As Things Should Be

-32- Frozen

Again!

Akaza's head flew off his miserable shoulders without so much as a flinch from the pale demon. The blood from Akaza's neck was hardly allowed to fall. Quickly, too quickly, the ex-kizuki had grown his skull back, the bones snapping into place, teeth assorting themselves as that smirk grew back, the muscles and skin reforming around it. Kokushibo snarled as he slashed again, this time taking the wretch's legs.

Akaza only flipped over in the air, using his hands to catch himself as his legs grew back just as fast, catching him by the time he was done with his front handspring. The demon had the gall to land and smile.

"Is that all you got, One? I thought you -" Kokushibo didn't let the traitor finish that sentence before he tried to behead him again. This time the demon threw himself backward, missing the blow by mere centimeters with all the confidence his blood art allowed him to hold.

Kokushibo snarled and pressed the attack.

Again!

Again!

AGAIN!

He couldn't just let this insect get away with taunting him, irking him, disrespecting him; disrespecting the name of Muzan's Twelve Kizuki! Akaza had trembled in his presence before and he would do so again!

"You're getting sloppy." His descendant's scathing tone sunk as deep as his red blade, splitting Kokushibo's stomach open as the boy passed low. He'd taken advantage of Kokushibo's intense focus, no... no the demon had failed to remember he had other foes than the infuriating striped ex-moon. There were other foes to deal with. In response to the boy's ambitious taunts, Kokushibo whirled on his heel and tried to slice that child in two.

Descendant or not, his insolence would not be tolerated!

He was stopped by an axe to the face, shoved there by the stone pillar's brute strength. Its blade also burned red from where it had scraped against the Mist pillar's sword and Kokushibo snarled as his face was nearly split down the middle.

"Your attention has lapsed." The stone hashira joined in the taunting, ripping his ax and himself away. His observation held no malice or jeering - just simple recognition which somehow made the wound sting even worse.

Kokushibo truly snarled as he guarded his face, his blade at the ready.

The wounds inflicted by crimson nichirin blistered raw and open, his cells screaming in protest as they were forced to divide and rebuild over that warm, condemned injury. It took more energy to regenerate, and more energy to stay alert...

He hissed as Akaza's fist collided with his side, an explosion of air pressure shattering one of his ribs despite his demonic cells cushioning the rest of his body. The fury of such disrespect hurt more than the blow. It writhed in Kokushibo's chest and roared in displeasure. There was something else too, something that churned uncomfortably in his gut, gnawing on ancient parts he'd stowed away long ago.

The hashiras had learned the power of the red blades. They'd unlocked their marks. The slayers were growing wiser and Akaza wouldn't die! No, the demon threw himself into battle with a new kind of ferocity. There was no hesitation with his attacks, no fear in his eyes. In any of their eyes!

There was cold determination. When was the last time he'd faced someone with such certainty? Doma, perhaps... the night he'd betrayed the Kizuki, and before that, the only one to stand against him fearlessly had been...

"Lost in your thoughts, One?" that damned traitorous insect was taunting him again, throwing attacks from farther away which the Upper Moon shrugged off without a flinch. Kokushibo burned useless memories away with his cold fury. Akaza moved in and struck for his neck. Kokushibo reacted as only he could.