Capítulo 113: Chapter 111: A Macabre Waltz of Demons
A sardonic chuckle sliced through the tense air, its lightness a stark contrast to the grim scene that unfolded. "Oh, Akaza-san~ my dear comrade, such severity does not become us of the upper moons. What was it that our Kokushibo-san imparted? Ah, yes—'We, the upper moons, must conduct ourselves with a certain... finesse~'"
The voice belonged to a figure who sauntered into view, his gait an eerie dance of grace and malice. His visage was a cruel parody of beauty, marred by the grotesque trophy he brandished—a severed arm, its skin pallid and stained with the crimson of fresh blood.
Doma, with a flourish, presented the macabre relic to Akaza, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "Care for a morsel, Akaza-san?~ A delicacy from a maiden fair, plucked from the chaos of this mortal coil. Her spirit barely departed, her flesh sings of youth. Indulge, and let the rage that boils within be quelled by her tender bite~"
Akaza's jaw tensed, a visceral display of revulsion. His creed forbade the consumption of women and children flesh, a line he would not cross. Yet Doma reveled in such depravity, boasting a perverse preference for the flesh of maidens, a taste he claimed was unparalleled in vitality.
The disdain between them was a chasm as deep as their natures were apart.
"Have I not made myself clear? Your presence is unwelcome, Doma!" Akaza growled, his voice a low rumble of warning.
Boom!
Words barely escaped his lips when his fist, driven by a fury that could shatter mountains, collided with Doma's head, reducing it to a spray of demonic ichor. The silence that followed was a brief reprieve, a momentary lapse in the eternal dance of death.
Yet, as the laws of their cursed existence dictated, Doma's head reformed, his expression unscathed by the violence. "Temper~ temper~" he chided, his tone dripping with feigned hurt. "I shall take my leave then—"
Sniff!
A pause, a sniff, and his demeanor shifted, eyes alight with a hunger more befitting a beast than a man. "Ah, the fragrance of a damsel—intoxicating, irresistible. Forgive me, Akaza-san~ but the hunt calls to me. Your company, though delightful, must wait for another day."
***
Jon treaded softly through the mist-shrouded necropolis of Kuroyanagi Town, the scent of sin thick in the air, guiding him like a beacon through the chaos of toppled headstones.
The oppressive aura that clung to the place was a telltale sign—an Upper Moon demon was near, lurking in the shadows of grief and death.
"Curious," Jon mused, his voice barely above a whisper, "would an Upper Moon deign to skulk in such a forgotten corner of the world?"
His journey through the graveyard came to an abrupt halt before a desecrated grave, the earth before it violently upturned. A gaping maw in the ground yawned at him, its edges stained with the dark crimson of blood—a silent testament to the demon's gruesome feast. Scattered amidst the carnage were the poignant remnants of a young girl's life, her trinkets and treasures meant to accompany her to the afterlife, now discarded and forlorn.
"So young to have been taken by death's embrace," Jon thought, a pang of sorrow fleeting across his heart, "and yet, even in death, she was not spared the demon's hunger."
A mocking smile played upon his lips as he uttered, "Could this be the lair of an infamous Twelve Demon Moon?"
As if summoned by his words, a figure emerged from the shadows—a middle-aged man with a beard, his eyes emblazoned with the sinister kanji for "Lower Two."
Lower Moon Two, Rokuro, stood before Jon, his visage twisted with malice.
"You dare to stand in my presence, I must commend your audacity!" Rokuro's voice was a growl, each word dripping with venom.
Jon's smile widened, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "The irony is not lost on me. I was poised to say the same."
Rokuro's sneer was a grotesque mask of fury. "I shall not grant you a swift end. Your demise will be a languid dance of agony, a symphony of suffering that will have you begging for the release of death."
With a nonchalant shrug, Jon replied, "You know, it's a curious trend—villains with grandiose speeches often fall the hardest. But who am I to judge? After all, I've been known to indulge in a bit of... theatrics with demons myself."
Indeed, Jon was no stranger to the art of fear. He would weave a tapestry of terror and despair around the sinners before their end, a cruel mimicry of the demons' own predations.
"But hold," Jon pondered, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, "Do you bear a grudge against me? For demons typically do not toy with their prey—they consume."
Rokuro's snarl was a tempest of rage and pain. "Susamaru, my daughter... I pleaded with the Lord to bestow upon her the demon's curse, to grant her a life akin to mine. Yet, you extinguished her existence!"
Jon's composure faltered, a ripple of shock passing through him. This revelation was unforeseen. In the original storyline, the Lower Moons, entwined by blood and tragedy—a narrative untold in the annals of their kind, their stories and Blood Demon Arts lost to the merciless edict of survival.
"Curious," Jon retorted, his voice laced with a cold edge, "you entrusted your daughter to Muzan's service. Tell me, Rokuro, does your heart harbor a grudge against her as well?"
Rokuro's fury was a tempest, his voice thundering through the graveyard. "I forbid you to speak their names!" he bellowed, the air around him crackling with the dark energy of his wrath.
Jon's response was a languid wave of his hand, his tone dripping with nonchalance. "Concern yourself not, for she is beyond the reach of words now, extinguished and forgotten~"
"You killed her!" Rokuro's teeth were clenched, his anger palpable.
"A fact you've already lamented," Jon replied with a dismissive shrug. "She was a demon; I am her bane. It is the natural order of things, no grudges need be held~"
"Silence! You've torn asunder the bond of father and child, irrevocably!" Rokuro's shout was a raw wound laid bare.
"And what of the bonds you've severed?" Jon's gaze flicked to the desecrated grave. "You speak of your daughter, yet what of the daughters of others? Devoured by creatures such as yourself."
"It was not I who feasted upon them, but yes, humans are but sustenance to us," Rokuro declared, a twisted pride in his voice.
"Ah, a poignant observation," Jon smiled slyly, "and thus, demons, in their fragility, are prey to my hunt~" With a flourish, he taunted, "Your daughter's soul, it was... remarkably invigorating! Slurp~"
The mockery was too much; Rokuro's rage boiled over. "You've stripped me of all I held dear; your life is the price!"
"Blood Demon Art: Ant Body!" Rokuro invoked, his form diminishing to a speck, wings sprouting from his back as he darted towards Jon's ear.
Boom!
Yet Jon's composure never wavered. A swift slap sent Rokuro tumbling through the air, crashing to the earth.
"Size manipulation? How quaint, a trick borrowed from Ant-Man, perhaps? Huh~" Jon's voice was a murmur of indifference.
With a thunderous roar, Rokuro surged back to his full stature, lunging at Jon with unbridled fury. But Jon's chains were quicker, ensnaring Rokuro and slamming him against a tombstone with a resounding crash.
"Her pleas were quite pitiful, a sorrowful dirge in her final moments," Jon mused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "But alas, the siren call of a demon's soul is irresistible, a delicacy akin to the first taste of gold-leaf fish, wouldn't you agree?"
"Silence! Silence! Silence!" Rokuro's cries were a cacophony of madness as he shrank once more, charging with the ferocity of a wounded beast.
But Jon's reflexes were swift, capturing Rokuro in his grasp.
"Release me!" Rokuro's voice was desperate, his struggles futile.
Jon brought the tiny demon close, inhaling deeply. "Your essence... it too has a certain... allure."
And with those final words, Jon unleashed a torrent of hellfire from his breath, engulfing Rokuro in a conflagration that reduced him to nothing but ashes on the wind.
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