Chapter 8: Death of a Thousand Years Old
Two bodies collapsed onto the ground. A scream erupted from a nearby bystander, and the surrounding crowd scattered in panic.
"Cough... cough..."
A faint gasp came from behind.
"Akito!"
Akira dropped the glass in his hand and rushed to Akito's side, his voice trembling. His blood-stained hands gently stroked Akito's cheek, leaving crimson streaks behind.
"Akito, how are you? Hold on—I'll find a doctor for you right away!"
He lifted Akito onto his back and dashed to the nearest clinic. The doctor, shocked by the blood soaking Akira's body, hesitated for a moment, but his instincts as a physician took over. He quickly examined Akito's wounds.
Moments later, the doctor stood up, sighed deeply, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry. You should prepare for your brother's funeral."
Akira froze. Funeral? His brother had only been beaten—albeit brutally—by those two Demon Slayer Corps members. Why was it ending like this?
To Akira, it felt like a petty thief being sentenced to death for stealing a coin purse.
"What did you just say?! You fraud!"
Akira grabbed the doctor by the collar, teeth clenched in fury.
"I'm giving you one more chance. Look again—and this time, tell me the truth!"
But the doctor's expression didn't change.
"Your brother's internal organs are severely damaged. No ordinary person can survive this. Unless you can summon a god, no one can save him."
Akira stumbled back, his face pale.
"Brother…"
Akito's faint voice called out to him.
"Akito..."
Akira turned and gently held Akito's trembling hand. His eyes scanned Akito's broken body, finally seeing—truly seeing—the horrific internal damage.
The doctor hadn't lied.
Akito was dying.
In truth, Akira had noticed how badly injured Akito was from the start—but he couldn't bring himself to accept it. He wished, desperately, that he hadn't seen it at all. That his cursed eyes couldn't see the truth so clearly.
"Brother… am I… going to die?" Akito asked weakly.
"Don't say that! You'll be fine. I'm here."
Akito slowly reached up, his fingertips brushing Akira's cheek.
"Brother… live well… even if it's alone…"
"How can I live without you?" Akira tried to stay strong, but the tears betrayed him, falling freely. "I still dreamed of building our store together…"
Akito forced a faint smile.
"I… I don't think… I can stay by your side much longer…"
"Stop it! What you need now is rest. I'll fix this—I will save you. Just hold on, Akito. You'll be okay. You'll be fine."
"Brother…"
Akito's frail hand fell over Akira's. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
"Brother, go find Mr. Yunichi… The Demon Slayer Corps… they won't stop. They'll come for you again…"
He paused, then added with difficulty,
"You're strong when fighting demons… but you're helpless in life. You can't carry heavy things, you don't eat on time… You need someone to take care of you. If I'm gone… find someone. Even a sister-in-law, someone who'll make you whole again."
"Thank you… for everything all these years. I know you're not my real brother… My actual brother died long ago. But God must've sent you to me. You made me feel like I had a home again. I've been so happy… living with you. Did you know? I wanted to watch you get married, have kids… I wanted to live our lives together forever.
I… I don't want to go. I really don't want to die…"
"Brother…"
As Akito's final breath escaped his lips, his hand fell from Akira's cheek. In those last seconds, his eyes held only Akira.
Akira collapsed over his brother's body, sobbing uncontrollably. His heart shattered.
"Why… why… why?!"
He stared blankly at Akito's lifeless face.
Why?
It felt like the gods were mocking him.
He had given up everything—his past, his fight, even his identity as a demon—to live peacefully with Akito. He had chosen a quiet life. Why, now, was that peace destroyed?
And worse… this time, it wasn't demons who had taken everything from him.
It was the Demon Slayer Corps.
Time froze around him.
Eventually, Akira stood up slowly, like a broken marionette. His movements were stiff, mechanical. With trembling arms, he held Akito's cold body close, trying in vain to preserve what warmth remained.
He turned toward the clinic door.
The doctor cowered silently in a corner, too terrified to move or speak.
Akira walked like a man possessed, repeating in a soft, vacant voice:
"Akito… brother will take you home…"
The blood on his clothes was still wet, reeking of iron and death. His grotesque appearance sent waves of fear through the townspeople. They backed away as he passed, too afraid to speak, too afraid even to breathe.
They had witnessed his fury firsthand.
"Brother will take you home… brother will take you home…"
Step by step, Akira walked into the snow, cradling Akito's body like a precious treasure.
Snow fell heavily from the gray sky, quickly gathering on his shoulders. He didn't notice. He just kept walking.
In the endless white, his thin frame looked heartbreakingly small—an abandoned soul swallowed by the world.
Snowflakes melted on his face and slid down like silent tears from the heavens.
Yet as he moved forward, a question clawed at his mind:
Home?
Where was home now?
Akito was gone.
The home they built together—filled with laughter, warmth, and peace—was shattered beyond repair.
He was alone now. Lost.
Wandering a cold, unforgiving world, with no destination, and nowhere to belong.