Muzan could say that he’s a god.
Someone that had complete control over others, someone who others worshipped, someone who others feared.
Yes, he's a god.
He's been one for half a century now, taking pleasure in the growth of demons that he saw lesser than the dirt imbedded in the ground. He took pleasure in prancing around Japan, wearing disguises and fooling those disgusting and incredulous humans that he cared for their family. It was a shame that those beings that people called ‘Gods’ had cursed him and his bloodline for eternity, as he's unable to procreate and possibly create even more demons from his blood. It was even more of a shame that those two ‘Gods’— Amaterasu and Hinokami— had cursed him to be forever chained in the shadows, and be unable to ever walk in the Sun without that inferior Blue Spider Lily.
He despised those Gods, Especially the ones that had blessed that scornful Sun Breather— Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The one Demon Slayer that could ever fight him on equal terms— actually, the only Demon Slayer that could've killed him. That wretched Slayer and his wretched breathing, his wretched core being so blessed by those other ‘Gods’ that he was such a hard fight to put up with
Though, Muzan quite liked the horrid expression he wore— seeing his distant brother join the side that they were fighting against since the beginning.
What Muzan didn't like, was the fact that he'd learned about the existence of Sun Breathing still thriving— albeit a small group of people knowing such a buried breathing. The Breathing Style was far too complex for others to handle it without succumbing to the powerful weapon— death taking them either almost instantly of slowly; as their core wasn't blessed by Hinokami or Amaterasu, or their core just wasn't compatible with the blessing of those Sun Gods.
The Kamados.
A small family that lived in a very small and rural village, unknowingly continuing on passing down the Breathing Style as a dance— as a ridiculous dance!
He should kill them all.
And that's what he did.
He flecked the blood of the mother off his hand, his face upturned in disgust as he heard the wails and screams of the children that resided in the small Minka.
The cold was annoying; snow quickly tainted by the blood that poured from the woman’s neck, the harsh sound of what could be a snowstorm couldn't block out the loud wails of a woeful baby.
He gritted, making his way over to the small Minka— only to be stopped by an axe flying towards his face. He smoothly dodged it, though the fact that someone tried to attack him, a god, was infuriating.
He looked at the culprit, a girl who he assumed to be the oldest— clutching three crying kids around her waist, the sound of the baby wailing deep inside of the Minka. She wore such a fierce expression, he could've sworn that he saw a flame ignite inside of her.
He grinned.
Perhaps this girl could be the one that can conquer the sun,
That family was blessed heavily by those two Gods anyway, so why not use them to his benefits? Either way, it was the best way to tarnish and mock the Sun Breather's poor choice.
He made sure to inject his blood into the girl's stream, watching her spasm here and there— the look of life slowly draining from her eyes as he decided to taunt her even further, mercilessly killing the three young children infront of her. She choked on the blood that erupted from her throat, and he couldn't help but be utterly disappointed.
Was her core rejecting his blood? Will she just die off being of no use? The Gods’ curse made him unable to see other's cores, so he couldn't tell just how weak her feeble body was.
Disgusting.
And that wretched child’s crying was far too annoying!
He went inside the Minka, stepping on the dead bodies and even on the oldest as she continued to spasm on the snow. He continued through the dark house, before ultimately finding the crying child— no doubt was he not pass the age of 3, a body far too small to possibly run away from him. He picked up the brat, before injecting his blood into the neck— making the child spasm violently, even more than the girl he had injected before.
Then, Muzan felt something lodge right in his head— probably making itself settled deep into it's new home.
His blood seethed.
He quickly looked back at the entrance, anger evident in his scrunched up face. He couldn't even read their presence, did he miss another family member?
He'll torture that brat the second he gets his hands on him!
Muzan's mind idly went back to that incident.
It wasn't exactly pleasant to see the same Slayer that was close to killing you have such a deep resemblance to some country boy that thought of Sun Breathing as a foolish dance.
He made sure that if that boy was even a Demon right now, he'd be as useless as a mule. He tortured that boy and made him almost mindless; whatever injuries he gave to those lower demons, they couldn't possibly regenerate without his damn permission.
That also made it clear that he was a god, so why must he be fending for a Blue Spider Lily because those Gods had cursed him?!
A child's giggle dragged him out of his thoughts, seeing the disgusting human that he held in his arms look at him with wonder. The dark night was lit up from the bright town he took refuge in; crowds of people bustling through others, stands owners showcasing their creations— some sold items from the western, some sold sweet treats for the little ones, his interest overall wasn't piqued in the slightest.
He looked around bored, glancing at the heads of each humans that passed him— he had enough restraint to not kill every single one here, even if he was strong enough to kill off any Demon Slayers that even had the gall to step up to him.
He was upset for many reasons, the death of 3 of his Lower Moons was enough to have him kill his previous ‘family’ and call for a meeting. He didn't expect any of them to be that useless, dying to a simple Slayer? HE SHOULD'VE KILLED THEM HIMSELF!
Not when Orochubi— Lower Moon 11, chattered about his parasitic offsprings having an entire village cower. Not when Yoasabi— Lower Moon 12, seethed like a child having a tantrum just by his presence yet had a village under her control and see her as a god(he would've killed her if she ever tried to defy him, that's why she's the weakest amongst the 12 Kizukis). Not when Miku— Lower Moon 10, the one who he had most hopes for in replacing Rui, had an entire town under her watch; her Blood Art was far too powerful to be left at Lower Moon 10, yet she died so easily.
It was a waste to make a 6-year-old a Demon, perhaps he should inject those lowly humans during their teens…they're much stronger during those years anyway.
Muzan Kibutsuji.
His eyes widened at the mention of his name, quickly looking around and almost giving himself whiplash. He almost felt one of his many hearts stop pulsating, did his blood somehow drain from his face too?
That boy— that— he—
Yoriichi.
The boy he could've sworn he turned into a mindless and crippled demon stood far, but he could still see him clearly. The legs that he tore off and enjoyed the screams of pain, were substituted for planks which he could assume was made from the same ore as a Slayer's Katana. The right hand was completely missing and his eyes had a certain shine to them that immediately told Muzan that he was nearly blind.
Yet, those eyes looked so similar to his own—
There's no way.
Muzan sucked in a breath of air, his body was…trembling?
Why was he trembling?
How could he be trembling under the eyes of some stubborn CHILD?!
He couldn't hear what the boy was saying from the loudness of the crowd— something's telling him to run, get out of there— only being able to read the lips as best as he could.
I'll kill you.
I'll kill you like how you killed my family.
I'll make sure the Gods make your soul suffer, even if it takes years.
I'll make sure you suffer, just as how you made my sisters and brothers suffer.
Muzan couldn't stop himself from feeling fear travelling through his nerves, holding the insufferable human in his grasp more tightly before injecting a random passerby with his blood just to keep the Slayer distracted.
He didn't dare to look back, hiding his body in the crowd.
How could he look back into those dead yet determined eyes, that resembled so much of that wretched Sun Breather?
That Slayer’s final words rang in his head, he knows he has to flee this city now.
Keep running, Muzan Kibutsuji.
I'll always be right behind you, wherever you go.
It'd be better to leave now, rather than waste time by killing off that woman and this child he held.
