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Ever since he was little, Douma was often told of his value. "You are a child blessed by the gods," his parents would tell him, grins wide on their faces as they looked down at him. "You can hear their voices, can't you?"
He wasn't sure that he did. Sure, he heard voices, but were they truly those belonging to a god? What even was a god? An all-powerful being supposedly watching over all the people of the Earth, promising paradise to those who were good and punishment to those who were bad.
Surely such a thing couldn't exist, right? Just pointless lies to make people feel better, to make them feel as though there were a point in living, a reason to do good and to assure them that there'd be a prize waiting at the end of their awful lives.
Still, voices spoke within his mind. Was it the supposed gods that his parents spoke of? Or were they just his own faulty mind working against him? It was strange, however, they were vague and cryptic and he had a hard time understanding their meanings at first, often even confusing himself on whether there were multiple or only one. What he actually did know was that speaking what was said would often make his worshippers happy. The voice rarely ever seemed to actually try to speak with him and would rarely answer any questions he'd direct at it, despite living within his mind. How funny, that he felt so lonely and distanced from everyone even while a voice lived within his own mind.
Sometimes he'd get images, too. Visions, prophecies, the adults would apply their own fancy words to the dreams he held at night. Once he dreamt of an earthquake which crushed several houses on the western end of town. When he told the people, they remained safely within his temple as rumbles that sounded like thunder echoed on throughout, leaving naught but rubble and debris in the place of their homes.
Whether the voices and images were delusions or not didn't matter, however, all that mattered was that they were accurate and helpful.
When the voices were quiet he'd often speak up for them, give them words he'd claim they said, to comfort the people who so desperately relied upon him. Even if he couldn't feel joy or relief in the way they'd light up or sob tears of happiness, even if their sob stories didn't tug at any supposed heartstrings, he'd do it anyways. So what if his feelings had faded away? If he questioned whether he even had them at all? It was his duty to help people, to protect his worshippers and make them happy and he'd help the people of his town as well if he could.
People called him many things because of his messages and predictions. They called him an angel, a deity, a demigod, a blessed being, the gods favourite, an oracle or prophecy child. There were so many names he couldn't even remember them all. He simply decided to take them in stride and accept them.
He was thirteen when he'd first learnt of the existence of demons, seeing a crazed creature- for despite the resemblance there was something clearly off and malicious about it which left him waking with a bad taste in his mouth. It chomped on the remains of a human arm and he knew he couldn't let that thing near what was his town. The god in his mind whispered a single word "demon" which stuck with him as he'd woken up.
So he'd gone to town and found a woman wandering through the streets in a black uniform with a sword hidden beneath a patterned haori. His attention was immediately drawn to her, a nudge in his mind telling him to go forward and speak, so he did. Smiling up at her he spoke. "Your target is twenty miles south of here. Please get rid of it before my people are hurt." He'd told her and continued on smiling as she tried her shock and surprise as she thanked him and left.
For several years following, he'd gain scarce dreams of vicious red eyes and pitch black hair which would cause him to awaken in a cold sweat despite his empty heart. He'd fail to fall asleep again until the next night, a pounding head worse than what usually came of his visions hammering away any and all fatigue.
Some of them would be worse than others, deciding to also include some snapshot pictures of blood on the ground and bodies with lifeless gazes and irreparable wounds. These ones would leave him feeling sick with shaky legs. The man was bad news, always leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, he couldn't be trusted.
His age was twenty when he'd met the demon progenitor, Kibutsuji Muzan, in person. They stood right outside of his temple, the cult members told to sneak away while he dealt with the nicely-dressed stranger. The demon held an air of hate and pride about him, eyes seeming to glare holes right through him he entered sight. In response he merely smiled, it had taken longer than he expected for the man to arrive.
"Is there some way I could help you? You don't seem the type to be interested in messages from the gods." He paused thoughtfully, before releasing a chuckle. "Although then again, it's best not to judge people from appearances, isn't it Kibutsuji-san?"
The demon's eyes narrowed yet he didn't question how his name was known. "I heard of your group and decided to pay you a visit."
"Ah, straight to the point, huh? That's fine." He leaned against the closed doors behind him, closing his eyes. "So did you really only come to satisfy your curiosity, then? Nothing more?"
"No. I have a proposition for you."
"Oh?" He tilted his head, eyes wide with interest even as a feeling of wrongness hit his gut. "What sort of a proposition?"
"I can turn you into a demon." The idea caused him to freeze. "There are perks to it I'm sure you already know." The closest thing to immortality that was known. Great power came with it, too. He was greatly tempted to accept- he could protect all the members of the Eternal Paradise religion, could help so many people had he the lifespan of a demon, it would be wonderful! He'd make sure every member had a fulfilling life and perhaps he'd even control their deaths, like one of the gods he supposedly heard. The chances of heaven and hell existing were questionable and uncertain, he could simply eat them- they'd become part of him, they would live on with him! It was a solid plan, a wonderful plan! Yet there was a strong churning of his gut, skin crawling and itching all over and hisses of "NO" echoing within his mind with such ferocity he couldn't help but to flinch at.
This monster just wished to use him, he was sure. A manipulator, a cruel one who held no care for anybody but itself. If he accepted, what would this man ask for in return? Would he just demand a human sacrifice every month? To use the cult as a farm for food? Or does he simply want another demon to wreak havoc for him? What if he were to go wild upon transformation and decimate the entire cult? All demons were wrapped around this man's thumb, he would be too should he become one. This plan was risky, bad, a bad idea- the gods echoed their agreement and he was certain his head was splitting in two under the pressure and noise they emitted, were they intending to kill him? To crush his mind with their own power before this man could do so himself? Perhaps Kibutsuji had even only come with the intention to wipe out the entire building, stopped only by an idle curiosity that arose when he found his arrival to be expected. This question was a trick. There was no winning, no, the moment this man entered the town they had lost.
"I'm not so sure I want that." He smiled as widely as he could at the red-eyed man, hoping the worshippers had managed to get far enough away. "Thank you for the offer though."
"A shame." Those blood red eyes seemed to glow nearly, a stark contrast against the dark of the night.
The next thing Douma knew he was opening his eyes with a gasp, an aching pain flaring all throughout his body- especially within his currently quiet mind- while he found his back and head to be laid against a wet surface. A groan escaped him, eyebrows furrowing as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Kibutsuji was gone and the night felt abnormally empty. The ground he sat upon was wet and he lifted his hands to find a dark liquid upon them and upon a taste he confirmed it to be blood.
He must be wounded. Wounded? Had Kibutsuji intended to spare his life or was it by some miraculous luck that he'd survived? Whatever the case, it may be best to tend to his injuries first, lest he bleed out. He paused upon that thought, wondering if perhaps... would it be better to die? To allow this to be his deathbed? What if he'd already sustained irreparable damage and was going to die anyways? Anyone would be fearful of such a thought. It seemed he weren't anyone, for not even a flicker of emotion stirred within him at all for however long he'd sat there for. He supposed it was understandable, as he'd injured himself many times before- for many reasons, like wishing to see whether his parents would act like the others he saw and patch him up, to test if he really was human after all or to see if he would feel any emotion from such things and while he cried his gut didn't churn in disgust or worry or any such thing and he decided to give it up- so it was only reasonable that bigger injuries wouldn't affect him much more, right?
Eventually he decided he'd had enough and got to his feet, walking into the temple through the opened doors. It was dimly lit right now, candles and lanterns lining the walls as he went on through to the kitchens for the nearest first aid kit. His footsteps against the tatami mats being the only sound in the entire building until he reached the kitchens, grabbing a lantern to see as he opened some cabinets and grabbed out some bandages kept in the case a cook accidentally injured themself while cooking.
It was awkward and difficult to tend to his injuries as he had rarely done this before, others often insisting to do it for him. Not to mention how he couldn't even see where they were and had to rely upon touch alone to figure that out. In the end however he felt he'd done a half-decent job and made his way out of the back entrance to explore the forest and scope out the area, only to freeze as a decapitated head greeted him the moment he slid the door open.
Yamata, one of the cleaners. He was always so lively, often scolding and yelling at the others to do their jobs better and not slack off instead of watching worshippers speak to the god's favoured child. Now here his head lay, horrified, silent and lifeless.
A frown settled across his face. Had they failed to get away? Were they all dead? That would be quite the mess to clean up. Unless wild animals decided to help him out and do some of the work for him.
His eyebrows furrowed further as he picked up the head gently. Poor Yamata, dead long before his time was to come. His best cleaner, too. How ironic for the best cleaner to be bleeding all over the ground and creating such a mess like this.
The mess was much larger if all the others were dead though. He didn't like that thought, something within him squirming faintly at the idea of having his entire cult annihilated. Was this an emotion? Funny how it took the possible deaths of so many people in order to give him even a hint of feeling. What was he to do now, however? If his cult was gone... what was he left with? The cult was the entire purpose of his being, the only reason he was here was to help these pathetic people.
He'd have to build from the ground up. Clean up the temple, hire some new workers and attempt to reign in some new worshippers. Would that even work, however? If the townspeople found his cult to be dead they may fear going even remotely near him or the Paradise Faith temple. They may even blame him for it, kill him or cast him out. He may have to enter a new town to restart.
This was that Kibutsuji's fault and an ember of what he assumed to be anger lit within him at the thought of that man. Was this how it felt to dislike someone? To hate them? It was strange... however, he found it interesting and enjoyable in a way. What would happen should he meet Kibutsuji again? Would the feeling grow stronger or will it have died forever once more by the time that happens again? He supposed he'd have to find out when it happened next.
For now he decided he'd scour the forest and hope for survivors. He gently returned the head to the ground and walked into the bushes as blood dripped from his hand.
Empty, empty, this place was empty of human life. He found a few bodies, which he found to be dead upon a careful inspection for breathing or heartbeat. A shame. So many of his workers and worshippers were now dead. How... frustrating. This was what frustrating was, wasn't it? Finding the bodies of his people without a hint of life, even those with minor injuries lay dead and deceased when he reached them. Even when he yelled and shouted no response came.
A sigh escaped him as he came upon the last body. Hinata, a young woman who reminded him of a puppy. Always eagerly listening along and speaking loudly, she enjoyed speaking to the others and would sometimes try to help the servants also. Now her body was torn open and staining the ground.
They were all dead.
God. They were all dead. He should've had them leave earlier. The voice had only warned him of a terrible fate to happen a mere half hour or so before the demon progenitor had come, however.
What use did finding a thing to blame it on do, however? What good was it? None. It was no good. People were often too scared to face responsibility and would waste time arguing as to why they weren't at fault. Foolish things.
Picking up the young woman's mutilated corpse before beginning to carry it back to the temple. He needed to show some respect and give these bodies a proper burial, it'd be a shame for animals to eat them or for travelers to come across half-rotted bodies.
It was a long, tedious task and his limbs and wounds screamed at him as he did it all, yet with much determination he finished the task soon after the sun came up to light up the land.
He stood there for a moment, praying to some possibly nonexistent gods for their well-being until the sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention. Opening his eyes he looked over his shoulder to see just who it was.
A demon slayer, it seemed, wearing the same uniform as the last he saw. This one was shorter with dark eyes that had no doubt seen many horrible things that the average person could never dream of. His hair was sticking up here and there despite the attempts to tie it into a neat ponytail. He wore a purple haori and kept a sheathed sword on his hip.
Douma smiled gently down at him. "You were too late."
"R-right! I'm sorry! I give my sincerest apologies for not arriving on time!" The boy bowed deeply, hands clenched tightly into fists.
He stepped forward. "No need to bow your head. These things just happen sometimes, don't they? Everybody will die someday, they were no different." They just died sooner than they should've in a way much undeserving of his precious cult members. "Now what's your name, huh?"
The boy straightened up instantly. "Hitomori! I am Hitomori Tanaka! Who are you, sir?"
"Douma. Just call me Douma. It's nice to meet you Hitomori-san."
"O-of course! It's nice to meet you too Douma-san!"
This boy was so awkward. He supposed that was understandable though, demon slaying must take away a lot of socialising time.
"You were lucky to be late, a rookie like you would've died the moment you entered his sight." He watched the way the boy grew frustrated and giggled before placing a hand on his head. "Do you know how to take care of injuries? I was hurt when he arrived."
"Eh- urgh- Of course I do! It'd be stupid not to! I won't always be near a wisteria house when I'm hurt!" Reasonable. This boy may be awkward but he had a logical mind.
"Good. How about you treat my injuries, alright?"
Hitomori was good at first aid, he noted. The boy searched through their medical supplieswith a purpose and ordered him around with great authority as he tended to his wounds. Douma got scolded on multiple occasions for moving too much or because he was "talking too loud! I can't focus and you're moving around when you speak so just be quiet and let me pay attention to what I'm doing, we can talk afterwards!" He wondered if the boy would quit helping mid-process if he ignored the reprimands. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to test that out, though. If he died of infection he wouldn't be able to rebuild his cult. Or perhaps he should skip that effort and die now, since his reason of living was gone.
Eventually he finished and the two were sharing some tea together as they cooled down.
"Do you know who you were chasing after?"
"A demon?"
"The original demon."
Hitomori seemed as though he nearly had a heart or panic attack, instantly yelling all "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!" and "THAT STUPID CROW". Douma laughed at the sight as he sipped at his tea.
After the boy calmed down he seemed exhausted from the yelling and still gave occasional mutters of complaint before rose to his feet. "I should probably report to the leader about this. I wish you good luck and a brighter future, thank you for the tea." He bowed and was about to exit before Douma stood and grabbed his arm.
"Did you still need something?" The boy asked, confused and obviously a little nervous.
"Yes. I would just like to ask if I could accompany you to meet your leader, the leader of you demon slayers."
"Huh? But why?" His eyebrows furrowed as he stared up at him.
"Well after failing to save my friends from that demon don't you think it's only fair of you to do this for me? I'm going to need to move towns anyway before the people here blame me for their death and I'll be slaughtered by a demon if I go it alone." He frowned, rubbing at the back of his head in feigned anxiety at the thought of being killed by one of those demons.
Clearly uncomfortable at the reminder of his failure, Hitomori squirmed and fidgeted. "I- o-of course! My apologies for that... I'll keep you safe! Just come with me!"
A grin stretched across his face, tears building up in his eyes as he grasped tightly onto Hitomori's hands. "You really mean it? Thank you Hitomori-san! You're the best!"
"Ahaha... I'm not really but um... thank you." The slayer chuckled, cheeks pink and clearly enjoying the praise.
With it decided that they'd both be going, he grabbed a sack and threw in some food, money and medical supplies they may need on their journey before proceeding to follow Hitomori out the door.
The journey was long and took a few weeks before eventually they'd arrived. It was nice, Douma decided, Hitomori was easy to rile up and mess with and the journey was rather peaceful without even so much as a hint of demons, as though the gods had blessed them with safety to apologise for what happened to the cult.
He'd never had to travel so far in his life before, however, never been accustomed to such physical activity, so the journey was slow going in places and they'd take breaks often. During such breaks he'd usually make sure to speak to and talk to Hitomori, asking more about his life and person. Things like his favourite colour, food, reasons for being a slayer and some basic information about the slayer corps in general.
Hitomori was nice snd Douma had decided he liked him and- as it was always good to get a headstart- he had extended an offer for Hitomori to join his cult. An offer which the slayer unfortunately turned down on the grounds of wishing to instead focus upon his job.
After all that time however, they'd finally reached the main demon slayer corps headquarters to give a report to the leader, the master of the demon slayers. When they called for the master Douma had to wait outside while Hitomori gave a report to the leader. The place was beautiful, like his temple, with a great garden and beautiful infrastructure. The sky was calm and the sun was warm upon his skin.
Soon Hitomori finished and walked up to him, a crow perched on his shoulder. "I guess that this is where we part ways. It was um... really nice travelling with you, Douma-san."
He nodded in agreement. "It was fun travelling with you too Hitomori-chan! I'll make sure to never forget it!" A soft smile came onto his face as he reached forward and pulled the slayer into a hug. "Now you make sure to make these next two weeks the best, alright? You don't want your last to weeks before death to be boring or horrible now do you?." Especially if your death was going to be a painful one.
After that he pulled away from the hug and gave a wave and goodbye as he moved on to approach and speak to the leader.
Once he saw the leader, a frail man with a stern expression, sickness creeping down his forehead and short cut, black hair, he made sure to kneel immediately and bow his head like he'd seen Hitomori do. This man was no doubt the grumpy sort, it seemed. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
"You must be Douma-san."
"Of course!" He grinned up at him. "And what may I call you?"
"Ubuyashiki."
"Oh, Ubuyashiki-sama! I think I've heard of you guys before. Your family has quite good instincts, don't they?" He chuckled, remembering rumours from traders and merchants about a family that made their living off of predictions that saved people such as earthquake warnings and wildfires. Funny that there existed people with such a similar ability as him. He wondered briefly if perhaps these people heard the voices as well, or if he was just crazy.
"Yes, but that's not the important thing here. You met Kibutsuji Muzan?"
"Yep, I did indeed!"
He narrowed his sightless eyes. "Then how are you still alive? Those who he visits either end up dead or a demon."
"I could ask the very same thing. Perhaps the gods were on my side." He chuckled. "Or maybe Kibutsuji simply got careless. I haven't a clue myself, really."
"What happened that night?"
Douma began to tell the tale, of waking up feeling sick upon a vision of dead bodies and malicious red eyes, of denying the demon progenitor's offer to immortality, of blacking out and waking up injured and finding his worshippers dead, of burying bodies and having a much nicer visitor whom helped properly deal with his wounds and whom he shared tea with before going on a journey together and ending up here.
The leader had frowned and scowled and questioned him, "a vision?" he'd questioned at the start, to which Douma had to explain his gifts and nicknames, "worshippers?" "yes! members of the Paradise Faith religion, they worship me as their connection to the gods and key to paradise. Would you be interested in joining?" "carry on with the story", eventually however it was all over and done with and the two remained in a tranquil silence until Ubuyashiki spoke up once more.
"You didn't come all this way just to tell me how your worshippers died."
He smiled. "You're an observant one, aren't you? The truth is, I've decided I wish to help you out with your goal of destroying that beast Kibutsuji. I could be your oracle and bring messages from the gods, I could tell you where demons are located and prove a valuable ally."
"But?"
"But I would have to first be allowed time off in order to rebuild myself a new home and given much time looking after it."
Silence reigned once more as the leader thought about it before a smile crossed his face. "I can have you a new temple built."
His eyes lit up, nearly glowing and hands clasped together. "You would? Truly you're very kind, Ubuyashiki-sama! Thank you very much"
"However," the man held up a finger and Douma took pause, expression falling, "to gain such a thing you must become capable of slaying demons yourself and I would appreciate if your temple may be used as a place for injured slayers to rest and regain their strength. I will allow you lots of time without having to worry about doing any demon slaying jobs, however, so that you can look after your worshippers."
Demon slaying? That was a lot of effort. Yet he knew he didn't quite have enough for a good temple to be built. Not to mention if he housed injured demon slayers, he could convert them to the Paradise Faith religion. A soft smile rested on his face as he gave a simple nod. "Yes, I can agree to that."
"Wonderful."
The two struck their deal and Douma was officially an ally of the demon slayers.