Chapter 73 – Natagumo Mountain (1)
A full moon hung high, bathing the night in cold silver. Its glow spilled across a range of mountains, but one among them rose taller and darker than the rest, dominating the horizon. It loomed like a great black spider crouched amid the trees, its shadow stretching wide as though claiming the stars themselves.
At the foot of that mountain, the forest held its breath. Not a bird sang. Not an insect stirred. Only the crunch of sandals against earth and the quick, uneven breathing of young swordsmen disturbed the stillness.
A dozen Demon Slayers advanced along the winding path, their uniforms stark against the pale light, Nichirin swords gripped tightly in sweating palms. The silence pressed down on them, thick and unnatural.
Each heartbeat felt too loud, each step a trespass into hostile territory.
None of them noticed the tiny intruders creeping closer. From the undergrowth emerged spiders no larger than peas, their bodies Demonly white in the moonlight.
They crawled soundlessly onto boots, sleeves, and collars, slipping unnoticed onto the hunters' skin.
The first to falter was a boy at the front of the column. His head jerked down as if yanked by invisible strings. When he raised it again, his eyes gleamed with terror. His hand moved without his will, pulling his blade free. Metal scraped harshly against scabbard, the shrill note cutting the silence.
The group halted. Suspicion flashed between them, tension flaring like sparks on dry grass.
"Nakamura," one hissed, "what is it? Did you see something?"
The boy's mouth trembled. "I… I can't control myself!" His voice cracked with horror.
Before anyone could react, his body lunged forward, slashing wildly.
The first strike split open a comrade's face. A scream tore through the woods, blood spraying in arcs under the moonlight.
"I didn't mean it! I don't know what's happening!" Nakamura sobbed as his body swung the sword again, unrelenting.
Panic spread through the ranks. Blades were drawn in haste, but no one dared cut him down.
These were their comrades—yet his blade showed no hesitation in turning on them.
Then, one by one, the others stiffened. Their limbs twitched unnaturally, their eyes widening in horror as their bodies ceased to obey.
Against their will, they raised their Nichirin swords.
"No—stop! I can't—!"
But the words dissolved into screams as steel met flesh. The forest erupted into chaos: friends hacking at friends, voices begging, crying, cursing, until only the clash of swords and the spray of blood filled the night. They cut each other to pieces, and even in death their limbs flailed, puppets jerking on unseen threads, until at last, silence reclaimed the woods.
The spiders, their bellies swollen with stolen blood, slipped away into the undergrowth.
…
Far away, at the Ubuyashiki estate, the night seemed gentler.
Ubuyashiki Kagaya sat serenely on the veranda, the fragile strength of his body cradled by the quiet presence of his daughters.
His smile was faint, his breathing shallow, yet his gaze was calm as it lingered on the moon.
A shadow fluttered down from the sky—a Kasugai crow, wings ragged, body trembling. It crashed into the courtyard, struggling weakly before collapsing. One of Kagaya's daughters hurried to it, lifting the broken bird and placing it gently into her father's hands.
Kagaya stroked its feathers, his voice low, almost a whisper. "So many children… all gone. Such a pity. They were all precious lives." His blind eyes shifted upward, unseeing yet heavy with sorrow. "For such power to strike them down… could it be that the Twelve Kizuki have appeared?"
He turned his head slightly. "Hikari. Summon Shinobu and Giyuu."
"Yes, Father."
Moments later, the shoji slid open. Kocho Shinobu, the Insect hashira, knelt gracefully, her smile as serene as her lavender-scented presence. Beside her, Tomioka Giyuu, the Water hashira, bowed in silence, his face unreadable as stone.
"Shinobu, Giyuu," Kagaya said softly, "I must trouble you both. Go to Natagumo Mountain. Tanjiro, Yukishiro, and the others have already been dispatched. Pray that we are not too late."
Shinobu's smile brightened. "So those two completed their mission in Shimizu-machi? Such capable children. Wouldn't it be wonderful if humans and demons could one day live in harmony?" Her tone carried a wistful echo, a reflection of her late sister's dream.
Giyuu's reply was curt, his eyes fixed on nothing. "As long as demons feed on humans, there will never be peace."
Shinobu only tilted her head, her smile unbroken, though a flicker of shadow passed behind her eyes.
…
Elsewhere, on a lonely country road beneath the same moon, three young Demon Slayers traveled together.
At the front strode a boy with hair as red as fire and a scar blazing across his forehead. His haori, green and black checkered, swayed with each step, and upon his back he bore a dark wooden box bound with straps. Kamado Tanjiro walked with steady purpose, his expression sharp with determination.
Behind him came a strange figure: bare-chested, muscles taut, the head of a wild boar concealing his face.
The crude mask hid Hashibira Inosuke's eyes, but his swagger betrayed his eagerness for battle.
Trailing reluctantly at the rear was a boy in a yellow haori patterned with lightning bolts. His hair glowed the same color, his face pale with dread. Agatsuma Zenitsu shivered with every step, muttering endlessly about his imminent death.
Together, the three had crossed paths on previous missions, bonded by trial, and now traveled toward the ominous Natagumo Mountain.
From afar, its silhouette loomed like a vast predator crouched in wait. To Zenitsu's eyes, the darkness was alive, eyes glinting from the shadows, fangs ready to close around them.
His muttering rose to a shriek.
"Wha—! This mountain—this mountain is terrifying! Look at it! It's pitch black! We'll die if we go in there!"
Tanjiro turned, alarm flashing across his face. "Zenitsu, what is it?"
The boy trembled violently, pointing at the shadowed slopes. "You don't feel it? The air—it's wrong! Too dark! Too scary! I don't want to go—I'll die, I swear I'll die!" His voice cracked into a whine, half sob, half plea.
Tanjiro blinked, confused. He had expected a warning of danger, a scent, a presence. But Zenitsu's terror seemed born only from imagination.
Inosuke let out a disdainful snort.
"Coward. How did trash like you even become a Demon Slayer?" His voice was muffled by the boar mask, but the scorn was sharp as his blades.
Tanjiro opened his mouth to soothe them when his nose twitched sharply. A metallic tang cut through the forest air.
"Blood." His voice dropped to a growl. Without hesitation, he sprinted ahead, his companions forced to follow.
The stench thickened until it coated the air like rust. There, sprawled across the ground, lay a Demon Slayer.
His uniform was shredded, his body slashed raw. He clutched his Nichirin sword weakly, the word ("Destroy") bold across his back, though it was soaked dark with blood.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he lifted his head, eyes dim with pain. For a moment, relief sparked. But when his gaze fell on their waists, disappointment crashed over him.
Not hashiras. Not saviors. Just children.
"Why… why not a hashira?" he rasped, voice breaking into sobs. "Why not a hashira?!"
His body shook violently, his fear thick enough that Tanjiro felt it even without smelling it. Tanjiro knelt, reaching out—
But the boy's body jerked. Invisible threads yanked him backward, pulling him into the darkness of the woods.
"Quick—! Notify headquarters—send a hashira—!"
His plea cut off in a scream, sharp and final, swallowed by the forest.
Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu froze, the silence after more suffocating than the cry itself. Natagumo Mountain loomed before them, and now its hunger was undeniable.
...
Join my P@treon for advance chapters and special content!
[email protected]/Victor_Hale