Marionettes of The Flesh Weaver

The moment the wisteria left her hands, the air shifted.

The once-passive mist surged toward her, swallowing everything in sight. Then—movement.

From the shadows, figures emerged.

Demon Slayers—Their uniforms were torn, stained with blood, their faces shadowed by the mist.

For a heartbeat, she almost believed they had survived.

Her grip tightened around her katana.

The slayers rushed forward. Their movements were wrong—glitching, twitching—but their attacks were real.

The first one struck. She blocked, twisting her blade at the last second, narrowly avoiding slicing through the body. Another came from behind—she ducked, countering with a precise but non-lethal strike.

 A soft, sickly-sweet voice coiled around her like silk.

“Oh? You won't kill them? How kind.”

A tendril of flesh lashed out from the mist. She barely dodged, rolling to the side.

Her mind raced.

These weren't real people anymore. The demon was controlling their remains.

“It's okay,” the demon cooed. "Don't be shy..."

The false humans stepped closer, their bodies warping slightly, shifting between different faces.

Some of them—she knew.

She had seen some of at the training grounds. Some of them at the Butterfly Estate. But now, their expressions were blank, their mouths twitching into forced smiles.

No.

These aren't them.

These were just what was left of them.

The demon was using their bodies like marionettes.

If she hesitated, she would lose.

But then...

A flash of blue.

Mizuno Yuu, appearing from the mist, cutting down one of the fakes without hesitation.

The body collapsed, its form melting back into raw flesh.

Some blood. No scream.

Just remnants of what once was.

He turned to her, his quiet gaze steady. Unshaken.

She exhaled.

Her grip on her sword shifted—firmer now.

Yuu proved to her that they were indeed...

Fake.

“Awe... Welcome new player.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing through the mist.

A shape emerged—a young woman, slender and elegant, her form shifting like liquid.

The Middle Sister.

Her skin was pale, but the edges of her body blurred and rippled, as if she wasn't entirely solid. Her eyes gleamed, filled with something inhumanly delighted.

"You got yourself a cute friend... Sweet."

Her katana gleamed as she adjusted her stance. Emotionless. Cold. Indifferent.

The demon smirked.

“Ah... so you're ready now?”

...~•~...

Now that she's certain the slayers were fakes, she no longer held back.

Her blade carved through them with fierce precision, each strike like a gust of wind tearing through the battlefield.

The mist twisted, warping around her movements. It tried to confuse her, trap her, but she was too fast, too relentless.

She moved like a storm, her attacks unpredictable, swift, leaving no time for the demon to counter.

Beside her, Yuu, fought with measured grace—his Water Breathing flowing seamlessly, his strikes like an unyielding current, crushing everything in his path.

Wind and Water—chaos and control.

The Middle Sister clicked her tongue, backing away into the mist. “Sweet... but annoying.”

She was retreating. Her form flickered, melting into the mist.

They chased.

The mist swirled violently as the demon darted between shadows, leading them deeper into the ruined village.

Then—A figure ahead.

Mizuno lunged, blade ready to strike.

The figure stumbled, barely able to stand. But at the last second—his blade halted.

His calm gaze scanned the slayer in front of him—real. Alive.

Just barely.

The boy's uniform was torn, breathing ragged, face hollow with exhaustion.

Not one of the fakes. A true survivor.

For a brief second, she turned her head, taking in the scene.

Her mind registered it—

And then she was moving again.

'Cause she couldn't stop.

She couldn't let the demon slip away.

Her breath surged as she vanished into the mist, her pursuit relentless.

She would not lose this prey.

...~•~...

The chase led her deeper into the ruined village, mist swallowing the world around her.

A faint creaking sound echoed through the air. Like wood bending

Tsukishiro skidded to a stop, her eyes sharp.

Ahead, something moved.

Figures—hanging

Bodies.

Corpses—stiched together creation

Their limbs were sewn with thick, bloody threads, their heads tilted unnaturally, empty eyes staring into nothing.

Some of them twitched.

Some of them moved.

A slow, rhythmic click click click sounded through the mist, like a doll's head turning.

Then she saw it.

The middle sister stepped forward, no longer running.

The demon was different now. No longer that slender, human-like-her true form was grotesque yet eerily delicate.

The Flesh Weaver.

Her limbs were elongated, jointed like a doll's, fingers ending in a sharp, thread like tendrils.

The smile.

Wide. Painted on. As if it had been crafted, not born.

The demon tilted her head, watching her like a child studying a new toy.

"You're fast. But I don't like messy things."

The threads snapped.

The bodies lurched.

Like marionettes on unseen strings, they rushed forward—graceful, wrongly unnatural.

She exhaled sharply.

Her blade sang as she tore through them, but there was fabric, flesh, and thread unraveling.

These things—they weren't people anymore.

They were just dolls.

The demon hummed, amused.

"Do you like them? They're my favorites."

Her fingers twitched, and from the shadows, she saw it.

Bodies still alive half sewn half breathing

The demon giggled.

"How do you like my latest creation?" — "Don't worry... Soon, they'll be perfect."

Something inside her snapped.

A strom began to rise.

...~•~...

Her feet pressed into the earth, breath steady as her grip on the hilt tightened.

Third Form – Clean Storm Wind Tree.

A roaring gust surged through the battlefield, twisting like a hurricane. Blades of wind carved through the charging dolls, tearing them apart at the seams. Flesh unraveled. Threads snapped.

Yet—there was no satisfaction in it.

Only rage.

These were people—slayers who had trained, fought, bled, just like her.

And now?

Their bodies were puppets, empty, hollow, broken.

Her breath hitched, but she forced it down.

She spun, the wind howling as her blade carved through another wave of dolls. Their limbs twitched even after they fell, fingers grasping, mouths parting as if they wanted to speak.

The demon was watching.

And smiling.

A delicate, painted smile.

"You're a feisty one," the Flesh Weaver mused, tilting her head. "It's beautiful, really."

"But you ruined my toy." — "Can't you appreciate how long it took to make them pretty?"

More threads shot forward, wrapping around the fallen bodies. They stitched back together. Stood up again.

Her heart pounded.

Her stance shifted—ready to charge straight through.

Then—

The demon's eyes flicked toward her hair.

"Oh..."

The Middle Sister's thread-like fingers twitched, an eerie kind of excitement in her voice.

"That hair stick."

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers subconsciously moved, barely resisting the urge to reach for the delicate hair stick holding up part of her hair.

The demon's smile turned almost childlike.

"It would look lovely on my next doll." — "No" — "You shall be... Nee-san."

...~•~...

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