Chapter 14: Epiphany.

To fight and polish his skills, to learn the way of the sword, there was no one better than Kokushibo. He was an existence that could be called the greatest swordsman alive and the battle instincts to the skills he had were basically the peak of the current world.

Kokushibo was a swordsman that only Yoriichi Tsugikuni could match and exceed, for this monstrous swordsman or even better put as the demon swordsman, he had centuries to train and his powers only grew as the time passed.

The fight had started for no longer than three minutes, yet Zenitsu had more than a dozen cuts on his being, though none were fatal, put together the damage could hinder his fighting capacity.

While on the other hand, Zenitsu had managed no more than just graze Kokushibo's haori a few times. But, the more they fought the more Zenitsu caught up with the pace. He could now dodge and parry the attacks from Kokushibo that were beyond his visible scope.

With every exchange of the blade, Zenitsu was adapting, he was learning the very essence of the blade and the noble art of swordsmanship. Along the way, Zenitsu had abandoned everything, nothing else mattered than the blade he held and the foe he fought.

His body moved as his instincts dictated, his sword was cleaving the very air as the blade whistled with each swing. With every cut on him, he would better his defence, the openings that were exploited once had shut themselves down for good.

Kokushibo was beyond amazed to fight such a foe, his pale face had a smile on it, his cold eyes had excitement hidden under the chilling guise of bloodlust. For decades he was craving an opponent, a fight that could make his cold demon blood boil in excitement. The feeling of being injured, the thrill of putting his life on the stake with only the blade to judge his worth.

He was beyond estatic, but afraid as well, for he could feel the tangiable amount of growth his opponent had shown in just a matter of minutes. No matter how many times he pushed back, no matter how many times he got cut, Zenitsu fought on, his fighting spirit shone brighter and brighter as the time passed.

He could feel that Zenitsu was now fighting him purely on instincts, tempering his sword, forging his own will. Kokushibo felt an emotion that he never thought he would feel again, since 'that man' had died.

He could feel it, the familiar feeling that had always eluded him, the sublime connection between the man and the sword. How jealous he was to see the thing he has always longed for, something he dreamed about for centuries, appear not in him but in a child, who had not held the blade more than a few years the most.

A bottomless rage burned his heart, a feeling of forlorn regret mixed with self-denial drove his being as he wanted nothing more than destroying the one standing before him. Mutating his sword, Kokushibo had slashed Zenitsu, the later had failed to parry the strike in time, received a wound that open a slit across his torso, cutting through the muscles while grazing the bones.

Zenitsu had barely managed to lean back in time to save himself, or the result would have been him cut into two pieces. He braced himself and the Avalon slowly healed the wound, closing it and repairing it till it was good as new.

Kokushibo did not stop at that, he charged in wildly. Despite losing his mind in rage, he did not use any of his blood demon arts, such was his pride, such was the worth of a swordsman's word. Zenitsu who could not manage to find any openings till then, had suddenly found a ray of sunshine in his darkest hour.

He could feel that the blade in his hand was trying to speak to him, no matter how idiotic it sounds, it was true and he knew it for a fact. He had a spiritual epiphany of sorts, he was feeling like he was afloat on a fluffy cloud as his entire being relaxed.

"My blade is an extension of myself, my will is the action it does, if I desire my blade not to cut, it shall not harm a single thread of cloth and if I desire to cut, not even the heaven and earth shall be spared. My blade is the representation of my will, if my will is weak, my blade is weak and if my will is strong, there is nothing stronger than my blade." Zenitsu muttered as he dodged and parried the attacks coming his way like a feather.

Like a feather, he would use the opponents force against them or use it to move away or dodge. Like a feather, the harder you try to catch, the farther it will fly, the more you try to catch, the more it will evade. Kokushibo went in for another gallant charge but Zenitsu flashed in and appeared right before Kokushibo, his blade drew out like a bolt of lightning and cut Kokushibo apart from the waist.

The same move that Kokushibo used against Zenitsu to wound him was used on him, but here the blade did not elongate, Zenitsu used the shinobi movement skill that Uzui taught him.

One blade dictated victory and defeat, life and death.

Zenitsu sheathed his blade and bowed with proper respect to the swordsman he fought. Kokushibo could no longer regenerate not stop his wounds from bleeding. He could clearly feel the death god's scythe that he had been evading had placed itself on his neck.

Kokushibo looked up at the lonely moon in the sky, "Have I lived hundreds of years for this? Was I so afraid of defeat that I became a monster? Did I want to be strong even if it meant eating people? Did I become this miserable creature because I didn't want to die? No. Yoriichi... I just wanted to be you. Zenitsu, I thank you for releasing me from these binds, thank you for showing me light beforemy final moments. Grow stronger, far stronger than me, more than 'that man', more than my brother, more… more than Yoriichi Tsukiguni. Farewell…".

The two halves of Kokushibo vanished into thin air as his clothes and the blade remained. Zenitsu knelt before the clothes and offered a silent prayer to the God in Kaigaku's name, wishing him peace in his afterlife. He sheathed Kokushibo's blade and hung it on his waist.

It was the blade of a noble swordsman, even when he had lost his way in the darkness, his ideals were not lost on him. A swordsman that stayed true to his blade was worthy of his respect, even more when he had taught him so much, though not formally but the sentiment still held true.

Zenitsu buried Kokushibo's clothes and marked a stone and carved on it.

"HERE LIES A TRUE SWORDSMAN WHO DID NOT ABANDON HIS BLADE EVEN IN HIS DARKEST HOUR."

~MICHIGATSU TSUGIKUNI.

BURIED BY THE SWORDSMAN ZENITSU KUWAJIMA.

He stopped Avalon from healing him anymore and at the surface wounds remain as he walked back to the Butterfly Mansion.

In the same time, somewhere unknown, Muzan was feeling a plethora of emotions raging through his mind. He was feeling something that he had not felt for the last few centuries; he was feeling one of the most primal emotions that the living creatures, he felt shivers down his spine as each of his hair stood up in fright.

Yes, the immortal was afraid, the demon feared a man, the creature he held in disdain, since that man died, one more came, history was repeating itself. But the only doubt was, 'would he make it out alive?'

Muzan could feel it in his bones, the winter is com*cough* the skies are darkening, the winds carry the scent of blood and iron, the fateful night approaches, a night shall decide whom the rising tide would favour.