A Vow Of Blood

The night smelled of ash and iron.

Tanjiro stood trembling in the garden, his claws dripping red. The corpses of the two Demon Slayer scouts lay broken at the far edge of the estate, their swords shattered, their courage extinguished. He hadn’t meant to kill them—not really. But when Muzan’s voice had guided him, calm and commanding in the chaos, his body had moved without thought.

Now it was done. And he could not undo it.

“I…” His breath hitched. He stared down at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. “I killed them.”

“Yes,” Muzan said softly.

Tanjiro looked up. Muzan stood before him, untouched by the battle, his pristine white coat unmarked by even a drop of blood. His crimson eyes glowed with a satisfaction that was both terrifying and beautiful.

“I didn’t want to,” Tanjiro whispered, his voice breaking. “They looked at me like they knew me. Like… like I was someone they once trusted.”

Muzan’s steps were unhurried as he closed the distance between them. He reached out, taking Tanjiro’s trembling hands in his own, steadying them.

“They were liars,” Muzan said, voice low and velvet smooth. “Clinging to illusions of a boy who no longer exists. They would have killed you without hesitation. Do not mourn them.”

Tanjiro shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “But it hurts. Why does it hurt if you say they meant nothing?”

Muzan’s expression softened by degrees, and he drew Tanjiro into his arms. For a moment, the world fell silent but for the pounding in Tanjiro’s head. The scent of blood and flowers clung to Muzan’s robes, sharp yet oddly comforting.

“You feel pain because your heart is strong,” Muzan murmured into his hair. “That is what makes you precious to me. But you must stop looking backward. All you have… all you are… is here.”

Tanjiro clung to him helplessly, torn between shame and relief, between guilt and the terrible comfort Muzan offered.

After a long silence, Muzan pulled back, tilting Tanjiro’s face upward. His crimson eyes glowed like embers in the dark.

“There is a way to silence these doubts,” Muzan said. “To bind you so tightly to me that no phantom, no voice, no memory can ever reach you again.”

Tanjiro blinked, lost in the depths of his gaze. “What… do you mean?”

Muzan’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I mean marriage, my precious one. A vow not of fleeting mortals, but of eternity. Be mine completely—and let me make you my bride.”

The words struck Tanjiro like a blow and a balm at once. His chest tightened, his breath caught. Bride. The word felt strange, unfamiliar—and yet something in Muzan’s voice made it sound inevitable.

“I…” Tanjiro faltered, his cheeks flushing, his lips trembling. “So soon?”

Muzan leaned closer, his forehead brushing Tanjiro’s, his lips brushing the corner of his mouth in a kiss that lingered just enough to steal his words.

“Why wait?” Muzan whispered. “The world will only try to take you from me. Let us seal what already belongs to us.”

Tanjiro trembled, his heart torn in two directions. But when Muzan kissed him again—slow, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness—he found himself leaning into it, surrendering to the only anchor he had left.

When the kiss broke, Muzan’s hand cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears Tanjiro hadn’t noticed falling.

“Then it is decided,” Muzan said. “Our wedding will not wait for fate to interfere. You will stand at my side, as my bride, my eternity.”

And though Tanjiro’s heart still whispered with echoes he could not understand, his lips formed the only answer Muzan wanted to hear:

“…Yes.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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