Chapter Text
Tomioka Giyuu wondered how things had happened so quickly.
At first, Giyuu had tried to run away, knowing that Kanzaburu had fled to fetch reinforcements, but Giyuu knew she wouldn’t survive until the reinforcements arrived. Still, she tried—God knows she tried—but now there she was, sprawled on the ground, covered in wounds, a hole in her chest, and about to become something she didn’t want to be.
One moment she was dodging one blow after another, and the next she was being stabbed in the stomach.
'It was a simple mission, Giyuu-chan’, Oyakata-sama had explained to her with that patient smile, ‘A demon was haunting a village’ he said, his hands holding a sweet that Giyuu herself had made and handed over before the meeting, ‘It should take a few days’, he had said with a strange gleam in his eyes even when he could no longer see.
She won’t be making those sweets for him anymore, maybe never again. In fact, maybe she should ask for time off—extended leave. Or resignation. Or retirement. Whichever comes first.
She remembered arriving in the village, spending nearly two days gathering information, and recalled that her last meal had been a salmon daiko that was particularly delicious. She remembered crossing the forest, climbing the hill, and coming upon a dilapidated house falling apart; she remembered smelling the strong scent of blood wafting in waves through the broken door.
Giyuu remembered running to the door, his heart racing with desperation; he remembered seeing a scene that would be repulsive to a normal person who wasn’t a Hashira.
He remembered that, before him, a man stood amidst two bodies, bodies sprawled out, with limbs bent in ways that were humanly impossible, a large pool of blood surrounding the dying bodies, and further away, huddled together like pieces of a puzzle, two children covered in blood and with fearful expressions.
She remembers—she remembers using her first form to cut off the demon’s hand while screaming at the children to run; she remembers the way the demon had stared at her, the words the demon had uttered with mockery and malice; she remembers the fight and Kanzaburu’s loud squawk.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Red eyes, impeccable clothes, a white hat, straight black hair—the demon was elegant for someone who ate human flesh. Those eyes were wrong... She had ignored the repulsive smile on the monster’s face. "A demon hunter, a Hashira, it seems. But now," he had turned with an almost hypnotic movement, "which Hashira are you?"
She remembers taking a deep breath, keeping her gaze fixed on him. Before, she didn’t know who was standing before her; she remembered the aura seeming powerful, powerful enough to indicate she shouldn’t face him alone. She remembered the chill that ran down her spine, the feeling in the pit of her stomach—something was completely out of the ordinary. She remembered dodging an attack by a hair’s breadth, a few strands of her black hair flying through the air.
'Eighth Form: Violent Tide'
"A Water Hashira? Apparently, one of those who speaks little and prefers to act. Unfortunately, I’ll have to kill her, since you scared away my lunch." She remembered, in the blink of an eye, that Muzan had moved to the other side of the room to stand nearly two meters away from her, his hand outstretched, causing her to dodge the attack. "Come on, Hashira, don’t fight—you’re going to lose this battle."
'What kind of demon is this? What power?'
She remembered the fight dragging on, managing to drive the demon out of the house; she remembered the destroyed landscape, the fallen trees, the ground covered in both her blood and the demon’s; she remembered feeling that something was about to go wrong...
Tomioka remembered dodging another attack, her eyes widening as she felt her arm being torn from her body. Then she remembered ignoring the pain when her arm had been severed, grabbing the Nichirin with her other hand, and mentally thanking herself for having trained with both hands.
"Your fighting spirit is strong, but why do you seem so weak at the same time?" Giyuu remembered ignoring Muzan’s almost sweet yet completely mocking words. "Help me with one small thing, Water Hashira."
"I won’t... help you... with anything..." Tomioka had, once again, ignored the glint of malice in the demon’s red eyes. Those were Tomioka Giyuu’s mistakes: ignoring that gaze, that glint, that smile, that aura.
'But... Those eyes...' she had realized with a sense of foreboding.
'Those eyes were wrong...' perhaps she had realized it too late.
Much too late.
Tomioka Giyuu would die there.
At the hands of Muzan Kibutsuji, the king and progenitor of demons himself.
"But who said you have a choice?" Tomioka had watched the demon approach, panting, refusing to go down without a fight. "Answer me something I’ve been holding onto in my mind for centuries."
"I won’t... answer you... at all..." She had watched the demon, still missing a hand, approach her, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You have no choice, Water Hashira."
She remembers struggling, even while pinned to the tree; she remembers the blinding pain from when he had pierced her stomach between her heart and where the katana was embedded; she remembers how her mouth was full of blood and tasted of iron, with trickles escaping from the corners of her lips.
"What would happen if I turned a Hashira into a demon?"
'Tsu-nee-chan... Urokodaki-sensei... Sabito...'
"Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit... Not me." With wide eyes and blurred vision, Tomioka watched as part of her intestines spilled out of her stomach along with the demon's fist.
I'm sorry...
She's going to die right there.
She coughed up blood, her vision blurred, her heart shifting from that rapid beat of fear and adrenaline to the stillness of death, but the only thing she saw in her final moments wasn’t the memories of her life, as many claimed, but rather the malicious and ironic smile of Muzan Kibutsuji.
"Let's see," she had managed to hear, even though her ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton; the malicious voice sent a shiver of fear down her spine. "How do you fare as a demon, my newest project."
Her eyelids didn’t close as she’d imagined they would, but the Nichirin was brutally ripped from her body, causing her to fall face-first onto the snowy ground. The blade was thrown somewhere; the floor, already covered in blood, gained another pool that had begun to form beneath her body. Giyuu coughed once more.
She had tried to get up, but her one good arm hadn’t been the same since she’d been thrown through two walls of the decrepit cabin.
‘Low-ranking demon,’ Oyakata-sama had said, unaware that he was the progenitor of demons himself.
And so, that was how she ended up there, lying on the ground, covered in wounds, a hole in her chest, blood running down the side of her face, missing an arm, her blood boiling, and her life about to change.
Giyuu raised her head as she saw Muzan’s shadow covering her body, feeling her own eyes gleam with defiance—which had made the demon laugh mockingly.
“Still fighting, it seems.” Muzan had crouched down and grabbed a handful of Giyuu’s black hair, forcing her to lift her head higher. “But how long will you keep fighting against my blood?”
“Don’t worry, Water Hashira,” Giyuu felt disgust as she felt Muzan’s hand slide through her hair, as if someone were petting a misbehaving cat, “you’ll be a great project.”
The transformation began with the sensation of ants crawling beneath her skin, as if millions of tiny feet were scuttling beneath her skin, trying to find a way out of her body.
She felt the blood bubbling in her veins as if it were trying to expand but didn’t know where to go.
She felt the world grow dark.
Finally, she was being embraced by death.
But just like you and me, dear readers, stories never end in the first chapter.