Acceptance… What a foolish concept. Acceptance had the implication of choice. There was no such thing in the midst of the Demon King. As blood invaded the veins of victims there was only Kibutsuji Muzan, his will, his desires, his commands, his constant presence and indomitable power. Kokushibo himself remembered the moments of his own transformation vividly — painfully.
Only one man has had the strength to defy their king in over a thousand years, and he has been dead for centuries. This boy is no exception.
❝It does not… matter how many Slayers… the master of the house sends to me…❞ Kokushibo does not consider the blade that Muichiro pulls from the stone pillar. Even as it clatters to the ground he pays it no mind. His descendant’s full weight is supported with a single arm, yet the demon continues to hold the child above him without inconvenience. ❝Hashira or otherwise… They will fall by my blade…❞
Blood spews from Muichiro’s open mouth as he spits and gargles around the liquid but the Upper Moon does not stop. Fist squeezes tighter, nails digging further into his own flesh to continue to drip blood down his descendant’s throat. The last one… the Inadama… That Slayer required far less blood to turn, but Kokushibo had felt the failure of the new Kizuki quickly upon the start of battle. More. Much more this time, enough that Muichiro could no longer think of acceptance as searing liquid seeps through his body.
Grip tightens further on the boy’s jaw until it begins to creak under the pressure, close to snapping in two. Kokushibo can already begin to see the changes taking place in Muichiro’s body as Muzan’s influence begins to take hold. Good. Regeneration should begin shortly, knitting wounds back together seamlessly and regrowing the lost limb with ease.
It is then that Kokushibo allows the last few droplets to fall into the boy’s mouth, both hands relaxing to drop Muichiro unceremoniously onto the ground in a crumpled heap. Incisions on his palm had already healed, blood that remained on his skin absorbed back into his own body with ease. ❝You are…❞ Upper Moon One finally continues. ❝My blood… that man’s blood… now runs through your veins.❞
All six blood red eyes are focused on the fallen pillar before him, waiting. ❝Rise… Show me… that you can become greater… than the fallen Moons.❞
It would take everything in him to hold it back. Yet, it was taking everything in him to keep from bleeding out— Only with letting go of one to stop the other left him at his wits end. He couldn’t stop either end from getting to him first. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, a grim reality setting in place. Death would be far favorable, yet he was denied that opportunity. Denied what truly was a given right to all those who lived. A release from the endless strife or struggle— It would only continue.
He writhes in the grip of the upper moon, flailing helplessly as he fights for his sanity. Rage. Blinding rage courses through him. The words that fall from the demon’s mouth sound like sharp buzzing, they fall on deaf ears— All he can hear comes from within his heart & mind. The sound of his heart beating in his chest, threatening with each pulse to burst forth from its confines. To burst inside his living body as the demon blood courses through his veins. The heat travels through the wiring in his body as it consumes him whole. His cries would echo out through the endless halls and corridors of the castle. Yet, they would be all for naught.
His mind was numbing. Vision blurring as the blood crept deeper into his mind— from the tears that pooled over. Feeling his mouth burn as the remaining drops of blood were slowly dripped into his open maw. Teeth normally dulled felt as though they were being pulled and yanked as canines would extend further. Once more, he would choke & spit at the little remaining blood that threatened to roll into his mouth. Yet, it was not out of defiance, but the sobs that bubbled up in his throat.
He would drop like a lead weight to the ground. Heaved over as he choked over his sobs that consumed his mind. The hand that’s been removed would slowly form together as the blood consumed his mine. The voice that echoed through his head was no longer his own, but instead, that of the voice of the demon lord. Clawed nails reach to run across his face, digging deep into the flesh as he desperately clawed at anything to contain himself. Desperate to keep his mind together— Yet it is the order. Rise. That forces him to look up through blood & tears to the Upper moon, it is only but a quick glance— One that crushes his foundations.
In his silence, he rises.
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