The World On His Shoulders | Demon slayer x Male reader

Chapter XCVII

No flashbacks, trust the cook, get the tissues ready. I was crying like a baby here, listen to the saddest music you have (Demon Slayer soundtrack is beautiful as it is depressing)

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❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

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Y/N clenched his teeth as he took the red-hot brass knuckles and pressed them to the deep cut in his lower abdomen. The searing heat met the raw edges of his torn flesh, sending intense pain through his body. His stomach muscles convulsed involuntarily as the metal scorched and sealed the open wound, charring tissue and stopping the bleeding in a bleak but effective manner.

His breath came in short gasps as he moved the hot knuckles across other deeper cuts. Each touch of the glowing metal against his skin felt like a knife. The pain was almost unbearable, a burning agony that threatened to push him to his limits.

With a low growl, he pressed the knuckles against his cheek, closing the open cut where his right eye had once been. The sizzling sound was nauseating as the metal sealed the gaping wound, the smell of burnt flesh hanging in the air. He dragged it across the exposed skin, each movement a calculated effort to avoid infection and further blood loss.

He sighed heavily when he was done, his body trembling. "That hurt," he muttered, wiping the sweat and blood from his brow.

Turning back to Kokushibo, who stood watching with his sword at the ready, Y/N straightened his posture. "Very well, Michikatsu-san," he said with a grim smile. "No more fancy moves. I guess I'll crush your skull again."

Kokushibo's expression remained cold. "You won't be as lucky again," he said with disdain. "I already survived it once with your best attempt."

Y/N laughed, though it was more of a pained bark. "You think that was my best attempt? Those punches were just to wear you out. Now comes the real attacks."

Kokushibo took a step forward, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "You're dying," he sneered. "I can see it in the way you move, in the way your wounds bleed. You're running out of time."

Y/N scoffed and lifted his fists, the red-hot brass knuckles still smoldering. "Maybe," he replied. "But I'm not dead yet. And you—you're about to wish you were."

Kokushibo activated the Transparent World, his perception shifting as his vision altered to view the inner workings of Y/N's body. The demon could see past the surface to what lay beneath—a body ravaged by battle and time, a body that was breaking down.

Y/N's lungs were heavily scarred, their surfaces marred with deep lines and discolored patches where scar tissue had built up over the years. Each breath he took was a strained effort, air struggling to move through the damaged airways. His lungs sounded wheezy and wet, indicating fluid buildup from the recent trauma.

The view of his muscles was equal. The muscle fibers across his chest, arms, and legs were shredded and torn from the constant strain of combat. His biceps showed signs of previous injuries that hadn't fully healed, and the muscles around his shoulders and back were riddled with deep cuts that bled sluggishly.

Kokushibo could see the extensive damage to Y/N's skull. Fractures across his cranium, some parts of his skull fractured so severely that they seemed to float separately from the rest, held together by nothing but skin and muscle. The damage suggested multiple concussions and a recent stroke, which explained Y/N's occasional tremors and uneven standing.