The Demon Queen

Death

TW: child death, blood

Under these circumstances, I didn't protest. I wasn't sure how I felt at the time. I would have been elated beyond explanation to see my son alive and healthy. And yet, a part of me preferred that he would die rather than spend eternity as a six year old. I felt that becoming a demon now wouldn't truly be giving Kenta a life.

But maybe we could fix it all someday. With some research and patience, we could fix it all.

Then maybe Kenta would grow until puberty, or older, up to the age Muzan and I were. Later, we could find a way for the three of us to be able to step into the sunlight. Until Kenta would get lonely and frustrated living an existence only with his parents. What if he wanted demon friends? A demon girlfriend?

The cycle wouldn't stop, would it ...

No.

It would never stop.

With these thoughts in mind numbing my emotions, I watched as Muzan activated his sharp, blue-nailed finger and stuck it through Kenta's forehead. I became nervous as I watched veins pop all over Kenta's body and saw him struggling, even in his fainted state, to bear the amount of blood he had been given. It was horrifying for me to watch as a purplish tinge of colour came into the skin on Kenta's face and hands, his body shaking as if under a seizure.

Muzan stared with shocked, popping eyes, and continued to try to stabilise Kenta's body. He knew that there was nothing he could do. He never tried before to ease the process of becoming a demon. No human ever reacted well to it, but many were incapable of tolerating the process. Neither Muzan nor I ever tried to make it less severe before. And we didn't know how.

"You can do it. You can do it," Muzan kept repeating. He held Kenta's body firmly against him. "I gave you a small amount of blood to start. You can handle this."

I wondered if Kenta was in pain. He didn't utter any screams, but my guess was that he didn't have the strength to do so. He was already on the brink of death when Muzan gave him his blood. I soon decided that he was in pain. Terrible pain. Pain hundreds of times worse than when I fought my father and my body started rotting. Even though I sat there, watching and unable to bring myself to move, I just wanted to go over there and behead Kenta.

He wouldn't suffer through this if I killed him. It was clear. Kenta wasn't strong enough to become a demon.

But Muzan still held onto the belief that Kenta would make it. He continued to futilely embrace him and tell him to hang in there. He would remain convinced until Kenta died that somehow, as if through a miracle, the seizure reaction would pass and he would open his eyes as an immortal demon.

If I went over and ripped Kenta out of his arms to behead him, Muzan would never forgive me.

Even if 1000 years passed, he would never forgive me.

I couldn't bring myself to sacrifice that to take my son out of pain. And besides, even if I did, he had still already suffered so much. I was completely incapable of saving him from that torment.

I questioned why I didn't secretly find a way to kill him when he was still in my belly. That would have saved him from all of this.

From his demon parents.

From his inherited illness.

From his short life of never seeing the sun.

And now, from his terrible end, coughing up an immense amount of blood onto his father's shoulder until he was finally set free.

His otherwise happy, short existence couldn't possibly make up for all he was deprived of.

Muzan said nothing as Kenta lay dead in his arms. He continued to hold him as if he were still alive. His face was hidden, pressed into Kenta's hair, and he was not about to look up anytime soon.

His shoulders were shaking. He started to cry, softly and muffled. Through all the years we knew each other, except for that first day we met as children, I never saw Muzan cry.

I didn't know what to do. Somehow, I didn't dare go closer to Muzan. I wanted to take our son out of his arms and speak to him. My parents used to say that once someone died, they could still hear us fro some minutes after their heart stopped. I wanted to give Kenta pleasant words to hear before he was completely gone.

As I slid myself closer to them on the floor, I felt incredibly afraid. I didn't know why, but I was afraid. I could sense something change in Muzan. He was not the same person he was earlier that evening.

Such a man possessed by his fear of death couldn't possibly cope with the grief of losing the child that brought a new light to his smile.

I would never see that bright smile again.

Sitting in front of Muzan, I put a hand on the back of Kenta's head. I hoped he could feel that I was there, even though I remained mute. He would hear his father's sobs. That's all he would hear. But I was there, too, until his energy ceased to exist.

I, the one who would be left to hold together his broken father.