Into the Darkness (A Demon Slayer Fanfiction)

Chapter 10: What Lies Ahead

Disclaimer:

I do not own nor claim all the rights to 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba | Demon Slayer; all rights are reserved to its respective creator, Koyoharu Gotōge. This is purely a work of fiction; names, characters, businesses, events, localities, and occurrences are all extrapolated from the author's writings and imagination or utilized in a fictitious manner. As such, any direct or indirect references to actual entities, dead or alive, or events do not, in any shape or form, resemble the opinions of the author.

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"..." = Dialogue

'...' = Internal monologues

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Shinobu

I can't find him.

I don't know how long it's been, but I've been ransacking these piles of rocks for a while now. My now-callused hands have begun to blister and bleed. Beads of sweat are secreting from my forehead as I work prodigiously in my back-breaking attempts to heft these ponderous rocks.

My arms are growing weak; they were already aching when I was roused from that sleep, but this onerous task has exacerbated the already-dilapidated state of my muscles. At this point, the shoulders are burning and the hands are hurting. My back is throbbing with pain, and I feel light-headed.

Nevertheless, I toil away.

I pick up a brick and toss it away. I lift another one and then hurl it to the side.

Another one.

Another one.

Another one.

It's probably been 10 minutes... No, 30 minutes... Or maybe 1 hour... 2 hours?

I can no longer keep up with it; I've lost my sense of time as I incessantly labor onwards.

I begin to doubt myself. What if he's really dead? What if he's gone forever, just like everyone else?

I've never been one to get sentimental in the midst of an assignment—much less one ordained by Oyakata-sama himself.

But too much has been happening too fast, and I can't keep up with any of it.

First, there's the discovery of a tripwire that's then set off by a stupid sewer rat. And then, next thing I know, a Demon Blood Art lulls me into a 16-year dream—one that felt so real, so authentic that I was ensnared by its appeal. Finally, I wake up in this abyss alone; Tomioka-san is missing and I can't be totally confident of his survival rate.

This has all made me giddy with apprehension, much to the consternation of my perturbed state of mind.

And it's not like I can immediately forget—or pretend to forget—those sixteen years of my interpretation of an ideal life; it was all too good to be true, yet tangible enough to deceive me into thinking that this was all real.

I grunt as I upheave another boulder.

This has all been too much. I felt tired. Tired and scared. Like a helpless child gone astray without the guidance of her parents.

I winced as I perpetually recalled the memories of the days of old and the days that were never to be.

I cough, my lungs aren't taking the tiny rock particles in well.