⊱ ❅Clouded Judgement ❅⊰ | ❆ - • A Demon Slayer Story • - ❆

Prologue.

 
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Quick Disclaimer in case of any unaware readers, this story is set in the world of "Demon Slayer", a manga series published from 2016 to 2020 by Koyoharu Gotouge. I advise at the very least getting familiar with the series' world building in order not to fall behind on anything happening here. I must add that none of this directly interferes with the canon events which i prefer staying true to, and primarily serves as a little prequel following a cast of almost completely original characters.

If the representation I strive to achieve doesn't feel accurate enough on some points, I am open to constructive criticism on how to fix those issues.

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The lukewarm liquid on my hands smells like iron. It's already dry and nothing but a stain, but for some reason it is still ranging from lukewarm to room temperature depending on how much i think about it or give it any sort of acknowledgement. It's odd for it to have that temperature, especially during the middle of winter. Even for the average amount of snow that falls at this time of the year, for some reason it is falling particularly strong today.

"Look at all this snow! Doesn't it remind you of all the snowball fights we had?" is what I would tell him. He would let out a warm chuckle and in his usual tone that is hard to distinguish from kindness to mockery, he would tell me how silly it was that I would tell him to 'look' at the snow considering I was born completely blind. Ultimately, I would feel his hand pull mine outside and before I knew it, a snowball would fly into my face.

That would have happened, but I know for a fact that it won't. Not with this blood on my hands. Not sitting here, as my Hashira colleagues are being called for a direct execution in the worst-case scenario. I know what fate awaits me, so why doesn't it bother me? Why doesn't it bother me that dry, yet warm blood is on my hands and clothes? Why doesn't it bother me, that a snowball isn't melting away on my otherwise smiling face, getting into my clothes and soaking me in ice-cold water?

I should be crying, sobbing, throwing up on the fucking ground even. But I cannot bring myself or even my face to naturally show a regretful reaction. Normally i would be told to 'man up and move on', but now feels like the appropriate time to get emotional. For once, this is the time there would be nothing wrong with letting everyone know about how guilt and sadness was eating away on my mind like a parasite, yet I cannot bring myself to care as much as I tell myself I do.

Instead, I shift focus into smaller details, questions without meaning. Like, why does blood smell this much like iron? Why is it still warm? Why am I so focused on the fact it's on my hands rather than acknowledging it's also on my clothes, my katana, my face and even on my hair? Maybe because of the expression 'blood on my or his hands' being thrown around so much that I stopped paying attention to all the other places it sticks on? The expression is so stupid and specific, you can wash your hands a lot easier than you wash your face, hair, body, weapon and clothes! Why is it such a big deal that it's on the hands?

After thinking about that question, I also realise it's easier to only mention one place the blood sticks on since it's not the point of the expression to begin with. Blood will get on my hands while treating a bleeding wound aswell, yet that's not what it is used for. It's used when someone else's death is directly one's own fault.

There, my mind acknowledged it. Maybe this should be the point where I break down and cry, but it isn't. I continue getting sunk in meaningless thoughts. It is quite odd to feel the weight of my sword sheath without the sword itself outside of battle. I'm just sitting here carrying an empty sheath since my sword has been taken away.

I now start to feel the snow melt on my back. It's wet and cold. However, I snap out of those meaning seeking thoughts as a Kakushi accidentally steps on my foot. She doesn't turn back and apologise, but I know she's aware of it. I don't say anything either, I am in a completely empty state of mind.

Things set back into motion as wooden cuffs are attached to both of my hands, strapping my arms together behind my back. An useless gesture, they are shaking too much for me to do anything with them, let alone protect myself. What use does it even have to protect myself if I couldn't protect him. Two Kakushis help me stand up and carry me to an open area. The ground is uncomfortable to walk around on, rather large pebbles everywhere.

"Noriyuki Fubukime, what do you wish to say for yourself?" a loud voice asks. It is loud enough to snap me out of losing myself in meaningless thoughts, yet it doesn't sound aggressive but rather soft and kind. And that's the moment it happens. The moment my facial muscles pinch together and tears start flowing out, travelling down from my eyes to my cheeks and abruptly to the ground. The moment my voice, my breath shivers and I fail to say anything for myself for a good while, all infront of my colleagues, infront of Ubayashiki-sama, infront of my brother. I try to control myself and regain my composure, but I inevitably fall down to my knees and continue sobbing like the pathetic being I am.

"This is fine", i think to myself, "he can no longer see me in this position of weakness." But I know that I am ultimately deeply wrong. My cries are inconspicuous.

And on the verge of execution, I recall the moments we shared together. The moments leading up to this situation that I will infinitely treasure.