Heart Of Fire; Veins Of Ice | Kimetsu No Yaiba Fanfic (Kyojurou's POV)

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"Did your commander send you here to die?"

She peered down at the slaughtered corpses of all of the group of samurai which had been sent into the castle to kill a supposed enemy, and instead, they found nothing but crimson ice and certain death in their wake.

The man, his face, he couldn't fully make out, was dressed in the attire of the military, knelt amongst the blood stained stone walls, as ice and frost creeped from the red liquid, forming red crystals along the wall as he knelt amongst the bodies of his fallen comrades. A bow was in his hand, a spare slung over his back along with empty quivers made for holding arrows, emptied or snapped.

His armour was coated in the blood of his own as well as his comrades, which had limbs, heads, weapons, and clothing scattered all across the stone hall of the castle, and she could taste his pitiful breakdown of the mind upon being faced with this situation.

The man before her clutched at the limp, dying arm of his general, as she felt nothing but cold, distant, detachment from the emotional pain and despair the samurai warriors had went through on behalf of her, trying to conquer the castle she had claimed. The general held on tightly to his arm, as she strode closer, drawing her blood stained sword as she approached the man.

"Run. Run. Please run-"

She would take no prisoners.

Because she had no need for any.

Simply defending her territory was enough.

"I.....ca-cannot....." The lone survivor spoke, as his general, with both his legs removed, as well as his left arm sliced off cleanly, held on tightly onto the man's hand.

"Then -beg. Beg for your life. You-" The general coughed up blood, which was already freezing on his lips. "Must- live."

She could see that he was already on his last few breaths.

"I-"

"It is a command." The general tightened his grip on his soldier's hand, managing with his final breath,

"Because we were sent here to die."

The lone survivor sets his general's hand on the ground.

She watches every inch of hesitation, the trembling in his body, the tears in his eyes, the pain. Torn between loyalty and honour. It was a beautiful set of values, opposing each other in this moment rather than supporting one of the other. Such duality was rare, as she brought her blade up and set its edge on his neck.

"He asked you to live, didn't he?"

The man before her remains silent. He's in his early twenties, still young but must have been talented enough to rise through the ranks of the samurai quickly for his age. There was potential. After all, she had never seen a samurai beg for their life against an enemy before.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

He asks, voice soft and unexpectedly accepting.

She draws a thin line which cuts into his neck.

Before she withdraws her sword and sheathes it.

"Don't be a fool. Everyone has a choice."

"I cannot kill you. At the same time, we were sent here to die. I should have known earlier. He was getting sick of us, and saw a chance to get rid of us."

"Loyalty or Honour. Pick one. That is your choice. The past cannot be unmade. There is now only the present and the future. Your precious comrades and your general lays in pieces around you. You are the lone survivor. You are the only one left to make your own choice, because no one will make it for you."

The samurai, no, the renegade, surrenders his weapons to her, as he looks down at the ground, setting his weapons aside. She knows he has made his choice.

He looked up at her, sapphire blue eyes dead and yet filled with blank determination.

"Then I pick vengeance."

She proceeded to slit his throat with her blade, holding out a hand as she ran her hand along the edge of her sword.

Her blood fell into his bloody, open throat. 

-

The Vermillion Bird cawed as it sat upon the outstretched arms of its master.

Over a vast open field, filled with dead wheat and in the humid night of the hottest summer of the year, a battle took place.

Blood Demon Art: Call of Winter.

The field froze.

Before it was set ablaze.

The renegade, the general of nothing honed his shots in on his targets, as the other three members of her closest circle of allies turned against her.

The tortured child laughed and cried as she spun illusions from the air. It hurt her to harm the woman she admired. 

The misplaced heir, a rival to her in every way but one, fought with a burning passion. The pure, white and orange flames resonated with his own strength as the four winged phoenix soared across the night sky.

And finally, the sister, in all but blood, turned her own element against her.

From afar, Upper Moon One and Two watched the Third lose her title.

-

It ran down the stone hallways, wires, needles, chains around his wrists, in his flesh, down to his bones, as blood freezes with every step it took.

She forced his limbs to move, even when his tendons were severed, she forced his body, his mind, his resolve to push through.

They only needed to make it to the cliff.

The journey through the mountain side is exhausting, as she runs his body to the ground without a care for his sanity.

This was the only way for her to live, no, for them to live.

Blood.

She would toss her old body aside, and claim his body as her own.

Human flesh.

She would protect it with what little ability she had left after her death.

Why was his consciousness struggling against her own?

She'd be damned if either of them would die again.

They ditch the only chance for a meal, for recovery, for power-

The cliff is in sight.

She/It/They/He has managed to lose their pursuers.

The only thing left now was to fall.

A/N: Interested to see how you guys would interpret this.