Chapter 52: When Happiness Is Destroyed
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In the stillness of the room, Himejima Gyomei sat with his head bowed, fingers moving rhythmically over his rosary beads. Each bead slid through his calloused hands like a prayer whispered into the void. The gentle moonlight poured through the shoji screen, illuminating his solemn expression and the faint sheen of his tears, glistening in quiet reverence.
The silence was broken when Gyomei's white eyes opened, his gaze calm yet resolute. Setting aside the rosary, he reached for his Nichirin Blades, the twin axes etched with sacred kanji. The cold steel caught the moonlight as he rose to his towering height. With a measured step, he slid open the door and stepped into the night.
Waiting just outside was Ryuji, his silhouette partially cloaked in the shadows. He straightened and bowed deeply when Gyomei emerged.
"Gyomei-san," Ryuji greeted, his tone calm but carrying a trace of urgency.
Gyomei paused, his blind eyes tilting in Ryuji's direction, sensing the man's intent. Despite his blindness, Gyomei had long discerned Ryuji's nocturnal habits. Every evening, the young man would venture into the city, dispensing his own brand of justice upon those he deemed irredeemable.
Though Gyomei could not condone vigilante actions, he acknowledged Ryuji's resolve. The boy's victims—thieves, murderers, and those steeped in malevolence—were far from innocent. Yet Gyomei held firm to his belief: justice should be delivered by law, not by personal vengeance. Even so, his own heart carried a conflict he chose not to voice aloud.
"Why have you sought me out, Ryuji?" Gyomei asked softly, his voice deep and resonant.
Ryuji straightened, his amber eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Whenever the sun sets, evil ghosts prowl, preying on the innocent. Demon Slayer like yourself defend humanity in those dark hours." His gaze flicked to the axes at Gyomei's sides. "Gyomei-san, are you going out to slay demons tonight?"
Gyomei nodded without hesitation. "It is my duty."
"Then," Ryuji said with a faint smile, "may I join you? I wish to witness the strength of a Hashira."
Gyomei studied Ryuji in silence, his immense presence filling the space between them. Finally, he replied, his tone unwavering. "Demon hunting is perilous. Even the smallest mistake can cost your life. Are you certain you wish to take that risk?"
Ryuji's smile widened slightly. "I've faced danger before. This is no different."
The sincerity in Ryuji's voice gave Gyomei pause. After a long moment, he inclined his head. "Very well. But stay close to me at all times."
Ryuji nodded, an eager determination gleaming in his expression. Gyomei turned and began walking, his sandals crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint scent of wisteria lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of the protection it offered.
Gyomei's mind lingered on Ryuji's potential. The young man's physical prowess and sharp instincts were undeniable. If channeled properly, he could become a valuable addition to the Demon Slayer Corps. For now, however, Gyomei's focus remained fixed on the hunt.
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The night was cool, the crescent moon casting a faint glow on the deserted city streets. Ryuji followed closely behind Himejima Gyomei, whose towering frame moved with quiet purpose. The Hashira's every step was deliberate, his presence imbued with a spiritual strength that made Ryuji feel both safe and insignificant.
As a Demon Slayer, Gyomei seemed to possess a unique ability to track demons. At intervals, he would pause, clasp his hands together, and close his eyes, murmuring a quiet prayer. When he reopened them, there was clarity in his gaze, as though he could see paths invisible to others.
Ryuji's curiosity about Gyomei's methods burned within him, but he remained silent. This was not the time to ask questions.
Before long, they reached the gates of an old courtyard. A nauseating stench greeted them—metallic and thick. Blood.
Even without entering, He could already guess the tragedy that awaited them.
Gyomei placed a massive hand on the gate, pushing it open effortlessly. Inside, the house was a tableau of horror. Blood painted the wooden floors, thick and viscous. In the center of the room lay a woman whose body was half-devoured, her fingers still clutching something tightly. Her lifeless eyes stared into the void, filled with despair.
Beside her lay a smaller form—a child's skull, picked clean.
Ryuji swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. He clenched his fists at his sides, the sight stirring a visceral anger within him.
"Amitabha," Gyomei murmured, his deep voice tinged with sorrow. He clasped his hands together in prayer, his expression clouded with regret.
"If we had arrived earlier…" Gyomei whispered, the unspoken weight of his words heavy in the air.
Ryuji remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. No words could undo what had happened here.
" Gyomei -san," he finally said, his voice low and steady. "Can you find the demon responsible for this?"
Gyomei did not respond immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, his body still as a statue. Ryuji waited, his heart pounding in his chest.
After a moment, Gyomei's eyes snapped open. Without a word, he turned and strode toward a new direction, his pace quick and purposeful.
Ryuji followed as best he could, but Gyomei's speed was astonishing. Despite Ryuji's enhanced physical abilities—far beyond that of ordinary humans—he struggled to keep up. The distance between them widened until Gyomei disappeared from view entirely.
Ryuji cursed under his breath, but his frustration was short-lived. Gyomei had left clear marks along his path—subtle, but enough for Ryuji to follow.
The trail led to a small medical clinic. The smell of blood was overwhelming here, too, but it carried a sharper edge.
Ryuji pushed the door open cautiously. Inside, the scene was eerily similar to the courtyard: blood-soaked floors and dismembered remains scattered like grotesque decorations.
Then, he heard it—a faint, trembling sob.
Ryuji's heart leaped. Someone was still alive.
Following the sound, he found Gyomei standing in a blood-streaked room. The Stone Hashira was reciting a prayer, his voice steady despite the grief surrounding him. His massive Nichirin Blade lay nearby, its edge stained with blood.
The headless corpse of a demon lay slumped on the floor, its body dissipating into ash. The air was thick with the stench of its death.
"Amitabha," Gyomei murmured again.
Ryuji's gaze shifted to the corner of the room. Two girls huddled together, their faces streaked with tears. The older one clung protectively to the younger, her small frame trembling as she shielded her sibling.
"Sisters," Ryuji thought, his chest tightening. The older girl's courage was admirable, but the terror in her eyes was unmistakable.
"They're alive," Ryuji whispered, relief washing over him.
Gyomei's deep voice broke the silence. "They have survived. But their scars may never heal."
Ryuji stepped closer, careful not to frighten the girls further. He knelt beside them, his tone gentle. "It's over. The demon is gone. You're safe now."
The older sister looked up at him, her lips trembling as though trying to speak. Her younger sibling buried her face in her chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
Ryuji clenched his fists, vowing silently to protect those who remained.
"This world is cruel," Gyomei said softly, his voice carrying the weight of countless tragedies. "But while we breathe, we must fight to shield what remains."
Ryuji nodded, his resolve hardening. Tonight, he had witnessed yet another brutal reminder of why their battle against the demons could not falter.
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