The Descendant (A Retelling and love story of Demon Slayer)

Twenty Two

Long into the nights of the modern era, a bedside candle would burn at a steady pace; its glow stretching thin to the corners of the room it had been lit. The only sound was the steady turning of warn pages, gently flipping as the reader moved from one to another. It didn't matter how many times Hanabi-san had stuck her head in the door to remind the young girl of the importance of sleep; Akari was determined to read through it again for what was likely the hundredth time. It was her job as the last remaining demon slayer to remember every detail. As the saying goes; 'Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it' .

Akari wholeheartedly believed that the passing down of the sword techniques and the stories around them was detrimental to the survival of mankind. She had to believe it, otherwise why would she have been born with her slayer mark in the first place? There was only one other swordsman in history that she knew of that was born with a mark like hers. Yoriichi Tsugikuni; the originator of Sun breathing, and very little was known about him. The demon slayers in the Taisho era were lucky that even a single journal survived with scarce details of the man and his mark, otherwise it was likely they would have been fighting blind with no knowledge of its impact or its consequences.

The point is, if it weren't for books like these, would they have truly won? If demons could be brought into the world on a whim as they were more than a thousand years in the past, what was to say they couldn't just show up randomly one day again? If that happened, would mankind be able to fend them off in modern ways? Surely not. They wouldn't know where to start. They wouldn't know that direct sunlight could incinerate a demon's body with little more than a single ray. They wouldn't know that only a specific kind of metal that sits on mountain peaks above the clouds soaking in constant sunlight was the only kind that would truly kill a demon. It was journals and texts; worn but preserved, that gave her this knowledge; as anyone that could have told her by mouth had died long ago. That is why she was there, sprawled on her bed with her feet kicked back behind her; a hand on her chin as she turned yet another worn page. Books were the key to victory.

"-and as I kneel before her; the poor beautiful maiden in blue that was so deeply in love with me, wept. We both knew that I couldn't give her the life that she had longed for. My mission was too great. The danger; too immense. It was likely that I wouldn't survive; and to leave a flower as delicate as her widowed would be the greatest affront to the love that we shared. No, I must be strong. For her sake, I will turn away. The demons were calling my blade and I would be there to answer them no matter the pain in my heart.-"

~

Akari's starstruck eyes nervously danced around the face of the young man that would one day become the author of that very book she had read a hundred times. She could hardly meet his widened gaze. Her chest felt tight; her cheeks red hot as she awaited his answer with baited breath. The stranger could do nothing but stare, his brain malfunctioning; trying desperately to understand what it was the beautiful girl standing before him had just said. He blinked heavily as his mind attempted to catch up with reality. '...Auto... graph...' He thought sluggishly. '... She... She wants me to... sign something?... But why? I-Isn't that what famous people do?' He had never gotten an autograph from someone before, nor has he ever given one to anyone, why would he? 'Did I miss something?' His gaze traveled over her nervous form and he blinked again. 'Holy crap... S-She's really pretty...' Suddenly his palms felt clammy and had the dark haired boy in green not been holding him up by his clothing, the shaking of his knees would have been terribly obvious. The silence between them was stifling until the yellow boy said something under his breath so soft that the wind just about carried it away before anyone could hear it.