Demon Slayer: Upper 0 seems to be a waste

The explosion was sudden and without warning.

From not far away, a sudden, violent roar sent the gleaming light flying through the air, landing among the rubble.

The persistent tinnitus, the violent heartbeat, and the resulting dizziness were pure torture for the demon's keen senses. This was a technique that Rinko had never experienced before, but at this moment, it was difficult for her to figure out who it came from.

But can humans create such a commotion?

If someone had a weapon or technique with that kind of power, they wouldn't have waited until now to use it, so it must be Muzan, right? Only Muzan could suddenly unleash such a powerful skill on the battlefield.

The eardrums were ringing and stinging. Rin felt blood flowing down his nose, and when he wiped it with the back of his hand, he realized it was coming from his nasal cavity. He didn't know what had gone wrong to cause the sudden bleeding.

The amount of blood he saw, the blood that flowed, the dead people he saw, and the people he killed tonight seemed to be more than at any other time in the first half of his life.

Tonight, we witnessed firsthand just how fragile human life is, and how easily life can end.

Rinko struggled to climb out of the ruins and slid down the rubble. How long was this street? Why did it feel even longer than the corridor? It was as if there was no end in sight.

The surrounding scenery became unfamiliar again. He didn't know where the impact had thrown him. Sanemi was not nearby, and Muichiro could no longer be found.

Troublesome. Finding someone is the most troublesome thing.

But anyway, one is already dead, and the other is not far from death, so it doesn't matter.

Rinko felt that this was a very long night, too long, as if it would never end, as if there was no end in sight. Countless times he wished that this battle would come to an end, but even at this moment, this wish could not be fulfilled.

But when everything in his line of sight became clearer and brighter at a visible speed, he realized it.

Time seemed to fly by, and he had no more time to waste.

It was almost dawn.

It'll be bright soon, almost there.

It won't be long.

He didn't know how much longer. At any other time, the moment he realized this, he would have started running immediately, running as far as possible. This open space offered no cover; he needed a place to hide.

But not now, at least not today, even though sunrise is approaching, even though he knows the sun is deadly to ghosts, even though every drop of blood and every cell in his body has been screaming and shouting in his mind as he realizes dawn is approaching, urging him to run.

He can't leave either.

Not today, not now.

He forced himself to get up, stand up, walk, move, move—it wasn't his body, so why could he barely lift his legs?

Damn.

Even if he has to crawl, he has to get there. He has to bite with his teeth, crawl with his hands, and rub with his body.

He can't hide, except today.

Muzan was still facing the Demon Slayer Corps and the Pillars. He didn't know how many were still alive, or whether he could defeat them. But he had to get through it, even if it was just to attract attention, to buy himself a few seconds, or even if he had to die there.

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.

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.

What a scene this is!

Rinko's vision was almost unfocused. The blurry and clear images switched in front of him every second. He couldn't tell if he was too tired to see clearly, or if the gradually brightening light made it impossible for him to face the light and see everything in front of him clearly.

There were no more people in sight: Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Tanjiro. They were the ones holding Muzan back, preventing him from escaping.

What are those scars?

I've never seen one like it, but it looks like an old scar, something only humans would have. Ghosts rarely have scars like that. Ghosts always heal very quickly, leaving no trace. Otherwise, their arms and legs would have been covered with scars long ago.

But why are there so many scars on Muzan's body, so densely packed, as if he had experienced an unimaginable disaster? Were they caused by these people? It doesn't seem like it; their strength was limited, they couldn't have done that. Were they left behind in the past? But why haven't I seen them before? I don't know, and I don't have time to ask.

Just standing here feels like I've given it my all.

In the instant his blurred vision focused, he saw the approaching figures: Giyuu, charging with a knife, and Gyomei, wielding that damned hammer. Giyuu, Gyomei, and more? Yes, he saw them, people approaching, as well as Mitsuri and Obanai. Everyone was badly injured, so badly injured that all he could see was the color of blood.

Go help, go help, go help! My mind was screaming, but why wasn't my body moving? Why couldn't I move at all?

Because my heart is trembling, because reason is hesitant, because instinct is screaming.

Every drop of blood in my body trembled as the ray of light drew closer. I had to get closer; otherwise, it wouldn't work. I needed help, I needed help.

But all the sounds in my mind are the desperate cries of my cells.

Run! Run! Run! The sun is about to rise! You'll die! Run!

My hands were trembling, my feet were trembling, my legs were trembling, my whole body was trembling. Every collision in the battle intensified this fear. I wanted to run, my whole body wanted to run away.

The piercing knife, the swinging hammer, the severed arm—every second he saw made Rinko breathe faster and his heart pound more violently. He struggled to raise his hand, then gripped the rubble on the ground as he fell, trying to get closer.

But you have to get close.

But we have to stay.

I want to help, I want to be of some use, I don't care if I die here.

At least, let his life have some meaning.

The sun was about to rise, right before his eyes. The gradually spreading sunlight became a symbol of impending death, the true agony of being burned by the sun, the agony of being burned to ashes. Compared to that, everything he had endured tonight was insignificant. He was not afraid of death, he was clearly not afraid of death, but at this moment, his demonic cells and blood almost dominated him, making it almost impossible for Rinko to stand up from the ground and to get any closer.

Because yes, he wasn't afraid of death; it wasn't him who was afraid of dying.

But it was Muzan who gave him this life and allowed this body to be so free.

Even Muzan was afraid of death.

What a suffocating moment for Rinko.

How tragic.

He wanted to get closer, to help, to save Muzan, but in that instant, the fear he felt from Muzan made him completely lose control.

The violent shockwave exploded again in that very second.

Rinko witnessed firsthand the damage inflicted by Muzan. He was even closer this time, and when he was thrown back, he almost felt as if his brain had been blasted apart.

When his body crashed heavily to the ground, his head was almost a complete mess of mud.

I'm so dizzy.

The sun was about to rise, and Muzan was in danger; he didn't have a second left.

He felt a sharp pain in his heart, as if it were being squeezed, but it wasn't from him. This time it wasn't from him, but from Muzan. He knew it; he had experienced it before. He could almost hear that shriek, the fear of death, the fear of the sun, the longing for life.

In that instant, he experienced tinnitus and dizziness, and everything he had experienced before was replayed more intensely. What would come first, death or the sun? He didn't know. He could only see, through his most blurred vision, that what seemed to be approaching before the sun was that thorn.

Can he understand what it feels like to have the sun shining on his skin? Will he even know? Because at that very moment, pain had already begun to engulf him.

It hurts so much, the pain of thorns piercing my body, the pain of being dragged around.

He lost consciousness for a few seconds.

When I opened my eyes, it was darkness, shadows, not light; I didn't see the sun.

Is it because he is already dead?

No, my body still hurts.

This is not a phantom after death, nor a near-death experience; he is still alive.

why.

He didn't die.

why.

Something dripped onto him, wet and warm—not just dripping, but being transferred to him. He wasn't lying on the ground; something had grabbed him, something was holding him tightly.

What is it?

Rinko struggled to lift her head; it was a pair of human eyes.

what.

The sun is indeed coming.

But he was caught even faster than the sun and death.

It is Muichiro.

Muichiro's mouth opened and closed as if he were saying something, but Rinko couldn't hear him. Tinnitus had destroyed his only way of getting outside sounds. He couldn't hear anything, and he couldn't even see clearly anymore, because his heart was hurting even more.

The thorns remained in his body, but the dragging sensation disappeared. As his gaze fell, he could see the sword in Muichiro's hand. Had Muichiro cut off the thorns? Why? To keep him here?

But it hurts so much, it hurts so much.

My heart hurts so much.

The moment my hearing returned was filled with noise—human voices, screams, shouts, and so many other sounds mixed together.

"Run... Rinko... Run!"

"Time Leak!"

"careful!"

"Tanjiro! Don't get distracted!"

So many, far too many.

But the only clear sound.

It was a pitiful scream, almost like the final lament of a bleeding infant.

what.

It was such a piercing, yet so helpless, such a desperate sound.

Is that the sound Muzan could make? It sounds more like the sound a spineless coward would make.

"Rinko...Rinko...Run!"

Muichiro held him tightly. Rinko almost broke his arm to crawl out from the protection of that body. His body was exhausted, in pain, and, more importantly, terrified.

But Rinko wasn't afraid. Rinko supported that body and staggered to get up, but couldn't stand up. She took the first step and knelt on the ground. It didn't matter. If she couldn't stand up, she would crawl over.

There's always a way.

Thorns were coming toward him, piercing, wrapping, and pulling.

But a hand grabbed him.

Rinko turned her gaze away.

It was Muichiro, gripping him tightly, a knife between his teeth. His severed hand couldn't hold the knife, but he still leaned in, trying to grab him with the remaining bones. His eyes were fixed on him.

Rinko can understand Muichiro's meaning.

Muichiro hoped he could grab him; the knife was offered to him in the hope that he could cut through the thorns, that he could make a choice, a choice that would allow him to live.

In that instant, that shortest moment that time could not record, Rinko almost wanted to laugh. Despite the excruciating pain, the perilous danger, and the imminent death, a smile crept onto his lips.

His other hand grabbed the knife, or rather, barely hooked it.

If he fell, everything would be over, so Muichiro dared not let go and watched him, waiting for him to use his last bit of strength to grab the sword.

How could he possibly disappoint that expectation?

Rinko thought.

This was the only human who had any expectations for him, the only human who held his hand tightly.

Rinko used almost all her strength, with the last bit of power left, to tightly grip the knife, grab it, and raise it high.

In that instant, the whole world seemed to fall silent. Muichiro looked at him, opened his mouth as if to say something, but it was too late for him to hear.

"Thank you... Muichiro..."

He just smiled and said it.

Then the blade fell.

He watched helplessly as the expectation in Muichiro's eyes gradually disappeared.

I'm so sorry, Muichiro, I really feel bad for letting you down.

but.

If we want to be friends, we'll have to wait until the next life.

The sunrise arrived in that instant, and the sunlight, carrying death with it, arrived as scheduled.

This is the first time Rinko has seen the sun, and it will also be the last.

Despite always being full of curiosity about sunlight, freedom, the world of light, and the unknown happiness, he still made a resolute choice at this moment.

What was severed by the Nichirin Blade was not just his arm, but also his possibility of making any choice.

He didn't even have time to notice the sun beside him.

He didn't even have a single second left for himself.

A beautiful arc.

He was like a moth drawn to its own flame.

Like a bird with broken wings, closing its eyes, it crashes into the dark sea.

sun.

It's so hot.

Warmer than Tanjiro's hands.

It's warmer than Kyojuro's embrace.

He was burned so easily that tears he had never shed before fell in that instant. Why? Was it because he could not bear the pain he had never felt before? Was it because he felt guilty for disappointing his friends? Was it because he was happy to finally realize that he had friends? Or was it because of his inevitable death and the loss of his freedom?

I do not know.

He... had no choice but to go again.

I've thought about it.