Akuru and Haruto split up.
They understood what they needed to do.
Haruto circled around the left of the mob of villagers. They weren't smiling anymore, it was as if they were cheering. But the only sound that surrounded Haruto was his own rushing footsteps. Their cheers remained silent, not stolen by the wind, but extracted by the demon that now stood between the lanterns, which bounced an orange hue from its cloth.
Haruto didn't know when the lanterns were lit, but it must have had happened recently. He doubted that even the light source was an illusion. As Haruto was gazing at the demon, the villagers who stood in a circle from his side started to move. At first, they shuffled forward, uncoordinated like too many minds trying to complete the same task at the same time, but that only lasted a breath. They ran, fast and direct, towards him all at once, like a switch had turned on in all of their minds at the same time. Haruto couldn't see Akuru over the mob anymore, but he believed in his heart that he would be fine.
Haruto couldn't think about Akuru now though. He had to find a way to keep this group of people within reach but never close enough that he would have to defend himself. He also never let himself rush far enough that he didn't have visibility on the demon.
He reached a crossroad in the village.
If he took either, he would lose sight of the demon and wouldn't know when Akuru started engaging with it. Deciding that he couldn't risk it, Haruto paused. The mob rushed forward, a stampede of people made plenty of noise, but when they screamed in silence, the quiet was the loudest part of it all. Haruto could only stare at the gut-wrenching sight, and he took it upon himself to stop these people's suppressed suffering.
The first batch of villagers reached him, and his hand went to the second blade at his waist.
After almost dying at the Final Selection, Haruto decided that only using the flame breathing he had learnt wasn't going to cut it. He had deluded himself into believing that only the breathing techniques taught to him would be enough to slay demons. Haruto was no genius who learnt things in seconds, nor was he talented enough to make his own breathing technique like he saw Akuru perform.
Haruto was a worker; he never shied away from hard work. He had put blood, sweat, and tears into learning Nitōjutsu, after he begged his parents to let him learn. He wouldn't hide from his own effort. Akuru had taught him a lesson. Playing ignorant of his own work didn't make him more capable as a demon slayer; not having to give 100% to kill demons wasn't some achievement. Giving all you have is an ability few can speak up to having; therefore, he couldn't anymore pretend to be some perfect demon slayer.
When lives were on the line, not giving you all was an insult to the beauty of life itself.
The Wakizashi on his side was now in his hands; he didn't unsheathe it, not intending to hurt the poor villagers. The first villager reached out to him. A simple pivot with his foot and a step closer to the villager as he pushed the blade still in the sheath into the wrist. The villager was now out of balance, made far easier under the influence of the demon's illusion.
Three other villagers lunged at him, moving through the largest gap between the three. He brought the blade under the elbow of one of the villagers, pushing it up. He hopped forward, pushing the villager back. Another villager tried to grab him from the back, but he arched the blade in a circle from the original villager's shoulder to the handsy villager's wrist that was behind him.
Haruto danced among the villagers; every one of them tried to get one hand on him, but he simply dodged and deflected. The ease with which he performed his actions made it look like the entire fight was already choreographed in advance.
But this all stemmed from completing four different missions already before this. He had risked his life in each one, gathering skills that originally had seemed infinitely far away. Haruto had grown in the past month and a half like never before. He really did want to show Akuru his growth, showing him that the life he saved had grown. Even if Akuru had told him multiple times not to worry, he couldn't get rid of the feeling of gratefulness that he held for Akuru.
He wanted to make a friend proud.
Minutes passed, and Haruto maintained eye contact with the demon as best he could while distracting the villagers away. It seemed it would only be a few more minutes before he could rush over to fight this demon for once. He could only wonder why this demon had decided to hide away from the fight; if this demon had decided that it wanted to fight as it had arrived at the shrine, Akuru and he would have been in a difficult position. Haruto could only be grateful.
A flash of dull white spread out in the corner of his right eye. Haruto saw Akuru knocked down a group of 10 people. No blood drew so it must have been the blunt side of his blade. But stil he could only look in shock, almost forgetting to avoid the people near him. Why would Akuru hurt these people?
He rushed over to Akuru, looking at the demon and avoiding all the villagers in front of him as he ran. The demon's eyes couldn't be found, but it looked like there was plenty of space now near the demon. Now was the perfect time to attack the demon without worry. But before he could finish off the plan they had made earlier, he had to ask.
"Akuru, why in the world would you come over now? We have to kill the demon?"
He trusted that Akuru had a reason; he must have switched the plan for some reason. He could find out later, but why in the world had he come over to his side in the first place when the demon was so open?
Akuru opened his mouth with a grin as he got ready to reply, and an extremely loud screech came from above him.
Haruto looked in confusion as he saw Huginn screamed directly towards Akuru. Was there something off? Had Akuru fallen under an illusion, and is that why he came here by accident?
Wait.
Before Haruto could finish the rest of his thoughts, Huginn had blitzed into a dive, heading straight for Akuru's chest. Akuru raised his blade, ready to strike. Huginn didn't slow down one bit, and before he could scream in protest, Huginn passed straight through Akuru's blade and chest without resistance.
Harurto was under an illusion.
So obvious, why hadn't he figured it instantly; Akuru of all people wouldn't hurt a soul.
He was about to make the conclusion just before Huginn dove, but he was happy nonetheless that Huginn had confirmed his suspicions. That crow really was something.
Haruto moved his gaze behind him; the villagers were now a distance away from where he stood. His gaze then naturally went towards the demon whose eyes had returned where they stood all alone without a person in sight.
The moment is now.
"Akuru!!!"
As he screamed, he also started to run towards the demon. He placed his wakizashi back at his waist as he unsheathed the katana that was also resting on his waist. A soothing red blade was now held in his hands; he was ready to kill.
He was a meter away, he saw Akuru running from the other side of the village. Not a blade in his hands, but he radiated a blood thirst that was almost visible.
Of course, it was Akuru.
Haruto smiled.
Haruto arrived first, in front of the demon.
Its lantern-lit silhouette straightened, the red cloth rose and draped around its formless dark sludge-like shoulders fluttering though no wind touched the square. The orange glow from the lanterns wavered, but did not extinguish, painting the demon in disgusting vibrancy under the dark, cloudy, moonless night.
It was at least five metres tall now. The red cloth covered it's entire body only the demonic eyes remained visible place in the darkness where a head would be.
Then the demon extended both arms. The arms didn't look like any human limb, nor any limb at all. They unfurled as strips of ink dragged upward, stretching far too long before folding and condensing into something vaguely arm-shaped. The shadow like 'fingers' smeared outward, dripping threads of darkness that slid along the tiled stones, evaporating before they could pool.
Haruto felt his breath freeze in his throat.
The red cloth that had wrapped around its body tautened, pulled in as if into invisible hooks. The fabric clung to the shifting darkness beneath, shapely outlining a torso that wasn't there. A moment, Haruto seemed to see ribs.
Then the image melted, replaced by an hourglass frame.
Then even that dissolved into smoke.
The demon had no real form, only the suggestion of one, in a constant rewriting of its illusions.
The demon held its hands out. A friendly welcome. A theatrical invitation.
Haruto spat off to the side. "It thinks we're toys."
Haruto looked around, and Akuru was still running over. The longer the fight took, the more likely the villagers would gather back, and they'd be forced to fight it with people in the way. They had to finish this fight quickly.
He took a deep breath, as if he were trying to take in every single piece of air. There was a small weight that weighed upon his heart, but like always, he had to overcome it.
Haruto planted his feet firmly, feeling the pull of gravity and the tension in taut muscles hardened by countless hours spent training. His eyes locked onto the demon, that writhing mass of darkness wrapped in blood-red cloth. The lanterns cast their shadow long and grotesque across the square, but he paid no heed to it. All focus narrowed to one point, one motion.
He drew his katana in a smooth, almost musical motion. The steel gleamed faintly in the light of the lantern, a crimson-red reflection landed on the blade matching the infernal hue of the cloth.
Haruto's grip tightened, knuckles white, the familiar weight of the blade grounding him.
Flame Breathing First Form: Unknowing Fire
He launched himself forward. The world blurred. Every step was a stroke in some rhythm that no one else heard, his body moving more quickly than the eye could catch. The air hissed past his ears. A second later he closed the gap in the span of a heartbeat. In that moment, all doubt disappeared, replaced by the fire of instinct and mastery.
The katana arced in a horizontal sweep, aiming squarely at the demon's shadowed neck a strike meant to sever, to end with one sure motion. The path of the blade seemed to sear fire in the air, leaving behind it a streak of red light.
The same instant the cloth rippled with violence, as if in protest at the strike to come, the shadow beneath was elusive, shifting, writhing.
But Haruto didn't stop.
At that moment, he merged with the form, merged with the strike.
One stroke, one heartbeat, one ending.
The katana met.
Nothing solid connected. The demon's sludge-like body recoiled but didn't sever. The cloth flared with a mocking glow, the shadows beneath twisting like smoke escaping from a flame. Haruto skidded to a stop, hard breathing echoed around him. The fire of effort welling from him. He had hit the demon, but the enemy wasn't that straightforward. Its darkness remained tauntingly elusive.
Akuru finally arrived. He saw the entire slash from Haruto. He knew Haruto used flame breathing, but to finally see it in person was brilliant. He had never seen any other breathing form outside of his own and wind breathing. In his eyes, that bright flame represented hope, and he could only look in awe.
After all that, he couldn't possibly disappoint Haruto with a half-assed attempt.
The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, the chaos of the village and the eerie silence of the demon folding into a single moment of clarity.
Akuru inhaled deeply, drawing the crisp night air into his lungs as though filling himself with sunlight. The weight of the world pressed lightly on his shoulders, but his heart was steady, and his spirit soared.
In one smooth motion, he raised his blade high above his head. The hilt rested against his right palm like an extension of his will, the tip pointing to the sky covered with clouds devoid of the moon. Time seemed to stretch, and Akuru's eyes followed every ripple. The wind, if it existed at all, held its breath.
Then he moved.
Sky Breathing Sixth Form: Sunset Divide.
The strike was not just a downward strike; the blade felt as if the sun itself was going down, the fading blaze of twilight folded into steel. Akuru's body followed the arc of the blade, a perfect, fluid motion from sky to earth, his muscles singing with precision honed through years of discipline.
The tip of his snow white sword traced a fiery path through the night, a line of sharp, radiant wind that seemed to split the very air. It cut through the illusion-draped red cloth, and for a moment, the demon's sludge-like form beneath shivered, reacting to the purity of the strike. The light glimmered across the folds of crimson like molten fire sliding over rivers of shadow, and Akuru's gaze was fixed, unwavering, determined.
Every fibre of his being surged into the downward motion, a symphony of blade and breath. The night appeared to slide downward with the blade as it fell, outlining the writhing shadow of the demon beneath the cloth.
With that, the demon recoiled; the sludge beneath the red veil twisted and tried to flee from the inevitability of the blade as it shrank and screamed in pain.
The crimson cloth shivered. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, it began to unravel, sliding away like liquid fire. The red waves peeled back in long, undulating sheets, revealing glimpses of the shadowy form hidden beneath. The demon's formless sludge quivered, no longer content to remain a formless mass, and the night seemed to thicken around it as if the darkness itself recoiled in awe.
An elongation of its shape, stretching upwards with unnatural fluidity. The darkness under the cloth writhed and thickened into a towering amorphous silhouette. Its body's edges rippled like fumes of black smoke in a windless void, tendrils of shadow flicking outwards, seeking, probing a mass of living ink. As it rose, it seemed taller than the shrine itself, looming over it as a figure of horror.
And then the illusion kicked in.
From the flanks of the demon, two massive stone-lion apparitions erupted from the shrine. They were impossibly real in every detail: jagged teeth, clawed paws scraping the earth, muscular forms frozen mid-roar. The illusions lunged forward, snapping jaws at Haruto and Akuru with terrifying precision.
Akuru's muscles coiled, blade raised in a protective arc, but the lion's teeth never bit flesh. The illusions were woven by the demon to terrify and dominate the battlefield, to mislead the mind. Every blow sent shards of false stone flying, scattering into the air with a crushing force.
But when the dust finally settled, there was nothing to harm them.
Akuru and Haruto looked over at each other and then moved as one in perfect synchrony, eyes locked on the illusory threat. Carefully weaving between the stone-lion strikes. Each heartbeat was a calculation, each breath a rhythm.
They had to reach the demon everything else was secondary.
Haruto's eyes sharpened. The towering shadow, pulsed like molten under the lantern light. The spectral stone-lions lunged again, their jagged teeth snapping and claws raking at the cobblestones, roaring a phantom fury.
Haruto's mind became a blade of focus, every breath a spark of fire, every heartbeat the rhythm of Nitōjutsu merged with Flame Breathing.
With a practised flick, he drew his wakizashi and let it hum beside the katana. Now armed with both blades, he felt the rhythm of his flames, his body a conduit for fire and steel.
"Ember Flame Breathing First Form: Unknowing Fire!" he shouted out loud, his voice piercing through the night.
With a burst of speed, Haruto surged forward. The katana, a blazing scarlet streak, led the assault, while the wakizashi danced in mirrored arcs, a shadowed twin of the main blade. The first stone-lion lunged, jaws snapping; Haruto pivoted, katana slicing horizontally at its neck while the wakizashi swept in a rising arc beneath it. The illusions shuddered, shattered into fragments of imagined stone, vanishing instantly as though they had never existed.
The second lion sprang, raking its claws across the ground. Haruto met it with a whirling attack. Katana slice across its face. Wakizashi thrust from below. Deflecting its phantom weight. The illusion dissolved in sparks of heat and light, flickering into nothingness.
Haruto pressed forward, weaving between folds of glowing red flames, licking both blades. Every strike stripped away illusions one after another.
Only his will forward could cancel them.
With a final lunging burst, Haruto closed the distance. Katana and wakizashi in perfect unison, flames roaring along both blades, he struck toward the heart of the demon.
The song of Haruto's body was hot and exacting, reaping the culmination of every lesson, every trial, every ounce of fire in his soul. An inferno of twin blades, striking illusions and cutting through shadow to pierce the very heart of the demon's deception.
Haruto was definitely a hard worker.
Out of the flaming tornado, there came the true demon. Under all the tenebrousness and illusion, all that remained was nothing more than a small, impish creature, hidden so well inside the grandeur of his deceiving mantle.
A creature so small, so feeble, one would doubt that something like it can could harm.
"Pretty... p-please, I wanna have fun with everyone!"
Akuru stepped forward, his eyes now lidded with solemn understanding.
This was a child turned demon. It didn't understand human nature. Years most likely passed, and this child in its innocence never grew up. It held memories of a festival where everyone must have cheered and gathered. It hid in the the illusions of its past trying its best to match them. But it didn't understand them anymore. Only the craving of flesh.
"Pl-please don't hurt me. I just… I just wanted to play… I just wanted them to laugh… to cheer… to love me…"
Akuru moved his blade a white glow that stood out in the dark. The representation of hope, in the fight against evil. He brought it between his eyelids.
The demon started to cry tears that sparkled under his blade.
He was tired.
The sword held in one hand. His grip was firm but fluid, every finger aligned with the steel as though it were an extension of his own spine. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with the night air, a silent vow of focus and precision.
Then, in one fluid motion, his body coiled like a spring, weight shifting from back foot to front, legs braced as though he was a fencer.
Sky Breathing Fifth Form: Piercing Noon
The blade was thrust in a single, unbroken line, a yellow ray. It carried the heat of noon, burning through shadows, cutting through deception with unyielding brilliance. The motion radiated, as if the blade itself had drawn the very essence of daylight into its edge. It was the embodiment of the sun's unrelenting truth, piercing the darkness without hesitation.
One strike with all it took. It was his respect to the human hidden inside the demon.
Ashes rose from where the demon had lain.
No other evidence, as if it was all an illusion.
In many ways it had been.
He prayed.
Justice tinged with sorrow for a life so long twisted by darkness.
Haruto came over every muscle of his ached, yet he felt lighter, almost unburdened.
He joined in the prayer.
Above them, the clouds began to thin. A pale sliver of moon peeked through, followed by the faintest hints of dawn at the horizon. The light broke through the clouds as if it wept over the misery.
The demon was dead.