"You want me to take Muzan's place?"
Inori looked at the two figures kneeling before her and found the whole thing faintly ridiculous—almost impossible to believe. She had arrived in the world of Demon Slayer only to be cast as the final villain.
—How is it that everywhere else had such decent energy—Guilty Crown, Morioh—and then I walk in here and it's... this?
"That is correct."
Doma answered with bright, unflagging enthusiasm.
"Even demons need something to believe in—something to anchor them. You've defeated Muzan-sama, which means the right to stand in his place is naturally yours."
"Can't you two just... go home? Find your own corners of the world to haunt?"
She didn't say yes. Instead she let out a quiet breath, rose a few centimeters off the ground, and settled herself into an invisible chair of air—legs crossed.
She was busy. What came next would take everything she had: picking apart the secret buried inside the Stand known as the Nameless Monster. She had no energy left to spend on the lives and deaths of every demon crawling through this world.
"If you have to be demons," she said, "at least have the good sense to act like it. Hide during the day. When you feed at night, pick places with as few people as possible. Ideally, don't eat people at all—but I know I'm probably asking too much."
Inori had no interest in playing savior. She wasn't about to burn herself down hunting every remaining demon one by one on the Demon Slayer Corps' behalf. Muzan—the most dangerous demon alive—was already dead. Whatever was left couldn't threaten her.
Her own corrupt blood, far exceeding Muzan's in quality, was something none of them could withstand on its own.
Still. Demons were pitiable creatures. Most had suffered through catastrophe after catastrophe while still human, only to be turned into monsters after death, gradually stripped of everything that had once made them who they were. The root cause of all of that was gone now. What he'd left behind clung to the world like a stain worked into every crack and corner—impossible to fully scrub clean. But at least there would be no new ones.
"If that is your wish, we'll exercise as much restraint as we can," Doma said pleasantly, "provided we don't actually starve to death."
He had a gift for this. Centuries of practice had taught him exactly how to say what a girl like this needed to hear.
"Demons and humans aren't so different," he added. "Both need something to believe in just to keep going."
Muzan had been cruel and despotic to the last—but his existence had given the other demons a kind of stability. Something to anchor themselves to. A sense of security. Now that he was gone, there was no telling what the rudderless ones might do.
"Before, Muzan-sama was what the demons believed in. Now that you've killed him—please. Take up that responsibility. Rule over us in his place. Become our new faith."
Inori couldn't be human right now. Not yet. And she wasn't willing to live as just another demon, subject to someone else's orders, hemmed in on all sides. But standing above all other demons—as their Demon King—was a different matter entirely.
—There must always be a Lich King.
The moment she heard it laid out, something in her quietly concurred.
Muzan being dead also meant the main plot of Demon Slayer wouldn't trigger—no attack on the Kamado family. And as Lord of Demons, she could use the position to protect Kocho Kanae, along with everyone else at the Butterfly Mansion who mattered.
She didn't want to be the great villain. But if she could command every demon in this world, that wasn't nothing.
Inori pressed one hand to her knee and rose slowly from the invisible chair. A faint smile crossed her tired face.
"Both of you can get up."
"Does that mean you've agreed?"
Doma raised his head with a grin.
"I'll give it a try. But I'll need support from you two—Doma, and Akaza—right?"
"I pursue only greater strength." Akaza had been silent for a long time. These were the first words he'd offered. "You defeated Muzan-sama. So I will follow you... Inori-sama."
The conflict was still visible in him—but this much would do. He wasn't a thing without feeling like Doma. There was an enormous hollow inside him, and the only way he'd ever found to fill it was to push himself further, harder, stronger.
"I will serve you with all my loyalty!"
Doma knew this was the moment to look genuinely pleased. Sincerity was the important thing to project.
"Alright. Then take me to wherever Muzan was living." Inori stretched, her floating form drifting between them. "Ah~ I'm exhausted. Is there anything decent to eat there?"
"We have fresh young women's organs in storage, and some rather refined eyeball confections."
Doma answered in perfect earnest.
"...I'm not eating any of that. I want food that humans eat."
"Oh my~! So you have no need to feed on people at all? How remarkable—what an education." He fanned himself lightly. "Though naturally, nothing compares to the taste of flesh and blood—especially from a lovely young girl like you."
"What was that?"
Inori caught the end of it. She turned a calm, perfectly pleasant smile his way.
"A joke! Ha ha ha, please don't hold it against me." Doma's fan moved in a slightly panicked flutter. "Even Muzan-sama never managed to get a taste of you—who am I to even dream of such a thing? A slip of the tongue, nothing more."
"You seem to have a particular taste for women." Inori's brow arched. Testing.
"That's true," he said, with complete sincerity. "In my view, women who can bring forth new life are far more nourishing than men. When I consume them, they live on inside me—they achieve a kind of immortality. Isn't that an extraordinary honor?"
"Hmph." A single cold snort from Akaza. "Which is exactly why I can't stand you."
"Ah, because Akaza-dono has never had any interest in women~" Doma shook his head with theatrical regret. "I've always hoped we could get along better. But on this particular point, mutual dislike is simply unavoidable, I'm afraid."
Akaza doesn't eat women?
Inori's expression didn't shift. Internally, she was mildly curious.
"Can you tell me why?" she asked. "Akaza."
"Because women are weak." He didn't seem to want to answer, but ignoring a direct question from his new master wasn't an option. He got the words out, stiff and reluctant. "Eating the flesh of the weak makes me weak in turn. That's all."
What a refreshingly uncomplicated man.
Inori filed a brief internal note—and then, compared to Doma—wearing that dishonest smile every moment, every word measured and calculated—she found this blunt, silent demon considerably more trustworthy.
"Doma. Going forward, you are not to eat women."
Her first command as Demon King.
"Please don't ask this of me... Inori-sama." A note of genuine distress entered his voice. "If you demand that, my loyalty may sour."
"Is that a threat?" The pleasant smile didn't move. A faint crimson light gathered quietly at the tips of her fingers.
"I could just deal with you now and save myself the future trouble. What do you think?"
"No—please. I'll obey." Doma capitulated with considerable pathos.
He had no intention of keeping the promise, of course. But there was no point in pushing back. Inori wasn't Muzan—as long as he was discreet, she'd never know what he'd eaten. Unless someone decided to report him.
Still. This was strange.
Walking behind Inori, Doma watched the faint shift of her hair as she floated forward—and a clean, sweet scent reached him.
It was a fragrance he knew deeply. The scent of a girl worth savoring.
Hadn't Inori spent some time with the Demon Slayer Corps before this? This scent was rekindling his appetite all over again. One of these days he'd find some excuse to ask—just where had Inori-sama been living before this, and what kind of beautiful girls had she spent time with?
The owner of this fragrance.
She would become the finest meal of his life.