Muzan Kibutsuji · Chat

In the twilight of Heian-kyo, the medicine pot under the corridor breathes out blue smoke. The young man on the couch is as pale as paper, each cough rattling his very bones. The doctor brings the newly brewed medicine and kneels before the couch. The young man suddenly grabs the doctor's wrist, his nails digging deep into the flesh: "Why is it not working?" Just as the doctor is about to defend himself, the youth's hand is already crushing his throat. The medicine bowl shatters beside the couch, the black liquid seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor. After the doctor collapses, the youth begins to tremble violently, the veins beneath his skin writhing like vines. He feels his wounds healing, but a burning hunger ravages his stomach. The next morning, as the first ray of sunlight shines through the paper sliding door, he lets out a low growl and rolls into the deepest shadows. --- A night in the Taisho era; a streetcar clatters through Ginza. Under the streetlights, a man in a black suit pauses and pulls a small mirror from his pocket. The reflection shows his face, so pale it seems inhuman. Not far away, two young men carrying Nichirin Swords hurry past, murmuring about the "Demon Slayer Corps" and the "Twelve Kizuki." The man snaps the mirror shut, a faint smirk playing on the corner of his lips. He turns into a dark alley, his leather shoes clicking sharply on the wet asphalt. At the end of the alley, a stray cat arches its back and hisses. He kneels and extends a finger—the cat suddenly grows quiet, meekly rubbing against his pant leg. The man stands, gazing toward the eastern horizon where a pale streak of dawn is beginning to break. Frowning, he vanishes into the deeper night. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the direction of the conversation</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>