Chapter 2: Ghost Dance – Muzan Kibutsuji
Ghosts only roam the world under the veil of night; by day, they vanish—fading into the shadows they call home.
For Akira, a demon slayer, that meant waiting for nightfall—waiting patiently until the monsters revealed themselves.
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, darkness swept over a remote village. Under pale moonlight, a boy trudged through the quiet streets, a younger child resting on his back.
"Brother, when can we go home?" the younger one murmured sleepily.
The older boy glanced at the bundle of charcoal in the bamboo basket slung over his shoulder and sighed. "Once we sell all this, we'll head back."
But the night was already deep, the air still warm. Charcoal wasn't in demand. Every house stood silent, shutters drawn tight. Not a soul stirred.
Their chances were slim.
Just then, a man appeared at the far end of the street, walking calmly toward them.
"I'll take all the charcoal. Doesn't matter the price."
Akira's voice was quiet but firm.
The boy's eyes lit up. His little brother perked up, surprised.
The boy hesitated, then named a fair price—modest, even cheap.
Akira handed over the money and took the bundle of charcoal. "Take your brother and go home. It's dangerous to be out this late. Don't stay out at night again. Understood?"
"Thank you so much!" the boy said, bowing deeply before hurrying off with his brother.
"They're all sold!" the younger one cheered, grinning as they disappeared down the street.
Akira watched them go, a soft expression flickering across his face. Then he looked down at the charcoal in his arms and sighed.
"Ugh… Akito's going to scold me for sure," he muttered. "Buying all this? He'll think I've lost it again."
Unseen by any of them, a pair of crimson eyes stared hungrily from the shadows.
Drip. Drip.
Saliva hit the ground.
"Hehehe… I didn't expect a treat tonight. Two children… tender flesh, delicate skin… So tasty."
The demon crept forward like a spider, weaving through the dark. It slithered along the walls, every step pulsing with hunger, inching closer.
The children, still laughing, were oblivious.
"Brother, we were lucky tonight," the older said. "That man was so kind. We'd have been stuck here for hours otherwise."
"I hope you won't have to work so hard from now on," the younger murmured.
"If I don't work, how can I buy snacks for my little Xiaoyu?"
"I don't need snacks… I just don't want you to be tired."
"Heh, it's nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying. We won't have to struggle for much longer—"
A chilling voice cut him off.
"You really won't."
It was hoarse. Monstrous. Like nails scraping against bone.
The older boy froze.
He looked down—and saw a massive, twisted shadow stretching out beneath them, cast by something not human.
He turned.
A face, pale as death, grinned at him—jagged teeth bared, monstrous arms already reaching.
A demon.
"Sun Breathing, Second Form – Clear Blue Sky!"
A brilliant arc of flame lit the night, slicing through the dark like the sunrise itself.
The demon froze—its grin still wide—before realizing it no longer had a body.
"W-What…?"
Its eyes drifted upward, following its own head as it soared through the air.
"I… I've been… killed? Beheaded? By… who…?"
Thud.
Its severed head hit the ground, rolled twice, and came to rest at someone's feet.
There stood Akira—the same man who'd bought the charcoal.
The demon's eyes widened in disbelief. It tried to speak… but no sound came. Its flesh caught fire, burning in golden light before crumbling to ash.
"You… you're that man…" the boy stammered, trembling. His throat went dry as he stared at the pile of cinders. "What… what was that thing?"
"A demon," Akira replied, sheathing his Sun Blade. "Don't go out at night anymore. Even if not for yourself, do it for your brother."
He turned and walked away, raising a hand in silent farewell beneath the moonlight—his posture echoing the calm, indomitable spirit of Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The boy watched in awe, the image of Akira's blazing sword forever etched into memory.
"Brother…" the younger boy's voice broke the silence. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. And you?"
"…I'm okay too."
Akira didn't stop walking. That demon was just the beginning. His night had only just begun.
A black-feathered crow swooped down and landed gracefully on his shoulder.
"Where to next?" Akira asked, eyes fixed ahead.
"There's a demon sighting to the southwest," the crow croaked. "It's far. You'll return late."
"No helping it," Akira said calmly. "Danger doesn't wait for convenience. Akito will understand."
The crow sighed. "I was hoping for some of Akito's rice balls…"
"Then don't complain—just ask him nicely when we get back."
"Deal!"
Every Demon Slayer had a messenger crow for relaying missions. Akira's crow was named Langwei. But Langwei was more than a tool—he was a companion, a friend.
Akira followed the path into a desolate wilderness.
Then he stopped.
Up ahead, a man and a woman walked toward him.
His body tensed.
The moment his gaze landed on the man, dread surged through every fiber of his being.
No… This wasn't just a demon's aura.
This was something far worse.
It felt like standing beneath a black sun—an overwhelming, suffocating presence that seared his skin and twisted the air around him.
The man didn't even look at him.
He didn't need to.
And still, Akira felt like he couldn't breathe.
In one smooth motion, he drew his Sun Blade. Every muscle in his body was coiled, prepared.
"…Kibutsuji Muzan."
There was no mistake.
This presence could only belong to the King of Demons—Muzan Kibutsuji, the origin of them all.
The man stopped and finally looked at Akira.
His eyes were cold. Detached.
Like someone glancing at an insect.
"A demon slayer?" Muzan said, voice smooth, hollow, and impossibly empty.