Chapter 8: Death of a Thousand Years Old
Two bodies collapsed to the ground. A scream rang out from somewhere nearby, and in an instant, the crowd scattered, leaving behind only blood and silence.
"Cough... cough…"
A faint gasp broke through the stillness.
"Akito!"
The glass slipped from Akira's trembling hands, shattering at his feet as he darted toward his brother. He fell to his knees, voice cracking, and cupped Akito's blood-streaked face with shaking fingers. The warm crimson smeared across his palms, but he didn't care.
"Akito, how are you? Hold on—hold on! I'll get a doctor. Just stay awake!"
Without a second thought, he hoisted Akito onto his back and sprinted to the nearest clinic. Snow clung to his clothes, blood soaked through them, and yet he ran. The doctor recoiled at first sight, eyes widening at the sight of the boy on Akira's back—but training overruled fear. He began the examination at once.
Moments passed.
Then the doctor rose, his shoulders heavy. He didn't need to say it, but he did.
"I'm sorry. Prepare for his funeral."
Akira blinked.
Funeral?
No—he'd only been beaten. Bruised, broken maybe, but not…
This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
"What did you just say?!"
Akira seized the doctor by the collar, voice a thunderclap of grief and rage.
"Look again! You're lying! He's still breathing—damn it, he's still here!"
But the doctor's eyes were steady, pitying.
"His internal organs are destroyed. No human can survive this. Unless you can summon a god… he's already halfway gone."
The world reeled.
Akira staggered backward, blood draining from his face. In his mind, he had known. The moment he saw Akito's body slump, the moment he touched his skin—it was cold, too cold. But denial was louder than reason.
He didn't want to know.
He didn't want to see.
"Brother…"
Akito's voice was weak, like the whisper of wind before a storm.
"Akito… I'm here."
Akira dropped beside him, gripping his hand gently, afraid it might shatter like porcelain.
And at last, he saw it.
His brother's body wasn't just hurt—it was failing. From the inside out. Blood filled his lungs. Bones cracked like dry twigs beneath the weight of his breath.
The doctor hadn't lied.
Akito was dying.
"Am I… going to die?" Akito's lips barely moved.
"No," Akira said instantly, the word forced through his clenched jaw. "Don't say that. You're going to be fine. You'll see. I'll fix this—I promise."
Akito's pale hand rose and brushed Akira's cheek. His fingers trembled.
"Even if… I'm not there… live on, brother. Please."
Akira tried to nod, to smile, to be strong—but the tears came, silent and endless.
"We were going to open a store… Remember? We were going to have a life."
"I remember," Akito whispered, barely audible now. "But I… I don't think I'll get to see it."
"Don't say that."
"You have to hear me." Akito's voice was faint, but his eyes were clear. "Go find Mr. Yunichi. They won't stop… The Corps, they'll come after you again. Promise me you won't let them."
Akira clenched his jaw.
Akito continued slowly, breath catching, "You're strong when you fight demons… but you're so helpless with everything else. You forget to eat. You work until you collapse. You don't know how to ask for help. That's why I stayed… to keep you going. So when I'm gone… find someone. A sister-in-law, maybe. Someone who'll take care of you."
His hand squeezed Akira's once.
"Thank you… for these years. I know you're not really my brother… My real brother died a long time ago. But you—you made me feel like I belonged. Like I had a family again. Did you know that? I was happy. Truly happy."
He coughed, blood dripping from his lips.
"I wanted to see you get married… have kids… grow old…"
His voice cracked.
"I… I don't want to die. I really don't."
Akira's hand tightened around his.
"Brother…"
Akito's fingers slipped from his grasp, falling slowly like a petal in the wind. His final breath escaped with the faintest smile.
And his eyes, even as they dimmed, held only Akira.
Akira crumpled over the still body, the grief in his chest clawing its way out in ragged sobs.
"Why… why… why?"
He had given up everything.
His fight. His power. His past.
He had turned his back on the world of demons and corpses to live a quiet, ordinary life. A peaceful life. A human life.
And now—this?
And worst of all, it wasn't a demon who had stolen his world.
It was the Demon Slayer Corps.
Time lost all meaning.
Eventually, Akira stood.
He looked like something hollowed out and left behind—his limbs moved like broken clockwork. Slowly, he gathered Akito's body into his arms, holding him like something too sacred to lose.
The doctor backed away, trembling, silent.
Akira didn't speak to him.
Didn't look at him.
He only muttered, again and again, like a prayer carved into ice:
"Brother will take you home… Brother will take you home…"
He stepped out into the falling snow.
The blood on his clothes hadn't dried. The smell of death clung to him like a second skin. People in the streets turned and fled at the sight of him. None dared to meet his eyes. None dared to ask.
They had seen the storm that followed him.
"Brother will take you home… Brother will take you home…"
Step by step, Akira walked forward.
The snow fell heavier now, blanketing the world in white silence. It gathered on his shoulders, dusted Akito's face. Akira didn't notice. He didn't feel the cold.
He just kept walking.
And as he did, a single thought kept whispering at the edge of his mind.
Home.
But where was home now?
The house would still be there—the walls, the roof, the bed they'd shared—but it was just a shell now. An echo.
Because Akito was gone.
And with him, the warmth, the laughter, the purpose.
Everything that made life worth living.
Now, all that remained was a quiet, endless snow.
And a boy with no destination, carrying the last piece of his heart through a world that had turned its back on him.