WHAT IS YOUR OBSESSION。kny

壹、demon unlike demon

       You could not recall a single thing when you arose in a shady alley, your mind was a blank sea of nothingness. Several people edged in on you, faces donning unfriendly expressions and armed with weapons, their intent deathly.

       One pressed you down while the others were to complete the task. You struggled against the firm grip on your body, resisting vigorously. Just as you were about to give up, you felt an item protruding from your draped sleeve — it was a dagger.

       Perhaps it was the forlorn state you had fallen into, that inspirited the animal instincts within you. Out of sheer despair, you fought back, seizing the upper hand after taking them by surprise.

       You paralleled a mad hound, gashing everything in your sight almost out of hysteria, persisting even when you were hurt badly yourself. Unable to rival your undaunted spirit, they fled.

       You were left, weakly perched upon the humid ground of the alley, skin incised with tears and lesions. Unsure of where you came from, and where to go, you were accompanied by the chilly night until Muzan found you.

       After you were turned into a demon, he tossed a drunkard that had coincidentally passed by in front of you, he demanded you to demonstrate your blood demon art.

       "Go on."

       The man was barely able to raise his arm, so vulnerable to a demon like you.

       Your subconscious clamoured at you, screaming that it was not right, you shouldn't do it. You didn't know where this voice came from, but you concurred with it. Yet Muzan's blood inside you made you incapable of resisting his orders, the sinful ichor resonated within you, reminding you of the consequences if you don't follow his words.

       A hand extended out, you sealed your eyes tightly and attempted to wield your blood demon art.

       One.

       Two.

       Three.

       Four—

       Just as you thought you couldn't do it, wisps of unusual blue flames ignite upon your open palm. It danced brightly upon your hand, as if a ghost lantern of some sort, illumining the dark alley.

      Hitodama.[1]

       An artefact of myths, now right there, in your hand.

       Directing the flames towards the drunkard, the odd fire set him ardent. It was almost blinding, you narrowed your eyes — it was so different from your dull, bleak appearance.

       The cerulean blaze spread across his body rapidly, searing delicate skin and erupting hysterical shrills from the drunkard. He attempted to extinguish the fire by rolling around on the ground, but he failed to obtain his desired result.

       The hitodama on him flickered along with the midnight breeze, only until the drunkard's last breath dissipated into thin air, did it finally die out.

       A pile of ashes was what was left of him.

       From a living human to ashes, not even a minute had passed.

       Staring at your open palms, you stood there in a numbed daze, the power overwhelmed you.

       Muzan leaned against the wall beside, he watched the man die under your hand, with no intentions of saving him from death. Frankly, he didn't expect much — if you couldn't do it, then he'll simply deploy you to some district — but you certainly gave him a pleasant surprise.