"No, you can't kill him. He's my brother. I won't let you kill him!"
A girl in a white pleated skirt stood firmly before the shadowed man, her arms spread wide as a frail but unyielding shield.
The figure before her was cloaked in roiling black smoke, so dense it erased his shape from sight. Only two scarlet points glowed where his eyes should have been, cruel lights that pierced the snowstorm like smoldering embers. He looked nothing like a man—only a specter, a Demon in human form, steeped in malice.
Behind the girl lay a boy. He was barely conscious, his body torn apart by wounds. His once-white robe was soaked entirely in blood, frozen into stiff, icy cloth. Crimson seeped through the snow, mingling with melted frost before hardening again in sheets of frozen red. Around him lay what was left of the village—limbs scattered like firewood, faces twisted in terror, silence heavy with death.
It was no longer a village. It was a field of carnage.
"Chiikane," the girl pleaded, her voice thin but steady, "that's enough. You've already killed everyone here. Let him go. As long as you let him live, I'll do whatever you want."
The man took a slow step forward, black smoke rolling with him.
The girl looked about eighteen or nineteen, delicate and graceful even in the midst of ruin. Her pretty face was flushed from the cold, and her tears froze into tiny ice crystals that clung to her cheeks. Snowflakes landed silently on her black hair, whitening it until she looked as though she bore a crown of frost.
But she did not move. Not a single step backward.
Though her lips trembled and her hands were shaking, her gaze was locked with the demon's burning eyes, her expression calm, resolute, unyielding.
Chiikane halted in front of her. The two scarlet flames stared into her dark eyes. A clawed hand emerged from the smoke, pale and long, with nails sharp as knives. Slowly, deliberately, he extended one finger and traced it against her brow. Even that featherlight touch was enough to break skin.
A thin line of crimson welled up, sliding down the bridge of her nose.
He pulled his hand back and licked the blood from his fingertip.
"What happens if I let him live?" His voice was low, whispering like a serpent.
"Look at him. He's already at death's door. Do you think he'll survive? Why not let me make him into one of us? Then we three can be together forever. Don't you want to be with me forever, You?"
Her answer came steady despite the fear in her eyes. "Chiikane… let Yukishiro go. If you release him, I'll stay with you forever. You said that he won't live long in this state. Then let him remain here. Let fate decide. If he survives, it is because heaven permits it. If not, then it is destiny. Either way, I don't want him… interfering with us."
Chiikane went quiet. The two crimson lights narrowed, as if considering whether she meant her words—or whether to tear her brother apart before her eyes.
The girl pressed on. "I don't know what becoming a demon feels like. But I know there's a difference between choosing it and being forced. Chiikane, Yukishiro is my final request. If you kill him, I will never accept it willingly. Yes, you can force me."
"But if you do… will it truly satisfy you?"
The demon leaned closer, smoke spilling around her face, his unseen lips inches from hers. His voice dropped to a growl.
"Are you threatening me?"
She did not flinch. Her lashes quivered under the sting of the cold, but she met him head-on.
Through the smoke, for just a breath, she thought she glimpsed the man she once knew—hidden somewhere beneath the monster.
"You can take it however you like," she whispered. "A threat, a request… it's the truth."
The eastern sky was beginning to brighten. Dawn bled into the horizon, the first rays of sunlight cutting across the snowfield like silver blades. Darkness shrank back with startling speed.
Chiikane turned his head toward the horizon, silent. His eyes flickered. Then he straightened and withdrew.
"Let's go."
He let the boy fall into the snow and extended a pale hand to the girl.
"Wait."
She rushed to her brother's side, her knees sinking into the red snow. Gently, she lifted him and dragged him toward the roots of a massive tree, leaning his battered body against the trunk. His skin was ice-cold, his pulse faint and weak.
Her tears spilled freely now. She pulled the pendant from her neck and pressed it into his palm, folding his bloody fingers around it. With her sleeve she wiped at the crimson smeared across his face, though his pallor was deathly, lips blue and breath shallow. Without help, he would not last long.
"Yukishiro…" she whispered. "You must live. Don't come for me. Don't think of revenge. Just live. That's all I asks of you."
Her hand lingered on his face, committing it to memory. She knew this parting was forever. If she saw him again, she would no longer be herself—she would be a monster in his eyes.
Chiikane's voice sounded behind her, mocking. "Enough, You. The sun rises. It's time. Don't waste tears. If he lives, perhaps you'll see him again. If not… well, that would be better. Otherwise the next time you meet…" He chuckled darkly. "…you will see each other as predator and prey."
She did not respond to his cruel laughter. She stood at last, her expression still, her eyes hollow. After one final look at her brother, she placed her trembling hand in Chiikane's. Together, they disappeared into the drifting black smoke, swallowed by the forest.
The boy stirred faintly. He lifted his arms, desperate to catch his sister's retreating form, but strength failed him. His hands dropped back into the snow. His eyes dimmed. Darkness welled up, endless and cold, swallowing him whole.
The sunlight spread across the field, but brought him no warmth. His breath grew shallow. His body is heavy. He was sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss, slipping away.
Then—
A fragrance drifted on the air. Wisteria. Faint, sweet, unmistakable. His sister's scent.
"Elder… sister…" His lips barely moved.
Through blurred eyes, he saw wings fluttering. A butterfly descended gracefully, violet against the white snow.
His vision cleared enough to see: not a butterfly, but a girl.
She had soft purple eyes, gentle and luminous. Her smile was warm, tender as spring. The faint wisteria perfume clung to her, comforting and familiar.
"You… you're not… Sister. Who… who are you?" His voice cracked. Then he collapsed, unconscious.
"Hey—he's dead! Dead, he's dead!" A shrill voice rang out. A girl with twin ponytails and a butterfly hairpin clutched her face with trembling hands, staring in fright.
"Koi, calm down," the purple-eyed woman said, her tone even. "He only fainted. Poor child. Have the medics take him back."
The girl was Shinobu Kocho—the Insect Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. The panicked girl beside her was Aoi Kanzaki, her assistant at the Butterfly Mansion.
Shinobu straightened, her gaze sweeping over the ruined village. The snow was painted in blood, littered with broken bodies, It was almost dazzling in its cruelty.
A young Demon Slayer rushed forward, bowing quickly. "Miss Shinobu! We searched everywhere. No survivors."
"Oh my," Shinobu said softly. Her lips curved in a smile, light and calm, as if she were discussing the weather. But her purple eyes burned with quiet, bottomless hatred.
She turned her gaze toward the boy unconscious on the stretcher.
"Everyone else is dead… yet you're the only one alive. How curious. Did the demon spare you because your flesh tasted bad?" Her smile widened slightly, though her voice stayed as sweet as ever. "Oh my… perhaps I'll need to discipline you again."