The night was unnaturally quiet. There were no sounds of crickets, no rustling of leaves, and no wind. The only light came from a massive, blood-red moon that hung low in the dark sky.
In the middle of a desolate dirt road, two figures stood facing each other.
One was a monster. He wore a purple kimono with a honeycomb pattern, holding a grotesque sword made of actual flesh and eyes. His face was a nightmare. He possessed six eyes—three on the left, three on the right—glowing with a sickening, demonic yellow light. He was Kokushibo, the Upper Rank One demon, a creature of absolute terror and endless power.
The other figure was an old man.
He was incredibly frail. His hair, once a vibrant red-black, was now thin and snow-white. His face was covered in deep wrinkles, his eyes were clouded with the blindness of old age, and his hands looked like dry twigs. He wore a simple, worn-out red haori over a black kimono. He was eighty years old, standing with one foot in the grave.
Yet, the monster was the one trembling.
"Yoriichi..." the demon growled. His voice was deep, echoing with sixty years of jealousy and fear. "You are still alive?"
Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the oldest and strongest demon slayer to ever exist, did not look angry. Even with his blind eyes, he seemed to look right through the demon's monstrous exterior, seeing only the human brother he had lost so long ago.
A single tear rolled down Yoriichi's wrinkled cheek. He felt a deep, crushing sadness in his chest. "How tragic... my poor brother."
Those words struck Kokushibo like a physical blow. The demon's pride shattered. He did not want pity. He had thrown away his humanity, his family, and his soul just to become stronger than the old man standing before him. The air around the demon turned heavy and cold. The ground began to crack under the pressure of his dark, demonic energy.
"Do not pity me!" Kokushibo roared. He raised his fleshy, eye-covered sword. He was ready to cut his brother into a million pieces.
Yoriichi slowly lowered his stance. His thin, weak hand gripped the hilt of his katana.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Then, Yoriichi took a breath.
Sun Breathing....
In a single heartbeat, the frail old man vanished. The cold night air suddenly exploded with intense, scorching heat. It was as if the sun itself had crashed down onto the dirt road.
Kokushibo's six eyes widened in absolute horror. He couldn't track his brother's movements. Yoriichi was too fast. The old man moved with the grace of a dancing god and the unstoppable force of a natural disaster.
First Form - Dance....
A massive wave of golden-red flames erupted from Yoriichi's blade. The darkness of the night was completely erased by the blinding light. Kokushibo tried to swing his sword, trying to launch his powerful Moon Breathing attacks, but his arms wouldn't obey him. The sheer terror of facing the Sun paralyzed him.
He saw Yoriichi appearing right in front of him. The old man's face was calm, peaceful, and totally focused. The flaming sword swung in a perfect, beautiful arc, aiming straight for the demon's neck.
Kokushibo felt the heat burning his skin before the blade even touched him. I am going to die, the demon thought. Even after becoming a monster, I still cannot defeat him.
The flaming blade bit into the demon's tough flesh. It sliced through the first layer of skin. It reached the muscle. The fire was purifying, ready to burn the demon into ashes.
Just one more inch. Just a fraction of a second more.
But then... the flames vanished.
The scorching heat disappeared, replaced once again by the cold night wind. The blinding light faded away.
Kokushibo stood frozen, waiting for his head to fall off. But it didn't.
Slowly, the demon looked down.
Yoriichi was still standing there. His sword was buried halfway into Kokushibo's neck, but it wasn't moving anymore. Yoriichi's grip was still tight, his posture was still perfect, but his chest had stopped moving.
His heart had simply stopped beating.
The ultimate warrior had not been killed by a demon's blade or a magical attack. He had been defeated by time. The massive burst of energy required to use Sun Breathing at eighty years old had finally broken his mortal body.
With his last ounce of life, before his soul completely left his body, Yoriichi used his final breath. He didn't curse his brother. He didn't express anger about failing to finish the job.
He just looked up with his blind eyes and whispered softly, "Find your path, brother."
And with those words, Yoriichi Tsugikuni passed away. He died standing up, looking like an unbreakable statue of pure willpower.
Kokushibo stepped back, pulling his neck away from the stuck blade. Yoriichi's lifeless body finally lost its balance and fell to the dirt with a soft thud.
As the body hit the ground, a small object rolled out of Yoriichi's robes.
It was a small, wooden flute. It was cheap, poorly carved, and very old.
Kokushibo stared at it. It was the exact same flute he had made for Yoriichi when they were little children, nearly seventy years ago. He had given it to his brother out of pity, thinking it was a piece of junk. But Yoriichi had kept it. He had treasured it his entire life, carrying it into every battle, treating it like his most precious item.
The demon fell to his knees. The fleshy sword dropped from his hands.
Suddenly, a strange, burning sensation filled his mutated eyes. Three of the eyes on his monstrous face began to water. Then, thick, heavy tears started to fall.
For the first time since becoming a monster, the demon cried.