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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Sabito
CRACK
The upper portion of my blade was suddenly slit open; it detached from the rest of the sword.
And it failed to cut through the Hand Demon's defenses around the neck...
Fuck.
"HAHAH!!! YOU FOOL, NOTHING CAN CUT THROUGH MY HEAD!!!" The ugly, deplorable creature wallowed in this triumph.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
I FAILED!
THIS BASTARD KILLED MAKOMO, AND I FAILED TO DECAPITATE HIS FUCKING HEAD!
I FAILED!!!
I failed!
I failed...
I failed Makomo...
Makomo...
A great pang of grief and guilt stings the inner sanctum of my heart.
Makomo...
She died because of my incompetence and inability to protect her...
I'm so weak...
Makomo...
I could feel a wetness in my eyes. My chest aches and my head is spinning in circles.
I already miss her very much.
I couldn't bear the thought. I'm just seconds away from dying myself, but all I can think about is you, Makomo—all I can think about is your death, not mine.
I love you... You were my everything... I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier...
It just... It just hurts so much. I will never be able to tell you again...
Makomo...
Despair was encroaching upon my soul, submerging it in a sea of sorrow at the mere thought of her.
I teetered between unbridled malice towards all and subdued sadness within the self.
I felt like crying, letting go of everything, and drowning myself in a cascade of woeful tears—however unmanly or unwarrior-like it may be.
I let her die...
"SABITO!!!"
As if reality had beckoned my full attention for one last time, I was roused from my little self-deprecating reverie at the sound of a voice.
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