Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What the hell am I looking at?

That was Michikatsu’s first thought as the thing in front of him dissolved like a paper lantern ignited by a careless flame. Ash floating up to the starry sky, frayed edges burned as bright as the sun. It left behind a scent much like a campfire.

It was a demon. He knew that much, but he’d never seen one before.

Never witnessed…

Gods, this is awful. And devastating. And this thing seemed like a wrecked ball of flesh twisted over the muscular hump of its swamp toned back. But its hands could sheer men apart like they were blades of grass. He could only imagine what the strongest of these might do.

Michikatsu Tsugikuni hadn’t killed this demon. He’d hit the demon twice. Two hits that would have felled any normal grown man. On the third strike, the impact shattered his sword as if it were made of spun sugar. The iron shards mixed in with the dirt road under his feet. 

And it had been entrancing. Hypnotic. The blade of blood red that slid into the almost non-existent space between him and the demon. The other person, whose back hit his chest in those moments, had placed themselves between the monster and him. Hair flying up into his face. This person had shoved him back as if he were as movable as a toddler. 

He watched in a sickening daze, with an aching desire to know absolutely everything he could about what was out of his control. It was like falling, weightless, as he watched. Then he analyzed, because even on the cusp of his potential death, Michikatsu was a man who sought to take in everything and learn from it.

Therefore, he accepted the role of observer, found his footing and kneeled down in the road, calming his heart to watch.

He’d barely gotten to his knees when it was over. That bright red blade flicking blood off into the darkness. The demon ashing away.

And then he faced the truth.

There were rumors of a loose affiliation of swordsmen who culled demons.

He hadn’t thought those rumors were real until right now. Because now he had undeniable proof. One of them was kneeling right before him. Head bowed, all that hair, the deep blackish-red of a plum’s bleeding flesh, flowing over unfortunately broad shoulders.

Why was Yoriichi dressed like a man?

He couldn’t get his mind around it. Thought maybe this was a different person, but that was… impossible. His twin was motionless, kneeling before him as quiet as a warm summer morning. 

The last time Michikatsu had seen her, she was getting into a carriage. Dressed in a simple white shiromuku, her hair still wildly unkempt. Their father had refused anything else for her marriage, hit her multiple times because the only family who would take her ‘hideous’ face was a very poor samurai family to the south. One whose name didn’t bring them glory or prestige.

She was a curse for being the second-born, female, twin. A failure of a daughter for the disfiguring scar on her face. She wasn’t a pretty child, partially from neglect, partially because of that crimson mark on her too wide forehead. Yoriichi hadn’t even said a word until she was eight, and Michikatsu knew that if it wasn’t for the fact that she might someday enter a marriage for alliances, their father would have taken her down to the river and drowned her.

The old man wouldn’t have even felt sad about it.

Michikatsu remembered their father giving her the bare minimum with a white bridal kimono. He remembered clenching his fists and wanting to smash his father’s face in for brutalizing Yoriichi. 

Yoriichi never ever fought back. Michikatsu never ever defended her.

Michikatsu knew Yoriichi could do it. She could have fought back. Even though they were ten. Even though she was tiny from malnutrition. He’d seen her take down a seasoned swordsman in three hits the very first time she held a practice sword.

He remembered it very well because of how shocking it was. Three hits. Just three. Michikatsu had only ever hit the man once, and it wasn’t very hard. How had she managed it? How was she better than him without even trying? 

Then his father had summoned them both, and yelled at Michikatsu for letting Yoriichi hold the bokken. According to Father, the only value she had was in her pretty hands with perfectly long fingers for learning instruments. Then Father beat him for failing to show the same promise in swordsmanship that his younger female twin had.

He remembered laying in bed angry and in pain that night, clenching and unclenching his fists, his roughed up hands. Reminders of endless training from the time he could remember. Training that meant nothing if she could master the moves without a thought. He was a little jealous. A little. 

Yoriichi snuck into his room with a wet cloth and dabbed away the blood at his swollen lip.

“Why’d you do that?” Michikatsu had complained, looking at her. “It’s your fault that he hit me.”

“Sorry, Aniue.” Yoriichi whispered.

“Whatever,” then Michikatsu sat up. “Come on. Show me that trick you did on the trainer.”

Together they snuck out into the back courtyard, far beyond the shack that served as Yoriichi’s home, and Michikatsu practiced what Yoriichi showed him until the sun rose.

When he woke midmorning the following day, Yoriichi was climbing into that carriage. For a child who grew up accepting everything; an abusive father, a sick mother, a cursed and ugly sister, and endless days of grueling training through bleeding blisters and broken bones… the sudden separation from his twin proved most difficult for Michikatsu Tsugikuni to accept.

He stuffed his feelings, only to cry horribly when he was supposed to be sleeping. Unsure of if he was furious with Father, with Yoriichi, or with himself. But he had nothing to remember her by except that little shack their father made her live in. And even then, it hadn’t lasted long. The summer after Yoriichi left to be a bride, their father remarried and Michikatsu’s new mother renovated the grounds of the Tsugikuni mansion to her liking. No one ever told her about Michikatsu’s cursed twin. The shack was demolished. Little by little, Michikatsu wondered if memories of a sister who’d watch him from the shadows, who brought him frogs, who he gave little gifts to… he wondered as he entered his teenage years if he’d simply imagined her.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

And now she had the most beautiful sword he’d ever seen in her hand. Black like the night. Like the darkness that surrounded them now. Wasn’t it red before?

“Lord Tsugikuni. I’m afraid the road ahead is not safe. Please allow me to take you to a hidden location until the morning. The demons cannot reach you there.” She lifted her head when she said those words, and he could see her pretty crimson eyes, like poppy flowers in bloom. They were the same shape as his, though the red tones shifted cool in his irises, creating the impression of a striking violet.

He forgot to answer for a moment, looking around at the wreckage of his party. There had been a dozen men with him, and he was the sole survivor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get here fast enough to save them,” Yoriichi said mournfully. He wondered if some of that apology was because she recognized the quickly cooling bodies. Look, there was Yoshi… when they were five, he lived at their father’s estate. Michikatsu remembered the three of them catching frogs together by the river bank. Oh, and on the opposite side of the road was Hiroo. He’d shown up at their home a few years later. Stayed for a week where he followed Yoriichi around, chatting endlessly to her even though no one knew if she even understood anything at all, much less language. And further down the road… Yuki… Hideo… 

Michikatsu blinked.

“Are you alright?” Yoriichi was several feet closer. Thin brows furrowed just slightly. Her hand was in the air between them, reaching out, but stilled. It was as if she was worried about touching him.

“You said the road isn’t safe. Tell me how you killed those things, Yoriichi. Then we can clear the path and bury our friends.” He commanded, snatching her hand. It was so warm. So soft. Not like the hand of any swordsman he’d ever met before. Yoriichi blinked, curling her fingers around his. Confirmation she existed. She existed, and she was here. His heart jumped.

“Michikatsu, I will gladly give you the means to kill demons, but it can’t be done in one night, and there is a hoard coming this way.” Yoriichi gritted her straight white teeth. He shook his head, taking another look around at the fallen friends. “I’m sorry. They are coming this way. I cannot kill them all by myself. We need to get to safety now.”

She hoisted him to his feet with a strength that surprised him. Their arms locked between their chests. It was a shock to see her again. A shock that drifted in and out of the importance of things. Like the wind through the trees.

“Come on, Michikatsu,” she whispered, let go of the first form of contact they’d had in over a decade, and ran. Sucking in his breath, he ran after her. She was so fast. Darting through the forest and off the path of the road. The dark colors she wore made it difficult to see her, and he tried everything to speed up. To chase this spirit of his sister. 

Don’t leave me again.

Was any of this even real? 

He lost sight of her in no time, and he almost stopped among the gingko trees to wrestle some air into his abused lungs. But, suddenly, her pale hand appeared out of nowhere, and snatched the collar of his kimono. He stumbled forward into true darkness.

“Shhh…” Yoriichi hushed him when he tried to say something, anything. When he breathed too hard from the exertion of chasing her. His skin itched with sweat even though it was the cool of a chilly spring. A long moment passed by when all Michikatsu could hear was his own breathing. Then she whispered. “Ok. We are safe.”

Yoriichi lit a lantern, and the transition from dark to light hurt Michikatsu’s head. They were in a small cottage. It was unremarkable as far as cottages went. There was a hearth with an iron kettle hanging over it. Broken teacups and wood rice bowls lined the sides of the hearth, a mess of bedding shoved to the back wall, a box filled with… well, Michikatsu didn’t know exactly. It looked like bandages and wound care. Near the door, someone shucked off a few pairs of geta that looked broken. And then that tiny white bridal dress, the one Yoriichi wore so long ago, was hanging on the wall.

Appalled, Michikatsu realized this must be where his sister lived. In the middle of the woods, by herself, slaying demons, and keeping a horribly messy house. He could not stop his mouth from opening like a gaping fish.

“Is this where you live?” He asked, voice dropping in distaste. He returned his gaze to Yoriichi only to find she’d peeled off the crimson haori and gold kimono she wore. She wasn’t completely bare, but it was more than he expected to see. Her breasts bound down tightly with strips of cloth. There was a serious, bleeding gash right below her ribs that looked like it traveled all the way up her side and around the back. “When did you get hurt!?”

“It’s not that bad, Aniue,” she said, but he’d already scooted on his knees forward, and was forcing her to lie back on the floor. “The bleeding’s mostly stopped. But it’s fine. I promise. Some guy from the mountain market stabbed me for stealing. I don’t blame him. I didn’t pack the right currency, and this is too far away from the Corps...”

He wasn’t really listening. Tight-lipped, he tried to tell how deep the wound was. If it hit any internal organs, if he was going to stumble across his twin only to watch her die. He was glad when Yoriichi shut her mouth and let him take care of her. Even though she was right. The gash hadn’t punctured through her stomach, just hit raggedly across the muscle. His fingers traveled the line of it.

“This isn’t a stab wound…”

“Ah, well. It started as one? But then I moved to disarm him, and he was a little drunk, Aniue. He fell into me, and the dagger just sort of followed a path.” It looked damn painful, but he searched through her things to gather bandages as she looked at the ceiling blankly.

He brought lots of cloth over and tapped her side, right next to where she wrapped her breasts down.

“You’re going to have to take this off. The cut jumped around because of the binding. It needs to be cleaned or you’re going to get an infection.” He said this monotonously, as if giving her a choice to expose her chest to him. He’d wrestle the bloodied wrappings off her if it meant the wounds were treated properly. Yoriichi looked at him for three seconds before sitting up and beginning to unravel the stiff, bloodied cloth. He watched out of the corner of his eye as her skin was revealed. Forget the wound. Her skin looked painful. Suffocated. It was probably a wonder she could breathe under such pressure.

But her breasts were firm, the size of plump late summer peaches. It only confirmed what he’d guessed with her clothing. She was trying to pass off as a man. Squeezing herself so tight, she looked unremarkable. Flat. But unbound, undressed, his ugly little sister was no longer quite so ugly.

“I think the spot right here might need sutures,” she said. Michikatsu looked at her side, right next to where her long fingers were touching. He frowned.

“I agree.” He also noticed she kept her hand there, draping her arm across her breasts. “Here, let me check up your back, and then I’ll get to suturing.”

“You can sew?”

“You taught me. Don’t you remember?” This and this alone came out as teasing. “Or is my little sister now as forgetful as she is mute?”

It wasn’t his imagination that her cheeks bloomed pink. But she said nothing more, and he started in on the sutures. The skill had come in handy from the moment he turned seventeen and their father first sent him off to fight for their family name. He had sewed many wounds since then. On himself and on friends.

In the quiet, he drew a breath and finally asked the questions she had to know were coming. “What did you mean by you don’t have the right currency? What’s going on Yoriichi? Who is this corps you were talking about? What ever happened to your marriage with Uta Taira?”

Yoriichi didn’t betray any emotions. She kept her face still, eyes half focused on the ceiling as he wrapped more strips of cloth around her ribs, far looser than the wrap she’d been wearing earlier.

“Uta Taira is dead.” She whispered. “When I was sixteen, our estate was attacked by a very powerful demon. Something like I haven’t run into since. Uta and our son died, and with no heirs, brothers, or even a father left to the Taira name, I suddenly found myself in charge.”

Michikatsu’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t heard of anything happening to the Taira family. 

“I wanted to go to war against the demons who killed my husband and child.” Yoriichi swallowed as if the next part was painful. “There are Onna-musha. I knew of them since we were little, and to become one, I had to ask our father for permission.”

They were sixteen. Right before Michikatsu saw his first battle. She was alone in the world, and he had known nothing. Not the destruction of the Taira family, or her personal pain. But he was sure he knew what their father told her.

“The old man tried to marry you off for a different allegiance, didn’t he?”

Yoriichi wrinkled her nose slightly, but that was the only emotion she allowed on that perfect doll-like face.

“My first two children were boys. Even though I am ugly. I have good breeding. He told me most women would lose value for a second marriage, but the Uno clan was willing to take me in.”

“Wait, two children?”

“I was pregnant when my home was attacked. By the time I arrived back at the Tsugikuni estate, you were gone. I gave birth to a boy. Father named him Akimitsu and said he was going to stay there to be raised alongside…”

Michikatsu drew in a sharp breath before interrupting, “a little girl named Hikari.”

Yoriichi’s eyes flitted toward him, and he quickly tied off the bandage. He tried not to let his feelings get the best of him.

He tried not to clench his jaw too tight.

“It’s not your fault,” he growled, as if it was. “Father was a horrible man. A bastard. I returned from my first campaign and was told that my wife had given birth to twins. Akimitsu and Hikari. I didn’t know… he didn’t even tell me you’d returned home. That our children were going to be raised as siblings.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoriichi whispered. “But I’m happy they are with you.”

His mouth twisted into a frown. “Tell me the rest. I’m assuming you hid as a man because of Father’s orders for you to remarry.”

“At first, yes.” Yoriichi sat up from the floor and pulled her kimono back over her shoulders. If he really looked against the meager lamplight he could see the slightly textured skin on her lower belly that might show previous pregnancy marks. Realizing he was staring when he shouldn’t be, he cleared his throat.

“Do you have any tea?”

“I’ve run out.”

“Food?”

No answer. Yoriichi just looked at the hearth unhappily.

“Yoriichi. You just killed a demon that took out all of our childhood friends. Men who were versed in battle, and you can’t even hunt?” 

He was flabbergasted when Yoriichi lifted her chin and sadly frowned at him.

“I don’t like killing things.”

“Oh, gods…” He rubbed his hand over his face. “So you just live here hoping you won’t starve to death?”

“No,” Yoriichi said. “I live in Edo, with the Corps.” Michikatsu gave her one of those blank looks she so favored. She didn’t seem to notice, but she also went on with her explanation, so it didn’t matter. “After I fled, I wandered north trying to hunt down demons. I didn’t know what I was doing, and at first I didn’t have a sword, so when I found them, I just had to immobilize them until the sun came up.”

What does the sun coming up have to do with anything? She stopped, and Michikatsu wondered why until he saw her pressing her ribs with her hands.

“Do you have any medicine?” he whispered, already suspecting the answer. She shook her head negatively.

“Eventually, a swordsman who was also hunting demons found me. He brought me to meet the master, and I became an apprentice demon slayer. There’s about 40 of us now. Bonded together by the desire to stop this evil from spreading.”

“If you live in Edo, why are you out here?”

Yoriichi frowned slightly, and he noticed her hands clenched tightly around the material of her hakama. “I have two reasons. The first is that there have been reports of an unusually powerful demon in the area. A demon that can create hoards like the one that was coming up the road. And two,” she raised her gaze to meet him. “I heard about Father’s death and was hoping you would give me the blessings he refused to.”

Michikatsu stared at her, unsure what to say. He wasn’t about to sell her off to another family to birth boys from her womb her whole life, but…

“You can’t even take care of yourself.” He hissed out. The corner of her mouth twitched. He didn’t know if it was internal acknowledgement or disappointment. Strange silence filled the air, but he shook his head, dispelling it. “I’ll think about it, ok. If you can prove to me that your incompetence will not get you killed, I’ll gladly grant you the title of Onna-musha of the Tsugikuni clan. But shit, Yoriichi, you’re off to a rough start. Now please tell me you have futons and bedding in here. You know you need to sleep to stay alive, right?”

She merely pointed to the messy pile on the back wall. The big pile of baskets and blankets, and pillows and… was that an umbrella tangled up in there? He thought so.

“I don’t have enough for two people,” she whispered. “You sleep, Aniue. I’ll watch for demons.”

He paused, wondering how many times she’d forgone sleep since her husband and son were killed. Wondering how many nights she counted her own breaths, wondering if they were her last.

“Don’t be stupid. We can still fit on the same futon. You may have gotten as tall as me, but you’re skinny.” And then, because it felt weird to say that, he rolled out the futon with a vigorous shake. “Do you still steal blankets?”

He heard Yoriichi respond with something other than cool distance. She choked out a tiny laugh.

“How would I know that? They are my blankets, anyway, Michikatsu. But I’ll share them with my Aniue.”

He merely shrugged and settled down to sleep, back to back with his twin, feeling connected in a way he deeply missed. And all he could think, as the night dragged on, was that he had to find some way to make sure she was safe. Some way to make sure she never left him again.

Chapter Text

Michikatsu should have known from the moment he offered to share a bed with his sister that he’d wake up like this. Yoriichi’s warm left hand squished into his cheek, fingers curled over his nose. He smelled her clean hand in his sinuses. The essence of her innundated his very being. Somehow in the middle of the night she’d climbed on top of him, her head on his shoulder, a puddle of drool collecting along his collar.

It was reminiscent of childhood. Warm and familiar. Reminiscent of the times they’d secretly spent the nights together, him telling her stories of bravery and battles until sleep overtook them. They always woke up tangled together then too.

But they weren’t children anymore.

And waking up this way with his sister was not ideal. All he could concentrate on was the feeling of her curves against his side. His arm locked around her rib cage. He told himself that the way he discovered his hand cupping the globe of her breast was accidental. Likely his sleep addled brain imagined the warmth next to him was his wife. His decision to keep his hand there was, incidentally, to keep Yoriichi asleep while he figured out what was going on. 

He paused. Those were lies. There was no reason, or at least Chiyo wasn’t the reason. He rarely slept on the same futon as his wife. The first-born daughter from the Takeda clan was four years older than him, and a political win of a marriage. But she was a heavy snorer, and it had only gotten worse with pregnancy. 

So, no, him putting his hand on the breast of a woman that wasn’t his, and worse was his sister, was not Chiyo’s fault. Maybe it was the chilly spring night. Yoriichi was warm, sure. Maybe that. He frowned in discontent. No… The stitches. Yes, that was probably the reason his hand landed there. The sutures on her skin were just below that breast. And maybe he’d bound her too tightly.

He was worried about her. Maybe… he should just loosen it. Just to make sure the injury didn’t fester. His fingers moved deftly, believing the fib he was telling himself. The bindings shifted rather easily. Michikatsu took a cursory glance at the gash. The wound looked clean, like it was healing well, but then his eyes drifted. Over her tan areola, her perky nipple. 

Not so ugly anymore, Imouto. He was well aware as he gently tugged her kimono over her, that if she wasn’t so dead set on being a swordsman, any man would beg for her body. Lean and tall. Sure, her shoulders were too wide, and her hips a tad narrow. But any man should recognize her beauty. Maybe even…

Michikatsu shut his eyes, willing his thoughts into something more peaceful, or at least useful. This weird way to wake up had to be playing with his mind. There was no way he’d just almost thought of seeking her? Of taking advantage of the way their lower limbs tangled together scandalously. At some point, he’d bent his left knee, pressing his thigh between her legs. Though he was sure that the true meaning of this position had been that she’d taken all the blankets, he’d fought her for them, and the resulting slumber argument was them hopelessly tangled with the blankets all pushed off to the bottom of the bed.

Michikatsu stayed like this for a few minutes, counting Yoriichi’s soft breaths on his skin. She mumbled something unintelligible, let out a tiny little moan and buried her face in his shoulder more.

He moved his hands to her arms, hoping he could simply roll her over and free himself. He needed relief from the stifling heat of her body. Her hip was right on him. It was making his normal morning reactions feel like something forbidden. Flushing, he pushed her, easing her gently away. Onto her back, her hands curled up near her head. The front of her kimono was disheveled… because of him. 

And then her stomach growled loudly.

Michikatsu shook his head, still taking in the sight of her. The little sister he lost as a child. Returned to him as an adult. He had no idea… Swallowing with some difficulty; he let his fingers touch her face. From that mark, down all the way under her chin. 

Her hazy crimson eyes opened just a shade.

“Michikatsu?” Her pink lips moving slightly to say his name.

“Hush, Imouto. I’ll be right back. There’s got to be something edible nearby.”

*

In fact, there was nothing. No edible plants, no animals. It was as if the demons from the night before had sapped the landscape of anything life sustaining.

Michikatsu returned to Yoriichi’s hut wondering how far the next village was, and how long his sister had already gone without food.

*

The first thing they’d done when they left the hut was return to the spot along the old road where their friends had died. That horrible shadowed spot where the tree cover was so thick it felt like the sun never touched the cold ground. 

Michikatsu’s stomach roiled at the sight. There was nothing left but bloodied mud, indistinguishable bits of bone and sinew, and several castoff pieces of armor. Togo’s mengu survived, half buried in mud. He dug it up and rubbed as much of the mud off as he could, distraught to see the deep red of oxidized blood in the mix. Michikatsu pocketed the mengu in his sleeve and wasn’t sure if he was going to bring it to Togo’s widow, or if he was going to sell it. Half of Hideo’s dou lay trampled in the mud, but it was too damaged to salvage. There was a spear and several swords. Michikatsu took two swords and slid them into his obi.

“Take another sword, Yoriichi.” He commanded. His little sister looked down at the things he’d gathered, and then back to him.

“Why?”

“Last night, my sword broke easily. If we come across these demons…”

“Your sword broke because you don’t know how to use it properly.” Yoriichi interrupted him. He bristled at her words, but one look at her and he could see she wasn’t saying them to belittle him. She had her long fingers dancing across the hilt of her katana. The beautiful sword that he still swore changed colors. “Michikatsu, the circumstances under which demons can be killed are few, therefore your sword broke. Using your blade as you would in war is incorrect. This is purification.”

Narrowing his eyes, Michikatsu silently regarded those words until he could no longer judge the space and time between them. How did she look so calm?

“Carry the last sword, anyway. I don’t see any money left behind, and I’d like us to eat in the next town. We’re still four days from home.”

Yoriichi bent down and picked up the last sword, and when she straightened up, he stared into her deep eyes. Crimson and peaceful. 

“We are going to the Tsugikuni estate?”

“I have to go there first. If I am going to be accompanying you for a while, I need to set up the estate for a long leave.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “Do you remember Fujimura-san?”

“Oh, your old trainer? Of course. He was unhappy with me that one time.”

In reality, there were many times Fujimura was livid with Yoriichi. Chasing Yoriichi off because she was a ‘distraction’ was a regular occurrence. Michikatsu remembered the old man screaming at him to have a little more sense in his head. “If you’re going to show off for a girl, make it one who counts.” He’d been too little to understand what his trainer had been trying to tell him.

And now he was making an unpleasant face, remembering those words. What grown man would insinuate to a child that he might have a crush on his sister?

But Yoriichi probably meant the time she’d beaten him without having had any training at all.

Michikatsu frowned, looking around to see if there was anything else of value left. There wasn’t. “He is Akimitsu’s guardian while I travel. I’ll have to confer with him about long-term plans while I accompany you to Edo.”

“You don’t have to do this, Michikatsu. I’m fine. I promise.” Yoriichi sounded like she really believed in herself, so Michikatsu raised an eyebrow and reached over, bending at the waist. Yoriichi looked at him blankly, but he caught the quick quirk of her eyebrow, as if she were trying to figure out what he was about. While she was confused, he jabbed her in the side right next to the sutures. Just as he suspected, Yoriichi’s spine stiffened as she was left gasping in pain.

“It’s bruising now, isn’t it?” In truth, he knew about the bruising because of peeking at her when she slept.

“Ahhhhh.” Yoriichi hugged herself, as if his light poke hurt more than the initial injury.

“How are you going to swing your sword in that condition, Imouto? Come to think of it, how are you managing all the details of travel? You have no money. Where have you been staying? How do you get lodging, food, medicine when you need it? You’re a long way from Edo.”

“Usually the people I save from demons offer me those things.” Yoriichi said softly. He noticed her hand still pressed over her side. She seemed in pain. That gasping when he’d poked her… but her face had remained remarkably still. 

Michikatsu wasn’t an idiot. He knew his twin had emotions. But her casual stoicism, ever since they reunited last night, was making him angry. He wanted her to admit she needed help. That she needed him for more than a title she didn’t have to come back for. 

“Do you really come across demons that often?” he questioned, and watched her entire demeanor change. Again, there was no perceived difference in her expression, except that she had tilted her head down slightly, allowing her wavy bangs to shade her eyes. She had dropped her hands to her sides, hiding them in her crimson haori.

“Aniue, I hope you are not suggesting that because I’m a woman, I’ve whored myself to get by. I have honor, or do you not remember teaching me how to be a real samurai?”

Those icy words darted under his skin, and he…

“That was not what I meant,” he said, eyes gazing anywhere but at her. “I meant, you are a woman. Your disguise as a man is very good, but some would figure it out. I worry for you. It is not an easy world for a woman who travels alone.” It was the truth. And he hated to say it to her. But how many times had he been on his way to battle, or worse, coming home from battle, to see what it did to widows? Some clans didn’t stop their men from a pillage of flesh. It was not uncommon to see women shackled and brought back in sexual servitude. Girls even.

Though the Tsugikuni clan had always taken a neutral stance on this claiming of spoils, Michikatsu had always found it distasteful. When his father was alive, it was not under his authority to do anything about it, and they hadn’t had a battle since the old man died.

In front of him, Yoriichi hummed softly, “As I recall, I was the one who saved you last night. Not the other way around.”

Heart pounding, Michikatsu swung his head in her direction. But she was simply walking forward. Along the path that would lead them to the next village. And he was tongue tied, their roles reversed. Him being unable to speak, while she knew her own power.

What happened to his little sister?

He blinked, watching her walk along, before putting one foot in front of the other and following her, like she used to follow him. Like the moon chasing the sun, and the sun chasing the moon.

*

Yoriichi was hard at work in their host’s modest kitchen. They’d obtained honest lodging and food by fixing the family’s wagon when they found it broken down on the side of the road. The head of the house, a man in his forties with two young daughters, had been trying to lever the heavy wagon up with sticks to re-attach the wheel when Yoriichi and Michikatsu came upon them. 

Michikatsu lifted the side of the heavy wagon without the aid of anything to stabilize it, and Yoriichi had reattached the wheel the best she could. A piece of it was missing, and she’d used her hair-tie to keep it from slipping off again. 

It was getting dark, after all.

She still couldn’t believe how strong her brother was.

She was still mourning the loss of her hair tie. All the plum red strands were getting in her face.

“Thank you again for allowing me to use your cooking vessel.” She bowed to the wife as she put out her ingredients on the counter.

“Of course!” The woman smiled. “I’ll have a bath drawn up when you finish. Thank you again for helping my family.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Yoriichi replied with another polite bow. Then she turned back to her ingredients. Wild nazuna. The last growth of the cold spring season. Sakura leaves she’d plucked from an abandoned grove as Michikatsu filled the air, telling her about things she’d missed in their separation. Mostly about their friends, all devoured by demons…

She supposed it was his way of remembering the dead. Of grieving.

It was easy to let him talk. To listen.

Yoriichi tried not to frown as she reached for the last ingredient. Kuzu, a root starch. She’d use it to bind everything together and roll out little pills the size of ants. If she made them right, she’d have enough to last for an entire year. In theory, it sounded like it should taste good, but in reality, it was terrible.

“What are you doing?” 

It was Michikatsu. Again.

She had to place her hands on the table to stop them from trembling. She didn’t understand why, but being around him was intensely overstimulating. He talked a lot, but she’d known this. He was always talking to her when they were kids. But now he sounded like a man, and not her big brother. 

Starting in on making the medicine, she hummed.

“I’m making medicine.”

“With nazuna? I didn’t think weeds had any medicinal properties.” He picked up a wilted branch and let it fall back to the table. Yoriichi swatted his hand away when he did it again.

“They do for women.” She was going to leave it at that, but her brother gave a confused grunt and reached for it again.

“What do you…?”

She realized she was going to have to explain, or he wouldn’t stop poking her. Like he wouldn’t stop touching her side all the way here. Every chance he got, his hand was over her ribs, asking if she needed rest. Demanding to see the bruising, even though it meant stripping down to her skin in a sun dappled grove.

Yoriichi was a little annoyed that he was right about the bruising. She had stood there with one arm lifted, her chest bare, and Michikatsu pressing a cloth into the purple and green flesh. He’d soaked it in a nearby stream, and it felt good.

He was trying hard to be a good big brother. She could trust him.

“My first year in the Demon Slayer Corps, I was hunting near a temple. The demon took refuge in the holy space, and I could not follow,” she frowned. Michikatsu simply looked at her with his forehead wrinkled together in confusion, and she sighed. “I was menstruating. Women can’t enter temples during that time. And even though the others think I’m a man, I have more honor than to desecrate a temple of my accord. The gods would know. So, I faked an injury and asked for help from one of my colleagues.”

Michikatsu simply tilted his head as he looked from her face to the tabletop.

“What does this medicine do?”

“It makes the bleeding less. Fewer days, sometimes none.”

“Does it hurt you?” Michikatsu said this in a soft tone, like he’d toss all the ingredients in the fire if she said anything other than ‘no’. Carefully, she started chopping up the nazuna.

“I feel sick to my stomach often, but nothing serious.”

And then her suspicion was proven correct. Michikatsu swept all her wilting plants up in his hands and swiftly crossed the room, tossing them out the window. She let go of the cutting knife and looked at him blankly. He was… grinning. Why?

“You are far too skinny to be eating something that makes you sick, Imouto. Now that I’m with you, you don’t need it.”

“I cannot see how.” She hoped that there was nothing gross outside the window. Like a refuse pile or dog poop. It was slightly annoying to go out and collect and start all over again. That and both nazuna and sakura were season specific. She’d already waited a little too long to collect them.

“Now that I’m with you, I can just kill the demons that go into places you cannot. We are the perfect team.”

He really, really wanted to be her savior. Like he’d pretend when they were kids. She knew this about him and always adored it. But he didn’t understand. She was the one who saved others. And maybe it was time he did.

“I should teach you how to kill a demon, then. Though you cannot until we get you a proper sword.” She really liked the way he raised an eyebrow, gently, in confusion and she hoped interest. Bowing slightly, she copied his expression, near perfect. “What do you think, Aniue? Our hosts seemed to have a foul field. We can ask them if we can practice there.”

“Alright,” her brother agreed without hesitation, without an air of arrogance. The arrogance would probably come later. It usually did when he mastered something, but for right now, all Yoriichi saw was unadulterated curiosity.

It was a breath of fresh air. She enjoyed the company of the other demon slayers, but when she offered to teach them skills, they frequently balked at her efforts. Many of them were the third or fourth sons born to warring clans. Practically born with the sword in their hands. And though most of them had self-serving interests in what she called a breath style, they all quickly grew frustrated with the attempts to replicate it.

This breath style was what she wanted to show Michikatsu.

“I promise I won’t go easy on you, Aniue,” she said.

He scoffed at her, and she made him regret it not an hour later when she’d knocked him on his back for the fourth time. It was cute, the way his bangs stuck to his forehead. His skin was shining in the lamplight, slick from sweat. Yoriichi sheathed her sword and crossed her arms in front of her as she looked down. 

“How’s your sutures?” Michikatsu asked, not getting up. She couldn’t tell if this was a distraction so he could catch his breath or if he was worried their careful sparring had actually hurt her. Unconsciously, her hand flattened against her side.

“They are fine.”

“Then what is that thing you’re doing? It…” he frowned, and she could see him searching for the words. “It’s like your breath is different. Ah, hell, you’re very fast.”

Eyes widening just a fraction, she found herself excited, he could tell. She didn’t have to spell it out to him. Not like the others.

Externally, she hummed. “You can kill demons without it. With just the right type of sword and a bit of luck, but the breathing style has made it a lot easier.”

“So you just breath different and it makes you a better swordsman?”

“Something like that.” Bending over, Yoriichi reached out a hand to her brother. “Come on. It’s late, and Eiko promised me a bath.”

“Eiko?”

“The lady of the house.”

“Oh.” Michikatsu took her hand, and once he was standing, he didn’t let it go. Looking at him with confusion, she noticed his eyes narrow. “I need to check your sutures again. I’ll be joining you.”

Her heart gave a funny little palpitation at that. And for the third time that day, the first being when she woke up to seeing her twin looking down at her, the second when he had his hands on her bare skin in the grove, she looked through him. 

It was almost unconscious to slip into seeing the world this way. As a prediction of movements and intentions. But other than a slight increase in his blood flow, Michikatsu looked calm. He didn’t look like some others had when they were trying to take advantage of her. 

Why should she even worry about that? This was Michikatsu. Her brother. The boy she adored, and the man who was stronger and better skilled with a sword than anyone else she knew. But she knew she worried because she’d trusted a man before. Uta’s general and younger brother, Daisuke Taira. He’d survived the attack on the Taira estate, and for three days was the man of the house. The one in charge, and the one who inherited her.

Her father was the first man to treat her as nothing more than property. And despite Uta being far kinder to her, his upbringing allowed him to see women as much the same. Objects. Things to be controlled. To be put into place like dolls. 

She’d desperately missed Michikatsu, who had only ever treated her like she was the only person in his life who could make him smile.

On the third day after the attack on the Taira clan, Daisuke forced Yoriichi into his bed. She still didn't know if Akimitsu was Uta's son or Daisuke's. Some would think Daisuke's death, only hours later, was her doing. But she believed it was the will of the gods. Her brother-in-law turned vicious husband fell from a window of the old Taira castle and smashed his head on the stone steps outside.

She’d been woefully cautious around men since then.

But it was different with Michikatsu. Her brother. The boy… the man who she just wanted to hug all day long.

Giving her twin a smile, Yoriichi nodded. “I’ll see you in the bath. You can go in first. I’m going to collect some wisteria. I saw a few trees on the edge of the field. It will be nice and fragrant in the water.”

“Don’t be too long,” Michikatsu said, and turned to go into the house. Yoriichi watched him go with her breath held.

Chapter Text

“The water is warm.” Michikatsu said to her as a greeting when she came into the tub room, hair wet from having washed it in an adjourning room.

Nervously she watched Michikatsu, but he’d tilted his head back, eyes closed as his face smoothed out. He looked like he might fall asleep right there. Convinced he would not watch her, she stepped into the tub.

The tub was quite small. Yoriichi wasn’t sure she would have been able to stretch out in it even if she’d been alone. It was a downside of being very tall, like most of the Tsugikunis were. She remembered, a very long time ago, meeting her father’s two brothers and how tall they walked. It was before she talked, before Mother passed away. And Michikatsu had held her hand and jumped up and down with glee, begging them to let him see their armor, their swords. Begged for stories of battles and honor. They must have been very young for his enthusiasm to be tolerated so well.

And now, sitting in the bath, Yoriichi wondered what happened to her uncles, as she couldn’t remember ever seeing them again.

Likely, they’d died in battle.

Shifting, Yoriichi felt Michikatsu’s knees against her own. They’d opted for sitting on opposite sides of the long, shallow scratchy tub, with their knees and shins touching in the middle. Even though it was cramped, the tub was upon a cement platform, with an ember pit under it. Therefore, they had heated water, and at least that was delightful.

Her back, however, did not like this position. Her arms along the wood ridge of the tub, neck tilted up. Yoriichi focused her eyes on the ceiling and was glad that she’d washed her hair before she got in. She’d been right, though. The wisteria smelled very nice in the bath.

“You have a scrape on your knee,” Michikatsu said, drawing her gaze back down. He’d leaned forward in the tub and touched his index finger to her right knee. “How’d that happen?”

“Oh.” She pulled her body forward, leaning over to look at her knee. Redness and dried blood marred the boney spot. “I don’t…” She was about to say ‘remember’ when her forehead contacted with Michikatsu’s. It wasn’t a hard hit, but they both jerked away, accidentally splashing water over the sides of the tub. Lifting her hand, she pressed it to the spot where they’d accidentally hit each other. “Ouch.”

Across from her, he was doing the same motion, complete with closing one eye, just like she had.

“Oof. Didn’t mean to do that. Are you alright?” Michikatsu asked.

“Yes, it just startled me.”

“You remember that time when we collided when we were six, and knocked each other out?” He chuckled, removing his hand from his head. She smiled.

“Yes. Mother was so upset. What were we even doing?”

“Jumping off the engawa? I think? Maybe we were pretending to be birds. Or at least I was. That was before you decided to let us all know you could speak.” Michikatsu’s words made her blush.

“Speaking was difficult,” she finally said after a moment. Michikatsu hadn’t asked her input on that, but it still felt like a question. Like something her twin likely wondered about endlessly. She remembered, vaguely, him encouraging her to say very simple words, and she… Yoriichi felt the world shimmer back into that space she existed in most often. The liminal space where both the world others could see and the world hidden underneath was visible to her. She was to lost looking through the world to remember she had vocal chords.

She could see through Michikatsu’s flesh. The cramped bath space must have been uncomfortable for him as well, because his right calf was spasming. 

“Aniue,” she whispered and tucked her body to the side. She reached forward and grabbed his ankle. “Stretch out your leg. You seem uncomfortable.”

He didn’t readily do as she asked, so she tugged, using her other hand to dig into the strained muscle at the back of his leg. She heard him hiss.

“How did you know that spot was hurting? I have no cuts, nothing visible.”

Yoriichi frowned. When they’d been younger, she hadn’t had the best understanding what was going on. Nor did she have an understanding that other people didn’t experience the world the same way she did. She always assumed that Michikatsu saw into her heart as easily as she saw into his. It wasn’t until she was pregnant with her first son that she realized no one else could see through people like they were made of colorfully dyed glass.

“I can see through the world.” It was a blunt explanation.

“What?” he choked out. “Through the world? What is that supposed to mean?” He sounded a little irritated, as if he believed she was playing games with him. Messing with him on purpose. Sort of like she did during their brief sparing session. Her fingers massaged out a knot in his flesh. She did not miss how sharp his exhale was. But she did glance at him.

On the surface world, Michikatsu’s face was slack. His mouth open in a small ‘o’. His cheeks reddened. She looked down at his bare chest, muscular, hairless, and shining with moisture. That surface world melted away, like wax to heat. Shimmering beneath her gaze. His heart was racing, almost increased as it had been when she spared with him. 

“I mean… when I see the world…” She frowned, trying to understand for herself the best way to explain it. Her one lady-in-waiting at the Taira estate complained of her insanity after Yoriichi confided this talent to her. Uta had almost divorced her, almost sent her back to the Tsugikuni estate, at 13 years old frightened and baring a child far before her body was ready to.

“When you see the world?” Michikatsu repeated. His curiosity had a touch of coolness to it, but that was probably because she was still undoing a troublesome knot in the muscle of his leg. His nerves were pulsing with light. Yoriichi loosened the pressure of her thumbs and turned back to him.

“Right now, when I am looking at you, I can see how fast your heart is racing. You have an old wound in your right shoulder. From an arrow? It healed, but it looks like there is still some stiffness that might affect your swordsmanship. Probably why you favored your left side in our sparring, even though I know full well it’s not your strongest position.”

Her brother’s eyes widened a fraction, but she wasn’t done.

“There’s a small piece of metal in your neck.” Not much to say about that other than she’d noticed it the moment they’d been reunited. Michikatsu raised his hand, clasping it around his throat as if that could hide it from her view. “How’d it get there?”

“My first battle. An older samurai challenged me. He had the advantage, but luckily enough for me, his equipment was shit, and so was his aim.” Michikatsu’s hand didn’t move. “He hit my helmet and his sword shattered. I was bleeding pretty badly, but I stabbed him in his heart and walked off victoriously. The doctors said they couldn’t remove the shard of his sword. Father’s shaman said it was an omen that I would die in battle.”

“I don’t know anything about omens, Aniue.” Yoriichi said quietly. He finally let go of his throat and gave her a little dismissive wave, as if it didn’t matter at all to him. 

“Alright, alright, Imouto. You have convinced me. You can see through the world. How do I do it?”

“You?” She blinked in confusion.

“Well, yes. I can do anything you can.”

She pursed her lips, not wanting to remind him how damn bad she beat him in a brief sparing match, although he was terribly talented as a swordsman. Yoriichi just looked at him, his eyes so much like hers. Darkened by the low lantern glow of the tub room. He looked so determined. 

And honestly, it never occurred to her to teach this skill. Maybe it should have. Maybe Michikatsu’s thirst for knowledge, his never ending hunger for greatness, made him a genius. Yoriichi closed her mouth, realizing she’d been gaping at him.

“I will guide you through this, but please bear with me. Unlike the breathing style, this I was born with.”

“All the more reason I should have it too,” Michikatsu snapped back. “We were in the same womb.” He paused and then added. “We are twins. Everything should be the same about us.”

“Ah… so if that’s the case, should you be a woman like me? Or I be a man like you?” Yoriichi teased, unable to stop herself. Michikatsu rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up. Let me look at the sutures. That’s the whole reason I’m here with you instead of getting sleep.”

Shrugging, Yoriichi readjusted herself so she was sitting on the lip of the tub. The only viable way to show her ribs without climbing over him. Draping her arm over her breasts once again, she watched him pull himself to his knees in the shallow water. Droplets dripping down his toned abdomen. Gods, he was handsome. Unexpectedly, Michikatsu pulled himself up out of the water, and Yoriichi averted her gaze.

She wasn’t quite fast enough. Though she’d seen her brother naked many times when they were children, it was decidedly different to see him nude now. His fingers tested the puffy skin around the sutures, and her gaze flickered back between them. He was carefully paying attention to her still healing wound, at one point leaning over the tub to grab a cloth and pat at a spot she couldn’t twist enough to see.

Not that she was trying.

Instead, her cheeks were burning with mortification because she was struggling to look away from him. His heart wasn’t showing her any intentions, just as it hadn’t been all day long, but she knew what a man looked like aroused. 

Yoriichi closed her eyes, swallowing harshly. Her back stiffening, legs ready to fly her out of the room.

“Ah. Sorry. That spot is sore?” Michikatsu asked, poking the spot again with the cloth. It wasn’t at all. This was all her embarrassment, her fear. Moments from her last days as a princess of the Taira family invaded her mind, and she squirmed, unable to lie.

“No…” She peeked at him for a half a second before pointing at the spot between his legs. She’d never seen one so big. Uta had barely had anything to work with, though she didn’t mind as he’d taken her when she was just a child and would have rather not known anything about that aspect of life. Daisuke had only been slightly more endowed, but equally unwanted.

All her moments of intimacy with men were lessons of fear and subservience.

Michikatsu had pulled his hand away from her ribs, and though she felt sick suddenly, she watched him kneel until at least he was covered by the water.

Then he spoke.

“Yoriichi,” his voice was… she didn’t know what was lurking in his tone. Couldn’t pull it apart. He almost sounded angry. She turned her face away, feeling her blood drain all at once. “Imouto… it is fine.”

“That’s what men say before they…” she choked and couldn’t finish her words.

“How old were you when Uta took you to his bed?”

“Ten.”

“He didn’t even let you grow. The bastard.” Michikatsu definitely sounded angry now, and when Yoriichi glanced at him, all she could see were his fists clenched along the side of the tub. “Our bastard father didn’t let you grow. Most women aren’t married until they are fifteen, sixteen…” Michikatsu punched the tub, and she felt the reverberation of it along her thighs. “And now you’re afraid I’m going to hurt you because I’m a man? Because you’re beautiful and it’s impossible to ignore?”

He punched the tub again. 

Impossible to ignore? Yoriichi’s cheeks flushed all over again. No one had ever called her beautiful before. She’d resigned herself to the knowledge that when people did speak of her appearance, it was only her faults. Her mark, her mannish shoulders. Too damn tall for any self respecting woman. Expectations and power plays were the sole reasons Uta and Daisuke kept her as consort. People expected her to bear children, and the only way to do that was to allow a man to have intercourse with her. Neither of them had ever found her beautiful.

Uncomfortably, Yoriichi looked back at Michikatsu. His gaze focused on the side of the tub. His knuckles bleeding where he’d punched a dent in the wood.

Yoriichi bit her lip before saying something.

“You’re nice looking, at least.”

His mouth dropped open in shock, eyes suddenly riveted on hers. And slowly a flush bloomed across his chest, up through his neck and on his cheeks.

After a few awkward moments, he asked, “Do you still think I’m going to force you to have me?”

“No.” She met his eyes. “I wouldn’t be put in that position ever again. If you had tried, I would have fought you and won. But I believe in you. It… I… uh…” she stumbled here, gaze dipping to the water. Even without seeing through things she could see he was still very aroused, though fair enough the rest of him wasn’t acting it. “I was surprised…” she breathed.

“You can look through the world, and you didn’t know I’ve been hard for you all day?”

“I don’t look at men’s penises, Michikatsu.”

“Then what made you do it now?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “When you stood up in the tub, it was eye level and you’re so big it’s hard to miss!”

He laughed at her, and Yoriichi felt her eyes widen in indignation. 

“It’s not funny.”

“Forgive me if I’m finding some dark humor in this! We haven’t seen each other in over a decade! We’ve lived separate lives. You show up and save me, and you’re gorgeous! I woke up wanting to fuck you, and haven’t been able to let go of that fantasy all day. And you’re sitting there blushing like a bride, squeezing your thighs together and rubbing them, acting like I’m the one with a problem because my cock is hard!”

Yoriichi was so shocked by the dirty language she almost couldn’t process the words.

Michikatsu gave her a mean smile. “Imouto, we are exactly alike. And now I can see just how aroused you are.”

It came as even more of a shock that every spot of her his eyes passed over tingled with warmth. And she knew… somehow… she didn’t even know how. Determination. Grit. Pure vindictive drive… Michikatsu unlocked the key to see through the world. And her heart hammered out of control.

“I still wouldn’t hurt you, Yoriichi.” He lifted his bleeding hand out of the water and looked at it with a frown on his face. “Obviously, I cannot hide my reactions from you. And I don’t want to. But until you tell me otherwise, my big cock will stay out of your cunt.”

She squeaked helplessly at a gush of fluid that sickened up her womanhood with those words. Helplessly unable to stop herself from imagining him actually taking her. Her brother acted like he didn’t notice. But she knew he did.

“Go to bed. I’m going to soak for a while longer,” he ordered. She hesitated for a moment, dipping her gaze back into the water. Noticing his hand that wasn’t bleeding on his cock. She tore her eyes away before she lost her resolve, got up out of the tub even though he watched her body, curves, flesh. When she bent over to pick up her clothing off the floor, he moaned, and she realized he was looking at everything she had to offer.

She was terrified.

But she was also undeniably aroused.

*

It was a rather dull six days back to the Tsugikuni mansion. They ended up with an extra few days because of a slight detour in the first town they came across. Well, it wasn’t really a detour more than it was a necessary stop.

A late spring downpour made traveling by foot impractical. The road was all washed out mud; the wind was whipping violently enough to fell trees along the path, and the addition of thunder and lightning made further travel not worth it.

Michikatsu secretly loved it. They’d shared a room, and he bothered Yoriichi every moment he got about getting her a beautiful kimono from the innkeeper’s wife, who’d practically snatched them into the building from the street, shoving tea down their throats before they could inquire about payment.

Yoriichi looked at him blankly, “you should understand, Michikatsu, my feelings on why traveling as a man is safer.”

He agreed, of course, because it was safer. She was right on that mark. But it still made things slightly awkward when they were brought to yet another shared bathing area. He refrained from bringing up the first cringeworthy time, but noticed how much she squirmed and snuck peeks at him.

He didn’t know if her secretive looks were still out of fear, out of desire, or if she wanted to say something and had yet to come up with the right words.

Maybe all three.

Michikatsu asked her to talk to him about this breathing style thing, in order to ease the tension. It took her a long time to come up with the words for it, but once she started speaking, Michikatsu listened with the rapt attention of a student eager for the most important lesson of his life.

When they finally left the town, Michikatsu found a nearby field and demanded Yoriichi oversee his training immediately.

After an hour or two, it was clear he would not luck his way into this skill like he had with the seeing through the world trick. That was alright. He was used to working hard to get what he wanted.

Finally, on day six, they stood shoulder to shoulder at the gate to the Tsugikuni Mansion. 

“My lord!” One guardsman, a 17-year-old named Junichi, greeted him with a big smile. “Welcome home!” It made sense that the boy was elated. The town in front of Tsugikuni Mansion was where all of his dead friends had lived, and it wasn’t unusual for them to go straight home to their wives and children. He’d been steadfastly ignoring the pit in his stomach as they came closer and closer to home all day. Knowing that by nightfall, he’d be delivering the worst news to many young families.

“Hello, Junichi. Do you know where Akimitsu and Hikari are?”

This was pure indulgence. Asking about the children before seeing to any of his duties. The guardsman didn’t seem to think anything of it.

“They are in Akimitsu-dono’s room.”

Michikatsu looked back at Yoriichi. “Come on.” She was simply standing there as serenely as she usually did. He didn’t bother to see if there were any hidden reaction, because just then Junichi spoke.

“Tsugikuni-dono? Who is this? A cousin? He looks an awful lot like you.”

Ah. Michikatsu had somehow… he couldn’t imagine how, with all the distractions of seeing Yoriichi naked every single day… forgotten that he would have to address this. His sister didn’t look at him, just blankly forward, as if she were dead. As if he was going to go back on his word and sell her off to a political marriage the moment they crossed the gates.

Michikatsu gave the guardsman a false smile.

“This is my bastard brother, Yuichiro Tsugikuni. Play nice with him. He’s a fantastic warrior.” Michikatsu tugged Yoriichi by the sleeve. Forward through the gates, up the stairs and into the courtyard.

“Your lie is silly. Anyone who was here the last time I was here will know it’s me.” Yoriichi mumbled, taking her sleeve back.

“I’m aware. And you should know, as the head of this clan, anything I say is law. If I tell them you are all the bastard of our father, they have no recourse but to accept it as fact. The rules here are mine, and anyone who wants to challenge them challenges me.”

Yoriichi simply hummed softly. He didn’t mind. He was used to her quietness. Her lack of response. It made the times when she reacted interesting. Though Michikatsu could admit to himself, he’d rather not have ever seen how fearful she was over the barest hint of sexual desire. 

He’d done his absolute best to curb any sign of that around her again.

Michikatsu thought he was doing a good job. Then she’d do something that confused him. 

She didn’t exactly act like she wanted an escalation of this tension, but every once in a while he’d catch her staring at him, and when he stared back, he could see her heart screaming.

Then there was that day he’d made an attempt at modesty when they were washing up in a stream by keeping his haori on. She’d looked at him, told him not to be foolish and just get undressed. It was going to get cold again that night, after all. The suggestion was practical, but it meant seeing each other unclothed in full daylight.

 This morning he’d woken up before her again, and with the transparent world, he caught her grinding her sex against her palm, fingers shoved in her cunt up to her knuckles. She’d been asleep, so he couldn’t exactly say something. Instead, he’d walked off a good distance into a grove of birch trees, took his cock in his hand, and came undone.

He wiped the memories clean.

After all, he had things to accomplish. The top two of that list being a desire to gain mastery over this breathing style Yoriichi was teaching him. And the second was to get one of those swords forged for himself. One like hers, that changed color to defeat enemies.

No. 

There was one thing that was more important. And that was Yoriichi herself. 

I’m going to protect her. I’m going to save her from her own stupidity.

Michikatsu sucked in a breath as they rounded the corner of the engawa. He glanced at Yoriichi who was still, like a doll, looking out without a single emotion on her face.

He was about to wipe that away. Paint her with color, make her more human. He grinned at her.

“Let’s go see our son.”

Michikatsu watched her eyes snap into a clear focus, her cheeks speckle pink to red. Her pretty down-turned mouth, exactly like his own.

“Do you think about what you say, Aniue?”

“Of course I do. You gave birth to him, and I’m raising him. OUR son.” He enjoyed the way her gaze wavered as she processed this explanation, and then she melted back into the nonplused expression she usually wore.

“Your teasing is terrible.”

He chuckled and reached out to pull the perfectly smooth white shoji open. But before he did that, he glanced back at Yoriichi and took it a step further.

“You know,” he whispered. “When I see him now, I might just imagine he really is ours. I wonder what that would be like, don’t you, Imouto?”

Yoriichi said absolutely nothing, but he loved how red her face was. He loved how her heart raced. She parted her lips, and he wanted badly to kiss them.

“Go to hell, Michikatsu.”

Chapter Text

Michikatsu grunted in annoyance as he strove to reach an orgasm. He felt overheated from the stimulation, and a chill ran down his sweat-soaked back simultaneously. This was turning out to be the worst sex of his life, because for whatever reason, Chiyo was squawking like a half-dead crane this time, and it was aggravating. But he didn’t want to lose face by not fucking her soundlessly. His wife would have it known all over the mansion if he failed to cum.

He clapped his hand down over her mouth, and pressed his face into her shoulder, not wanting to look at her shadowed face.

His breath was stuttering in short spurts, feeling like he’d run all the way from Edo and back. Not a good feeling. And even without opening his eyes, he was seeing through the world. Almost as if the power was coming too easily to him. Invading his vision when he didn’t want it.

He wondered if it was the same for Yoriichi, or if she was unbothered because this was her entire reality. As if inviting that thought into his mind opened the floodgates, he remembered her soft smile, the emotionless looks, her breasts, her thighs… the one peek he’d had of her sex.

Michikatsu lingered in memories of Yoriichi’s words, her body, the moments they shared together, good and bad.

“Sh... shit…” he moaned and finally spilled his seed deep inside his wife. It was unsettling and unsatisfying.

He gritted his teeth against Chiyo’s perfumed skin, not moving.

“My lord husband,” Chiyo whispered in the ensuing moments. “You’re squishing my breast.”

Chiyo’s heart made it abundantly clear she was boredly calm underneath him. Waiting patiently for him to be over himself. Which was absolutely unfair. He always pleased her every whim first. All she did was the bare minimum of spreading her thighs for him.

Irritated, he pulled out, tossed the covers aside on the futon and got out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked him with her honeyed voice, as if she cared. He knew she didn’t. Their marriage was one of convenience, and taking her to bed was only out of the expectation that they build a powerful family.

They were cordial with each other, often aligned in goals, especially when it came to the children. But there was little else.

“I have to prepare for my journey.” Michikatsu grumbled, snatching his hakama from the floor. He really wanted to go back to his room, shove his face in his pillow and scream until he passed out. Instead, he gathered more of his clothing in false post-orgasmic peace. “My brother and I will be leaving in the morning.”

“I don’t know why you insist on keeping that ruse. Everyone knows who she is.” His wife sounded legitimately perplexed. Her pretty voice reached his ears again. “Everyone knows she is a woman. You know what your vassals are saying about the two of you having shown up here alone…”

He’d heard enough. Fists clenched around his clothes, he growled.

“And I don’t know why you kept the ruse that Akimitsu was ours.” He gritting his teeth at her. She looked at him with her dull brown eyes, doe like, but dumb. She couldn’t even read any of that stupid flowery poetry he’d been required to write and send to her when his father set up a courtship between them.

He might be a little bitter about having wasted hours on it.

“So she tattled on me for taking her son?” Chiyo asked, as if shocked that it ever came out.

“Yoriichi told me the truth, which is more than I can say about you or Father. It doesn’t seem like anyone else knows. How did you keep it a secret?”

Chiyo looked back at the ceiling. “She went into labor first. I was told to observe to gain experience, and when the doctor announced she’d had a boy, your father ordered them to use a hairpin to break my waters and give us Hikari.”

“Just because our first was a girl didn’t mean you could steal Yoriichi’s son,” Michikatsu snarled.

“It was not my decision, my lord husband…”

“I hate that you still won’t use my name, Chiyo.”

She didn't apologize, and simply kept speaking. “A week before the births, your father’s shaman made a prediction that I would never have another child. Your sister would have been useless to the family as a mother for a bastard boy of a dead clan. Akimitsu had nowhere to go, and you needed a son.”

So that was the precipice for this subversion. Michikatsu narrowed his eyes in the dark, moonlight streaming in through Chiyo’s open window.

“You’re both terrible.” He finally said. “Shamans do not hold the future in their hands as if they were as absolute as the sun and moon.” 

“Are you going to disown Akimitsu because you know?”

Michikatsu scowled heartily, anger vibrating through his body. “Why would I punish him for a decision that was made without his consent? Yoriichi is in no position to return to motherhood right now. I will protect my Imouto’s son as if he were my own.” 

His wife didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. Michikatsu dressed and prayed she was done bothering him when he heard her voice again.

“Is it true what your vassals are saying, my lord husband? Have you bedded your own twin sister?”

Michikatsu glanced behind him and scoffed. “Those rumors are unfounded. I’m merely traveling with her to Edo to establish her as an Onna-musha of the Tsugikuni clan, and to set an alliance with the lord she has contracted with. I will be back before autumn.”

He was sure his tone left no room for argument, and still when he closed the door to Chiyo’s room, he heard her whisper. “I’ve dreamed of that wicked mark on her face. It brings ruin to our family. My lord husband, I beg you to kill your sister and return her to hell.”

Frowning, Michikatsu pretended he’d never heard her say a word.

*

Yoriichi could tell she was being watched as she ended her daily meditation and slid her sword into her obi. But she didn’t mind because it was just the children. At four years old, Akimitsu and Hikari looked an awful lot like she imagined she and Michikatsu must have looked at that age. Tsugikuni blood ran strong, with all the red tones in the hair and eyes. And their height made them easily appear two years older. Hikari was smaller than Akimitsu, but not by a lot.

Right now they were conspiratorially whispering to each other from the shadows of an elm that had been on the property since before Yoriichi was born. All its new season leaves baking in the sunlight. Yoriichi was going to walk away and let them tiptoe after her, toward the gates of the property. She’d already given them a formal goodbye during the previous night’s super, in front of all the other important people of the Tsugikuni house. Women who hid their painted faces behind paper fans and looked at her with judgemental eyes, men who knew who she was and found every opportunity to touch her, even if just slightly.

Michikatsu turned snappish at the behavior, and she let herself look through the world, let herself use what her brother dubbed ‘the transparent world’. Resigning herself to inner peace because the world itself was full of conflict.

There was no reason to say goodbye again.

Besides, Michikatsu was probably waiting for her with that stupid caravan. 

She said they didn’t need a caravan full of things. She didn’t want it. It was embarrassing to go back to the Demon Slayer Corps with a show of nobility when she’d made a humble spot in the organization. She’d told them very little about her. Her name, her age, that her motivation was to avenge a family destroyed by demons. Only Oyakata-sama knew her family name, and that they were samurai from the south. He’d assured her he would say nothing when she politely but firmly told him she could not go back home. 

Then she’d gone and asked for leave to go back home the moment she heard of her father’s death.

She thought she might be regretting it. 

After all, nobody in the Demon Slayer Corps knew she was a woman. She was just another swordsman. Therefore, nothing extravagant was needed for their return. The minimum of rations, medicine, and money. Herself and her sword. Nothing else. Not… well… whatever fanfare Michikatsu organized.

“We are exactly alike,” she whispered to herself words he’d told her during that awkward first bath they’d shared. “Michikatsu…”

“Um… excuse me, Obaa-chan?” Hikari’s sweet little voice reached out to her, making her stop in her tracks. Yoriichi looked behind her to see that her brother’s little girl was hiding behind Akimitsu as she spoke, as if she were using him as a doll to voice. And Akimitsu was simply staring at her with an uncanny expression. His reddish brown eyes glazed over.

Yoriichi suspected her son could see through the world, too.

“Good morning, children.” Yoriichi smiled as softly as she could. “Have you already said your goodbyes to your father?” She knew full well that they had. She’d watched from around the corner of the family wing, as Michikatsu picked up the twins who weren’t twins at all, and showed them the type of affection their father never gave them. The sight had done something funny to her heart. In the privacy of her thoughts, she wished that this was her family as she watched her brother snuggle his forehead against Hikari’s and then Akimitsu’s. 

“Yes, Obaa-chan!” Hikari said enthusiastically, and then Akimitsu turned and waved his hands around.

“You’re supposed to ask her the question!” the little boy stressed, puffing out his cheeks and stamping a foot down, and even though he wasn’t Michikatsu’s actual son, Yoriichi felt she could see a lot of his mannerisms in Akimitsu. That short temper for one…

Hikari stuck her tongue out at Akimitsu and then looked up at Yoriichi. 

“Obaa-chan! Can we go with you?” There was a glimmer of tears in the little girl’s eyes. “Please! We will be very good!”

“No. I’m afraid it would be much too…”

“See! I told you she’d say no! Mother said Father’s never coming back.” Akimitsu scowled at her, completely cutting off Yoriichi's words. “Mother said you’re stealing him.”

Not understanding what to make of this four-year-old making a salacious accusation that he definitely did not understand, Yoriichi said nothing. Aching instead for this moment to be over, her breath caught strangely in her lungs. She would not take Michikatsu away from these kids. They’d only been there a week, but she saw how much her brother loved them. He took time with them every day, dragging Yoriichi along to show off how good Akimitsu was at his archery lessons. Although Michikatsu had struggled with and hated archery, he was overtly enthusiastic about Akimitsu’s skill in it. Boasting about Hikari’s poetry and koto lessons. Throwing a whole night long party for the children the second day they were back…

Yoriichi hid her fists in her sleeves.

“But Mitsu!!!!” Hikari shook her brother by his arm. “If Father and Obaa-chan get married, maybe you can marry me and we can be together forever!!”

Yoriichi cleared her throat of all the prickers that had suddenly formed. “Children…”

“We’re already going to be together forever. Why do we have to play wedding again?” Akimitsu tried to untangle Hikari’s hands from his clothes.

“It’s fun,” she exclaimed.

“It’s not.”

“Is so.”

“Is not!” 

The children faced off against each other, cheeks puffed out in anger at their little argument. Yoriichi caught the back of Akimitsu’s kimono and snatched him up from the ground before he could push Hikari.

“Do not push other people for a difference in opinion. Perhaps you and Hikari can find something else you’d like to play together.”

“Like what?” They asked together.

She shrugged and let the boy back down. “When we were young, your father and I used to catch frogs down by the river. This time of year, you will probably see their eggs if you look under some leaves along the river’s edge.”

“Frogs have eggs?!” Hikari asked. Yoriichi smiled and nodded. “Mitsu!!!! Let’s go see the frogs!”

The children ran off as fast as they could, across the courtyard and around the side of the mansion toward the river. Yoriichi watched every joyful step with dread in her heart. Waiting with bated breath until they were out of sight before lowering her gaze to the paving stones of the courtyard, fists balled up in her sleeves.

I have to do something to make Michikatsu stay where he belongs. I have to give him something to make him stay. My word that I’m ok isn’t enough, so what could he…?

Yoriichi squeezed her eyes shut. She had a feeling… she knew.

A deep breath in, and she turned toward the entrance of the mansion. Every step was an exercise in not letting her heart climb out of her chest, ripping through her throat with blood. They think he’s going to marry me. Why? Why would they think that? It would bring him no glory, no honor to leave Chiyo-san.

In fact, it would be dishonorable since they shared a mother, and despite an admission of attraction, Michikatsu was not a dishonorable man.

She let her thoughts spin out of control as her feet took her down the clean stone steps to the gates of the mansion. Abandonment, marriage, needs, wants, she relived the first bath they shared. He wanted me. He said I was beautiful. Biting her bottom lip, she wondered.

“Good morning, Yoriichi.” 

She barely heard the greeting, so focused on her thoughts. Until she felt a tap on her arm. Blinking, she looked forward into Michikatsu’s face. His hand was held out, gently resting against her dominant arm, right above the elbow.

“I said good morning, Yoriichi. Are you lost, seeing the transparent world again?” His words were smooth, but serious. She rarely heard him not being serious, even when he teased her, even with the children. He always had a tone that insisted he meant what he said. It was one of the many things she liked about her brother. 

“Before we go, I need to speak with you privately.” She hoped she emulated the same seriousness back to him. 

Michikatsu raised an eyebrow, his face belying his natural curiosity. He gave little response, only a small motion for her to follow him.

He brought her to a small study that their father used to write war challenges to clans he was feuding with. It used to be full of shelves with papers and ink, and a small jizo statue their father kept to remind him of his first daughter, their older half sister, who’d been twelve when they were born, and within a year of their birth passed away from smallpox. Both Michikatsu and Yoriichi were lucky to survive the sickness, with Yoriichi having a small peppering of pox scars from the back of her right knee up around her thigh. Michikatsu had extensive scarring on his hands, but she couldn’t tell what was from the sickness and what was from his brutal training regimens.

Now, the only thing that remained was their father’s desk, pushed up against the back wall. It was awfully still in the room.

Yoriichi waited until Michikatsu closed the door and faced her. 

“What…?”

She didn’t wait for him to ask anything. To say anything. She merely looked into his eyes, steeled her hands as if she were going into battle, and began untying her obi. It felt too fast and too slow all at once when she let her hakama fall to the floor. When the material slid down her legs, she opened the rest of her, layer by layer.

Yoriichi watched as Michikatsu first opened his mouth as if he were going to protest. He closed his mouth, and slowly all his smooth skin gave way to an appealing flush. When she removed the last of her clothing, breast bindings and all, she was surprised to hear him laugh. It was a rich sound, slightly under his breath, and filled with desire.

“Take me,” she demanded, even though she wanted to hide.

“Are you crazy?” Michikatsu asked in response.

That was not what she expected. Nor did she expect him to storm forward, snatch her clothes up off the floor and shove them at her.

“I’m not crazy. If you’re following me to Edo just to get between my legs, then I might as well get it over with and save you the trip.” She thought her explanation was succinct and easy to follow, but it was abundantly clear that Michikatsu simply couldn’t handle it.

“GET. IT. OVER. WITH.” Every word punctuated sharply, as if it was the worst insult he’d ever heard in his life. “I am NOT bringing you to Edo on the pretense of being desperate enough to fuck you when you’ve made your aversion clear!” 

She didn’t take her clothes back, her sword somewhere on the floor.

“The children think we are running away to get married.” She kept her voice calm, and once again slipped into seeing through the world. His heart was hurting. She could practically see the strain tugging through his chest. His hands were shaking. Despite being visibly upset, her display had the intended result. 

She wished he’d just pull down his pants and prove her right.

Breath held, she ached for it.

“Yoriichi,” Michikatsu lowered his voice, pushing her clothes against her skin. “Get dressed. You don’t want this. You know this isn’t the reason I am going with you. Chiyo just has them scared because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Michikatsu smirked. “She knows you’re better than her.”

Yoriichi’s face felt hot. The clothes dropped to the floor as her brother reached out, one hand cupping her chin, the other pushing her back. Step by step until she bumped into the desk. Then Michikatsu brought their faces together, his lips brushing softly on hers.

It barely classified as a kiss, just a little swipe of sensitive flesh against flesh. And somehow, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stand in his presence without wishing she’d lunged forward and pressed their mouths together.

Michikatsu pulled away, his striking red violet eyes peering at her.

“Get dressed, Imouto. You’re too strong to be laid low by fears about my life choices.”

He turned around just as she found the irony that he was seeing himself in her. Like they were mirrors of each other. 

“You are too strong to fear my life choices, Michikatsu,” she echoed his words. “Stay with your family.”

She watched his shoulders slump, and for a moment, she thought he’d concede. He’d stay where he belonged and she’d go where she was needed. Maybe she’d write him letters. Maybe he’d write back. Things would be alright.

But then he turned, and she saw the determination on his face. The tight scowl on his lips, and the way his eyes crinkled up when he narrowed them.

“I am going.”

There was no stopping Michikatsu when he made up his mind about something. The finality settled in Yoriichi’s bones like an omen. Knowledge that something in the world had shifted. The position of things in the cosmos. The sun, and the moon, crossing each other in the sky.

She didn’t know it yet, but the rest of her life was going to feel like a cold eclipse.

Chapter Text

Michikatsu screamed as the attack came out of nowhere, just as he started dry heaving into the bushes. His throat was sore, mouth dripping with the sour of his stomach. Everything lit with stars in his vision as he stumbled away from the sharp claws of the demon, who was intent on ripping out his spine and slurping the marrow from his bones.

It didn’t matter how bad he felt. It didn’t matter that he was poisoned. He had to keep moving.

Only moving while blacking out and choking on vomit was an enormous task. Michikatsu fell hard on his shoulder against a moss covered rock, hurled up what felt like the entirety of his guts, and barely rolled away in time to avoid a life-threatening injury. As it was, the demon’s claws snagged on his kimono, ripping through the expensive fabric and straight into the muscle just below his shoulder. 

“Aniue, don’t play with it. I gave you my sword this time so you could finish it off.” Yoriichi’s voice was not far away, but Michikatsu didn’t know exactly where his sister was watching from. He never knew. Not in any of her diabolical training sessions. 

He drew the sword, and because he was on the ground, with this ugly thing looming over him, he thrust the sword straight into its… did demons still have genitals? Grimacing, he threw that thought out of his mind. Only way it would be helpful was if they reacted the same as men about it. He ripped the sword straight through its pelvis as it screamed heartily.

Well then, maybe they do.

The sword didn’t turn red, and he couldn’t do the breathing style that Yoriichi was trying to hammer into his bones. Brackish blood rained down on him. He cut down a leg and scrambled to standing, only to lose himself to spots of black in his vision. The horrid feeling of his vision tunneling, and his head buzzing like a beehive alerted him to near unconsciousness. He stumbled, vomited horridly down his front, emesis sliding down his hands and making the sword grip slippery. 

Michikatsu gagged again. Blinking furiously to regain his senses, he focused on the not yet dead demon.

“They don’t care what you are doing, Michikatsu. Sleeping, eating, throwing up on mushroom stew…”

“Fuck you, Yoriichi! I get it!” His screaming sounded pathetically weak. A reflection of just how awful he felt. And damn, she would have had this demon’s head in the first seconds. It’s not fair.

“Doesn’t seem like you got it in practice earlier.” His sister replied. “You wanted to stop…”

“I had to take a shit!”

“They’ll attack you during that as well, I’m afraid.” 

He didn’t know how, but it seemed like his little sister was amused. He was decidedly not. 

She’d been acting like the world’s most sadistic trainer from the moment they left home for Edo. They traveled in the caravan by day, sleeping heavily as they wheeled along. Around noon they’d wake for a meal, and then she’d put him through swordplay that was frankly easy. That was until she checked him with a stick every second he didn’t comply with her ridiculous demands. 

Michikatsu, imagine the sword as a sunbeam through the forest canopy. Was this meditation? Spirituality? Why did he have to imagine something so… mundane? Why imagine the sunlight when all he had to do was look around to see it?

Michikatsu, breathe into your belly, so deep it makes you feel like you’re swallowing the weight of the sun. No matter how he tried, it never seemed to be enough. And worse, he ended up swallowing air so bad he’d get chest pains. She teased him when he forcibly burped it up just to feel better.

Aniue, they all used to be human. Every single one of them. Pray for them after you’ve killed them. Michikatsu wasn’t the praying type.

At night, she’d stop their progress, make them set up camp, and then they’d spend the entire night demon hunting. From the moment the sun set, until the moment it rose. At first, he was told to hang back and watch as she slaughtered them, usually in extremely one sided fights decided the moment she drew her sword. Though there was that one demon a week into their journey that toyed with her for an hour before she beheaded it.

When she first started having him hunt them, she took his sword from him. Refused his access to any weapons and watched as he struggled until sunlight.

Tonight was the first night she gave him a sword… it was also the first night she poisoned him. She told him she was going to before it happened at least.

Breathe deep. He sucked in the warm air of emergent summer. Curling his fingers one by one around the hilt of Yoriichi’s sword. The nausea got worse.

“Not deep enough.” Yoriichi called out. “You’re holding all your air in your sides!”

Michikatsu gritted his teeth because his stomach was rebelling against the placement of air in his body. Surging up when he was pushing down.

The final result was another wave of vomit spraying out of his mouth.

Thankfully, it saved him.

The stupid demon, to blood hungry to notice his sudden standstill, got the slime of his stomach all over its face.

“Ahhhh!!!” it screamed horribly, and instead of rending its claws through Michikatsu’s flesh, it merely backhanded him with the force of a landslide. Michikatsu flew off his feet, slamming into a nearby tree with enough force to break ribs. 

He blacked out.

He woke up seconds later, side screaming in pain, breathing wrecked. Bruising all up his arm. Michikatsu’s hands were shaking, still gripped tightly to Yoriichi’s sword. And his instincts were screaming, skin stippling with the danger. The sensation of the demon lurking around him. He swung without looking, just feeling…

And then he blacked out again.

It must have killed me, he thought when he started gaining awareness. Everything was undulating… Was he floating?

Michikatsu opened his eyes slowly, feeling buoyant. Feeling a firmness under his shoulders and the small of his back. 

“Good. You’re awake.” Yoriichi said, leaning over him. Her hair was dripping over her shoulder, the length trailing in the current of a slow-moving stream. How did he get here? Did she pick him up and bring him? Just how strong was Yoriichi?

“That was the worst…” he croaked, resigning himself to the situation. “The demon?”

Yoriichi shrugged elegantly. “You killed it. But you still didn’t do the breathing style, so…”

“You’re so generous with your praises,” Michikatsu grumbled sarcastically.

“You didn’t die, and that is something. Most people simply get eaten.” Again, a shrug. Michikatsu sighed and then hated life because it sent a sharp pain through his side. He stood up in the river, finding the cool waters came up to his navel. Though his clothes were soaked, the currents partially cleaned them. He was in pain, and the nausea hadn’t completely subsided.

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Come on. I need to check your wounds first.” Yoriichi reached out, pulling his arm over her shoulders and walking him to the shore. It was so heavy as he pulled himself out of the water. His drenched clothes clung to his skin. It hurt to breathe, like someone had filled his chest with rocks, leaving no more room for his heart and lungs. 

Michikatsu stumbled only a few feet onto dry land and fell on his knees.

Yoriichi was with him, tugging his kimono, pulling the wet fabric from him. He didn’t have the energy to object. Her fingers skimmed along his skin.

“Oh. That is a deep cut,” she hummed, pinching the skin where he initially got slashed by the demon’s claws. “I’ll have to give you sutures for this.”

“Stop digging your fingers into the cut.”

“Just testing depth, Aniue.” She looked at him calmly. “Alright, now your side.” He stayed still as she scooted around the other side of him and moved his arm so she could place her hand over his ribs. There was so much bruising. His skin was mottled like a field of spider lilies. Red and blue.

“That hurts,” he complained at the soft touches.

“You’re bleeding internally. I can see it with the transparent world. Michikatsu, I know it’s difficult, but you need to regulate your breathing. Control it. Focus on the injury, and use this skill to stop the flow.”

He kept his eyes open, staring at her face. Pulling his breath in with intention, with determination. His jaw shook with the effort.

Minute by minute, the hurt was less. The pressure in his chest was no longer increasing, but Yoriichi was still frowning.

“Your lung is crushed. You didn’t stop the bleeding in time.” 

Michikatsu watched, dizzily, sick, as Yoriichi drew a blade. Not the one she used to slay demons, just a small pocket knife she carried on her for everyday tasks. 

“What are you doing?” Michikatsu asked. His voice sounded far away. Weak. The world was spinning around him again, vision tunneling.

“I’m sorry.” She stabbed him in the side, right through the bloodied, bruised flesh. The pain was so great he no longer saw black. He saw light. White hot, like the sun. And then everything in the world was gone as his blood drained on the ground.

This wasn’t training.

It was torture.

As his breath returned, Michikatsu predicted Yoriichi would be the death of him.

*

Yoriichi strung her fingers through Michikatsu’s dark hair once again, playing with his soft bangs, gracelessly dragging the tips of her fingers along his forehead. A nervous gesture. A caring gesture.

It had been two days since she had to drain his chest of blood, and he still hadn’t woken up. She’d done as many life-saving measures as she could. Stitching up the wound the demon’s claws made, and the wound from the chest drain. Undressing him, bathing him and wrapping the wounds with a poultice one of her associates taught her to make when she first joined the Demon Slayers. It was good for warding away infection, but smelled like a musty swamp. She took to dressing him again all before dragging him back to the carriage. Their only shelter for the last leg of this journey. For she knew this part of the road well. They weren’t far from the small castle town of Edo when he was injured.

“This is the way the world is, Michikatsu,” she whispered in the rocking carriage. Curled into his side, terrified. She couldn't lose him. “I had to learn it too. Poison, yes, it happened to me. Broken bones, so many times I can’t count. But through it all, fight. Never ever stop.”

It was impossible to tell if he heard her words.

Yoriichi sighed and laid down next to him, daring to stroke his cheek, to take in the scent of him. It was pleasant and somehow reminded her of summer nights and catching fireflies down by the river near their childhood home. 

“We’re in Edo now, Aniue. You need to wake up today so I can bring you to see Oyakata-sama.”

There was no sign of waking. Frowning, Yoriichi patted his cheek. Then she pulled herself up and reluctantly got out of the carriage, kicking off from the step plate to land on the pebbled road. She barely straightened herself out when she heard it.

“Hail, Yoriichi!” a hearty voice yelled out, shortly followed by an extremely cheerful voice, “Yoo-hoo! Yoriiiichiii-kun! You’re back!!!” 

The greetings were from far down the road and she knew them instantly. Looking along, Yoriichi lifted a hand in greeting.

“Hail, Akio-kun! Haruki-kun!” she called out peacefully. It was no surprise to her when the eleven-year-old apprentice demon slayer, Haruki Kinoshita, sprinted toward her, tackling her in the biggest hug the boy could muster. 

“Whaaahhh! Why didn’t you bring me along, Yoriichi!!! I was so scared without you!!!” he complained with his head against her breast.

She patted his back gently. “Now, now. Haruki. You are perfectly capable. And…”

“Your adopted son’s been tagging along with me! I promised I would lead him to no harm!” Akio Rengoku boomed with a huge smile on his face, butting right in to confirm what she’d hoped. He yanked Haruki back by his collar, and then… a bit like a big friendly bear, wrapped his arms around Yoriichi.

This was the way these two were with her. Friendlier than the others. More open. While she considered herself close to several of her comrades, these two were like family. Akio being the man who saved her by bringing her into the Demon Slayer Corps, and little Haruki being…

She was smiling, but not returning Akio’s embrace, when something swooped in from behind them. At first, she didn’t know what it was. It was daylight. No demons around, so she hadn’t noticed it until it was too late. She was yanked away from Akio’s friendly embrace. Then she saw it. A familiar scarred hand shoved Akio’s chest, before she registered Michikatsu had balled up his fist and punched one of her dearest friend’s in the eye.

That he’d even gotten the drop on them was impressive.

Yoriichi blinked back those thoughts, because this was not part of his training. Though apparently getting him angry and jealous increased his combat proficiency… interesting to know.

“Michikatsu Tsugikuni!” She raised her voice, sounding way too much like their mother for her own good.

Her twin turned to her. All the powerful muscles of his back tensed up.

“Why are you yelling at me? This man was inappropriately touching you!”

She swore, if she had to remind him one more time that no one knew she was a woman, she was going to hammer it into his head with a mallet. Outwardly, Yoriichi merely shrugged.

“Welcome to the waking world, Aniue. Would you like to be introduced to my associates, now that you’ve terrified one and almost knocked the other out?” She said it in the calmest manner she could muster, which she was sure was extremely convincing given all three men were looking at her askew now. There was no forthcoming speech from anyone, so she gave a wane smile. “Good. Now let’s have some tea. I’m thirsty, and I have to check your wounds, Aniue. You’re not supposed to be doing anything as strenuous as fighting yet.”

It didn’t take long to get things set up. The few laymen they traveled with from the surrounding countryside of Tusgikuni Mansion overheard her request and started a campfire. In the end she simply sat with Michikatsu hovering on one side of her, and Haruki practically cuddling into her lap on the other. It was not amusing in the slightest how peeved her brother looked at this behavior. Though she thought he tolerated it because Haruki was quite small for eleven. Maybe only a foot taller than Akimitsu.

“Haruki, would you like to meet my anuie?” She asked, while handing the boy some tea. She always gave him food and drink first, even though some grown men balked at it. It wasn’t the right order of things. They’d complain. Why a snot-nosed brat over an honorable man in his prime?

Maybe she had love in her heart for this snot-nosed brat.

The boy took one look at Michikatsu, paled, and tried to hide into Yoriichi’s side. She didn’t mind, and just went on as if he’d said yes. All the while stroking his short hair. She noted someone had chopped it all wrong, leaving some strands much longer than others.

“Michikatsu is my older twin. I went home to pay my respects to our parents after our father’s passing.” It wasn’t a lie. She had gone into the family shrine and prayed for Father and Mother. Leaving an offering of candied lotus root, which was both of their favorite sweets. “Michikatsu decided to come with me to Edo for the return trip.”

She left it at that, because saying aloud that he did so out of a complex sense of attraction and possessiveness was something for only her to know.

“Ah! So that’s why you two look so alike!” Akio exclaimed. “Twins! What misfortune!”

“Watch what you say.” Michikatsu growled into his tea. “Lest more misfortune befall you.” Clearly he was referring to his fist connecting with Akio’s face. The result being a nice red and purple swelling around his eye.

Yoriichi went on as if this hadn’t happened. “Michikatsu, meet Haruki Kinoshita. Three years ago, when I was still a fledgling demon slayer…”

“HA! You fledgling! Better than all of us by the space of the earth to the sun from the moment you took up the blade!” Akio interrupted. She tossed a pebble at his head. It hit his chin, and he gave her a sheepish grin.

“When I was new to the corps, I had a mission on the Izu Islands. There was a demon infestation. A breeding ground preying on the local fishing population. Because of the storms of the season, I arrived there rather late, and found Haruki as the sole survivor of his village. He was only eight years old, but he evaded the demon every night. Like a brave little samurai.”

“Yoriiichiii!” Haruki complained with pink staining up his tan cheeks. “You’re so embarrassing!”

Michikatsu snorted, as if in agreement.

Yoriichi just smiled. “I’ve been taking care of him ever sense. The other slayers say he’s my son even though there’s no blood relation. So be nice to him, Ojii-san.” She couldn’t help elbowing her brother in the side, teasing him. He glared at her.

“You could have told me you adopted a kid.”

“You weren’t listening to anything I said. Especially not in your training. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten this…” She poked her fingers right below the stab wound she’d made to drain his blood. “It’s healing nicely though.” He glared at her, and she could tell he was biting back any harsh language about how she stabbed him. Turning away as if she hadn’t noticed, she motioned to Akio. “Akio Rengoku, meet my aniue. Michikatsu Tsugikuni.”

She felt Michikatsu’s gaze slide away, regarding the other man. 

“Rengoku? Of Sendai?”

“Haha! You’ve heard of my family?” Akio asked with a hearty laugh.

“Who hasn’t? The Rengoku’s are famously from the Eastern lands. I’d heard rumors that your family had odd hair, like spun gold. Didn’t think it was true.” Michikatsu grumbled and took another sip of his tea. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not really close to them. I’m the seventh son, and the last of twelve children. There was no place for me in Sendai.” Akio reached up to scratch at that interesting colored hair. 

There was a pause, and Yoriichi hoped for Michikatsu to apologize for punching Akio, but her brother looked off to the side, gripping his cup of tea.

“Michikatsu, Akio is the man who introduced me to the Demon Slayer Corps. He is a good friend of mine. That is why he hugged me.”

Michikatsu said nothing. Yoriichi wrinkled her nose slightly and turned back to Akio, who was looking back and forth between them with an eyebrow cocked. She didn’t know why he wore that curious expression, but it was best to wipe it off his face quickly.

“Akio-kun, how has Oyakata-sama been? Any chance I can introduce Michikatsu to him today?”

Akio’s dramatically wide eyes snapped in her direction, a soft frown playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry Yoriichi,” he sighed. “Oyakata-sama passed away three days ago. His son, Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki is secluded now, and will not be taking guests or messages until the mourning period has ended. May I ask Yoriichi-kun… if you are planning on introducing your brother to become a demon slayer?”

“No.” Yoriichi answered.

At the same time…

“Yes.” Michikatsu kept grumbling.

She immediately snapped her attention toward Michikatsu, who was staring equally perturbed at her.

“No,” she said firmly. “You promised me you were just going to talk to Oyakata-sama about my… status, and then go home to your family.”

“I haven’t learned anything yet.” He said flippantly. “Otouto, you’re a horrible teacher.”

Akio laughed in amusement. Haruki pulled away and put his hand over his mouth as if he too were going to laugh.

“Truer words have never been said, friend!” Akio reached out and slapped his hand on Michikatsu’s arm. “Has he given you the line about imagining sunbeams yet?”

He was… making fun of her?

“Only a thousand times.” Michikatsu huffed. But she saw it. A glimmer of mischief in his beautiful eyes.

“Oh! Yoriichi-kun always tells me to fill my stomach with air until I feel like I’m going to vomit. Did he do that to you, too?” Haruki bounced up and down as he kneeled.

What? Haruki? You too? Don’t… don’t make fun of me.

“Every hellish day of our travels, kid.” Michikatsu’s lips were tilting up into a smile. “Rengoku-san. He ever poison you and then lured a demon to you?”

Yoriichi was already flustered and blushing, but she didn’t miss how fast Akio’s jaw dropped. Or how still Haruki got. Her friends slowly looked from Michikatsu to her in stunned silence.

“Poison?” Haruki squeaked out.

Keeping her expression neutral, Yoriichi opened her mouth. “It was only a little wisteria poison for an exercise that you passed, Aniue. The two of you,” she pointed to Akio and Haruki, “have not yet reached the level of mastery needed over the breathing style to attempt this exercise.”

She was flummoxed when everyone laughed. And then overjoyed when coldness blossomed into friendly conversation, while she sat silent and blushing as Michikatsu dropped his prickly attitude and made new friends.

Chapter Text

Yoriichi had been very proud of herself a week ago when they first arrived in Edo, and she got to show off her home to Michikatsu. It wasn’t a mansion, like the home where they’d grown up, but it was nice. Clean even, which was a bit of a surprise since she’d left Haruki here by himself, and the boy barely knew how to pick up after himself, despite her attempts to scold him into it at every turn.

A good home owner, a good parent of sorts. A good demon slayer.

See Aniue, I can take care of myself.

She owned a generous parcel of land along the river in the center of town. On it was her home, two stories and humble, a private dojo the former Oyakata-sama insisted on building for her when she was recognized in Kyoto for a victory over a rather tough demon. She didn’t want the special treatment. Akio had been with her. If she got gifted another building, so should he. He’d just winked at her, and said since she had the better property she should just will it to him in the event anything ever happened to her.

She’d gone and changed her living will the very next day.

She’d been proud of herself when Michikatsu begrudgingly admitted he hadn’t expected her to live in a fine house. Then he teased her about the hut she’d brought him to that night they were reunited.

“Do you own all the little shacks around Japan, Yoriichi?”

“Some of them,” she’d shrugged and watched a thin eyebrow raise. A slight sideways smile graced her brother’s face.

“You understand I was teasing you, right?” he asked even more teasingly.

“I know.”

They hadn’t talked of it again. And now, after a full week back home, Yoriichi was worried her house wasn’t big enough. There were two bedrooms. The largest she’d gifted to Haruki, and filled with all the things a boy his age could want. The smaller room was the one she’d taken for herself. She didn’t own much in the way of trinkets. She had a small shrine to Amaterasu-omikami, a mirror with an abalone shell rim, a small blackwood box where she put her earrings when she slept. (Once she’d accidentally broken the delicate chain connecting the hanafuda card to the post, and sobbed uncontrollably because it was the one thing she had from her mother.) And a small flute that Michikatsu had made her when they were tiny.

The first night home Michikatsu had slept in the large room with Haruki… or… he was supposed to, but showed up pushing her aside on the futon in the middle of the night grumbling about the kid.

“I’ve seen people sleepwalk… but that was something else.”

Yoriichi just smiled and figured she’d solve the problem in the morning. She knew about Haruki’s weird sleepwalking. It didn’t bother her that her sweet kid practiced sword fighting in his dreams. If it kept him alive…

But the problem of Michikatsu sleeping in her room… in her bed… didn’t resolve itself the following morning, when she woke up with her toes in his armpit and his knee in her stomach.

Nor did it resolve itself the next day when they woke up in the middle of the night fighting over the covers.

Or the night after that (his head on her breast, hand between her thighs)… or after that (her hair in his mouth, her fingers digging into his hip).

And this morning they were greeted with the full spectacle of summer. Temperatures rising so quickly that they’d spent nearly the entire day in the river, swimming, fishing, and practicing the breathing style. And they were still sweating. She hoped for a cool down when the sun faded away, leaving the sky a dreamy wash of purple and blue. Mosquitos swarmed, and the hot humid air made everything miserable.

The house was too small. She fanned herself with a small paper uchiwa as she plopped down on her futon before rolling the covers to the bottom. Her skin was damp. Her hair uncomfortably tangled from the river water. She simultaneously wanted to untie it and brush it out, and keep it up so that it wouldn’t touch her neck.

“Yoriichi!! It’s so hot outside!!!” Haruki whined from the doorway. She glanced at the boy, whose nose was a bit sunburned. 

“I know.” She said this calmly, still waving the uchiwa. “It may help if you dunk a blanket it water and lay on it for the night, Haruki. I was planning on washing your bedding tomorrow, anyway.”

“Akio-san says you should hire a woman to do all your housework. Or get married.”

Yoriichi hummed instead of laughing. Akio had recently been married himself, though Yoriichi was sure the marriage was an obligatory social ruse to throw his family off of the fact that he was working for the Demon Slayer Corps. She’d met his eldest brother once, and the man was a terrible person, always wanting to pick apart the actions of his younger siblings. To make them into pawns for the interests of their clan. Not so dissimilar to her father.

The Rengoku family was not one of samurai but of court nobles, and Akio had told her privately that three of his brothers had been dragged off in the middle of the night, and castrated. Two were forced to serve as eunuchs for an emperor in the eastern lands, and one died bleeding out from the brutal surgery. All so his older brother could string his hands into money and political power. Several of Akio’s sisters conspired to keep him out of the same fate by forging an alliance with the previous Oyakata-sama, loaning him on behalf of the Rengoku family because the Ubuyashiki’s, though cursed in constitution, had pull with Ashikaga Shogunate… Yoriichi didn’t know how long that political pull was going to last since clan lords were becoming increasingly more powerful. Families fighting, dying out, new families rising. 

It made her think of the Taira clan. The clan that was by marriage rights her’s to control.

“I have no interest in marriage.” She told the boy, thinking of Uta’s sister, who was waiting for a favorable marriage that was unlikely to come. Or his female cousins, all of whom she still wrote to, blossoming into their teenage years and praying to the gods for good, honorable husbands.

It was crushing. The oldest one, Kimiyo, started receiving poetry from a boy in the Masumoto clan. She’d already begged Yoriichi for permission to respond. Yoriichi dutifully told her that a proper lady waits for five samples of poetry before a meeting with a potential suitor. 

And then she remembered she’d never been sent poetry. She’d never been wooed. She was ten years old, carted off to wed a man much older than her, and do her one job of bearing healthy children. Like an object. A vessel. 

“I’m not good at poetry…” she whispered, more to herself than to Haruki. She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to be pursued like that. What would it be like to marry a man closer to her own age? To have babies with someone she truly enjoyed the company of. To be bedded by a man whose body was more like Michika… She refused to allow that thought to continue, and refocused on Haruki, who was complaining about hiring someone to help with the chores. 

“No offence, Yoriichi, but you suck at everything except killing demons.”

She didn’t respond and didn’t have to.

“It’s too damn hot outside,” Michikatsu grumbled as he entered the room, and she nodded in agreement listlessly looking at her uchiwa. “Night, Haruki. Now scram. Go get your blankets wet. It’ll help cool you down as you sleep.”

“Yoriichi said the same thing!”

“It’s because it works.” 

The boy said his goodnights, and Yoriichi heard his feet plod down the hallway. She barely registered it when Michikatsu dumped wrung out blankets on the floor next to their futon. 

“Here you go, Michikatsu.” She turned to fan him too and then stuttered to a stop. He was crouched down by the bedside, putting his folded clothing on the tatami… completely naked.

“I swear, how bad are the summers in Edo, Imouto? Back home, it’s not quite this bad.”

Voice stuck, Yoriichi stared. Down his hairless chest, along lines of muscle, by the perfect dip of his navel. He was still talking, complaining about the heat, but her mind had gone elsewhere. She wasn’t sure where. Everything in her head was silent. 

Then Michikatsu leaned over and snatched the uchiwa out of her hand. He vigorously waved it in her face.

“Take off your yukata.”

“What!?” she really didn’t mean to squeal that as loud as she did. Michikatsu didn’t stop fanning her.

“It’s too hot to sleep with clothes on. You’ll make yourself sick. Besides, we’ve already seen each other naked.”

“May I remind you how we always wake up touching each other?”

Michikatsu snorted, as if he found this amusing. “Not in this weather, we won’t.” He kept fanning her. “Come on. Don’t make me undress you.”

Flushing, she turned away and undid the belt to her yukata.

“You could have worn something.” She was flustered, ripping off her clothing… not all of it. She was better behaved than her unruly, horny, stupidly sexy other half. Looking to her side, she noticed he was laying out the wet blankets over their futon, muscles rippling along his shoulders, through his back. He pulled back and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, and her knees shook.

He was perfection.

Perfection.

A god in all but his mentality.

Patient, trusting, loyal. And the kami’s above. She didn’t know how she was supposed to lie down with him without the aid of clothes to make her forget how brazenly empty she felt. How much she wanted to take him into her and somehow make them one.

Taking a steadying breath, Yoriichi climbed onto the wet blanket, relief from the humid summer night washing into her skin. But… it was a bitter relief. Her shoulders were tense. Yanked up by invisible strings. Back aching against the floor. Her body was pulsing with a deep betrayal of lust. Nervously, she curled her fingers over the shallow of her stomach. 

“Goodnight, Aniue.” Her voice didn’t reveal the turmoil inside her. She surrendered herself to sleep, hoping the hot night would make her an amnesiac for desire.

*

He’d promised her it was too hot to wake up touching each other, and he’d been sort of right. It was still a horrible temperature, made worse by the crashing humidity of a summer storm rolling in over the ink blotted skies of Edo.

They’d woken up at the first crash of thunder. And he discovered he’d been wrong about them not touching each other. Oh, so wrong. 

“Yoriichi…” he choked out his sister’s name, gripping the now dry bedding. Dangerously close to… “close…” he gasped when she rolled her hips over his. “So… close…”

She was breathing, soft, arousing moans. Rocking her wet cunt over his cock. Not joined, but adjacent. Sweat prickling his thighs. His fingers ached with how tightly he gripped the bedding.

“Yoriichi…” 

She answered with a moan. “Michikatsu… mmmm… you’re not even in me and it’s this good.”

The last syllable released him from the moment, the desperate curling heat exploding in his stomach. His spend shooting up over his chest, some of it hitting the corner of his mouth in a debauched, sinful way. 

He couldn’t stop shuddering under her. Under the sun, as she hummed down to him… perfectly serene. Expressionless. As if he meant nothing.

“What a face. Such a beautiful face, Anuie. I want to remember this forever, how you look under the moon.”

Thunder rolled, and a flash jolted his eyes open for real.

Real. 

Real as his heart slamming into his ribs. 

Sucking his breath in, Michikatsu lay there, disoriented. Yoriichi was not over him. Not treating him to a supple display of how much he craved her.

It was the most vivid sex dream he’d ever had. Fumbling around in the dark, he found what he thought might be Yoriichi’s yukata, wiped himself down, and sighed as he looked down at the soiled garment in his hands. His feelings choking as dark as the thunder clouds outside.

Maybe I should leave. His chest tightened at the thought, but it made sense. He had obligations back home. A family to raise, people to take care of. And… Yoriichi was fine. She had a home and was well taken care of. She had her own little family with Haruki, a wonderful friendship with Akio. Both blessings he was happy she had in her life, and pin pricked with jealousy that they had nothing to do with what he might offer her. She had the Demon Slayer Corps. Though he hadn’t met any of the rest of them, Akio had yapped his ear off about all their friends, and about Oyakata-sama (the recently deceased and the young man taking his place).

She was happy, and he was just complicating this for her. Inserting himself in her life as if they were the center of each other’s universes again… like when they were little. They weren’t little anymore. This had to stop. He was being selfish, sleeping next to her every night. Extraordinarily selfish to insist on being naked tonight.

He hated his dream wasn’t a reality. What god had it out for him to give him such a clear picture of exactly what he wanted, ripped it away from him, and made him jealous for fantasy?

Maybe this is one sided attraction. She was the sane one. Keeping a respectable distance. Treating him as any proper younger sister should treat their older brother… minus the putting his face in the dirt every time they sparred bullshit. He was still trying to figure out how to best her without resorting to any dishonorable trickery… though he’d thought about asking her to kiss him whenever he was about to fall. To hold him when he was on the ground. 

To get on her knees and let him yank her hair while… Michikatsu shuddered.

To never, ever poison him again, because that was not an experience he wanted to relive even if she was nice enough to nurse him back to health.

Maybe I should leave… tomorrow, before I do something I can't take back.

“Michikatsu? Are you awake?” Yoriichi sounded half asleep. There was a wide quality to her voice, like she’d said his name in the middle of a yawn.

“Yeah. The storm woke me up.” He said, motioning to the slat windows of her room. Every few minutes, another flash of light from the heavens illuminated the walls.

“Are you still afraid of storms?” 

He scoffed. “Do you think we are five? It was that one time.”

“I remember. We were on a boat visiting Mother’s family…” she trailed off.

“The Kanmon Straight. We got caught in a typhoon.”

“And we wrecked against the beach. You were terrified, but you carried me because the rocks were sharp and I didn’t have anything to wear on my feet.” Her words made it seem like they were fond memories, but Michikatsu was just staring into the darkness. He gave a humorless laugh.

“Sometimes, Imouto… I wonder if all our moments are of the past.”

“What do you mean?” He could hear her moving, sitting up by his side. She must have crossed her legs because her knee bumped into his thigh.

He sucked in a breath and tried to gather his thoughts. “I… I want…” Nothing came out, his shoulders slumped. He wanted to go back to sleep and not dream about things he couldn’t have.

But he was wide awake. The storm was still strong. He strung his fingers into the ruined yukata, and… 

“If I despised you, who are as beautiful
As the murasaki grass,
Would I be longing for you like this,
Though you are another man’s wife?” 

His words were a little rushed, a little breathless. Next to him, Yoriichi gasped, and he didn’t know what the gasp was for.

“Poetry? You’re reciting poetry for me?” Her voice had a trill to it. He hoped it wasn’t offence, but he couldn’t tell in the darkened room. As if he were in tune to every part of her, he heard her take a shuddering breath before launching into a response. A string of fate was taut between them. Red like the blood they shared.

“Do not let men find out
By smiling at me so apparently,
Like the clouds that clearly cross
Over the verdant mountains.”

In the dark, he didn’t think. He reacted. Pulling his sister into his lap, frantically drawing lines with his fingertips up her sides, over her breasts. He tilted her head back, fingers curled into her hair.

Their lips were only a breath apart, her heart pounding under the press of his fingers.

“I’m jealous of the world, Yoriichi. For taking you away from me. Keeping you from my side. Imouto, if you let me, I’ll love you like no one’s been loved before. Please, please Yoriichi. Let me keep you for myself.”

Yoriichi, the goddess, his sun, an incarnation of everything bright and beautiful, did not speak. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. She pulled him toward her, sealing their lips together. Flower petal soft, sweeter than anko mochi. 

A knock at the door startled them out of the kiss. Yoriichi scrambled out of his lap, leaving him achy.

The door did not open.

“Ah. Uh…. Haruki-kun?” She sounded flustered as she called out, and he had the sense of her searching in the dark. Likely for something to cover herself with if the boy came in. He knew even her closest friends didn’t know she was a woman.

“I’m sorry, Yoriichi!!! I didn’t want to wake you up, but Okudaira-sama and Kira-sama are here to talk to you!!” the boy said from the other side of the door. Michikatsu turned toward Yoriichi. Her friends. Well, sort of friends. Akio and Haruki had warned him that Yoriichi and Kaito Okudaira did not get along so well. 

Their rocky relationship had apparently come to blows right before Yoriichi set off to the Tsugikuni family home. The report he’d been given was that Yoriichi knocked the man out with a single punch to the face on the main road in Edo for an unknown offence neither of them would talk about, not even to their precious Oyakata-sama.

“It’s alright, Haruki,” Yoriichi replied calmly, and a moment later the lantern by the bedside glowed with a pale yellow light. “Tell my guests I’ll be with them in a moment.”

It was a turn of events Michikatsu didn’t want, especially when Yoriichi snatched her blue yukata from his hands, held in up, and immediately furrowed her brow.

“What got all over my robe?”

“Uh… oops?” Michikatsu couldn’t help blushing as her eyes seemed to burn holes into the garment.

“Michikatsu Tsugikuni!” she hissed. “You ejaculated on my yukata?” Those words were so quiet. Almost enraged. He teetered guiltily.

“Not exactly. I fell prey to it in my sleep and thought I was cleaning off with a blanket. I swear…”

“Liar.” She tossed the dirty clothing across the room. Leaning over his body, he found himself oddly intimidated by the cool look in her eyes. But he was a warrior, and as such refused to lean back. Yoriichi snatched his haori from his pile of clothes.

“Hey! That’s mine.”

She shrugged as she put it on and used the belt from her yukata to tie it shut.

“Well, not anymore, Aniue.” Her cheek brushed by his. “My clothes are in the soak bin downstairs, and that was my only yukata. You’ve forfeited a piece of clothing to me. Unless you want me to take all of it, and you can meet Okudaira-san and Kira-san looking like this?”

He squirmed and held back a moan, gnashing the inside of his cheek when she pressed her palm against his cock. He wasn’t hard, but it was still sensitive from the dream. Michikatsu snatched her wrist, prying her skin from his.

“Fine. You win my haori. Spoils of war! Good luck. It’s way too hot out for it.” He snapped. He grumpily pulled on his hakama, ignoring all else. Then he turned to look at her, standing up, her long legs pale and shapely. His haori barely went down to the middle of her thigh. And peering up into the crested darkness between her thighs, he could feel his heartbeat quicken.

She didn’t react except a small hum and the slight tilt of her head to the side as she looked down at him.

“I think you like the way I look in your clothing.”

Chapter Text

“There are TWO of you shitheads!” Kaito Okudaira screamed when Yoriichi and Michikatsu entered the tearoom. Screamed. Like he had never seen anything more offensive in his entire life. Like someone had swapped out his tea for cat piss, and then had the audacity to charge him for it.

Yoriichi deliberately unclenched her fists, plastering the most unimpressed look on her face she could muster. It was a good thing she did, because Michikatsu was so reactive he immediately went off. Without a formal introduction… or really any introduction at all.

“Who are you calling a shithead! SHITHEAD!”

“Okudaira-sama, Kira-sama… it is the middle of the night. Are you on your way back from a mission?” Yoriichi butted in, cutting her way in front of Michikatsu who, by the looks of things, was going to punch Kaito in his sweet, foul-talking mouth. The oldest of her friends, if she could consider him that, was twenty-four, brash, with hair as black as tar, and a haircut that reminded her of a bubble surrounding his very round head.

The quieter guest, Kiyomizu Kira, gave her a small nod, his narrow eyes never leaving her form as he analyzed everything as if it was an imminent battle. “We are. It started pouring and your house was the closest shelter from our departure. I apologize, Tsugikuni-san, for waking you.”

He wasn’t sorry, and Yoriichi knew it. It was a polite lie, though the part about seeking shelter in her home was likely not a lie at all. Even in the tearoom, which was directly below her bedroom, the sound of rain hitting the roof in sheets was loud.

Accepting the situation for what it was, because she couldn’t simply throw them out in a storm… Yoriichi gave a slight bow.

“I’ll make...”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Kaito interrupted suddenly. Yoriichi didn’t take a spare glance at her brother’s haori before rolling her eyes.

“Clothing? You didn’t expect me to meet you in my tearoom naked, did you Okudaira-san?”

The man bristled. Though his tan concealed any flush, his nose scrunched in horror at her words.

“You’re the one who keeps coming onto me.”

She bristled, dropping all pretense of formality and politeness.

“You wish, Kaito. I’ve seen what you’ve got to offer, and it’s nothing.” She didn’t mean it to sound like she’d seen his body (she had, in a battle where he’d been shot in the groin and she’d had to save his sorry life, but that was beside the point). The choked out sound Michikatsu made behind her reminded her they weren’t the only two people in the room. She dug a proverbial knife in harder to cover for her mistake. “As if the bastard son of the emperor, who couldn’t even make it as a ninja for the Oda clan, could ever compare to someone like me.”

“Fuck you!” Kaito roared, in an unhinged, manly style that was true to him. Only he could spout of insults with his lips curled up like he was about to relish in a feast fit for royalty. 

“See, couldn’t make it as a ninja. Too loudmouthed to be useful.” Her tone painted with perfect boredom. She glanced at Michikatsu when she said this, as if telling her brother a great secret about the man before them. Noting the strain around her brother’s mouth. His jaw clenched so hard it made the shape of his face seem more angular than it really was. 

Her eyes drifted into the transparent world and saw darkness encroaching on Michikatsu’s heart. Jealousy that Kaito had even an ounce of her attention, though that attention was largely negative. Jealous that this bastard disrupted their first kiss. 

Yoriichi was unhappy about that too. But as much as she was talking down Kaito’s reputation, smearing him in the mud in front of everyone, she needed to have Michikatsu understand. Kaito’s an ally. He’s a pain in my ass. He knows too much. And he is irreplaceable. 

“I think that is enough for tonight,” Kiyomizu said softly. “Wouldn’t want it to get back to Oyakata-sama that you two can barely be in each other’s presence without having a lover’s spat.”

Yoriichi wanted to die on the spot. Who knows, maybe Kaito did too.

Her voice raised an octave in horror, “Too stupid to think twice about barging into my home in the middle of the night, calling me and my brother shitheads, and then expecting obedient...” She wasn’t given the opportunity to finish the sentence. Michikatsu grabbed onto her wrist like a shackle and dragged her.

“A word, Yoriichi.” His voice was polite and calm, infused with a chill. But his hand branded her skin. Biting, she stumbled to catch up to him, as he yanked her out into the hallway of the tearoom. Past the bare walls of her home, and out to the garden where they were instantly soaked because the rain was slanting in sideways, making the engawa slippery.

He slammed her body up against the wall, and her eyes widened as she realized she was faced with full on wrath. Jealousy at its best. Michikatsu pinned her there, chest to chest, breath fanning along her cheek.

“You will never touch that swine again.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I never did. He’s…”

“Everyone seems to think you have.” He didn’t let her get her words out. Muting her with a vicious kiss. If it were any other man ravaging her mouth, she might have knocked them out. She might have fought and fought until they were no more.

But it was Michikatsu.

She was gasping into his mouth. Breathing in his scent. Dying in pleasure as his tongue licked hers. Possessive. Claiming. She’d barely even said yes to him. Hadn’t even let that word press from her lips. But he somehow knew she was his. Their hearts beat the same. In tune with each other from their very first palpitations.

He released the kiss, glaring at her with possessive intensity.

“Never…” voice ragged, deep. Thrumming into her soul.

“I won’t, Aniue.” She’d resorted to calm stoicism to counter her racing heart. “I never touched him. He guessed I was a woman. Asked me to be with him in exchange for silence, and I punched him so hard I broke his nose.”

Michikatsu chuckled, shifting against her. His arm slid around the small of her back, partially protecting her from the rain. It still slanted in sideways from the heavens. Her hair was slicked down to the side of her face.

“That’s my, Imouto.” His head dipped down, lips trailing along her jaw. “I want you to show me.”

“Show you?”

“Mmm.” He hummed against her skin. Stippling it into gooseflesh. Everything heated. There was so much pressure against her body. So much it was overwhelming. The arm not currently wrapped around the small of her back lifted from the wood wall. Gently dragging his fingers down her neck, tipping them under the collar of his haori. She gasped when he pulled the fabric away from her skin, disheveling her even though she’d never looked put together in the first place.

She remembered Kaito’s observation of her clothes.

“Michikatsu?”

His mouth was running down her neck. Lips brushing over her like a paintbrush along her bloodstream. Lustful ink in her blood, poetry in movement. In heat. No words about murasaki grass or sakura blossoms in the spring could compare to this seduction. Yoriichi wanted to be wooed, but was drowning in soul stealing enticement. Her heart was racing out of control.

“I want you to go in there…” he whispered, barely audible above the thunder and rain. “I want you to beat him. I want his blood on your floor. And I want you to do it wearing this…”

His teeth sank into the skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Shockingly painful, pressing. Her fingers twitched, and her breath sucking in her lungs, she scratched her nails over her brother’s back, wildly trying to dislodge him. Hopelessly falling into the dangerous pool of pleasure and agony settling deep in her pelvis. 

He held on long past when the bite throbbed, moaning openmouthed against her. Sucking. Drawing pitiful, hopeless moans from her mouth. At some point, he’d pulled her hands above her head, their fingers tangled together in perfect tension.

Yoriichi’s knees shook violently when Michikatsu popped his lips from her abused skin. Her eyes were open when he looked down on the mark he created and grinned.

“You know what I like on you more than my clothes?” he growled, eyes passing up over her neck, up to her eyes. “I like this… I want to mark you up. All over you. On your breasts, on your thighs… I don’t care who sees what I am going to do to you.”

“Michikatsu,” she moaned as his mouth pressed in closer to hers. His mouth surged forward, capturing hers in blistering heat. The wetness of their saliva touching each other. She yanked her head to the side, breaking from the kiss that was too intense. So intense she felt like she was drowning in him.

“You’re mine.” He nipped hard along her jaw.

Looking at her brother’s expression, intent written all over his face. No transparent world needed… Yoriichi’s breath caught harshly in her throat. Desire flooding her like a dangerous river about to sweep her to her death. The logical choice of fear chased those dark waters into the swamp of her heart.

“I never agreed to that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He countered and yanked her away from the wall.

*

They were granted a meeting with this Oyakata-sama his sister spoke so highly of in Chiyoda Castle, a half a day’s walk from Yoriichi’s home in Edo. And by granted, he really understood it was a summons. 

Despite his desperate plea, Yoriichi had refused to enact any sort of sound punishment on Kaito Okudaira. She’d bowed to them, soaking wet and disheveled the moment she entered the tearoom, promised them tea and a space to sleep. Michikatsu was over it, unimpressed and ready to stalk back upstairs to sulk himself to sleep, when Kaito noticed the fresh, bloody bite on Yoriichi’s neck.

The man flailed like an idiot, spouted off a lot of nonsense, and clever observations hinting at the taboo leanings of the twin’s relationship. Michikatsu barely listened to him, and Kaito foolishly started a fistfight, subtly confirming Michikatsu’s suspicions that the man had the audacity to lust after his sister after she’d already said no. 

The irony that he was essentially ignoring all of Yoriichi’s not so subtle ‘no’s’ was lost on his enraged mind.

They broke Yoriichi’s tea table, Kaito’s nose, and two of Michikatsu’s knuckles. Not in that order.

Yoriichi disappeared before the dust settled. Kiyomizu Kira, yanked Kaito away by his hair, and drew his damned sword on Michikatsu while screaming at him to stand down.

Michikatsu probably could have taken them both out even without a weapon, but at what costs? He realized quickly Yoriichi’s absence, lobbed horrid insults at the two other men, and angrily plodded his way upstairs. 

Michikatsu found himself locked out of Yoriichi’s bedroom. 

That might have had some influence over his current mood. It was a nice, peaceful walk through a fishing village around the same size as the hovel near the Tsugikuni Mansion. In fact, it would have been perfect had the morning not gone the way it had.

Yoriichi had yet to say a single word to him. She was still wearing his haori, tied up to look slightly more decent than it had the previous night. All she’d done was shoved a letter into his face when she woke him up in the hallway outside of her bedroom sometime in the middle of the day.

Oyakata-sama wished to speak to them now.

Michikatsu had seen castles, from a distance, during battle, but their family home was a mansion, not one of these five storied monstrosities. In his last battle, he’d witnessed a coalition of clans attempt a storming of Himeji Castle, and fail horribly. Men drowned under the weight of their armor in a moat, or were shot through with arrows.

Chiyoda Castle wasn’t as large, but Michikatsu instinctively understood the tactical advantage lodged into its very design. He was a man born and raised for the glory of war, after all.

He was so busy examining the architecture that he was completely blindsided when he was shoved rather sharply into the moat. Spluttering, he splashed up to the surface where he found Yoriichi looking down at him, crouched at the end of the walkway to the front gates. Completely emotionless.

“Demons don’t drown, you know.” Her voice was a listless hallow, and he somehow hadn’t expected that to be the first thing she said to him after last night. He'd hoped, that despite her clear upset, her amiable nature would win out. “We are all born in the waters of our mothers’ wombs, knowing this skill. And yet, we somehow unlearn it while our lives are filled with all the other things we learn.”

“Why’d you push me in the water?” he bemoaned. “You know I can swim. It’s a false exercise.”

She said nothing, just looking at him for a second more before standing up and walking off without him.

He had to swim halfway around the castle before he found a spot suitable to climb up and free himself of the muck growing at the bottom of the moat. As it was, he was angry as hell at her, angry as hell he’d lost his footwear in the struggle with the pond grass, and stomping like a madman towards the entrance of the castle.

Michikatsu’s clothes stuck to him heavily, and his breath huffed out between his teeth. He wanted to throw a fit and tussle her into the dirt. He wanted to tear his haori back from her body.

Why is she acting like this? He seethed to himself, searching for her past the open doors.

“Tsugikuni-dono, please come with me.” A little girl, perhaps a year or two older than his children, startled him from around the corner. She wore a pretty red kimono with many multi-colored layers, like a miniature oiran. The child wore a small smile. “Your brother is waiting for you in the garden.”

It was a strange enchantment, that child’s sweet voice. The heavy aura of his negative feelings was lifted from his shoulders. It was a fleeting feeling of dizziness, curiosity. He tilted his head to the side as the girl child turned around and walked away, clearly expecting his compliance.

Alright.

Before long, they came out to a garden of winding plum and wisteria trees, and a white lacquer azumaya engraved with burned out ofudas. 

In the azumaya, Michikatsu could see the figure of a man. A man sitting on an ornate red yoke-back chair that must have been imported from the eastern empire. He wore all white, which starkly contrasted his black hair styled in a formal chonmage. 

“Why hello, Michikatsu-san. The day is beautiful, isn’t it? Not too humid like yesterday.” The man’s eyes focused on nothing, and as Michikatsu drew nearer, he could tell Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki was likely a few years younger than him, blooming into his late teens. But there was something wrong with him. His skin was a swampy yellow tint. Lesions littered his face. His irises bleed their color into the whites of his eyes, destroyed in a sickly-looking agony. 

How he knew Michikatsu without the ability to see him was beyond Michikatsu’s comprehension. Maybe this man also saw through the world with his dead eyes?

“The storm helped.” Michikatsu said after a moment, stepping up into the open room, eyes immediately traveling along the floor where Yoriichi was kneeling, bowed so low she might as well have been trying to sink into the stones.

“Indeed.” Fuyuhito responded softly. Michikatsu watched as the young girl who’d led him here walked up to the sickly man and took his hand. A gentle and sweet gesture.

“Father,” she whispered, and Michikatsu quirked an eyebrow. It didn’t seem plausible that their relationship was that. Fuyuhito would have been… almost too young, for that sort of thing when this girl was born. But his vision slipped into the transparent world and he saw no lie. Father and daughter. The man having been very much a child himself when she was born.

“Hm.” Fuyuhito hummed. “Yoriichi. Kaito said you were injured. Please show Ai.”

Michikatsu’s spine stiffened when Yoriichi obediently brought herself up from the floor. He watched her hand tremble as she pulled aside the material of his haori and revealed the love mark he’d placed on her. It didn’t look so pretty in the daylight. Last night it had been a bloom of red and purple, and exotic flower, but in the garden’s light it had transfigured into solid greens and yellows… like dying moss.

“It is a human bite mark.” The little girl, Ai, said nonchalantly. “Between Yoriichi-dono’s shoulder and neck. It may have bled, but it is healing. There is no sign of infection.”

Fuyuhito hummed again. “And do I have to ask you, Yoriichi, precious one…” Michikatsu bristled at the endearment. “How you were injured? I know what Kaito thinks.”

It was probably a good thing the man could not see, as Michikatsu saw his sister’s skin bloom with the burn of embarrassment.

Internally, he cursed. This was not the intended outcome. He’d promised her silence about her identity, as much silence as he could muster about her being a woman. Did he really mess that up so badly already?

Michikatsu crossed his arms over his chest defensively and blurted the words out before Yoriichi could calmly defend herself. “I bit him.” He growled out. “By accident. I was drunk out of my mind on sake when those two idiots showed up in the middle of the night and started a fight. I tried to stop it, pulled Yoriichi away, and passed out in my intoxication. When I came to, I’d bitten my brother.”

Yoriichi had not moved at all from where she sat, eyes cast peacefully before her. But he could see in her heart. He knew the rush of her blood, and could tell… she was disturbed by the lie. That wasn’t surprising. She rarely lied. But mixed in with that was a gratefulness pouring through her veins. Or at least what he interpreted as gratefulness. Whatever it was, her heart was fluttering for his viewing pleasure.

“I see.” Fuyuhito remarked, of course incapable of seeing. “Yoriichi.”

“Oyakata-sama…” her voice was so soft.

“I am not pleased that Michikatsu fought Kaito and Kiyomizu. Infighting among demon slayers is too dangerous. Too many lives rely on us to be dragged down by this.”

“Yes, Oyakata-sama.”

“However, they both reported his strength. Great strength, if I remember Kaito saying.” Fuyuhito chuckled as if there were more to that story, and Michikatsu bet there was. “I will endorse Michikatsu Tsugikuni as a demon slayer under two conditions.”

There was a thick silence that rolled up Michikatsu’s back. Conditions. He cursed internally, torn between his conflict of duty to his family and desire to follow Yoriichi to the ends of the earth.

“The first is that you resume training Kaito in this breathing style. Despite your differences, his capabilities as a warrior increased tenfold when you began training him. And the second is that Michikatsu is no longer to touch alcohol.”

Michikatsu might have thought Yoriichi would refuse and send him home, but she bowed her head dutifully. As if this were a command she had no say in. It might have been. He wasn’t so certain. He’d never seen a dynamic of master and soldier quite like this. With a sort of inveigling sticky quality that nearly rubbed him the wrong way. He remembered in a cold wash the man’s term of endearment. Precious one. His heart thumped an odd rhythm that made him sick to his stomach.

“As you wish, Oyakata-sama. Thank you for your gracious blessings.” She bowed twice more, forehead touching her fingertips each time before standing.

“Oh!” Fuyuhito exclaimed suddenly. “I smell pond weed. Did one of you fall into the moat?”

Michikatsu shot a glare at Yoriichi, only to melt at the hazed out look in her maroon eyes. 

“Yoriichi pushed me in.” He tattled with a smirk. But then he reached out and placed his hand over the spot he’d bit. “I might have deserved it, though.”

“Hm,” Fuyuhito hummed as if amused. “Sobering, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Alright. I will not keep you waiting. Michikatsu, be on the lookout for your first mission. We try not to send our slayers out alone, but the infestation’s been getting worse as of late. There may be times when you have to think and battle alone.”

He didn’t mind. Even surrounded by the Tsugikuni armies, he’d always been alone, held above everyone else. Expected perfection from title and birthright. He was unaware if anyone but himself expected that of him.

Fuyuhito wasn’t quite done, “Oh, and Ai… have him meet with one of our sword smiths.”

“Understood, Father.” The little girl bowed and let go of his hand. “Please, follow me.” She peered at Michikatsu with a bright, open gaze.

“I’ll meet you back home.” Yoriichi said lowly. “I have some errands to do.”

Michikatsu kept a straight face as he gave her a nod of acknowledgement, but his heart was racing. Home. Their home. Not hers, one he’d successfully implanted himself in, becoming a feature of that she could never scrub out of the walls.

He knew those walls were going to be the witness to a great many things.

Chapter Text

Michikatsu knew within an hour of leaving Oyakata-sama’s garden what his first assignment was. Ai Ubuyashiki took him to see a sword smith who insisted on some silly ritual about picking out the ore for his sword. He was assuming, and hoping, that it was simply a ritual and that the eccentric man did not actually expect him to know anything about minerals. A rock was a rock in his eyes. He didn’t know what made any sample more special than the last.

Ai gave him two spare demon slayer uniforms, black hakama, black haoris. The royal chrysanthemum crest and ‘destroy’ embroidered in a discolored white on the back. At first Michikatsu had been confused by the crest, but Ai deftly informed him the Demon Slayer Corps was endorsed by both the Emperor and the Shogunate in a rare, tenuous, united front against the problem. He found that interesting, as he’d only ever heard of the organization from rumors, even though the Tsugikuni clan was one of many samurai families fighting for the Shogunate. 

Neither of the uniforms packed away in the Ubuyashiki storehouse fit him well. Though the little girl noted the uniforms were extras owned by Yoriichi, and put into storage because of various imperfections. The embroidery was stained beyond saving, with rusty red-brown spots, and frayed. There were patches in various spots, along the knees and elbows. A sloppy sewed up portion right where it lay on his hip, and the hems were unraveling. They were at least tall enough for him, even though they were tight. 

He knew he looked like a fool in them.

And within an hour of killing his first demon as an official demon slayer, he was tasked with a second assignment… and then it simply snowballed into an avalanche of assignment after assignment after hell ridden assignment, all leading him as far away from Edo as possible.

Suspiciously, all these missions rode a current to the south, along the same road he and Yoriichi had taken to start their journey. Eleven days in, and halfway home along the breakneck pace he’d put himself through, he gritted his teeth and determined that somehow Oyakata-sama must have been directing him back to Tsugikuni Mansion. Must have been leading him home, and it might have been Yoriichi’s request.

She told me to stay home…

He hadn’t seen her since that moment in Oyakata-sama’s private garden. Hadn’t even really said goodbye.

Michikatsu wondered if she was still upset. He ruminated on it, obsessed over his memory. He didn’t even know why she was upset. She’d met his advances. She’d recited the proper verse of poetry back to him. Didn’t that mean something?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her lips, about his dreams, about that void look on her face when she watched him swim in the moat.

What are you thinking, Yoriichi? He longed to ask her this question and to listen to her response. Though if he asked, he knew he would mostly get nothing. Just that forever expressionless look on her face. The one he strove to mold to his liking.

Somehow, on the second day of traveling, a courier on horseback found him along the road. Hailing him down and delivering a sword that looked suspiciously bland and unfinished. Hammered out with haste. No decoration, no nothing. The handle was not even properly wrapped. It was all bare metal, without even a samegawa to shield his hand from the steal. He’d simply looked at it in confusion, almost ignoring the man on horseback trying to hand off the stupid thing, before taking it in his hand.

How disappointing. It wasn’t what he expected. It had none of the sleek elegance of Yoriichi’s sword. None of the beautiful artistry. It was barely good enough to give a foot soldier. 

It was an insult. A stain on his honor and pride. He wore it anyway, alongside the one he’d been hacking down demons with the entire night before. 

Ten days later, he still hadn’t used it. Hadn’t drawn it. Had almost forgotten its spot on his hip. Bare without even a scabbard to protect the sharp edge. How dumb. Everywhere he went, people looked at his odd clothes and this unfinished sword. He saw smirks, heard giggles. Knew he looked an idiot or insane. 

But he followed the messaging system of the demon slayers. It was a flock of domesticated crows trained to deliver messages tied to their legs. He was unsure how the one that kept following him around was keeping track of him, but figured they might be a bit like dogs intellectually. Dogs that screeched and cawed and dive-bombed his head every time he emerged victorious in battle. If it tried to perch in his hair again, he was going to rip off its wings.

He patiently proceeded to every target in curiosity and increasing anger. He wasn’t even mad at the demons, just the situation. Which seemed dumb in and of itself, but they were just enemies. He had no grudges, just body counts.

Michikatsu kept on, until this moment, standing in front of the Kasuga-taisha. The lantern shrine of Nara, very close to where he was reunited with Yoriichi months ago. But instead of her waiting for him here, he was standing in the middle of the road glaring at the jackass Kaito Okudaira. Who for his part was glaring right back at Michikatsu.

“Huh. I guess Oyakata-sama wants us to put aside our differences,” Kaito said smoothly. His voice was like sake. Sake sounded good in Michikatu’s irritation. He didn’t even enjoy drinking, and being here, ragged from traveling, in front of this jackass, made him want to drown in a maudlin delight.

“Hm.” Michikatsu responded with the taxing effort of appearing bored instead of pissed off. “Where’s Yoriichi?”

Kaito put on a scowl, narrowing his shit brown eyes. “She got sidetracked with a mission south of here. We drew sticks to see who’d have to meet with your sorry ass.”

Keep calm. Michikatsu couldn’t help his heart from crunching in on itself, but he was certain he kept his feelings from his face. How far south? Is she close to home?

“And the demon?”

Kaito glanced left, then right, then pointed a skinny finger to the cloudless blue sky. “How would I know, shithead? It’s midday. No one knows where they go during the day.”

That seemed silly because, obviously, they had to go somewhere. Michikatsu bet it was places dark and cold. Places where the light of the heavens never shined at all. Caves. He cocked his head to the side, randomly glancing up as if he could see what Kaito’s point was.

“Are there any cave systems in this area?” Even though Nara was closer to his home than Edo, he’d rarely, if ever, ventured here. The Tsugikuni clan and the local Yagyu’s were never friendly with each other, draping loose alliances with each other like spiderwebs that were swept out of homes the second the flies were gone. Michikatsu was fairly certain that this town was the site of one of his great-grandparents’ murders. Blamed on the Yagyu. Father’s first wife had been a Yagyu girl, but she’d died in childbirth so Michikatsu never met her, and Michikatsu’s mother hadn’t been from nobility or samurai clans, but a simple traveling miko tending the shrine to Amaterasu Omikami in the town right under the shadow Tsugikuni Mansion.

His trainer, Fujimura, told him once that it had caused quite a stir when his father elevated this simple peasant, this plain and pious priestess, to nobility by marrying her. And some of their enemies liked to taunt Michikatsu on the battlefield about his parentage. 

The story he’d heard was that his father had marched into the sun goddess’s shrine, made an offering of tsukimi dango and sake, demanded the gods let him have the beautiful priestess Akeno, and didn’t wait for their answer brazenly throwing off her clothes and defiling the temple with conception.

Certainly Michikatsu and Yoriichi’s birthday aligned uncomfortably with the timing of that story.

“There’s a system west of the town line. Home to an onsen embedded in the mountains.” Kaito confirmed dourly.

“Lets go there then. That will probably be the spot we will find the creature. And I’d like to get on with it and return home.” He didn’t know which home he was referring to. The home he felt detached from where Chiyo and the children waited for him, or the home where Yoriichi lived.

They traveled together in silence, past the roads of the commerce town, out toward the narrow forest before the mountain. Michikatsu noted a large herd of deer nearby. All looking at them with huge black eyes.

It was strange they had no fear. It was uncanny to be watched by all those wide expressionless eyes. Michikatsu shook off his unease.

“So you don’t seem to know Yoriichi very well,” Kaito said after a few minutes, instantaneously raising ire within Michikatsu’s blood. Like the upwelling of lava out of a volcano. “She doesn’t like hotheads like you.”

He’s trying so hard… I will not budge. I will not confirm this man’s suspicions.

“And who do you think Yoriichi likes?” he asked blandly, summoning the resolve to remain as flat as a dying pond.

“Sensitive types,” Kaito snorted. “Ones that will write her poetry and mean it. Count me the fuck out. If I wanted anything to do with that shit, I would have stayed in the court with my spineless father.”

He wasn’t wrong about the poetry, and somehow that irritated Michikatsu more.

“Hm.” He frowned, stepping over a log that had fallen into the path to the caves. “I think Yoriichi would like an end to speculation.”

“I’m not just guessing about her gender, shithead. She has tells that any idiot could figure out if they weren’t so fucking wowed by her fighting ability.”

“Tells?” Michikatsu was curious. He wasn’t looking for tells. He knew the truth, but wondered how Kaito figured it out. Michikatsu wasn’t sure if he should continue to converse, though. It seemed Kaito had made up his mind. Searing Yoriichi’s identity in his mind. An absolute. A law of nature. Would it be betraying Yoriichi’s trust to indulge Kaito enough to find out how the man knew?

Or would it help Yoriichi? Would Michikatsu be able to go to her with information that she’d want? Will she be happy with me if I help her? His mind drifted into a hazy fantasy of physical praise. Kisses on his lips, on his neck, on his thighs. Michikatsu blinked heavily, trying to refocus his mind.

“Don’t be dumb. It’s obvious.” Kaito didn’t elaborate as they got to the entrance of the caves. 

They stepped in together. Past a white tori gate that marked up its entrance. Michikatsu noticed a sign, briefly, something about benefits the spring provided. Like an advertisement one might find at an apothecary. Miasma tonic, gout relief, insomnia cure, fertility potion, colic remedy…

He thought it was silly. Hot springs felt good, and that was the reason people’s moods increased when they went. Not any miracle cure for human ailments. The sign was a gimmick for raising money, for sure.

The cavern was artificially enlarged. The ceiling remained a natural formation of hanging stalactites, like the jagged teeth of a beast or demon. Each pointed tip slowly dripping mineral rich moisture, cave saliva, from it. But the walls were refined, chiseled down to a smooth finish, and painted over with care. Brush strokes of bamboo, and spider lilies. Of sacred mountains, graceful herons, and the bright red sun. 

Everything was steamy and warm. A gentle mist rolled along the tiled floors.

Michikatsu immediately had the sense of something being off, and not in the same way he felt when he came upon demons. Demons had a very visceral sensation about them, an aura, a yoki, that emanated from their lifeblood and crawled along his flesh like a subtle shadow. 

This feeling was the sharp twang of tension. He’d felt it in battles before, where he’d been ambushed in less than honorable tactics. This feeling was a scream in his pulse, shifting vision to a survival red.

He drew his sword immediately, and out of the shadows emerged about thirty men. Most wearing uniforms in much better condition, though structurally identical to the one he donned.

Ahead of him was the short Kiyomizu Kira, with his blue black hair tossed back in a low knot. He wore the demon slayer uniform, but distinguished himself with an uwa-obi of the brightest teal Michikatsu had ever seen in his life. And next to him was somehow an even smaller man… so short he looked almost like a child, with the physique of a boulder. A bald, deep wrinkled man, whose bare arms rippled with graphic, raw musculature. His yukata was a bamboo green, with black embroidery proclaiming ‘destroy’ across the front panel.

The strange-looking goblin of a man grinned, with most of his teeth missing.

“Kaito. Good job bringing him here.”

“Fuck off. Yoriichi already warned you not to do this,” Kaito grumbled as he picked at his nails. Michikatsu narrowed his eyes at the attitude. What is this? They are all demon slayers. There are no demons here. What would Yoriichi warn them against?

“He’s just sorry his initiation was so painful.” The man said and slid his gaze to Michikatsu. “You look just like him, just like I heard.” He gave an insincere bow, curling brown hair falling over his shoulders. “My name is Daichi Yamamoto. I run all the field operations for the corps, since Oyakata-sama is unable to be out here with us.”

Hesitantly, Michikatsu lowered his sword and gave a polite bow back.

“Michikatsu Tsugikuni.” He replied, but kept quiet, understanding this was no friendly meeting. This was a test.

Likely, one Yoriichi had been silently training him for. Because at the heart of every demon was a human. The corruption was within.

“Kaito said you’re a true born and bred samurai. A rich bastard with a castoff, spare of a brother. Are you an idiot?” Daichi mused loudly, and his words prompted a peel of laughter from the surrounding men.

Baka… baka… baka… the word was a low humored chant after that.

Raising an eyebrow, Michikatsu tried to follow. “No. And Yoriichi is not a cast off. Do not insult…”

“You pledged to us. The lowest fighters in Japan. Willingly giving away status and wealth? For what? Do you have a grudge against demons? That might be acceptable, right Kiyomizu? Right Kaito?”

“Right,” both men replied in unison.

“I can’t say I do.” Voice even, Michikatsu made a quick assessment that the other corps members were creeping in closer.

“If there is no grudge, perhaps you are like your twin and ordained by the gods to pick up the sword against those abominations.” Kiyomizu spoke up beside Daichi. Striking sea colored eyes piercing the space between them.

That sounded like an explanation Yoriichi might have come up with given this same harsh questioning. Michikatsu kept quiet. Not that he didn’t believe in the gods, it was that he never heard them. If they spoke to Yoriichi and guided her along the path of life, they’d shown a severe amount of antipathy on his part.

“It’s no matter, Kira-san,” Daichi scoffed at his continual silence. “Tsugikuni-dono has to prove worthiness and dedication, just like everyone else had to.”

The embarrassingly tattered uniform suddenly made sense. The unfinished sword was a layer of humiliation. This was an initiation ritual. And a brutish one at that. A coordinated attack. Daichi made a motion with his rugged left hand, and seven men rushed Michikatsu.

He tossed his sword aside and dodged. Twisting out of the reach of blades that were coming down at him as if there would be no hesitance to kill.

“Huh.” Kiyomizu hummed loudly. “That’s the first thing Yoriichi did, too. Throw away your weapon… how foolish!”

Michikatsu slammed his palm up against the hilt of one man’s sword, forcing the blade to bounce up to his head and knock the blunted side against his face. He carefully kicked the opponent away and almost didn’t dodge another strike.

“Oyakata-sama expressed his dislike for demon slayers fighting each other.” Michikatsu called back, so very grateful for Yoriichi’s lessons in breath control. With them, he sounded unbothered instead of cripplingly asthmatic. The humidity of the onsen felt like it was layering moisture in his lungs, filling him up to the point of drowning.

He kept moving. Dodging, striking out. Keeping a calm head through the severely overwhelming nature of the situation.

Warfare was often a one-on-one battle. Fought in honor and a code of conduct older than his grandparents. 

This… was… unseemly. Ungentlemanly. Crass. He was goddamned disappointed in the structural deficiencies of the Demon Slayer Corps. It offended his well bred sensibilities, and he bet they knew it would. They were betting on the offenced of his aristrocratic sensibilities. Would it make him fight sloppy? No. Michikatsu shucked off the irritant and accessed the transparent world just like he did in fights against demons.

“Oyakata-sama is a gentleman with a weak body. We honor his dedication, and yet he doesn’t know what it is like to be on the battlefield. To put trust in the skills of men around you,” Daichi argued. Michikatsu batted away two more men. Then a third. And as each opponent tapped out, a new man from the crowd surged forward. But soon they started doubling their numbers.

I’m going to have to fight them all. It’s too many. No man is this blessed.

Michikatsu was a pragmatist. Understanding when a fight was not winnable. And this one was up there. Even if they didn’t kill him, he was going to wish they had.

“You understand, don’t you? Tsugikuni-dono?” Kiyomizu Kira appeared in front of him, swinging a sword in the cold-tone hue of a winter sky. Although the blade sliced into Michikatsu’s thigh, Kiyomizu yanked the sword back with phenomenal control, preventing serious injury.

The shallow, bleeding cut smarted.

“You could have simply tapped Kaito’s ability to spy to discover my battle history.” Michikatsu grumbled, and hesitantly… so hesitantly… snatched the unfinished sword from his belt.

He needed something to defend with.

Metal clashed against metal, and the loud sound seemed to be a deterrent. The shock of the strike zipped up Michikatsu’s arms, painfully unmitigated with the lack of a proper handle. Many of the other slayers scrambled back. Leaving Kiyomizu and Michikatsu locked in a battle of wills along a small path between two steaming pools of water.

Kiyomizu exhaled a scant breath, his eyes no longer on Michikatsu’s but on the spot where their swords crossed.

“Daichi, Kaito, you were both wrong. Tsugikuni-dono simply hadn’t used the nichirin blade.”

Eyes flitting to where Kiyomizu was looking, Michikatsu found himself in wonder. Spreading along the unfinished silver was a curl of black. As dark as a moonless night with a notare hamon as emergent as a moonbeam along the length.

“Baka. You mean you fought all the way here with a fake blade?” Kaito screamed, coming up to the side of them. The man shoulder checked Kiyomizu out of the way, dislodging the standstill. Then he shoved his face close to Michikatsu’s newly tinted sword and peered at it with a scrutinizing eye. “Shit, when you get this polished up it’s going to look better than Yoriichi’s!”

There were several conflicting thoughts trampling Michikatsu’s tired and confused brain at that moment, so he wasn’t too surprised when his mouth blurted the first dumb thing he latched onto.

“A fake blade?”

“Yep. Just a good old boring katana. All the shit in the storehouse is useless junk from our lives before we came to the corps. I’ve been following you for days. I thought you were using the right blade because you wreck demons like a tsunami!”

Michikatsu blinked at the backhanded compliment. “Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it, shithead.”

“Wait. You’ve been following me?” he spluttered, yanking his sword back. “Has Yoriichi been with you? Was that a lie about drawing straws? WHERE IS YORIICHI?”

Kaito was glaring at him with something akin to amusement, but then his smooth voice dropped low.

“If I tell you she’s been fretting around in the dark trying to prevent the others from indoctrinating you, are you going to fuck her silly, or are you going to kill her?”

Face burning in apoplectic rage, Michikatsu roared and swung the stupid, beautiful, unfinished sword at Kaito’s neck. Only this move instantly drew the others in. Kaito unsheathed his katana, one hued the same shade as spring leaves in the sunlight. He crossed and blocked Michikatsu’s strike. 

Kiyomizu descended like a waterfall, picking up a strike where Kaito defended. And Michikatsu knew, just by how smoothly they moved together, that they learned in tandem. But their smooth fighting was still possibly avoidable until the moment Daichi unleashed a torrent of strikes from a savage weapon that had no true place in honorable combat. Two large metal spiked balls attached to a chain that seemed able to grow and shrink with every swing.

Michikatsu didn’t even know how to avoid that weapon.

And thus he counted himself as damn lucky that they weren’t trying to kill him, as that odd chain encircled his body, and in a breath stealing jolt crashed around him. Imprisoning him.

Chapter Text

Yoriichi’s cheek scraped against stone and dirt. Bleeding after a direct hit to a sharp rock. Tears welled up in her eyes, slipping out and stinging the cut fiercely. All she could smell was the iron of her blood, and the nauseating sulfur of the onsen.

“Michikatsu…” she wailed his name as if he were dead. As if her whole heart had collapsed in agony.

Her hands reached for nothing, nails scraping into the ground until they split and bled. She grunted with distress and tried to scream at them again. But there was pressure between her shoulder blades, preventing her lungs from working properly.

“Calm down, Yoriichi.” Akio was holding her down by pressing one arm into the earth. Kaito by the other. Haruki sitting on the small of her back. They’d tripped her with rope and slung up her right leg, which was the only reason she wasn’t still running.

“Let me go.” Breathless, her voice sounded tiny. She struggled against them again, kicking her bound leg with futile, forlorn energy. 

“Yoriichi, stop.” Kaito smacked the back of her head. “You’re acting like a mother hen. Your shithead brother agreed to be a part of this, and you know this is how you get in. Daichi and Kiyomizu will test him regardless of whether you approve. You might as well let it get done with.”

She gritted her teeth, pressing her forehead into the dirt, sweat dribbling down in distress.

“I don’t disapprove of a test. But not this test.”

“Michikatsu-san is a seasoned warrior. I heard he slew twenty-two demons on the way here.” Akio’s bright voice was meant to be reassuring. He’d taken on his ever hopeful, looking to the future tone. She knew this, but her skin was crawling.

“We’ve killed eight men in the last year with this test,” Yoriichi hissed, guilt writhing through her blood. She knew it was horrible. From the moment she underwent it, to the last trial she witnessed, she knew that the Demon Slayer Corps was the only hope for humanity… and, very much like the demons themselves, a reflection of all that was wrong with people.

She’d only managed to save Haruki from it… and even that would not last forever. The stay on his initiation was solely because she’d begged Daichi to take his age into account.

The diminutive man scoffed at her and asked her how many children she thought picked up swords every day? How many children lied, and stole, and murdered… became demons themselves? He was not wrong, and Yoriichi’s heart ached all the same.

Haruki was very skilled, possessing better breath control than any man she knew, save Kaito. Though when she learned he'd been reef diving to help with ocean harvests since he could remember, it didn't surprise her. The boy was growing up before her eyes. Even though he looked nothing like her oldest child, the son who died stabbing a kitchen knife into the throat of the bastard that killed them all, she couldn’t help the shallow pit of loss that threatened to swallow her heart.

Haruki reminded her of Michikatsu. 

Not 'Michikatsu' her brother. Michikatsu, her firstborn, the little boy whom she named after her beloved brother, because Uta had been away at war when he was born. She was lonely. She was homesick. Yoriichi would have done anything in the world to see Michikatsu again.

Anything.

It only made sense in that deep sorrow to honor the brother she had lost. The boy she thought she’d never see again. And no one in the Taira family called her son by that name. She’d been beaten for impudence when Uta’s armies returned home, and he declared the boy would be called Kagewaki. 

She just wanted the people she loved to have good lives. Happy lives. No more tests, no more demons, no more sad goodbyes. Yoriichi growled into the dirt, and wrested her arm free of Akio, who yelped at the sudden upset. 

“Yoriichi, please calm down. I’m sure your brother is fine!”

“You don’t know that!” She tossed Haruki, almost made it to her feet, and then was slammed down again with Kaito’s full weight on her back. Choking her into the ground.

“Did you guys even give Yoriichi the sedative!?” he cried out accusingly.

“Whaaahhhh!! She drank it! Don’t scream at me!” Haruki cried. Oh the betrayal...

Thrashing, Yoriichi caught Kaito’s eye for a second. His pretty features twisted into terrible, vein-popping concentration. “Why are you still fighting?” he screamed. There was a bit of a rumble, some words exchanged behind her. She didn’t care to listen. They would not stop her; it was as useless a task as trying to stop the sun from shining.

Something squirming deep in her gut. Dragging her… A memory flooded her like a river opened into her veins, like the sunrise over the eastern ocean… her son’s hands were slick with blood. The demon’s crimson eyes peered down at her, unruffled by the child hanging dead from his neck. A grisly, sad little charm.

“So pitiful. Life is so cruel.” He’d said with a gilded tongue. A tongue that sourced all the hatred in the world. Not even a demon… a god of spite of void. He was a deity of a pansophical burning hatred for everything entropy could touch. “Was this your child, woman? Do you feel sad that it’s ended? So meaninglessly? Do you want something more?”

Yoriichi didn’t know why she lived. The thing, that disgusting, horrid monster, tore the knife her boy held onto even in death out of his throat. He slathered his sickly pale fingers in his own blood and dragged the ruby-red liquid across Yoriichi’s mouth. His gentle touch, a lie, and a trap.

“My name is Muzan Kibutsuji. What’s yours?”

She had refused to answer.

“Hm. Pretty, but quiet. Maybe I’ll keep you around, if you amuse me…”

She spat a glob of saliva and blood in his face and was knocked out cold with a strike to the head. She should have died. It was incomprehensible that the demon simply didn’t finish her off when she was helpless the entire time. But she woke up the following morning among the survivors, with a flare of truth in her heart.

The gods put her on the Earth to vanquish that foe. Amaterasu Omikami blessed her for this purpose. She knew as steady as her pulse that if Muzan Kibutsuji was dead, there would be no more demons. Her boy could rest in peace. Her painfully insignificant life, dictated by men until that fateful encounter, could have purpose, design and definition of her own making.

A meaning the sun goddess herself smiled at.

Yoriichi fought forward as she always did, clawing along the ground. Stubborn, unending. A horrid sinking premonition took root in her skull. Growing into her thoughts. Michikatsu can’t join the corps. He can’t. He has a home to go back to. A family, children he loves. If he completes this trial, he can never, ever go back. Tears streamed down her face. Her teeth gritted. The muscles along her jaw twitching in pain. She might break. No, Aniue, don’t do this! She shivered so hard her spine hurt.

Screaming, Yoriichi wrestled Kaito off her back, slamming his shoulders into the floor. His dark eyes widened as he looked up at her with a smirk or a sneer; she didn’t know which. Those things were the same on his face.

“You are way too fucking strong for your own good…” then he promptly passed out as she realized her hand was around his throat. She loosened it quickly, slapped his pretty face to make sure he still breathed, and stood up. Her legs shook under her. 

The playing of drums and the clash of the gong from the combination pit were directing her blood, like the path of a raging river. Nearby, she heard the rustle of another person standing. Footsteps on the stone.

“Akio, if you try to stop me, I’ll break your arm,” she warned, taking a shaking step forward.

“Wouldn’t dream of it…” Akio whispered seriously. She leaned down to pick her sword up from the floor, where one of her so-called friends had thrown it when she heard the unmistakable gong of the combination pit opening. “Yoriichi…” Akio, again.

Yoriichi glanced at her sword. “Akio. Bring Haruki from this place. The last thing we need is for Daichi to get the idea that he’s old enough for this now.”

“Daichi forbid you from going to the combining pit. Oyakata-sama told you not to go near it.” Akio said seriously. “You’re drugged. Soon, your emotions will not be able to fight through the drugs. If you go in there, you’ll just be a liability for Michikatsu to have to protect.”

“Everything about this is wrong,” Yoriichi whispered, glancing back at her friend, at Haruki, who was sitting on his knees, half hidden behind the flaxen-haired man. Peeking out from behind his legs with wide, terrified eyes. She hated that she’d been the one to scare him this time. 

“It is wrong.” Akio confirmed.

“The demon in the combining pit is the strongest one we’ve captured… possibly ever. And Daichi got the bright idea of feeding it other powerful demons. Breeding its potential. It’s…” her breath was sharp. Her vision wavered. Maybe the sedative. She didn’t know. “Almost too much…”

“Yoriichi. Have faith in Michikatsu.”

She gritted her teeth. Steeling her glare in his direction.

“The last time it took Daichi, Kaito, and Kiyomizu hours to hold back the demon just to recover the poor man’s body.”

“What was left of him…” Akio mumbled in ascent.

“This is out of control. We should have finished it then. So don’t tell me to have faith! Michikatsu is more important to me than life itself. I’d… I don’t know…” her breath heaved in a terrible sob. Her limbs felt heavy. 

Tightening her grip, Yoriichi stepped away from them. They followed her like spirits. Like they were watching her downfall, and mourning before her body was cold. This was not a surprise.

She was going against direct orders after all.

The combination pit was an old forest-covered caldera behind the mountain onsen. Some two hundred years before Yoriichi was born, the first official demon slayers started bringing demons here. To train. To practice. To teach the new generations how to fight this supernatural evil. 

Yoriichi and Michikatsu had an odd connection with the onsen and old volcano, one she wasn’t sure Michikatsu knew about. Their great-grandfather on their mother’s side had been one of the first demon slayers. One of the few men who set up this training ground. At the top rim of the caldera was a wall of oya stone, where the names of the first men in the corps were engraved. She’d seen her ancestor’s name, got curious, and asked Oyakata-sama about the history of the corps.

Her family had made contributions to the corps. Though her ancestry on that side shifted from warriors to priests sharply. The demon Michikatsu had to face today couldn’t escape thanks to multiple ofuda charms sealing it in from any and every access point. Ofuda charms created and maintained by her mother’s family, down the line to her distant cousins who were the current caretakers of the combination pit.

“Yoriichi, please stop.” Haruki cried out, a hiccup behind her.

“No,” she answered firmly.

It was simple. If a prospective demon slayer survived, they were in the corps. If they didn’t, no one was the wiser. Men survived, or they died, and that was just the way the world worked.

But not for him. Not for Michikatsu. She wanted better than this world for him, even through the occasional bad behavior, even when he bit her, especially when they kissed and she felt like it was fate meeting them. Her heart thundered as she climbed the staircase to the combining pit. 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!” One of the newer guys called out as she came around a corner. He rushed forward, and she stepped to the side at the last minute, letting him trip and fall down the roughly hewn stairs. She wondered if he was this clumsy while fighting demons.

“I’d suggest you all leave Yoriichi alone.” Akio called out jovially, only steps behind her. Catching another stupid man who knew she wasn’t supposed to be there. Forbidden. The only member of the corps who had a standing order to stay away, because her bleeding heart was to be laughed at.

She kept climbing. Step after painful step as her limbs started losing their feeling. Those who were smart stayed out of her way. Most of them were smart. She had a reputation, after all.

“Oyakata-sama will be disappointed in you, Yoriichi.” Daichi didn’t even bother looking at her as she rounded the top to the oya wall. To the rim that looked into the ancient volcano. His wrinkles were pulled back strangely, each deep line elongated with his wild grin. Looking more like an oni mask than a person. She’d always wondered how he looked so odd. The strength of a full-grown man in the size of a child, with the face of an elder. She knew he was self-conscious about his looks, having witnessed violent tantrums at teasing from demons who liked to say he was uglier than any of them could ever hope for.

Yoriichi did not like Daichi’s methods, but felt a certain amount of empathy for the twenty-four-year-old who couldn’t walk down the streets of many a town without being chased because other people thought he was a demon, and not one of the ones protecting them.

“Let him be disappointed.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. A lie. 

Yoriichi leaped into the caldera. “Please, Amaterasu, please. You know what it’s like to have a brother. To love your brother. Please keep Michikatsu safe. Please give him your blessing, please…” She prayed as her feet touched the eroding ash-wall of the caldera. “I’m begging you…” Sure-footed, Yoriichi sprinted to the sparse treeline.

*

“This hurts you,” Michikatsu said between panted breaths. Trying to strike up a conversation with a demon was difficult. Impossible. And he was only attempting it out of a sense of desperation. This one was simply thrashing around trying oh so hard to dislodge the sword Michikatsu stuck almost all the way through its neck before getting thrown off. “You know, it would be so much easier on everyone if you just let me take my sword back.”

It growled and slobbered and bled… but nothing human sounding emitted from its mouth. He wondered whether they could talk. He hadn’t heard any demon speak before, and Yoriichi never mentioned it as a possibility. 

And worst yet its neck had healed perfectly around the blade. A distressing situation for both of them, apparently.

Lips pressed tightly together, Michikatsu glanced from the demon, up to the ridge of the caldera where he could see men gathered. He quickly made an obscene gesture up at them, only to hear an outburst of mean laughter. 

Yeah, I get it. How am I going to get out of this? Only an amateur lets go of their sword in battle. He scrunched his nose, looking back at the demon. He hadn’t meant to lose his grip. But without a handle… with just his sweaty palm on the cold metal… It had been too easy to let go.

And now he needed it back. He fervently wished it would magically reappear back in his hand. Wouldn’t that be useful?

In the absence of a miracle he could run down the demon until dawn, but… the night had just begun when they shoved him naked down the slope of the crumbling slope of the old volcano and into the wooded area growing from the deathbed of a lava flow.

The light of the full moon brightened the side he was on, and he observed a little tree covering. The forested area was thin, with very little space to hide. If he could run around the demon until daylight, he could watch it die as the sun rose… possibly. He had a sour feeling that this demon knew a place to hide in this hellhole where it could escape the sun.

“Hey,” Michikatsu called out as the demon grabbed onto his sword and tried to wrench it out of its neck. It was solely focused on that, and not on Michikatsu at all. Though that was no cause to relax. He caught the demon’s eyes, the color of tarnished coins, glaring in his direction. “What’s your name?”

To his surprise, the demon stopped what it was doing, looked at him with contempt, long nose wrinkled up like a hog’s, and jabbed its index finger toward Michikatsu’s sword as if to say he obviously couldn’t talk right now.

Michikatsu chuckled, in slight amusement. 

“Ok. Well. Looks like you keep cutting off your fingers when you try to rip my sword out of your neck. Look at how long it takes you to regenerate them. You must be quite weak.”

The demon silently glowered at him.

Michikatsu stepped forward.

“Here. I’ll make you a deal.” He offered. The demon looked slightly more human at this point. Emotions other than simple blind hunger played across his elongated face, surprise in those arched brows. Anger in the crinkles around his eyes and the stiff posture of his shoulders. “I’ll take my sword out of your neck. I promise not to behead you instantly. And you will tell me everything you know about demons before we fight to the death and I win.”

The demon rolled his eyes at Michikatsu. He seemed to forget he couldn't talk for a moment, because he opened his mouth and a large blood clot slid out of his tongue onto the ground.

Michikatsu shrugged. “If you want it that way, I’ll simply drag you out of the tree cover when the sun shines.”

There was silence. Stillness. And then the demon stepped forward. His heavy feet changed gait from monster to grace in a moment that confused Michikatsu. Why would it move differently? Frowning, Michikatsu found himself face to face with the demon. The color of its eyes had bled into a glitter of rubies.

The change caught Michikatsu off guard. Even the air around the demon darkened.

The demon pointed to the sword, making its decision clear.

Reaching forward, Michikatsu slid the sword out of the demon’s neck with shocking ease. Blood gushed forward onto the thing's dirty yukata. It choked momentarily.

And then the thing spoke in two voices.

“You look like the pretty one.” The doubling, smoothed over gravel, filled Michikatsu’s ears. “Just like her. How amusing.”

Michikatsu’s eyes narrowed. Alright, so this demon knew Yoriichi. He wondered why it wasn’t dead then. Had she been the one to capture it and give him this trial?

“Hm. I have questions.” He ignored the demon’s words. 

“I have words, but first, you asked my name. Do you mean to know the name of this body, or the name of myself whose essence has taken over this form to speak to you?”

That was oddly informative, and Michikatsu didn’t know if he trusted the straightforward nature of the creature or if he was more suspicious.

“Whichever is cognizant.” He finally replied. The demon took a slight step back, bowed formally, and was polite. It was code, familiar, something he’d been taught from the moment he could remember. This would be a proper, honorable battle.

“My name is Muzan.”

“Michikatsu Tsugikuni.” He replied, bowing back. “My questions.”

“I’m sure you have many. A man like you seeks answers. Seeks strength.” Muzan said smoothly. “I can tell by the way you stand. A born and bred samurai. Now isn’t it too bad all that will go away someday? Isn’t it, Michikatsu? Do you want something more?”

“Everybody does.” Michikatsu answered, because it was true. What human didn’t want more than life gave them? What man, woman, or child didn’t long for something beyond their reach? He lifted his sword, pointing it at the demon’s healed neck. “Right now, I want you to tell me how to get rid of you.”

“No one can. I’m as inevitable as a storm on the horizon. I stop time. I make endings.” Muzan curled his lips back in a twisted smile. “I can make beginnings too, Michikatsu. Tell the pretty one I said hello.”

The demon’s eyes bled back into the tarnish of crumbling copper. Its stance changed, and any previous sense of intelligence from the being dissipated. It lunged heartily, hungrily at Michikatsu.

The thing’s claws were only a hair away from ripping into him.

“Michikatsu!” Yoriichi was screaming his name somewhere behind him. Coming in closer. 

He remembered what she had taught him. How to breathe. How to think. 

“It’s purification, Aniue.” Purification. Michikatsu snapped his wrist into position and slashed horizontally through the demon’s thick neck. A movement that had seemed impossible moments ago, born into existence with a jolt through his blood, and the sensation. The sensation he got when he spent nights waiting for battle, looking up at the moon.

The demon’s ashes dispersed into the sky, dark dots flittering past his vision.

Yoriichi crashed into his back, and he barely turned fast enough to catch her as she crumbled to the ground. 

“Michikatsu…” her voice sounded hoarse. Tear tracks streaked down her pale cheeks. “You did it.” She cursed in blind adoration, which was adorable coming from her mouth. “You did the breathing!”

He sat down, lowering her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, instead of focusing on the pride that seemed to be welling up in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Oh… fine… fine… uh… they gave me a sedative. It’s… mmm… working.” Her voice drawled along. Must be some sedative; she was trying to lift her hands, to reach out to him, and failing. “You… used the breathing style.”

Contemplating this for a moment, he tilted his head to the side. “It wasn’t the same as you do.”

“It… it’s beautiful…” 

“You’re really out of it.” He shook his head, looking down at her. Her pretty wine-colored eyes were unfocused, eyelids drooping. It would be no time at all before she lost consciousness. But he knew if he’d been unable to kill the demon, she would have. Her strength would have allowed no mistakes. Ordained. He hummed, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “You know, Yoriichi. You’re horrible at naming things. ‘Breathing style’ is boring.”

She made a flabbergasted little sound. A sound that made him want to cover her lips with his and swallow the noise.

“Boring?!”

“Yes. I bet the others would be a lot more willing to learn from you if you made it sound… appealing. Cool.”

She made another strange little sound in lieu of speaking.

Michikatsu watched her eyes drift closed. “Sun breathing, Imouto. Call it sun breathing.”

He thought she was asleep when he pulled himself to his knees and slotted his arms under her. All his muscles hurt, but he lifted her as well as he could while holding his sword, while naked, caked in mud, and sweat, and his own blood.

A soft moan came from her lips. “I prayed… Amaterasu. I asked her to protect you. I asked her to think of her brother. The one she loved…” He walked forward, hoping it wouldn’t be too difficult to get out of the combination pit. “But she didn’t answer. Tsukuyomi did.”

“The moon.” Michikatsu smiled down at her. “You listened a little too much to Mother’s stories growing up, didn’t you, Yoriichi?”

“Breath of the moon,” she whispered in response, sending a shiver down his spine. Her nose nestled into his chest. “Aniue… my moon.”

Chapter Text

She woke to a high-pitched, off sounding, scream. It was curse-laden, sharp, and unmistakably Michikatsu.

Sitting up roughly, Yoriichi’s head was filled with fog still, she barely remembered what had happened before she found herself laying on a futon, covered with a blanket that was not her own. It smelled of wisteria incense in the room. A scent she associated with the dozen Wisteria Houses dotting the land, but this room didn’t look like any Wisteria House she’d ever been in. Blinking, her bleary eyes landed on everyday objects that seemed so familiar.

That apothecary chest, with its beautifully carved drawers. She was sure she’d seen it before, but her mind was fuzzy on the details, something about running her fingers over the little carvings of inuyoukai and listening to stories about spirits. The shrine of Amaterasu perched right on top of the polished wood. The bronze mirror was polished to a shine, the sword held up in a stand, and the bead of turquoise… Are these Mother’s things?

“AAAhhh! You prick! That’s my hair!” Michikatsu screamed again. This prompted Yoriichi to rise. Her breath stuttered in her lungs. She didn’t know where she was. Or what had really happened? She vaguely remembered things: sedative, combination pit, Michikatsu becoming a god.

Yoriichi stumbled forward, still numb and prickling with waking sensations in her limbs. She followed her brother’s sharp swearing down a hallway. Fingers clenched around the stained wood of a sliding door. Sliding it open with force strong enough to rattle the walls.

“Yoriichi!” Daichi yelled her name in greeting, sounding… slurred. 

“Hey! You’re letting all the steam out!” Kaito’s rough yell (also slurred) followed soon after. “In or out, Yoriichi.”

She blinked, trying to reorient herself. It was a sauna. One she knew well. How they’d gotten from Nara to the Tsugikuni Mansion was not coming to her, but she pressed her lips together looking inside. Daichi was swinging his short legs from where he sat on the top seat. His rough hands obscenely played with his fat cock.

Akio had his nose in a book nearby, sitting cross-legged on one bench. He wore his light hair in a messy bun, and his normally pale face was so red she didn’t even have to hear his voice to know he’d been drinking. That and he was giving a good attempt at reading the book upside down, bright eyes crossing with the effort. Haruki slept on his stomach, along the floor, with a tipped-over sake cup near his fingers. Kiyomizu and Kaito were behind Michikatsu, tugging combs through his hopelessly tangled hair.

“Stay still, shithead.” Kaito was growling, using one hand to manhandle Michikatsu’s head down, while the other tugged the red shell-comb roughly.

“It’s really your fault, Michikatsu-san.” Kiyomizu said firmly, working out what looked like chunks of dark gray rock from the hopelessly tangled ends. “You didn’t take instructions on how to get the volcanic ash out of your hair before washing it, and now it’s cemented in there.”

“Just shave it off.” Daichi grumbled, steeling a sharp look at Yoriichi, still doing that thing he’d been doing earlier. She refused to look at him. “I thought we told you to get in or get out. It’s getting cold.”

Yoriichi did not know what to say. Why were they all here? And better yet, why were they all naked? Why were there clay sake jars simply piled up all over the floor? Were they all drunk? She felt her face making several unwanted expressions before she regained control, narrowed her eyes, and hissed.

“I have a headache. Keep it down.” She said tonelessly and made to shut the door. But Michikatsu appeared before her, holding the door, his fingertips grazing the back of her palm. His other hand clung to the front of a dark gray kimono he’d thrown on.

He looked remarkably clear-headed compared to the others.

“Yoriichi…”

“You’re drunk.” Yoriichi interrupted, trying to close the door further. She was stopped, Michikatsu sliding through the opening before shutting the door behind him. Leaving them alone in the hallway. He looked like an idiot with rocks tangled in his hair, but once the scent of alcohol was sealed behind the door of the sauna, she wasn’t so sure he was drunk at all.

“I am not drunk. Oyakata-sama said a condition of my being in the Demon Slayer Corps is that I do not drink alcohol. And rules are rules.” He admitted, leaning back against the wood.

“So you’re just a good host?”

“Back in Nara, Kaito, the shithead supreme, got the others to gang up on me and demand I host them at our home since Tsugikuni Mansion was relatively close. They wanted to wake you up and celebrate. I made sure you could sleep as long as you needed.” He paused, and then his red-violet eyes gazed at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for not letting them wake me. What have you been doing?” Yoriichi replied honestly. It wasn’t the first time someone in the corps had given her a sedative. The first time was about three months after her experience in the combination pit when the pain hit her. The demon she had battled for her initiation had hit her in the jaw, cracking one of her molars down the center. She disregarded the problem until the tooth rotted, causing swelling and forcing her to realize she needed an extraction.

She’d been out on a mission north with Kiyomizu and Kaito when it reached a head. Kiyomizu, who’d grown up apprenticing at an apothecary, made a light sedative to help her through the extraction. But it had failed, and the man was intrigued by her resilience, periodically asking her permission to test out stronger sedatives in small quantities. She’d agreed to the fieldwork, because it was well known that mildly impaired men survived battle injuries and subsequent surgeries in greater numbers than those not sedated.

“We had a contest.”

“A contest?” She raised an eyebrow, and Michikatsu shrugged his shoulders as if to say he found it dumb. Then, he made a small motion with his hand, as if asking her to follow him. She nodded, and they walked together through the hallway.

Yoriichi understood what was happening though. Michikatsu passed all tests. He was in. They wanted to get to know him. It was post-initiation bonding. They aimed to prevent hard feelings with these rituals, and it worked. She’d only seen one man ever leave the corps over the treatment during his initiation. 

When they were a little further away from the sauna, Michikatsu spoke again. “Daichi insisted on a dick-measuring contest. You know that guy is a monster, right? His cock is half the size of his leg.” Michikatsu sounded equal parts horrified and impressed as he said this, and she found the way he scrunched his nose up in distaste to be adorable.

“Daichi is a wild man. A lecher. His cock is famous in the corps.” She hummed. Famous was rather a large understatement. He bounced from lover to lover, weirdly getting many men to share his bed despite his physical imperfections. For all she knew, the men he fell into bed with were there for the morbid curiosity.

Michikatsu choked. “He hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?” Ah, and there was that hint, that terrible jealousy in his voice. Yoriichi glanced at her brother, but he had his face turned away, as if checking the doors they passed. They were all guest rooms, set up for when their father hosted meetings and parties among his allies. All well-kept, but vastly empty except on a few occasions throughout the year.

She considered what to say before opening her mouth. “I saved him from the trouble of being disappointed.”

“Oh?” Michikatsu asked, but sounded completely uninterested in knowing her response. She weighed for a second whether to tell him, but it may have been a second too long. “How did you do that?”

“Daichi enjoys being the one who seeks people out. It makes him feel in control. When I observed this behavior. I sought him out instead, and he refused. He hasn’t looked my way since.”

“Oh.” Michikatsu’s voice went terribly flat. Covering, no doubt, whatever he felt upon hearing she’d approached the diminutive man for sex. Even though it was a ruse.

Yoriichi reached out, grabbing the end of his sleeve. The rich, dark silk slid between her fingers.

“I had no intention of lying with him, Aniue. If he’d said yes, I would have challenged him to a battle for that right and beaten him.”

He turned to face her, his eyebrows pinched together. “How? He doesn’t fight with a sword. What even is that weapon?”

“Oh, it’s just a modified kusarigama.” She shrugged. “Uta excelled in a martial art using the kusarigama. When I was first married, I used to watch his morning exercises and came to a good understanding of the fighting style from the experience. Daichi practices the same martial art. It’s rather easy to do. Fun too.”

Michikatsu was looking at her entirely unamused. Affronted even. His mouth turned down into a frown. One eyelid twitched, almost imperceptibly, in irritated disbelief.

Surprised at the sudden sour look she received, but unable to show it, Yoriichi blurted, “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Her brother tore his beautiful gaze away from her and clenched his jaw. “Gods, Yoriichi. You just don’t get how infuriating you can be sometimes.”

Standing still, she tried to replay the conversation in her head, searching for what had caused Michikatsu to call her infuriating. She came up empty-handed and dismayed. Blinking slowly, she kept looking at Michikatsu. He was ignoring her, walking through the hallways of their childhood home. She didn’t know where they were going exactly, but it unsettled her that her brother might be upset with her over something she couldn’t even understand.

Turning her head forward, Yoriichi whispered. “Sorry, Aniue.”

They walked a few more steps in silence before Michikatsu stopped, grumbled something under his breath, and scratched his head. Bits of dried volcanic ash came out of his hair.

“Shit, I’m going to have to cut my hair…”

Reaching out, Yoriichi grabbed his wrist before he could scratch at the mess further.

“Stop scratching. You’re going to make your head bleed.” She tugged his hand away and stepped in front of him. “Let me help you. Do you know if there’s any cooking oil from the kitchen?”

“Cooking oil?”

“Mmm. Clove, but if you don’t have it, sesame. That’s how I got the volcanic dust out of my hair.” She tried to give him a friendly smile, but he wasn’t looking at her again. He did, however, give a little grunt of acknowledgement. 

Toward the main part of the mansion, they finally passed some of the house staff, all of whom bowed to Michikatsu and gave surprised glances at seeing Yoriichi there again. Narrowed, suspicious eyes. She followed her brother, trying to stay singularly focused on helping him. Another few people darted past, and didn’t even step away long enough to start whispering.

She couldn’t pick up on sentences, but one word hung heavy in the air. Yariman. Her face burned with shame. This was what it was coming to? Michikatsu’s own staff being bold enough to call her a slut while he was within hearing distance. It crushed her heart, though she was unsurprised given the reactions to her the last time she was here.

Michikatsu paused in front of her.

“Eri, Yuma… speaking of Yoriichi in that way is not allowed. I ordered all of you when I arrived not to speak of Yoriichi except to acknowledge him as my younger brother. Not to acknowledge the Demon Slayer Corps, except in a hosting capacity. And not let your petty gossip ruin your position here.” He’d turned coldly to the two women, and Yoriichi looked too, seeing that they’d already gone to their knees with the reprimand.

He forbade the household to give me away… Yoriichi swooned for a moment. Lost in the care her brother gave to her. The consideration. They both knew she could become an Onna-musha, that without a doubt he’d give her, but they also both knew she’d be removed from the Demon Slayer Corps if she was outed as a woman.

Something Kaito hadn’t even tried to do even though he’d guessed the truth fairly quickly.

But it wasn’t over. Michikatsu stepped toward the two women, looming over them angrily. Yoriichi watched confused when Michikatsu lifted his foot and pressed his heel into the hand of the girl closest to him.

“What are you doing, Michikatsu?” Yoriichi’s voice trembled. Her brother didn’t answer her. He pressed his heel down with some force until a sickening crack pierced the tension in the hallway.

“You will forgo dinner.” Michikatsu drawled as if he hadn’t just broken the woman’s hand. As if she weren’t moaning in pitiful, sobbing pain on the floor. Yoriichi watched horrified as he stepped in front of the other woman. And suddenly, she was moving, getting between him and the unnecessarily cruel punishment. Pushing him back with her hands in his loosely wrapped kimono. The dark silk tightened in her fingers.

His red-violet eyes locked with hers.

“Michikatsu, stop.” She pleaded. “I understand they went against your orders…”

“This woman called you yariman. The lowest of the low. A woman with no sense, no honor. A low common slut.” He hissed out, jabbing an accusing finger at the woman. “She’s such a notorious gossip no man dares to be with her, because she can’t keep her shit-spewing mouth shut. And I will not stand for them to do this to you.”

Cautious of her brother’s enraged state, Yoriichi reached her hands up to his shoulders. The silk of his kimono was burning hot, and she didn’t know if it was because he’d been in the sauna or because of his anger.

“She shall not have food for two days,” Yoriichi conceded, not lowering her gaze. Not backing down. “But breaking her hand is an unnecessary hardship. Chiyo-san will have to release her to her family without pay until she is able to work again. Michikatsu, think about their families before taking food out of their mouths for weeks.”

The air stagnated. No one moved. Even the crying woman was muffling the sound of her pain against the floor. The second one, who had tossed the slur at Yoriichi was looking up from the floor in terror.

But it was pause enough.

Sneering at her, Michikatsu grabbed Yoriichi’s arm. “My brother has a kind heart that you do not deserve. Yuma, you will share your earnings with Eri until her fracture is healed. Let’s see how long your friendship will last when all you have to rely on is each other’s lying hearts.”

The grip around Yoriichi’s arm tightened, and Michikatsu pulled her away from the punished women. They did not stop, past others who bowed, or simply ducked away at the murderous look on their lord’s face. Yoriichi took note of the shocked looks as he barged into the kitchen, dragging Yoriichi along. Though she was being as complacent as possible. This was a room Yoriichi was rather unfamiliar with as usually only staff were here. But she remembered one time when she and Michikatsu were little, sneaking inside to steal kompeto before one summer’s sun festival.

Michikatsu barked an order to the first person he saw to grab him a jug of clove oil. It was brought to him hastily, and he shoved it into Yoriichi’s chest. 

“This better work. My scalp is killing me. And if I have to shave my head, I’m making you do it too.”

Nodding silently, Yoriichi found herself let go long enough to have Michikatsu stomp off. Not engaging with the staring kitchen staff, she simply followed him, blank-faced, and hoping beyond hope she might calm him down.

*

Repressing a sigh at the lovely feeling of Yoriichi’s gentle hands working the oil through his hair, Michikatsu did in fact feel far lighter than he had since the initiation. The aromatic scent of clove oil filled the room, as Yoriichi had more or less lathered it into the dried up volcanic dust, letting it seep between porous rock, and gently crumbling it out of his long dark hair with a washcloth drenched in oil.

It was much better than the tugging and abuse he’d been at the receiving end of from Kaito and Kiyomizu.

This was almost nice, in fact. His eyes closed as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his kimono pushed around his hips because Yoriichi fretted about ruining the fabric by getting too much oil on it. He didn’t bother to tell her with the way she slopped it into his hair like water that his shoulders, back and chest were drenched in a mix of the oil and volcanic ash. Lines of the slick cleanser dripped down onto the kimono despite her efforts.

“Hmmm. It seems I got some in my hair too.” She mumbled at one point, and he gave a little snort.

“Of course you did. Running after me like you did.” He paused, leaning into her fingers as she worked out a particularly rough spot. “I’ll clean you up when you’re done with me.” He offered in part out of a genuine desire to take care of her, and in part so he could get her equally undressed. So he could watch her skin slick up with oil. 

“Okay, Aniue.” 

Michikatsu kept his hands still, folded over his legs. The position was comfortable, and useful. This grooming had him reeling. His mouth watering. He’d reacted to it immediately. Blood pumping too quickly. A flush deep in his chest rose through his neck and into his cheeks. His cock twitched, and he focused on the breathing style, hoping to control himself. But then the memory of her speaking, ghosting through her lips the words ‘breath of the moon’, did something to him. Something pleasant, and needy, and he tensed up his hands for a quick second, feeling his heartbeat in his crotch.

He tried to focus away from this, feeling a small sharp tug in one spot where she was diligently trying to get the worst of it out.

“Sorry. I’m almost done.”

Unable to think of the right words to say, Michikatsu simply reached a hand slightly behind him, touching the outside of her knee in thanks. He kept it there when she hummed, and together they sat in silence as she moved onto cleansing his hair with shampoo made of funori and udon flower. It felt so good to have his hair clean. So good to have her fingers taking care of him.

“Alright, Aniue. You can get up to wash it out now.” Her hands retreated, and he wished they could stay like that indefinitely. He may have let out a little sigh of disappointment as he moved to his knees in his private bath. He dunked his head in the warm water of the washbasin, relieved to feel his hair silky smooth and not a tangled, dry disaster. But he took his time rinsing, listening to Yoriichi humming as she cleaned up the mess left behind.

Just being with her was so domestic and beautiful. It made him want to forget everything else. Their unwanted guests, the house-staff who were becoming a hassle to control… Chiyo… who’d initially cried happy tears at his return, and then quickly edged off like the first frost of the season realizing Yoriichi was also there.

He was unsure if he was happy that the children were on a vacation with Chiyo’s parents, or if he was disappointed beyond belief that he couldn’t simply spend all his time with them hiding from his problems and filling his heart with the love of raising them. Not that his children needed to be used as human shields, but Michikatsu really wished they were around.

“Alright, Yoriichi, your tur…” his words hung in the air when he looked at her, patiently waiting. She had faced away from him, but even through the length of her hair cascading down her back he could see her bare shoulders, the skin of her lower back, her pretty well-toned bottom, and those ridiculously adorable toes peeking from where she sat on her heels. He did a double take, realizing her complete nudity, and knowing he was doomed. 

Suddenly he was less certain about performing this intimate act of cleansing her hair. Not when the already simmering fire of arousal had been coating his stomach.

“I didn’t want my clothes to get dirty.” She squeaked out in the cutest embarrassment, and he almost died watching her hips move softly, side to side. His gaze drifted into the transparent world without any effort or prompting. Watching the erratic beat of her heart, the electrifying impulses that ran from her brain down her spine. The pulsing of muscle in her pelvis.

He hadn’t been facing her while she’d done his hair, but it was everything he wanted to know. She’d been affected by the intimacy too.

“Your clothes are already dirty, Imouto. I’ll let you borrow some of mine when we are done.” He paused, looking down at the kimono hanging off his hips, messed up with oil and remnants of volcanic ash. “Hm. My clothes are pretty dirty too.”

It wasn’t his imagination that the breath hitched in her throat.

“Just take them off then.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. He needed no more prompting, pulling the obi away, letting the silk fall heavily to the floor. Michikatsu moved forward, glancing at the almost empty jug of clove oil, and the new clean washcloth she’d retrieved for the task. He knelt behind her, slotting his hands through her beautiful hair. Noting the soft in-breath she made when his fingers brushed the back of her neck.

“Hmm. It’s not too bad,” he murmured, tucking himself forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just a little dust. Are you sure you want me to wash your hair, or do you want something else?”

Yoriichi didn’t react for a second, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Looking through the transparent world, it seemed the words aroused her, but her breathing had taken on an anxious quality. A little too fast for the minimal touch of his lips on her crown. He pulled away patiently until she seemed to gather her thoughts. 

Eventually, she looked over her shoulder at him. Her face stained red; her mark flushed along with it. He loved the sight of her. Nervous and blushing, as if she were a virgin. Though he’d gathered from the few things she’d said about her marriage to Uta that she might as well be. He let her look him over. Soaked up the look in her eyes as she gazed on his chest. Loved the nervous bite she gave to her lower lip as she dared to look at his sex.

He wasn’t fully hard yet, but if this continued… if this continued, he was going to be inside her. In her hand, in her mouth. Wherever she was willing to have him. Michikatsu’s cock twitched, and he found himself amused by the startled look that flashed over Yoriichi’s normally serene face.

“My heartbeat.” He explained, semi-amused she didn’t know this. Semi-curious about how her previous sex life left her so simultaneously scarred and innocent. “When my heart beats for you, I can feel it there.” She remained mutely looking at him, or that part of him. “Yoriichi. Do you want to touch me?”

It was a yes or no question, but her yes was not in words. She adjusted herself on her knees so she was facing him, reached out with her pale fingers, and then faltered…

“Is… is it dishonorable for me to touch you?” she stammered out, voice pinched as if it had taken a great effort to speak. He merely knitted his brow together, catching her gaze. Did she mean to ask that because they were twins? It was… technically not couth… or moral. She took a shaky breath and dropped her gaze. “When I was married, Uta had a servant girl much prettier than I prepare him when it was time for us to have intercourse. I was told it was unladylike for a princess to sully herself beyond taking her husband’s seed.”

Michikatsu didn’t know how to feel about this information. About the sudden intrusion of a vision. His little sister was forced to lie face down on the ground and listen while another woman pleased her husband, only to be used as a receptacle for his spend. A wild bloom of thoughts plagued his mind. Even he and Chiyo, who only joined out of duty, had a more respectful sex life than that. 

He wondered if she’d ever been satisfied. If anyone had ever brought her to completion. If she even understood what that was? Could he quench his secret jealousy by being the first to bring this to her?

If Uta wasn’t already dead, he might have gone and killed the bastard for disrespecting Yoriichi so thoroughly.

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand midair, smoothing his rough fingers over her palm.

“It is not dishonorable to feel desire.” He scooted forward, giving her access, guiding her hand to his cock. She didn’t make a sound when he gently wrapped her fingers around his thick base. “Hm. You see, Imouto? I told the truth. You can feel my heart beating.”

“My heart’s beating too…” Yoriichi let out a breathy sigh, and keeping her fingers loose, felt up and down his length. He sighed, letting her hand go, and reaching forward with his.

“Mmm. Let me feel where your heart beats right now. Please?”

She seemed too concentrated to verbalize, but he caught the quick nod of her head. He pressed his palm along the inside of her thigh, pushing her open for him, excited that this would finally happen. He whimpered lowly when her palm smoothed over the tip of his cock, and back down. But he kept to his task. Drawing his hand up her smooth skin, to the surprisingly soft patch of curls. He didn’t want to startle her too badly, so he circled his fingers around the edge of her wetness first.

“Is this alright?” he asked after a moment, when the only response he could judge was from the transparent world, because Yoriichi seemed to have shut off.

She made a slightly strangled sound, squeezing his length a little.

“Y… yes. Please…” She shimmied her hips a little wider, opening up for him. Permission granted, he still stuck to spots that were sensitive, but not overwhelming. Fingers sliding through the valley of her cunt, amazed at how soaked she was just from small actions like these. He rubbed softly and then caught up to match her pace along his length. He waited for her to say more when she started bearing down, as if to swallow his fingers with each pass. Wanted to hear her pretty voice begging him for it. For just a taste. 

He was going to give it to her nice and slow this first time. Make her feel like she’d never felt before. Make her know what he already did: they were meant to be together forever.

If only he could keep himself from getting too excited in the meantime.

She pressed down, and he pressed up, the tip of his finger sliding into her warmth with ease. A whine ripped from her throat, and her hand tightened around him.

“Hm, Imouto… lay back. I want to make you feel good before I do.”

She mouthed those words back silently, as if wanting to tell him she didn’t understand, but did as he said. He grabbed her thighs with both hands, squeezing the pliant flesh. Looking down on her wet, open sex. 

“I gather you’ve never done anything like this before,” he whispered as he laid himself on his stomach, head resting on her hip. His fingers returned to the slow circle, still avoiding the tender ball of nerves poking out from its hooded spot. Her hands tangled in his newly cleaned hair, but she did not speak. Returned to the muteness of their childhood. He thought that was all right. He could almost feel her hesitant response in the way she brushed his bangs back. “If it gets too much, tap my shoulder twice.”

He didn’t know if she processed the command when he spread her with both thumbs and lowered his mouth on her. He was only at her entrance, lapping the natural, easily, wet slit, and she was letting her voice out, spreading through the room in percussive moans. She likes it. She likes this with me. He slipped his finger in again, this time all the way, loving the little jolt of her hips as he lifted his mouth, saliva and her slightly salty essence spread across his lips.

“My cock is a lot bigger than one finger, Yoriichi.” He teased, and slipped in a second, then a third in quick succession. The moan that ripped from her was one that he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. That no one else could hear. Smirking, he placed his lips over her clit, swiping them across the sensitive bud. Holding her down with one hand, so he could lick, and mold his lips around it, and suck so gently she sobbed.

Combining those sensations with the languid thrust of his fingers, deeper and deeper inside. Curling, moving, seeking all the right spots, he was rather unsurprised when the transparent world was thrust on him. He could see all her blood rushing at once. He could hear the broken cry of the first orgasm he’d wrought on her. The feeling of her passage fluttering over his fingers, and her wetness squirting down his chin and neck, almost had him over the edge.

Almost.

He eased back, ignoring the nearly painful erection between his legs. Propping himself on his elbow, Michikatsu watched Yoriichi’s bliss-washed expression. The color on her cheeks. The tears gathered in her eyes. The way she couldn’t close her mouth because all the moans and words she wanted to say were stuck inside her throat.

He moved his fingers slightly, just to bring her back. And she looked down at him in disbelief, still completely speechless.

“Do you want me to bring you there again?” He asked, fingers in and fingers out. Her eyelashes flickered with each pass. “One more time before I take you?”

Yoriichi babbled something incoherently. He wasn’t sure if it was language or just a desperate attempt to get something out. But he took her cue when she pulled him up gently, chest to chest, and kissed him. His cock pressed against her thigh. Waiting for her permission.

She pulled away from the kiss, having come to her senses.

“I’m not ready.” Her voice trembled, and he frowned slightly. What did she mean by that? But she answered his internal question right away. “I have nothing but desire for you. I want you so much my soul hurts. But I can’t get pregnant.”

She was right, of course. It would bring complications for both of them. Michikatsu kissed her lips lightly.

“I’ll pull out. I promise.” His fingers danced on her breasts. Thrusting ever so slightly against her hip. “When we are done, I’ll find an apothecary and ask for medicine to prevent that from happening.”

She hummed, “Mmm… it’s your fault for throwing away my medicine, Michikatsu.” She wiggled her hand between them and took his cock, starting in on a steady, electrifying pace. “I could have had you…”

His skin prickled. Fingers tightened into her flesh. He was so close he could go like this. In no time at all, actually. The taste of her still on his lips. Her words running in his head.

“Please… please… Imouto… Let me be inside you.” He panted, rocking into her hand. Unable to stop the sharpness of pleasure racking his body. “Please…”

For a moment he thought she pushed him off her for the begging. For a moment, he wondered if he was going to be left unsatisfied, aching in his gut. Dying to feel her. But then she climbed over him.

“Tell me when you need out.” She commanded, pulling up his cock and sitting on it before he could take a second breath. Every nerve ending in his body lit up. Every single word died on his lips. She rocked above him, so wet, and tight. Moans peeling from her lips obscenely reached his ears. 

He wanted it to last. He wanted so much from this. It was already enough though, wasn’t it? Them, brother and sister joined in a way they shouldn’t be. Acting on his deepest desires. No longer a wet dream… unobtainable in the nighttime.

Michikatsu was climbing too quickly. Tendrils of pleasure were erupting through his spine. 

“Uhn. Yoriichi… mmm…”

“Almost there…” she moaned back, and it excited him even further to see drool dripping down the side of her mouth. Her crimson eyes stared into his as she frantically ravaged him for a second peek. 

“Close…” he mumbled, his cock stiffening inside her. Throbbing. Making him grit his teeth in an effort to keep it back. His hands raced to her hips; whether to keep her there or force her off, he wasn’t sure. “Fuck… Yoriichi! I’m going to cum in you if you don’t stop!”

She pulled up immediately, but he knew some of it got in her anyway. The rest shooting out over her gushing wetness. Then his amazing, strong twin sagged, gently laying herself on him. His cock twitching against her warmth. 

Her breathing was ragged against his collarbone. His not all that much better. It felt like it took forever to recover. Holding her in his arms, as one of her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Michikatsu…” she moaned his name quietly. “If you can, please get that medicine for me before tonight.”

He shivered at the request. At the demand that they were going to fall into each other again… soon.

“Of course, Imouto.” He whispered, pulling her chin up so he could kiss her. But the second her eyes landed on his face, Yoriichi sucked in her breath.

“Oh, gods…” She yanked away, saying the words with a high, terrified pitch, and then came back, running her hands along his skin. Over his forehead, his neck. It prickled and felt ultra warm. Almost irritated. He wondered if he was having a reaction to the oil. But Yoriichi kept mumbling things he couldn’t pick out. Things that sounded like prayers just under the sound of her breath. He raised an eyebrow, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

His sister, shaken to the pale white of death, merely cursed. “Michikatsu… do you have a mirror?”

Chapter Text

It was a blustery afternoon. Clear skies, pale blue, endless over their heads. Endless...

“Yoriichi,” Chiyo addressed her with no less than mild contempt. Spitting and raw. And Yoriichi tore her eyes from the sky to look at her brother’s wife. For all that Chiyo was, a woman sold off in a political marriage just like Yoriichi had been, a woman blessed with traditional beauty, perfect long black hair and unblemished skin, and lucky enough to have a life that didn’t involve watching people die… she was sobbing as if she really had loved Michikatsu. Her pretty rosebud-painted lips were trembling as she pushed her hand forward expectantly. Her dark eyes could not hold back tears that smeared her pretty pale makeup down her cheeks.

Yoriichi returned the gesture. Numb. Holding out her hand for the other woman to take, and didn’t so much as blink when Chiyo slashed her palm open with the ivory sword and gathered her blood in a ceremonial gold bowl. It stung, and in no time at all Chiyo dropped her hand, letting her blood drip onto the pale stone floor of the shrine grounds. The shrine of Amaterasu. Dots of red splattered along the white. 

The wind blew through her hair, up her arms, bare because she’d tied back the white sleeves of her simple kimono with a tasuki, after purifying herself at the well pump in front of the small temple. Her bare skin prickled as if the wind were kissing her. Biting into the fresh cut on her hand. Stinging.

It would hurt to hold a sword for a while.

Chiyo stepped to the side, her snow-white tabi stained with dots of Yoriichi’s blood. Every blood-spot looked like poppies in bloom.

Holding her breath, Yoriichi looked up from the ground to the scene before her.

There were offerings of sake and rice. Lanterns lit even though it was the middle of the day. Prayers to the sun goddess written in Yoriichi’s own hand were burning over the flames. Ashes flying to the sky. It reminded Yoriichi of the way demons looked when they died, as if the substance of them disintegrated down to the prayers of the people they’d once been.

Daichi was standing behind the altar to the sun goddess, pouring tea back and forth into ceremonial cups. His wrinkled forehead looked like the skin of an umeboshi. His dark eyes fixed on seeing messages from the gods. Kiyomizu was standing next to him, using the discarded tea from Daichi’s scrying to create a potion of curing curses.

“Gods…” Daichi grumbled, tossing one cup to the ground. Shattering the fragile vessel. He looked up sharply, his twisted face turning from Yoriichi to Michikatsu. “This is not acting like any curse I’ve ever seen! Will one of you two please just spit it out! How the fuck did Michikatsu get the mark!?”

Yoriichi refused to answer. Looking forward with practiced stoicism. Michikatsu stayed silent. But after a moment, she looked over at her brother, her lover… the fire in her heart burned for him even though the position they’d found themselves in was frightening.

Chiyo slashed open his hand with almost more anger than she had with Yoriichi’s.

That golden bowl shone with the mix of their shared blood.

Yoriichi’s gaze did not leave Michikatsu when Chiyo stepped away, back to the altar. She saw her brother lower his hand slowly, red streams falling from his scarred fingers. Yoriichi was terrified, enraptured, secretly thrilled by the winding red mark that had appeared on her brother’s forehead. Identical to hers. Like the curling fires of the sun. She’d brushed it with her fingertips last night, when they were desperate and trying to figure out for themselves why this happened. There was another mark along his neck, curling up over his jaw, the flare just barely skirting by the spot where the sliver of a sword was embedded in his skin.

“This is ominous,” Kiyomizu mused darkly. Yoriichi turned back to the shrine altar. Kiyomizu was looking down into the bowl where he was grinding down herbs and tea and sake… and their blood. His face betrayed confusion in the way his normally smooth forehead wrinkled as he lifted one eyebrow. Daichi grabbed the bowl straight out of Kiyomizu’s hands and swore down into the contents.

“Well, shit.” 

“What is wrong?” Akio asked, and Yoriichi felt his haori sleeve hit her arm as he strolled by. His voice was as cheerful as ever, but she could see through it. She could see through everything and everyone. The moment she and Michikatsu realized the mark wasn’t going away. That everyone was going to know…

“I won’t tell.” Michikatsu had promised her, pressing a sweet kiss on her lips. And he didn’t. They kept their feelings for each other a secret. Their actions behind closed doors. They’d faced consequences together. Her friends, versed in the supernatural, had all stilled terribly seeing the development. Even though no one knew what it was or what it meant, there was no doubt it meant something.

Something had changed.

And Yoriichi didn’t believe for a second that the only change was that they were having sex. Michikatsu didn’t either.

There was an initial period of chaotic questioning, bombardment that made Yoriichi mute and Michikatsu yell so loud that his house staff and several vassals entered the guest suite to find out what was going on. Chiyo showed up, took one look at Michikatsu and fainted.

Everyone wanted answers. Yoriichi included. 

Kicked into action by the mess, Yoriichi calmly took over Chiyo’s role. Ordering Michikatsu’s staff about, bowing to his vassals and asking them for their prayers to find an answer to this omen or blessing or… she wasn’t sure what to call it.

While he delt with the Demon Slayer Corps. A much rowdier crowd.

In an impromptu lunch meeting with all these people, Michikatsu calmly explained the things that seemed most necessary. Yoriichi and Michikatsu postulated throughout the night what might have something to do with this situation, and what to tell people. 

The first was already known to those familiar with the Tsugikuni family. It was the way their parents were married after their father defiled the temple of Amaterasu where they were conceived. 

That was probably the most pertinent information for the Demon Slayer Corps. Though they were all swordsmen, many had expertise in other areas. Daichi was a shaman before he picked up his weapon. Kiyomizu was an apothecary. Kaito a ninja. Akio started with the corps young, but had formal education in Buddhism from the East. And her little Haruki… he’d not been able to offer much but a hug.

He’d also given a hug to Michikatsu, startling her brother with the affection.

Each of her friends had a deep spiritual connection with the gods.

The second piece of information they revealed was that their father’s shaman had declared that Yoriichi’s mark was a curse from birth. This led Michikatsu to explain that the mark had not been so much of a curse… but a sign.

Michikatsu briefed them on the powers of the Transparent World, which Yoriichi and Michikatsu proved the veracity of with several tests from both vassals and corps members. 

“I believe this power has something to do with the mark,” her brother had said calmly while laying out the framework for Sun Breathing and Moon Breathing, how it bestowed strength upon the user, and how it killed demons when little else seemed to phase them. “The mark appeared on me last night.” 

No further explanation. His words had cut tersely after that, rounding about to points they’d come up with together. Odd things. Such as the fact that he’d had a fever almost continuously since the moment in the combination pit when he’d slain the demon. And Yoriichi could never tell when she had a fever, because by most standards her body ran hot all the time. 

“If it is a curse, it would be best we deal with it now.” Daichi had replied. Michikatsu’s old trainer and right-hand man, Fujimura, fervently agreed in the clan’s interest. Though Yoriichi noticed his heart held other motives. If it were a curse, would Michikatsu’s vassals rise and depose him? She thought that was likely. 

“Dai, Kiyo… you’ve been working for hours! And there is nothing to show for it. How do we un-curse our friends? Should we bring them to a bigger temple? Maybe Kyoto?” Akio suggested, looking over the altar at the mix before the others. The blond haired man leaned up against the stone surface with both hands before Yoriichi saw his shoulders grow stiff.

He got weirdly quiet, turned around and went back to their audience without so much as a glance in her direction.

“I don’t think this is a curse.” Daichi grumbled. He lifted the bowl and tipped it forward so that everyone could see it. In the center, surrounded by the pool of their blood, was a hardened nodule. Something that coagulated there while Kiyomizu mixed. Red-orange, and almost glowing bright as it reflected the sunlight.

“Hihiirokane, scarlet steel.” Kiyomizu said evenly. “It’s related to Nichirin, but I’ve only ever seen it once before. In a sword worn by the Emperor. Passed down the imperial line since the beginning.” He put the bowl down on the table. “Hihiirokane is a blessed metal created by Amaterasu.”

Yoriichi looked at the bowl, then back up.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Your blood made this,” Daichi interrupted. “Yours and your brother’s. Together. The power of the gods.”

The short man turned away.

“You aren’t cursed. Your stupid father demanded Amaterasu’s attention for your conception. If she was offended, she had a sense of humor about it. The fact that mixing your blood creates scarlet steel can only mean one thing.” Daichi snorted, and Yoriichi still did not get it. She was simply herself. A little odd. A little out of place. Never more at home than she was when she was with Michikatsu. 

Yoriichi was holding her breath. Her toes digging into the stones. Feeling the eyes of the world on them.

“Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi blessed the Tsugikuni twins with their powers.” Akio spoke up behind them. “We are in the presence of the incarnations of the Sun and Moon.”

*

“I will grant you a divorce if you want one.” Michikatsu said as Chiyo refused to pick up her hashi. Refused to eat. Her dark eyes trained on him like a hungry ghost. Her soiled blue and pink kimono rumpled over her shoulders. 

“No,” she replied quietly, and he didn’t like the sound of her voice so empty. So resigned. He’d never loved her, but he had admitted to himself something akin to admiration for her resolve. But all that inner strength seemed to have left her the moment she saw his new face, three days ago.

“You are not happy.”

“My lord husband, how can I be?” Her lip trembled. “You have put me in a bad spot. Marrying you was a risk. Your family is of a lower station than mine. Divorce ruins my value, and now that you’ve been declared the incarnation of Tsukiyomi, no man would dare have me.” Tears built up on her eyelashes. “To be with someone else is to endure the envy of a god. Every samurai in the land would shun me out of defference for you.”

Michikatsu stayed quiet for a moment. Exhausted. 

Three days. Three days of this ‘incarnations of the gods’ bullshit. 

He knew he was no god. Not metaphorically, not spiritually, not by birth. He worked endlessly for what he had. And he preferred it that way. Michikatsu wanted strength. He wanted to be the best, always had a competitive streak, for better and worse. But something irked him about the idea that it was all predetermined. That someone could be chosen and bypass the trials others faced. It was cheating.

It was one of the few things that really bothered him about Yoriichi. 

Incarnations of the gods… maybe her… maybe.

With that uncanny ability to master any fighting style just by observing it. With supernatural abilities she could gift to others. Yes, maybe Yoriichi really was Amaterasu. Except that she was so helpless in every other way.

Michikatsu looked down at his meal, finding himself not very hungry even though he’d only eaten his rice out of respect for the expensive grain.

“I wish for you to eat, Chiyo.” He looked back up at her face, devoid of makeup. Puffy around her eyes from constant tears. “You are making yourself sick. I do not wish for that.”

“I am not hungry.” She trembled, not taking her dead doe eyes from him. “I have done everything. I am an obedient wife, the mother of your daughter and your heir. And you still did not listen to my warning. I told you I dreamed of that mark. Of our family’s downfall. Those dreams have been worse as of late. I have failed my duty as a wife, to please you. To bring you a son. I have dishonored us by not pressing further for the safety of our family...”

“Nothing is going to happen to our family. Nothing is going to happen to you. I swear it.” He countered, pushing himself up on his knees, leaning forward and grabbing her hashi. “If you will not feed yourself, I will feed you.”

She turned her face away in blatant defiance. Her cheeks grew sallow and gray. Color leached from her face as if she would throw up.

“Promise me you will leave her.” A whispered command.

Eyes wide, Michikatsu tossed the hashi down on the floor, where they clattered loudly. “You have no right…”

“You’ve slept with her every night since that mark appeared.” The words were hanging in the air. Her voice was almost shrill. Her heart was racing in fear, and he supposed that made sense. He was leaning over his chabudai, almost menacing her into stuffing her face and filling her stomach. Nose twitching in irritation, Michikatsu leaned back. 

He wasn’t in the mood to deny it, not to Chiyo. She was perhaps the only person who had a legitimate right to know of his intimate relations with his own sister. Though he and Yoriichi carefully had separate rooms in the house, before the end of the night they were meeting in secret.

The first night it had been down by the river. 

Michikatsu hadn’t expected to see her there. He just couldn’t sleep. The day filled with explanations, rituals, offerings, and arguments had riled him up rather than made him tired. Half the men who’d witnessed the Hihiirokane believed they were gods; the other half recoiled with fear and superstition. There were arguments and fights, and challenges to his power and place as the lord of this house that he hadn't expected.

He’d gone to the river intending to let go of his thoughts by skipping stones across the moonlit water. Instead, he found Yoriichi sitting by the bank and let go of his thoughts in an entirely different way than planned.

He still thought about how beautiful she was bent over a half-submerged log, sobbing in pleasure, his spend dripping down the back of her pale thighs, her sex pulsing and wet, swollen from his attention and her arousal.

The second night, she shoved him into his bath the moment he tried to step out, and demanded his mouth between her legs. He’d released, untouched, swimming in the pleasure of being with her.

And all day today, he’d been obsessing about what might happen when night fell, instead of fully concentrating on things that he probably should have been paying attention to. Like training the other demon slayers. The superstitious bunch had practically fallen in line behind them, believing the odd happenings, the mark, the scarlet steel, the transparent world… all of those things must have been what set the twins apart. What made them so much better than the rest.

It seemed Michikatsu wasn’t the only man who had a hunger for becoming the best. Still, Yoriichi struggled to explain the breathing style. To truly teach. Words had never come easy to her, and it was plain to see both her frustration with the exercise and the growing annoyance of those around her.

Michikatsu stepped in to help her. If Amaterasu gifted her with preternatural fighting ability, it was at the expense of every other skill. As if Yoriichi’s human body and human mind could not keep up with the power of a goddess.

Thank goodness Michikatsu didn’t suffer the same.

Kaito succeeded first. 

It was almost a surprise. Almost unearthly what he did. He was sparring with Akio when it happened. Something that reminded Michikatsu of gale force winds wrapped around Kaito’s grass-green blade. He’d stepped forward, and unleased a series of savage cuts that the other man almost didn’t avoid.

It wasn’t Sun Breathing. It wasn’t Moon Breathing.

Kaito laughed hysterically after the katas were over, sitting himself on the ground of the Tsugikuni yard with a hard thump. Eyes widened manically.

“I’m the wind!” he exclaimed like an absolute idiot, raising both his fists to the sky as if he’d won a bet with the heavens.

But it forced them all to consider that perhaps the breathing styles were meant to be individualized. Maybe sun breathing worked for Yoriichi because she was the sun. No one could be her. No one could be Michikatsu. It made Michikatsu wonder about the longevity of the breathing styles. Could they teach it to others at all? Could it be passed down like many martial arts? Or would it live and die with the one person who created it?

Was their destiny to be the last generation in need of the powerful gifts of nature’s many gods? And if so, would they be legends? Michikatsu hoped so. He was human. He was no god. But a legend. Yes, that was the greatness he’d like to achieve for himself.

There were no answers.

By the end of the day, Daichi mastered a style he called Stone Breathing. Yoriichi postulated that the others might follow soon.

And that was a good thing because just before supper, three crows found their way to the training yard. Kaito and Kiyomizu were given orders to head north to deal with a problematic demon whose hunting grounds seemed to be the battlefield of two warring clans. And Haruki was summoned back to Edo, Akio offered to travel alongside the young boy.

Only Daichi remained at the Tsugikuni Mansion, and Michikatsu thought he would probably leave in the morning, now that he was boasting newfound strength.

Michikatsu had been content for all of three minutes until Fujimura-san showed up and blandly told him his wife was trying to starve herself to death. 

“Killing yourself this way holds no honor, Chiyo.” He finally said, hands drifting over her food. Ready to pick it up and press a bowl of rice into her hands. “Please…”

“What honor is left, my lord husband? When you have chosen to fill your own twin with your seed over me? I am nothing. I have failed.”

He didn’t love her, but he never wanted this for her. He pushed his food aside. Her food aside, and scooted forward so their knees touched.

“Chiyo.” His chest hurt. This was the mother of his daughter. The woman who was selflessly raising Yoriichi’s son on an order from a dead man. Someone he spent time with, and spoke with. And though their conversations never held much substance, this was a sort of sorrow. Grief. 

Saying goodbye.

Hunger might not get to her first. He knew she had taken nothing to drink since the moment she saw his mark. But she had made up her mind, and deep down he knew there was nothing he could do to change it.

“My lord husband,” her voice faltered and broke. “Please let me go.”

She didn’t mean divorce. That wasn’t final enough. That wasn’t enough to atone for this dishonor. He knew it, and still he swallowed down a lump in his throat.

“Had I known… I never would have sent you poetry. For what it’s worth, I did not intend to hurt you.”

He hoped she understood. He wished he could go back in time and refuse the marriage. She would have found someone else. She was pretty and well-bred. Michikatsu knew she would have a had a good life without him. A life she had deserved...

Chiyo opened her mouth, and for the first time spoke his name, “Michikatsu… give me your sword.”

His heart slammed into his throat. His chest tightened as it tried to crawl out of his body. 

Michikatsu knew there was no going back.

*

That night, with three witnesses and the man she had married to ease her suffering by her side, Chiyo committed seppuku. Her last wish was for absolution and forgiveness. A plea for her dishonor to be washed away and not follow her into the next life, painted plainly on cloth paper. 

Michikatsu held onto the prayer for a very long time.

Chapter Text

“Please…” Yoriichi moaned, voice rippling through her throat. Breath puffing out in white clouds made visible in the freezing air. Her back was shuddering against the log pile she slammed against with every snap of her brother’s hips. “Oh… gods… Michikatsu… uhnnn…”

He reacted to her utterance of his name with his own sharp vocalization. Not quite managing out her name as his mouth busied with sucking the sweet spot between her neck and her collar.

Eyelashes fluttering. She held onto him tightly, both legs hooked up over his elbows, leaving her half suspended and helpless to him. Swaying under his movements. Her head lolled back into the snow cover over the logs, and it took her a moment to realize Michikatsu’s fingers were in her mouth, shoved over her tongue. Tasting of salt and firewood. And cold… because it was well below freezing out and he’d followed her under the pretense of bringing more firewood into their Edo home before it got too dark for the night.

Really, they were sex-starved.

Dying for a moment alone. Any moment. 

“Mmmm…. Yoriichi…” he groaned. His fingers gagged her, saliva spilling up over her lips, over her chin. Chilling in the depths of winter. “This is why we haven’t had sex in a week. You’ve gotten loud. I’ve been spoiling you.” He continued his movement through her muffled whines. It wasn’t much of a thrust. Sloppy, uneven, terrifyingly hot in her core. In and out, rough. Yoriichi’s eyes fluttered shut in helpless ecstasy. They were both too needy to commit to a satisfying pace that might let them linger with each other. 

Both all too aware of the three children waiting for them to return through the back door of the house.

She wanted to whisper praises into his ear. Worship. But they stayed in the quick grind. His body pushed against hers. The wet  - slapping sound of their sex overpowered her muffled moans. Her eyes rolled up in the back of her head as he kept all his energy focused on hitting that spot inside her. The spot that made her dizzy, her vision almost blacking out on the edge of intense pleasure.

This had to be fast. She knew that. But she really wanted it to last forever. Forever in his arms, sucked into this tight coil of pressure between them. This heat. Her fingers flexed helplessly into the fabric of his kimono. Searching for his skin.

Another moan rattled deep in her chest.

Michikatsu’s mouth traveled down. Saliva stung her flesh in the cold air as he sucked down on her collarbone, exposed in a ruffling of her kimono. His teeth scraped over the contours of the delicate bone. And when he bit her, hitting his cock so deep she thought he might be gutting her like a fish, she finally let go. Fast and unashamed. Her body tightened so much that he tumbled right along with her. Gripping his throbbing, seed-soaked cock. Consuming all he had to offer.

Yoriichi’s vision blurred out during the high, but when she blinked back to reality, Michikatsu was still inside her. Their bodies clung together for the barest of warmth as another chilly breeze brushed by them. His breath jagged over her skin. His fingers, pendulous and lazy, were on her tongue. 

Big fluffy snowflakes were drifting down over them from the sky. Her hakama and fundoshi tossed in the snow. Her thick winter kimono wide open to his clothed chest.

She shivered. It was quickly too cold for the amount of nudity she was displaying, and she was about to say so when they heard it.

“Tou-san!” The high pitch scream from the other side of the house jolted the twins. The secret lovers, into action. Messy and incoherent. She fell out of his arms, feet landing in a snowdrift that hugged her to her bare knees, as they struggled to make themselves look presentable. Yoriichi barely had time to finish dressing before her niece came around the corner, struggling with her tiny pink kimono in the snow toward them.

Hikari launched herself at Michikatsu’s legs, clinging to her father with an indignant sob.

“Mitsu and Haruki are picking on me!!!!” she wailed. Her long hair was a tangled, scruffy mess of blackish burgundy.

Unintentionally, Yoriichi and Michikatsu let out the same frustrated sigh at the little girl’s words.

This was the reason they’d resorted to making love in the backyard in the dead of winter instead of on their shared futon like she’d prefer. Or, frankly, anywhere more comfortable than here. They were already used to being discreet, since Haruki was in and out of the house without warning because of missions. Keeping the young demon slayer innocent of their relationship. Though he had the recent curiosity to ask when Michikatsu was going to get his own estate in Edo. Yoriichi had stayed silent as Michikatsu shrugged and said there was no need since he had Tsugikuni Mansion and was likely going to be traveling between the two locations frequently. Nevermind the fact that half a year had passed without a hint of his leaving.

They were already used to being cautious. Whenever they went on missions, it was a toss-up to see if they’d run across any other slayers.

They’d learned that the hard way when Kaito had walked in on them when they’d thought they had a room at an inn all to themselves. The wind breather had gasped a disgusted noise, walked out, and no one spoke of it ever again.

Thank the gods it had been Kaito.

He didn’t like it, but he had an odd sense of loyalty to “shithead 1 and 2” as he frequently referred to them. Yoriichi was sure he would never say a word.

Cautious. Discreet. Dancing around one another, sharing secret looks whenever they were out. All but living in each other’s embraces when the world couldn’t see. But a week ago, Akimitsu and Hikari arrived at the Edo house accompanied by one of Chiyo’s teenage nephews, who’d been assigned to bring them to Michikatsu while the Tsugikuni Mansion prepared for a war council. 

War was always on the horizon. And this time it was close to the Tsugikuni family home. Too close.

Despite Chiyo’s death several months ago in mid-summer, the Takeda and Tsugikuni clans remained steadfast allies. Yoriichi knew this was a good thing as the Takeda family invested interest and resources in keeping Akimitsu safe, including sparing soldiers and resources to bring the young heir and his sister to Edo away from the encroaching battlefield. But Yoriichi couldn’t help feeling bad for her brother, who’d been visited twice by Chiyo’s elderly father. Both times the balding man brought along unmarried girls of the Takada family to ‘repair tensions’ with the moon god.

The first time resulted in a fight, that Yoriichi pulled her brother away from by forcing him to accompany her on a mission she really did not need his help with. The second time, Yoriichi and Michikatsu beseeched Oyakata-sama to write a formal letter of intent that until the incarnations of the Sun and Moon succeeded with their Earthly duty of eliminating demons that Yoriichi and Michikatsu would be beyond the reach of marriage.

A divine ordinance. 

Michikatsu hated it, having developed a severe attitude allergy to any comparisons between the twins and divinity. Yoriichi half believed it was true.

Yoriichi was grateful Oyakata-sama barely thought it was odd at all for them to ask for that declaration, and the Takada clan responded by sending five teenage boys to fight for the corps. Two of them did not pass the new test to get in, and Michikatsu spoke with Chiyo’s father on Yoriichi’s behalf. Communicating through messengers, sending those young men to marry Taiga girls. A boon of luck for her, as the rest of her late husband’s family was still heavily reliant on her distant, severely estranged leadership.

Michikatsu easily picked his daughter up, clumps of snow sticking to her tabi. The little girl kicked the air in glee for half a second before throwing her arms around his neck. 

“They were picking on me…” she was still whining. “Haruki said I sound like a macaque when I sing! And Mitsu laughed at me!”

“Do you even know what a macaque is?” Michikatsu asked, patting his daughter’s back gently. 

“NOOO!!! But it must be bad!!!!” the little girl cried. “Tou-san! Make them be nice to me!”

Yoriichi listened to all this, attempting not to smile at Hikari’s theatrics. A macaque indeed… The little girl did have an unfortunate disability when it came to staying on key. Though she played the koto beautifully for her age. Her skills with the shamisen were steadily improving as well. It was really too bad she couldn’t control her voice.

Steadily loading up logs on the little sled they’d dragged with them, Yoriichi heard Michikatsu console his daughter with soft words. 

“You don’t sound that bad, my Hikari-chan.” Swinging her around effortlessly. Dragging giggles instead of complaints out of her mouth. “Not quite a songbird, no macaque, just my musume.”

“Tou-san!!!” She squealed, a smile blooming on her face as he whipped her around with ease. Giggles of delight bubbled up from her throat.

“Yoriichi.” Michikatsu finally said when Hikari stopped whining, but did not let go of him. “Jan-ken-pon?”

She blinked, looking up from her task. Her back hurt a little from having been repeatedly slammed against the woodpile, but she’d been enjoying listening to their interaction. Her heart fluttering. Secret desires built within her. Someday… someday if they were ever free from demons... Maybe someday… A lovely vision flooded her mind. They stood together, holding a new life, the result of their deep love for each other. Maybe someday.

“Jan-ken-pon?” she repeated the name of the game curiously, unsure why Michikatsu was suggesting it. Usually, they played Jan-ken-pon out on missions with other slayers. Jan-ken-pon, the loser has to pay for the next inn. Jan-ken-pon, who must tell the village leader that they can’t bring back the dead, but at least they vanquished the demon. Jan-ken-pon, for the sheer entertainment value of trying to dupe each other on long walks in the countryside.

Jan-ken-pon as a trick to astound their friends, that they could divine which hand signal each other was going to make from the slightest observation. Their record of matching each other with eerie twin-sense was easily in double digits. Kiyomizu hated it, acting like a man afraid of spirits when they showed him. Kaito tried to match it, sneering that it was just an ‘observational power’ trick. Daichi kept a record of how many times they could match each other in a row, betting random slayers for stupid favors about the issue. Akio laughed and played with them, uncaring that they matched, and beating them almost every single time. And Haruki slyly made up new hand signals. “This is the rock! This is the parchment! These are the shears! Have you seen the snowball?” Getting the dip on Michikatsu by slapping his chest as if his hand was a wet snowball and running away as fast as he could (which was damn fast).

“Yeah,” Michikatsu grinned at her. “The loser has to scold the boys again.”

Oh. Yoriichi blinked, glanced down at the log pile and then back up. She noticed Hikari wouldn’t look at her. Or rather, that her niece was glaring at her out of the corner of her eye. Looking very much like Michikatsu did when he was angry.

She knew why.

“I’ll talk to the boys,” Yoriichi said quietly, and avoided looking her brother in the eye.

“Yori…” He sounded concerned. Exasperated. Torn.

She didn’t wait around for him to stop her. Sliding the sled back to the house, she dropped all the firewood at the end of the engawa, in a spot slightly more covered from the elements. 

And hurriedly she went inside. Yoriichi told herself it was because she was cold. She really needed a bath. The space between her thighs was uncomfortably sticky because she’d had to throw her clothes on in a rush, trying to keep the secret from the children. She hadn’t even dressed properly. Her fundoshi shoved into the sleeve of her kimono. She probably smelled of sex, sweat, and fallen logs. 

Wrinkling up her nose, Yoriichi made her way to the bath, passing by the tearoom and noting that Haruki and Akimitsu were inside, giggling and playing shogi. Sticking her head in quickly, she interrupted them.

“You two had better apologize to Hikari. It is not nice to compare her singing to a wild animal. And go get ready for bed.”

The boys grinned, but at least Haruki looked a little embarrassed.

“Okay, Yoriichi.” He mumbled. Akimitsu just nodded, not saying a word. He hadn’t said a word to her since arriving. Hikari hadn’t said a word to her since arriving. 

She knew they knew.

The Takeda family, though cordial, had told the children that Chiyo had been forced to commit seppuku because of her. She was the reason their mother was dead. It was her fault, and Chiyo had all but predicted it, priming the twins who weren’t twins to engage in this silent battle with her.

She remembered her early resolve to force Michikatsu to stay home and be the father they deserved. He was still a good father. Still attentive. Actively orchestrating opportunities for them. Preparing them for futures full of prosperity. Writing them letters, sending them gifts, seeing them every moment their travels allowed him to.

But things were not the same.

Yoriichi could feel a headache coming on, so she pulled herself past the doorway and down the hall, up the stairs to the second floor bath. Letting her mind go, she stoked the coal pit, filled up the bath, and did all the minor tasks she needed to do. 

Then she lay down in the water, looking at the familiar ceiling. Letting go of thoughts. Letting go… Her ears were submerged in the water, but she still heard the ruckus of the children running by the bathroom to their shared bedroom. She closed her eyes, willing it away. Drifting.

Drifting…

In truth, she loved the sounds of her home. She loved hearing the children play. Even though Haruki was older than the others by many years, he’d instantly and eagerly jumped into the role of a big brother.

Her heart fluttered with a sense of serenity watching them play, checking in on them when they slept, giggling when Michikatsu got in over his head trying to have them help him make eggs for breakfast.

But…

Yoriichi didn’t finish her thoughts. Something pressed her down, pushing her unexpectedly under the water. She reacted immediately. Reaching forward. Grabbing, pulling up over the waterline. Blinking as she found herself face to face with Michikatsu. Her fingers dug into the front of his yukata. The clothing was slightly loose, showing off his muscular chest. Her brother had a mischievous grin on his face.

“I thought you told me once that demons didn’t care what you were doing, and I had to be aware at all times.” He teased, fingers dancing on her wet cheek. “And here you are taking a nap in the bath.”

Blinking wildly, Yoriichi gathered herself before giving a huff of annoyance and yanking him, clothes and all, into the tub with her.

“You jerk! I was…”

“Unobservant.” He laughed at her, wrestling in the water, slipping. Sliding. Water sloshed out of the tub. She growled at him, tugging his hair, pulling his face down to her skin. He molded his mouth over the tip of her breast, sucking in a nipple. Playing with his tongue around the sensitive flesh. 

“Mmm… Michikatsu…” she tried to make her voice sound like a huff, but couldn’t quite make it angry. His hand came up and squeezed the other breast. And just like that, her resolve crumbled. She stopped fighting him. Spreading her legs, guiding his already hard cock back to her sex. Back where he belonged. Keening as he worked her open slowly. 

“Shhh… Imouto.” He whispered, leaning back, dragging her with him, impaled on his hard length. Her legs draped over his, chest to chest. She couldn’t get enough of kissing his lips. Of rocking gently on him. Heat flooded her for the second time in a short span.

“Mmmm… the kids?”

“I tucked them in a while ago,” he whispered in her ear. “I was waiting for you to come to bed, but you never showed up. Don’t fall asleep in the bath, Imouto. It’s stupid.”

She agreed with a kiss, stripping his soaked yukata from his shoulders. Letting her thighs burn as she thrust herself onto him steadily, strangling her need to tell him just how much he meant to her in the back of her throat.

The world. All the heavens. Hell itself could never tear her away from him… not for long. Never for long. If the gods made eclipses so that Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi could be together, so that even the night and the day could have their impossible love, then she could have this.

Her breath tumbled. His mouth against her breast. Sucking a dark spot into her flesh. 

Yoriichi was so caught up in this, in feeling him. In being with him. Her mind distantly focused on the fluttering desire in her heart. She wondered what her dearest brother would say if she suggested she stop taking the medicinal tea he was buying her from an apothecary two towns over just to be discreet about this?

Would he want it?

Would Michikatsu want to be a father again?

Yoriichi bit her lip, humming softly as his hands stilled on her hips. As he held her in place so he could thrust up, disturbing the water. Getting it all over the floor. Sinking fingers into her skin. His teeth pressed into her arm to hide a moan.

“Ani…”

He clapped his hand down on her mouth just in time to block the too-loud cry she let out when she came for him.

And then, before he could join her, they heard it. 

A terrible rattle, as if the home had plucked itself out of the foundation, grown legs and was running. The world shuddered around them. The walls splintered and groaned. Yoriichi’s hands dug into Michikatsu’s shoulders. Her senses were alert. High-strung in seconds.

He smoothed his fingers down her arms.

“It’s just an earthquake. It’ll be over soon.” His voice was so calming, but it made nothing better when they heard the children scream. When the rumble of the earth gave way to the din of something collapsing. 

It was hard to move. To find balance and leap out of the tub. But Yoriichi did it, chased by her brother. 

“The children!” She gasped, running as the floor cracked in half, part of it crumbling down to the bottom floor. The house was coming down around them. They had to get outside. There was no time to think of anything else. No time at all.

She sprinted, fell with another gutting undulation of the ground beneath her feet, got up and stumbled. Racing as fast as the angry ground let her. She snatched open the screen to Haruki’s room, her heart slamming in her throat. The three of them were huddled in the far corner, with a gaping hole where their futons usually lay. She could see blood spilled on the broken floor, but didn’t know where it came from. 

“Haruki!” Michikatsu called out, voice booming in seriousness. “Get outside!” 

It was a blur after those words. A mad rush to find some semblance of safety. She picked up one dark-haired child; Michikatsu picked up the other. And with nothing but a desire to live, they made it out into the dark and snowy night.

It felt like the world was going to rip in half. Yoriichi watched her home shudder, sway, and collapse. The entire second floor gave out with a terrible death throe. A heave of a warrior speared through the chest. The night sky was obscured with clouds of smoke as pieces of the home went up in flames from lamps that hadn’t been snuffed out before the quake hit. Trees in the nearby forest screamed as they fell like foot-soldiers destined for battle-death.

And stunned, unable to feel cold or think in words. Yoriichi waited for the shaking to stop, waiting, vaguely aware that the warmth in her arms was wet, viscous. Vaguely aware of the scent of blood, and the curling horrible feeling of a demon lurking nearby.

*

Haruki was a good little demon slayer. Of the three of them, he was the only one who remembered the cardinal rule: Your sword is an extension of your body. Know where it is at all times. Bring it with you everywhere.

Michikatsu gritted his teeth into the remains of his yukata, ripping through the material with such fervor his jaw hurt. Handing wet strips over to Yoriichi, who was pale as a ghost in the snow. Her lips trembled and were turned blue. Her soaking wet hair freezing over her naked shoulders. Frost caressed her skin. Snow biting into her exposed flesh.

“I’m going to need a few more,” she said as if she didn’t feel the cold. As if her only singular focus was on Akimitsu. Akimitsu… unconscious, speared through his shoulder by a splinter longer than Michikatsu’s forearm. 

Their son. Bleeding out so quickly that Michikatsu couldn’t think. He could only move.

He tore more of the yukata. Yoriichi had ripped the splinter from her son’s little body and immediately pressed down on the bubbling wound. Her hands were covered in blood. Quickly instructing Hikari to help even though his little girl was sobbing. Terrified. Saying her brother’s nickname in an obviously blabbering desire, a prayer to any god who would listen… make this better.

“It’s okay, Musume.” Michikatsu said as Yoriichi wrapped the wet strips tightly against the wound. Keeping himself from joining in her hysteria only through the last thread of his quickly dissolving ability to emulate Yoriichi’s razor-sharp trauma focus. Her impeccable cool. I have no idea how she does this. That thought was only going to lead him down the road of panic, and he knew it. 

He had to stay composed. He had to be strong. 

She was. And he could do anything she could.

Couldn’t he?

Could he?

His breathing was too fast, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Aniue…” Yoriichi’s voice was shaking despite her outward serenity. “Leave Hikari with me. You need to go find things in the rubble to help us survive. We’re going to freeze.”

Somewhere in the distance, a peal of thunder caught his attention. 

“Freeze… cold…” he mumbled out the words between his anxious breaths. She wasn’t even shivering, and somehow that seemed like a bad thing.

“Haruki, be safe.” Yoriichi whispered as if she was answering to the power of the boy she’d adopted.

“I’ll be right back,” Michikatsu promised, getting to his feet. Sprinting. His legs didn’t feel strong. He was immensely cold. The air ripped at his lungs. There was really nothing left of his yukata, so he ignored it when the rest of the material slid off his body when it snagged on a jagged piece of broken wood.

Would this have been the entrance to their home? He couldn’t tell in the rubble. Avoiding spots where fires were smoldering. Swords. Warmth. Which was more important? 

He ground his teeth, pushing crumbling walls to find… anything. He didn’t know where their blades were. And while there were undoubtedly demons around, Haruki was here.

Michikatsu could still hear the godly power of thunder breathing in the distance.

For Haruki to be raising a storm only meant that there was more than one demon. The kid had an impressive record of being able to single-strike any demon he came across. There’s more than one. He’s capable… but he’s a child… swords… where are the swords?

Michikatsu found even in this adrenaline-induced state that the rubble was often too heavy for him to shift. His muscles aching with effort. His bare feet getting cut on fragments of glass, pottery, and splintered wood.

Stilted footsteps led him deeper into the ruined house. Smoke and fire glowed around him. His eyes focused on a spot to the north. The mudroom was still half standing, a slight shelter in the wreckage. And almost as if by a miracle, against that wall the cubbies holding the children’s winter jackets were upright, barely touched. He raced there and gathered the clothing in his arms.

It wouldn’t be enough for him and Yoriichi, but that didn’t matter. If it was enough for Hikari, for Akimitsu, for Haruki…

The bundled clothing shuddered, and it took him a moment to realize it was not some odd attribute of inert cloth, but his own body shuddering from exposure.

“Nature is apathetic, isn’t it?”

Movement ceased. The world suddenly very still.

Eyes widening, Michikatsu turned slowly. Across the broken room stood a man. His black hair a curling deadly waterfall, skin somehow paler than Yoriichi’s was as she was freezing alive in the harsh winter air. 

Michikatsu locked eyes with him. Red as the rising sun, pupils darkened diamonds. 

He’d never seen this man before, but he knew instantly who he was.

The demon who had possessed the other in the combination pit.

Muzan Kibutsuji.

Michikatsu didn’t dare to blink.

“I suppose you could say that,” he said back, throat as dry as a corpse baking in the sun. The demon smiled, and it didn’t look threatening. He wasn’t grotesque like some they slew. Unnervingly handsome, human-like. Michikatsu bet he could walk among humans without ever so much as a glance… unless someone looked really hard.

He was a tad bit off-color.

“Michikatsu-san,” Muzan purred. “You know I hate the mechanisms of nature as much as humans do, right? I desire to stop time, to live in eternal suspension. Nature…” he motioned at the broken, blistering world around them. “Nature is inevitable entropy. I despise it.”

“I don’t have time to chat with you about philosophy,” Michikatsu barked. He didn’t know what he expected at the outburst, but it wasn’t a soft laugh, a gentle look on the demon’s visage.

“Of course you don’t. You’re still stuck in the river of time. You and the pretty one. What is her name?”

“What do you gain by knowing?”

Muzan closed his eyes, looking beatific. It was so odd, Michikatsu thought. Why would a demon look like a bodhisattva? He couldn’t feel anything menacing from the man. Nothing evil. Just… an open emptiness… like a painting of an empty field under the light of the moon.

Absence.

Peace.

His breath caught in his throat.

“Her name is Yoriichi.” He said, without even knowing why. 

Muzan simply looked at him, and Michikatsu knew if the demon had wanted him dead, he never would have even known the man was there. There would have been no curious conversation. Nothing at all.

Somehow, Michikatsu believed everything this man said.

Muzan lifted one pale, well-formed hand. His beautiful black kimono sliding down his forearm to reveal a rather delicate-looking wrist. He snapped his fingers, and Michikatsu’s focus shifted. Out of the smoke, another figure emerged.

A woman, maybe thirty years old, her wide eyes looking blank and serene. The color of blooming wisteria. A kimono as rich as her master’s adorned her petite frame.

“This is Tamayo,” Muzan said softly. “Do not be afraid. She is a doctor.”

The woman stepped forward, and Michikatsu sensed… he wasn’t sure… something heavy around her. Like a blanket weighed down after washing. Like a pickling stone dutifully doing its job.

“For you and your sister.” The woman’s sweet voice reached his ears. She was right before him, and he didn’t know how he’d lost track of the space between them. His skin prickled, and he glanced down into her outstretched arms. 

Palms up, she offered him two bundles of clothing. It was apparent that the silk was the best quality he’d ever seen in his life. Ridiculously wealthy. Red and purple like the color of newly bruised flesh. And on top of the folded cloth were their swords.

Michikatsu looked back at Muzan.

“You give us our swords? Though we kill your kind?”

“Call it curiosity, first breather.” Muzan’s voice was like a melody playing in his ears. “Why would a being such as myself hold grudges?”

That is a lie.

The first lie the man told him. The choice oddly enthralled Michikatsu. Of all the things to lie about, holding grudges seemed… he wasn’t sure… odd? He wondered about it.

Muzan smiled. “Tamayo, it is time for us to go. Michikatsu, I hope we meet again. Maybe someday, you and your sister can escape the river of entropy too. Maybe someday the sun and moon will join me in permanence.”

The demons disappeared, and Michikatsu wasted not a second longer returning to his family. The demon’s seducing words warped through his senses, the words lingering like aftershocks. Like the earth that grew restless under their feet as they struggled to survive.

Drowning in a river of entropy.

Chapter Text

Yoriichi remembered summers long ago when she and Michikatsu would jump into the koi pond beyond Mother’s private garden. Her brother would try to send her secret messages under the water, bringing his face close to hers. His lips moving, bubbles bursting from his mouth as he spoke. The distortion of his voice, the barely there popping of sound that reached her ears. How she’d giggle and giggle some more. 

Right now, Akio Rengoku’s voice sounded just as far away. As if they were in the koi pond, swimming with her mother’s precious fish, jumping out of the water in stilted laughter when Michikatsu’s trainer, Fujimura, screamed at them. “What’s the matter with you!?”

Subdued with shock, Yoriichi sat there, still as a statue. Akio settled opposite her. “Answer me true, Yoriichi. Are you a woman? Did Haruki see correctly? Have you lied to us?”

Yoriichi almost didn’t hear the question spoken in the silence of pre-dawn. In the empty guest room, thankfully well heated. Her face felt drained of blood. Her limbs ached with the feeling of needles striking through her flesh. Only, there were no needles, not anymore. Her gaze wavered to her hands, wrapped like colorful presents under strips of old silk. Cold blisters deflated like crumbled pillows on each finger; the frostbite was so severe that a little longer under that exposure would have caused her to lose fingers, possibly both hands. 

It hurt to move.

“Yoriichi?” Akio waved his hand in front of her face to no avail. She was aware, but not… not present. Not yet. She needed more than the mere few seconds she had received to decompress. She needed more time between the aftershocks that were continually rumbling under their feet.

Normally, earthquakes didn’t bother her. Most of the time she barely noticed them. It was a fact of life, after all, the earth rocked and rolled, soothing itself and all the creatures on its lands like a mother to a fussing baby. She couldn’t understand why this one had been so violent.

She could scarcely remember how they got from the wreckage of her home to Akio’s place across the ruined town. Most buildings crumbled to the ground. People standing rattled on the snowy streets. Fears and uncertainties. There were screams that the river was rising, as the ocean upchucked into the waterway. Even at the midpoint of the town, salt water was rushing by people’s ankles, dragging along slush, creating hazardous conditions. 

Michikatsu had wrapped this red kimono that wasn’t hers tighter around her body, demanded she climb on his back, while he lifted Akimitsu up across the crook of his elbows…

She could scarcely remember feeling any relief at all seeing the lights on at Akio’s home far on the outskirts of town, thankfully at the top of a hill and out of the way of unpredictable swells in the river. The front gate had crumbled to the ground, along with half the wall on the left side of the yard. But the home was relatively undamaged.

The memories blurred and went out of focus. Something about Akio’s wife washing Akimitsu’s frozen blood off her hands, popping each of the swelling cold blisters, wiping warm salve on her fingers, and gently wrapping each digit in torn silk.

There’d been ugly arguments between Michikatsu, Akio, and Haruki that she didn’t understand because the capability for language was tucked somewhere behind the detachment of trauma.

She was sure it had something to do with the questions she faced now.

“Yoriichi,” Akio said her name again.

She heard him, but it was impossible to move, even to blink. Her eyes felt so dry.

Then she was jostled. Tumbled back into existence when Akio’s hands yanked open the front of the kimono she wore. The one she still didn’t know how Michikatsu got. Her gaze sharpened, cool air from Akio’s guest bedroom kissing her snow-chapped skin. 

He looked at her chest for all of two seconds before snapping her kimono shut again, and turning so he sat facing away from her. The material loosened by his actions had slid off her left shoulder. Her skin felt raw; every movement of silk against it chaffing. 

Her friend let out a breath that was cross. Sagging his shoulders and stiffening his back into something that couldn’t have been comfortable.

“You lied to us.”

Yoriichi turned her chin down, gaze following the unbound curve of her breasts. With a gummy feeling in her throat, she knew she had to say something.

Still, it took until Akio grunted and almost stood up to leave for her to find her words. To pressure them out of her mouth, like a dumpling stuffed too full.

“I let you believe what you assumed because I am tall, because I dress like a man, because I’m not all that pretty.” She whispered, forcefully willing herself to speak instead of falling into mute silence. Think overstuffed dumpling, she told herself. Avidly envisioning a savory radish center oozing out of the fried doughy shell. 

She couldn’t tell if it was odd that through all this numbness she felt hungry. She wanted katemeshi and dumplings desperately, or maybe some nikuman… she’d only had that once during her marriage to Uta, when they’d traveled together to Nagasaki. 

“Only you would think you are not pretty…” Akio shook his head disdainfully, catching her by surprise, but his next words extinguished that. “Why? Why lie?” The hurt in his voice was palpable, and she tried not to flinch. She tried really hard not to think of how this was just about the worst possible way for her friends to discover this secret. Yoriichi wished she could go back in time and tell them the truth. Without consequence. Without giving up the goals and aspirations she’d set for herself.

Taking a shaking breath, she was glad at least that Akio was a kind soul. He was patient even though she’d upset him.

He was still sitting here with her, not raising his voice. Not showing anything other than mild discomfort.

“You would have been honor-bound to return me to my father,” her voice cracked in the dim light of the room. Sunrise was almost upon them, but for now the only light from the windows was a harsh haze of lavender. The scent of river-washed laundry, and incense deep in her sinuses. “I did not lie to you when I said I was fighting demons to avenge a family, my family. My son. So, no. I was not keen on telling you my sex, having you march me straight back to my father, and being forced into another marriage for his gain and his gain alone.”

Akio looked at her out of the corner of his eye. And she could see the fire in him, the flame of justice, of purity. She hated that this hurt him, but of anyone… of anyone in the corps… he should understand the best. And right behind him, Kaito. But Kaito already knew. Already accepted her in his own crass way.

“I can’t fault you for that.” Akio said after a moment. “You’ve said many times that your father and my brother were kindred spirits.”

“Yes,” Yoriichi said. “People who use their power over family to further their own agendas… yes.”

Silence stretched between them, cold like the winter wind howling outside. She still couldn’t shiver.

“I can’t fault you for your initial hesitancy, but since Michikatsu’s joined us… why have you not corrected us since then? Why have you allowed him to lie on your behalf? He’s in the other room trying to convince Haruki that he didn’t see your breasts. That your naked body isn’t that of a woman. The man is a lunatic about protecting you.”

Flinching because Akio’s bright glare felt too harsh, Yoriichi looked back down at her hands. Her hair slid over her shoulder, tumbling down her front in a mess of unmanageable curls. She sucked the words back into her throat, where they refused to loosen. 

Across from her, Akio sighed.

“Is it because of these love marks on your skin?” He reached a hand out, tugging her kimono back over her shoulder, knuckles pointedly stopping at each darkened bruise Michikatsu had sucked into her shoulder.

Still without words, Yoriichi simply nodded.

Akio straightened her out. Properly, like a parent might do to a child. And considering how he’d always taken her under his wing, the metaphor seemed… apt.

“If it were anyone else,” Akio shook his head. “If you weren’t indeed Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi… this would be really disturbing.”

She couldn’t help it. The numbness flashed away for an instant. She coughed, something between a scoff and a chuckle. Akio patted her shoulder.

“Thanks? I think?”

“Well… I suppose I will have to continue endorsing your position in the corps,” Akio shrugged. “After all, Michikatsu clearly has.”

“And his opinion matters more than mine because he has a penis.” She said dryly.

Akio raised an eyebrow, looking somehow amused despite his clear sorrow she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him her secrets. “No. Because legally that is how it works, Yoriichi. It is the order of our world. Believe me when I say that, of the two of you, you are the more level-headed with decisions… though maybe not with this one.”

“You always advised me to follow my heart.”

“I did. And I still do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think. It doesn't mean you shouldn't have told those you are closest to.” Akio said wisely. And he was right. Undeniably correct. Still, she wasn’t sure if she regretted her actions or just the circumstances in the world that led her to take them.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and this time meant it. Akio nodded somewhat tersely, and she knew that there was going to have to be some sort of reconciliation. Some sort of way she could regain his trust. But she didn’t know what that would be yet. 

The wooden door to the room slid open.

“Ah! Sorry to bother you, Akio-san!” Akio’s homely wife, Sachiko, stuck her head in the door. Bowed and polite. “Oyakata-sama and Ai-chan just arrived. Their home’s been flooded.”

Akio said nothing for a long second, and Yoriichi looked at her friend silently. It didn’t matter if Akio said he’d endorse her being a demon slayer. If Michikatsu said she was an Onna-musha. If Kaito fessed up and confessed he knew the entire time.

None of that mattered at all.

If Oyakata-sama kept with tradition. If he decreed it, she’d have to lay her sword down… dishonored by her sex. Worse, her decisions might bring dishonor to Michikatsu in all arenas. Political and personal. He couldn’t claim not to have known. It would be an asinine claim. No one would believe him.

Would they kick him out of the corps too?

She supposed if that happened, they’d return to Tsugikuni Mansion and… then what? Would other lords come looking for her hand in a political marriage? Would they come with their daughters and offer them to her brother? 

How would they manage that?

And what of Akimitsu? She’d seen the damage through the transparent world. The nerve connecting his brain to his hand was severed. He’d never hold a sword again. He’d never shoot a bow like he proudly showed her back when they were first reunited. 

Her boy, who was never hers, was no longer fit to be the heir of their family legacy. And even if the gods swooped down and made that injustice right, there would be questions about legitimacy. Ones she was sure were already brewing back home, but that they’d been able to avoid fallout from with a carefully crafted front.

A front that crumbled like her home in the earthquake.

Akio was still speaking. “We will meet with Oyakata-sama momentarily, Sachiko. Please, just concentrate on making sure there is food and tea ready.”

“Mm. Yes, Michikatsu-san’s been helping me.” She replied, but didn’t lift her head. “It was the only way to get him and Haruki-chan to stop fighting.”

“Where is Haruki now?” Yoriichi asked, trying so very hard not to let a tremble stain her voice.

“I sent him to bed, and Hikari-chan too.” She bowed even deeper. Perfect, ladylike. Subservient. Yoriichi’s eyes stung watching it. Knowing… this might be her future. Soft-spoken, bowed forever to the ground. Never again looking up to the heavens. She couldn’t imagine a day without seeing the sun or a night without the moon. But wives had no time for fairy tales. No dreams of their own. “Our doctor is tending to Akimitsu-chan now, but the boy hasn’t woken yet.”

Yoriichi merely nodded as Akio praised his wife, like a dutiful husband. The terse, formal exchange felt like rocks pelting her skin. And then she was gone. Taking care of the home and hearth, as society reduced all women to. 

“Are you going to tell Oyakata-sama?” She finally whispered. Akio’s brow was furrowed in singular determination. The sort of determination she’d seen on his face when he hunted demons. 

“No. You will.”

*

Oyakata-sama, as it turned out, made them wait for an audience. The reason his daughter, Ai Ubyashiki, announced was that her father had fallen and hit his head during the quake. He suffered a terrible headache and needed ample rest. 

Rest that was timed perfectly with the arrival of every demon slayer recalled to Edo. Every… single… man.

Akio’s home was too small to host the group, now 32 members strong, as a group of five had been killed in a building collapse, and two more were missing. There was no word on what had happened to them, whether it was the earthquake and subsequent tsunami, demons, the chaos of men, or something altogether different.

And just as quakes showed faults in the earth’s pristine surface, the aftermath of this one was showing faults in the Demon Slayer Corps. Michikatsu knew the word had spread like the tsunami that wracked the entire coast of Japan. 

Yoriichi’s a woman. Truly Amaterasu. A goddess. No wonder…

It was not all awe and happiness. Haruki had barely spoken a word to Yoriichi since finding out. When Michikatsu calmed down enough to talk to the kid without yelling at him, he’d sat down and confessed. He’d sat down and apologized to a child for lying to him and then trying to mind game him into thinking he’d simply imagined it under all the stress.

Michikatsu was an adult who made a terrible decision. He knew it. He had no excuse.

Haruki listened quietly and then said he wasn’t mad at Michikatsu. He said he wasn’t mad at Yoriichi. Man or woman, what she’d done for him in life was a debt he’d never be able to repay. But he needed time.

Michikatsu was alright with that.

Akio knew, and only said a few clipped words about how the twins had better never ever lie to him again. Kaito arrived at Akio’s house, found out what was going on, and sat down for a surprisingly quiet moment with Yoriichi as she had the bandages changed on her horribly frost-blistered hands.

Michikatsu didn’t know what they had talked about, nor did he care. The wind breather stayed out of his way, not even throwing any snide comments in his direction. No more jokes, no addresses of ‘shithead 1 and shithead 2’. When Michikatsu laid down next to Yoriichi that night, she’d sobbed into his shoulder that she was grateful she had friends like Akio and Kaito. Friends who vowed to fight for her place, for their place.

Kiyomizu and Daichi arrived together days after that.

Their arrival brought a fresh wave of chaos. A new upheaval of uncertainty and questions about the workings of the world.

Daichi had developed a mark in the midst of a desperate battle against a difficult demon. Dark cracking ribbons, like the shatter patterns of stone, fell from his forehead down to his chin. The diminutive man exuded pride in himself, having painstakingly outlined each one in white paint to make them even more visible on his tanned skin. 

“You are not the only ones blessed by the gods!” he had yelled in triumph, and then let it slip that Kiyomizu had also developed a pattern, though his apparently only showed up in battle, leaving his smooth face undisturbed the rest of the time. 

Then, the two of them heard the news about Yoriichi. It was quiet for an hour, maybe two. Everyone was standing in Akio’s dojo cleaning armor, organizing equipment they salvaged from the remains of the Demon Slayer Corps storeroom, which had collapsed and then went up in flames, much like Yoriichi’s house had.

Michikatsu was sitting opposite Yoriichi, rubbing cleanser onto a set of red lacquered tekkou to get the soot off of it. While she struggled with the haidate from the same set. Though half the reason she seemed to struggle was because of the stiffness that seized her fingers. The frostbite was healing nicely, quickly all things considered, but Michikatsu knew by the way she held her tea, by how weak her fingers gripped his when they slept next to each other at night, that the damage had been nearly insurmountable for her body to recover from. Even with the breathing style, even as blessed as she was.

Yoriichi was still human, after all.

“What do you make of it?” Michikatsu whispered, leaning forward slightly while scratching bits of ash off the tekkou, where his cleaning cloth was having difficulty reaching in the joints of the armored fingers. The bitter scent of soapweed wafted up from the slight movement of his hand over the red-lacquered piece. 

Yoriichi hummed for a moment.

“I don’t know, Aniue. Maybe it’s all connected. Our calling, the breathing styles, these marks. The gods give us signs.” 
 
Somehow it seemed just like her to say that, but Michikatsu was a little disappointed. There had been no sign that anyone else besides them would ever manifest these patterns across their flesh, and he hadn’t known how much he loved that this shared experience was just between them… until it was no longer theirs alone.

Too late now.

“Mmm… this piece is done.” Yoriichi mumbled, holding up the haidate. “Very lucky it was found buried under other things. The leather backing was a little dirty, but unharmed.” The thigh guard shone from the cleaning, each overlapping piece of metal scrubbed clean, though he could tell it was old as there was a chain across the bottom that had been ripped apart and re-hemmed leaving a strip of black dyed leather visible. 

“Yes, lucky.” He said, casting his eyes back down to his work. He hadn’t told her yet about his own attempts at restoration. In the broken remains of her Edo home, there was not much that survived the fire. Her favorite iron teapot, which he knew was the first thing she ever bought with the money she’d earned from the Demon Slayer Corps. Her hanafuda earrings, which he’d searched for first because when she realized she hadn’t been wearing them in the bath, she cried and mourned anew like their mother just died in front of her again.

In finding the lacquered box that held her earrings, he also recovered the small flute he’d made for her when they were tiny, and an ivory hairpin from the continent she kept from one of her first missions.

He’d also found a lot of broken pottery. A lot of scraps of mostly burned material. Some food that he promptly brought to Akio’s wife as repayment for their kindness during their displacement. He recovered a few bottles of doburoku saki. He and Yoriichi had just finished brewing them a week before the quake, and he offered to Akio himself. And money, which was all but useless right now as most of the shops in Edo and the surrounding towns were working on a barter-only basis in the disaster’s aftermath.

Michikatsu dipped his cloth in the cleanser again, wetting the tip and going back to the boring job of restoring the armor, while Yoriichi got up to return her piece to the young man who was inventorying everything cleaned and useful. 

Back at the ruins of Yoriichi’s home, he’d been hoping to find the clay jar that held the brew of medicine she took to avoid pregnancy… not that they were having sex in Akio’s house, because they were not. But they wouldn’t be here forever, and he wanted to return to the way things were. He wanted to have unrestrained nights of passion, of falling into her arms, of not worrying about every little thing.

Alas, he never found the jar.

He didn’t think she’d be willing to have sex with him again until they could get more medicine, and given the scarcity of supplies across the region, that might be awhile. Still, he daydreamed maybe she would change her mind. Everyone knew her sex now, maybe she would accept him without the medicine. Maybe they could…

Michikatsu didn’t have the same drive for family that Yoriichi had, but… he thought of Akimitsu and Hikari. It wouldn’t be so bad to give them a younger sibling, would it?

Out of love…

Of course it would be love. But he also knew very well there would be complications. They were both unmarried. Siblings. Twins. Their close-relative romance was certainly not acceptable for their status. And any child born between them would have a hard future of fighting against the stigma of their parentage.

“Ah!!” someone screamed, causing Michikatsu to jerk his head up, and away from the troubled daydreams that accompanied busy work. 

His breath caught in his throat, feet finding purchase underneath him. Kaito’s hand slammed him back, the man’s arms wrapped up in a hold that was crushing his lungs and slamming him down to the floor, as his brain caught up to process what he was seeing before him.

Yoriichi was standing in the middle of the room. The white material that she’d borrowed from Akio ripped off her shoulders, skewing the navy hakama that were too short for her long legs. Everyone could see her bare chest, the firm line of her back. Her beautiful, well-toned shoulders, and all the fading marks he'd peppered across her skin. Opposite her, Daichi held the material he’d stolen from her body with a sneer and narrowed eyes.

“So it’s true.” He said with a laugh that sounded more like the yipping of a crazed dog. “What about the rest of it? Are you fucking your brother too?”

Michikatsu struggled, and Kaito shot him a sharp look.

“Shut up, shithead. Be glad he’s not bullying you.” The wind breather hissed lowly, even though bullying Yoriichi was as much an offence to Michikatsu as if the stone breather was bullying him directly.

“Let me go. I’m going to kill him.”

Kaito simply rolled his eyes and did not let go. Michikatsu twisted in Kaito’s grip before gritting his teeth so hard he thought they’d break.

“You always did like being in control, Daichi-san.” Yoriichi said evenly, as if the entire corps had not seen her breasts. As if it meant nothing. As if she didn’t even care about the physicality of her own body. 

Michikatsu thought she might feel embarrassed.

“Don’t give me that shit, woman.” Daichi huffed, deepening the wrinkles of his face, creasing even more. Like a crushed paper.

Yoriichi cocked her head to the side, just slightly. There was a moment of silence. A hush during the confrontation. Everyone watched. Men looking as if they didn’t know what to do with this confirmation, and then Yoriichi lifted her hands, cupping her breasts.

“Has my flesh ever betrayed me in battle? Have I ever left a single one of you to die at the hands of demons?”

“This is not your place.” Kiyomizu spoke up, smooth as a lake, dark blue eyes deadened as he glided up to Daichi’s side. He wasn’t ogling her like some others, but Michikatsu still hissed out a curse in his direction. 

No one paid any attention to him at all.

Except Kaito, who whispered, “She has this. She has to have this, Michikatsu. You can’t save her from this.”

And Akio, coming up by his side. “Yoriichi is strong. She’ll make her own path. She always has.”

He knew that. He believed in her. But he didn’t believe in any of the surrounding men. This was dishonor. This was an invitation. An unmarried, unassigned woman, having paraded as a man for years. Now that they knew. Michikatsu wasn’t stupid. Many of them would think of this as an invitation. 

Daichi instigated this perverse interaction.

Yoriichi was a corps member through and through. And now that they knew… there’d be other ways they’d try to use her, and every single one of them made him want to vomit.

As if to confirm his nauseating concerns, Daichi smiled wide.

“You want to be part of the corps, Yoriichi?”

“I am already.” She responded dully, her hands not having left her chest.

The diminutive man snorted with derision. “No. You aren’t. There’s always been something about you. Something not like us. We were all blind, thinking you were an incarnation of Amaterasu. But you’re just a breeding bitch. A tight little clam.”

Michikatsu saw through a haze of instant battle lust. Red and overwhelming. His blood pressured so tightly in his veins that every vessel bulged, and he wrenched himself out of Kaito’s hold, only to be slammed back again by Akio. This time, both of his friends held him down.

“How about you show us how you can be an asset to the corps, Yoriichi?” Kiyomizu said meanly. Ignoring Michikatsu’s struggles to stand next to his sister. “Think you can handle yourself against every man here? Every man in the corps stronger than you?”

Tears sprang up into Michikatsu’s eyes.

“You goddamn motherfuckers!” he screamed. “You have no right!”

Everyone ignored him. As if he were invisible. As if the only person who had ever mattered was Yoriichi herself. 

Yoriichi held her head high through the baiting words. Sneers and tones of agreement washed over several of their onlookers.

“It is not an honor to have deceived you. I apologize for that.” Yoriichi said calmly, “But I am a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. I have a right to be here through the trials we have all faced, and the battles I’ve fought by many of your sides. I challenge you to a duel of honor, Kira-dono, Yamamoto-dono.” 

His dearest imouto bowed properly, stiff. Formal, like a perfect Onna-musha. Still so very exposed, and, Michikatsu remembered all those healing blisters on her hands, not in prime condition to hold a sword.

“Think you can take both of us at once?” Daichi waggled his eyebrows as he said this, but Yoriichi seemed completely unswayed by the implication.

“Do you accept my challenge? If I win our duel, you will never challenge my position in the corps again…”

“If you lose, you have to suck us all off. One by one. Our little corps whore…” Daichi spat with a huge grin across his face. Michikatsu was sickened at the laughs that rumbled up around them. It hardened his heart, made him bitter. He counted the faces of every man with a shifty grin on their faces. Marked them in his mind, and vowed punishment should Yoriichi not get to them first.

Yoriichi didn't respond to the taunt, but Michikatsu knew that the others took that as an affirmation. As an agreement.

“Shit, this is turning out to be the best birthday ever!” Daichi hummed happily.

“Just because it’s your birthday, doesn’t mean you get to stretch her mouth first.” Kiyomizu huffed.

“Of course it does. I’m your senior, Kiyo. Don’t argue with me.”

The preemptive declaration of victory made bile rise in Michikatsu’s mouth. He was going to kill him with his bare hands. The second Akio and Kaito let him go.

“You’re a dead man.” Michikatsu cursed loudly, finally getting Daichi’s attention as the dojo floor cleared. As Haruki brought Yoriichi her sword and offered her his haori. Michikatsu couldn’t concentrate on the sweet way his sister took the cloth, and covered herself, nor how she bowed to Haruki, whispering the first words that had passed between them since this began. But he noticed the boy throwing his arms around her middle, shoving his face in her stomach, and her embrace circling him with motherly love.

“Michikatsu… don’t think we don’t have something planned for you later. You lying sack of shit.” Kiyomizu unsheathed his blue blade. The haughty look on his face signaled intent for violence.

Everything was happening too fast. Too rapidly, like the thrum of his heart dosed on battle high. Michikatsu’s stomach soured. He wiggled and hated everything about this. From the steady pose Yoriichi adopted, to the swing of Daichi’s weapon. 

He’d seen battles many times. Had been part of them. This duel for honor was nothing new. And he kept trying to tell himself that while his heart hiccuped in dreaded anticipation. 

“If a woman is supposed to be weaker than a man, where is the honor in both of you men fighting her at once?” Michikatsu barked out before the clash could begin.

“Michikatsu, you forget. She is the one who challenged us,” Kiyomizu said without a second of hesitation.

The battle was of sound and swift, harsh movements. Michikatsu could see his sister's disadvantage, the dragging weakness in her hands. Still, Yoriichi disarmed Daichi in seconds… wrenching his weapon away from him by catching the chain along the length of her blade, twisting it around and around and using it to pull. The stupidly effective, and in Michikatsu’s opinion, puerile, weapon went flying across the floor.

Breath stilted, Michikatsu hoped it was over with him at least, but the smaller man surprised him, yanking out a wakizashi from a hidden spot in his kimono and lunging forward again. Slashes like a beast, parries cool and collected. 

The duel went on… second after agonizing second. Yoriichi almost dropped her sword twice. His heart was racing so fast he thought it would burst. Nothing can happen… nothing can happen to her. 

He wasn’t the type to pray, but he did it anyway. Sweating in discomfort and fear. In anger so deep, he thought it was staining his blood with poison.

Please, Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi… if she’s really yours, please protect her. Let these bastards get what they deserve.

He knew what would happen if they got her sword away from her. He knew…. 

Michikatsu’s head spun with fear.

Akio patted his arm.

“Calm down, Michikatsu-san. She’s doing well against them.” The flame breather whispered. “Look, Kiyo-san has a nasty gash on his cheek now.”

“I hope it scars.” Michikatsu seethed, and Akio nodded in agreement.

The world went strange in the next few seconds. Michikatsu was vaguely aware of a cry from the doorway of the dojo. Recognized Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki’s benevolent voice begging for a cessation of violence. The jolting sound of Yoriichi’s blade hitting Kiyomizu’s so hard that the tip of the water breather’s blade sheered off at the midpoint and went flying… 

And then the uproar. The screams. Men running forward toward the floor, back to the walls. Chaos. Cacophony. 

Michikatsu was already dizzy with distress. The stress gave him the power to break free of their friends and rush forward. 

He shoved Yoriichi away just as Kiyomizu lunged with his broken sword, the jagged rended metal slashing clear through the sleeve of Michikatsu’s kimono with a sickening rip. The miss knocked Kiyomizu off balance, and Michikatsu kicked him hard in the ribs. 

Oyakata-sama’s continued cries for peace shuddered the world to a stop. 

Kiyomizu fell to his knees, sword clattering to the ground, blood pouring down his slashed cheek. Michikatsu kicked his blade away from him and turned to the other threat. To Daichi. Only to find that the man had collapsed. The bit of Kiyomizu’s blade that broke off had flown into his neck, severing the artery.

There was blood everywhere. Pooling crimson and sweet-smelling on the dojo floor.

Blood all over.

Michikatsu swore. “You got what you deserved.” He said to the dead man before turning to his sister. Before looking in her eyes, and pressing their foreheads together. A slight sheen of sweat on her brow made her skin slippery. Her eyes looked out with a dull glaze. The same look she had when the world was too much for her kind soul.

It wasn’t safe for her here, but he didn’t think she’d be convinced to leave. So, Michikatsu did the only thing he could. For her. For him. So that the world knew where they stood and that he’d murder and cheat to ensure her protection.

Michikatsu lifted her chin, and pressed his lips against hers, claiming her so that no other man might think of challenging her without knowing he was fighting by her side.

Chapter Text

“Ise Shrine.” Oyakata-sama said. His voice didn’t waver. It didn’t really do much of anything, in fact. Flat and tired. As if the death before them had drained the sickly man beyond the limits of his patience. 

Michikatsu thought that might be true.

It had been an endless day, and Michikatsu didn’t think rest was in sight.

He refused to look away from the increasingly lifeless wax of Daichi’s horrid face. The smell of blood, sickeningly sweet, was overpowering even after they’d washed it from the floors of Akio’s dojo. It was unsettling his stomach, making wave after wave of nausea flood his mouth. He kept swallowing it back like poison. Maybe he was just overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure. Even after some of Daichi’s closest friends in the corps washed and dressed his body to prepare it for burial, the room reeked of fresh death. But Oyakata-sama hadn’t given the permission to bury Daichi just yet.

He deserved worse, Michikatsu thought, squeezing his fists over his thighs. Fingers aching from the pressure. He doesn’t deserve this respect in death. 

They’d been kneeling for so long in front of Oyakata-sama as the man addressed the corps in such a severe tone that most of its members had cried. Not Michikatsu. He was still memorizing his plan for vengeance. Repeating the names and faces of the men that he was going to make sure paid for the disrespect they’d shown his family. Outwardly showing less than nothing. Still as stone.

“Ise Shrine,” Oyakata-sama repeated dully. “Michikatsu, you will go to Ise Shrine. Pray to the gods, and consult the priestesses of Amaterasu about the appearance of the marks. I’ve had troubling dreams about them.”

Dreams… Just like Chiyo’s prediction of ruin. 

“Why him?” Kiyomizu grumbled in dissent. Michikatsu tried not to move. Tried really hard not to throttle the man kneeling next to him. The first piece of shit on his hit-list.

Michikatsu was only next to him because he refused to let Kiyomizu kneel next to Yoriichi after their fight. He didn’t trust the man not to draw a dagger on his sister, but they had little choice where to sit. Oyakata-sama had selected a few of them to sit in the front row of the corps. Haruki, Yoriichi, Michikatsu, Kiyomizu, Kaito, and Akio. 

It was rank and file. Michikatsu understood this. Knew that even though Oyakata-sama was beyond displeased by the day’s disastrous events, he was attempting reunification of the corps. Attempting discipline through order. The man was sickly, but he had the mind of a general. And no general wanted a civil war in their ranks.

When the six of them took their spots, Oyakata-sama had immediately called forth a young man Michikatsu didn’t know well. Tora Uneo. The leader of the Corps had him take a spot in the front. Daichi would have taken the spot if he hadn’t been laid out dead before them. Tora had apparently been the most promising of Daichi’s students, or lovers, or whatever the hell Daichi had under him. 

Oyakata-sama instructed the rest of the men to line up behind the seven of them according to which breathing style they were learning. There was a notable lack of men behind Yoriichi and Michikatsu.

Michikatsu had no interest in teaching others moon breathing, at least not right now. And Yoriichi was incapable of teaching anything.

“As I explained already… The seven of you now hold the title of Hashira in the corps. You are the strongest, most accomplished fighters. The ones who must take on the tasks others cannot.” Oyakata-sama raised an eyebrow, which somewhat widened the mess of death in his eyes. That unsettling blur between sclera and iris was a milky soup of bluish white today… Michikatsu couldn’t remember if his eyes had looked like that the last time he’d seen Oyakata-sama, or if they were worse now. “Michikatsu-san is the only man who does not have a pupil to watch over and is the first man to manifest this mark. It is common sense he should go to Ise Shrine to beg the gods for answers, while the rest of you continue duties here.”

“What about Yoriichi?” Kiyomizu practically spat out her name. The unrest of dozens of men wondering exactly the same thing was palpable in the air.

Oyakata-sama did nothing for a moment. But Michikatsu could see the way his shoulders shook as he took a deep rattling breath. His vision shifted focus for brief seconds, and he could see half of the younger man’s left lung had crumbled up like a piece of paper in his chest. Michikatsu wondered how long he had left in this world, and who would take his place after? Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki only had Ai in his life. His wife had passed in childbirth. Michikatsu doubted he could go through with another marriage with his health being what it was, even if he could get a woman to marry him because of his name.

“I cannot stop Michikatsu from bringing her along on his mission, should he so choose.”

That was an odd thing to say. Michikatsu raised an eyebrow even though he knew the man couldn’t see the questioning gesture.

“What do you mean, Oyakata-sama?” Akio asked. “Oyakata-sama has always controlled who went on missions and who didn’t.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Rengoku? She’s not corps.” The new guy, Tora said with no small amount of venom in his voice.

Kiyomizu hummed in affirmation.

Michikatsu bit the inside of his cheek so hard that blood pooled in his mouth.

“Four hundred years ago, when my ancestors formed the Demon Slayer Corps, it was unheard of to have a woman in the ranks. Do any of you know why?” Oyakata-sama asked, the toneless sound of his voice lifting into something almost gentle.

“Because people believe women can’t fight?” Haruki asked quietly. “Which is stupid. Yoriichi is stronger than every single one of us.”

“I almost had her.” Kiyomizu growled, as if an almost meant anything at all in battle. Almost was sure death. Almost was never good enough.

The only way to win was to be the best. Michikatsu knew this and knew in his heart that Yoriichi would never be usurped from that spot. Not by the likes of Daichi and Kiyomizu combined. Not even through the might of Michikatsu’s resolve.

I can do anything you can. He wanted to laugh at his past self and his ignorance.

“Only when you cheated by fighting her two on one,” Michikatsu snapped back, letting go of his anger. His jealousy. His dangerously brewing wrath. If she wasn’t blessed, she’d be safe. I could keep her safe. I’m never going to be good enough.

“Fuck you. I did not cheat. She’s the one who issued the challenge.”

“Stop it now.” Yoriichi snapped, finally coming to life in the conversation to scold both of them. “I know why women aren’t allowed in the Corps.”

“Of course you would, I remember you asking me for books on the Corps. Histories. I never would have thought your curiosity was because you had an interest in deceiving us.” The words were harsh, but somehow said without malice. Without any anger at all.

Michikatsu was sure that was an act. A lie.

“I am sorry.” Yoriichi breathed out an apology again. One Michikatsu didn’t think she should have to make at all.

“I don’t care.” Oyakata-sama said dismissively. “Tell them what the rule is.”

Michikatsu could practically feel her tremble next to him.

“The official declaration of the Demon Slayer Corps forbids the admission of women to avoid the potential of conflict with male heads of households.”

Oyakata-sama waved his hand in a silencing motion before parting his lips and asking, “Who is the only man you have to answer to, Yoriichi?”

Michikatsu set his jaw. Ah… so that’s why…

“My brother.” She replied without a hint of inflection in her voice.

“Michikatsu, is Yoriichi part of the corps?” Oyakata-sama asked as if making a point. “As her last living male relative. As her husband, do you take responsibility for her mistakes? For her inadequacies?”

“They aren’t married…” someone said under their breath.

“All it takes for a marriage is an agreement of the families of the couple, and for the couple to be living in the same house. Since they are twins, Michikatsu could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Their union has been decided under our noses for months now.” Kaito interjected roughly. 

“Well, you knew, Kaito,” Kiyomizu said with a snort. Even the sound of his voice was grating on Michikatsu’s nerves. “You told me you caught them in bed together at the end of summer.”

There was an uneasy silence that followed those words. Michikatsu frowned as the moment tumbled along a clumsy, silent path. All heads turned toward him. Except her. Yoriichi was looking down at her hands, waiting for a judgment that only he could pass.

He wasn’t sure he wanted this power.

Not this power.

But Oyakata-sama’s words floated through his head. The dead man in front of them was still very present. Take responsibility for her mistakes. For her inadequacies. It was a warning he’d better listen to.

Michikatsu felt his chest cave in. The breath he expected to take turned into a dagger through his throat. The metal embedded under his skin felt starkly cold compared to the rest of him. If I let her stay… 

“Yoriichi Tsugikuni is an Onna-musha of the Tsugikuni clan. If she wishes to accompany me on missions, or take missions herself, it is her decision and hers alone.” He kept his voice level and even, as if it meant nothing.

“She’s not part of the Corps,” Oyakata-sama reflected.

Michikatsu flinched. She was… but if she stayed. If something happened to him, she would stay… and then... They will break her. They will destroy her and cast her accomplishments to the wind. There is no honor among these men; even her friends would abandon her for false order.

“No,” Michikatsu agreed, absolutely hating the sharp breath she took in. The sound of something shattering inside her. This is the only way I can protect you. He was going to tell her that. A million times. More times than there are stars in the sky. Until she believed it, and maybe until he did too. “However, I would like to propose that the Corps consider the option of taking women warriors.”

“Interesting,” Oyakata-sama drawled with that poisonous smile. So soft, one might think he was a bodhisattva.

“A woman who is of no family can still hold a sword. A woman whose father, brothers, or husband agrees to her joining should be allowed to train.” Michikatsu insisted.

“You’re a god-damn hypocrite, shithead,” Kaito huffed out. 

Was he? Was he a hypocrite? He faltered for a moment, glancing at Yoriichi. She had made her face as still as stone. Her pretty crimson eyes hazed out in a way that might look to others as if she was just daydreaming through this. Untethered from reality. 

It wasn’t the first time Michikatsu thought she might not belong to this world, and it wouldn’t be the last time.

“I am not.” He whispered. “I am not a hypocrite. I know there is no future for us.”

He let the words hang like a crescent moon in the darkened sky.

“Aniue, you think so small.” Yoriichi turned her gaze away. “We don’t need to be special. We are just links in the chain of humanity. I hope those yet to be born will surpass us, because that is what we should always hope for. For a future.”

Then, Yoriichi touched her forehead to the ground, bowing deeply.

He could see her soul crumbling.

It was all wrong.

He didn’t want this.

“I apologize.” Yoriichi said, measured and cool. “Since it is no longer my place to be here, I will return to Rengoku-dono’s home and wait.”

Michikatsu felt his heart fill with dread as she left. The instant the door closed behind her, Kaito whistled.

“You know, shithead. She’s never going to let you fuck her again after that.”

He barely heard the uproar of laughter. The sniggers. The judgement. As if more than half of them hadn’t implicitly jumped at the opportunity to use her. As if… Michikatsu’s heart thundered with a hatred so deep he thought he was going to choke. He was going to explode like a volcano. He was going to pick up his sword and slaughter all of them.

A soft touch caught his attention, and he glanced to the side, realizing that Haruki had scooted next to him. Grabbing his hand, the boy looked up at him with big brown eyes.

“I know what you are doing, Michikatsu-san.” The boy whispered. “I know you love her.”

Michikatsu dulled his heart and turned his gaze away from Haruki. Though he unclenched his fist enough to brush his fingers over the boy’s hand in comfort. And then quietly released words of poison to those who were against them. “If it means she’ll be safe from you lot, I don’t even mind.”

Somehow, only Akio looked troubled by the words and the threat of Michikatsu’s wrath.

*

Michikatsu quietly accepted the fact that the Demon Slayer Corps was never going to take him seriously. That he was a joke. Second best to his twin. Not even worth listening to. Yoriichi was the only one who mattered. Her strength and her deception.

He also accepted the fact that he was going to prove every single one of them wrong.

*

Ice was raining sideways from the clouds, and still she kept walking. Aching in the cold weather. Two steps behind Michikatsu, unendingly silent even though they’d been on the road toward Ise Shrine for a week. Breathing in the dry white winter air.

Her brother had tried to talk to her when they first set off on their journey. He had essentially ordered her to accompany him even though she was struggling to swallow his betrayal like a bitter medicine. The first thing she’d done when returning to the Rengoku house was bow to Sachiko, apologizing for her lack of respect in their household, and asking for an old kimono to wear.

She was gifted one of Sachiko's old kimono's, from before she married Akio. It was too short, which was unsurprising as the woman was woefully shorter than Yoriichi. It was girly, with blooms of pale purple chrysanthemums against a striped yellow and red background. Too colorful for a woman who’d already been married and had children, but there wasn’t really anything to be done about that. Yoriichi put her hair up the way a proper woman should, and sucked in her breath to hide the sting in her heart.

Michikatsu had returned from the meeting much later, covered in dirt from being given the job of digging Daichi’s grave through the frozen sod of wintertime. With blisters popping up on his fingers from the repetition of slamming the shovel through iced-up mud. It was a task that probably was hers to take on, but since Michikatsu denied her involvement in the corps, the punishment had fallen on him alone.

It wasn’t the only punishment he took on in her place, but he wouldn’t let her see the lacerations on his back. She knew they were there. He’d bled through the thick layers of his clothing. And she’d peeked as best she could under the hem of his kimono when he’d fallen asleep more than half a day after they’d set out on foot toward Ise Shrine.

From what she could see without waking him, the lacerations were deep ribbons across the smooth muscle of his back. So deep she worried instantly about infection. She worried about him. She had to still the racing of her heart and remind herself that the punishment could have been worse. 

It could have been death.

Because of her, Daichi was dead. She had violated the trust of the Demon Slayers. She had as good as killed the stone breather herself.

And Michikatsu claimed her. Took responsibility for her. Bore the punishment in her place. They could have asked him to commit seppuku. He would have been honor-bound to do so. They could have turned their swords against him. There would have been no recourse. Their family dissolved… she imagined if that had happened that she might have been forced to marry one of the Demon Slayers. Yoriichi doubted that Oyakata-sama was about to let go of her after all. Not when he’d been building up the image of the Corps as heavenly mandated to outside clans, to the shogunate, to the emperor. 

For six whole months…

But Michikatsu removed her from the Corps directly, under the banner of tradition. With the right he was born with just because his body was male. But he’d done it to keep her from suffering. His words allowed her to carry her sword with honor, while he lay stripped of his own.

She couldn’t say she didn’t know that things would be bad for her if the others found out who she really was. She knew. It had never occurred to her that Michikatsu would save her in such a self-sacrificing manner.

He is the best person. The best brother. The best man alive.

Tears pooled up behind her eyelashes, growing cold in the gusty weather.

Yoriichi was not deluded about what he’d done for her, the sacrifice he’d made. Maybe I want too much… to be a Demon Slayer… to be accepted for who I am.

“Why are you crying?” 

Her feet stopped at the question, and she looked up to see him peering at her. There were bags under his eyes, a sign of the severe pain from the flagellation he’d endured, and the swift pace he took to drive them southward toward Ise Shrine. To see this mission through. She didn't understand why he was opting to stay now that she was thrown away like table scraps. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for being the deciding factor in her expulsion. Maybe he stayed so she could feel like she still mattered.

Her lips quivered, and her words stuck. They were always stuck. She realized this with clarity in her mind and a knot in her throat. This inability to speak that followed her from childhood was frustrating. She just wanted to tell him. She loved him. She adored him. 

Why couldn’t she speak?

Michikatsu…

A tear rolled down her cheek, half hidden with the frozen rain, and in the absence of her tongue, Yoriichi lunged forward and threw her arms over his shoulders, keeping her forearms high, hugging his head to hers. Avoiding the scabbed-over wounds on his back. The ugly reminder that their world wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even good.

They had only each other.

“Are you tired, Imouto?” he whispered in her ear. Soft, loving, as if nothing was broken. As if the world wasn’t shattering around them. As if the sun weren’t dead in the wintertime.

She nodded, though tired wasn’t exactly what she felt. It was too big to be tired. Too overwhelming. There were no words for her sorrow, for her pain.

“I promise we will stop as soon as we get somewhere sheltered.” He continued, wrapping his arms around her in a quick embrace.

Nodding again, she felt him reach up and untangle her arms from around him. For a second she feared he would let her go completely. Without the warmth of his hand next to hers. She lost her breath and then found it again when he clasped her hand, pulling her to his side.

“Come on. It’s cold out.”

They didn’t find shelter for a while, and when they did, it was only an old hunting cabin set back from the road. An old hunting cabin that hadn’t been used in a long time. That smelled of must and dead summer mold. Michikatsu had found it after making a bad shot at a snow rabbit with the bow he’d brought along for hunting and trekking into the woods to retrieve the arrow.

Yoriichi quickly made a fire in the central hearth, grateful for the lingering stack of dried logs against the back wall, and then stripped out of her soaked outer layers, laying out her wet clothes to dry. It was a shade too cold in the cabin, and even her under layers were slightly damp, so she scooted closer to the fire the second she was done. Holding out her hands to warm them.

Michikatsu was quiet, standing with his arms crossed, looking out the slatted window. Silent in all those soaking wet clothes. She watched him, wondering why he wasn’t moving. Until the moment he spoke.

“Yoriichi? Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a demon?”

Her skin prickled at the question. She was cold, but the shivers weren’t from that. They were from his tone. Far away, contemplative. As if this were something weighing on his mind. As if this were something he considered. It was terrifying. 

“I wonder…” he breathed, almost a mumble. Almost a secret. “If they feel pain the same way we do. If they suffer. If they have to degrade themselves to others’ opinions.” His shoulders rolled back tensely, belying pain. She heard his breath hiss out of him in agony. “I wonder if they are free…”

Yoriichi’s heart tumbled. She stood up, shaking on her tired legs. Reaching out to Michikatsu. Stumbling forward as if he’d disappear the second she got close. As if those words, those dark contemplations, were going to snatch him away from her forever. Grabbing the back of his wet, and she realized with some horror, bloody haori. The dark material hid it too well. With her forehead pressed into his back, the scent of his blood stuffed her nose.

“Michikatsu…” she croaked out his name, not having been able to say it for days. Throat parched and raw as if she’d been screaming in the frigid air. “Aniue… please, let me take care of you.”

He didn’t fight her when she stripped his soaked clothes from his skin. Each piece fell to the floor in a crumbled mess of blood and melted ice. When she fretted over his wounds, and made him lay chest down on the ground. 

Yoriichi thought to herself that something in her brother had died when he looked out blankly across the floor as she dressed the shallow, crusted cross marks of a whip that had cut open his flesh. 

She worked deftly, sewing up the deepest marks, even though it was too late for such interventions. Those cuts would never heal right. He was going to hold these scars forever. Heart in her throat, Yoriichi took care of him until he fell asleep. Exhausted and injured. She took care of him until she couldn’t anymore. Until she laid down by his side, the fire barely warming the tiny cabin, hoping that they wouldn’t both be dead by morning.

Chapter Text

“Is that what has had you so tongue-tied?” Michikatsu nearly squeaked out the words, choking on the osuimono his sister had prepared for him for their dinner. The clear soup was delicate on his stomach and easy to make with their provisions, which was a good thing because there wasn’t much to eat around here. Just a little bonito and shoyu for flavor. Just a lot of stupid rabbits he still hadn’t hit, no matter how many times he notched back the bow on the cold winter days. Though… with the ache of injury across his back, it was no wonder his arms shook when he drew the string. No wonder his aim was horribly off.

Every effort felt like fire exploding across his back. The stitches Yoriichi sewed into his skin pulled uncomfortably tight. If he had felt better, he might have just stalked a rabbit with his sword. But he didn’t. Michikatsu felt horrible.

Yoriichi told him he’d slept for two days when they first arrived. And he believed it. There was a foreboding sense of weakness in his limbs, in his heart... Drained in ways he hadn’t known he could be, he drifted into thoughts and contemplations so dark he wondered if this might all be a dream. 

Dreams, like the ones he was having about that charming demon.

“Isn’t it so sad…” Muzan’s voice whispered through the fog of sleep. Michikatsu tossed and turned, painfully unable to find any comfort in unconsciousness.

He went out every day, ten steps from the cabin’s engawa. Before the snowfield got too deep. Holding the bow that was his least favorite weapon. Standing in the snow, really, really wanting to hit a rabbit and provide them with some sustenance to tide them over while they stayed here.

Trying to escape nightmares.

Trying to escape the past.

Michikatsu always hated the bow. But he threaded an arrow and pulled back the string. Feeling the bright burn of pain in his back.

“You don’t have to push yourself, Aniue.” 

He let the arrow fly, hitting a juvenile rabbit straight through the ear. Splashing blood into the snow… but frustratingly not catching it. Their potential meal hopped off to live another day with a wound that would heal, and Michikatsu lowered the bow.

“Fujumura-san would be very angry if he saw that…” Michikatsu had said, eyes riveted to the blood trail. “After you were married… I don’t remember exactly when… before Chiyo came,” he trembled with the cold, feeling Yoriichi’s gaze on his back. “He got frustrated with my ill luck with the bow.”

“Fujimura-san is a man who is frustrated with many things.” Yoriichi had said, gently sliding the weapon from his hand and letting it fall into the snow. “Come inside. Rest. I’ll get us something to eat.”

Michikatsu snapped his mouth shut in hunger and pain, and followed her back into the cabin. He laid down on his stomach and pretended to fall asleep while Yoriichi combed through his hair with her fingers.

He didn’t tell her that when Fujimura got upset with him that time, he’d made Michikatsu stand across the courtyard, and shot him. The arrow pierced his right shoulder. It was the wound Yoriichi pointed out when they first reunited… a punishment and a lesson.

Life was a fleeting thing.

If he didn’t step up, he’d die. And unless he could be the best, someone else would always hold his life in their hands.

He thought about that a lot.

His sister brought the bow back into the cabin, wiped it free of snow, and went out to gather food. Yoriichi could probably master the bow in seconds, given her genius with any weapon she came across. But she hadn’t tried to use it. Instead, the whole time they’d been staying at this hunter’s cabin (a week now? Two weeks?) she’d sat every morning at the window tracking rabbits as they dug through snow. Then she’d go out and return with arms full of purple sweet potatoes, daikon, and long strips of willow bark.

The vegetables were from the unkempt field the rabbits were harvesting from. A welcome addition to these thin, brothy soups she was doling out every day. He’d been especially excited today as she’d found a fallen log a little deeper in the forest that had a clutch of mushrooms growing under its rim. Michikatsu rather liked mushrooms. 

He had watched her dry out long, thin strips of willow bark over their fire. The ends curled up as they became brittle. A faint, bitter scent filled the air. Medicinal and aromatic. He had watched her crush the dried bark into pieces on a stone she’d found from the field, and make tea from them.

Tea that dragged some of the pain away from him. Dulling it. Making him sleepy with the immense need for recovery.

He slept too much.

And she never left his side. Using their outercoats as blankets on the hard floor. There was almost nothing in this hut. Not even a futon. But she pressed up against him in the dark. Yoriichi held him as if she were afraid.

Now, she’d asked this…

“Yes… Aniue,” she fumbled with her nearly empty bowl, the last bit of soup sloshing around at the bottom. “Are we married?” Her gaze flickered up to his face, and then she turned away as if uncertain about the question. “Oyakata-sama said we were.”

Michikatsu couldn’t tear his eyes off her. She kneeled looking down at the nearly empty soup bowl in her hands. Her face was far too pale in the fading firelight. He couldn’t block out the soft wobble in her voice.

“Do… do you want to be?” he finally asked. And their eyes met, almost identical gazes peering at each other. She seemed to lose her voice again, but he saw the creeping flush on her cheeks. His heart skipped beats when she nodded vigorously, like a child in her enthusiasm. The warmth he thought had died filled his chest. 

She wants me. She wants to be with me… forever. 

Carefully, he set aside his bowl and crossed the floor to her, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Yoriichi…” he whispered her name in reverence. “When we get to Ise Shrine, my first priority is to ask the gods for their blessings for me to marry you. I will write a formal announcement to our allies. I will not let you live dishonorably.”

He heard her breath suck into her lungs and stick there. He saw the way her eyes watered, not with the pain she so often showed, but with something softer. Something he didn’t mind her bearing.

Leaning forward, Michikatsu placed a kiss on her lips. She hiccuped, and then giggled when he pulled away.

“You still owe me poetry.” The teasing in her voice made him smile. He remembered that night, which felt like a lifetime ago, when he’d recited poetry to her. 

“Mmm…” he hummed in agreement and then tried to come up with something on the spot. 

“In the glow of morning,
You wait for me.
Softer than a sunbeam,
Do I deserve this place by a goddess?”

She giggled some more and hit his shoulder softly. 

“Aniue…” Her face was bright red.

“You said you wanted poetry.” He teased. “It’s not my fault you’re so beautiful that my words seem sloppy in comparison.”

“You’re an impossible tease.” She kissed him, leaning forward into his body. Her warmth radiated through his skin. Their lips lingered together for a brief, tense moment. Michikatsu’s breath hitched in his throat. His body ached for her. For her alone. 

It had been too long, but he swallowed back desire out of respect. Remembering their lack of pregnancy-thwarting medicine, the wintery world outside, the precarious position they’d found themselves in with the Corps…

“Aniue, I have another question,” her voice was a little quieter this time. Her gaze was on his lips. Wiggling forward so that her knees touched his. He wanted…

“Of course. Anything,” he breathed, slotting his fingers through her hair. She blinked a few times at the passes he made through her tangles. They’d taken snow baths since they got here, but it wasn’t enough for hair care. He wondered if she’d let him comb it out and then braid it until they could move on and find a bath, or a stream that wasn’t iced over.

“What did the others mean when they asked me to ‘suck them off’?”

And the gods had funny ways of making him feel simultaneously helpless, angry, and amused all at once. Michikatsu laughed out loud, pulling back. Wanting to curse them, while laughing at the turn of events.

“Ah… uh…”

Yoriichi frowned. “I already figured out it’s a sex thing.”

“Well, of course. You aren’t stupid.” Michikatsu snorted. “It’s just… not something self-respecting women do. I’ve only ever done it with men.” It wasn’t his imagination that her face flushed at his words. At his admission that he’d had sexual contact with anyone other than her and Chiyo. He merely shrugged, brushing it off because it was nothing. “Sometimes when battles are really tough, or the target is far away, it gets boring on the road. Most of the time there aren’t any women around to entertain us. So we do this to relieve tension. I’m surprised you don’t know. They do this in the Corps all the time.”

He’d seen men approach Yoriichi for this favor, and scared them off… though it was probably unnecessary as she was good at keeping her distance from the others. The last time he’d seen it, though, was with Haruki. The Corps member who flirted with Yoriichi’s adopted son was also very young, but still too old for the boy, so Michikatsu had made it a point to stick around and chaperone until the slightly older teenager left with nothing. 

When he talked to Haruki about it, the boy had been surprised to learn that was what was going on. And, as a testament to his youth, a little grossed out.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Yoriichi hummed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know, Yoriichi? Imouto… do you want to suck me off?”

“How can I know if you won’t tell me what it is?” she countered. It could have sounded like a no, if it wasn’t for the fact that she’d leaned forward, pressing her palms into his thighs. If she wasn’t almost singing the words playfully. The slight pressure of her hands ignited a spark of heat in his gut. Her eyelids fluttered, and he lost himself in her gaze. “Would you like it if I did it with you?”

There was no doubt that he would enjoy it. He enjoyed any touch she’d give him. From innocent ones to the pure debauchery of their flesh joined in sweaty lust, he was in a losing battle against his own body just from her words.

She knew it too.

Her hand crept up his thigh, coming to rest on his growing erection, hidden from view by the rough weave of his hakama, but not from her awareness. Pressing so softly, she drew a gasp from his lips.

“Yes, yes… if you’re alright with it…” he panted a quick explanation of how she might use her mouth on him, watching her raise an eyebrow.

“You put your mouth on me all the time. Why would you think I’d be against returning the favor?” She finally said when he could tell she processed how this would work. He simply shrugged.

“I’ve never known a woman who would.”

But no other woman in the world was like her. No woman worthy of his worship. They lay back together on the hard floor that had no futon, stripping down to their skin. The ache in his back was ever-present, but the sensation of her hand sliding on his length more than made up for the unpleasantness.

There were a few kisses, and then she smiled at him, lowering her head to his hips. He moaned when she pressed her lips to him. Kissing chastely, teasingly. Up and down the hot length, several times at its tip. Her fingers danced along the side of his stomach. She took cues from what he did with her, scraping her teeth gently on the inside of his thights, lingering touches.

Michikatsu decided this was much better than the quick fucks he’d had with other men. There was no foreplay involved in those moments. Nothing soft and sexy. Just a devouring act to make him cum as fast as he could.

Her tongue poked out between her lips. Her breath, her wet mouth sliding on his skin. 

“Hhhaaa!” he exclaimed, his tip soaked with pre-cum. Yoriichi paused for a moment and then lowered her mouth over it, sucking up the liquid ever so lightly. And Michikatsu felt his soul leave his body. The tingling, floating ecstasy of that soft suction had him reeling. Fingers twitching in her hair, pulling her down so he could rut into her mouth. Down the back of her willing throat. Lost, hazy, undone in a way he’d never been for anyone else.

She popped off his cock with a sharp inhale, and her nails in his sides.

“Feels good?” she asked, and really didn’t need to. He knew she could tell just how excited he was. How fast he was losing his composure. Michikatsu downright mourned the loss of her mouth on him.

“Yes… yes… Imouto… oh… fuck…”

“Put your hands behind your head,” she ordered. “Let me get used to this.”

Michikatsu had some honest difficulty letting go of her, but he did what she requested without fail. Bracing himself as she pressed her hands down on his hips. Tugging his own hair in the absence of hers. Stimulating in and of itself. He yanked the strands harshly. Falling apart as she went down on him again. Steady pressure. Fucking his cock into her mouth. Each pass drove him deeper and deeper.

He was a wiggling, moaning mess for her. Barely able to hold on. Climbing faster… faster.

She pulled away, strings of saliva pouring down her mouth. Tears from her own eagerness spiling out of the corners of her eyes. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

“Aniue… I have another question.”

He could barely form words, and she’d inexplicably become talkative. He nodded to tell her he was listening. Waiting. Wanting her. Only her. Forever and ever.

His pulse hammered throughout his body. He nodded again, gasping as her hand squeezed him, sliding easily along his wet, throbbing shaft.

“Well… it’s actually more of a request.” She whispered, crawling up over him. Hiking her kimono up to her hips, rubbing her soaked core on him. The warmth almost more than he could handle.

“Ahhh… Yoriichi! What? What? I’m so close…” he finally unleashed his voice, fingers gripping his own hair, back aching. Hips arched up to meet her. Seeking more.

“I want to have your baby.”

The simple words tumbled him straight into orgasm. Rubbing against her slick. His cock unable to handle the stimulation. The confession. The thing he also wanted.

He shuddered helplessly under her. Fucked out from foreplay alone. Deliriously trying to catch his breath. And still, he moved. He rolled her over onto her back, careful not to hit her head on the ground. Lining up and sinking into her heat before he could fully soften.

Michikatsu watched her eyes widen.

“Anything… anything for you.” He fucked her wildly, losing himself too quickly the second time around. Making it up to her with kisses between her thighs.

*

Michikatsu used the transparent world often after that. Looking into her body for signs that their wishes might come true.

*

Night after night, Michikatsu became aware of a pair of glowing crimson eyes watching their cabin from the edge of the field. 

He knew who it was.

He knew what Muzan Kibutsuji wanted.

Michikatsu did not go to him.

Not yet.

*

Yoriichi eventually picked up the bow, gripping it in her fingers. Testing the polished wood and the solid string. And exactly as Michikatsu predicted, she required no tutelage to become a master with the weapon. She watched him once, mostly paying attention to the stiffness of his healing back, and not the form of his quick and awkward lesson.

This was a necessity. Michikatsu wasn’t in any shape to keep traveling to Ise Shrine, and in no shape at all to be hunting for them. They made the decision to stay put until the weather was a little better. Until he could walk around without re-opening the lashes over his shoulders. 

It was safe here. Yoriichi had only run across one demon, slain it quickly, and never saw another one in the hunter’s cabin or surrounding field. 

Staying meant they had to hunt. This stretch of road was empty. Over four days from a town in either direction. Yoriichi picked up the bow, but she had cried horribly every single time she shot a rabbit. Michikatsu actively rolled his eyes at her, and reminded her that if they didn’t eat they’d die, and then she’d never get to have his baby.

It was motivation to hunt.

Besides, the rabbit fur made suitable bedding, and later a good quality for trade.

The snow melted. The days were getting longer. When all the scars on her brother’s back were purple and raised, but no longer in danger of opening, they discussed plans. After the equinox, they agreed. After the snow was unlikely to come back, they’d set out to Ise Shrine again. To fulfill Michikatsu’s mission, and to seek approval from the gods. And with their decision, his melancholy and forbidden thoughts seemed to vanish. Or at least he hadn’t voiced them to her again. 

She thought he might be happy.

That was until they started getting letters. They came on crows. Tied to scrawny ankles, and flopping about when they unraveled them.

The first was an inquiry from Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki on behalf of his daughter Ai. The first part questioned which twin was really Akimitsu’s parent, and the second was a formal, perfunctory letter of interest for a unification of their families.

Michikatsu threw a fit at the idea of marrying Akimitsu off to Ai Ubuyashiki and giving his heir to Fuyuhito. If they agreed to this, Akimitsu would become an Ubuyashiki, and lose the Tsugikuni name. Yoriichi read the letter six times before speaking about it.

“This may be the best course of action for him, Aniue,” she’d whispered. “Oyakata-sama wants the world to believe that his family and, by extension, the Demon Slayer Corps, is divinely blessed. His daughter marrying the son of the gods is a good political move on his part, and likely on ours.”

“I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through, that you would be interested in arranging marriages, Imouto.”

The words cut a little too deep, and she questioned herself. 

She truly wanted Akimitsu’s happiness. She didn’t want him in the same position she’d been in, or Michikatsu. But… Akimitsu’s lame arm meant he couldn’t inherit the Tsugikuni legacy. If they had another boy, he’d be the heir, and they’d still be responsible for helping Akimitsu find a notable place in the world. And harshly, there would be few options for a boy whose dominant arm was unusable.

The Ubuyashikis were powerful, and as much as her brother rued it, of a higher station than they were. It was an honorable match. It would protect Akimitsu’s future, and if he grew up loving another, then that would just be how it went. Many men took lovers that weren’t their wives.

Yoriichi didn’t write back in the quagmire of her troubled thoughts. Michikatsu wrote to Kaito asking him if he could use his connections to the emperor’s court to get Akimitsu a position in government.

They received three letters in a row after that. One from Kaito, who solemnly swore to help them if they kept his actions secret from the Corps. One from Rengoku, who said that the emperor himself endorsed the idea of Akimitsu’s betrothal to Ai, and one from Ai, a short sweet apology…

My father’s condition is worsening steadily. There is not much time left for him in this world. It is an unfortunate curse in our family that we die young, so to keep fighting against demons, we try to get stronger by marrying those with immense spiritual power. Akimitsu-san is the son of the gods… please… forgive my father for taking him away from you.

It was a bit of a surprise when a human courier showed up at their hut. One wearing the emperor’s colors. He bowed stiffly, unloaded a letter of congratulations for the marriage of Akimitsu and Ai Ubuyashiki, an obscene amount of money meant to be a bribe for stealing their son, and a cartload of goods that they arguably needed.

The spring solstice was still two weeks away.

Yoriichi picked up the bow. 

Today, there was a new beast out in the fields. Wild pigs. 

She knew they probably weren’t the easiest kill with this weapon. Their tusks could be dangerous if she should miss and they became angry enough to charge. But she had her sword; she was a distance away. Even if they charged up to the door, she would make it into the house before they did.

It would be really nice to have some pork.

Yoriichi’s fingers drew along the polished wood. She pulled back the string…

“Yoriichi!!!!”

Her form faltered. The wild pigs ran into the woods, and she spun toward the voice. Toward the other voice calling out.

“Tou-san! Where are you?!” 

At the side of the house, Haruki and Hikari stood, like little ghosts with nothing but their clothes on their backs, and Haruki's sword at his hip. She couldn’t believe she was really seeing them. Faltered in her step, before the back door to the house slid open and Michikatsu ran out, faster than she’d seen him move since they got here.

“What are you doing here!?” he yelled, though he swept Hikari up into his arms as if he'd never been hurt. Holding her close. Snuggling his daughter as if he hadn’t seen her in years.

The little girl was sobbing big tears, holding him tightly around his shoulders. Clenching her little hands into his haori.

“They took Mitsu away!!!” she wailed. 

Heart pounding, Yoriichi stepped forward. One foot in front of the other. Eyes on the reunification before her. Michikatsu shushed his daughter as best he could, patting down her unrully curls. She tore her gaze away and looked at Haruki.

Her adopted son was pale… somehow lacking in the baby fat he’d possessed just a few months ago. She didn't know if it was from starvation or if he was simply growing up.

“Haruki, why are you here? How did you get here?” Yoriichi asked, stopping in front of him. Dropping the bow… unsure. But the boy’s eyes welled up with tears, and he flung his arms around Yoriichi’s body. She embraced him back.

“Akio told us to leave…” Haruki sobbed as readily as Hikari was sobbing against Michikatsu. Age difference aside, these two children had the same emotional capacity. “He said it was too dangerous to stay. We followed your crow here, hitching rides on wagons heading south, until about a day ago. It’s been awful! There’s lots of demons on the road. The earthquake seemed to make them all come out of hiding!” 

Yoriichi blinked in confusion. That was not her experience here. And she knew not Michikatsu’s. He’d definitely not been going out and slaying them in her place… she would know.

“Why did Akio say it was dangerous for you to stay in Edo?” Michikatsu interjected a rough question. And when Yoriichi glanced over, she could see him holding Hikari into his chest… arms over her protectively. 

“Akio-san is worried. Oyakata-sama kidnapped Akimitsu and made him marry Ai. Akio is supposed to be in charge of sending slayers out on missions, but he’s been stressed out because Sachiko-chan is pregnant, and Oyakata-sama is acting weird. There’s been a lot of men from the Emperor’s court hanging around…”

Michikatsu and Yoriichi spared a glance at each other.

“He told you to bring Hikari here?” Michikatsu asked lowly, and Haruki nodded.

“The Emperor wants her to marry his son.”

It was late winter.

It was silence.

Yoriichi knew their lives were paper theater. Titles, honors being nothing more than a tool for the gain of others. She was used to this, but it still stung.

And then her brother glared at her.

“I will kill Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki.” 

Yoriichi felt her spine stiffen. Her flesh stood on end. She looked into Michikatsu’s soul and saw no lie. A line had been crossed. One she couldn’t pull him back from. One she hoped wouldn't come true. Please let sickness take Oyakata-sama to the next world.... please.

Taking a shaking breath in, Yoriichi broke eye contact.

“I’m sure you children are hungry. Let’s get inside. I’ll cook something up for you." Her words sounded even and soft. Unbothered by Michikatsu's declaration even though it shook her soul. The children cried out happily at the prospect of food.

Alas, the only thing she had left from their previous kill was a casing of kecchōzume that they’d been saving from the bribe left by the Emperor… by Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki… as their family… their legacy… everything they had to their name was dismantled in the name of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Unsurprisingly, the children balked at the blood sausage, and she sighed… going out to hunt once more.

*

Later that night, Michikatsu plopped a piece of the kecchōzume in her mouth, gently. 

“You need to stay strong, Imouto. We aren’t ready to travel yet, and you’re going to need your strength.” He placed a kiss on her cheek, and his hand over her belly where their baby’s heart was beating inside her.

“When do you want to tell them?” She asked after she swallowed the sausage. A food she didn’t really enjoy, but… they couldn’t afford to waste it. Michikatsu kissed her again as she looked over to where the children were sleeping under Michikatsu’s haori. Protected, with family, hopefully never to be parted from them again.

“Tomorrow morning, maybe? Do you feel that is acceptable?” he asked, keeping her in his arms.

“Yes, Aniue. That is fine with me. I hope…” her voice faltered with nervousness. “I hope they are as excited as we are.”

She strung her fingers through Michikatsu’s. This fall… when the leaves turn… the baby will be here. We will be alright. We will be…

Chapter Text

Michikatsu woke up when Yoriichi shifted by his side, pressing her face into his shoulder as she returned from her fourth trip to the bathroom that night. Her breath against his skin was comforting.

“Is this normal?” he whispered in the dark. A yawn slowly stretched across his face as he inquired about her health once again. He couldn't help it. When Chiyo had been pregnant with Hikari, he'd barely been around her at all. This felt very new, very unfamiliar to him.

“Mmmm… yeah… at least I’m not so sick this time…” she barely got the words out, wrapping her arm around him in the dark. Michikatsu wondered how sick she'd been in her previous pregnancies based on that information alone. After all, it triggered every single one of his overprotective senses the half a dozen times or so she'd puked since they became aware of the baby. It already seemed like a lot... He sighed and listened to her breathing return to sleep. It was tranquil in the darkness, with a bit of a chill seeping into the house. The days were getting warmer, so they had opted not to keep the fire going that night, but as Michikatsu got up from the bedding, rolling Hikari into Yoriichi’s limp, sleepy embrace, he almost wished they had kept the fire just one more night.

“Ani…” Yoriichi mumbled in her sleep, eyelids barely fluttering. But she didn’t wake up. Instead, she curled around Hikari as Haruki snored, his back pressed into Yoriichi’s spine. 

Standing there for a moment, Michikatsu looked down at the sight. Their little family, just missing Akimitsu. Missing him. A rush of memories swamped Michikatsu’s mind, letting him know the exact reason for his son’s absence. Blinking back sudden anger was hard. Hands clenched, Michikatsu shook his head and tried to push thoughts of his son out of his mind. 

I can’t help him. If I were stronger… If…

But there was little use in rumination.

He was struggling.

Livid.

A horrible twisting feeling strangled his guts until he thought he was going to die. Not for the first time, he wished things were different. He wished he were stronger. Stronger in body, like Yoriichi… blessed so absolutely that no one could touch her. Then there was the matter of politics. If he’d been born of a higher station. If he hadn’t given everything up to gain something he was conflicted about... He wished he could stop this.

The Demon Slayer Corps was full of bastards and victims. There was no in-between. Just those who consumed power like demons consumed flesh, and those whose futures were bleak.

Michikatsu loathed to think he was in the latter category, but situations did not lie. He tallied them up in his head, spiraling through the thoughts the same as he did every single night and day. False veneration, as if they were gods, was nothing more than a ploy to keep them complacent. They were nothing more than talented pets. It was true. He was right.

There was no future for them here.

He and Yoriichi were doomed, and the worst thing was that he was starting to believe this disastrous fate was theirs to share since birth. The mark, the breathing, Transparent World…. Years of abuse, pain, degradation. It was too much.

Tearing his gaze away from the one good thing left in his life, Michikatsu knew he had to do something. He knew in his heart… he was stronger than this. So why couldn’t he break free?

Michikatsu tried to shake off the depressive feelings that stuck to him like sweat.

Plodding across the room, he took note of their lack of firewood. Snatching up his sword, Michikatsu shoved the sheath into place at his hip and left the cozy space of their cabin. The cool night sent shivers down his spine as he stepped out of the home, sliding the door shut behind him. He looked out across the field they’d been harvesting from, noting immediately that the bear had returned. It was a new yearling, digging through upturned soil, looking for snacks after a long hibernation. It didn’t seem to notice Michikatsu, and Michikatsu didn’t bother it. He pulled his geta on and hopped off the engawa. There was a shabby lean-to against the east-facing side of the cabin that they’d been keeping well stocked with firewood throughout their stay.

Humming to himself, he rolled his shoulders back, feeling the irritation of scar-tissue that pulled awkwardly. He grimaced at the feeling, wondering if he was ever going to get used to it, or if the constriction would eventually loosen up. As it was, the deep lashes had severely compromised his swordsmanship. 

He hadn’t told Yoriichi yet that he’d been going out and practicing when she went off to hunt. He hadn’t told her yet that his strikes were lame. That moon breathing was nearly impossible. That he was no longer even second best. His strikes were weak, stilted, and rough with the seizing of muscle across his shoulders. He could barely raise his arms above his head.

He was lame. Too young for it, and too proud to speak up and admit it. Even to the woman he loved.

Michikatsu frowned, yanking up a few logs in his arms. Trying to focus instead on the moment. The feeling of cold mossy logs. Dry bark on his scarred fingers. The almost dewy spring air settling on the back of his neck.

“That bear is getting awfully close to the cabin.”

Shivers prickled up his spine instantly. He didn’t know if it was just an automatic response to being near demons, something he couldn’t help. Mortality drove instinct so deep he had no control over the shock of the sensation. 

But he wasn’t afraid. Not really.

He tried to hide the response, reaching out and grabbing another log.

“It’s just looking for food, Muzan. It’s not bothering anyone.”

“That may be so right now, but you have children with you now. How long before the creature realizes how tasty children are?”

Michikatsu stood up, turning to look at the demon with an unamused glare. Muzan had a teasing smile on his handsome face. This time, his attire was still overly nice for being in the middle of the woods. A silky black layers that didn’t match his youthful appearance. All that fabric embroidered with metallic reds and gold that reflected light even in the relative darkness. His shoulder-length curly hair framed his alabaster face with disorganized grace.

“I’ll deal with it then.” Michikatsu replied blandly. “What are you doing here?”

The demon leaned against the house and shrugged his shoulders in response. “Just checking in on my favorite humans. Is there something wrong with that, Michikatsu?”

This was not the first time Muzan had adopted this lackadaisical, teasing attitude with him. Showing off how perfectly comfortable he was. How unbothered. How uninhibited he was by the constraints of life. The same constraints Michikatsu felt all too deeply. This was not the first night they’d come across each other, saying scant few words, as if they were friends passing each other on the road… too busy to catch up, but not wanting to leave without saying something.

Michikatsu thought of Muzan a lot like he was thinking of the bear tearing up the edge of the field in the throes of hibernation hunger.

Yes, this demon was dangerous.

No, Michikatsu had no chance against him. Not as he was.

But maybe Muzan wasn’t his enemy. The man had done nothing except occasionally plant extra food at their door, give them clothing during the disastrous outcome of the earthquake, and provide an odd sense of company in the darkness. He had done nothing except keep all the other demons wildly abroad from him and his sister. Allowing them this time for recovery and peace, and…

Michikatsu swallowed uncomfortably.

“Yoriichi’s pregnant.” 

The demon blinked as if surprised and then gave a small nod.

“Congratulations?”

“You don’t seem sure when you say that.” Michikatsu wished the demon didn’t sound like that. Like the questionable choice to procreate with his very own twin was at all unusual.

“You didn’t sound happy.” Muzan pointed out, shrugging yet again. Looking away, toward the distant field, and that hungry little bear. Michikatsu wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he truly didn’t sound happy. He was. He wanted this with Yoriichi.

Akimitsu’s little face floated through his mind again. The words Haruki confessed about Hikari spun through his ears. The emperor wants her to marry his son. Michikatsu wanted this family. He wanted it because he knew it would make Yoriichi happy. And even if he believed the future held nothing but death and ruin, he still longed to make it the best he could for her.

He’d give up everything if it meant he could watch her happiness bloom while he wept in a jealous rage that he was just not made of the same light. Everything about us should be the same, he remembered saying to her not long after they reunited. Except nothing about them was the same. 

Michikatsu was brimming with wrath, hate, desire so strong it made him want to shove his sword through his stomach and end it all. And Yoriichi still smiled every day. The shadows not daring to touch her blessed outlook. Sure, she worried, she suffered, she felt just like every other human did… but… 

Michikatsu wished he could be more like her.

But he couldn’t.

He was spiraling down. Deeper, deeper into this darkness. He loved her so much, and he was so unnervingly jealous that she wasn't falling into this hunter's trap of jaded agony.

“The Demon Slayer Corps, the emperor, maybe the shogunate… or any powerful family, will try to steal our child.” This explained his unhappiness. Not the fact that they’d agreed on this path. Not anything else.

“Mmm… yes. A heavenly-born baby. Humans have such odd notions of the gods.” Muzan waved his hand. “Terrible, putting you through this when none of it is real.” 

Somehow, it wasn’t a surprise to find out that the demon didn’t believe in divinity. Michikatsu did, but he kept quiet. To each their own.

In the distance, the bear made a few growling groans. Michikatsu glanced out to see it had caught a rabbit and was ripping it apart with fervor. Its mouth full of indiscriminate bits of fur and flesh. Blood dripping down its maw.

“Michikatsu,” Muzan said. “People are nothing more than nature that learned how to speak. That Ubuyashiki man… he’s just like that bear. That rabbit is like your children.”

“I know,” Michikatsu sighed, feeling like the logs in his arms were suddenly too heavy, weighing him down. His shoulders ached tremendously. “I know.”

“I can release you from this cycle,” his voice was so smooth. So assuring. Michikatsu believed every seductive word. Every second Muzan stayed in his presence was a second closer to his breaking.

The demon’s hand curled around his arm, just above his elbow. Sending shockwaves through Michikatsu’s skin. Muzan wasn’t cold. His flesh wasn’t dead, despite the pallid sheen of his skin, but there was something unnatural about the touch. 

“Not yet.” He dropped a log, then another, then all of them fell out of his arms with loud thunks against the ground as he spun, finding the demon peering at him with unnervingly bright red eyes. So close their noses almost touched. Muzan’s hand traveled up and grabbed his chin, as soft as a lover might do.

“Not yet?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.

Michikatsu nodded. “Not without Yoriichi.”

The demon let him go, but didn’t step back, didn’t give him space. Kept him trapped with his own instinctual responses. His heart racing, muscles tensing. His mind swam with the awareness of how heavy his katana was at his hip, and how useless his hands were reaching out to grab Muzan’s black collar instead of the sword like he should be doing.

“Not without her,” Michikatsu repeated.

Muzan’s hands were over his in a second, soft thumbs rubbing into the back of his knuckles.

“I hope you know I could turn you whether you agreed to it or not.”

Michikatsu narrowed his eyes. “I know. And you wouldn’t.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Because when I become a demon, I will easily be as strong as you.” Michikatsu hissed, pulling on the black silk, jostling the demon forward violently. He was sure that Muzan was simply allowing that, because there was no way Michikatsu could move him if he didn’t want to be moved. “If you do this when I’ve said no, I will kill you. You won’t be able to stop me, and you know it.”

Muzan leaned forward. It should have been a surprise, but with every interaction they had, Michikatsu was less and less afraid of the demon. Less and less worried about trusting him. Truly outside of time. Truly outside of the way everything in his life ran.

Muzan’s firm lips pressed against Michikatsu’s cheek. 

“Convince her then,” his silky voice whispered in Michikatsu’s ear. “Graduate from being my favorite humans to my favorite peers. Doesn’t that sound better than your current lot in life, Michikatsu?”

Groaning, Michikatsu let go of the demon’s clothing and took a step back.

“You know it does.” He looked down at the logs haphazardly strewn on the ground. The demon chuckled, and there was a certain warmth to the sound. Not the same as the giggles Michikatsu got from Yoriichi’s mouth, but… not unpleasant.

“I can make new beginnings, Michikatsu,” Muzan reminded him before turning and walking off. Michikatsu let him go, frowning down at the logs slightly. Clenching his hands terribly hard.

“I want a future, Yoriichi…” he said, shushed as the sky lightened into the lavender of pre-dawn. “I want a future with you, and I know this is the only way…”

*

Yoriichi didn’t expect that she would come back from her morning hunt to two screaming children and a very frazzled Michikatsu. His eyes were wide and wild.

“No… no… that’s not what I meant. Hikari! Stay still!” His voice almost hissing in barely concealed anxiety, as he chased Hikari around the single room of the hunter’s cabin with a shell comb in his hand. The little girl was shrieking at the top of her lungs, but since she had a huge smile on her face, Yoriichi was pretty sure everything was fine… pretty sure… Until her niece caught sight of her and stopped suddenly, tripping Michikatsu so that he had to dive roll over her in order to avoid crashing into her skinny frame.

He landed completely sprawled out on his stomach in the middle of the floor. Groaning as if he’d hurt himself.

“Obaa-chan!” Hikari wailed, flapping her arms like a little bird as she stepped all over her father’s back to jump up to Yoriichi. Yoriichi looked down at the little girl. She didn’t think Hikari had ever really smiled at her before, but now… now this lanky five-year-old was bouncing on her toes, practically vibrating with excitement as she looked up at her. “Is it true!? Did Tou-san pee in you to give you a baby!?”

What…? Yoriichi’s mind went a little blank trying to string together the words. Trying to make sense of nonsense. What did she just ask me?

“Michikatsu?” she questioned after a few seconds of silence.

Her brother lifted his head off the floor, took one look at her and blurted out, “I don’t understand how we got here.”

“How you got where?” she corrected him, as whatever had just come out of Hikari’s mouth was his mess-up, not hers. “What in the world did you say to your daughter?” Yoriichi asked as Hikari began singing out a song about babies and pee and… and Yoriichi was a little overwhelmed. Hikari, in all her childish excitement, threw her arms around Yoriichi’s legs and started climbing up her body. That’s when she noticed Haruki faced away from them. Chopping up sweet potatoes for their daily stew. His shoulders were shaking as if he were trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

“Michikatsu?” she asked again, letting her voice go flat as Hikari finally scaled up to her shoulders and hung off her back like a little monkey. Her brother glanced her way and then flopped his forehead loudly on the floor, clearly not up for this conversation. “Haruki?”

“Ah… hahaha….” The boy giggled, spluttering out the words. “Hikari asked Michikatsu-san how babies were made.”

Blinking, Yoriichi looked back at her brother, finally piecing things together.

“Oh,” she intoned after a moment, keeping feelings out of her voice. Keeping calm and unbothered by the little girl hugging her head and messing up her long ponytail while singing horribly off key her absurd misunderstanding. Yoriichi quickly changed the subject. “Haruki, I got the bear.”

The boy swung his head toward her.

“With an arrow?”

Yoriichi shrugged evasively. It wasn’t the biggest bear she’d ever seen. Maybe a little out of adolescence, but for the last few nights it had been digging up the rest of the abandoned field, making the last of the vegetables scarce. Spring was almost here, but there was still not much in the way of fresh growth. Though, Yoriichi was happy that the dandelions had sprouted. For some reason she was craving bitter salads made of their leaves. 

“Imouto… did you really go after the bear alone?” Michikatsu asked scoldingly, picking himself up off the floor as if he’d simply been resting. She ignored him, gently pulling Hikari from her back. Patting her head softly as she put her back on her own two feet.

“Haru… take Hikari. The bear is at the edge of the field. I need you two to help in processing it. I’m feeling a little tired.” She said wearily. She was tired. Tired because she couldn’t seem to sleep for more than an hour at a time without having to get up to empty her bladder. Tired because she was growing a new life, and there wasn’t enough to eat. 

Though a whole bear solved some of that problem.

Yoriichi was tired because the little bear wasn’t her kill, and she wasn’t about to admit how the precious meat source had found its end. It would serve no purpose for her to worry the others that she initially hadn’t intended on killing it at all. She’d merely sent an arrow flying to scare it off deeper into the woods so she could gather, unbothered.

The sun hadn’t yet risen when she released that warning shot.

Her arrow had been caught straight out of flight by a pale hand, by the shape of a man who was definitely not a man. A man who crawled out of the shadows like a nightmare. Appearing like something out of a dream.

She’d stiffened at the sight. His curling dark hair, his crimson eyes glowing like a predator in the night. He had the same sardonic smile she remembered from years ago.

“Good morning, Yoriichi.”

“How do you know my name?” She’d left her sword at the cabin. Stupidly. And though it was not far behind her. Not so far at all. Though if she screamed, Michikatsu would hear her… Still, Yoriichi’s breath struck in her throat. This demon… this demon was the only one who’d ever frightened her. The only one she was certain she’d struggle against.

“Your brother told me, of course.” The demon said with a satisfied purr. “Michikatsu-san and I have many conversations about you, you know.”

The words shook the foundation of her world. Her breath screamed into her lungs. She reached back into the quiver, yanked out another arrow, and took aim.

“Liar.”

This demon, Muzan Kibutsuji, gave a small, satisfied chuckle. There was a flash of something bony and white that emerged from his back, almost so fast that Yoriichi didn’t see it. The bear, the poor creature, who was just there to scavenge for roots and berries at the end of a long winter, fell.

“A wedding present, and a gift for your pregnancy, Yoriichi. For my two favorite humans.” The demon turned his back on her, stepping over the bloodied puddle on the forest floor. Yoriichi released the arrow, observing with some frustration and horror as it struck between his shoulders, causing his flesh to ripple. Yoriichi was disgusted by what he had become. The vision through his skin, revealing grotesque anatomy. Duplicity of organs all smashed into that thin, muscular frame. 

The demon didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look back at her. 

She knew, just from the insight of the Transparent World, that it was almost impossible to kill this beast.

Yoriichi stood there wearily until the sun had risen and the world returned to the safety of day.

“Michikatsu, stay. I need to speak with you,” she said as she noticed her brother preparing to go out with the children.

Michikatsu nodded quickly, but said nothing as he helped Hikari get dressed, as Yoriichi gave instructions to Haruki about how to deal with the bear. Yoriichi tried to ignore Hikari’s chirps that her precious Tou-san should make it so that Yoriichi was having two babies! 

Haruki couldn’t stop choking with giggles.

Finally, the children were out of the house. Finally, Michikatsu broke and swore.

“I get it. I’m an idiot.” Michikatsu rubbed his hand over his face as he said this, blurring the words with regret.

“I don’t care.” Yoriichi said, but felt numb. The morning still weighed heavily on her. This may have been amusing. It may have been something to tease her dearest Aniue about had… had she not had that conversation with the demon. “Hikari is five. Questions and misunderstandings are bound to come up.”

Her brother stared at her, eyes narrowed. Darkened, suspicious.

“Then what’s wrong?” 

It was a good thing he was so in-tuned with her, she supposed. That he could read her in a way no one else in the world could. They were just as prone to the faults of miscommunication as anyone else, but at least… at least he could see the stiffness in her shoulders. The exhaustion. How much she was struggling to comprehend how a demon like Muzan Kibutsuji could know her name, their marriage, their efforts to build a family, without his words being true.

Yoriichi’s lip trembled.

“Tell me you haven’t been talking with that demon.” She watched her brother closely when she said this. It wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t very nice. And his heartbeat increased with every word. So fast, though he’d stayed relatively still.

And Michikatsu shut his mouth, she could almost see his teeth grinding together. Could see the sharp way he swallowed down spit, and the flexing of his muscles as he clenched his fists. The silence between them grew. And grew.

Until her breath hissed in, and tears sprung to her eyes. 

“He killed my son! Your nephew! Akimitsu’s older brother!” Her breath was jagged in her throat. Despite that, Michikatsu stood there in silence. His red-violet eyes fixated on her and her outburst. All but confirming the worst. “Aniue… this is not the way.”

“And the Demon Slayer Corps is?” he finally questioned back. “Do you forgive them already? Every time you look at me, do you see what they’ve done to us? Akimitsu is gone because of them! Hikari will be too! Our baby…”

He turned away suddenly. And Yoriichi was sure it was because he didn’t want her to see him cry. He didn’t want to show the tears building in his eyes, crystalizing on his lashes. 

“You’re so stupid, Aniue.” She grumbled and stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. Burying her face in his shoulder. Letting him feel her sorrow wetting his kimono. “I cry in front of you all the time.”

“This isn’t about that, Yoriichi.” His words were so sharp, but the way his hands reached up to hold her arms undercut the biting tone. “I just want to be strong enough to protect you.”

But she was the one who protected others…

Clenching her fingers in the material of his clothing, she took in a shaking breath.

“Speaking with that monster is not protecting me, Aniue. Considering the path you’ve been on is endangering me. Please, please…” She wanted to say stop. She wanted to make him see. To rattle some sense into his mind. She didn’t need him to protect her. She didn’t want that. Not if it meant his becoming a demon.

After a moment, Michikatsu loosened her fingers from his clothes, pulling her around his front, pushing her against the wall.

His mouth met hers. Hungry, volatile. She sobbed into the kiss, knowing that despite all the ways they strove to entangle their lives, this might be the one thing that tore them apart.

Chapter Text

Less than a month after the children arrived, they packed up their few belongings and headed south toward Ise Shrine. Yoriichi had conflicting feelings about leaving the cabin they’d shared for the latter half of the hardest winter of her life.

In some ways, she was sad. It had been humble, refreshing, beautiful to have those moments alone with Michikatsu. This was where they agreed to spend the rest of their lives together… not just in the unspoken agreement of close siblings, but as man and wife. This was where their first child was conceived. Even when the children showed up, she daydreamed fervently of a simple life raising their family.

It was all she wanted.

She’d be happy if that were her future.

And in other ways, Yoriichi was glad to be leaving. Deeply relieved to know they were on the move, and might… might escape this weird, dreadful dance Michikatsu was doing with the demon. Once she was aware of it, she could feel Muzan’s presence. All around them. Every single night. 

The demon was stalking them. And where it bothered her, Michikatsu merely shrugged. On the last night they were there, she was so tense at the feeling of being watched that her brother sighed into her ear.

“Do you want me to ask him to leave so that you are refreshed to travel tomorrow?”

Ask… as if they were on speaking terms. As if the demon deserved the courtesy of an ask and not her blade on his throat. She had not answered her brother, and after another hour, he got up and walked to the door. She followed him. Tripping out of their bedding, hissing at Haruki to stay when the young boy blinked awake.

Yoriichi watched, feeling like the world was spinning out of control as Michikatsu casually hopped off the engawa and walked out to the middle of the field where Muzan was standing, watching… a twisted guardian.

A watchdog just as likely to bite their hands as the hands of any intruders.

It was the first time Yoriichi had seen them interact. Saw how relaxed her brother was approaching this deadly foe. They were too far away from her to hear whatever brief conversation they had, but everything about it made her uneasy. 

She’d stood, feet rooted to the rough wood of the engawa, heart in her throat. Clutching her sword, and knowing that she was born into the world to kill that demon… That demon her brother was so comfortable with.

Why am I just standing here?

Why can’t I kill it?

Uncertainty flooded her.

“Is that a demon?” Haruki had whispered, peeking around the door. His voice hushed with fright. Yoriichi never answered, tears welling up in her eyes as Michikatsu clapped a hand on the demon’s shoulder in a friendly fashion. Much the same as she’d seen him do to other friends. 

Muzan smiled, then turned and wandered back into the shadowed forest. The absence of sound made the entire event eerier. No rustling leaves, no birds, not a single noise, except for the rush of Yoriichi’s blood in her ears.

Michikatsu came back to the house, pulling her in for an embrace. “See, Imouto. The man’s not unreasonable. Let’s go back to bed.”

Yoriichi still couldn’t sleep, and Michikatsu ended up having to carry her most of the first day south.

She hadn’t gotten her brother to promise anything. If anything, the subject of Muzan Kibutsuji wedged between them like a splinter they were trying to ignore. An infected wound. Every time she fell asleep, she had nightmares about the fall of the Taira family, the death of her first son, and hazy visions of Michikatsu walking away from her… forever.

Yoriichi prayed that moving would clear Michikatsu’s head and set him on the right path. She hoped all her near-desperate affection for him would convince him he didn’t need to do anything more for her. That he was perfect the way he was. 

She was almost frantic to convey that. To get him to abandon any thoughts that being a demon would somehow be better. Stay with me… please, Aniue…

“Ah, good. Finally, a town!” Haruki exclaimed, jolting Yoriichi out of her melancholy. Out of the thoughts that made her feel like her heart was going to die. 

“Not just any town, Haru,” Michikatsu said, appearing quite pleased. He had a smile on his face for the first time that day. Looking out over the homes nestled in the beautiful greenery of springtime forests. Yoriichi could hear chickens and cows in the distance, and the soft, indiscriminate noise of language. “We’re in Ise now.” Then, without taking a second breath, Michikatsu glanced at Yoriichi with a mischievous glint in his eye. A silly, half-repressed upturn of his lips… She cocked a questioning eyebrow. “Yoriichi, remember how much trouble you got into last time we were here?”

Her face flushed as she followed him, averting her eyes to the road.

“We were really young, Aniue. I don’t remember very much of it.” She was telling the truth, and had hoped that he remembered even less. And maybe, just maybe, the only reason either of them remembered it was because it was the one story of Yoriichi’s odd behavior that their mother relayed to every single house guest until her death. Yoriichi supposed they must have been… maybe four, maybe a little younger. Mother had brought them to Ise to pray…

“Ohhh!!! Obaa-chan, what did you do?” Hikari slipped her hand into Yoriichi’s, with all the wild wonderment she could muster. Her dark eyes looked up at Yoriichi adoringly, and a smile bloomed on her chubby little face. These friendly gestures were so different from the coldness the girl treated her with just a few months ago… but… time was different for children. Forgiveness easier. A little uncomfortably, Yoriichi smiled back.

“Ah, well…”

“Are you all hungry?” Michikatsu butted in, not letting her confess the troubles of her barely out of toddlerhood self.

“Starving!” Haruki exclaimed.

“I wasn’t asking you, Haru. I know you’re hungry. You’re at that age where you could knock back four bowls of soba and still ask for more.” Michikatsu teased. The boy in question grinned sheepishly, and Yoriichi noticed, not for the first time on the trip, that Haruki had been growing. The boy would not be tall like a Tsugikuni, but the last few months stretched his lean frame as if he were a blade of grass reaching toward the sun. It wouldn’t be long before others started seeing him as a man rather than a boy.

Catching a glance at how short his hakama were, she knew it was probably time to buy him new clothes.

“I could eat.” Yoriichi spoke up, though she wasn’t actually hungry. But the words seemed to make Michikatsu happy, because he directed them over the small bridge connecting the city with the outside world.

Yoriichi followed along, mindful of keeping Hikari’s hand in hers and not letting the little girl wander off. She didn’t want a repetition of the past, after all.

They found themselves at an udon shop, with big heaping bowls of squishy noodles in a thick umami sauce. The children slurped those down with gusto, while Yoriichi enjoyed a cup of tea. 

“No noodles?” Michikatsu asked with an eyebrow raised. She merely shrugged.

“We haven’t had tea in a long time. I’m enjoying it.” 

Her hands clenched around the warm cup, and she wrinkled her nose in amusement when Michikatsu and Haruki started competing to see who could make the loudest slurping noises. It was funny and adorable when Hikaru tried to join in, but only dropped the fat slippery noodles all over the tabletop. 

Yoriichi could almost pretend they were just a family out on a pilgrimage. The world was as it should be. No demons, no corps… just them.

Except if that were the case, Akimitsu would be here.

She stared down into her tea.

“Imouto,” Michikatsu’s voice teased her out of the deep dissonance she felt. “I remember you getting the same look on your face right before you wandered off to play in the river…”

Yoriichi groaned, “Aniue! We were little. And if I remember correctly, you were too scared to leave Mother’s side.”

“Play in the river?” Haruki asked, and then, taking a sly glance at Michikatsu, the boy laughed. “You were scared?”

“Ah, the Isuzugawa River. There’s a bridge over it that leads to the Inner Shrine, where offerings to Amaterasu-Omikami take place. Mother brought us here when we were little. Yoriichi didn’t care about the shrine; she only wanted to play in the river.” Michikatsu shrugged. “And I obeyed Mother when she told me to stay by her side; I wasn’t scared.”

Yoriichi put down the cup. “I remember the river, but not the rest of it. Mother told us that when they caught me in the river, I ran toward the Inner Shrine.”

“And no one could find you for hours.” Michikatsu winked.

“And then, you…” Yoriichi huffed at her brother’s teasing tone. “You threw a fit because you thought I was gone forever and ran in the other direction.”

The children giggled, as if their back and forth was immensely amusing.

Michikatsu smiled. “I don’t really remember that. But I do remember when they found me. I was in the Outer Shrine, eating persimmons out of the offering bowls.”

“The Outer Shrine?” Hikari asked. “I didn’t know there were two shrines in Ise.”

“The shrine for Toyouki-Omikami.” Yoriichi clarified and took another slow sip of tea. 

“Isn’t that the goddess that Tsukiyomi killed because he didn’t like her food?” Haruki asked, wide eyes glancing back and forth between Michikatsu and her. Yoriichi paused, a slight shiver spreading up the base of her spine, flaring out over her skin. Infecting her shoulder blades with the oddness of premonition. 

“That’s right,” she mused quietly. That was the way the story goes. She’d told all these stories to Haruki when she first adopted him and brought him back to Edo with her. Stories her mother had told her and Michikatsu. The Sun and Moon separated over an argument over food, torn apart over things that were proper to eat… Amaterasu left her brother because he’d murdered a goddess and eaten her flesh instead of the food she offered… like a demon.

Moon breathing… Michikatsu is the moon. This was predetermined.

The story was going to happen the same. No matter how many times they were born. No matter what lives they lived. Her vision narrowed to the dark moments in her dreams. The moments when Michikatsu turned away from her, enveloped by the darkness of nighttime. She thought she saw a flash of his face, but it no longer looked like him. His violet irises were the color of a golden moon. Surrounded by clouds of blood. Her vision doubled… tripled.

“Yoriichi!” 

She jolted hard, realizing that she had somehow slumped over. Gone loose. Fallen into unconsciousness. With her brother’s arms wrapping around her, squeezing her tightly. Shoving her face into his neck, Yoriichi took in a shaking breath.

“Aniue?” Even to her ears, she sounded faint and confused.

“Come on, Yoriichi,” he rubbed soothing circles on her back. “You’re overtired. Let me carry you. I’ll get us a room along the Oharaimachi.” 

But she shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. Pulling back with a grimace of fear, she looked him in the eye. Thankful to the gods, he still looked like himself.

“Please… please, Michikatsu… don’t say yes to that man. Don’t do it,” she continued pleading, knowing Michikatsu was listening as he gathered her up in his arms, knowing whatever led him to consider it in the first place was making him silent. Making him lean down to pepper kisses along her cheek, up the side of her face, and to the burning mark of Amaterasu on her face. Apologies? Reassurances? Nothing calmed her restless soul.

Yoriichi felt helpless to reach him.

*

Troubled, Michikatsu stroked back Yoriichi’s hair. Her bangs were soft against the roughness of his hand.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, still worried after she had passed out at the noodle shop, even though that had been near mid-morning, and most of the day had drifted on uneventful since. He’d never seen her robbed of consciousness so quickly. Weak and pallid. But she looked a little better now. The color had come back to her cheeks when they finally got her to eat a small portion of udon, and then a little more as she rested against him, cuddling for comfort. 

“I promise I am,” she said with a faint smile. “I was just overtired, and it made me forget how hungry I was.”

He felt her shift on the futon, curling up next to his body, fingers dancing on his bare chest.

“I’m sure it helps that I got a separate room for the children.”

“Mmm… Hikari can’t help but kick in her sleep, and Haru is unbearably clingy.” She confirmed, breath ghosting along his collar. Michikatsu smiled, dipping his face down to kiss her forehead. His hand cupped her breast as he slid his thumb lazily along the curve of her nipple.

“You’re complaining, but I know you love it.”

She giggled and pulled her face away from his chest, tilting her head up to look at him. He swore he could lose himself in her gaze. The beautiful haze of maroon in her eyes. The sweetness of her flushed lips.

“I do… and…” she snuggled in closer to him, hands tracking down his sides. Over his hips to the tops of his thighs. “I don’t mind the children having their own room.”

“Even though Haru made all those faces when we sent them away?” he teased.

Yoriichi laughed. “Ah, well, he’s getting to that age. He’ll learn to ignore the signs that we are going to have sex. He has that reaction because he sees us as his parents.”

Michikatsu knew that was true. Yoriichi had taken him in, adopted him, and now Michikatsu supposed he had done the same. However, he had given it little thought before Yoriichi said those words. And now he wondered.

He wondered because he knew their futures were being dictated by the whims of others. He wondered. Haru was… he wasn’t their blood-born son. The corps owned him as a fighter, but they didn’t direct him like they were doing to Michikatsu and Yoriichi.

Opening his mouth, then shutting it, Michikatsu frowned.

“What is it?” Yoriichi asked, ever observant even though she’d shoved her face back against his bare skin. Snuggling with him as the rest of the day slipped by.

“I…” Michikatsu hesitated. “I think I should make Haruki my heir.”

There was a pause, a shift. She’d looked back up at him, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this conversation, but it had to be had.

“In case something happens…” He explained, and felt her ribs expand in sharp panic. “With the corps, I mean. You know they are going to take Hikari. They are going to take our baby. Any child we ever have will be venerated as a child of gods… stolen. I want the Tsugikuni name to live on.” 

“I’m sure if we talk to Oyaka…”

“Fuyuhito is a snake.” Michikatsu cut her off. “Hikari won’t be with us for long. I can feel it. They might let you raise our baby until they are weaned, and then…”

“You don’t know that.” She trembled against him.

“Where’s Akimitsu?” he retorted, irritated by her refusal to see it. She didn’t respond. Said nothing. Fell into the soft silence that he was so used to from her. But she might as well have been screaming with her fingers in his sides. With the soft sobbing of her breath against his chest.

He pulled her chin up, forcing her face towards his, and kissed the tears on her cheeks. Tasting the salt between his lips. It’s not fair, but there’s nothing for us here.

“Haruki may be the only boy who can carry on our family name.” He whispered. “And I’d be happy to give it to him.”

“Don’t talk like you are planning your death, Aniue,” Yoriichi warned, tugging him down for a deep kiss. A kiss that he knew so well. A kiss that begged, and bled. 

But Yoriichi didn’t understand that he wasn’t planning on his death.

He was planning a new sort of future.

The future he envisioned gave them the power to remain free.

Outside the natural order of things. Beyond the reach of man. Outside pain and suffering… just like Muzan promised.

*

The coal-lined road crunched underfoot, every step along the Oharaimachi taken in relative peace. They’d already cleansed themselves in the river, and Michikatsu crossed his arms over his chest, a little chilled from the purifying waters. He hummed, looking back at Haruki. The boy was yawning, bringing his hand up to rub sleep out of his eyes. But he was still smiling. That big smile of self-satisfaction. Of joy. Of belonging, when Michikatsu and Yoriichi told him he had to go along to the Inner Shrine in order to pray for his official adoption and promotion to heir of the Tsugikuni line.

Yoriichi and Hikari had stayed behind at the inn. Michikatsu insisted that his sister rest after their push south. And Haru excitedly went along with him, looking up to him as if Michikatsu really was his father.

Though, Michikatsu was certain the boy was just excited by the inclusion into their family, and no understanding of what it meant to be an heir to a samurai family. 

He’s already stronger than most grown men with a sword. He’ll do just fine.

“It’s not that late yet, Haru. Come on. The Inner Shrine is just ahead.” He smiled as he teased the younger boy, who was yawning deep into his orange sleeve.

“Why did we have to come at night?” he whined a little, but never lost that cheerful smile. Michikatsu took a glance at the sky. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet. The sun would set before they got back, but… he hadn’t come all this way to dally. 

Tucked into Michikatsu’s sleeve was an envelope of expensive bonito flakes. Merchants sold these in offerings along the Oharaimachi, stamping the paper envelope with the red disk of the sun, and writing blessings along the edges of the paper. It was an offering of food to Amaterasu. But most importantly, he had his sword with him.

He knew, because his mother had drilled it into him when he was young, that offerings to Amaterasu made at Ise Shrine were often performative. He had no talent with music, but… but he was sure he could use Moon Breathing as a kagura to attract the attention of the goddess.

It worked with Yoriichi, after all. And since the entire world was comparing them to gods, well, maybe Michikatsu should follow suit.

It was the best he could do. The only thing he could offer. And then he could ask for blessings to marry Yoriichi. If the gods truly loved her, maybe this could be the turning point. Maybe… Michikatsu caught sight of the moon rising over the forest canopy. Maybe Yoriichi’s optimism would be proven stronger than his dark suspicions.

He thought back to earlier, after they’d carefully made love, he’d caressed every bit of her, listening to her hopes. She wondered if the baby was a boy or a girl, wondered what they should name the little one, and dragged out a few suggestions from him they agreed upon for right now. 

He supposed he’d also find out what the hell the marks were for in false compliance with Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki's orders, though he cared less about that.

“Don’t worry, we will be heading back soon.” He said to the young boy. “Now remember what I told you. If you enter the Inner Shrine, you must give a gift to Amaterasu.”

“I give gifts to Yoriichi all the time.”

“You gave her a muddy toad from the river.”

“She liked toad-sama!” 

“Uh huh.” Michikatsu intoned, coming up upon the unpainted torii gate that served as the main entrance to the Inner Shrine. The pale wood almost glowed in the late evening, as if it had soaked up the last rays of sunlight and were reflecting them out into the world to stave off the night for just a little longer.

He pressed his palm against it, in wonderment at how the wood looked so new even though it was untreated. And then he remembered something his mother had told him on their first visit. Every twenty years, the faithful rebuilt the shrine in its entirety. They recycled and rebuilt it last when he and Yoriichi were still babies.

Looking into the courtyard of the shrine, Michikatsu could hear the indistinct murmur of the last of the day’s pilgrims ahead of them.

“Come on, Haru. Let’s make our offerings and get back for dinner. Yoriichi said she wanted to order oysters for supper. The peninsula is known for its seafood.”

“That sounds good.” Haru caught up to him, a bounce in his step as they made their way to the main shrine.

But as soon as they entered the main sanctuary with its forked roof and beautiful bare beams, Michikatsu’s heart sank.

In the center of the room, seven men with swords stood, waiting in ambush.

Demon slayers.

Kiyomizu and Kaito among them. 

Chapter Text

Yoriichi had her sword at the ready the moment the door to their borrowed space slammed open violently. The whole thing came off the frame with a crash, paper ripping with a sharp rustling noise, wood splintering with a deafening smack. Her muscles tensed. Throwing herself in front of Hikari, Yoriichi prepared for a fight. The slick, shing sound of the blade leaving its sheath was familiar. As was the steady thrum of blood pulsing through her veins.

It was suddenly warm in the room when minutes earlier she’d wondered if they were due for the last frost of the season.

She hadn’t sensed a demon. There was no reason for a violent intrusion, which meant it was a human. 

Why? Who?

“Yoriichi!” 

She faltered upon hearing Akio Rengoku’s familiar voice booming from the hallway. But, something was wrong. He didn’t sound like his normal friendly self. He sounded… stressed. Harsh. His voice tinged with a rasp, as if he had a cough, as if he’d breathed in volcanic ash and scorched his throat on it. And when she saw him a moment later, she understood why. 

Her dear friend’s face was smeared with blood, like war paint. His mouth dripped profusely with the red liquid. A tooth twisted and almost yanked out of his face, making it look like he was wearing a lacquered oni mengu over the curve of his pointy chin.

“What are you doing?! Run!” he howled, sweat and blood making the brightness of his hair dingy in the candlelit hallway.

Yoriichi hesitated, noting that the men he was fighting were all humans. Several samurai in full brightly colored regalia faced off against him. Swords shone in the dim, cramped hallway. Clanging against the curve of Akio’s nichirin blade as if they were trying to snap it. Why is this happening?

One of those men, heavily armored, with only his narrow, dark eyes visible through the space of his headpiece, came after her. He held not a sword, but a thick rope in his hands.

This man with the rope, huffed out a rough and silencing command upon seeing Yoriichi and Hikari. “Surrender.”

Yanking her niece up under one arm, Yoriichi did not surrender. What was she surrendering to? Was there a battle near Ise Shrine? Was this spillover from some daimyo’s glorious conquest? It had seemed peaceful in the shrine town all throughout the day, but she knew well that peace and war fluctuated throughout the land like the rising and falling of tides. Like the waxing and waning of the moon.

Michikatsu... She shook her head free of worries about her brother's whereabouts. Later, I'll think later.

Frowning at the slight imbalance Hikari caused her, and the piercing shrieks emanating from the little girl, Yoriichi dodged an attempt by the unknown samurai to grab her. She smacked the man hard with the flat of her blade and forced him to stumble into the chabudai and open cups of hot tea she’d been sharing with her niece before the chaos began.

If she could help it, she would disarm these men rather than kill them. If it could be helped…

Yoriichi joined the fray around Akio. Mindful of the child in her grasp. Aware that her center of balance was thrown off, not simply from the addition of Hikari’s tiny body clinging to her side, but also from the shift of her own pelvis, loosened with the miraculous morphology of pregnancy.

It changed the way she engaged in battle and made her more resolute. Her blood screamed in her ears. She quickly found she could not keep to a pact of no-bloodshed with these men. These men who were trying so hard to kill Akio, to rustle up and capture her and Hikari. But the din of voices released information. 

“… the Emperor’s daughter-in-law!”

“Get her, you fools!”

Narrowing her eyes, Yoriichi realized they were after Hikari. The daughter of a god, probably her as well. Oyakata-sama, I understand you were trying to make the Demon Slayers stronger, but… Michikatsu’s not wrong. Look at what you’ve done to our family.

Blood splattered her kimono when Akio sliced a man through his throat. The jugular severed and sprayed under the pressured beating of the man’s heart as he fell. But she had Akio’s back, taking down another who was about to drive his sword through his shoulder blades.

Heartbeats so fast and frantic passed her by.

By the time the fray ended, there were four dead samurai in the halls of the inn. The bodies were in odd positions, squeezed into strange forms in the narrow hall. Screaming visitors fleeing from the battle, and blood pooling around Yoriichi’s feet. Wearily, nauseously, she turned to Akio.

“Are you alright, Akio-san?” She asked, swallowing back a profusion of saliva. The need to vomit was so strong her throat was clenching. Her jaw aching. Noticing that he didn’t seem to bleed anymore, despite being covered with dark blood and the scent of iron, she counted that as a positive. There was a gash right under his left eye of split open skin that was bruising up and swollen.

“I’m fine. Where’s Michikatsu and Haruki?”

She heard the question, but her vision was swimming with black dots. Her mouth too wet, nose stuffed with the cloying scent of sweet blood. Yoriichi turned away and vomited against the wall. Fingers digging into the wood for support, still holding Hikari as if the child’s life depended on her embrace.

“Are you injured?” Akio was at her side in an instant, pulling back her hair. But Yoriichi shook her head negatively.

“Ah, no.” She wiped away the slime from her lips and spat out as much of it as she could before tossing a glance at Akio. She smiled weakly at her friend. “This… this is just the first time I’ve battled while pregnant. I didn’t expect the smell to get to me.”

He blinked at her as if he’d forgotten that she was indeed a woman, bright gaze tracking down to her slim waist. Her physical fitness hadn’t stopped her belly from protruding almost as soon as she knew of the baby, but she supposed since this was her third pregnancy that such things couldn’t be helped.

“Oh…” was all Akio said. She tried to forgive him for the lack of response… though she’d imagined telling her friends in quite a different manner. Not surrounded by death and vomit. 

Yoriichi ignored the shadowed look in Akio’s eyes and opted to keep speaking. “As for your earlier question, Michikatsu and Haruki went to the Inner Shrine.” 

“At night?”

“Tou-san said he’d be back for supper.” Hikari butted in, tears streaked down her face as she waved her arms and legs as if they were all still fighting. Yoriichi, noticing how wiggly the girl was, set her down on her feet. She squealed in loud distress, avoiding puddles of blood and the bodies of the dead samurai.

Akio looked from the little girl back up to Yoriichi. “These Hosokawa bastards must have thought you’d be easy to grab without the men nearby.”

“Hosokawa?” Yoriichi breathed in sudden disbelief. Gut twisting again, she knew Akio wouldn’t lie to her about the seriousness of this situation, and indeed, he nodded at her utterance. The Hosokawa family was deeply involved with the Imperial Family. They both knew that they were from one of the richest, most well-established samurai families in the land. For them to have been sent after Yoriichi’s family… This was getting out of hand.

“The Emperor has betrayed Oyakata-sama.” Akio brushed the back of his hand along the cut on his cheek. His demon slayer mark, a splayed inome, boar’s eye, was nearly invisible under the swath of blood cascading down his neck. “You and Michikatsu took too long to get to Ise. Oyakata-sama promised Hikari to the prince to continue the glory of the Imperial Family in the eyes of the gods, and when he could not deliver her, the Emperor sent the Hosokawa samurai to collect. Except, they are planning on getting you and Michikatsu as well.”

That was troubling, but Yoriichi would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought something bad was going to happen from this elevation to godhood. She had been listening to her brother’s concerns after all.

In these days of war, the Imperial Family was singularly descended from Amaterasu. To have Oyakata-sama spreading the word that Yoriichi was her in the flesh could be seen as a blessing on the world, or… or a threat to a powerful family who was already struggling in the surges of clan warfare.

If I were them, she remembered Michikatsu’s dark musings, I’d capture that source of power and bring it back into my family. I’d never let it go. Strength is everything, and strength from the gods is something to covet.

“We need to go find Michikatsu,” Akio continued, sheathing his sword. The commotion of panicked guests seemed far away, and Yoriichi was almost certain the inn was abandoned, but… At least three samurai got away from them. To regroup with their clan. To walk forward with their task handed down by the emperor.

A holy task. One which Yoriichi and Michikatsu were likely going to die from.

Quickly pressing away the need to vomit again, Yoriichi returned to the room, grabbed Hikari’s geta and her own. She wrapped the little girl in an overcoat. She looked around for anything that might be useful should they have to flee. It was a quick packing of items. Sachets of tea, money, rations, a few knives, and Michikatsu’s bow and quiver, which was running low on arrows. 

Yoriichi knew nothing about flint knapping or fletching an arrow, but with any luck they’d run into Michikatsu and Haruki and she wouldn’t have to worry about it. With any luck, Akio would have a plan to get them out of there. To keep them from being swallowed into servitude to the Emperor. The position we are in now is exactly what Aniue has feared.

Her vocal cords seemed to be severed. She solemnly weighed Hikari down with a pack, wiped away her terrified tears, and kissed her little forehead. It’ll be alright. I’m with you.

But Yoriichi could not say the words, as she pressed a kitchen knife into the five-year-old’s hands, wishing she didn’t have to. Wishing they’d somehow wake up from this nightmare and be back at the cabin, living a peaceful, normal life. 

Instead, she turned, with her sword in her hand, and cleared her throat.

“Akio-san. Why are you here?” Her voice trembled in dread of the answer. The truth. Her friend’s bright eyes narrowed and looked away.

“Oyakata-sama sent us  — me, Kaito, and Kiyomizu  — to retrieve you and Michikatsu.” He confessed. “We are to bring you back home to Edo, where he’s raising an army in the name of Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi.”

“An army?” her voice faltered in fear.

“War on many fronts,” her friend whispered. “The demons are getting bolder. There’s more of them than there were before. And with Oyakata-sama’s little spat with the Emperor, the Demon Slayer Corps needs a standing army to defend itself against samurai clans wanting to capture us, and wanting to kill us.”

Capture to bring them to the Emperor.

Kill to reduce the Imperial Family’s already tenuous stake in the crumbling power structures of the land.

Yoriichi’s hand shook on the pommel of her sword. The sudden trembling of her heart was visible to anyone who looked.

“We need to find Michikatsu.”

She got no argument, but Akio reached out and put a gentle hand on her arm.

“Yoriichi, there’s something you need to know…”

*

Michikatsu rubbed his face with the palm of his hand as Kiyomizu finished explaining the situation in a slightly bored tone. It was a tale of politics and gambling, of magic that was altogether too much for Michikatsu to handle right at this very second.

Originally, Kaito had told the story of the falling out between Fuyuhito and the Emperor, but the wind hashira’s eyes had widened on his own choking gasps. Michikatsu had watched the man’s face turn deathly white while he coughed up globs of blood and passed out with ragged popping breaths. His lungs sounded like the sizzle of fat in a frying pan.

“How long has Kaito been sick?” he asked, even though he just wanted to turn away. To go back to Yoriichi and somehow leave all this behind them.

But Kiyomizu’s warning…

Kiyomizu barely looked at his best friend as the other demon slayers laid Kaito back on the clean wooden floor of the Inner Shrine, stripping him of his shirt, pounding gently on his back to help loosen the cough. Blood splattered onto the shrine floor, as if it were an offering to the goddess. They hit him again to bring consciousness back into his weakened body, but he barely opened his eyes.

Michikatsu could see through the world, and knew Kaito didn’t stand a chance. His lungs were pockets of deep scars, holes, empty spaces filled with blood and infection. It was a miracle he was breathing at all. It would be a miracle if he made it through the night.

“A few days,” Kiyomizu replied. “His birthday is tomorrow, so I suppose we will see if the Emperor’s prediction will come true.”

Michikatsu groaned, absently rubbing his face again. His fingers dug into the permanent stain of his mark. The mark he shared with Yoriichi. The mark that…

“How many men so far?” he asked, glancing toward Haruki. The young man was kneeling next to Kaito, looking quite worried as some of the other men spoke to him. He didn’t know if they were relaying this death sentence to the young boy. Or if they were going to coddle him. 

No point in that. Haruki is young, but he… he’s also got it.

“Twenty-one of us have manifested marks,” Kiyomizu replied blandly, as if this revelation wasn’t draining on him. As if he didn’t care so much about the marching of time. “Like a heavenly plague for the strongest of us. Daichi died on his twenty-fifth birthday. Tomorrow is Kaito’s, and… even if he doesn’t die on it, there is no hope for him. Isamu died two hours after the mark showed up on him. He was already thirty, not a scratch on him from the battle, and when he was walking back to Edo, he collapsed and couldn’t be revived. Takeshi passed away shortly after the last snowfall, but we do not know what his birthday was. He was a simple farmer’s son, after all.”

“Are you sure the pattern continued with him?”

Kiyomizu shrugged. “We know he was going to turn twenty-five in the spring. He went to sleep one night and never woke up. Just gone.”

An icy chill worked its way up Michikatsu’s spine. Creeping along his bones with prophecy.

“And the Emperor made this prediction, how?”

“Kaito was sent to speak to him on behalf of Oyakata-sama. It makes sense given that Kaito is the Emperor’s own son. Our link to the bloodline. Kaito told us that when his father saw his mark, he fell into a trance and began speaking in a voice not his own: All those with the mark of the demon slayers will die on or before their twenty-fifth birthday.” Kiyomizu’s dark-water colored eyes narrowed. “Oyakata-sama believes we should all aspire to obtaining this heavenly blessing.”

“You mean a curse…” Michikatsu growled, finally losing his patience over this whole thing. Politics, yes, those were bad enough. Bad enough to know that the Hosokawa clan was hunting them. Bad enough to feel like a cornered dog. Michikatsu’s hands clenched at his sides in anger. Yoriichi never had a chance, having been born with this, but to know… in just over two years, everything they’d ever fought for was going to be gone. 

Michikatsu was going to leave this world without ever having secured a place for himself, for his family, for legacy and power. 

They had the choice to run back to Edo, to Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki and the man’s horrible ambitions. Or to let themselves be captured by the Hosokawa clan and face much the same fate in the hands of the Emperor.

There’s one more option…

Michikatsu glanced at the large open door of the Inner Shrine, out into the quiet night. He couldn’t see the sky past the treeline, but he could feel it. He could feel the presence of the demon who was going to save them.

If he had enough courage.

If he could accept that absolute power was a lie. 

Michikatsu knew he was no god. This ruse of comparing him and Yoriichi to the heavens had turned sour. If the gods did exist… He shivered again, not even pretending to himself that he didn't believe. These marks were proof of it. How dumb could mortals be, to think they were anything like divinity? To be arrogant enough to claim that sort of power and not expect repercussions.

Shaking his head at the folly of it all, Michikatsu set his mouth in a grim line, and left Kiyomizu standing there. His feet felt heavy as he walked up to Haruki’s side and crouched by the boy.

“Haru,” Michikatsu hated that his voice came out so strained. That he sounded bothered rather than unaffected by the world. “After tonight, I want you to go back to the Tsugikuni Estate, bring Yoriichi with you, if you can.”

The young boy looked up at him, eyes swimming with tears. His lower lip trembled, face pale with fear.

“Are we going to make it out of this?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard Michikatsu’s request. Reaching out, Michikatsu rubbed his shoulder with his hand. Trying hard to comfort the kid.

“I’m going to make sure you do.” He promised. “Now, listen, Haru…”

*

Blood and screams filled the next hour of Michikatsu’s life. As if he were in a never-ending ocean of it. Drenched in it. He’d found their enemies crossing the bridge to the Inner Shrine, the springtime breeze flittering through his clothes as he stood like a spirit of death at the entrance, and cut down man after man. 

Michikatsu was no god.

He knew this as he faced his fate. The bloody death in battle his father’s shaman had promised him was in sight. He could almost taste it, like the ashes of demons dispersed into the night.

He didn’t count his kills, but there were many. Too many men for one to go up against alone. Halfway through the bridge, he was almost overwhelmed, an older samurai getting the drop on him to slash across his face through the bridge of his nose, across the membrane of his eye, blinding him on the right side.

The pain crossed off all his senses and made him fall to his knees where he was sure to die… if it wasn’t for Kiyomizu showing up and shoving his sword straight through the opponent’s ribs. 

“Get up, shithead,” the water hashira hissed in an imitation of Kaito’s usual rough language.

“What are you doing here?” Michikatsu snapped back, not mistaking him for a friend. There was no mistaking that. Kiyomizu was loyal to Fuyuhito, which meant he was another captor, albeit one who was saving his ass right then. Still, he moved so his back was pressed against Kiyomizu’s, forced to rely on the other man for the battle. As his heart beat wildly. Compromised senses made this so much harder than it had to be.

His face burned with agony. His eyelid worked as if it were closing over sticks, and he knew… the eye was gone.

“Kaito is dead. As soon as the midnight hour passed. The Emperor’s prediction is accurate.” Kiyomizu said dully, tiredly. Michikatsu could practically feel the other man sag against his back. “I sent Haru the other way.”

Over the shrine wall perhaps? Back to the village. To find Yoriichi. To bring Michikatsu’s family to safety while he fought for their escape. It was the one thing Michikatsu had left in his heart to pray for. For them to be safe. He desired for Yoriichi and Haru to live as long as the cursed mark allowed them to. 

He wanted his daughter to grow up free.

Michikatsu would beg the gods if it meant Yoriichi carried their baby to term. If the little one survived. If something of their love lived past tonight.

His crippled strikes were all low, unable to swing fully from the lashes left by the corps during the winter months. Punishment Kiyomizu had dolled out to him with a spiked whip. 

It would serve the bastard right if he died here because of the cruelty he’d shown Michikatsu months ago. Moon breathing was no longer an option with his diminished strength, but he knew to keep moving. Never, ever stop.

Somehow, past the brutal swings, and the chopping of legs at the thighs, the knees, those weak fragile ankles, Michikatsu and Kiyomizu emerged from the insanity of battle. A few of their enemies ran in the other direction with dishonorable fear.

Fear.

Michikatsu felt it too, but he knew he was a better man than most. Gritting his teeth through the bruises of battle, through the loss of his right eye, and a deep, soaking gash in his arm, Michikatsu flicked the blood off his blade. He took a step forward, past the bridge.

“Where are you going?” Kiyomizu groaned, and suddenly the man’s hands were on him. Yanking him off balance. Michikatsu swung his blade up, but missed the water hashira, who was arguably far less injured from the fray.

“The Outer Shrine.” He ground his teeth as he said this, turning so that he could peer with the single eye at the other man. Kiyomizu’s perfect black hair was frazzled, tangled up in a way Michikatsu had never seen even though they had fought demons together. He was looking at Michikatsu with a deep air of unimpressed energy. The space between his eyebrows was a single line of confusion.

“Why? What? Michikatsu! This is no time to…”

Turning on his heels, Michikatsu ran down the path, away from the town. Away from where he knew Yoriichi was, even though he wanted nothing more than to return to her… to live the rest of their truncated lives together.

But that wasn’t possible.

There was no future unless he took action.

Michikatsu ran toward the Outer Shrine. The shrine of the goddess Tsukiyomi killed and ate, becoming a demon among gods.

*

He found Muzan on the roof of the shrine, sitting with his head tilted up to the sky, pale skin washed in the starlight. By the time he reached the demon, Michikatsu had lost so much blood his remaining vision had blurred. His heart was racing. His breath labored.

His clothes were soaked through, and the night air seemed achingly cold.

Michikatsu was dying. His limbs became weak. He could barely keep himself upright on the slanted roof. He wasn’t even sure how he’d got up on it, to yank himself from the ground, onto a trellis, and climb with his battered body toward the sky. Toward eternity promised. His feet struggled for purchase on the clay tiles as his hair fluttered around his face.

“If you become a demon, you’ll live forever,” Muzan said softly, words somehow clear even though Michikatsu’s heart was throbbing so loud he’d stopped hearing the rest of the world.

Not the sound of crickets, or the distant howl of wolves, not Kiyomizu screaming at him to get off the fucking roof.

“I know…” Michikatsu croaked, throat so dry it felt like his voice was ripping along his flesh.

“You get to choose your fate, Michikatsu. Other swordsmen do not.” The demon sounded so calm. So… reassuring. Michikatsu felt the tension in his shoulders relaxing… or maybe, maybe it was just that his body was giving out. He wasn’t really sure anymore. 

Dizzily, he dropped to one knee, almost falling from the roof in the delirium of near death. Heart thudding as he bled out in agonizing slowness. But Muzan was there, holding him up, hands along his face. Brushing aside the sticky remnants of the eye he’d lost. Looking down on him, he acted as if he was proud of Michikatsu.

“How about it?” Muzan purred, and leaned forward, his lips barely brushing along Michikatsu’s forehead. A kiss. A promise.

“I choose to save her,” Michikatsu rasped, grasping with his trembling fingers. Pulling the demon in close by his expensive black kimono. “Muzan, please. Help me save my sister.”

Please.

Yoriichi...

Chapter Text

It was pure terror. Unease, lurking up the divots in her spine. Making her bones ache with a sense of foreboding anxiety. Her tendons and muscles strung so tight she didn’t know that she’d ever be able to unwind. Fighting and sneaking their way through the village, Yoriichi monitored the starry sky for every second that passed. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

Michikatsu, where are you?

In sharp contrast, the Hosokawa clan was everywhere. Yoriichi and Akio tried to avoid them as much as they could, and still… battles were frequent. The pommel of one samurai’s sword smacked Yoriichi across her temple, and she knew by the drowning feeling in her skull that the hit had given her a concussion. But she kept moving. A slash grated across her thigh, spilling her blood to the earth.

She kept protecting Hikari. The tiny girl alternated between sobbing in terror and listless dissassociation from trauma. Calling out for her father while clinging to Yoriichi's neck. Fighting with a child in arms was more difficult than she’d expected, though, and she was frequently moving herself in the way of blows that might have landed on her niece. Every bruise and cut sapped her energy. And she tried very hard not to think of the fact that their enemies were people and not demons. 

This was war.

Yoriichi knew the moment they ran into Haruki along the charcoal road up to the Inner Shrine, where she might find her brother. It wasn’t quite twin-sense. It wasn’t quite a premonition. Perhaps a strange swirl of both those things in her pain-addled mind. A reminder of stories as old as time. 

Her throat clogged when Haru sniffled and whined and tried his very hardest to tug her off the path and into the thick cover of the forest. It was a smart move. Would be a smart move if they were to get away. If they were to escape the Hosokawa family and the Demon Slayers alike. They could simply slip away into the earthy scent and deep green cover of the thick woods… Bamboo shoots clicked together in the wind.

Though, Yoriichi was near certain she would be hunted until the day she died. Touched with the powers of Amaterasu, bearing her mark… With every powerful family in Japan having heard the stories that Oyakata-sama poured into their ears like liquid gold. Like a promise of divine salvation. It would not be easy to hide who she was, and she knew it.

They’d be after her. To possess her. To kill her.

It was all the same in the end.

“Michikatsu-san asked me to take you home.” Haru’s lips trembled. His eyes blew wide in fear. He tugged on her arm as effectively as Hikari might to drag her under the tree cover. He kept looking up at her forehead with a childishness horror that told Yoriichi he hadn’t been spared from the truth.

“Where are the others?” Akio questioned, though his voice was a little garbled. He’d stuffed a torn piece of cloth in his mouth, over the spot where he’d had three teeth knocked out of his face in the earlier battle.

Haruki blinked, turned ashen, and shook like a little leaf. “Kaito is dead. I saw him take his last breath.” A moment passed them by where Yoriichi’s chest tightened. She hadn’t wanted Kaito’s death. None of their deaths and sufferings, in fact. Then Haruki burst into tears and sobbed, “Kaito said that Michikatsu was an idiot to run off when he found out that the mark was going to kill everyone! He said the shithead was too emotional! And that he was going to ruin everything!”

Silently, Yoriichi agreed, though she knew her brother’s volatile side had been stirred up to a boiling point long before the discovery of the mark’s drawbacks. She couldn’t help but remember his dark thoughts in the winter.

“Yoriichi? Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a demon?”

Joining the Demon Slayer Corps had been a dangerous move for Michikatsu, and this… this was just too much for him to take.

“Come on, Yoriichi.” Akio said, grabbing her elbow. Though he was slightly off balance to do so, since he’d insisted on carrying Hikari on his back after Yoriichi stumbled and fell from the head injury. 

“Not without him.” Her breath was stilted, voice wavering in determination and disbelief. “Not without Aniue.”

Haruki and Akio couldn’t convince her to go with them, so they followed her every heavy step down the road to the Outer Shrine. Every moment was a second further toward disaster.

She knew it.

She could feel it.

They had a blood connection after all.

Corpses littered the road. Death every few feet. Blood stagnant in the air as if the decay could halt the wind and stop time. She almost hurled when they passed the bridge to the Inner Shrine. The sheer number of dead there was unbelievable, unobtainable for the small force Akio said they had brought with them.

Had Michikatsu used his breathing style on humans? A gift from the gods to purify the world of demons? It wasn't meant for that. Nothing was right anymore.

She didn’t know.

Her footsteps fell faster. Until she was running along the path. It narrowed at an unpainted Torii gate before spilling out into the courtyard for the Outer Shrine. The Outer Shrine was quiet, clean. No bodies, but she noticed a sickening trail of blood along the path. Drips and dribbles of dark mixed into the dirt. Footsteps that seemed like they had stumbled and fallen. Her eyes tracked the line, skittering and stopping, blobs of blood in spots… to a trellis smeared with red handprints. 

The skin prickled on the back of Yoriichi’s neck, the sudden sensation of being watched unmistakable. 

Carefully, she tilted her head up to the slanted roof of the shrine.

“Michikatsu…” Her breath punched out of her all at once. 

The full moon rose behind her brother, who was standing on the roof with his hair fluttering in the wind. His torso was naked and shining with blood. Deep gashes slashed across the muscles in his arms, through his flank. Blood poured down his face, and it looked as though he’d been stabbed multiple times. Slashes wrecked his face, below his eyes, above his eyes, one straight through the bridge of his nose, so deep she knew the sword that clipped him almost crashed through his skull and into his brain.

The bits of his skin not awash in blood were unnervingly ashen. Pale. Gray. 

It didn’t seem possible that he was still standing.

It wasn’t possible. His heart was beating so slow…

Yoriichi felt his gaze upon her. The one beautiful, bloody violet eye taking her in. His lips parted, but no words came out. She watched, mesmerized by the flexing of his muscles as he clenched his hand around his sword.

She lifted a hand, as if to offer him a way off the roof. Wanting badly to touch him. To see if he was real. If his lungs worked the way her eyes told her they did. If his heart was still beating at that thumping, low rate before death. And then she was pushed to the side, roughly, her whole body smashing hard into the dirt.

“You fucking idiot!” Kiyomizu was screaming at her. Spittle streaked the side of her cheek as he stumbled and fell. As he landed with a crash next to her, he yanked her arm so hard her shoulder popped out of the socket. Pain seared through her, all the way down her sides, up through her neck. Threatening to blank out her vision in a field of black. She thought she heard her own voice cry out in pain. Kiyomizu seemed in an awful hurry to get back up. To push her to her feet. To run. “Michikatsu Tsugikuni’s a traitor!”

Yoriichi pulled herself upright, hearing rather than seeing the sudden influx of terrified sounds behind her.

Hikari was screaming her head off.

Akio and Haruki had drawn their blades. Breath coming in stilted waves for both of them.

But she couldn’t look away.

Tears prickled in her eyes as the odd stab wounds on Michikatsu’s face ripped open one by one, like infected boils. Revealing eyes… inhuman and beautiful. Golden moons for irises, pulsing crimson muscle for sclera. 

Just like in her nightmare.

She heard him… the last word of his human life escaping the confines of his lips as the one eye that remained… the one mirror image of herself left to him… bled out and regenerated into the orb of an unearthly glow that radiated from the other five.

“Yoriichi…” The wind took his words away, and her brother, now a demon, vanished as if he’d never stood on the roof of the Outer Shrine. Truly Tsukiyomi reborn.

Why was this their fate?

Why couldn’t it have been anything else?

“Michikatsu!” The scream ripped from her throat, unbidden, as Kiyomizu and Haruki dragged her back toward the woods.

*

The next day, they discovered Michikatsu had slaughtered every member of the Hosokawa family, and every demon slayer who hadn’t been with Yoriichi that night. She knew from the selection of carnage, he’d done it while thinking. While deliberately avoiding her. While avoiding villagers from Ise… not one of them had died at his hand, though there were casualties in the face of war. Leaving her with people who were the least likely to harm her.

Dismembered, half-eaten bodies littered the most sacred city in the world. Rotting away as the morning sun poured over the traumatized town.

Yoriichi looked out, eyes deadened, another hiccup of nausea sloshing too much spit into her mouth. She’d thrown up repeatedly last night. The first time had been when Akio had shoved her arm back into the proper joint. The bubbling of nausea was so extreme that she’d lost the ability to control her body. To stay conscious… to think of anything other than the wrenching pain from the dislocation and the disgusting, loud, pop it made when Akio fixed her shoulder with little empathy or thought. Each heave brought forward the deep iron taste of blood from her gut. As if she were purging her body of Michikatsu’s crimes. As if every horrific moment he gave into urges to bite, to rip through throats and chests… to drink blood and consume flesh… was pooling into her stomach.

She didn’t think anyone felt bad for her position.

Kiyomizu wanted to beat her. He’d started to before they even got under the cover of the forest the previous night. His rough hands clenched in fury, and he’d gotten two good hits into her ribs before Akio stopped him.

“You idiot. Don’t take your frustrations out on her. Why didn’t you kill Michikatsu when you had the chance?”

“I tried! The demon who turned him tossed me several Ri away!” He’d balled up his fists again when Yoriichi was dizzy trying to keep herself from throwing up. He struck her right across the face, already bruised and swollen from the hit she’d taken earlier, causing her to stumble backwards before Akio pushed him away.

“It’s dishonorable to hit a pregnant woman.” Akio had bitten out, but Kiyomizu gritted his teeth.

“I don’t care if she’s having a baby with her monster of a brother!”

“You know, Oyakata-sama predicted that their children would save the Demon Slayer Corps.”

“Fuck everything about that! The only thing we need saving from is them. If it weren’t for her, Kaito would still be alive! We wouldn’t be cursed to die!”

It was true.

Her head swam with uncertainty muddled by her deep and sudden sickness. Akio steered the others away from her, forcing her to deal with stream after stream of bloody vomit pouring out of her mouth. So much that she fainted. So much so that when she woke up, sticky, smelling of putrid acid and sweet iron, the new day had already dawned.

That morning, Akio had ordered Haruki to bring Hikari back to Edo, and when the boy cried and said that he’d promised Michikatsu he’d bring her to the Tsugikuni Estate, the two older hashira teamed up and bullied her adopted son with cruel words.

“Don’t keep promises to traitors.”

“That man is dead. He willingly bowed to the demon king. He betrayed everything about us.”

“Bastard never cared about anyone but himself.”

“He’ll kill you if he finds you.”

“He’ll eat you alive.”

Haruki had sobbed so hard at the betrayal from the man he'd just accepted as his father that his face blotched up, but Yoriichi was aware when he took her niece and left through the woods next to the road back to Edo. Without a goodbye.

She ached as everything in the world felt like it had died.

Something hit her shoulder roughly, and Yoriichi looked to the side to see Kiyomizu gritting his teeth at her, deep blue eyes narrowed in hatred. He smacked her with the handle of a shovel a second time. She was sure he wanted to murder her with it.

“I don’t care if you’ve been throwing up all night. I don’t care if you have a cursed baby in you. You are helping us dig graves.”

Blinking slowly, Yoriichi grabbed the shovel in ascent.

“Yoriichi,” Akio’s voice sounded wary. His face turned away from her as if he couldn’t bear to see who she was. “It may be best if you lose the baby.”

Her heart clenched, heat flaring up on her cheeks. She couldn’t speak, but knew that they were going to work her until her body couldn’t stand. They were going to…

Tears streamed down her face, and she choked.

“I don’t understand how you could think this is what I wanted.” Her chest heaved with sorrow as the words slipped out. “I don’t understand how you could think I wanted this fate! For either of you! For us! I want my brother back!”

Kiyomizu spat in her hair.

“You should kill yourself. Except seppuku would be too good for you. You should be doomed to wander the world until you find him. Then you kill the two of you together and go to hell. A disgrace to humankind.”

“It might be the only honorable thing you can do with your life,” Akio agreed with a dull tone she’d never heard out of his mouth before. His words cut through her heart as she realized… no one… no one but Michikatsu had ever been on her side.

Yoriichi dug graves by herself that day. Crying fat tears at every sign of her brother’s sins, and the sacrifice he’d made to protect her.

*

She didn’t miscarry the baby. Not that day. Not the day after, when Kiyomizu took advantage of her weakened state and raped her by the river, almost drowning her in the crystal clear water.

He’d held her head partially underwater as he grunted above her. With the edges of her vision blacking out, she breathed the river into her lungs, fitful, trembling. Barely able to make sense of the curses he cast on her. Barely able to understand what was happening to her own body.

Instead, Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the incarnation of Amaterasu, retreated into her mind for safety. Listlessly, she looked out as the day became night, and the night became day. Viewing the world as if everything were transparent. The men she walked with, the bamboo forests, even the very ground beneath their feet. Her world was a hazy space of pain and memories. And she could almost convince herself that the wavering world around her was not real…

This has to be a dream.

She dreamed about Michikatsu.

She dreamed of her death.

It didn’t occur to her for many days that Akio and Kiyomizu were escorting her in silence back to Edo. Even though her concussion was so severe, she had difficulty walking. Her legs tingled. Akio noted with some gruffness that her pupils were two different sizes. She could hardly eat with how badly her head hurt. There was no sympathy. No empathy. They treated her as they would a demon. Perhapse worse than a demon, since they at least got quick deaths.

As if she had coaxed Aniue to do what he did. 

They walked on, pushing her past the limits her body could handle. Eventually… they carried her. Back to Edo. Where it was her turn to sit in front of Oyakata-sama and bear the punishment of Michikatsu’s betrayal.

*

Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki is a snake.

Those were the words Michikatsu had told her not so long ago. Though Michikatsu had betrayed humanity by becoming a demon, she was unsure if one snake could call another the same and have the words hold any weight.

But Yoriichi understood why he’d done it. She’d seen every day for an entire year… a whole year with her Aniue… how the world pushed him toward that decision. It was wrong. It was a low hanging fruit he should have known better than to snatch. But, Michikatsu’s becoming a demon probably saved her life. Probably saved Haruki and Hikari… at least at that moment in Ise.

Considering how she felt after that moment, she wasn’t sure surviving was what she had wanted.

Yoriichi dropped to her knees at the foot of Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki’s high-backed chair. His dais. The throne he controlled the demon slayers from. Her trembling fingers scraped on the stones of his circular azumaya, filled with blooming early summer flowers. Her forehead pressed into the rock as if she could sink into it in shame.

The other men, the entire Demon Slayer Corps, were there. Watching silently.

She was dirty and weak from traveling with no breaks, with hardly any food. Having endured repeated assault from a man she’d once considered a friend. And the standoff attitude from another friend who knew what was happening to her and did nothing to stop it.

They’d taken her sword. Her dignity. But her honor… she supposed that had been hers to give away freely.

“Precious one…” Fuyuhito’s calming voice dredged along her skin like an omen. It no longer felt comforting to hear him speak. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she refused to raise her head. “I’ve heard you’re with child. Is that true?”

She didn’t understand why he’d started with this, but her response was immediate, outwardly emotionless. Dull.

“Yes.” 

Let them see nothing. Let it be. They couldn’t have her pain and sorrow to play with. They couldn’t see anything but stoicism that matched her upbringing and dedication as an Onna Musha… because Yoriichi knew, at this point she certainly wasn’t a Demon Slayer. That dream had been foolish, and Michikatsu was right all along.

“You are a woman with a baby, and your husband is disgraced and dead.” Fuyuhito said, never once faltering from his peaceful tone. As if speaking of Michikatsu’s demise was… expected? Acceptable?

Yoriichi pressed her lips together. She knew her brother wasn’t dead. She was certain she would know it if he died, just as he would be aware if she were to pass. No matter the distance between them… no matter that she wasn’t even sure if they were twins anymore. Was Michikatsu still himself as a demon? Were they still connected? Did he still love her? She tried to squish those thoughts to the side and focus on the present. Though she supposed his transformation, his becoming a demon, was a sort of metaphorical death. 

“And like all weak women, you’ve already moved on. Already spread your legs for another man.”

Her temple throbbed. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, against acknowledging that she could feel Kiyomizu’s angry hands seeking her. He didn’t even like her. Every single time he’d overpowered her was about his anger. His frustration. Raping her was probably the only thing Kiyomizu felt gave him control over his life right now.

“Yoriichi…” Fuyuhito said her name, almost singing it with a singular cruelty that she felt blinded by. “Answer me…”

“Unwillingly,” she croaked out, shame stiffening her shoulders. The heat of embarrassment filled her skin. She was supposed to be the strongest. She was supposed to be stronger than this. Yoriichi knew, even as she spoke her next words, that no one was going to believe her. “Kira-dono forced himself on me.”

“Shut up, woman. You slick up like a whore. Don’t pretend you don’t want it when you moan every night for me.” Kiyomizu snapped. The indistinct sound of voices washed over Yoriichi’s form. Gossip. Crude and ugly.

“I have heard you moan.” Akio grumbled treacherously, though he sounded distant. 

Yoriichi wanted to sink into the floor and cease to exist. She wanted death. It would be easier if they handed her sword to her and gave the command for her to kill herself. She wouldn’t even hesitate. She wanted… Michikatsu’s face flashed in front of her, slowly twisting and opening to his new visage.

Gods… Yoriichi’s breath caught in her throat with the memory. She didn’t know if she was scared of what he’d become or entranced by the brief seconds she’d seen him.

Somewhere far away, this very night, he was committing unspeakable crimes. She could feel it. The gods were punishing her for it.

Deep in her chest, a sob broke free, a weakness that she hadn’t wanted to share with these men who she’d once trusted. Her tears wet the stone floor of the azumaya. She was trying so hard to choke it back. Squeezing it into her flesh so that no one could ever use her pain against her.

“Kiyomizu,” Fuyuhito continued, unconcerned about her fragile emotions. “She’s yours. Your wife, your responsibility. Despite all of Yoriichi’s shortcomings, she is still valuable. Maybe even more valuable than she was before.”

“I understand, Oyakata-sama.” Kiyomizu said smoothly. His voice was nothing but an irritant on Yoriichi’s skin. She understood what this was. It was like being thrust back into the past. Being seen as nothing but a vessel for breeding.

The soft flutters she recognized as kicks from the baby within her were no comfort. Michikatsu was right. The corps was going to steal this child away from her. Use its divine heritage to their advantage. They planned to breed Yoriichi until he had exhausted her strength. Until she died. She had accomplished nothing. She hadn't saved anyone. If anything, her efforts had only made the world worse for the people around her.

The only consolation was knowing the curse would come for her too.

Her tall frame trembled on the ground. In a little more than two years, she was going to die. If she and Michikatsu died together and ended up in hell, she hoped and prayed that none of the others would be there with them.

The atmosphere shifted. She heard Fuyuhito hum to himself as if pleased. “Good. Now let’s discuss the new threat to the Demon Slayer Corps: the demon Kokushibo.”

Chapter Text

There was blood on her hands. Metaphorically and literally. Staining the fabric of her life with crimson dreams.

Yoriichi knew this. Her unconscious hallucinations, night after night, were awash in waves of red. Tsunamis of iron water that took over her life, crashing onto the shores of her body. Where her edges began and everything else faded into the distance. The voices of those who had left her life, who’d died because she existed, haunted her like the obake of legends. 

There were people she killed directly; all the demons she’d ever slain. Though their deaths were necessary, there was a certain sadness. An understanding she didn’t fully grasp until she lost her brother. They’d been people. They would have had a choice… some of them. If they hadn’t, that was a shame as well. And then there were all the indirect deaths; Daichi, Kaito… The six slayers who lost their lives to the cursed marks.

All the deaths she was going to be responsible for in the future; more slayers, Haru and Michikatsu’s… her own…

And this one. 

Her first true murder.

His face was so ugly. She hadn’t seen him without rage in his eyes for years. The harsh emotion had narrowed his deep ocean-blue eyes and caused him to develop wrinkles early. She hated him. Hated Kiyomizu Kira with a passion. And today that passion had boiled over.

The loathing erupted from her gut like the explosion of a volcano.

And now she was sitting in the fallout.

All she could hear was a strange buzzing. All she could see was his mouth hanging open, blood dotted on his thin lips. Splattered with streaks of red along his smooth, pale chest. A chest no longer rising and falling. No longer expanding to yell at her, to call her a monster, a whore, to tell her she should have never been born.

She blinked rapidly, remembering to breathe, clenching her fists. The tacky sensation of drying blood squelching through her fingers made her feel sick. It was all over her body. Her face, her disheveled kimono, the open front where he’d ripped the fabric in their fight. The hairpin she’d used to gouge through his eye and into his brain was twitching with the last spasms of his dead ocular nerves. The silky cherry blossoms crawling up the hairpin wiggled like pink insects on a branch with each involuntary shudder.

She didn’t know how many times she’d stabbed him with the hairpin before he succumbed. It was metal, but it wasn’t a sword. It wasn’t sharp. Every hit had been dull and desperate. And even after a little over two years of abstinence from the sword, Yoriichi was still physically strong. Still, her eyes traced his unmoving form and counted… ten? Twelve? No… almost double that… little bloody holes she’d punctured into his skin in the frenzy of their fight. Her memory was a rush of feelings rather than images. He’d barged into her room…

“Kaaa!!!!!” The high-pitched wail shattered through her horror.

“Rizu…” she whispered, snapping back into focus on the scene in front of her. On the wailing across from her. The crumpled little body. Bruised. Broken. Innocent. “Rizuki…” Yoriichi trembled, tearing her eyes away from the blood. From the violence. From the life she willingly snuffed out with her own two hands. It hit her at once. A dunk into icy water after a dream. “Oh… gods…”

She scrambled away from the blood pool; mostly naked and bruised. Chest heaving, her stomach lurching up, causing her to choke on her saliva. There was an eerie blankness in her brain. The only sounds she could hear were her panicked, sickened breaths, and the wails of her helpless toddler. The same toddler her godforsaken husband threw against the wall right before she murdered him.

Quickly, Yoriichi scrambled to the far side of the room. Her prison. The small space her fourth husband, Kiyomizu Kira, forced her to stay in for almost the entire span of two years. 

“Rizu…” she didn’t dare touch the girl, instead using the transparent world to locate injuries. To determine how best to handle this without causing more damage. Fearing the worst. “Rizuki, take a breath.”

The baby-faced toddler sucked in a mewling breath because she was a good little girl. A good little girl who always listened to her mother. She held her breath like a baby. The dimple on her left cheek was a prominent feature of her youthful face. Along with those beautiful violet eyes. Her Tou-san’s eyes. The man who’d fathered her, and not the asshole dead on the floor who would have killed her at birth had Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki not wanted to use her for a political marriage. 

Yoriichi’s heart broke as she looked at her injured daughter in dismayed contemplation.

Her collarbone was broken. She didn’t even need the transparent world to know this. There was a prominent bump along the pale spot that hadn’t been there before. Kiyomizu had snarled at her, and tossed her carelessly for the minor offense of existing. It was not the first time he’d put his hands on her, but the most violent of the times Yoriichi witnessed. 

It had inflamed every ounce of protectiveness she held in her heart.

There was a large bruise on Rizuki’s right hip where her body had careened into the wall. 

“Kaa…” Rizuki’s lip trembled as she called out to her mother. Voice of a baby. In such terrible pain. Pain she wouldn’t have been in had Yoriichi just murdered Kiyomizu from the start. If she could do anything right. Which she couldn’t. Almost twenty-five years of life had proven without a doubt that Yoriichi Tsugikuni was useless. Yoriichi’s eyes filled with tears, and as gently as she could, she lifted her daughter. Michikatsu’s daughter. The baby they’d looked forward to together.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Rizu. Pretty Rizu. Smart Rizu.” Her breath still came in ragged gasps. Still squeezing out of her lungs as she tried to soothe her little girl. She used a stiff orange obi to tie her daughter’s arm securely to her body, making sure that the broken collarbone was stable. She picked up her daughter, gently rocking her back and forth, humming through hiccups and tears. Stroking her short, curling locks of plum red hair.

After a little while, Rizuki fell asleep, face reddened with distress that Yoriichi was trying to kiss away with a fluttering press of her lips. And with the quietness settling around them, Yoriichi took a hesitant glance back at Kiyomizu’s body.

Her face paled, lips thinning. 

She knew where she was. Kiyomizu and Fuyuhito had transplanted her north to the town of Mito. The home she lived in now was in the shadow of Mito Castle. She could easily see the gabled roof of the old, imposing castle from the window in her tea room. The green fields and rolling hills surrounded the castle, and endless blue skies perched overhead. She knew there was an enormous lake south of the town. She’d gone there with Rizuki to feed ducks, catch them, and bring them back for dinner.

Kiyomizu’s favorite food was roasted duck. Preparing it was one of the few ways to get on his good side.

Mito was not very far from Edo, but remote enough that Fuyuhito and Kiyomizu thought it a good place to hide her.

Not because they cared about her, but because she was valuable. She was an object. She was Amaterasu in their eyes. Though she never quite understood how veneration and abuse held hands and married in the minds of those men.

Late in her pregnancy with Rizuki, there’d been a demon attack on Edo. A brutally massive wave of terror and blood. Though it had differed from demon attacks she was used to thwarting. This one had come with a polite warning. A formal declaration of war and options for surrender written by the demon king Muzan Kibutsuji himself.

Unfortunately, the letter only increased the Demon Slayer’s bad feelings toward her. The only option for surrender was to hand Yoriichi over to the demons. To give up their precious object from the gods. Their breeding vessel… a woman they believed wronged them and needed to pay for it. And they believed her a traitor because of this request, had dragged her in front of Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki again and interrogated her until the only option was to agree to their ridiculous suppositions. 

Yes, she’d asked Michikatsu to become a demon. (A lie.)

Yes, she was planning on following him down that path. (Laughable.)

The demon king knew where they were because of her. In fact, why not, she actually loved the man, and becoming a demon slayer in the first place had all been part of an elaborate hoax she’d set up after letting the demon kill her first husband and whoring herself out. (Yoriichi couldn’t even fathom the insanity of this untruth they forced her to confess.)

Yoriichi was tired.

Tired of how ridiculous it all was, and tired of her own deep unhappiness.

Kiyomizu brought Yoriichi to Mito the day before the attack, smuggling her out of Edo through forests and back roads. 

She remembered almost hoping the demons caught them. And two weeks later they’d received the battle report. The Demon Slayers had won, and Fuyuhito sent her a smug letter saying they regrettably did not see her brother.

Maybe the demon Kokushibo is weaker than our initial reports claimed. 

Rizuki had been born on the second night of their journey to Mito, under the light of the full moon. Yoriichi had wished and prayed, and dissociated until she almost believed that Michikatsu had shown up and held their daughter in his arms.

But of course, he had not been here. Aniue never would have forced her to stay in Mito. Never would have even contemplated letting her stay with Kiyomizu.

Kiyomizu, who forced her to stay… force…

Yoriichi trembled, glancing from Rizuki to Kiyomizu’s cooling body. Stay. She sucked in a breath. 

Yoriichi didn’t have to stay…

She was free. If she moved fast enough. If she got out of here before someone came and discovered she’d murdered her husband. In fact, it was probably smart of her to leave. 

Smart because they were going to want retribution for Kiyomizu’s death. Even though Fuyuhito lauded her as a goddess incarnate, there was only so much any human could take before they snapped.

Yoriichi tore her eyes from the body and looked back down at Rizuki, and at herself. Her blood-soiled, pale gray kimono was still askew, half on and half off her body. But it was impossible to ignore her precarious position. 

Her dangerous position.

She held on to Rizuki a little tighter. Pressing her little girl’s body into her own. The warmth was welcome. And.. Then… Yoriichi felt the quickening in her stomach. They were too strong to be simple flutters. Now it was elbows and knees, sliding across the curve of her belly. A foot pressed here, and a foot pressed there.

She’d never be happy about this pregnancy, forced on her by a man she didn’t love. And she pressed her fingertips into the hard nodule of a heel, easing one of the little babies back to a more comfortable position.

“I don’t know where to go,” she whispered. Maybe to the twins she was carrying, maybe to their older sister asleep in her arms. Maybe to herself. 

She couldn’t run blindly. Yoriichi knew she had to make a plan, and make it fast. She had to get somewhere safe. She needed to find a haven before her twins were born. It was too dangerous to go this alone. Birthing two babies at once, while taking care of a toddler… if something was to happen to her. If she simply fled into the woods and died during or shortly after childbirth, as she suspected might happen… 

Her birthday was coming up.

Twenty-five. The marked age.

Yoriichi trembled again.

Edo was out of the question. Kyoto was just as bad. She couldn’t seek haven with the Takeda family. She doubted the Tsugikuni Estate was any better, though the last she’d heard, Haruki was there running a new training ground for young Demon Slayers and acting as the lord of the house.

She loved Haru with all of her heart, but the boy would be in danger if she went to him. And he wouldn’t be able to protect the little ones.

The Taira family? Maybe she could hide with all of her first husband’s cousins?

Likely not. Kimiyo had married a Demon Slayer. It wasn’t safe there either.

Yoriichi’s mind raced. Internally she mapped out half a dozen cabins she knew of across the lands, but most of them were Demon Slayer property, and frequent rest stops for slayers on the move.

Longingly, she wished she knew where Michikatsu was, but… but… she hadn’t seen her brother since the night he’d turned. She had no way of knowing for sure if he was even himself anymore.

Rizuki made a little noise in her sleep… suspiciously like the ‘kaa’ sound she called Yoriichi by. One of the few words her little daughter could say. She’d said ‘chichi’ a single time to Kiyomizu and got hit for it. 

Rizuki, the girl whose name meant ‘hope for the moon’, squirmed and babbled ‘kaa’ yet again.

Where was Yoriichi going to go?

Where?

“Uuuuu…” Rizuki babbled out. Yoriichi glanced at the door to her room. It was closed, and their pretty buff-colored Shiba Inu was probably in another part of the house, or maybe even outside playing with the chickens. ‘Uuuu’ was Rizuki’s word for dog right now. She couldn’t seem to blurt out ‘inu’ in its entirety no matter how much she was prompted. 

This is what you get when you fuck your brother, Yoriichi. Kiyomizu had said so many times since they realized Rizuki was not developing speech as fast as other toddlers her age. Yoriichi wasn’t worried about it. She could tell Rizuki understood everything said to her. She followed commands with perfect precision. Yoriichi had been a late talker too. Was it really so surprising that her daughter might be like her?

“Ah, Rizu. Kaachan is going to pick you up.” She warned in a soft voice. It was a little awkward getting up off the floor, full in her belly with two babies almost ready to be born, and holding onto Rizuki as carefully as she could. The exertion broke a sweat out on Yoriichi’s forehead. Her pelvis ached from the shifting weight.

Finally, she stepped to the door and slid open the wooden panel. Right outside, sitting patiently, was their little Shiba Inu, Shippo-chan. His dark eyes looked up at her with blind adoration, his tongue half lolled out of his mouth.

The dog, barely out of puppyhood, cocked his head to the side as if questioning her. As if he wanted to say, ‘What happened? Why is my friend hurt?’. Yoriichi sighed.

“Ohayou, Shippo-chan. Do you know where we should go?”

Of course, the dog didn’t know. It had never been out of Mito in its entire life. Predictably, Shippo-chan let out a little yip and wagged his tail without a care in the world.

“Alright,” Yoriichi whispered. “Find a place to go with three babies and a dog. It’s not that hard…”

Except it was.

Feeling deflated, she looked blankly down at their pet trying to muddle through her thoughts. Maybe she should leave Shippo-chan with someone? Not anyone in Mito. They’d tell the Demon Slayers right away that she’d left. Who then?

Shuffling toward the main room of the house, Yoriichi let her mind swirl. Cradling Rizuki against her back, she straightened out her bloodstained kimono, and grabbed a long sash. Deftly she tucked the material up under Rizuki’s little bottom, bringing her knees up, and slinging her on her back. She secured her daughter in a practiced carry she’d used for the last few months as her belly grew bigger and bigger with the new siblings.

Shippo-chan trotted along beside her ankles, a silent, loyal companion. 

“Who do I know that loves dogs?” she mused out loud when she tossed some scraps of last night’s fish into a wooden bowl and placed it in front of the adorable dog. Shippo-chan did a little dance, yipping happily at the sight of food.

And then… Yoriichi remembered.

Her eyes widened, and she straightened back up. “Oh… right… They had dogs.”

The Kamado’s. She’d met them almost a year before reuniting with her brother. Sumiyoshi and Suyako had been incredibly nice to her. Poor folk. Not being able to read or write, they had the best attitude toward life of anyone Yoriichi had ever met. She'd saved them from a demon attack, and stayed with them for several weeks while she recovered from an injury (not from the attack, but from having been thrown from a horse when the demon jumped out and scared it). They were the only two people who'd known about her being a woman during that time period when she was a demon slayer... and they kept it a secret because they had secrets of their own.

“I really hope they are still in Miyama…” Yoriichi said as she packed for the long journey south.

*

Kokushibo was frowning. He did this often. Looking off into the distance, distracted and not really present. Though he heard and saw everything.

“A sword hunt.” A deep voice rumbled out. “It’s the perfect response to enemy actions. We do not wish to destroy the countryside and sow more seeds of warfare. Take away their swords and you take away their power.”

Kokushibo said nothing, merely half listening to these men and their political planning that seemed so detached from his life. Only, it very much affected him. It was the whole reason he was here in Kyoto, playing along with this odd role of advisor to the Emperor.

“Kokushibo-dono,” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over at the pale face of a woman who was trembling just to look at him. “Tea?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“No.” He responded, waving her off, probably much to her happiness. 

It had been a few years since his transformation, and while he enjoyed the way people looked at him with reverent terror, he also found it slightly annoying. The Imperial Family and its allies did not have a sound reason to fear him at the moment. At least, not unless Muzan changed his mind about their alliance.

Though Kokushibo doubted the demon lord was going to change his mind soon. Political and monetary power was a boon for demons as much as it was favorable to the humans they herded for food. 

Still, this servant girl scuttled away from him as fast as she could without seeming impolite.

He refocused his gaze, slightly distant from the huddle of human men he was sitting with, past the open doorway of the meeting room, and out to the garden where the Emperor’s children were playing among early summer blooms of hydrangea. 

She was there, catching butterflies in the sunlight where he could no longer walk. Her dark hair was pulled up sensibly. Her kimono was a rich red that made her pale skin look almost snow-colored. 

Hikari Tsugikuni, his daughter, had arrived in Kyoto last year as part of the Demon Slayer’s attempts to repair relationships with the Emperor. The fifteen-year-old Emperor Go-Yōzei, who’d only taken the throne less than half a year ago from his grandfather, was encouraged to marry Hikari as his third consort. He was nine years older than her and seemed to have very little interest in any of his three wives.

Kokushibo didn’t really care. He was strangely subdued about Hikari being here. Placated, perhaps by her obvious happiness. Normalcy he saw every single time he saw her from a distance. Catching butterflies, playing the koto, lifting her delicate silk sleeves to create beautiful calligraphy.

She was joyful and full of life. Often playing with Empress Sakiko and the second consort, Taneko. The two of them doted on her as if she were the perfect younger sister.

Hikari was happy, and that was all Kokushibo had ever wanted for her.

Maybe that’s why he practically volunteered to be here. To mediate on Muzan’s behalf with these powerful men. At least this way, he knew where one of his children was.

“Kokushibo-dono.” 

Snapping his attention back to the meeting, Kokushibo looked at the young man who spoke. His unwitting son-in-law. Emperor Go-Yōzei.

“What is it, Katahito?” he asked, using the boy’s given name rather than the one he took when ascending the throne of power. The boy’s narrow, dark eyes blinked as if not fully able to understand what he was seeing. Kokushibo wasn’t simply a demon painted on the walls of shrines or on wood blocks. His six eyes moved, blinked, narrowed in derision, and widened in surprise just like the two he’d had when he was human. His visage wasn’t stagnate like the stone carvings of youkai. He wasn’t a storybook phenomenon.

Kokushibo breathed; he could cry. He had opinions and desires.

And he could kill every single person in the city in the space of hours if he really wanted.

“Kokushibo-dono, would you lead the sword hunt? With you leading our armies, we have a better chance of snuffing out dissenters before things get out of hand.”

There was also a good chance Kokushibo would get bored and kill all their enemies outright, but the young emperor didn’t acknowledge this, and Kokushibo thought it was stupid to bring up. He paused, listening to the sound of Hikari’s infectious laugh in the distance.

“Kokushibo-dono,” another man, one of Katahito’s friends, and a prominent man in the government, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, spoke up. He was older than both Kokushibo and Katahito, but a man who’d accomplished much in his life. He was one of the few humans who looked upon Kokushibo with nothing but passing respect. “You’ve been instrumental in helping the region stay unified since you joined our court. We would ask that you go to Edo first for the sword hunt.”

“Are you that afraid of Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki, Great Unifier?” Kokushibo asked in annoyance. He’d been here before. In this position. Asked to go to this place and that to quell uprisings. It was just a mission. Just like the ones he’d had when he was a Demon Slayer. They grated on his nerves.

“Are you, Michikatsu Tsugikuni?” Toyotomi questioned him with a quick wit. Tension wracked Kokushibo’s shoulders. He didn’t care to hear his human name spoken so casually. He didn’t like that these men used his scars against him.

His demonic flesh was so powerful that none of the debilitating wounds he’d received in his youth affected him any longer, but the memories were always there. He supposed they always would be. 

I can make you forget, if that is what you wish. Muzan had consoled him shortly after they’d failed at finding Yoriichi during the small-scale attack they’d planned on Edo after Kokushibo had transformed.

They’d let other demons run distraction while they looked in every home, every single place they could for his sister.

And Yoriichi had been nowhere.

Kokushibo knew she was alive. He could feel it in his blood. He sometimes dreamed of her. A fading spirit who was always outside his grasp. He chased her like the moon chases the sun, never able to catch up.

He hadn’t taken Muzan up on his offer. As haunting as his memories were, he loathed the thought of not having them. Of possibly running across his twin before their predetermined death and not knowing who she was. If he didn’t remember her… if he didn’t know… would he attack her? Would he eat her?

The thought made him feel unusually sick to his stomach.

“I am afraid of nothing.” Kokushibo replied stonily. “If my lord wishes, I will lead your sword hunt.”

“Good!” Katahito lit up, more childlike in that moment than a young man in his position should be. “And when you are finished with Edo, you can go north.”

“North?” Kokushibo asked, now slightly confused. What the hell was north besides snow, a few cities, and clans that were so distant from the center of power wracking the country with wars that they might as well be in their own world? Toyotomi Hideyoshi gave a brief nod, his almost white chonmage bouncing at the back of his head.

“We’ve gotten news from a shinobi who has seen a woman with a demon slayer mark living near Mito Castle.”

All the breath left Kokushibo’s lungs at once. 

Yoriichi…

He hadn’t spoken her name aloud since becoming a demon. Barely felt like he was worthy of letting the syllables tumble from his lips. He failed in his bid to save her. He’d failed horribly. Dishonorably.

He’d destroyed all the enemies in Ise, almost forgot that he needed to seek shelter from the sunlight, and had to be dragged by Muzan deep into a cave system where he stayed wracked with pain and agony for three full days as his body gave into the corruption of demon blood. As it remolded itself into everlasting perfection. As he became the god he was born to be.

When he could leave, the fourth night after he almost died on the rooftop of the Outer Shrine, neither he nor Muzan could track Yoriichi down. One of the demon slayers he’d let live had dusted wisteria incense all along the perimeter of the town. 

They both suspected someone had taken her to Edo, but they couldn’t find her during the diversionary attack. And every single demon slayer Kokushibo had seen since then mocked him to his face when he tried to extract information about her whereabouts. Some of them told him the names of towns and cities, but they all ended up being lies. Random travels that did nothing but pique his fury.

“That’s right, Kokushibo-dono. You want to see her again, don’t you?” Toyotomi Hideyoshi said, and it would have sounded mocking. It really would have, had Kokushibo not been so desperate to find her.

Chapter Text

There was an old shinden-zukuri mansion right outside of Kyoto. Painted pitch black like a moonless night, all of it. From the cypress shingles to the wooden platform the mansion stood on, it blended seamlessly into its surroundings. The bamboo forests had grown up around it, casting the building in perpetual, decaying shadow. The main hall, the shinden, faced a southern pond overtaken with giant lily pads and pale pink blooms glistening with dew, as was typical for Heian Era mansions. Two platformed corridors flanked the inside yard. A mess of flower beds that were spreading sickeningly sweet petals over old flagstone swayed in the slight evening breeze. 

Something had destroyed the road to the shinden-zukuri long ago. Its path was still wide enough, so any traveler in the region could easily surmise it led somewhere civilized. A relic. A dark road. Kokushibo had traveled the area enough to hear the rumors, from Kyoto, from the closest villages dotted along the landscape. A cursed home. That was what they all said. 

Don’t walk along the road at night. A nearby farmer had said to him once in the middle of a snowstorm, unaware that Kokushibo himself was a demon. When he needed to go to these villages for whatever task Muzan sent him on, he often wore armor. The full mask of a samurai covered enough to hide his extra eyes, the supernatural color hidden well in the shadows of his helm, though he hated it. 

Being blinded temporarily, partially, made Kokushibo’s heart sink. He experienced phantom pains across his face, as if the slight inconvenience of being covered was enough for his body to thrust itself violently backwards in time. To the moment in Ise when he’d lost an eye, when he rightfully should have died. 

The farmer who’d warned him off the cursed road in the middle of the night still lived there, toiling in his rice paddies, and leaving seasonal offerings at the granite dousojin statues guarding the road as it trailed from his fields to the forest where Muzan’s mansion was.

Kokushibo didn’t know if it was warfare, time marching on endlessly, or generations of like-minded farmers warding away travelers that hid the old mansion from the world. But whatever it had been, the only way to access the mansion was by walking up a steep path from the city, through rice fields, into the encroaching bamboo forest, and finally crossing the old frog-filled pond with a splintering boat that constantly flaked off bits of old pink and white paint.

If the boat wasn’t at its usual mooring spot, it meant Muzan had company. And Muzan usually took only one visitor at a time. 

Thus, Kokushibo was staring at the mooring log with a frown of discontent on his face. The boat was nowhere to be seen, and he was impatient to speak to his lord. He glanced up, across the distance of the still pond, to the vague outline of the shiden-zukuri. 

As far as Kokushibo knew, there were only two other demons who visited Muzan. The first was a woman named Genshi, who Kokushibo was told had transformed into a demon almost a hundred years before he was born. She looked mostly like a woman, but strangely had no face. Nothing but a smooth layer of skin where all the features one was supposed to have should have lain. 

Kokushibo did not like Genshi. She spoke into his mind whenever they saw each other. Taunting him about his face. Bragging about her perfect nothingness, and how it was more beautiful to Muzan and an abundance of ugly eyes.

Kokushibo didn’t care about being beautiful for Muzan, but the intrusion irritated him. He couldn’t block her out by plugging his ears; only distance worked. The only blessing was that she could not read his thoughts quite like Muzan could. She stole snips and pieces… just enough… Genshi irritated him when he realized that her blood demon art wasn’t simply a hidden face and one-way telepathy. It was the ability to put on the masks of faces her victims knew. People they would have trusted.

She used it on him a single time.

Donning the face of his sister, she attempted to lure him into bed so that she could murder him ruthlessly. He didn’t fall for it because he knew who Yoriichi was in his heart. Their blood bond, forged during conception, and the bond of their love, transcended their separation. Past the powers of a blood demon art, one of the most insidious he’d ever heard about.

He’d fought Genshi, slicing her cleanly through her ribs before Muzan stepped in and told them to stop bickering like children.

Oh, alright, Master. But I just wanted to see how his sword felt inside… don’t you want to know too?

Kokushibo hated her. Muzan hadn’t acknowledged her words and had sent them both in separate directions. Though several months later, he’d caught up with Kokushibo outside the Imperial Palace, pushed him into a wall, and kissed him as if he really wanted the crass suggestions of the other demon.

Nothing ever happened after that, and Kokushibo usually feigned forgetting about the kiss when speaking with Muzan.

The second demon who could visit Muzan was Tamayo. The beautiful demoness always regarded him with subdued quiet. Bowing perfectly. When she spoke, it was in a soothing tone that belied none of her abilities.

And if Muzan was the father of all demons, then surely Tamayo was the mother they all deserved. 

Kokushibo had seen her frequently since becoming a demon, and he rather enjoyed running across her.

Muzan didn’t believe in anything but the start and stop of time. Gods were figments of the human condition. And he scoffed at superstition. But neither of them could deny that something was different about Kokushibo. 

It’s rare, but sometimes a human cannot be turned. Muzan had said to him when his body finally gave out and accepted the gift of his blood. He’d been sitting in the cave, brushing Kokushibo’s hair back with his long, pale fingers, almost soothingly. I’ve never seen anyone fight it as hard as you did.

Kokushibo had wanted to tell him he wasn’t trying to fight it, but he’d also been puking violently.

He’d expected… something different… when he became a demon. As a Demon Slayer, he’d known that demons were drawn like flies to a carcass to blood and sinew. To the flesh of humans, as if consuming them was a medicine they needed to become whole again. Kokushibo experienced the same addictive draw, just like every other demon. It had been damn near painful how hungry he was that first night, when he’d just accepted Muzan’s blood to save Yoriichi.

There was almost nothing he could do consciously to stop himself from devouring pieces, bits, lapping at blood… from all the men he’d killed that night. It was akin to the feeling of needing more sake once one’s inhibitions were lowered. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was a bad idea, but the giddy mix of pain and desire drove him to ignore all caution.

His mark burned like a firebrand with every single drop of blood. Drenching him from head to toe in toe-curling pain. He puked so violently that his insides died painfully, each organ at a time. Until his nerves became inured to the pain. Until every bit of him that had been born into this world innocent was destroyed.

Tamayo saw him on the second day, after Muzan sent for her.

Will he make it?

This isn’t the normal somatic response to cannibalism.

Yes, I’ve figured that out myself. 

Kokushibo was too ill to pay much more attention to the concerned conversation between the two oldest demons. Too ill, and too desperate to crawl out of the cave. To search, like every instinct screamed at him.

Yoriichi… She was forefront in his mind as his kidneys died. Memories of her danced through his brain as his heart failed, and Muzan almost gave up on him. His sister was the only person he wanted nearby as Tamayo ripped open his body with her claws and scooped out decaying organs so that new ones would grow in their place.

He will die if he cannot feed. Tamayo didn’t really need to say that out loud. It was an irreversible law of nature. One of the few that even Muzan was still bound to. For everything living had to use energy. Everything moving had to extract life from something. There was no movement. No life. Nothing without sustenance. Even death was just a transfer of energy. Decay transforms the energy of life into other forms.

Everything moved in a circular motion. Like the seasons. Like the sun. Muzan liked to think eternity was a standstill, a moment stretched on forever… Kokushibo believed eternity was a cycle. Reincarnation and life… everything, even emotions, ebbed and flowed. Waxed and waned like the moon.

It was something Muzan despised and sought to overcome.

Kokushibo didn’t believe in the fight but casually went along with all Muzan’s plans, despite his skepticism. After all, it would be interesting if he were right.

Quite by accident, they’d found out what the key to Kokushibo’s survival was. A demon with ocher-colored skin, hands with only three clawed fingers, and a twisting horn of hardened hair growing out of the top of his bald head came into the cave right before sunrise on the third day.

Sousei, what are you doing here? Did you find her? The demon king had sounded a fair bit annoyed. Annoyed that his plans weren’t bearing fruit, perhaps. Annoyed because the night was turning to day and Kokushibo was still unwell. 

My lord, she… the breath user is nowhere to be found!

It was dumb. This little oni was probably not anyone important as a human, but he still should have been able to keep up with Yoriichi. He should have never let her out of his sight… especially since the slip happened at night, and he didn’t have the excuse of being slain to account for losing her.

Even though he’d been mostly dead at that point, Kokushibo had pulled himself off the ground, sword in hand, and rammed it through the body of the reddish beast in resplendent anger. The rest was a blur of madness. The satiating feeling of the lines between him and this demon melding together. Absorbing him, and the 34 humans he’d eaten in his short time as a creature of the night, directly into Kokushibo’s bloodstream. The hit of power was intense. Phenomenal. Where death threatened him just moments ago, a new energy surged through his flesh, rippling every muscle with remarkable vitality. A flush of life made him choke in air as he stared dizzily into the distance, somehow kneeling when he’d been standing the moment before.

His mark throbbed steadily, but no longer hurt. The red firebrand on his forehead and neck radiated warmth. Healing.

Ah, once a Demon Slayer, always a Demon Slayer. Isn’t that right, Kokushibo? 

That was the first time Muzan spoke his new name. 

Still frowning, Kokushibo looked across the pond. 

I can try to leap across? It was a silly thought. What he should do is wait for a few hours, and come back again before dawn to see if the boat is available. However, Toyotomi’s words were haunting him. Driving him with this need.

Was Yoriichi really in Mito?

What could she possibly be doing in that small castle town?

Was she safe? Was she alright? Would he ever know?

The thoughts wouldn’t leave him. Bubbling up one right after another. Overwhelming Kokushibo’s common sense and dignity.

He leaped and made it three quarters of the way across the pond before splashing helplessly into the water. The murk under the lily pads slogged up his nose, and even though he’d closed his eyes as tightly as he could, it felt as though his eyelids were paper thin, seeping dirty water across the membranes of all six globular eyes.

Surfacing rather quickly, he spluttered in annoyance and wiped his wet hands across his lids as if that would do anything the quell the odd sensation. Wrinkling up his nose, he pushed lily pads aside. He wrestled with their roots and disrupted blooms of lotuses to swim to the yard of Muzan’s palace. He hit the shallows of the pond quickly, hauling himself out of the water in drenched, heavy frustration. Cursing shallowly under his breath.

He made it halfway across the yard, soaked. Clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Hair slathered down his face, getting in his eyes, when he heard Muzan’s amused chuckle.

“Should I hope that this rush is to see me?”

Kokushibo looked up from his dripping wet clothes. His haori untucked, half wrung out in his firm hands. Muzan was standing in the middle of the roofed bridge to the right of the shinden, as if he’d been in the adjacent temple when Kokushibo fell in the pond.

“She’d in Mito.” Kokushibo blurted out all at once. Without thinking, without contemplating Muzan’s teasing tone, or the way all his wavy black hair framed his face when it was loose in the breeze.

“I see,” Muzan said. His crimson eyes glowed with faint amusement. “My favorite human has been found at last? Then what are you doing here, Kokushibo? Why haven’t you gone to her yet?”

Muzan stepped forward from the roofed bridge, appearing to cross the space between them in a trice. The originator of demons took Kokushibo by the chin. Spreading his steady fingers along his jaw. Much like he’d lovingly done right before giving him the gift of long life. 

The man with hair of moonless nights leaned forward, brushing his lips along the shallow portion of Kokushibo’s cheek, right under his eye. Leaning up to his ear like a lover might.

“For this, and this only, you do not need my permission. Go get your sister and offer her a way outside of time.”

*

Several nights later, their twin sense failed them.

Yoriichi and Kokushibo passed by each other on parallel charcoal roads. Each paused at the moment where, had they both been on the same path, they would have intercepted each other.

If Kokushibo had known she was so close by, he would have been able to avoid what she did next.

*

“Excuse me! Excuse me, ano…. Uh…” 

Yoriichi turned tiredly, looking back at the young woman who’d stopped her in her travels. The girl was likely half a decade younger than Yoriichi, slim in a way that only the poor and famine-stricken got, skin tight over her cheekbones. Her hair was pulled back under a scarf with a pretty asanoha pattern, spread like the geometric leaves of a hemp plant, over a pale pink background. Her wide eyes peered at Yoriichi with something like fear. 

It was silly. She was merely a woman traveling alone with a toddler and an overly friendly dog, who was sniffing the edge of the young woman’s jade green kimono.

The young woman seemed to take in that though visibly pregnant, Yoriichi was as tall as a man. Her navy blue hakama was growing darker in the fading daylight, almost making it appear black like the phantom depths of deep oceans. The hakama were slightly too short for her as they’d been Kiyomizu’s. She loathed wearing his clothes, but traveling in a wife’s kimono was laughable. The simple restriction, and concentration it took to walk, almost bow-legged in the proper tight-fitting garment, would have lengthened her trip by an extra month at least. Her kimono, a pale orange verging on gold, and her haori, a crimson warmth across her shoulders, looked disheveled under the weight of Rizuki’s sling. Also, she stashed two swords in her obi at her side.

One was hers, and the other was Kiyomizu’s. Though she didn’t want anything to remember him by, she’d had a moment while packing in the Mito house where the vivid memory of Michikatsu telling her to pick up another sword drifted through her mind.

Carry the last sword, anyway. I don’t see any money left behind, and I’d like us to eat in the next town. 

Michikatsu had always been more practical than she was. He always planned for the future… even the one that led to him becoming a demon.

The least she could do was carry this unwanted sword with her. One of her few possessions. The clothes on their backs, her earrings, the flute that Michikatsu gave her in their long ago youth, and these two swords.

She hoped that when she passed away, they would fetch an acceptable price. An inheritance she had honestly never thought she’d have to worry about for her children. There wasn’t much time… 

Yoriichi bowed to the young woman.

“I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry. I don’t have time to stay at a teahouse tonight,” she explained quickly, bowing a few more times even though her body was aching for her to stop. She’d been getting sharp pangs between her legs since she began the journey south. They were increasingly troublesome. Stopping her in her tracks at all hours. Stealing her breath in a cool hiss between her teeth.

Her waters did not break, and labor seemed far off, but carrying twins was increasingly the most painful pregnancy she could remember. She had a new appreciation for her own mother, for sure.

The young woman bowed back after making a shocked little noise in the back of her throat, flushing red as she did so.

“My lady. It’s not safe to travel these roads at night. Please, I am merely a farmer’s daughter. Please come with me to my home for the night. Chichiue would fret if he knew anyone was going through the forest now.”

Tired, and wanting to just get on with it, Yoriichi bowed again. Polite, because this poor young woman didn’t deserve rudeness for her concern. Yoriichi tried to assuage her fears.

“I would, but I will be fine. I’ll make it to Kinkaku-ji before it is too late.” That was her goal for tonight. The third night of her third week on the road. Traveling for most of the day was hard, but doable. The only problem she’d faced was keeping out of sight on roads. Cloaking her appearance with a pale blue bandana, she hid as much of her mark as she could. Closer to Edo, she’d worn her prettiest kimono. Made of expensive navy silk, with a pattern of crashing waves dyed into the very fabric. Painting her face white like an Oiran, with rouge on her cheeks and lips… it was a bothersome task that she hated, but the nearer she ventured to Kyoto the more she worried that someone beholden to the Emperor would spot her. She’d switched up her style, wearing her masculine-coded outfit and forgoing the face paint. Her bangs whipped over the blue material she’d tied across her forehead. 

She turned away, heading toward the path through the woods. An uneven road. It looked like it was barely usable, but they’d assured her in the last town over that taking this path was the fastest way to get to Kinkaku-ji. The old gold pavilion was a shrine that often hosted travelers. She’d been to it once, several years prior, but had come from the opposite direction, and stayed only long enough to eat, pray, and take tea. 

“Wait!” the young woman called out, and Yoriichi almost stumbled forward, halting her walk just long enough to almost trip over Shippo-chan, who yelped and ran out from underfoot quickly. “If you insist on going, could you please take this?”

Yoriichi turned around once again, a little flustered to see the young woman holding out the pink asanoha fabric that had been on her head a moment before. Her hair was slightly out-of-place having ripped the cloth from her scalp in a hurry.

Yoriichi’s brow knitted together in confusion, and her lips parted, but the young woman trembled and pushed the cloth into her hands.

“For protection, my lady. Please let me put this on your child. Asanoha print has spiritual powers against oni.” Her dark eyes widened in desperation. “All the girls in our village wear the print to protect us from the demon of the old mansion.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Yoriichi repeated, “Demon of the old mansion?”

The young woman nodded fretfully.

“There is an ancient mansion halfway through the forest. A shinden-zukuri. Chichiue says the oldest demon of the land lives there.”

Muzan Kibutsuji… 

Yoriichi’s mouth went dry. She blinked a few heavy times, heavily, as if she’d fall asleep right there. As if… What if Michikatsu is nearby? Suddenly, her heart was pounding so loud she could almost not hear her own breath. 

What if she could save him?

Yoriichi accepted the scarf, crouching a little to allow the young woman to fasten it over Rizuki’s messy curls, and then she strode forward. Empty. Alert. Crossing the path into the forest, by the statues of married dousojin statues wearing red bibs and caps, praying to the gods for their blessings.

Amaterasu, please give me strength. Please… please let Michikatsu come back to me.

Chapter Text

Ornamental baubles jingled along the bright red lacquered sides of the palanquin. It was a soft, musical sound amidst the swirl of the outside world during the daylight hours. The serenity was what Kokushibo focused on, instead of the voices of men, the breathing of the palanquin bearers as their feet stamped down heavily along the charcoal road, and his own heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

Not being able to go out by day unless there was a spat of particularly bad weather didn’t bother Kokushibo much. Except maybe in symbolism. His being able to walk under the sun again wasn’t really about stepping foot in daylight. It was about Yoriichi. Would they ever see each other again? Would they never meet again? Sometimes he dreamed that passing each other was a shadow. An eclipse, brief seconds without unity. 

He wondered if he was going to chase her across the sky forever, like in legend.

Daylight didn’t bother him. Or perhaps, it bothered him right now, when he was following Muzan’s orders and allowing these men to carry him along the last stretch of road toward Edo. 

A gift of death for the Demon Slayer Corps, wrapped up pretty in the gold-plated palanquin. What a perfect present he made. A man who became one of them, shattered by their ways… Kokushibo clenched his eyes shut, the tightness of doing so straining the skin on his face.

He was relatively safe. Most humans did not know about the weakness of demonic blood in sunlight. And these humans had something to gain by allying themselves with Muzan, and, more importantly, everything to lose should they decide to murder his ambassador.

Still, Kokushibo reclined uncomfortably and counted down the time until sunset. Anxiety corrupted his very breath. A sickening feeling weighed down in the pit of his stomach. Why was it his luck to be put in this precarious position? Why was he allowing his life to rest in the hands of the men around him?

Kokushibo felt terribly uneasy about the whole affair.

“So untrusting…” Muzan had chuckled when he walked Kokushibo to the palanquin the previous night. He wore a disguise. The plain black armor of a footsoldier, accented with white silk, as unsullied as starlight, hair tied back in a topknot. “Kokushibo, you need to let go of these fears. Is it still hard for you to remember that you are beyond time? You are beyond them.”

When looking at it with an objective gaze, Kokushibo understood what he was. What he’d given up, what he’d gained. Ubuyashiki had touted him and Yoriichi as gods born among men, but Muzan made it so. And… his soul was torn in half. The other part of him, very much human, scared, broken as it had been the night he’d asked for Muzan’s help, was alive wherever his sister was.

Bonded. The sun and the moon. Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi. 

Muzan couldn’t tell, but Kokushibo knew… he knew the only way he’d achieve the same out of time experience that the first demon did was if Yoriichi joined him. If they both ascended together. 

He supposed the other option was death.

Kokushibo closed his eyes.

A few more hours.

In a few long hours, the sun would set.

They would reach Edo, and he would embody the dark death Muzan named him after. He’d do it with her name on his lips. Every cut symbolized a line of poetry written in the blood of their enemies. Revenge was a gift at the altar of his beloved Yoriichi.

“They will pay. They will know,” Kokushibo whispered to himself. A mantra: “We will never forgive them, Imouto.”

*

There were so many ways he’d dreamed of this happening. Ideas circulated through his thoughts like an illness, rife with spoiled blood choking down his throat. He’d let the very flavor of revenge taint his thoughts for so long that once Kokushibo was in it, fires raging through every building in Edo, the moment was almost so overwhelming that it was anticlimactic.

He hadn’t deigned to speak with any of the Demon Slayers who’d crossed him. It was nothing to cut them down. Some of them knew they were done for the moment they saw him. They spoke little. Begging and trying to appeal to him through invoking his human name. As if they thought somehow he didn’t remember them. As if they thought he’d be persuaded to remember innocuous things like playing games on missions, meeting up at inns for a drink. Good times, right? 

Kokushibo could never deny that there had been calm and camaraderie. But there had also been betrayal, pain, torture. He remembered whiplashes across his shoulders. Threats. He remembered Yoriichi standing strong, her breasts bared to the Corps. The only thing between her inevitable servitude to them and her freedom was the paltry control he had as her only adult male relative. 

Kokushibo said nothing to these men who had sneered at his sister. The ones who had looked past her worth and dedication in favor of joking about being sucked off by her pretty mouth.

Some of them tried to run. One by one, they fell on his sword. There was no point in making their deaths easy, so he killed, or maimed, and walked on, ignoring the small hoard of weaker demons following his killing spree… consuming his kills with messy, reverent abandon.

Kokushibo had only stopped once, when one demon following him shouted out mockingly, “If you leave all this food, how do you think you’ll become stronger?”

Absorbing the idiot was nothing. A snack on the road. Rejuvenating, as if he were taking a sip of water after a hard day’s work. Though this minor excursion hardly fatigued Kokushibo. He supposed that showcasing his irreverence toward life was useful enough to keep the others at a distance. He wasn’t friends with the Demon Slayers, but he wasn’t friends with the demons either.

That was until he ran across Akio Rengoku.

Yoriichi’s good friend.

A man he’d trusted to be around his sister. One of the few he might have genuinely enjoyed being around.

Akio stumbled out of a burning building. Carrying two children. Crying children. Dropping them in the roadway, looking back at the creaking collapse of the engulfed property. Older than Akimitsu and Hikari, but still vulnerable. Kokushibo watched for a moment as Akio huffed out directions to his estate on the edge of Edo. A sanctuary. A safe place. 

“Whatever you do, do not stop moving.” The fire-bright man said with a serious tone, clapping a soot-covered hand onto a little shoulder. By chance, one child looked towards Kokushibo and screamed, sprinting off in the opposite direction. 

“Kei!” The other child called, and sprinted off after them. 

They weren’t important. Perhaps they’d make it to the Rengoku abode, though the odds weren’t in their favor. The budding city fell to the Emperor’s men and Muzan’s demons. As it naturally should. 

Akio turned toward him. Sticky red blood coated his face. His demon slayer mark was a curling, cloudy pattern across his cheeks. And when the man saw Kokushibo, his face washed out all the colors of life.

Oddly, Kokushibo did not think it was fear.

He watched a sorry swallow bob down Akio’s throat.

“I betrayed her.” Akio gasped while squeezing his fist around his sword. Confessing the moment he saw Kokushibo. His voice lisped out from where he’d lost teeth in battle. “I betrayed Yoriichi. I’m sorry.”

Kokushibo paused, his heart clenching in his chest. Not dead, because demons were still living. Oh, so very alive, in fact. This news, this confession thumped through him. Of all the men who’d betrayed Yoriichi, he didn’t doubt this was one of the worst. Not with the ragged, mournful breath Akio took in. Not with how he pulled himself up and stood as if he were going to drop his sword and surrender himself to Kokushibo’s wrath.

“How did you betray her? When I last saw you…”

Akio’s teeth gnashed, and he dug the tip of his katana into the edge of the street. The sword wobbled with the pressure, splitting light from the fires into gold and red along the straight hamon of Akio’s sword.

“Michikatsu… you didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. You were with her in Ise. You didn’t see what was going on back home.” Akio let go of the sword, hand dropping to his side. “I knew this day would come. I knew I’d have to atone.” His ragged breath was full of tears. “I’d hoped atonement would be at her hands. I’d hoped that I would have the chance to apologize.”

“What the hell did you do, Rengoku!” The nonsense Akio was spewing finally triggered something inside Kokushibo. Finally, he snapped a growl out of his lips. He strode forward and grabbed the man by the front of his haori. “Is Yoriichi in Mito?”

Akio nodded, and there were swirls of tears in his eyes. The extra liquid illuminated the bright fire in his soul. Though that fire seemed paltry compared to before. Kokushibo wondered how long his former friend had been eating himself alive with guilt. Guilt over a betrayal Akio had yet to tell him anything about. Something about it made the twisted feeling in his gut hot. Bile raced up his throat, and Kokushibo swallowed it down roughly.

“Yes, she’s in Mito…” Akio did not avert his eyes. Did not even seem phased by Kokushibo’s appearance. He held his gaze steady, unlike most men. “Oyakata-sama threatened Sachiko. Before I went to Ise to meet up with you two, he threatened her death, and the death of my son if I did not bring Yoriichi back to the Corps. If our goddess didn’t return...”

Kokushibo narrowed his eyes and let go of the other man’s clothing. He knew Akio hadn’t loved his wife the same way Kokushibo loved Yoriichi, but Akio Rengoku was a soft man. He played the role of savior without understanding that not everyone could be saved.

“Bringing her back to Edo was stupid.”

Akio choked as if he were dying from his own spit.

“If it were just that…”

“What do you mean?”

The man gritted his teeth, lips pulled back to reveal several empty spaces in the front. “I thought you would save her, so I stayed back. I played along. I let Kiyomizu rape her. I… I thought she was too strong to be raped… but she was badly injured. He took advantage of it, and the one time I said anything, he snapped. I wanted nothing bad to befall my family and said nothing in her favor when Oyakata-sama forced her to marry him.”

Those words hit Kokushibo worse than any blade could. His breath stilled in his lungs, and he knew… he’d known for two years that Yoriichi was probably suffering. He hadn’t known how much. How vile…

Akio went on, “I saved Sachiko. I saved my son. I never considered saving Yoriichi. She didn’t need it. Oyakata-sama was right, and you two are the incarnation of the gods. If that… if that was real… Yoriichi isn’t human. She can’t suffer the same as us… I had to believe that. I had to…” Tears spilled down his dirty cheeks. His tortured words revealed shame. Kokushibo wondered how deep his hatred of himself went. How much this man, who’d always been so bright, crumbled trying to believe the nonsense he’d fed himself. In trying to swallow down the foolish poison that Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki fed all the men of the Corps.

Reaching out, Akio put a hand on Kokushibo’s arm. The grasp trembled as his fingers squeezed around the cloth of Kokushibo’s black haori. “She’s too strong to be real. Isn’t she, Michikatsu? Even you couldn’t compare…”

Those words made him want to throw up. Kokushibo’s stomach twisted horribly. It was true. In the worst way. Yoriichi was stronger than he was. Why did it mean she had to suffer? Why couldn’t he surpass that strength and provide her with a peaceful existence? 

All he wanted to do was rewind time and save her.

“You idiot. You know she is human. She was your friend.” He finally said, twisting his wrist, letting his blade shine in the night. He saw the way Akio’s bright eyes flashed toward the sword. As if he wanted death. As if he couldn’t wait to go to hell for what he’d done.

Kokushibo was going to make him wait longer. He was going to make him suffer by making him live.

“Become a demon, Akio.”

The man, once his friend, looked as if the words had punched through his gut. His eyes were wide, shifting from Kokushibo’s sword to his face. Paling out in the soft glow of fires, and the swirl of soot and ash from burning homes.

“What?” Akio’s breath was a punched-out cough, dirtied with smoke and death. And disbelief.

“You heard me.” This wasn’t really a choice. It was revenge. A gentle, insidious revenge. Kokushibo’s gut squeezed with feelings of inadequacy. With a deep desire to prove himself.

Kokushibo wondered if anything would ever be good enough. If he could ever prove himself strong enough to protect Yoriichi?

Was it a fool’s errand?

Was this predetermined from birth?

Yoriichi was always stronger than him… always just strong enough to get herself in trouble. He didn’t know if it was possible to save the god-like creature his sister was, or if he’d fall forever trying to do it, but before him was at least an opportunity of sacrifice.

“Become a demon, Akio.” 

Then, Kokushibo slashed the man’s guts, letting his viscera fall to the ground. Holding him up with one arm while he gripped the blade of his own sword in his hand, cutting deep into his fingers. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t… he felt only rage.

Yoriichi married Kiyomizu against her will.

And her best friend had let it happen.

“Stay with me, Akio,” Kokushibo demanded, smearing his blood-wet palm over the cut on Akio’s midsection, letting the proof of living mix. An honor and a sacrifice at the same time. Kokushibo blandly wondered how long it would take for Muzan to realize that Kokushibo was invoking his name. There was a wiggling worm on the end of his hook… slowly dying. 

“I’m entrusting you with this power,” Muzan had said in that intimate way he always spoke with Kokushibo. That whispering, seductive voice. His hands pressed into Kokushibo’s biceps, massaging the muscle there. “Only Tamayo and Genshi have been given this honor before you… my favored one. My dark death. If you believe a human is worthy of transformation, I believe you.”

Kokushibo was grateful for the gift. He truly was, because he didn’t think Yoriichi would take an offer from Muzan, but from him. In the depths of his mind, he could almost hear her voice whispering his name. Almost tasted her mouth against his. Kokushibo wanted nothing more than to look her in the eyes again, and prove… I’m stronger. I’m strong enough this time. This time, you can rely on me. 

The light was slowly leaving Akio’s eyes. His face twisted into a grimace of intense pain. His guts spilled out over their feet. Wet and warm. Twitching.

Kokushibo felt his heartbeat slowing and waited. Come on… One last fitful beat of life… and the aura of miasma bloomed like a surge of fresh blood through Akio’s veins. The misguided idiot moaned as Kokushibo yanked his hand away. The cut on his hand healed, and Akio’s wound stitched together with agonizing slowness. Dead lengths of intestine plopped onto the ground as the hallowed part of his stomach slowly swelled with fresh regrowth replacing the flesh torn from him.

“You’ll be useful yet.” Kokushibo sneered, forcing Akio to look up into his face. Claws digging into his firm jawline. Those bright eyes were bleeding into darkness. The white sclera sinking into the bright orange of a flame.

*

Akio did not want to cooperate, but Kokushibo expected that much. So he made it easy for the newly transformed demon. Another demon slayer, a young man from Chiyo’s family, the Takeda's, stumbled upon them as Kokushibo was shaking Akio by his neck, forcing him into compliance.

Kokushibo had taken one glance at the young man, and separated his head from his shoulders. 

Then he shoved Akio into the bleeding mess of a body and forced him to eat his first meal as a demon. He dug his knee into Akio’s spine, forcing him to confront this sin. To be enveloped in it.

“The blood smells good, doesn’t it?” Kokushibo drawled. It was mean, teasing perhaps. His knee pressed between Akio’s shoulder blades. “Take a bite.”

“Mmph… Michikatsu!” Akio was shaking his head, back and forth, trying to deny the hunger. Trying so very hard. Kokushibo narrowed his eyes, shoving his sword into the flesh next to Akio’s cheek. A ripe ripple of blood bubbled out of the wound. Slowed because the heart no longer beat, and because any internal pressure had already been released through the open neck.

“Shut up, Akio. Eat.”

The man struggled a moment more before Kokushibo lost all semblance of patience and reached down, sliding Akio’s mouth directly across the gooey line of blood. Watching as the man unraveled, tongue tipping out and lapping the red liquid before he shuddered like a whore.

Akio whined, swore, and tore at the pierced flesh, snapping chunks of skin and muscle off with his teeth. Slopping them down so fast. Too fast. Kokushibo watched the new demon vomit all over the carcass, and then devour the emesis all over again. 

Slowly, Kokushibo stepped back, watching the feast unfold. Counting seconds of time. It was nearly midnight. 

“Get up.” He ordered when it seemed like the bloodlust had slowed. When it seemed like Akio would hold down the meal. At least this man was reacting relatively normally for the transformation. Akio rocked back on his heels, head tossed back as he looked at the sky.

“Why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Where is Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki?” Kokushibo ignored the question. If Akio didn’t understand, he would soon. He was a vassal, a subordinate, someone Kokushibo could torture or toss depending on what happened… on how well he served a purpose. Depending on how much the suffering paid for what he’d done to Yoriichi, as bejeweled tears.

“He’s not in Edo, you idiot.” Akio sobbed, half turning his bloodied face toward Kokushibo. Unlike the winding mark on Kokushibo’s face, Akio’s demon slayer mark had faded away to nothing upon his transformation. Leaving his skin a sickly ashen color, as if every drop of blood he’d just consumed went to war with his own. As if he were going to die where he kneeled, bloodless and tortured.

“Of course not.” He kept his tone even, unnervingly calm. He’d half suspected this himself. After all, it was hard to move an army over open roads without spies reporting movements. “But you know where he went. Don’t you, Akio?”

The newborn demon’s eyes widened. Engulfed in flame. Mouth parted so slightly. Kokushibo could see the rouge of half-dried blood on his lips.

“Why… why do you think I’ll tell you?”

To this, Kokushibo merely chuckled and showed Akio what made him different from other demons. He was fast, forcing the other man backwards over the mess of the torn-up body, snapping his jaws around two fingers.

Biting was just for the fear of it. Kokushibo knew from experience that physically sinking his teeth into flesh, slathering his thick saliva over their wounds, and halting regeneration was terrifying for other demons. Terrifying and gut-twistingly painful.

Really, if he had wanted Akio dead, he could have killed him at any point.

Suffer…

He swallowed two fingers on Akio’s dominant hand, blood spurting out over his face as he popped them off his person as if he were breaking a carrot in half. Akio wailed and thrashed, trying desperately to yank his hand back. Kokushibo licked the stumps, slowly dragging his tongue along to alight every nerve ending in terrible pain.

“I can do this as long as I want,” he growled, his mouth full of blood. “I can keep you alive, by my side, a snack I can take from at any moment. Your flesh will regrow slowly, like a field I can pluck from. It’ll be painful. Could you imagine? I see it on your face now. I know how this works.”

For a moment, Kokushibo wasn’t sure Akio had heard him or the tinge of darkness in his threat, and then the former flame hashira hissed through his teeth and locked a gaze with him.

 “Michikatsu… you’re a goddamn freak.” He trembled in pain, fingers slowly, disastrously regenerating. Though the halted regeneration was imperfect. Skin came back with bumps, white as snow, twisted, distorting, agonizing to look at. The alteration probably wouldn’t last all that long, but right now Akio’s hand looked like a fairy tale Oni’s. 

“You don’t want this again, do you, Akio?” 

Akio shook his head, paled out until Kokushibo thought he might throw up from the intense pain. He shook his head, wracked with it. Then he gasped out words Kokushibo hadn’t expected.

“You’re a mere reflection of her light…” the hashira turned demon whispered ever so lowly. “If… if this is just a fraction of the atonement Amaterasu will give…” he hissed as his flesh bubbled and twisted slowly smoothing out into normality. “I’ll go with you. I’ll…” Akio choked hard on his words, stuttering out a small plea. “Yoriichi, save me…”

Kokushibo was so incensed at being called a reflection that he bit down into the side of Akio’s shoulder, ripping up muscle. Slopping it down, planning this man’s eventual death with the slow drizzle of his blood.

“Take me to Fuyuhito Ubuyashiki,” he growled, yanking Akio up with torn muscles twitching. With the agonizing regeneration poking through his skin like a million needles popping up through his flesh. Trying to sew him back together and getting ugly about it. A bone-white shard developed along the poorly healing flesh, blackened with boils along its jagged side, and then rotted off.

Akio nodded, desperately in pain. 

“He’s… he’s on his way to Mito with Akimitsu and Ai.”

*

The bamboo stilled as the breeze died, and Yoriichi saw the shadows along the old road. Even in the scant light of the moon, impeded on its path to the ground by stalks and leaves, she peered into those glowing red eyes. His pale face bore a mocking smile. An ache coalesced in her chest. Centered in her heart.

Before her was Muzan Kibutsuji. Resplendent in black silk. Strings of pure silver hung from shoulder to shoulder over his chest. There was a kamon on his expensive garments, but she couldn't see from what family. And it probably didn't matter. It truly didn't, as this man was a liar and a thief.

The first demon.

The man who stole her brother.

Her lips parted in anguish. Her palms were sweaty against the hilt of her sword. Fear flickered through her senses, subtly reminding her of the soft breath across her shoulder. Rizuki was sleeping, unaware. The low growls Shippo-chan made in instinctual hatred for the unnatural being before them rattled her far deeper than she'd like to admit, and the steady, intensifying clench of her womb preparing to birth babies into the world allowed her only one thought. Only one moment. 

If Yoriichi didn't succeed now, she never would. But she couldn't help the crack in her voice, or the image of Michikatsu standing on the roof of the Outer Shrine from invading her mind. Focus.

"What is the value of a life to you?" she demanded.

Yoriichi needed to know this answer. Needed it in the pain and suffering this being had caused. Because without him, without Muzan, life still would have been hard, but it wouldn't have been this.