Father Tanjuro had long cherished the wish to build a small shrine for the Fire God.
But with pockets always light and so many mouths to feed, it never came to pass.
He would often hold little Reiichiro and Tanjiro and sigh that he wasn't a worthy devotee, then entrust the hope to the two brothers: when they had the means, they must find the Fire God a place out of the wind and rain.
Not too large, not too ornate—just sound, so as not to slight the deity.
Now Tanjiro stood before a shrine, peering up the mossy stone steps, and thought this one would do nicely.
Not extravagant, not big; quiet and deep. The Fire God would surely like it.
He hitched the basket on his back, glanced at Reiichiro. "Niisan, let's go in and pay our respects."
On the road, if you shelter at a shrine, you should light three sticks of incense and beg leave; if you've no incense, kneel sincerely and thank the gods for taking you in…
Reiichiro didn't believe in gods—nor, for that matter, in ghosts. He had no intention of offering anything.
He pointed at the steps. "With snow this heavy, why isn't there any on the stairs?"
"It must have a caretaker," Tanjiro said, delighted. "If the shrine-keeper is still sweeping this late, he must be diligent. Niisan—maybe we'll even get a hot meal tonight."
"We're the hot meal." A thin curl tugged Reiichiro's mouth.
"?"
Tanjiro's expression shifted—before he could ask, a sharp, metallic tang hit his nose.
Faint but familiar—the exact scent he'd smelled in the mountains with Reiichiro.
In other words—
A demon.
"There's a demon in the shrine!"
Every hair on Tanjiro's body stood up.
Reiichiro gave him a sidelong look. Not too stupid, at least. He mounted the steps. "Come on."
"If we're late, it won't be hot."
Color flared in Tanjiro's cheeks. He yanked the axe from his belt with a hiss and gripped it tight.
He'd always been a hothead—back in the original tale, even after smelling blood outside a shrine, he'd still charge in with Nezuko on his back. His nerve was not in doubt.
"Don't worry, Niisan—this time I'll protect you!"
The gleam of the axe gave him courage. The foolish little brother swallowed hard and swore he wouldn't hide behind a tree again!
"Be my guest." Reiichiro stepped aside and opened him a path.
Tanjiro: "…"
Laugh or cry—there was nothing for it now but to grit his teeth and rush in.
Human history is, in truth, a long film about overcoming fear.
Reiichiro followed at an easy pace, a thin layer of Nen sheathing his eyes; he'd already surveyed the interior and identified the demon.
It was the one from the story—the fiend who used the shrine as bait, preying on traveling peddlers and lodgers.
People had been vanishing nearby. Clearly, this was the culprit.
"Cre-eak… cre-eak…" The demon was dining.
Winter is boom season.
A shrine that kept wind and snow off was far better than the open wilds.
A passing peddler had "arrived just in time for something hot"…
Soaked in blood, head lolling, he leaned beside a broken idol. His viscera had been scooped out; a gleaming length of intestine hung from the demon's mouth as it chewed with relish.
"What are you doing, my friends?"
"This is my cafeteria. Interrupting a meal is rude."
The demon snapped its head around, bloodshot eyes fixing on them.
Tanjiro froze in the doorway, staring as it "ate," his stomach pitching. He nearly lost the rice balls from noon.
"Swallow it. Don't waste Mother's hard work this morning."
Step… step… Reiichiro came up beside him on the worn stones.
The demon rose, wiped its bloody lips, and grinned, revealing a mouthful of jagged fangs.
"Two humans?"
"Wonderful. I love winter—endless food…"
"You talk a lot." Reiichiro reached out and clapped Tanjiro smartly between the shoulder blades. "Go."
Catching him off guard, Tanjiro staggered with a yelp and charged—only to be blasted back an instant later by a brutal knee to the gut.
With demonic blood bolstering it, even an ordinary demon possessed speed and strength no human could meet head-on.
Tanjiro had seen Reiichiro fight Takeichiro Sato and thought it looked easy… Now he realized he had misjudged demons—and badly misjudged his niisan.
'There's no way a human can face this!'
It felt like being rammed by a bear. His bones threatened to fly apart. The demon flowed in to press the attack; in midair he forced a breath up, raised the axe, and chopped for its neck.
To his credit, his instincts were sharp—that alone was why Giyu Tomioka had recommended him to Sakonji Urokodaki.
"Schlk—"
Blood sprayed.
Clutching its neck, the demon landed, nearly split in two. It stared at Tanjiro in disbelief. "An axe? Not bad."
"But a little cut like this heals right up."
Even as it spoke, the bleeding slowed; the wound puckered as if sewn shut.
The image of Takeichiro Sato regrowing an arm flashed in Tanjiro's mind.
Unless you killed a demon outright, any wound would vanish in a blink.
He gritted through the pounding in his head, clawed to his feet, set both hands on the haft, and locked his eyes on the demon, bracing for the next strike.
"Fff—"
The demon moved—vanishing from his sight in a single blur.
No time to react; it knifed in from a blind spot, seized his throat, and slammed him to the floor!
"S—so fast… I can't track him at all." Tanjiro braced the axe-haft against its talons, but the monstrous strength pouring through its arm had his eyes rolling white. He couldn't resist.
"Hohoho… you won't land a second hit!"
"Watch me snap your neck!"
Pressure spiked; Tanjiro nearly blacked out.
A jolt coursed through his mind, a rush of scattered thoughts—
'What do I do?'
'Ask Niisan for help?'
'No… I said I'd protect him—how can I go back on my word?'
'But I'm going to die… If I die, there's nothing…'
'I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die—'
"Niisan! Help me!"