Demon Slayer: Resurgence

The city screamed past him in a dizzying blur, a kaleidoscope of harsh neon and indifferent concrete. Sumihiko's legs were pistons, burning, screaming in protest, but he pushed them harder, drawing on a wellspring of raw, desperate will he hadn't known he possessed. The chill of the night air, once sharp and invigorating, now felt like a suffocating shroud, pressing down on him, stealing his breath. Kanata, impossibly small and frail in his arms, felt heavier with every lung-searing stride, a leaden weight of despair and fading hope.

His mind was a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts: the unspeakable horror he'd left behind in his house, the desperate need to reach a hospital, the terrifyingly fragile breath of his brother. The coppery stench of blood still clung to him, a pervasive, nauseating perfume that had replaced the familiar scent of his home.

As he ran, a sickening tremor rippled through Kanata's small body. Sumihiko almost missed it, his focus so entirely consumed by the physical agony of his sprint. He glanced down, his eyes, wide and terrified, scanning his brother's face in the fleeting glow of a passing streetlight.

Kanata's skin, already pale, seemed to stretch, taut and waxy, over his delicate bones. A faint, almost imperceptible flush of dark crimson began to creep up his neck, spreading like an insidious stain beneath his school uniform collar. Sumihiko's breath hitched. His stride faltered, his foot skidding on the pavement, but he forced himself to recover, his muscles screaming.

No. It's just... the cold. He's in shock. He's hurt. His mind, a desperate, denial-ridden shield, tried to rationalize the impossible.

But then, a low sound. A guttural gurgle, barely audible over Sumihiko's own ragged gasps for air. It wasn't a whimper of pain, not a cough, but something primal, wet, and utterly alien. It vibrated against Sumihiko's chest, a chilling resonance that went deeper than skin, straight to his bone.

"Kanata?" he whispered, his voice raw, hoarse with terror. He tightened his grip, pulling his brother closer, as if proximity could ward off the insidious change.

Kanata's head lolled against Sumihiko's shoulder. His eyelids, translucent and thin, fluttered open. But the eyes that gazed back were not the wide, solemn, purple eyes of his brother. They were dilated, the pupils shrunken to pinpricks, the irises a shocking, unnatural shade of vibrant, predatory green that glowed faintly in the dim urban light. And they were fixed on Sumihiko, not with recognition, but with something else. Something utterly devoid of humanity. A hunger.

A cold, undeniable dread, sharp as a blade, pierced through Sumihiko's desperate denial. His blood ran cold, turning to icy sludge in his veins. This wasn't just a symptom of injury. This was… a metamorphosis. A living nightmare unfurling in his arms.

He ran faster, a desperate, panicked acceleration. The hospital was still blocks away, its beacon of light an impossible distance. His vision blurred with unshed tears and the sheer velocity of his flight. He could feel the small body in his arms begin to writhe, a subtle, unsettling shift of muscles that seemed too strong, too rigid for his brother.

A low growl, deeper and more defined now, rumbled from Kanata's throat. His small fingers, pressed against Sumihiko's chest, seemed to lengthen, the nails pushing outwards, subtly, menacingly, against the fabric of his shirt.

What is happening? What is this?! His mind shrieked, a frantic, internal caterwaul that echoed the rising terror in his chest. He felt an overwhelming urge to drop Kanata, to recoil from the monstrous change, but the desperate love, the raw, primal instinct to protect, held him firm. This was still Kanata. His brother. Trapped within this sickening transformation.

He remembered the old man, Saburo, from just last night. His words, dismissed as harmless superstition then, now screamed in his mind like a demonic chorus. Dangers of the night. Monsters. They exist. The memory, sharp and terrifying, hit him with the force of a physical blow. A chill, colder than the night air, colder than the death that now clutched at his family, seeped into his very soul. He had laughed. He had been arrogant. And now, the true, unspeakable consequence was unfolding in his arms.

The streetlights continued their indifferent march, casting long, grotesque shadows that danced around him, mirroring the horror in his arms. The sounds of the city, previously muted, now seemed to mock him, their normalcy a stark contrast to the unfolding terror. Every distant car horn, every muffled siren, was a reminder of the safe, oblivious world he had just been ripped from. The hospital sign, a flickering promise of salvation, seemed to recede with every desperate step, the gap between them widening, not shrinking.

And then, Kanata's small body stiffened completely. A guttural snarl, distinctly not human, tore from his throat, echoing the metallic taste that was now strong on Sumihiko's tongue, the unmistakable tang of blood, not his own. Kanata's head snapped up, the glowing green eyes, now fully dilated, locking onto Sumihiko's face. His jaw unhinged, impossibly wide, revealing teeth that seemed too long, too sharp, gleaming ominously in the dark.

And then, with a terrifying lurch, Kanata lunged. Not away. But at him. Driven by a primal, ravenous hunger that radiated from his transformed sibling like a wave of oppressive heat.

The lunge was a blur of unnatural speed, too swift, too powerful for Kanata's small frame. Sumihiko, still reeling from the impossible sight of those glowing green eyes, reacted purely on instinct. Years of athletic training, the ingrained reflexes honed by countless sprints and leaps, surged to the forefront, bypassing conscious thought. He twisted, using the momentum of his desperate run to pivot, wrapping his arms around Kanata's flailing body, not to push him away, but to restrain him.

The impact was jarring. Kanata's small frame was surprisingly solid, rigid with an unholy strength that vibrated through Sumihiko's arms. A guttural snarl, wet and feral, erupted from Kanata's throat, grating against Sumihiko's ear. He felt the hot, rancid breath, thick with the smell of decay and something else, something metallic and profoundly wrong, on his cheek. It wasn't the scent of human blood anymore; it was the essence of predator.

"Kanata! Stop it!" Sumihiko choked out, his voice raw with terror and disbelief. His arms, usually capable of effortlessly lifting and carrying heavy loads, now strained against the demonized body of his younger brother. Kanata thrashed, a furious, desperate energy pouring from him, every muscle taut, every limb a weapon. His small hands, nails elongated into dark, sharp talons, clawed frantically at Sumihiko's uniform, tearing at the fabric, seeking flesh.

A flash of sharp, white teeth, longer than they should be, snapped inches from Sumihiko's face. He could feel the slight tug of air as they passed, hear the chilling clack as they closed on nothing. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat that threatened to shatter his very bones. His mind screamed a desperate, chaotic symphony of No! Not him! This isn't real!

He wasn't struggling like a man completely outmatched, flailing helplessly. No. Years of competitive sports had etched muscle memory deep into his very being. He had a core of iron, a spring in his step, an agility that allowed him to twist and pivot, to ride the violent waves of Kanata's strength rather than simply oppose them head-on. He shifted his weight, using his greater mass and leverage, trying to pin Kanata's surprisingly wiry frame against his chest, to smother the assault.

But Kanata's movements were erratic, unnatural. His body seemed to contort beyond human limits, bending and twisting with a horrifying fluidity. His small legs, no longer weak, kicked out with startling force, connecting with Sumihiko's shins, his thighs, leaving stinging bruises. Sumihiko gritted his teeth, a low groan escaping him as pain, sharp and immediate, lanced through his muscles.

"Kanata, please!" He pleaded, the words torn from his throat. His vision, still blurring from exertion and horror, focused on his brother's face. Those glowing green eyes, feral and unseeing, stared through him, not at him. There was no recognition, only that chilling, bottomless hunger. It was like looking into the eyes of a starving wolf, a creature driven by an instinct too ancient, too brutal, to comprehend.

He tried to keep his brother's head pinned against his shoulder, away from his neck, away from the soft flesh of his face. Kanata roared again, a sound utterly unlike his sweet, quiet brother's voice, a guttural, terrifying noise that tore through the relative quiet of the residential street. It was a sound that should not exist in this peaceful, modern world.

What is this? What did that… thing… do to him? The thought, a venomous snake, coiled in Sumihiko's mind, referring to the unseen assailant who had slaughtered his family. The memory of the carnage, the impossible angles of his parents' bodies, flickered at the edge of his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him with a fresh wave of nausea and despair. He pushed it back, forced his focus onto the immediate, terrifying reality in his arms.

He could feel the sharp edge of Kanata's claws tearing through his shirt, grazing his skin. A burning line appeared on his shoulder, a trickle of warm, sticky blood blooming on the fabric. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but holding on, keeping his brother from himself. He was stronger than this. He had to be. This was Kanata. His little brother.

He slid, his feet losing purchase on a patch of slick pavement, stumbling precariously. Kanata's thrashing intensified, sensing an advantage. A small, chilling laugh, thin and high, echoed from somewhere above – a distant, distorted sound. Was it the wind? Or something else? Sumihiko didn't dare to look. He couldn't. His entire being was consumed by the struggle in his arms.

He twisted, using the momentum to spin, forcing Kanata's back against the rough brick wall of a nearby house. The impact sent a jarring shockwave through Kanata's small body, momentarily stunning him. Sumihiko used the precious seconds, pressing his full weight, straining every sinew in his arms, forcing Kanata's head back against the wall, away from his jugular.

Kanata let out a frustrated, enraged growl, his small hands, now monstrous claws, scrabbling desperately against Sumihiko's chest, seeking purchase, seeking weakness. The raw power emanating from him was astonishing, a constant, vibrating force that threatened to buckle Sumihiko's knees. His muscles screamed, trembling violently from the strain, but he clamped down on the pain, refusing to yield. He could feel the cold radiating from Kanata, an unnatural chill against his own feverish skin, a stark dichotomy that screamed of the impossible.

I won't let go. Never. The thought was a desperate, unbreakable vow, echoing in the deafening roar of his own frantic heart. He locked his elbows, his entire body rigid, a living vice. The fight wasn't elegant. It was raw, brutal, and terrifying. It was the frantic, desperate dance of love against savagery, of a human will pitted against an ancient, hungry instinct. And in that moment, under the indifferent gaze of the city lights, Sumihiko Kamado, the cocky, athletic high schooler, began to understand the true, terrifying price of the night.