Chapter Text
The fortress shuddered with a deep, resonating vibration, the only warning Tanjirō would receive before he was suddenly slammed to the ground. He could barely lift his head up from the weight that pushed him down, but his eyes caught sight of the walls as they rushed to drop upon him—
No, it was the people who were thrown upwards, not the ceiling that descended to them. Tanjirō’s eyes moved to the source of calamity, Kibutsuji Muzan, and he was one of the last things Tanjirō saw before he heard a loud, ominous crack, followed by the sound of wood beams splintering, falling apart. In the chaos, one of the many fallen detritus slammed directly into his head, knocking him completely out.
Amongst the wreckage of tatami mats, wooden beams, and shredded paper, laid the bodies of the Demon Slayers Corps members. Being hardened veterans, most of the Hashira remained conscious as they ascended and eventually exploded out into the real world. If they were incapacitated while that close to Muzan, they were as good as dead. It was a thing they knew on a more instinctual level than a conscious one. When the rubble and dust settled enough to move their arms from their faces to take on a battle ready stance, they were just barely prepared enough for Muzan’s enraged roar, which blew away all the wreckage piled on top of him.
The scream sent off a shockwave strong enough to nearly knock the Hashira off their feet. The other members of the Demon Slayer Corps were not as lucky, nor prepared, and were violently thrown away from the epicenter like a kite tossed about in a hurricane. Some landed poorly and others even ended up impaled on the splintered remains littered everywhere. Their screams were drowned out by the intensity of Muzan’s much louder, primal roar.
With the forced death of Nakime, and losing his Infinity Castle, one thing became clear to Kibutsuji Muzan—he had to escape, and now. Things were no longer in his favor. Of course, he could easily kill every single pest and peon in the reach of his spinal tentacles in a more controlled disposition, but he had learned. He had seen with his own eyes—with Kokushibō’s many eyes, with Akaza’s, and even Dōma’s—the tenacity of humans driven by hatred and revenge. They became even worse when they were cornered. He wouldn’t take the risk.
Muzan had no time to plan as the Hashira all converged on him. He counted three notable presences near him, with the rest of the rabble falling to the back of his mind, marked as ‘useless nuisances.’ The Hashira had already landed several attacks on him as they fought him in tandem with each other, showing a startling amount of synergy that could only be accrued through years of fighting alongside another. Muzan sneered at them as his spine-whips lashed out. They were like ants to him, and the only way he even noticed them was because they clustered together into a maddening cesspool of weakness and defiance.
Sprays of blood splattered from where his whips struck true, but it took him only a mere fraction of a second to realize he had missed the mark—not by his doing, no. As always, humans found ways to step directly into his path and continued to discover new ways to defy his will. Several members of the Corps had leapt in the way of his attacks and had died in the stead of Muzan’s true targets, the Hashira. There was a sudden surge of bodies as at least ten slayers attempted to rush at him at once. With a lazy swat of his spine-whips, they died like insects buzzing straight into a flame.
Amid the chaos, Muzan caught signs of movement in his peripherals and he turned his head to see a group of masked individuals attempting to drag a familiar body away. A plan formed in his head then, hasty and graceless, but it would get the job done. Muzan leapt over toward them, but his tentacles were already racing far ahead of his main body. They easily killed or slammed aside the bugs festering around his target: Kamado Tanjirō.
Twining tentacles around the unconscious body with an unshakeably grip, Muzan had Tanjirō firmly in his grasp before his feet even touched the ground. Now, that infuriating bug served as a passable meat-shield for Muzan. Mere seconds later, he detected two more awfully large gnats joining the fight. They, too, had the stronger aura of a Hashira. There were now five in attendance, all working to end his life.
Muzan’s face twisted into a sneer as he watched the humans freeze in place, with the two new arrivals skidding to a halt. “Well,” he said with an utterly calm voice, one completely out of place during an intense battle. The eloquent speech he possessed was completely at odds with his demonic, almost feral visage. “Look at him. He’s covered in my blood.”
When the humans present tensed, looking ready to lunge at him at any moment, Muzan’s lips slowly curled into a smile. An undercurrent of amusement laced his words. “Any more and it would be fatal.”
A separate tentacle hovered dangerously close to Tanjirō’s face, with the point pushing hard enough against soft skin that the more observant Hashira could see the flesh gently indent. The spearhead was a breath away from piercing through Tanjirō’s lax face.
Perhaps Muzan would have said more, but Giyū harshly demanded, “You honestly want us to believe you would let him go?” His faded, dark blue eyes were narrowed and pinched with concentration. They stared unfalteringly into Muzan’s own eyes. He could see Giyū’s shoulders working as the feeble human tried to regulate his breathing, something that was likely taxing from all the injuries he had accrued. There was only one scenario the Hashira could guess with Tanjirō in Muzan’s grasp, and they all ended with his death.
A lax smile curved Muzan’s mouth as he let out a breathy laugh. “Oh? You think I would use him as a hostage? What do you think you could ever give me? What could you give me that I can’t take for myself?!” Muzan’s voice grew rougher, more bestial, as it became obvious he was tired of their interference.
Suddenly, his face smoothed over into an indifferent mask again, no longer sporting a sneer. “No,” he continued. “He serves one purpose, and that is to be my shield. Isn’t he your most successful member?”
Behind Muzan, his spinal tentacles flicked aimlessly as he stepped closer to the humans. As he watched them take one step after another away from him, Muzan could feel sadistic glee bubble within him. He smiled again, small and wicked. The look widened as he watched the realization sink into their faces. Malice pour from him, expanding out and suffusing into the already dark aura he emanated.
No, of course, these worthless beings couldn’t barter a single thing for Kamado Tanjirō’s life. Instead, they would likely be the ones to end it, all for pursuing the one goal above all: Kill. Kibutsuji. Muzan.
“That’s a dirty trick, you fucking shithead!!” Sanemi screamed as he tightened his grip on his sword. Even so, he understood what he needed to do, and could only hope for forgiveness after the act. He took a deep breath and launched at Muzan. His sword swung upwards before arcing down as powerfully as he could. Second Form, which produced four vertical slashes that his heart wished with all its might to miss Tanjirō—and by extension, Muzan—even though his mind knew he couldn’t leave any openings for the monster to exploit.
At the very least, Sanemi’s actions spurned on his fellow Hashira, who had frozen momentarily as they had to come to terms with, ‘Kill Kibutsuji Muzan, even if it costs Tanjirō!’ Every single person who went on this mission knew they had to complete it with absolute, unbending resolve. That was what Sanemi’s mind told him, even as he couldn’t bring his hands to attack with forms that produced horizontal wind slashes. They had already lost countless scores of fellow Demon Slayers—what was one more? What was one Kamado Tanjirō in the grand scheme of things?
Muzan didn’t even need to bother to defend himself, as the attack was half-assed and clearly trying to spare Tanjirō, no matter what that foul-mouthed, idiot human shouted. Muzan’s counterattack was a vicious onslaught of whips, all from his back and thighs, save for the one holding his ‘hostage.’
Now active, some Hashira repositioned to flank Muzan, and soon he was surrounded. As one, they suddenly lurched toward him, probably hoping to overwhelm him. The transgression was useless as Muzan easily swatted the flies away. While they were down, Muzan took that moment to aim his whips at them, ready to decapitate them and end their miserable existence.
Unexpectedly, his whips separated into two sections. The portions with the lethal spikes fell limply to the ground as blood spurted from the other sections they had once been connected to. Nonplussed, Muzan launched another volley at the Hashira, though they had recovered, and some even found the strength to scurry away.
Again, his whips were severed. Suddenly, the appendages holding his captive were sliced to pieces. Reacting faster than any of the ants could think, Muzan’s thigh whips shot out to re-establish his hold on Tanjirō.
Muzan’s eyes darted around as he triangulated the source of these cuts. There were some invisible pests floating around, it seemed. Grinning ferociously, he inhaled before releasing a tremendous roar, generating an immense shockwave of pure energy and slamming everything within his whips’ reachable radius to the ground. His keen eyes caught the imprint of a body impacting the ground and he shot a tentacle at it, stabbing whoever was there.
Muzan heard an agonized shout and knew it had to hurt. With a tight grip, his spine-whip grabbed them and flung them aside. A piece of paper fluttered carelessly to the earth. The body revealed in the aftermath was one of a pig. Wait, no, that was a human with a boar’s head. Wait—no. Muzan was right the first time. That was a pig.
“You… bastard… Give back Tanjirō!!”
Muzan ignored the trash and endured another volley of attacks, uncovering two more invisible bugs. As he dealt with the papers, eight bothersome lower life forms continually attended to him like annoying, buzzing sycophants unable to tear themselves away from their precious master.
When it became clear no one could approach Tanjirō to free him, Muzan judged it safe to continue his plan, and he waited.
Attacking, defending, parrying, until swiftly, he was surrounded.
“Let him go!”
Such a sweet thing, Muzan thought, as he stabbed the frail girl with a multitude of whips. Die.
Grinning viciously, Muzan abruptly threw Tanjirō at the largest Hashira, the one with the chained mace and axe. He was directly in the lord’s way, after all.
Gyōmei hadn’t expected the attack, and it was Obanai beside him who reacted first, launching forward to catch Tanjirō. He wasn’t sure if Gyōmei could tell the difference between an ally or an enemy approaching him at such a speed, so Obanai acted nearly on instinct. Behind him, an axe shot out over his shoulder, as Gyōmei could at least tell it was he who had intervened. By avoiding Obanai, Gyōmei spared Tanjirō any injuries.
These little nuances of battle were absolutely missed by Muzan, who had one goal in mind after he threw Tanjirō as a distraction. What and why humans jumped to save others at the cost of themselves was not something he bothered to know. Lashing out with one of his whip arms, Muzan smashed it into the ground far ahead of him and used it to pull himself past the surprised Hashira.
A human shouted, “What?!” though Muzan had no idea which one. They all sounded the same, looked the same, and died the same. He easily flew past them and had already swung his other arm out to keep his trajectory going.
It would only take him a few jumps and he would be where he needed to go: Escaping towards the forest. Before his second swing propelled him forward, one of Muzan’s tentacles shot out and wrapped tightly around Tanjirō’s foot, and snatched him out of the Hashira’s unestablished hold. He heard surprised shouts faintly behind him, but Muzan had already shot forward, lengthening the distance between himself and the Hashira. A smirk danced on his lips, delighting in how the humans tittered in confusion and agony as he snatched their precious human from them.
Tanjirō dangled behind him on one foot, limbs flailing in the wind, until another whip wrapped itself around his midsection and steadied his unconscious body. More vines came and held his limbs in place, leaving only his head to flop around as Muzan switched to longer, more powerful leaps.
“Tanjirō!! Tanjirō!!”
Fools. So easily distracted. Look at what it cost you, heh.
Pure white strands whipped in the wind as Muzan took his final leap to land in the heart of the forest. It was then that he had finally noticed it. His hair was white. White. Why was it white in the first place? Why wasn’t it turning back to black?
Muzan knitted his brow in mild consternation before he smoothed over his expression again. Now that he had some time, he could dedicate it to attempting to decompose the drug that damnable woman injected into him. Having lost all of his patience mere moments prior, Muzan spent a moment to mentally link to Tamayo’s absorbed cells.
The conversation was short, and the only thing Muzan gained was more ire rather than answers. Searching through her memories proved to be more useful, and when he was done, Muzan willed that woman’s cells to the surface of his body to be ejected as a mound of useless, blobulous flesh. Tamayo was already dead, but he did not want to tolerate having filth continue to circulate through his body.
So, Muzan had aged a significant amount of years. As a demon, cell deterioration was not a hindrance to him. However, he understood that if the battle had continued, his energies would have been siphoned towards continuing to regenerate his rapidly ageing and dying cells. That would have led to a distinct decrease in battle power, as his immense reserves were also being chipped away by the constant, annoying attacks from the persistent Hashira.
It was good, then, that he escaped. And with a consolation prize as well. Out of the corner of his eye, the spine-whip holding Tanjirō brought him closer, out of subconscious reflex. Muzan ignored him and continued on his path.
First, he heard and scented water to the northeast. After veering towards it and crossing, dousing both himself and Tanjirō from head to toe with water, Muzan leapt out of the stream with enough force to propel him far over the banks, but not too much that he cleared the tops of the trees. Muzan caught several tree branches with his spine-whips and slowed his fall enough to gently land in the grass. While likely not enough to fully erase his tracks, at the very least he hadn’t left a giant indent in the ground announcing to every damn Demon Slayer the path he took. The flowing water would easily muddy the footprints he had left in it, and the ones leading up to it beforehand would be utterly useless if no one could find any matching trace on the other side of the stream.
Forcing an unnatural calm upon himself, Muzan willed his body to relax and to stop producing adrenaline. He needed to conceal his presence, and to search for a suitable place to stay before the sun rose. It honestly riled him to have been forced to flee and hide like a coward, but above all else, Muzan prioritized survival. The next day could easily fit in a few plans for torture and revenge, but he had to live to see it first.
Muzan’s eyes flickered about as he scanned his surroundings. While very far on the edges of his sensory peripherals, Muzan could sense the distinct sense of pursuit, and he wouldn’t put it past the Demon Slayers to accidentally stumble upon him if he kept running. No, he needed a place to stop. Close, too. The Slayers likely wouldn’t expect that of him.
In the distance, Muzan spied the tiniest difference in shade—from a shadowed wall to an even darker blackness. Looking at it full on, he noted it was an entrance, although one that could barely fit his size in. And he didn’t know how deep it went. He made his way towards it, eyes still darting around as they searched for alternatives. There were none, and Muzan would have to make do with what he got when he reached the cave hole.
Once there, he stuck his head in and noted that it was decently sized. Likely ten meters in. It was filled with various sized rocks and boulders, making the place feel like a tight squeeze even if it was deep. Good enough. He crawled inside, and Tanjirō’s limp body followed shortly after. He couldn’t stand upright as the cave ceiling was low, and he was rather tall.
Eyes darting about, Muzan quickly took stock of his situation. This—was not good enough. He needed more. Better coverage. He easily moved a large boulder with one hand and pushed it against the cave entrance. It didn’t completely fill out the hole, but it would have to do. The rest of the rocks, he arranged it to cover the hole in the ground he intended to create. Looking in from the entrance, with barely room to peep one’s eyes through, it shouldn’t be seen as the boulders were all large and would easily conceal anything more than halfway through the cave.
Satisfied, Muzan went around the rock, and rapidly, but quietly, stabbed his whips into the ground until it was deep enough for both him and Tanjirō to sit in without being seen. He tossed Tanjirō in without care and spent some moments unclumping patches of dirt from the digging. He had to make sure it didn’t look like anyone had been here. Content with his work, Muzan jumped down into the hole and sat down, letting his back rest against the dirt wall.
A piercing headache drilled through Muzan’s head, forcing him to grit his teeth. The pain was irritating and inconvenient, coming when he needed time to sit and ponder. Already, Muzan reviewed what had recently transpired.
His plan fell apart. Or, rather—he overestimated the value of his Upper Kizuki. The Lower Moons were complete trash, and the Upper ones were barely any better. Even Kokushibō had lost—
No, Muzan saw it in his final moments, and Akaza as well. They accepted their humanity and regretted their demonization. Utterly contemptible. He simply couldn’t understand it.
While not entirely inclined to create a new set, Muzan still felt that he needed to refill his ranks as he would need underlings to do his bidding. What better than to work with the best candidate he has ever met, bound and in his grasp right there, across from him?
Muzan settled into a more relaxed and comfortable posture. He leaned entirely against the dirt wall and raised a leg to rest his arm on his knee. There was not much for him to do besides bide his time and wait. His body was already decomposing the medley of drugs injected into him. The process could have been sped up if he took the time out to decipher the chemical composition and direct the destruction of those cells, but it required a concentration he wasn’t inclined to dedicate towards a process that could be done automatically, albeit slower.
Instead, Muzan was more inclined to direct his thoughts towards his captive. Initially, he had thought Kamado Tanjirō had perished from becoming doused in a lethal amount of blood. Although he remained unconscious and unmoving, Tanjirō still yet lived. He still breathed, chest rising and falling with every greedy pull of air.
Usually, the process of demonification was a lengthy and painful one, but the effects were immediate. If someone ingested his blood, his cells would start attacking, converting, and merging with the host until he reigned king over their very existence.
Staring impassively at Tanjirō, Muzan considered the only other possibility. He did not consume enough of my blood, Muzan mused. It was a strange notion, as he had judged Tanjirō to be covered in more blood than Muzan would have offered to someone resilient enough to become a member of the Upper Kizuki.
Perhaps Tanjirō was resistant to his blood. The thought had a fang peeking out over Muzan’s bottom lip as his mouth drew into a wide smile. If Tanjirō were resistant to Muzan’s demonic blood, then wouldn’t it naturally mean he would need more to become demonized? And just as naturally, wouldn’t more of his blood make a more powerful demon?
A deep sense of excitement stirred inside of Muzan. The potential of demon Tanjirō was very tantalizing. Muzan had already planned on turning the little Demon Slayer, but now what he wanted from Tanjirō was full control over him. Mind. Body. Soul. He wanted it all.
Muzan felt his fang rasp against his lips again as he smiled ever wider. He felt a rush of saliva at the thought of being able to control Tanjirō like a marionette, a being wholly useless without the hands of its master to control its every move.
Ah, but Muzan was not a base beast. He closed his mouth and swallowed his spit and anticipation. His expression evened out into a more serene one, even as glee filled every intangible corner of his body.
Kamado Tanjirō had been a constant thorn in his side. The defiance in his eyes, the way he spoke to him, Muzan, the King of Demons! Stripped of all his will and the right to think on his own—that was the best, most satisfying punishment Muzan could imagine for Tanjirō. Take everything from Tanjirō. All that he loves, all that inspires him, all that he owns… All of it!
Every day would be a nightmare for Tanjirō. He would be fully lucid, entirely aware of his new existence, and utterly unable to escape. He wouldn’t even have the choice to die. Muzan would give Tanjirō nothing but his own will imprinted upon him, seared straight into his soul. By the time their immortal existence came to an end, it would be impossible to separate master and slave.
Now that he was not under extreme duress, Muzan could formulate his next course of action much more easily. With a brief thought, his spine-whips dragged Tanjirō closer, whose head lolled about as Muzan dragged his rag-doll body.
Besides the demonic growth covering a large majority of his face, Muzan also noticed another bump at the top of Tanjirō’s head, nestled between the gap of the flame-looking Demon Slayer mark. He sneered at it, and couldn’t stop from superimposing an memory of Yoriichi over Tanjirō’s face. The next blink, and the upturned face of a young Demon Slayer on the cusp of blooming had returned.
Muzan forced Tanjirō’s lips apart, keeping his mouth open and ready for his offering. With calm indifference, he stabbed the point of his sharpened claw into his thumb and fed Tanjirō one drop at a time. He would keep going until Tanjirō transformed—or died.
Muzan’s intense gaze sharpened even further as he detected slight movement from Tanjirō. The huge glob of flesh covering his face slowly assimilated underneath his skin. Soon after, veins started to pulse and bulge from his forehead in its place. Beneath that, the Demon Slayer mark slowly spread like a vine to crawl across Tanjirō’s forehead.
Muzan quickly wrapped his whips around Tanjirō’s mouth to muffle his oncoming screams, adding a few more just to make sure he was as silent as he could get. The rest of his tentacles, including the ones from his thighs, wrapped around Tanjirō’s limbs, locking them against his body. Muzan was not in the mood to be accidentally struck by a flailing body as it convulsed from demonification.
Soon, Tanjirō’s body became much more lively as it stiffened, stretched taut, and then writhed in the grip of Muzan’s whips. Muffled screams erupted from beneath the coiled vines of the whips covering Tanjirō’s mouth, and while they were much too loud for Muzan’s comfort, they still were not loud enough to attract attention. He estimated the noise wouldn’t even make it past the boulder wall, much less out of the cave.
Tanjirō’s eyes flew wide open and Muzan watched on with rapt attention as the color slowly bled out of his human eyes and became corrupted by Muzan’s iconic plum red irises. As far as he could recall, no one else had ever shared his distinct irises after demonification—besides Kamado Nezuko, to some extent. This was very promising indeed, for Tanjirō.
Curiously enough, as Muzan watched, Tanjirō’s right eye stopped fading to a pale pink, and kept some of his original darker red hues at the top, while the bottom bled into a lighter shade more akin to Muzan’s. The other eye, however, completely changed and looked like a replica of Muzan’s own eyes. At the moment, he hadn’t felt like tarnishing such a good-looking eyeball, so he chose not to brand ‘Upper’ into the iris.
Hmm, Muzan hummed, before reaching a hand out to press a finger into the other, much more uncooperative eyeball. He heard more than smelled or felt the searing as he branded Tanjirō’s eyeball with the symbol for the first of the Kizuki.
Such a pity, Muzan thought to himself as he pulled away. I would have liked to have chained you up and tortured you first, Tanjirō-kun. Then, I would have you beg for my blood. To see the light of hope fade from your eyes as you come to realize there was no other choice… Muzan’s tongue flicked out, and he licked his lips as he fantasized. I suppose the torture will come after, then. A demon’s body is quite resilient, meaning I could torture you in ways I couldn’t as a human.
A soft chuckle escaped Muzan’s mouth. It was a joyful sound, but also filled with sadistic pleasure.
While Tanjirō’s eyes were open as wide as they could be, staring at the ceiling with a startling intensity, Muzan was very certain that Tanjirō was not awake at all.
A sudden bout of tiredness settled deeply into Muzan’s body, dragging his shoulders down as he laid even more heavily against the dirt wall. The hole he had dug was rather small and could fit both himself and Tanjirō, with barely any room between them. The space felt even smaller because of Tanjirō thrashing against the whips as hard as his body could, which was a rather monumental amount, considering he was becoming a demon. That strength still paled compared to Muzan’s at his worst, so he paid Tanjirō no mind.
As he considered his next immediate course of action, Muzan felt a scratching in the back of his mind. It was irritating at first, and took him a moment to remember what it was.
That’s right. Every single demon had a telepathic connection to Muzan, and now one between himself and Tanjirō had formed as the demonification process furthered along. Soon, he would be able to telepathically speak to his captive Moon. Mmm, that’s right. Connecting to sleeping people is a pain in the ass. Muzan growled just thinking about it.
The mind tended to drift in a chaotic mess when a person was asleep, and especially when dreaming. It was worse for Muzan; while he could sink into the mind of his demons, it meant his cognizant brain had to sort out the illogical mess of a drifting mind. He may have had several brains to help process everything, but it was still too much of a pain.
…Unless.
Muzan slanted his eyes toward the squirming mess that was Tanjirō, who had also now produced enough drool to have the spit ooze out around the sides of his mouth as he struggled to become free. Watching with eerie fascination, Muzan’s eyes drifted down, following the trail of spit as it dribbled off the sides of Tanjirō’s mouth and down his chin. He licked his lips again.
Muzan always had dirty, obscure tastes… Drool, tears, blood, cum... They all turned him on in equal measure. Pain was usually the cause, and he had probably associated such bodily fluids with acts of sadistic pleasure.
Shaking his head, Muzan refocused and picked up his original train of thought. Perhaps he should go to sleep as well. Demons, especially he, did not need to sleep—ever. However, they still could. Some even chose to sleep regularly.
Tanjirō was peacefully dreaming away, right next to Muzan. He couldn’t stand that. No, while Tanjirō’s body suffered, he felt that the mind should be just as anguished. It was one thing to prod around a sleeping mind with an awake one, but a dreaming, drifting mind entering another in a similar state was a different matter. There was also the added benefit of it being much easier to rummage through Tanjirō’s inner thoughts if they were both dreaming. Muzan would still be in complete control, even as a dreaming invader, whereas Tanjirō’s mind would be scattered and incoherent.
Decision made, Muzan settled against a rock wall and willed his body to relax. He didn’t do it often, but he had been asleep before, so not that much of a foreign concept. He felt his breathing even out, and his mental consciousness took on an eerie quality. Muzan felt like he laid on a boat rocking in turbulent waves, now that he finally stopped fighting the urge to fall asleep.
Muzan knew the moment he fell asleep and began dreaming. It was similar to astral projection, if he had to quantify it—although, he was not seeing reality while as a spirit. He was seeing dreams. Tanjirō’s, to be precise.
However, as Muzan attempted to follow the string connecting himself and Tanjirō, he became frustrated to find that the path proved very resistant. He could not traverse it. The connection between them was thin. It was newly formed and tenuous at best. Of course, it would get stronger over time as the demonification process drew to a finish, but Muzan wasn’t in the mood to wait. Especially since he had the means to force open a wider path. All he had to do was concentrate and latch onto the thread between Tanjirō and himself.
But was that a good idea?
Irritatingly, a dim sliver of Muzan’s instincts incessantly scratched at the back of his mind. He had not voluntarily widened the gates of his mental connection before, the source of his near-full dominion over other demons. Typically, even the weakest, most pathetic of links was still enough for him to work with. Muzan had never had a reason—nor desire—to chain himself to others like this. To take this leap forward was akin to taking a leap of faith into unknown territory. Did Muzan trust himself enough to navigate such a place?
…What was he, a weakling?
Muzan wanted to scream in pure frustration. Tanjirō, in every way possible, continued to stand out against the rest of the rabble. Even now, at this ingress, Muzan was forced to stop and ponder new ideas just to deal with one person. Kamado Tanjirō was a beast all on his own, with a willpower so ferocious that Muzan had no choice but to carve his way into his mind.
Still, a tiny fragment from one of his brains feebly insisted, Are you sure?
The question incessantly tickled the back of his consciousness. This was newer, unknown territory, and Muzan was a cautious being.
Nothing begets nothing.
Muzan thought of his time spent in the labs, constantly experimenting as he tried concoction after concoction to further his goals. Though they had all failed in the end, Muzan had earned countless tinier fragments of knowledge that inevitably came to serve him on this day. Even if he somehow messed up, the worst he could imagine happening was accidentally severing their connection.
The chances of Tanjirō possessing enough mental acuity to plan an escape so soon after demonification—even with the unwitting help of Muzan, should he bungle his attempts at enforcing a stronger mental leash—were low. First, Tanjirō’s mind would be in tatters if Muzan failed. Tanjirō would be less than a vegetable. Second, shortly after demonification, all demons started off in a berserk mental state, so the only thing Tanjirō would try was killing him.
Muzan’s instincts were still unsatisfied with his conscious decision to forcibly violate Tanjirō’s mind. A nigh insignificant part of him still resisted the idea.
What about other repercussions? He was playing with his own mind, after all. Risking it all—for what? A chance to toy with his slave?
There could be irreversible side effects.
Even as that voice of reason attempted to convince himself to stop, Muzan slipped further and further into Tanjirō’s dream-state as the connection between them became smothered with his will. It was no different from mentally dominating a demon, Muzan felt. He had to admit this was the first time he tried so hard to invade another demon’s dreams, as those were rare and fleeting moments in two individual’s lives that were unlikely to ever line up together.
Shining brightly against all reasoning, however, was Tanjirō’s blazing will to resist. Muzan was drawn in like a moth to a flame. It was something that had to be crushed completely, on the deepest levels of Tanjirō’s mind as Muzan could reach.
Muzan felt a stronger resistance pulse from Tanjirō’s end of the tether. He could feel something shove his mind almost completely out of Tanjirō’s mind.
Perhaps such defiance was the final tipping point for Muzan, and he rose to the challenge. Tanjirō had to be completely subjugated at all costs. That would earn Muzan a perfect Kizuki, one worthy of wearing the symbols of Upper Moon One.
Silence, Muzan demanded of himself.
Though he had no tangible body, Muzan felt his mouth turn into a sneer as he gathered his mental strength and ruthlessly projected his will along the tether and into Tanjirō’s mind.
No, Muzan wanted more. He wanted ownership of Tanjirō’s mind. Give me that, he demanded, and kept shoving at the walls of Tanjirō’s resistant mind. Give me his soul!
With another powerful surge of mental domination, the tether between their two minds solidified into a nearly unbreakable cord, and it broke through the feeble barrier Tanjirō’s subconscious put up.