Oboro's legs, once disabled, gained sudden, startling flexibility as new flesh and blood surged through them, restoring what had been lost. Though his lean physique didn't change drastically, the weakness that had plagued him began to recede, replaced by a nascent power. For a moment, his face and limbs seemed on the verge of a grotesque transformation, threatening to sprout unnatural growths or warp into demonic features.
However, with a potent surge of his will, the Muzan-gifted cells abruptly withered and died. The only outward sign was a brief network of black blood vessels that surfaced on his skin, pulsed for an instant, and then vanished.
Oboro slowly rose to his feet, his appearance devoid of any overt demonic characteristics. Even his eyes, often the most telling sign of a demon, remained unchanged.
Yet his aura had undeniably transformed.
This shift caused the Flame Pillar, Rengoku, and the Water Pillar, Giyu, to instinctively level their Nichirin Blades at him.
The man before them had become a demon.
"Hehehe." A dry chuckle escaped Oboro. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. His gaze fell upon the two swordsmen: one with the vibrant hair common to the Rengoku family; the other with the calm demeanor characteristic of Water Breathing users. "Interesting," he mused. "How their chosen Breathing Styles reflect their personalities." Water Breathing practitioners always seem composed, matching the flow of their techniques. Flame Breathing, on the other hand, is all fierce, swift, and energetic movements."
From the moment they burst into the room, Rengoku and Giyu's actions and reactions had mirrored their reputations and Breathing Styles perfectly.
A sudden realization hit him!
Giyu's grip on his blade tightened. Oboro stood up and turned his back to the demon they knew to be Upper Rank Five.
At that very instant, the numerals in Upper Rank Five's eyes became chillingly clear. He had broken free from his dazed state. Silently, he raised a hand, preparing to crash it down on Oboro's head and obliterate the newly turned demon.
Neither Giyu nor Rengoku uttered a warning. The relationship between Oboro and the Upper Rank demon was unknown to them.
"He's not a Demon Slayer," the Upper Rank demon thought, his mind racing to assess the new situation. "This man just wants my blood!"
Even in his scattered state, he had overheard their conversation. He'd mistakenly assumed that Oboro was allied with the two Pillars. "Honestly," the Upper Rank demon fumed internally, "if he had simply asked, I might have transformed him. The fighting prowess Oboro displayed was certainly worthy of becoming a demon."
But this manipulation, this use of him as a mere tool, infuriated the Upper Rank demon. After all, he was one of the esteemed Twelve Kizuki, personally chosen by Lord Muzan. How dare a mere human treat him so contemptuously? Even worse, the embarrassment of being "controlled" by a human, barehanded no less, and losing his senses was a humiliation he hadn't experienced since becoming a demon. He needed to reclaim his dominance.
Staring at Oboro's vulnerable back, tantalizingly close, the Upper Rank demon's eyes bloodshot as a surge of uncontrollable rage flooded his mind.
"Go to hell!" he roared, striking down with his hand, aiming to crush Oboro's skull.
The two demons were already at odds.
"Hmm."
A soft, almost indifferent sound. Oboro glanced sideways at a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. His black haori fluttered.
In the next instant, Rengoku's and Giyu's pupils constricted to pinpricks. A shockwave of power erupted, whipping their clothes and hair about. It was accompanied by a deafening impact that made their hearts pound.
The Upper Rank Five, who had been standing directly behind Oboro a second before, was simply gone.
All that remained were a gaping, splintered hole in the shrine's wooden wall and a long scratch mark gouged into the ground extending far outside.
The Upper Rank demon had been blown away, caught completely off guard.
By what? A fist, perhaps?
Neither Giyu nor Rengoku had seen it clearly.
He was an Upper Rank demon. The density of his flesh and blood was evident from his aura alone. Yet this young man, Oboro, who appeared to be physically outmatched, had grievously injured him with ease.
Hadn't he just become a demon?
As Rengoku and Giyu struggled to process this shocking turn of events, Oboro moved like a phantom. With a light tap of his toes, he flashed between the two Pillars.
So fast!
They couldn't even see him move!
Cold sweat trickled down Giyu's temples. He tensed, ready to draw his blade, but a hand had already closed over his sword guard. The touch seemed gentle yet carried the weight of a mountain, momentarily rendering him incapable of lifting his weapon.
"What is this power?" Giyu thought, stunned. "It's immense."
If Oboro's earlier actions had merely seemed strange and unbelievable, this close-quarters display of overwhelming strength shocked the two Pillar-level swordsmen beyond words.
"Be careful now," Oboro said, his voice laced with a faint chuckle. "If you don't take this seriously, you'll die."
Then, his figure flickered, and he rushed out through the doorway.
Rengoku and Giyu had no time to ponder Oboro's enigma. Their attention snapped to the ragged hole in the wall.
Through it, they saw the figure of the Upper Rank Demon that had been knocked to the ground struggling to get back up.
"Don't worry about him for now!" Giyu said, his composure returning swiftly. Whatever Oboro's intentions, he clearly had no immediate plans to attack them. Otherwise, neither he nor Rengoku would have remained unharmed. "We'll deal with Upper Rank Five first!"
With that, Giyu surged forward, blade leading, and initiated the attack. Rengoku followed close behind after a final, searching glance at Oboro, who now stood silhouetted against the night.
Within the shrine grounds, Oboro stood among the unconscious villagers, his clothes stained with blood as he acclimated to his new body. A look of profound satisfaction spread across his face.
He raised a hand. Suddenly, the muscles and bones in his palm began to swell and his blood vessels bulged as if his hand were going to contort into a monstrous shape.
But, as he narrowed his eyes with icy resolve, the transformation halted. After a few seconds, his hand returned to its original state.
"Very tenacious, this cellular memory," Oboro murmured, a slight smile playing on his lips.
Then, he whispered a name as a test: "Muzan Kibutsuji."
The moment the name passed his lips, Oboro's eyes flashed crimson. His entire body seemed to spasm, threatening to deform uncontrollably as if about to explode. Yet, just like his hand, the violent change lasted only a few seconds before subsiding.
The so-called "curse" was nothing more than Muzan's will imprinted on his cells.
Speaking Muzan's name triggered a sensation—a phantom connection through their shared blood—causing an image of the Demon Progenitor to flash in Oboro's mind. Muzan, too, was attempting to exert influence and instill terror through the cells he had bestowed.
However
Meanwhile, in a grand mansion far from Edo Castle,
A man with delicate features and elegant attire stood by a tranquil pond, idly scattering food for the fish. His scarlet eyes reflected the water's surface and held a cold, gloomy light. He wore the formal attire of a daimyo, one of his many guises in this era.
This was Muzan Kibutsuji, the progenitor of all demons. (aka Michael Jackson).
Recently, he hadn't actively sought out new talent to expand his demonic ranks. The current quantity was sufficient.
Creating more demons indiscriminately wasn't always beneficial. Too many would inevitably attract unwanted attention from the authorities. Worse yet, the situation could spiral out of his control. A few powerful, rebellious demons, or "thorns," might unite and overthrow him, their ancestor.
Though he considered this possibility remote, Muzan had no desire for such an upheaval.
Therefore, he preferred to achieve his goals within a stable, controllable framework.
What was his ultimate purpose?
To find the Blue Spider Lily.
At the mere thought, the piece of fish food in Muzan's hand instantly crumbled to dust.
No clues. There were absolutely no leads.
"If only I hadn't been so hasty in killing the pharmacist who was treating my illness," he lamented internally. "Perhaps—"
But it was far too late for regrets.
He had created the Twelve Kizuki to expedite his search, especially given the persistent interference from the Demon Slayer Corps.
Muzan no longer cared much about the Demon Slayer Corps. The trouble they could cause was limited. What truly infuriated him was the utter incompetence of the demons under his command. While some were formidable with impressive achievements, his ultimate desire wasn't to annihilate the Demon Slayers or kill any Pillar.
What he craved was the ability to walk freely under the sun.
True "eternal life."
Despite all his efforts over the years, there was still no sign of progress or hope of achieving that all-important breakthrough.
"Useless," he hissed under his breath.
Suddenly, a strange sensation jolted him.
He sensed something.
His eyebrow arched, and the next second, a mouthful of blood erupted from his lips.
Muzan's pupils dilated in shock. He clutched his mouth and stumbled to his knees. The shattered porcelain fragments in his hand scattered into the pond, sending the fish darting away in terror. His head throbbed with agonizing pain.
"What was that?"
A demon had broken free from his control.
It had defied the curse and shrugged off the oppressive power carried by his blood.
Muzan's power was to maintain absolute control, instantly detect any demon harboring thoughts of disobedience or harm toward him, and eliminate them with a mere thought. This power was inherent and tied to his very cells. This ensured that no uncertainty could ever take root.
From a biological standpoint, no living creature in this world should be capable of transcending his existence.
Yet, a presence had just manifested in his consciousness.
He couldn't discern its face or form, only a vague impression of a figure wearing a black haori.
Their souls and wills had "collided" through the medium of his cells.
Logically, he should have been the dominant force, the one to pass judgment from on high. Yet he never anticipated that this indistinct figure could send a shock through his soul with what felt like a mere glance, as if it were being sliced by a razor-sharp blade.
"How is this possible?" Muzan stammered, bewildered. "Could it be a demon whose evolutionary speed surpasses my own?"
He was utterly confounded.
"Will is will; cells are cells," he reasoned desperately. No matter how strong an individual's will is, as long as their flesh and blood cannot resist the erosion and dominance of my cells, they should remain under my control!"
This event directly contradicted his entire understanding of life and evolution.
"What kind of will possesses such power?!"
"It's quite all right," Oboro mused on the other side of the severed connection. A knowing smile touched his lips as he sensed Muzan abruptly cut the link. "Your soul's strength and growth are merely byproducts of time, a passive accumulation. They're entirely different from the active, rigorous honing of spiritual will undertaken by Nen users."
He thought of individuals like Yoriichi Tsugikuni, who were born with souls that transcended the ordinary.
Muzan's visceral reaction exposed the cowardice at his core. Tamayo's assessment of him had been spot on.
"Muzan's 'will,' as it were, is more of an ability derived from the unique properties of his cells and genetic makeup than true spiritual fortitude," Oboro concluded.
This was a fundamental difference.
"Don't be afraid, Muzan," Oboro said softly, as if to the distant Demon King. "It's okay. Your true education has only just begun."