Mount Natagumo
Tanjiro Kamado's POV
The forest of Mount Natagumo loomed ahead like a monstrous, breathing thing.Mist hung low over the mountain, weaving through the towering pines like ghostly fingers. The faint glimmer of moonlight filtered through the canopy, fractured and uneven, casting jagged shadows across the path.
And beneath it all—the scent.
The scent of blood.
It was thick and suffocating, drowning out the freshness of the mountain air. The iron tang hit Tanjiro's nose like a slap, making his stomach twist. He knew this smell all too well—death.
Dozens of deaths. Maybe more.
He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he stared up the steep, dark slope that stretched endlessly before him. "That scent… it's everywhere," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "So many people… and so much blood."
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his Nichirin sword. Somewhere up there, one of their fellow Demon Slayers had been dragged into the forest—alive, maybe, but not for long. Tanjiro's heart pounded as he forced down the rising dread.
He couldn't hesitate. Not when someone was still out there fighting.
He drew in a steady breath, letting the rhythm of his breathing calm his racing pulse. Then, planting his foot forward, he said firmly, "I'm going in."
But before he could take another step, something slammed into him from the side.
The impact sent him staggering, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. When he regained balance, he looked up—only to see a blur of movement darting ahead of him.
"Inosuke!" Tanjiro called out.
Sure enough, Inosuke Hashibira, the boy with the boar's head mask, was already charging into the forest like a wild beast. His dual Nichirin blades glinted in the moonlight, the serrated edges catching the faint silver glow as he twirled them with reckless enthusiasm.
"Out of the way, Tanjiro!" Inosuke roared, his voice echoing through the night. "I'm going first! You can stay here and sniff flowers if you want!"
He laughed—a manic, unrestrained sound—before vanishing into the thick darkness of the trees. Branches cracked under his feet as his cries faded deeper and deeper into the forest.
Tanjiro groaned softly, rubbing his shoulder. "He didn't even wait for a plan…"
That was Inosuke—all instinct and fury. Charging headfirst into danger without thinking, driven by pure adrenaline. Tanjiro admired his strength, but in a place like this, recklessness could get him killed.
He had to catch up to him before that happened.
But before he could move, a pitiful sound reached his ears—a high-pitched whimper, trembling and uneven.
Tanjiro turned his head.
A short distance away, Zenitsu Agatsuma crouched on the ground, his whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind. His yellow hair was disheveled, and his pale face glistened with cold sweat.
"W-Why does it have to be us?" Zenitsu stammered, gripping his knees tightly as if he could physically hold his fear in place. "There are so many Demon Slayers! Why do we always get the death missions?! I—I don't want to go in there! I don't want to die!"
His voice cracked, echoing pathetically through the forest edge.
Tanjiro sighed softly but smiled nonetheless. He understood. The oppressive feeling of dread hanging over this mountain could crush anyone's resolve. Even his legs felt heavy—like the ground itself wanted to drag him down.
But they didn't have the luxury of fear. Not when others were already inside.
He knelt briefly beside Zenitsu. "Zenitsu… I know you're scared. Anyone would be. But someone's hurt up there. I can smell the blood—a lot of it. If we don't help them now, they'll die."
Zenitsu's eyes welled up with tears. "B-but Tanjiro… it's cursed! You can smell it, right?! It's not normal blood—it's all… twisted!"
Tanjiro paused. He wasn't wrong. There was something wrong with the scent—something unnatural. Not just blood, but rot. Threads of demonic energy wove through it like poison, sharp and bitter.
Still, Tanjiro placed a reassuring hand on Zenitsu's trembling shoulder. "I'll come back for you. Just stay safe until then, okay?"
Then he sprinted into the forest, his sandals barely making a sound against the dirt.
~~~