Part I: Kaito's Story
The evening sun bathed the Thunder Estate in gold as Kaito sat beside his master on the veranda. The old man poured tea into two chipped cups, his yellow haori fluttering in the breeze.
"I want to tell you everything," Kaito said.
The master nodded. "Speak."
Kaito began.
He described the Final Selection—the seven nights of survival, the terrain, the silence, and the blood. He spoke of the demons: their twisted bodies, their hunger, their unpredictability. He recounted ambushes, narrow escapes, and the way his instincts sharpened with each kill.
He told of Rengoku—how they had fought side by side, how Flame Breathing had lit the forest like wildfire. How they had slain twelve demons between them.
He left out Stormseed.
He didn't mention the system, the skill tree, or the interface.
Instead, he spoke of rhythm. Of breath. Of the way his body had begun to move with purpose.
"I didn't know what I was doing," Kaito admitted. "But I kept moving. I kept striking."
The master nodded. "You survived. That's what matters."
Kaito leaned forward. "But I want to understand what I saw. What I fought."
The old man's smile faded.
"Then it's time you learned about the moons."
Part II: The Moons and Blood Demon Arts
The master stood and walked to a scroll cabinet. He pulled out a long parchment and unfurled it across the floor.
Twelve symbols glowed faintly—six on the left, six on the right.
"These," he said, "are the Twelve Kizuki. The Demon Moons."
He pointed to the left column.
"Lower Moons. Rank six to one. Strong, but unstable. Often replaced. They serve as scouts, assassins, and field commanders."
Then to the right.
"Upper Moons. Rank six to one. These are monsters. Ancient. Refined. Each one has slaughtered hundreds of slayers. Some have lived for centuries."
Kaito leaned in. "And Muzan?"
The master's face darkened.
"Muzan Kibutsuji is the progenitor. The first demon. He created the Twelve Moons. He can change his form, his scent, his aura. He is fear incarnate."
Kaito swallowed. "Have you fought him?"
"No," the master said. "But I've seen what he leaves behind."
He rolled up the scroll and turned to a second one—this one filled with diagrams of mutated limbs, glowing eyes, and strange symbols.
"Blood Demon Arts," he said. "Every high-level demon develops one. It's a manifestation of their obsession, their personality, their hunger."
He pointed to a sketch of a demon with blades growing from its arms.
"This one could extend its limbs like whips. Another could manipulate shadows. One could liquefy its body and reform behind you."
Kaito's eyes widened.
"They're not just strong," the master said. "They're creative. And cruel."
He handed Kaito a smaller scroll.
"Study this. It lists known arts and counter-techniques. But remember—no two demons fight the same."
Kaito nodded, absorbing every word.
"Tomorrow," the master said, "you'll descend the mountain. Buy supplies. Talk to people. Learn the rhythm of the world."
Kaito bowed.
He was ready.
But the world wasn't.
Part III: Descent and Gravemark Awakens
The next morning, Kaito descended the Thunder Path with a coin pouch tucked into his belt and his blade sheathed. The village below was quiet—wooden stalls, rice shops, and a forge that smelled of iron and ash.
His master had sent him to buy supplies and "feel the rhythm of the world."
He didn't expect to find four demons.
They were weak—feral, fragmented, and desperate. One was gnawing on a chicken carcass. Another hissed at a passing cart. None of them noticed Kaito until it was too late.
He moved like lightning.
Thunderclap and Flash.
One strike. One kill.
Then again.
Then again.
Then again.
Four clean executions.
No damage taken.
No hesitation.
Just precision.
+4 Demon Points earned.
Then it happened.
The second seed—Gravemark—activated.
The moment the first point was absorbed, a surge of energy rippled through Kaito's core—not explosive like Stormseed, but dense. Grounded. It felt like his bones had been rethreaded with iron.
Not painful.
But heavy.
Like gravity had chosen him.
Gravemark didn't just enhance control.
It anchored it.
His stance deepened. His center of mass stabilized. His blade felt heavier—not slower, but deliberate. Every motion now had weight. Every pivot had torque. His body no longer danced around the battlefield—it commanded it.
His perception shifted.
He could feel the terrain beneath his feet—the slope, the grit, the tension in his calves as he adjusted mid-strike. His footwork didn't just move—it locked.
Gravemark awakened.3 Demon Points spent.Branch I unlocked: Choose 1 of 3 skills.
Three glowing nodes appeared in his mind.
Each one pulsed with potential.
But he didn't choose yet.
That would come tomorrow.
For now, he stood in the alley, four demons at his feet, and a new weight in his bones.
The storm had grown roots.
And Gravemark was ready to grow.