vessel(discontinued)

chance

Yoriichi had learned his lesson from the anger he pushed on himself when he lost his mind attempting to assassin Muzan.

He had to thank Giyuu, Muzan wasn't aware of who he was. Yet.

But approaching Nezuko at dawn? That isn't a risk Muzan would take. What is he trying to do?

Yoriichi gripped the handle of his sword. What are you trying to do?!

Understanding flashed across Yoriichi's head. 

He is trying to make a demon that can conquer the sun. Quickly.

Because that Akaza had passed the information to him about Yoriichi.

A cold sweat erupted on his shoulders. Nezuko was the perfect candidate.

Yoriichi knows Nezuko's blood. Her blood had a extremely rare trait. To overcome and adapt in a flash. That's why she never died from all the blood Muzan stored into her.

Muzan being merciful was out of the question. He wasn't even merciful to himself. He had no care for young humans. The only thing he saw in her was her exotic blood.

Nezuko's... 

Stop.

Keep your emotions under control.

Yoriichi held his sword steady, listening for more words that would come out of Muzan's mouth.

Through the thin fence of bamboo Yoriichi could hear Nezuko's fear. She had "defeat all evil demons" lodged firm in her head, but she couldn't bring herself to move a finger against Muzan.

Muzan smiled. 

He raised his arm, ready to pierce her heart.

Then he lost it. His arm. And it wasn't coming back.

This nostalgia from four hundred years ago.

Flames flew and whirled around him. Could it be?

The sun had peeked out from the thunder cloud of death.

At the corner of Muzan's strained eyes was him.

Those earrings were unmistakable.

Those burning red eyes.

That blood scarlet blade.

The tight atmosphere that followed him everywhere he went.

Tsugikuni Yoriichi.

Muzan, enraged, unleashed attack after attack on Yoriichi in vain. Each collision failed and chopped off a extra limb.

Demon blood rocketed everywhere, staining everything that it had landed on.

Yoriichi's constant goal of training was paying off tremendously. 

His attacks were even more precise and sturdy than before. He was unlocking a realm of sword fighting that didn't even seem possible.

Blank expression stoned onto his face, he confronted each attack Muzan gave with no fear nor devastation. 

Yoriichi was handling this better than last time.

Even so, dawn is approaching rapidly. Even the risk Muzan took here wasn't going to lead to another. 

In a mighty strike, he sliced off Muzan's head with accompanying flames.

The house blew.

Yoriichi stumbled back. 

His surroundings were all fire. Where did Muzan go?

Underground.

As suspected, in the middle of the fire there was a deep hole in the ground. The sun had already come up.

Yoriichi took his sword and jumped after him.

Yoriichi's past life was like a fairy tale that corrupted into reality almost instantly. 

After his display of sword arts at Michikatsu's teacher, the information flew from house to house. 

Now the tables have turned. Michikatsu was to be sent to the temple for monks, and Yoriichi was to become the family's successor.

Yoriichi had anticipated this. Praises were offered to him every minute, meanwhile their mother slowly succumbed to disease. After the death of his mother, Yoriichi believed a life with his remaining family wasn't it.

So he came to the tiny room that Michikatsu had now occupied.

"Brother."

Michikatsu had come to the door instantly at his call.

"Mother has passed. I, too, will go to the temple," Yoriichi was sad, but no tears could find their way to his eyes.

Michikatsu had looked panicked at this sudden news.

"What? Why are you saying that?"

Yoriichi had clutched the tiny little bag of supplies for his journey to the temple.

"Mother is dead. I will head off for the temple tonight as well."

This was overwhelming.

Yoriichi, seeking comfort, had taken out the little pathetic toy flute Michikatsu had given him.

Through the deep veil of sadness, as if on their own, the corners of his mouth went up and his eyes softened.

"I will strive day after day, no matter how far from home I will drift, I will not lose heart."

Yoriichi had wrapped the flute up in clean white cloth like a treasure.

The smile he wore was getting hard to take off.

"Because I will always think of the brother who gave me this flute."

No one knew such a good person could have such a bad life.

Yoriichi was following Muzan down the hole he had dug in the ground.

It was immensely deep and dark. Perfect for shielding from the sunlight.

The air was starting to get dirty. Yoriichi took a big breath before it would get worse.

The land here was getting more flat and less like a tunnel. 

The battle ground.