Chapter 53: Say Something, Dammit!
Tsuguko?
What the hell is that?
Natsuya's expression was blank as he looked from Dojima to Seiko.
Seiko caught on quickly. A Tsuguko, also known as a "Successor Apprentice," was an elite member of the Demon Slayer Corps personally selected and trained by one of the Nine Hashira to eventually inherit their position.
They were the best of the best, groomed to take on the most dangerous missions alongside their masters.
Natsuya wasn't technically Igarashi's Tsuguko, but considering he was training one-on-one with the Storm Hashira, the label wasn't exactly a stretch.
Seiko saw no reason to correct Dojima's misunderstanding. Instead, she mimicked Dojima's formal tone and gave Natsuya a respectful nod.
"Yukibashiri also follows your command, Lord Tsuguko."
Natsuya: "..."
I feel like this title is just a fancy way of calling me someone's kid...
Whatever. I'll ask my Cheap Senior Brother after the mission what this 'Legacy Son' joke is all about.
Following Natsuya's strategic layout, the group split up. Natsuya headed for the high-density area, sent Seiko toward a direction with zero red markers, and dispatched Dojima toward a single "Level 62" trash mob.
Dojima Kazuma was the first to enter a workshop filled with dormant textile machinery.
Just as the Arashibashira's "Tsuguko" had predicted, several unconscious civilians were sprawled in the corner of the room. He crouched low, his eyes scanning the shadows for the demon that "should" be there.
If the kid's prediction about the civilians was accurate, then his intel about a "flesh-splitting, multi-will" demon was likely spot on.
Where is it?
The ceiling? Under the floorboards? Behind the machinery?
Found you.
He spotted a pulsating, tumorous mass crouched over one of the civilians. It looked less like a humanoid and more like a giant, fleshy leech, actively draining the man's blood.
Without hesitation, Dojima assumed his starting stance.
[Flame Breathing]
[First Form: Unknowing Fire!]
Draw!
While it lacked the absolute god-tier speed of Thunder Breathing, it was the fastest lunging strike in the Flame Breathing arsenal. Dojima's body became a blur, trailing a scorching streak of fire as he tore through the tumorous demon.
Hit!
He sheathed his blade and turned around.
Dojima's brow furrowed. The demon hadn't collapsed into ash as expected. Instead, it was frantically scrambling further into the depths of the factory.
I missed the neck?
Dojima frowned, recalling the tactile feedback of the strike. It had felt... weird. Rubbery. But he didn't have time to dwell on it; saving the civilians was the priority.
He knelt to check the victims. He couldn't carry them all out alone—he'd have to wake them up. Aside from the one who had just been drained, the others had no visible injuries. They should be able to walk.
"Hey. Wake up."
He patted their faces. No response.
Dojima felt a prickle of unease.
SLAP!
A crisp, resounding backhand to one of the men's faces.
"GET UP!"
Even with a swelling red cheek, the man remained in a deep coma, eyes shut tight.
Breathing is steady, but no consciousness. Is it a drug? A Blood Demon Art?
CRACK.
Movement behind him.
Dojima spun around instantly, his Nichirin Sword held horizontally in a defensive guard, staring toward the source of the noise.
It wasn't a demon. It was a Demon Slayer.
But Dojima's expression turned grim. It wasn't Natsuya or Seiko. It was a face he didn't recognize. More disturbingly, the man's eyes were rolled back into his head, showing only whites. He was muttering incoherently, dragging his sword along the floor with a stiff, unnatural gait as he approached.
"Name! Rank!" Dojima barked.
No answer. The man continued his approach, the tip of his katana scraping against the stone floor with an ear-piercing screech.
"Stop right there!" Dojima tightened his grip, his gaze darkening. "Final warning! State your name and rank!"
The possessed Slayer didn't speak. Instead, he suddenly accelerated into a sprint.
Controlled by a Blood Demon Art.
White mist escaped Dojima's teeth. Flame Breathing ignited his veins.
Dojima lunged!
His Nichirin Sword became several streaks of crimson light, enveloping the controlled swordsman.
Clang! Clang-clang!
The sound of hammer hitting anvil rang through the workshop. The possessed Slayer was actually parrying! However, his movements were clumsy, his reactions delayed.
After only six exchanges, Dojima delivered a jarring strike that sent the other man's katana flying. The streaks of fire descended without further obstacle.
Wrist, knee, shoulder...
CRACK.
Even using the back of the blade, Dojima's raw strength and technique were devastating. The sound of breaking bones and dislocating joints echoed. The possessed Slayer lost his footing and collapsed into a heap on the floor.
Dojima gave him a quick look. The man was still conscious but couldn't get up to threaten him. I'll apologize for the broken bones once the mission is over.
It was then that he finally caught the coherent bits of the man's delirious mumbling.
"Strong... demon... don't... Hashira... run..."
He's not fully under control?
Dojima kicked the spare sword away and knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. "Hey! Are you back with me? What are you trying to say?"
The Slayer's eyes were still clouded, his speech a garbled mess. But Dojima could feel the desperate sense of urgency and terror radiating from him. He was trying to deliver a warning.
Damn it, what kind of Blood Demon Art is this?!
He checked the man's body and his eyes widened. Embedded in the nape of the man's neck was a pulsating, twitching flesh-bud.
As he spotted it, the grotesque thing suddenly elongated, shooting toward Dojima's head like a venomous snake.
Dojima tilted his head, the needle-like bud missing him by an inch. A flash of steel severed the growth into multiple pieces.
The severed flesh-bits wriggled on the ground for a second before going limp. The controlled Slayer let out a sharp gasp, his body twitching violently.
As Dojima backed away to observe, the Slayer finally spoke clearly, his voice trembling with panic.
"The new guy! Run! GET OUT OF HERE!"
Despite his limp, broken limbs, his voice was frantic. "The demon in this place... it's a monster! It doesn't care about slashes! Call for a Hashira! REINFORCE—"
His voice died in his throat.
His eyes drifted toward the pitch-black doorway of the workshop. His entire body began to shake.
A sound like wet sandpaper against a dirty floor echoed from the darkness. It was getting closer.
"Gwahaha... this one's already been drained dry by my little babies."
"He won't be standing up again for a week or two."
The tumor-mass Dojima had "killed" earlier crawled back through the door.
Cold sweat beaded on Dojima's forehead, dripping onto the dusty floor. He wasn't afraid of the small tumor-leech. He was staring at the silhouette emerging behind it in the moonlight.
It was a massive, grotesque body covered in slick, moist, semi-transparent tissue. Tumorous growths pulsated all over its frame, constantly mutating and expanding. It was vaguely humanoid, but it had long since abandoned the concept of "human."
Its massive shadow filled the doorway. The stench of rot and copper hit Dojima like a physical wave.
"What's wrong? Legs feel like lead?"
"Don't worry. Even if you're scared, I'm not letting you go..."
"I haven't planted my seeds in your body yet."
The Tumor Demon reached down. It grabbed the smaller leech-clone, and despite the smaller one's wriggling, it pressed it directly into its own chest.
It pressed it in. Like pushing a lump of wet clay back into a swamp.
Dojima watched in horror as the two masses of flesh merged and rippled together. A second later, a face identical to the small clone's surfaced on the demon's shoulder, writhing for a moment before being absorbed back into the main mass.
"Gwahaha... apologies. My children have been a bit too lively lately."
"But don't worry. I won't let them interrupt our private time."
The demon's face—a patchwork of tumorous lumps—twisted into what might have been intended as a "friendly" smile.
Dojima's stomach churned. He tightened his grip on his Nichirin Sword, his expression a mask of steel. He didn't dare show an opening.
Every cell in his body was screaming a single warning: This demon's Power Level is leagues above mine.
☆☆☆
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