Into the Hollow Fog — [Mizuno Yuu]

She adjusted the grip on her sword, casting a brief glance at the bundle of fresh wisteria tucked securely within her haori. It was meant for Shinobu—a quiet gesture. But now, it was dead weight.

There was no time to make a stop at the Butterfly Estate. The mission came first.

With a final glance at the fading sky, she took off, her strides quick and purposeful.

...~•~...

The western outskirts loomed ahead, shrouded in dense, creeping mist. The air felt wrong—not just eerie, but thick, heavy, pressing against her skin like unseen hands.

The village, or what remained of it, was in absolute silence.

No signs of life. No flickering lanterns, no distant voices of weary villagers. Only the wind, hollow and restless.

Then—a flicker of movement.

Her hand instinctively went to her katana, eyes narrowing as figures emerged from the mist. Other Demon Slayers.

Among them, one stood out—a tall, broad-shouldered figure, his dark uniform unmistakable even through the haze. She recognized that face. His name surfaced in her mind.

Mizuno Yuu.

A faint memory from the Final Selection. She hadn't spoken to him since then.

He was quiet, just like back then. But here, in the dim light, she saw something new. He carried his blade with an unshaken stillness, his expression calm—like still water before a storm.

She said nothing, and neither did he. There was no need for introductions.

Their mission had begun.

...~•~...

The group of Slayers moved in silence, their steps muffled by the damp earth beneath them. The mist thickened, curling unnaturally around their feet, restricting their sight to only a few meters ahead. It wasn't normal mist—it clung too tightly, moved too deliberately.

She kept to the back, instinctively scanning their surroundings. Beside her, Mizuno walked with quiet precision, his hand never straying far from his blade. Though his face remained calm, his shoulders were tense. He felt it too.

Then—a scent.

Not blood. Not death.

Decay. Rot.

Ahead, one of the slayers came to an abrupt stop, raising a hand to signal the group. The others tensed.

Something was up ahead.

Moving forward cautiously, they found it—a piece of a Demon Slayer uniform, torn and soaked in something dark.

She knelt beside it, fingers brushing the fabric. The blood was still fresh.

Another slayer stepped forward, inspecting the ground. Footprints—erratic, deep, like someone had been dragged.

“Survivor?” someone whispered.

No one answered.

The mist pulsed.

The group instinctively shifted closer together.

Then—a sound.

Faint. Warped. But unmistakable.

A voice.

“…help… me…”

The words were stretched thin, barely audible over the rustling mist.

Her grip tightened around her sword. Something was wrong. The voice was too close.

Yet there was no one there.

She exchanged a glance with Mizuno on he right. His brows furrowed slightly, eyes sharp.

He had heard it too.

Then the voice came again, this time from behind them.

“…please… don't leave me…”

She turned sharply, katana half-drawn—

Nothing.

Just the mist.

But it was moving now, shifting unnaturally, swirling around them as if something within it was breathing.

The slayers closed ranks, blades gleaming under the pale moonlight.

Something was watching them.

Something was playing with them.

She exhaled, forcing her heartbeat to steady. This wasn't an ordinary demon.

And the missing slayers?

They were already part of the trap.

...~•~...

The mist thickened until it felt alive, pressing against their skin like unseen fingers. The whispers continued—faint, distorted, weaving through the air like threads of an unfinished nightmare.

Then—a shadow moved.

No warning, no sound. Just a blur of darkness rushing past.

A slayer barely had time to react before—SLASH A spray of blood hit the ground, one of them flung backward into the mist.

They weren't alone anymore.

The slayers reacted instantly. Their breaths were steady, but their grips were tight.

She stood still, sensing. The demons were testing them.

A deep, resonant hum rippled through the air, followed by a second voice—low, smooth, and mocking.

“Ahhh... So many of you. What a rare feast.”— "Nii-chan! Nii-chan! I want them!"

The moment the voice of a young boy ended, the mist exploded outward.

A force—invisible, suffocating—swept through the group like a shockwave, throwing them apart.

She felt the ground vanish beneath her feet, her body flung into the air. Landing with a skid on damp soil, blade still in hand.

Silence.

The others—gone.

She scanned the darkness, pulse steady but mind racing. The mist was still thick, but something was different now.

It wasn't closing in on her. It moved around her, swirling but never touching.

That's when she noticed it—the scent of wisteria still clinging to her haori.

The demons weren't getting close.

Her fingers brushed the bundle she had picked earlier for Shinobu, now tucked within her uniform. It was keeping them away.

Her first instinct? Keep it.

She had walked from dawn till dusk for those Fuji flowers.

But—

If she kept the wisteria, she would be untouched. But while she stood here unscathed, the others were fighting for their lives.

Her duty wasn't survival.

Without hesitation, she tore the bundle free from her haori and tossed it. The petals scattered onto the earth, a delicate contrast to the dark soil.

Almost instantly, the mist reacted.

It surged toward her—a force finally unleashed.

From the shadows, something moved.

A presence—lurking, waiting.

The fight was about to begin.

...~•~...

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