Chapter 17

The basement is musty, foul smelling and decrepit. A tiny cut-out of space sits atop the stone wall, a tiny window to the world. Barred by thick wooden slats, the cool night air trickles through like dew dripping off a blade of grass. At the same time, what little moonlight present accompanies it, shining through in thin silver slivers.

These slivers of light disperses the darkness. They fall upon the length of a rusted iron chain hammered into the floor. Despite the metal already tainted by rust – turning it into a grimy, patchy brown – the chain still catches and reflects the moonlight. You trail along the length of the chain until it ends in a tight fitted manacle. This circlet of metal winks in the spurts of light from the waxing moon.

Your gaze shifts further upwards. You cannot perceive anything above the gruesomely twisted ankle, but from the size of the ensnared foot and its dainty toes, you're certain its owner had once been a lady.

"Reta," the hunched figure lets out a terrible moan capable of scraping moss that grows from cracks in the walls. "Reta!" With your own arms bound tightly in rope, you feel a twisted kinship toward her.

You try to move your legs. Still, nothing. Being tossed down the short flight of steps, descending from the shop into the basement, sees you yet to regain feeling in your legs. It could also be the work of the potent cocktail you had ingested, earlier.

Your chest tightens. Whether it is from your emotional reaction to the woman or toward your plight, you cannot tell.

"Kizu-chan… I'm home."

You slant your head and look up at Wareta. He's towering over you, standing close enough for you to make out his expression despite the poor lighting. His face is set in a stony glower. His lidded eyes are reflective in the moonlight, the dangerous glint to them marking his transformation from the cheerful man who warmly welcomed you slightly over an hour ago. This Wareta is a completely different beast.

You lower your gaze to examine the weapon in his hands. He holds a basic katana housed in a simple, unpainted wooden grip. Much like its owner the katana is non-descript, the kind you can buy off the wall at a blacksmith's, but observe closer and you notice how the edge of the blade is ferociously sharp. Like Wareta's eyes, it glints in the darkness.

Wareta's grip on it is neither too tight nor loose. He wields it comfortably, giving away his familiarity with it. This is a weapon has seen things despite Kakunodate's peaceful climate. A memory of your master claws through your foggy mind, one where he demonstrates how devastating a basic weapon could be in the hands of an experienced master.

As if hearing your thoughts, Wareta abruptly slashes at the ground near your feet. Metal meets stone tiles in a hollow, echoeing ring. Stone shards patter like rain on your pant legs.

His movement lacks the fluidity of your master's – who had hacked bark from a tree in half a breath – but his display is sufficient to send a vein of tension thrumming through your body. Your sweat matted forehead is further drenched. Your heart thunders, loud and fierce, the sound of its pulsing drowning out the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls.

You count your breaths. Steady the drumming of your heart until you can hear the sound of your own breathing.

Recognize the strength of the current, a voice your head reminds, don't let it sweep you away.

Your body becomes liquid. The weight anchored to the pit of your stomach is ground into dust as the intense buzzing in your ears gradually fades. Blood retreats from your head, bringing with it some measure of feeling to your feet. Feeling the light tingling in the tips of your toes, you know your preparation wasn't for naught.

Wareta continues gazing at her. "How has your day been, Kizu?"

"Reta! Reta!"

The woman's cries sound like the dying wail of an animal. You don't doubt she would have lunged for his throat had the chain not held fast. The basement is wide, but she could have reached him in the time it takes lightning to strike down a tree.

"Kizu, please, settle down." The manner that Wareta speaks is identical to how Urai spoke to his lover. Gentle as rustling wisteria branches. "You don't need to be upset. Look at what I've brought. It's been some time since your last meal, hasn't it?"

Her appearance is revealed once your eyes adjust to the darkness. Tendrils of messy black hair fall over her shoulder, the tips of which brush against the neckline of her loose jinbei style kimono. Her face is unusually petite, her skin the shade of freshly fallen snow. Were it not for the crusted bloodstains around her mouth, her visage would not seem so different from ladies you've seen on streets.

When you see her emerald sclera, containing the shifting mass of a black iris, your senses immediately go off. Demon.

"Say something, boy. When you're meeting someone for the first time, you need to carry yourself with some respect." Wareta slaps the back of your head, rousing you from your shock. "The paralysing drugs might have affected your limbs, but it shouldn't have taken your ability to speak."

Right, the drugs he slipped into your drink. Does he still think you're under their influence?

You make the effort to reply in a middling and spacey manner. "Wareta-san… what exactly would you have me say… to this monster?"

Your head whips violently to the side. The punch is within your expectations, but predicting it doesn't make it hurt any less. You taste blood as you run your tongue across your inner cheek.

"It is not my nature to be cruel, but neither is letting a greenhorn tread my feet. I would prefer if you went painlessly, unlike the other men. But should you test my anger…" Wareta pauses to wipe his hand on his clothes. "Her name is Kizu. You will refer to her as Koe, Kuroshio-san."

Kizu Koe. You can finally put a name to it's face. "I will… remember it. It was rude of me to… insult her when I'm intruding… on her premises."

Wareta grunts and looks away. He seems slightly surprised you've deciphered your location. Indeed, normal people would be toeing consciousness if they'd ingested whatever drugs Wareta mixed in your drink. He doesn't look affected by your revelation, though, so it's clear he currently does not regard you a threat.

You test your binds, wriggling your arms and legs. There are no binds on your feet, only your midsection. You casually glance down. The rope is tight, but it only goes around you in two loops. You almost feel like laughing. Wareta must have done this before to be this assured in his success.

You conclude your findings and continue to control your breathing. Strength builds with every new breath you take, each pull and release.

Inhale.

No, it's not time. You're still not close to the level of strength required. Not yet.

"Familiar as you are with… your employees…" You venture to ask, intent to buy time for yourself. "Wareta-san, aren't you worried… they might report… you for this?"

You don't think your collapse, which had taken the jar of sake with you, had escaped their notice. Though the shattering of that clay vessel had hardly been noisy, it should have been loud as a firecracker in that empty shop.

"The people under my employ are familiar with the drill. They should have already vacated the premises after they witnessed it. The fates of those who do not follow my instructions will have seen to their obedience." Wareta smiles grimly. This man is slightly more psychotic than you first assumed. "Kuroshio-san. Why do I feel as if you are not taking me seriously, despite having fallen to my deception?"

The question concealed within Wareta's words might have invited your laughter, were you not still dealing with some of the aftereffects of your drugging. Why are you not afraid? You have many reasons for it, but it wouldn't pay to reveal the main one so soon.

"You are wrong to think… I am unphased," you say. "But mostly, it is because… you are not the most… fearsome creature in this… room."

"Reta!" The chained demon screams, strangling the air with her hands. "Husband! Help me!"

Wareta's glare is wrathful. "Do not speak ill of my wife. You slight me by calling her a monster. I don't care what you or your cohorts believe, but Kizu Koe is no such thing. She is my beloved!"

"I admire your resolve… but she is a demon. They are beasts in… human skin, whether or not we… wish them to be."

Wareta's answering growl blends with the demon's mewling cries. He tucks his katana under his arm and stomps toward the table in the corner. His broad shouldered back hunches. You hear the sound of two rocks struck simultaneously. A lamp bursts into flame.

When Wareta steps away, undulating orange shades fall upon the grey stone floor and throw shadows onto the small bay of straw tucked in another corner of the basement, yet another thing you hadn't noticed.

On the wall facing the tiny barred window, three sets of Demon Slayer uniforms hang lifelessly. Their mismatched sizes tell of separate owners, but their similar states of disarray indicates how they had all met the same, grisly ending.

"I will not waste my breath," Wareta says. "Either way, you will meet your end here. I do not have to listen to the flagrant falsehoods of a dead man."

"Are you… certain?" You maintain the same cadence of speech as Wareta begins prowling toward you, his sword reflecting the light from the flames.

At your words. Wareta stops. "The medications I fed you are top grade," he explains, perplexed. "You're a fool to think you can rely on brute strength to overcome them."

Lying in the center of the room, the distance between both of you could be covered in a single leap. Despite the danger, you smile. "Merchants are greedy, but rarely fools."

Inhale–

You throw your arms out, thick coils of rope snapping. You're on your feet before Wareta can process your escape. Your body is filled with unbridled strength, every muscle in your body heightened for battle. Total Concentration Breathing is the first technique you learned from your master, and its usefulness knows no bounds.

"You–" Wareta falls into a battle stance. The fury in his voice eats away his shock of your seemingly miraculous escape. "How did you do that?!" You dust off your legs and fold your trembling arms into your sleeves. Wareta doesn't need to know your body has yet to recover its capacity to defend itself.

"It's because I came prepared," you say, purposely vague.

"How did you find out about the drugs?" Wareta demands.

"I didn't," you reply truthfully. "But there is only so much a person can do with alcohol, so I made a calculated guess. I confess, I had thought you would use deadlier poisons. I wasted quite a bit of money to purchase powerful, slow acting antidotes. The downside to living in provincial areas seems to be that rare medicines sell for absurd prices."

It would have been impossible to find the counter-poison you needed without help. You recall Urai's confusion and Masai's surprise when you stepped into their restaurant. The joy on their faces when they realized you sought their assistance. Had you sought to ruin Urai after what he had done, you would already be in pieces inside the demon's stomach.

The expression on Wareta's face is dark and ugly. "I underestimated you, boy."

"That's Kuroshio-san to you."

Wareta shakes his head. "You're young, yet already so calculating. How did someone like you buy into the lies of that demon slaying cult? Your future would bright beyond compare. Instead, you waste your youth chasing figments of old wives tales."

You need to keep Wareta engaged until you can find a way to snatch your sword. You're already disadvantaged since it's not yet clear whether the drugs in your system are completely mitigated. He might be getting along in age, but from his earlier display, it's clear he's a competent swordsman.

"Wareta-san, you should already be aware your wife is no longer human. You can't accuse me of being blinded by a lie when you're the same," you say. To you, a demon is a demon. There's not a shred of humanity left in that imprisoned creature.

"She's sick!" Wareta explodes. Both his hands tightly grip the katana, pointing the tip of the blade straight at you. "It's all because of you and your friends that Kizu turned out like this. That night, if I'd been a little quicker… if I hadn't insisted on taking that shift… I could have killed that man before he poisoned her!"

Something inside you curdles like rotten milk. A man?

If Wareta's wife had become a demon… could she have been turned by Muzan himself?

The demon, who had gone quiet during Wareta's rant, restarts her grating howls. The sight of her head thrown back, her glimmering, pointed teeth and insane screaming, makes you sick to the stomach. You gesture at her. "What kind of poisoning would be capable of turning her into that?"

If Wareta has been using the same method of drugging his victims, then going by the uniforms on the wall, all three slayers hadn't gotten the chance to point out the impossibility of his theory. There's no other way to explain why they fell to a person of Wareta's calibre, not with the techniques they should've had at their disposal.

Wareta's temper becomes further inflamed. ""I won't hear another word of your lies." He heaves a furious breath, his next sentence low and dangerous. "Kuroshio, don't think you will leave this place alive."

He rushes you, katana arcing down in an overhead strike. Whether its due to his emotional state or your words, it's clear Wareta is thrown off. His movement is frenzied, uncontrolled. You tuck your shoulder and roll under his wild swing. There is a shriek of metal as Wareta's blade slashes the stone tiles you had stood upon.

You roll onto your feet, regaining balance. Your Nichirin Blade, still in its sheath, is an arm's length away. You don't lunge for it. Your arms continues to tremble, wielding your sword would be impossible. You grab the handle of the oil lamp instead, flinging it in the direction of the pile of straw.

When Wareta whirls around, poised to attack once more, his gaze is immediately drawn to the fresh blaze. The fire casts gyrating shadows over his face, accentuating the horrified pull of his mouth and the widening of his eyes. Flames ferociously eat at the oil drenched straw, laying waste to the large pile and producing a stabbing heat you can feel even from the other side of the basement.

"No!" Wareta screams. "What have you done?!"

You don't deign that with an answer, and you don't need to. Wareta speeds headfirst into the source of blistering heat. You don't realize what he's doing, too busy fending off smoke from entering your rapidly watering eyes.

You hear a hear a cry of "Sit tight, Kizu!" followed by the sound of a chain breaking. No, he couldn't have–

It's your turn to yell. "Wareta-san!"

Through the haze of smoke, you make out the outline of a broad shouldered form. You watch as a figure two thirds his size rises from the ground. In the backdrop, brilliant red flames continue to burn recklessly.

"Kizu," Wareta says, sounding tearful. "Let's leave this place together."

Despite your viciously shaking arms, you take your sword into your hands. It's a struggle to keep both palms firmly encased around the handle, but there is no other option. You already know what will come next.

"You fool," you say, just as a chorus of screams ring out amidst the crackling flames.

The flames are chokingly thick. It's becoming a struggle to breathe, hampering your already weakened condition. Straining your ears, you can hear quiet whimpering somewhere on the ground in front of you.

Wareta? Perhaps he managed to fend the demon off using the smoke as cover. Unfortunately, it doesn't change the fact there's a demon prowling somewhere amidst the smoke.

You can feel it. The hungry gaze of a raucous beast centered on you.

You grit your teeth. If Wareta was dead, you could've fled the basement in good conscience. But you can't, not when he's still alive. This a battle you will not be able to avoid.

Scrape.

Scrape, scrape, screeee-

You hear nails dragging across the floor. You think the sound is nearby, but you have no way to confirm it. The basement is already choked with smoke, and your vision is effectively halved. You back away with slow steps, grimacing when the edge of the table digs into your back.

You can feel your strength rapidly fading from your body. The benefits from your previous breath technique only last so long, and you've never had great stamina to begin with. Two decisions lie ahead: wait and hope the demon is somehow scared off by growing blaze, or utilize what's left of your power to clear your vision.

Striking Tide? No, your body won't be able to endure. Catching the demon by surprise sounds amazing, but it might hit Wareta. That leaves–

"First form…" You choke on the smoke, barely spitting out, "Water Surface Slash!"

You unleash an underhand swing toward the window atop the wall. Your blade bleeds blue and white mist, coalescing into a wavering outline of a surging water current. The wall falls apart cleanly. A jagged piece of stone along with the wooden bars, crashes onto the ground.

The hole isn't gaping, but it funnels a fair bit of smoke out of the basement. It's just unfortunate the wood landed directly in the fire. Combined with the fresh oxygen, kindles it the blaze into larger heights. For the moment though, the room before you is largely revealed.

Drawing in deep, gasping breaths, you tense your shoulders and survey the area, ignoring the nail-like texture of the sword handle in your still trembling hands.

Wareta lies in a pool of his own blood. Similar to the bits of broken chain surrounding him, his katana is in pieces near where the demon once rested. It is hard to tell from your position, but the man has his hands pressed onto his wounds – one near the base of his neck, the other on his chest. You can't see clearly, but you think you can hear him breathing still, however weak. From the look of his injuries however, you don't think he'll last for much longer.

You itch to flee the basement but the problem still remains. The demon is nowhere to be seen.

"Impossible… Did it escape?"

"Heeee…" The hair atop your head shivers, and the stench of rotten meat envelops you. There is a disturbing noise of nails raked across wood to accompany the heavy breathing coming from behind you. "Heeee, heeee. Husband…?"

What you would have seen had you chose to tilt your head up is indescribable. Luckily, though weakened, your reflexes prevent you from committing that terrible mistake. You throw yourself forward, twisting in mid-air with your blade. You make to stab her, but your arms fail to respond to your urging.

"HUSBAND!" The demon leaps after you, shrieking. "SAVE ME!"

You're not quick enough to evade this time. She swings her arms, hammering down. Her attack sends you hurtling into the ground. You feel tiles beneath you splinter and crack. Spots flash in your vision, followed by a wave of nausea that nearly makes you spew.

"Y-You wretched..." You cough out a mouthful of blood. It is a small mercy you don't loosen your grip on your Nichirin blade. For all the good it does, since it won't numb the pain of your broken bones, or the large stone wedge stuck you can feel stuck your back.

The demon's nebulous, frightful face hovers over you. Her stank breath is foul enough to make your toes curl. Her pupils emanate an animalistic hunger. In contrast, the light from the fire makes her emerald sclera gleam like jewels in the sun. The blistering heat of the flames, threatening to seer off your skin, is no match for the intensity of her gaze.

"Husband," she mutters. "He, came, Muzan-sama… Hungry."

Her fangs sink into the flesh of your shoulder. When she lifts her head, she rips a gory chunk of flesh with it. Your scream reverberates throughout the basement.

The demon's eyes slides shut in ecstasy. She moans, dragging her fingers painted red over her gaunt cheekbones. "Delicious," she mumbles, eyes still closed.

You stare at her bloody mess of a face and think, is this how your life will end?

Though the pain of having a living part of your body ripped out has yet to dissipate, it is no match for the sheer weight of emotion dredged up by the faces that flash across your mind. One in particular stands out among the rest, and thinking of the fate you might have thrust upon her, your resolution solidifies.

You. Will. Not. Die. Here.

The agreeing answer from the universe comes in the form of a wayward spark. A piece of burning wood bursts forth from the blazing mound of flames, which are already tall enough to lick the basement ceiling.

You watch in interest, the pain from your wounds having forced your mind into a state of detached bemusement, as it lands on the demon's head of flowing black hair. In response, she lifts her arms, batting wildly at her head.

Her neck is wide open. The sight sends a burst of energy through your exhausted body.

Your hand slides up the handle and presses against the handguard. It is made from a translucent crystal-like material, shaped in a circle and connected by four wavy lines within. You slant your Nichirin Blade and deliver an upward slash.

The demon's head slips off her neck while her hands continue to reaching for the spark long since put out. "May you never escape from hell," you say, watching her body fall backwards.

To think you used to loathe that your body traded stamina for abnormal strength. Truly, your biggest boon from being stuck as a Tsuchinoto for so many years, was coming to realize you had to work with your strengths rather than obsess over your weaknesses.

Your body pumping with adrenaline, you somehow pull yourself to your feet. Your pain is starting to become more pronounced, you think. You can feel more keenly the presence of a protrusion in your back, and the wound on your shoulder is beginning to throb. It won't be long till the agony from these injuries paralyze you entirely.

An image of a grand property comes to mind, one you had seen fenced in by glamourous buildings of the merchant district. You can think of no other place that will guarantee your survival. "Before I'm completely crippled… I need to make it there."

Your legs spurn your efforts to move them, but with the threat of the blaze behind you, the disaster already nigh uncontrollable, they reluctantly allow themselves to be controlled. You ascend the staircase in slow, hazy steps. As you climb, you let loose a hacking cough that splatters your palm with red.

"Ryuu. Just a little more…" You wipe your mouth, grimacing. "You want to see her again, don't you?" Breathing heavily, you pull yourself up the final stair and slink out of the shop.