Dump the body?
As if Akito were trash?
Something in Akira snapped. His grief burned into fury, white-hot, searing through the fog in his mind.
His muscles tensed. His eyes blazed.
They would not discard his brother. Not while he still breathed.
With a sudden twist, his shoulder jerked free. His hand shot down like lightning, snatching the blade from a soldier's belt.
Steel hissed.
One clean arc—and a throat opened.
Blood sprayed.
Chaos erupted.
Screams. Shouts. The clash of weapons. Soldiers lunged, but their movements were clumsy, predictable. They were fighters, yes—but not Demon Slayers.
Not like him.
To Akira, they moved in slow motion. Their fear betrayed them. Their panic blinded them.
By the time silence fell again, the alley was painted red. Bodies sprawled in heaps. Steam rose from blood pooling across the stones.
Akira stood among them, chest heaving, blade dripping. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with fury too vast to contain.
Slowly, he turned back. He knelt once more beside Akito's body, gathering him into his arms as if nothing else in the world mattered.
His voice cracked, raw, but steady in its vow.
"I won't let your death be meaningless. Whoever did this… I will burn their name from existence."
---
Days blurred together.
Akira vanished into the shadows, carrying his grief like a blade.
And the killings began.
"Thunder Breathing, Third Form: Thunder Swarm!"
A demon shrieked as arcs of lightning split its flesh. Its body crumbled into ash, scattering into the wind.
Two Demon Slayers, panting, lowered their blades.
"That one fought hard," one muttered, wiping his brow.
"At least it's done."
They turned, weary but relieved.
And froze.
A shadow stepped out from the trees. Silent. Still.
Before they could react, a flash split the night.
Silver arcs traced the air.
Blood sprayed.
Their heads hit the ground before their blades even left their sheaths.
The demon had already been slain.
Now, so had its slayers.
---
"Caw! Caw!"
Across mountains and forests, the crows cried as one, their grim message echoing into every corner of the Corps:
> "Alert! Former Demon Slayer Akira has turned traitor! He has killed Corps members. Authorized to kill on sight!"
---
I never claimed to be a hero.
My master once told me my heart burned like a flame.
That flame is gone now.
What remains… is only ash.
---
"Caw."
The sound broke the stillness.
Mingzhu looked up, brow furrowed, as a crow circled overhead. Its black eyes glinted in the pale light, fixed on him. It landed on a bare branch, unblinking.
Unease crawled down his spine.
He scowled, picked up a stone, and hurled it. The crow took flight, wings beating hard.
"Tch… damn bird," Mingzhu muttered.
He turned.
And froze.
A figure stood a few steps ahead, cloaked in shadow. Silent. Still.
The presence radiating from it was cold, suffocating.
His hand tightened on his hilt.
"Who's there?"
A low voice answered. Familiar. Hardened.
"Mingzhu. Do you still remember my face?"
Mingzhu's eyes narrowed—then widened in shock.
"You…"
Akira stepped forward, face half-lit by the dim glow. His expression unreadable, his eyes hollow.
"Surprised to see me?"
"You… traitor!" Mingzhu spat, fury flashing. "You killed Qingyu!"
"I didn't betray the Corps," Akira replied calmly, voice like ice. "The Corps betrayed me first."
"And Qingyu?"
Akira's gaze didn't waver. "Don't remember. I've killed too many lately."
The words sliced like blades.
"He was my disciple!" Mingzhu roared.
"Then maybe he should've chosen a better master."
"You bastard!"
Steel flashed.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!"
Lightning split the night as Mingzhu lunged.
Akira met him head-on.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance of the Fire God!"
Fire roared. Thunder cracked. Their blades collided, sparks bursting in every direction.
At close range, Mingzhu sneered. "Your grip's weak. Rumors were true—you're a cripple now!"
He pressed down hard, his blade grinding against Akira's. "You're nothing without your sword hand!"
He struck again.
"Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder!"
The blade pierced. Blood erupted from Akira's mouth.
He staggered—yet did not fall.
Instead, he smiled.
And with a sharp motion, he tore away his charred sleeve.
Mingzhu froze.
Akira's sword wasn't held in his hand at all.
The hilt was bound tight against his forearm with thick cords, strapped so securely it became an extension of bone and muscle. He was wielding it not with his crippled grip, but with sheer strength of arm and shoulder.
"You lunatic…" Mingzhu muttered.
Above them, crows screamed again.
More were coming.
Time was running out.
Akira lunged.
His blade danced recklessly, wildly. No defense, no hesitation. Only attacks.
Every strike was a death wish.
Mingzhu blocked, dodged, countered—but even he began to feel the weight of the assault. Sparks blinded him. Blood splattered across his uniform.
"You'll die at this rate!" he snarled.
"Then I'll die," Akira said flatly. His eyes were hollow, empty of everything but rage. "But not before I drag you with me."
Their blades clashed again. And again.
Steel against steel. Hatred against hatred.
The forest rang with fury, each strike heavier than the last.
Blood flew. Wounds deepened.
Akira fought like a man with nothing left to lose.
Because he didn't.
---
"Caw! Caw!"
Another crow screamed overhead.
Mingzhu heard it.
Another Pillar was close.
He needed to end it now.
With a roar, he charged. No form, no style. Just raw, desperate power.
Akira braced himself.
Their blades met.
Pain exploded.
Akira faltered, a deep slash tearing across his abdomen. His breath caught, blood spilling.
He stumbled—then vanished into the trees.
Mingzhu cursed, giving chase.
Two steps—then agony.
A deep gash ripped across his thigh, precise and merciless.
His leg gave out. He crashed to the ground, teeth clenched against the pain.
"Damn it…!"
The forest swallowed Akira whole.
---
"Thunder Pillar!"
A voice rang out.
Mingzhu lifted his head, gasping.
"Rengoku…"
The Flame Pillar strode forward, golden-red hair blazing like fire even in the gloom. His blade gleamed, his eyes sharp.
"What happened? Demon attack?"
Mingzhu gritted his teeth. "No… it was him."
"Akira?" Rengoku's expression hardened, fire dimming to steel.
"You saw him?"
"I almost had him," Mingzhu hissed. "I would've finished it… if he hadn't run."
Rengoku's gaze darkened, a shadow falling over his features.
"The Master said to bring him back alive."
Mingzhu spat blood, his face twisting.
"That thing… is no longer human."
His hand clenched around his hilt.
"He must die."