Demon Slayer: Resurgence

The sudden, feral lunge from Kanata had been a visceral, bone-jarring shock. His small body, once soft and yielding, had become a rigid, powerful coil of destructive energy. Sumihiko, still reeling, tightened his grip, pulling his brother back into a desperate, smothering embrace. The rough brick wall bit into his back as he pressed Kanata against it, trying to pin him, to contain the incomprehensible violence that now writhed in his arms.

Kanata snarled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through Sumihiko's chest, chilling him to the core. Those eyes, once a deep, solemn purple, now glowed an unnatural, predatory green, fixed on Sumihiko's throat. The hot, putrid breath, thick with the stench of decay, washed over his face. He could feel the small, sharp nails, now elongated into terrifying talons, scrabbling against his forearms, tearing at the fabric of his school shirt, seeking purchase, seeking flesh.

No! Not him! This isn't Kanata! His mind shrieked, a desperate, internal cacophony that warred with the primal terror clawing at his throat. He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching with the strain. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he clamped down on the pain, drawing on a reserve of strength he hadn't known he possessed. Years of track and field, of pushing his body to its absolute limits, had forged an innate athleticism, a core of iron, that allowed him to pivot, to absorb the shocks, to leverage his weight against the impossible power surging from his little brother. He wasn't simply fighting; he was a desperate dam, holding back a monstrous tide.

Kanata thrashed, his small legs kicking with startling force against Sumihiko's shins, his knees, leaving stinging impacts that radiated bone-deep aches. His head snapped back and forth, those needle-sharp teeth snapping wildly, seeking a purchase on Sumihiko's neck, his shoulder, anywhere. Sumihiko twisted, contorted, doing everything to keep his brother's transformed face away from his skin. The air whistled past his ear as another lunge missed its mark by mere centimeters, the sharp scent of his own fear mingling with the demonic stench.

"Kanata! Stop! Please!" Sumihiko choked out, his voice raw, pleading, a desperate, futile prayer. He felt the blood from his forearms, where the talons had grazed him, hot and sticky, mingling with the chilling cold radiating from Kanata's skin. The paradox was jarring: the feverish heat of his own exertion contrasted with the unnatural, bone-deep cold emanating from the demon in his arms.

Suddenly, amidst a particularly violent thrash, Kanata's body stiffened. The feral snarl caught in his throat, replaced by a strained, guttural gasp. His struggles faltered for a fraction of a second. Sumihiko, seizing the opening, tried to pin him tighter, to gain even a moment's control.

And then, he saw it.

Through the demonic green, a flicker. A brief, agonizing flicker of violet in Kanata's eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the quiet, curious boy he knew. And a sound, thin and strained, a whimper that was undeniably human, escaping from a throat that had just roared with bestial rage. A single, crystalline tear, impossibly human, traced a path down Kanata's grime-streaked cheek, catching the harsh glow of the streetlight.

The primal hunger in Kanata's eyes wavered. His body convulsed, not with aggression, but with an internal torment. He leaned back, pushing against Sumihiko with a force that seemed driven by desperate repulsion rather than attack. He wasn't trying to tear into his brother; he was trying to pull away from himself. His head snapped away from Sumihiko's neck, smashing hard against the brick wall with a dull thud. A gasp of pain, human and sharp, broke through the demonic haze.

Sumihiko froze, his own pain momentarily forgotten. Kanata wasn't fighting him anymore; he was fighting it. The realization, sharp as a blade, tore through the fog of his terror, replaced by a desperate, fervent hope. He still had a chance. Kanata was still in there. He had to be.

He tightened his grip, not out of restraint now, but out of desperate comfort, pulling Kanata's trembling, demonic form closer, shielding him not from himself, but from the horrifying force that had consumed him. The sickening aroma of blood still clung to the air, but beneath it, a fragile, human connection, raw and desperate, pulsed between the two brothers.

The single tear on Kanata's cheek, the desperate human whimper that pierced through the growls, had momentarily frozen Sumihiko. He clutched his brother tighter, his own heart a frantic drumbeat against Kanata's rapidly chilling skin. This flicker of his brother, this brief glimpse of the boy he knew, was a fragile, defiant ember in the crushing darkness. He refused to let it extinguish. He would cling to it, no matter the impossible form in his arms.

Then, a disturbance. Not a sound, not at first, but a shift in the air, a whisper against his skin that was too precise, too sudden to be the wind. It was as if the very atoms around them had parted, making way for something utterly alien to the chaos that had just engulfed him. Sumihiko's head snapped up, his eyes, still wide and bloodshot from terror and exertion, darting wildly.

A figure stood there, at the edge of the pooling streetlight, less than twenty meters away. They hadn't been there a second ago. They simply were.

He couldn't make out many details in the dim, urban glow, but what he could perceive sent a fresh wave of ice-cold dread through him. The figure was tall, almost unnaturally so, cloaked in what looked like a dark, uniform-like attire. But it was the silence that was most unsettling. No hurried footsteps, no rustling of clothes. Just a profound, almost ghostly stillness.

And then, his eyes locked onto the blade.

It shimmered with an ethereal, almost spectral light, not the harsh gleam of polished steel, but something softer, deeper, like moonlight filtered through thick clouds. It wasn't a sword he recognized from any martial arts dojo or kendo practice; its form was subtly different, its aura chillingly sharp. The hilt was wrapped in a pattern he couldn't discern, but the overall impression was one of dangerous, lethal grace.

The figure moved. Not a run, not a walk, but a glide. Fluid and silent, like a wisp of smoke caught on an unseen current. They closed the distance with terrifying speed, their movements a blur of effortless power. Sumihiko's breath hitched again, lodging in his throat. His entire body screamed, every instinct screaming at him to flee, to protect the fragile life—the demon life—he held.

He saw their face now, under the immediate glare of the nearest streetlight. It was impassive, unreadable, etched with a calm so profound it felt colder than the night itself. Dark, focused eyes, unwavering, were locked onto Kanata. There was no pity, no horror, no shock in that gaze – only a chilling, absolute certainty. The aura around them was not of malicious intent, but of overwhelming, unyielding purpose. It was the presence of a predator, calm and absolute, in the presence of its prey.

The air around them seemed to thicken, to hum with an unspoken energy. Sumihiko could feel it, a subtle pressure on his skin, a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold night. He looked at Kanata, still shuddering in his arms, the single tear glistening on his cheek, the terrifying glow in his eyes momentarily subdued by that inexplicable, fleeting humanity.

The figure raised their blade. Slowly, deliberately, the unique hilt came into view, shaped subtly like a wispy cloud, and the blade itself seemed to gather the faint street light, reflecting it with an almost cloudy luminescence. There was no hesitation, no question in their posture. Only the unwavering intent to strike, to sever, to end.

Sumihiko's heart plummeted, a leaden weight in his chest. This wasn't a rescuer. This was another threat, one even more terrifyingly focused than Kanata's feral rage. This person was here to kill his brother. And in that terrifying, desperate moment, he knew, with chilling certainty, that he had to stop them. He squeezed Kanata tighter, his own body tensing, preparing for the impossible.

The blade hummed, a low, almost imperceptible vibration that seemed to cut through the oppressive stillness of the night. Sumihiko's eyes, wide with a terror that burned like acid, were fixed on the unwavering gaze of the silent figure. He could feel the power radiating from them, an intense, focused energy that felt ancient and absolute, entirely unlike the feral, chaotic strength of the demon in his arms. This was controlled, lethal precision.

Then, the figure moved.

There was no discernible wind-up, no wasted motion. They simply vanished. Not truly gone, but their speed was so incomprehensible that his eyes simply couldn't track it. A whisper of motion, a fleeting blur, and then the figure was suddenly there, impossibly close, a silent wraith of death.

The blade, shimmering with that ethereal, cloud-like luminescence, arced downward with chilling intent. It was too fast, too fluid, lacking any sound save for the faint, almost unheard swish of air. Cloud Breathing, First Form: Whispering Gale – a silent, swift approach culminates in a single, incredibly precise downward slash. It was aimed not at Sumihiko, but directly at Kanata's neck, a clean, decisive strike intended to sever the demon's existence.

Sumihiko reacted on pure, blinding instinct. The terror that had paralysed him moments before was eclipsed by a primal, protective fury. He let out a wordless roar, a sound torn from the deepest part of his soul, and twisted his body, throwing himself fully over Kanata. His arms shot up, not to block the sword, which would be futile, but to force his own body into the path, to make himself a living shield.

He felt the cold, sharp rush of air as the blade descended, the immediate pressure of the impending impact. A searing line of pain erupted across his upper back and shoulder, a sickening thwack of steel against flesh that reverberated through his bones. It wasn't the clean slice he expected, but a blunt, agonizing force. He crumpled forward, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through his entire frame, the taste of copper exploding in his mouth.

He hit the ground with a grunt, Kanata still clutched tightly in his arms, cushioned partially by Sumihiko's own body. The force of the blow had been immense, driving the air from his lungs. He lay there, gasping, every nerve screaming, the burning pain across his back a blinding fire. His muscles locked, spasming violently. He could feel the warmth of blood blooming across his shirt, soaking into the fabric, but it was his own. He hadn't felt the blade pierce Kanata.

He risked a glance back, muscles screaming in protest. The figure stood over them, silent, still, their unique blade held in a ready stance, not stained with demon blood. Their impassive gaze was now fixed on Sumihiko, a flicker of something unreadable in those deep, dark eyes. He had intercepted the strike. He had survived. But the threat hadn't receded. The air still crackled with the silent, deadly resolve of the Cloud Hashira, poised to strike again.

The dull ache radiating from Sumihiko's back was a fiery map of the impact, each throb a reminder of the swift, devastating force he'd just intercepted. He lay sprawled on the cold pavement, his left arm still wrapped protectively around Kanata, who trembled slightly against him. The demonic snarls had subsided, replaced by shallow, ragged breaths, a fragile testament to the human flicker that still fought within.

He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the searing protest of his muscles. His head swam, a dizzying spiral of pain and disbelief, but his eyes remained locked on the figure before him. The individual stood silent, perfectly still, their unique blade, still gleaming with that otherworldly luminescence, held ready. Their gaze, impassive and unwavering, was fixed on Sumihiko, then flickered briefly to Kanata.

"He hasn't eaten anyone!" The words tore from Sumihiko's throat, raw and desperate, an involuntary gasp that pushed past the pain. His voice, usually confident and clear, was now hoarse, cracking with a grief and terror too profound for articulation. He barely registered the absurdity of his own words, the inherent impossibility of his plea. "He hasn't! You saw it, didn't you?! He... he pulled back! He's my brother!"

His eyes pleaded, wide and bloodshot, fixed on the Slayer's emotionless face. He couldn't understand this person, this silent, deadly warrior who moved like smoke and struck with the force of a storm. All he knew was that this stranger saw Kanata as a monster, an object to be eradicated. And Sumihiko, bruised and bleeding, would defy them with every fiber of his being.

"He... he changed!" Sumihiko rasped, scrambling backwards a few inches on his hands and knees, pulling Kanata closer, shielding him with his own trembling body. The cold of the pavement seeped through his clothes, but he barely noticed it. "I don't know what happened, but he's not... he's still in there! I saw him! He cried! He wouldn't hurt me!"

His words tumbled out, a frantic, incoherent stream born of terror and an unshakeable love. He felt like a drowning man, grasping at straws, trying to explain the unexplainable to an unyielding force. His chest heaved, lungs burning with the effort, the stench of his own sweat mingling with the lingering, putrid aroma of demon that now clung to them both. He could feel the small tremors running through Kanata's body, the sporadic, shallow breaths, and it fueled his desperate conviction.

The silent figure watched him, their expression unchanging, unreadable. There was no acknowledgment, no hint of understanding in those deep, unwavering eyes. Just that chilling, absolute stillness, the poised readiness of a hunter observing its cornered prey. The lack of reaction was almost as terrifying as the initial strike. It was like speaking to stone, trying to reason with an unstoppable force of nature.

Tears, hot and stinging, welled in Sumihiko's eyes, mixing with the grime and sweat on his face. "Please!" he begged, his voice breaking, shattering into a pathetic sob. "Don't... please don't hurt him! He's all I have left! Our family... they're gone... he's the only one!" His gaze flickered to the shattered remains of his home, a dark, gaping wound in the familiar street. The memory of the carnage flashed behind his eyes, a fresh wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him.

"He didn't do this!" Sumihiko insisted, shaking his head wildly, the pain in his back flaring with the movement. "Something else... something else was here! Something horrible! It killed everyone else! But not Kanata! He's different! Please! Just... please listen!"

His voice was a raw, guttural plea, echoing in the unnatural quiet of the night. He would shout until his throat ripped, until his lungs burst, if it meant this silent, unyielding warrior would pause, would see his brother, not just the monster. His love for Kanata was a burning, unyielding core in the midst of his despair, a desperate, defiant shield against the cold blade poised to descend.

Sumihiko's raw, broken plea hung in the frigid night air, a desperate, exposed nerve. His body trembled, not just from the cold or the pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming terror that still coiled in his gut. His eyes, swimming with tears and exhaustion, remained locked on the figure, begging for a flicker of understanding, a hint of mercy. He was a cornered animal, wounded but unyielding, protecting his young.

The Cloud Hashira stood over them, utterly still, a sentinel carved from the shadows. His unique blade, infused with that ethereal glow, remained poised, reflecting the distant streetlights in its surface like fractured stars. His face, etched with a composure that bordered on the inhuman, offered no comfort, no recognition of Sumihiko's agony. Yet, a subtle shift occurred. A barely perceptible tilt of the head, a slight narrowing of those deep, unreadable eyes.

Ryuunosuke Kumo, the Cloud Hashira, stood on the precipice of a decision. His training, his entire existence as a Demon Slayer, screamed one undeniable truth: a demon was a demon, an abomination to be eradicated without hesitation. He had witnessed the aftermath of countless demonic massacres, the grotesque tableaux of human despair. He had seen the swift, brutal transformations, the immediate descent into unreasoning hunger. His blade yearned to strike, to purify, to bring swift justice to the nascent demon writhing beneath the boy.

But this was different.

The small demon, though clearly feral moments ago, had recoiled. Not from fear, but from... what? Pain? Repulsion? And the boy, this human, was bleeding for it, screaming for it, clinging to it with a tenacity that defied all logic. He was wounded, yet he made no move to escape, only to shield. Ryuunosuke's honed senses, sharper than any blade, registered the subtle shift in the demon's aura—a moment of clashing energies, a battle within itself, something he had never witnessed in an infant demon. No, this demon had not consumed a human. The scent of fresh human blood from the house was distinct, but the putrid tang emanating from the child was singular, untainted by recent consumption.

An anomaly. The thought drifted through Ryuunosuke's disciplined mind, a whisper against the thunderous dogma of the Demon Slayer Corps. He had lived by the code, slain countless fiends, extinguished the light from their monstrous eyes without a flicker of doubt. Yet, here, under the harsh, indifferent glow of the city lights, doubt, fragile as a spider's silk, began to weave itself into the edges of his resolve.

He observed the human boy, Sumihiko, who was now panting, exhausted, his body trembling, yet his gaze was unwavering, a fierce, burning defiance. The boy possessed a raw, untamed spirit, a tenacity that resonated with something deep within Ryuunosuke's own forgotten past. And the demon... it had cried. He had seen it. A single, impossible tear.

His blade remained poised, its tip inches from Sumihiko's head. The boy flinched, but did not move his body from protecting the demon. Ryuunosuke's analytical mind processed the situation: kill the demon, and this boy would be shattered, perhaps forever. Leave it alive, and risk a new threat, a new monster. But what if... what if there was something else here? Something new? A chance for understanding, however slim?

The decision, made in the blink of an eye, went against every ounce of his training, every instinct honed by years of grim combat. He made a choice that only a true Hashira, one with unwavering confidence in their own judgment, could make.

With a movement as fluid and silent as shifting mist, Ryuunosuke Kumo lowered his blade. The ethereal glow dimmed, the sharp edge of its deadly intent softened, though his presence remained formidable. He would give them a chance. A single, desperate chance to prove this anomaly was not a mistake. The life of a demon, even a nascent one, now hung by the fragile thread of a human boy's unwavering devotion.

The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of fear and fresh blood. Sumihiko lay on the cold pavement, his body screaming in protest from the impact, but his gaze remained riveted on the figure. The man, the one who moved like mist and struck like lightning, had lowered his blade. That was all Sumihiko knew. All he dared to hope.

"Who... who are you?" Sumihiko gasped, his voice raspy, raw from screaming and exertion. He clutched Kanata tighter, his brother's form still trembling, still cold, but quiescent against his chest. "Why did you... why did you stop?"

The figure, Ryuunosuke Kumo, remained impassive, his dark eyes unwavering. There was no warmth in his gaze, but no overt malice either, just a profound, unsettling stillness. When he spoke, his voice was calm, clear, and surprisingly young, yet laced with an authority that belied his apparent age.

"My name is Ryuunosuke Kumo," he stated, his voice carrying an almost detached resonance. "And I am a Demon Slayer."

Sumihiko's breath hitched. Demon Slayer? The words were archaic, like something pulled from a forgotten folk tale, utterly alien in the bright, digitized hum of the modern city around them. He blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog of pain and disbelief.

"A… a what? What are you talking about?" Sumihiko demanded, pushing himself up to a kneeling position, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his injured back. He ignored it. "My brother isn't… he isn't whatever you think he is! He's just a boy! He's hurt!"

Ryuunosuke's gaze sharpened, a subtle shift that didn't betray emotion but rather a deepening of focus. "Your brother," he began, his voice devoid of judgment, merely stating fact, "has been transformed by a demon. He is now one of them. A demon." He paused, allowing the impossible truth to sink into Sumihiko's shattered world. "He attempted to consume you. That is the instinct of his kind."

"No!" Sumihiko's cry was a broken, desperate sound. "He didn't! You saw him! He pulled back! He cried! He's still Kanata! He's just sick! We need to get him to a hospital! They can fix him!"

Ryuunosuke's head tilted infinitesimally. "Hospitals cannot cure this disease. Doctors possess no remedy for demon transformation. There is only one path for those afflicted, a path of ceaseless hunger and destruction. Their existence is a blight upon humanity." He gestured, a subtle sweep of his hand towards the ravaged house behind them, the dark, coppery scent of death still clinging to the night. "This is the outcome of their presence."

Sumihiko's throat worked, a dry, painful swallow. His eyes darted to the ominous silhouette of his family home, the horror there still fresh, still burning behind his eyelids. "But... but if he's a demon... then who did this? And why... why haven't we heard about this? Demons? In 2028? It's impossible!"

"The world does not know because we ensure it does not," Ryuunosuke replied, his voice calm, unwavering, despite the weight of his words. "Demons reappeared in this world approximately twenty-four years after a great war ended their first reign of terror, in the mid-20th century, around 1950. For a time, their existence was eradicated. Our organization, the Demon Slayer Corps, was disbanded. But their resurgence led to the Ubuyashiki family, the very same lineage who have always led us, to re-establish the Corps."

He paused, allowing Sumihiko to process the startling revelation of a secret war hidden within their modern world. "We have since fought in the shadows, protecting humanity from this hidden threat, working to ensure the general populace remains unaware of the horrors that lurk in the night. That is our mission. That is why you have not heard of us, nor of them."

Sumihiko stared, his mind reeling. A secret war? Demons? His entire reality had been ripped apart, meticulously reassembled into a terrifying, impossible truth. "So… so you… you're part of this 'Corps'?"

"I am the Cloud Hashira," Ryuunosuke stated, a matter of fact. He didn't elaborate, but the title carried an innate weight, a quiet authority that resonated in the air around him. "The highest rank among the Demon Slayers. My duty is to eliminate demons."

He watched Sumihiko, his gaze penetrating, assessing. "Your brother is an anomaly. Most transformed demons would have devoured you without a second thought. His resistance, however fleeting, and your desperate plea... they are unusual." His eyes flickered to the tear track on Kanata's cheek. "There has been one other such case in the Corps' history. A demon who retained traces of her humanity and protected her human brother. That case led to the belief, however slim, that a cure might exist."

Hope, fragile as gossamer, ignited in Sumihiko's chest, a blinding spark in the overwhelming darkness. "A cure? There's a cure?! Then you can help him, right? You can take him to this… this Corps! You can fix him!" His voice was frantic, desperate, clinging to the word "cure" like a lifeline.

Ryuunosuke's expression remained neutral, but a flicker of something, perhaps a subtle tension, crossed his features. "It is not so simple. A cure has never been definitively found, only theorized. And the path to seeking it is fraught with unimaginable peril. It will require you to abandon your current life, to leave this place behind forever."

He looked around the quiet, suburban street, then back to Sumihiko. "You will be hunted. Demons will seek you and your brother out. And the Demon Slayer Corps, though we may offer a slim hope, operates by strict, unforgiving rules. Your brother, as a demon, is a target for all other Slayers. I have shown an unprecedented leniency here tonight, a leniency that will not be repeated by others. If he ever truly loses control, or if another Slayer finds him before you can prove this 'cure' is possible, he will be killed."

Sumihiko's blood ran cold. He understood. This was not a rescue, but a reprieve. A grim choice.

"What do I do?" Sumihiko whispered, his voice hoarse, but a new, steel-like resolve hardening in his eyes. He squeezed Kanata, whose slight tremor against him felt like a fragile promise. "Tell me. I'll do anything. I'll fight. I'll kill every demon. Whatever it takes. Just tell me how to save him."

Ryuunosuke studied him for a long moment, his gaze piercing. "Your conviction is… notable. Very well. Gather only what is absolutely necessary. You cannot return to this house; it is tainted, and the trail of the demon will be too obvious." He indicated a small, worn pouch hanging at his own belt. "Inside this, you will find a map and a specific contact number. Follow the map to the designated location. It is a secluded estate in a mountainous region, far from here. Tell them Ryuunosuke Kumo sent you, and present your brother. They will assess your situation and provide initial guidance."

He continued, his voice dropping slightly, becoming a stark warning. "Travel only at night, in the deepest shadows. Demons burn in the sun. Your brother will too. Stay hidden during the day. Do not trust anyone. Do not speak of what you have seen, or of this Corps, to any outside party. Your life, and his, now depend on absolute secrecy and unwavering vigilance. The road ahead will be agonizing, perilous, and utterly solitary, save for the two of you."

With a final, unwavering glance, Ryuunosuke Kumo dissolved. Not a dash, not a leap, but a seamless, silent transition back into the shadows from which he had emerged. One moment, he was there, an imposing presence. The next, the spot where he stood was empty, as if the night itself had swallowed him whole.

Sumihiko stared at the empty space, the faint hum of the city lights suddenly amplified in the silence. He was alone. Alone with his demon brother, the horrific truth of his new world, and a single, desperate, unyielding purpose. His family was gone, his life shattered beyond repair. But in his arms, his brother still breathed, a fragile, living embodiment of his vow. He pushed himself to his feet, the pain in his back a dull roar, the tiny pouch weighing heavily in his hand. The crimson stain on his shirt, a testament to his futile defense, felt like an indelible mark. His new, terrifying journey had truly begun.