The Awakening

Darkness.

That was all Tanjiro could feel when consciousness began to seep back into him—thick, suffocating, endless. His body felt heavy, but at the same time… wrong. His pulse raced, yet no heartbeat followed. His throat burned, dry and desperate, a hunger unlike anything he had ever known clawing at him from the inside.

He opened his eyes.

The world swam in sharp, unnatural clarity. The flickering lantern light on the walls painted the room in gold and crimson, and in that light sat a man. Pale, immaculate, terrifying. His presence filled the air, commanding and poisonous, yet mesmerizing.

Muzan Kibutsuji.

Tanjiro’s breath caught, though he didn’t know why. He didn’t remember why. His memories were fractured glass—blurred faces, a snowy mountain, warmth that slipped through his fingers like mist. And then… nothing.

“You’re awake,” Muzan said softly, his voice smooth, almost tender. His red eyes narrowed with fascination as he studied Tanjiro like a masterpiece just completed. “How remarkable. You survived the transformation without breaking.”

Tanjiro tried to sit up, his hands trembling. His nails had grown sharp and black, his skin colder than it should have been. He stared at himself, horror stirring in his gut—but the hunger drowned it out. The scent of blood—sweet, intoxicating—lingered in the air, and he could not stop his mouth from watering.

“What… happened to me?” His voice cracked, low and unfamiliar.

Muzan rose from his seat with effortless grace, stepping closer. The sway of his coat whispered across the wooden floor as he leaned in, his hand brushing Tanjiro’s jaw. Cold fingers, firm and possessive.

“You were dying,” Muzan whispered. “Your fragile body couldn’t withstand the cruelty of this world. But I saved you. I gave you strength… eternity.”

Tanjiro flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His mind screamed that something was wrong, but the man’s words sank into the hollow emptiness where his memories should have been. Saved me. Gave me strength. Eternity.

“Who… am I?” Tanjiro asked, his voice breaking with confusion.

A faint smile curved Muzan’s lips, cruel and tender all at once. “You are mine,” he said, his thumb grazing Tanjiro’s cheek. “My precious creation. You need no other name, no past. Only me.”

Tanjiro shivered, torn between fear and a strange, reluctant comfort. The hunger inside him clawed violently now, demanding release. Muzan watched him with satisfaction, as if waiting for a fledgling to take its first step.

“Feed,” Muzan commanded softly, gesturing to a covered tray at the bedside. The scent of fresh blood spilled into the air as the lid was lifted.

Tanjiro’s instincts roared. His throat burned, his vision blurred. He wanted—no, needed—it. He reached out, trembling, his humanity screaming somewhere deep inside, but his body obeyed the hunger.

As he drank, Muzan’s hand rested on his shoulder, steadying, controlling. Almost affectionate.

“Yes…” Muzan murmured. “That’s it. You will never be weak again. You will never suffer loss again. With me, you will have everything you need.”

And Tanjiro, his lips stained red, looked up at him with wide, lost eyes—unsure whether the man before him was his savior or his captor.

But one thing was certain.

He belonged to Muzan now.

TO BE CONTINUED

(⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

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