(Present Time)
THIRD PERSON POV
Michikatsu stood at the base of Mount Fujikasane with his sword at his side, the trial finally behind him. For seven nights he had fought through the mountain, his blade carving a path through every demon that lunged from the shadows until the forest grew silent again. He had survived the Final Selection.
But to him, survival was nothing new. Killing demons was never the challenge. His breathing, his training, his blade had long surpassed the monsters that prowled the dark. What he sought was far greater. The memory still burned in his mind: the demon that had slaughtered his clan had not fought like a beast, but like a man who had mastered the art of the sword.
That memory drove him. It was why he sought out slayers across Japan, testing himself against those who wielded Breathing Styles. On one occasion, he crossed blades with a disciple of the retired Thunder Hashira, a young man whose strength was matched only by his temper. Their duel lasted until the ground tore beneath their feet and sparks burned in the night air. When Michikatsu finally stood victorious.
Michikatsu took no joy in the victory. He did not fight for glory. He fought to understand, to refine, to prepare himself for the kind of battle that had stolen his family from him. His path was not to sharpen his strength against demons, but against swordsmen.
Now, as dawn crept over the mountain, Michikatsu walked away from the trial grounds. To the Corps, he was another recruit who had proven his worth.
At the foot of Mount Fujikasane, Michikatsu joined the few others who had endured the seven nights. Their faces were pale, their bodies battered, yet their eyes carried the fire of survival. When the officials of the Corps stepped forward, their voices rang with formality, but Michikatsu heard little of it. His mind was elsewhere, on his path, on the blade, on the memory of his fallen clan.
When the uniforms were presented, Michikatsu took his with silent hands. Black, simple, and marked with the weight of duty. He ran his fingers along the cloth, but to him it was no symbol of belonging. It was armor, another tool on the path he had chosen.
Then came the crows. One by one, the jet-black wings beat through the air, descending upon the chosen survivors. His own Kasugai crow landed upon his shoulder, its beady eyes studying him. Unlike the others, it looked old, worn, and experienced.
"Tsugikuni Michikatsu," it cawed, voice sharp and clear. "You may call me Tetsu. That was the name given to me by my old partner."
As the others murmured, celebrated, or wept, Michikatsu remained silent. He fastened the uniform to his body, adjusted the weight of his sword at his side, and stood tall. To the Corps, he was a recruit. To himself, he was only a survivor.
He did not wait to choose an ore. The process was meaningless to him. At his side already rested a blade that had been passed down through generations, a black blade engraved at the hilt with a single word: Kill.
(A few days later)
POV Michikastu
"You should give up, kid!"
I moved to the right, dodging the demon's attack as sharp, bone-like appendages shot past where I stood.
"I have no reason to give up when you haven't even landed a single attack on me," I replied, parrying a spear-like projectile that splintered against my blade.
I had been sent here to investigate a series of murders and disappearances, only to be greeted by a demon that wielded its own bones as weapons. Every strike turned its body into a storm of jagged spears, each one meant to tear me apart.
"Stop moving!"
The demon roared as its arms stretched unnaturally, unleashing a wave of bone spears that filled the air.
"As you wish."
I drew my blade, my breath steady. The moment the edge cleared its sheath, I exhaled.
"Moon Breathing…"
A single slash tore through the barrage, shattering the spears to fragments. In the next breath I was upon him. His arms fell before he even realized they were gone, and my final stroke ended it.
"Second Form: Pearl Flower Moongazing."
The demon was still trying to roar when its body split. Ash scattered across the ground, and with one sharp motion I crushed the remaining skull beneath my heel.
"Caw, caw!"
I looked up to see Tetsu circling above before dropping a scroll. I caught it and broke the seal immediately. Another mission.
Unlike most, I preferred written instructions. Tetsu had resisted at first, his pride insulted, but after three successful missions in succession and my promotion to Kanoto, the Corps granted me the privilege.
"Several cases of missing children near an abandoned house up in the mountains…"
I slipped the paper into my Haori. Running would take two hours. My body was worn from three days of missions, so I chose instead to rest on the way. A carriage would carry me far enough.
Something told me this mission would not be so simple.
---
A few hours later
"Mister, we've arrived!"
I opened my eyes slowly and stepped down from the small cart. The farmer looked uneasy as I placed a generous amount of yen into his calloused hands.
"Uhh… Mister, you should be careful. Lots of people have been going missing around here." His voice trembled, but it was honest concern.
"I'm aware. Have a good harvest."
I didn't look back as I began running up the mountain path. The Corps' intelligence was precise. The house was said to sit along the main route, and if their records were true, I would find it soon enough.
'Father would probably scream at me for meddling with the Corps if he were alive…'
The forest thinned, and then it appeared. A small, two-story home standing unnaturally still among the trees. At a glance, it seemed ordinary. Yet every step closer made my skin prickle. Something inside warped the air itself.
Hand on my blade, I slid the door open. The instant my foot crossed the threshold, a deep drumbeat shook the walls. The ground beneath me twisted upward, becoming the wall, and I landed in a crouch where the ceiling had been.
A Blood Demon Art.
The air was thick with its presence, stronger than the bone-user I had just cut down.
'So this is the source.'
I adjusted my grip on my sword and steadied my breathing as the floor turned again. Somewhere inside the shifting house, I was sure powerful demon was waiting for me and I can already tell why.
It was one of the many reasons why my father would never allow me to be too far from the grounds of our estate, it was my Blood.
Almost everyone in born in our family that was born with the mark would be considered a Marechi, someone born with special blood that made them a delicacy to demons.
One drop of my blood was worth a dozen humans to them.
'Another drumbeat!'
The room spun violently, the tatami sliding beneath my sandals until I was running sideways along a wall. A growl echoed above, then claws raked through the plaster just behind me. I shifted my weight and sprang forward.
"Come closer, slayer!" The demon's voice reverberated as another drum resounded. A doorway appeared on the ceiling, sucking the air upward.
Without hesitation, I leapt into the pull.
The chamber I landed in was vast, lit only by thin cracks where moonlight bled through the roof. Three drums attached grotesquely from the demon's torso, his pale hands resting above them. His eyes gleamed with starvation the instant he saw me.
"Marechi…" He licked his lips, hunger warping into a grin. "Your blood… your flesh… I will savor you for years."
I exhaled slowly, placing one hand on the Handle of my blade.
"You'll find it quite difficulty..." Without wasting a second I dashed at the demon aiming to end in it quickly but his hands were quick.
The sound of the drums echoed. The house buckled. Tatami, beams, and doors spun. The demon struck again and again, forcing the room to twist with every beat, trying to throw me into chaos.
Yet no matter how the walls rotated, my steps were steady. Every shift of my foot was deliberate, breathing aligned with the rhythm. To him, this place was a weapon.I had to be careful.
I crouched low, waiting for the next beat. The demon sneered, veins bulging, and raised both hands.
'There.'
The moment his claws slammed the drums, I pushed forward through the storm of twisting wood and spinning walls. His hunger blinded him. My blood called to him. And in that brief instant, I was able to cut off his hand.
The demon shrieked as black blood sprayed from the stump of its severed hand. His remaining palm slammed against the nearest drum, and the room shifted again. But this time it wasn't the walls that betrayed me. The air itself rippled. Invisible blades ripped through the air, shredding tatami and splintering pillars.
To most, those strikes would have been impossible to follow. But I had been born with more than a single mark.
My clan used to whispered about it in half-fear, half-reverence. Normally, a child born into our line manifested one of two gifts the flame-like Mark upon the skin, or eyes that saw through the very aspect of the world. One or the other. But I was born with two Marks, their shapes stretching jagged across the left side of my forehead and the right side of my neck.
The old texts called such a birth an omen. A body unable to endure the strain should have burned itself out before adulthood. And yet here I stood, alive. Every breath sharpened me. Every heartbeat drove power through my limbs beyond what even other Marked kin could reach. The cost was clear my lifespan would not be long and I knew it. But my strength now, in this fleeting life, eclipsed theirs.
That strength that came with enhanced senses and all the years of my training was why I could follow the distortion of the air. The faint tremor of killing intent, the unnatural push of space where the blades cleaved through unseen angles. My eyes were no gift of foresight, but my body moved faster, my muscles held tighter, my reactions sharper. The Marks burned.
I shifted, blade ready. The distortion came again, slicing for my neck. I bent low, breath calm, feet sliding over the wall as though it were flat ground. The blade missed by inches, cutting a long scar across the wood instead.
"Impossible!" The demon snarled, beating another drum with wild desperation. More blades came, faster and overlapping, each meant to cage me.
I inhaled, steady and deep.
"Moon Breathing… Fourth Form: Moonlit Illusion."
My sword moved in wide arcs this form was made to redirect attacks and with each swing fluid, bending into the next like the curve of the moon. I did not strike the demon yet, only the blades of air themselves. My cuts collided with the distortions, redirecting them into harmless bursts against the walls and ceiling.
The demon's eyes widened as his art faltered. He stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding stump, realization dawning.
"You're not normal… Your blood, your body it's cursed. A Marechi… no, more than that!"
I didn't answer him. Talking was wasted breath. I pressed forward, my blade tracing a silver arc through the flickering moonlight that seeped into the chamber.
The demon's hands fumbled for the drums, desperation breaking through his hunger. I moved first. The Marks burned against my skin, heat crawling like fire through my veins.
He slammed a drum with his remaining hand. The house twisted, walls and ceiling rolling like a tide. A doorway yawned open above me and a blade of air followed it, slicing clean through the floor where I had been standing.
I was already gone.
My blade traced a clean arc through the gap between us, cutting across the distortion as though it were paper. Sparks snapped against the tatami when my foot slid, but my stance never broke.
"Moon Breathing… Sixth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon."
The slash came swift, a silver crescent tearing through the demon's shoulder. His scream rang against the walls, drowning beneath the echo of his drums. Black blood sprayed, pattering against the warped wood.
"I only wanted...." he choked, staggering back. His voice was not anger but fear now. "Too play my music....."
"Perhaps," I said, raising my blade again. "You'll make a great symphony in another life."
He slammed his drum again, the floor twisting violently. The room folded into itself, trying to swallow me in a storm of claws and blades. I lowered my stance, the heat of the Marks rising in my chest. My breathing slowed until the chaos around me became muted.
The demon raised his claws one last time. His body shook, torn between hunger and terror, his eyes fixed on me with a kind of madness.
I stepped through the storm, blade low. My exhale cut the silence.
"Second Form: Pearl Flower Moongazing."
The crescent slash severed his torso in one stroke. His drums split apart with him, tumbling to the warped ground as his body crumbled to ash. The hunger on his face froze there, etched into the last moment of his existence.
I stood in the silence that followed, sword dripping black. With one sharp motion I flicked the blood from the edge and sheathed it.
The house groaned. The walls shivered and then stilled. Without the demon's will, the Blood Demon Art collapsed. Rooms stopped twisting, doors settled where they belonged. It was only a broken shell of wood now.
"I barely noticed it but his eyes had crossed out words on them...I wonder what Lower Moon Meant..."
I turned to leave, my steps even. Demons were not victories. They were necessities. What mattered was surviving them. What mattered was the path that lay ahead.
All that mattered was killing that Six-Eyed Bastard.
But as I slide the door open I was met with the sight of two boys fighting one another with their first, one cradling a box with injuries all over and a group of young children cowering behind a tree.
"Huh?"
_______
Some Moon Breathing forms will be different from Kokushibo's Moon Breathing as Michikastu is a Human.
So don't expect big AOE skills