Not Your Ordinary Demon || A Demon Slayer Fanfiction

Slayers Killing Demons

The trees above loomed overhead, casting shadows over the forest floor. The sky buried beneath the leaves was slowly turning grey, the scent of the earth filling your lungs. Eyes glazed over, tired, gazing past the shadows, breaths raspy and ragged, slow and shallow.

Everything hurt. Your whole body ached, as though it'd been thrown around tenfold and then left to rot.

You took a deep breath in, air filling your lungs to the brim. You choke, coughing, reaching up and grasping at your torso. A lump formed in your throat as you attempted to gauge your thoughts, hazy and bleary as you may be. The distant sound of humming seemed to never end.

Mother… Father… Forgive me. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't live up to your expectations.

You reached beneath yourself, the ache becoming a searing pain that roared beneath your skin, crawling up your arms and legs, fire building in your lungs as you clutch the hilt of your blade.

I hope that one day I may see you in Heaven. That I may be reincarnated at your side, living a life free of demons.

You suck in a breath through gritted teeth and you press the blade to your throat, flinching at the burning sensation. But you had to do this. While you still had your own mind.

God, may you forgive me for becoming what I have. I would never hurt another human. Therefore I cannot continue on.

As you pressed the blade further, sinking it into your throat, you suddenly heard the sound of footsteps. Rapid, slight footsteps, and suddenly—

You whipped your head up, catching sight of that redheaded boy from the Final Selection. You opened your mouth to speak, but he suddenly let out a loud, grief-stricken wail, raising one of his legs and slamming it into your head.

You fell backwards, the blade flying from your hands. A growl escaped your lips, rumbling deep within your chest as you attempted to rise from where you lay, only to be stomped on by the boy.

"Who are you? Tell me your name!"

You gasped as you felt his blade press to the side of your neck. You slowly turned your head, gazing up at him, to which his demeanor very suddenly shifted. His expression, which was previously full of fury, turned to shock and concern.

"You… you're the one I saw at the Final Selection. But…" he narrowed his eyes, looking puzzled, yet that fury returned again, "No, that scent is unmistakable! You must be a shapeshifter!"

You almost wanted to plead for your life, but remembered your current condition. You scrunch your face up, shifting your head again to lay against the dirt, closing your eyes.

Please just kill me. I don't want to hurt anyone.

The boy kept his heel dug in between your shoulder blades, sword hovering close to your neck. However, after many long minutes, he retracted his blade, bringing it back up to his sheath and sliding it into place.

What? No. Don't sheathe your blade!

"You aren't… the scent has gone stale…" he murmured, lowering himself to your level to get a good look at you. As he inspected you, you took note of every little shift in his expression as he assessed your condition.

"He's… gotten you too, huh?"

You move your gaze up into his eyes, otherwise not moving a muscle.

Such kind, pure eyes. What have I done to warrant this?

"It's okay. You haven't killed anyone, I don't believe—I only smell your own blood," he murmured, reaching forward to move you, sitting you upright, "Are you hurt? Can you tell me your name?"