Demon Slayer: Upper 0 seems to be a waste

What is death?

It is an abstract concept, a fixed state, a new stage of life, a new stage that no one knows exactly what it is, a new world that no one understands.

For those who have never experienced death and are still alive, death is a grand yet silent farewell.

Because when the path of life reaches its end called death, they will never see each other again, never speak again, never hear familiar voices again, warmth will fade, softness will be replaced, and they will become cold and hard, like stones on the ground—that is death.

From a living creature, it turned into a stone.

Death was a feeling that was both strange and familiar to Rinko. It was very familiar, like a shadow that followed him, like the shadow that was not stretched very long behind him under the moonlight.

This might sound a little strange, or even very strange, because Rinko has never actually experienced death, nor would he have the ability to experience it, but it is certainly not unfamiliar to him.

Rinko has disliked death for a long time. Dead people lie on the ground, motionless, and even if their arms are cut off, they will still tightly grip the handle of the blade. It takes a lot of strength to break those fingers and take the knife he wants.

A dead person is dead. It doesn't matter if it's a cat, a dog, or a person. They just lie there, lifeless, their temperature slowly fading as they flow out of their bodies, staining the earth and disappearing. Their blood merges with the earth, and so does life. The vital energy hidden within the body is gradually carried away by the land.

They would never speak again. Rinko lost the chance to see them again. A parting that wasn't taken very seriously became their last memory. And after who knows how long, not long at all, not long at all for a demon, he would lose even that last bit of memory.

And so the bond between them was severed by the long river of time, buried by dust, losing both the past and the future.

He had witnessed too many deaths, so he couldn't help but think about his own. He thought about many things, many scenarios of how he might die: dying in the sunlight, dying under the blade of a demon slayer, or even better, perhaps being eaten by Muzan, just like the earliest time he remembered, a time that came very close to death.

The speed of the devouring exceeded the limit of healing, so he watched helplessly as his body disappeared little by little before his eyes, his senses were erased, and his broken limbs and torso lost their connection. They no longer belonged to him, but were devoured by Muzan, becoming food, nourishment, and a catalyst for recovery.

That was the hypothesis about death that he used to think about most often, a possibility that he might just die like that.

Perhaps this was the death he most anticipated.

But he was only imagining it, because he had not yet truly experienced that limit, the real boundary of approaching death, which was a seabed deeper than unconsciousness, a territory darker than the night in the forest, full of the strange and the unknown.

-

So what exactly is death? What is the meaning of death? Does death itself have meaning, or is death meaningful only for some reason?

Rinko doesn't like thinking or being quiet, but he wasn't like this before. He used to not run away or dodge. Even if he was afraid of Kokushibo, he would train with him. He could spend the whole day under Doma's watchful eye, staring at the tree outside the door and the flower about to bloom on the branch. He would gently pat Akaza's head and tell him to look up, that the leaves were turning yellow. He would watch the snowflakes fall from the eaves and tell Daki that the snow was as white as she was.

He used to enjoy quiet, he loved to think, he had endless questions, and he was full of curiosity and a desire to explore the world. He loved making friends and the food that humans made, and even though he couldn't eat it, it didn't diminish his longing for it all.

It took him so long to go from being quiet to becoming noisy, but only a short time for him to stop being so noisy. Why is that?

Perhaps it is because of the companionship of death.

Because he had once escaped death's pursuit, that hand no longer rested on his shoulder, the cold breath no longer brushed against the skin on the back of his neck, and his spine no longer felt the tremors.

He will no longer feel the cold in winter, will no longer wake up in the middle of the night, will no longer feel the oppression and despair from inside his body, will no longer be chased by someone ready to throw a punch, and will no longer have blood filling his vision, making the whole world blurry and unreal.

Perhaps because of this, he began to have everything new: a new world, new friends, a new self, everything new. He finally began to possess it, to gain it.

Similarly, he also began to become timid.

In a corner he didn't know, without his awareness, that small box was piled up, and he had everything he saw. He possessed it, like planting a small seed. And at that moment, he had to begin to bear the risk of shedding tears.

But he didn't know, didn't care, so as time passed, the seedling grew branches and sprouted new leaves, he was happy and joyful. Through the four seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter, the sapling grew tall and graceful.

Then one day, it collapsed.

He belatedly realized that death had always lurked in his shadow, never leaving. He had not managed to escape; he could not find a place where there was light but no shadow.

Unless he avoids the light, the box breaks, the contents fall, he stops planting so many seeds, and without expecting a harvest, he avoids disappointment.

There will be no risk of crying.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Rinko felt that his first half of life was rich and colorful, yet full of regrets; he always seemed to lose something after gaining it.

But after searching for so long and living for so long, he still didn't really know what he was looking for. It was like trying to find the last piece of a puzzle, the biggest missing piece. So he kept trying his luck, searching, and trying in the huge box that is the world. But unfortunately, every piece he got couldn't fill the gap. The pattern on one corner was different, the design was different, the curve of the turn was different, and in short, they couldn't be put together.

The gap remained there forever. He kept searching and searching, but he could never find it, because he couldn't remember what the puzzle piece looked like. He didn't know if it had a corner, a turn, or any pattern. It was a puzzle that couldn't be seen until it was pieced together.

So why is this the case?

Because you got what you wanted in the beginning, from then on you were only chasing after what was unattainable.

Whose voice is that?

Rinko sent a question to the void.

It's you. And it's me.

In the pitch-black world, where only memories filled everything, a sound emerged.

A voice, both strange and familiar, a strange tone, yet the voice itself was somewhat familiar, not entirely familiar. He had never heard it before, but it was as if he and Tamayo had been reunited after a long separation. The voice appeared in his ear, as if blown by the wind without any wind.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Rinko sighed inwardly.

This isn't nonsense, it's just the truth.

I don't believe it. I don't believe a single word of it.

Is this hard to understand? I don't think so, because you're already dead, but you haven't actually gone to hell. In that case, simply finding me isn't really anything extraordinary.

Rinko fell silent, momentarily lost in thought.

Is he dead?

How did he die? Why did he die?

[You've been poisoned. Didn't you notice? Too much poison has accumulated in your body, which is why you're constantly sleeping. Didn't you notice your reaction time has slowed down? Your body is deteriorating. Those drugs destroyed your cells, and then, when they accumulated to the limit your body could handle...]

A crisp snap of fingers.

[You died just like that.]

.

Isn't that great? There's no pain, you didn't feel anything, did you? You didn't even realize it.

Who exactly are you?

Memories faded before my eyes, images vanished, and emerging from the darkness, stood a figure whose light was almost imperceptible to Rinko's eyes.

A boy, familiar, but not just familiar, like looking in a mirror, yet not quite the same.

The clothes were different; the old clothes were patched and torn. The boy's condition was different; he looked sickly, as if he would die at any moment, like a Ubuyashiki. What else was different? Too many to count; perhaps apart from their appearance and voice, there was almost nothing similar between them.

Hello. Let me introduce myself. Nice to meet you. My name is Lin Yang. Lin is a girl's name, and the sun is useless.