Chapter 9: Traitor
A sudden ambush—boots thundered against cobblestone as shadows descended on Akira.
"Don't move! You're under arrest for murder!"
Soldiers burst from both sides of the alley, slamming Akira to the ground. Cold steel pressed against his back, rough hands shackled his wrists. Akira didn't resist. He couldn't. His arms had been wrapped tightly around Akito's body. The forceful pull had torn them apart.
A soldier knelt beside the fallen boy. After a brief check, he stood and barked, "Confirmed. One dead."
The lead officer glanced at the corpse, then turned his gaze to Akira, voice like winter. "Take him. Dump the body wherever."
Those words pierced deeper than any blade.
Dump the body?
Akira's mind snapped into clarity. No—he wouldn't let them take Akito away. Not like this.
His muscles tensed, eyes burning with fury.
They couldn't discard his brother like garbage. Not while he still breathed.
A sudden twist—Akira's shoulder jerked free. In one seamless motion, he snatched a blade from a soldier's side and drove it across a neck. Blood sprayed. Screams followed. The alley became chaos.
They were trained soldiers. But not Demon Slayers. Not like him.
Their movements were clumsy, predictable. Panic clouded their eyes.
To Akira, they might as well have been standing still.
By the time silence returned, every soldier lay in their own blood.
Akira stood over them, chest heaving. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of his fury.
He turned back to Akito's body, kneeling beside him as if the world had ended.
"I won't let your death be meaningless," he whispered. "Whoever did this to you... I will burn their name from existence."
---
"Thunder Breathing, Third Form—Thunder Swarm!"
A demon shrieked as the final slash tore it apart, crumbling to ash.
Two Demon Slayers exhaled, panting.
"That one fought hard," one muttered, wiping his blade.
"At least we're done here."
They turned to leave, chuckling—only to freeze.
A shadow stepped out from the trees.
Too late.
A flash. Two arcs of silver light.
Neither of them even had time to scream before their heads hit the ground.
The demon had already been slain.
Now, so had the slayers.
---
"Caw! Caw!"
Across the mountains, the crows cried out in grim unison:
> "Alert! Former Demon Slayer Akira has turned traitor! He has killed Corps members. Authorized to kill on sight!"
---
I never claimed to be a hero.
My master once told me my heart burned like a flame.
That flame is gone now.
What remains is only ash.
---
"Caw."
Mingzhu looked up as a crow circled overhead, its beady eyes fixed on him. It landed on a bare branch nearby, unmoving.
He scowled, unease prickling the back of his neck.
He threw a rock. The crow took flight just in time.
"Tch... Damn bird."
He turned—and stopped.
A figure stood a few steps ahead, cloaked in shadow, silent and still.
A presence—cold, suffocating.
His hand moved toward his sword.
"Who's there?"
A low voice answered, familiar yet hardened beyond recognition.
"Mingzhu. Do you still remember my face?"
Mingzhu narrowed his eyes—and then they widened.
"You..."
Akira stepped forward, face half-lit in the dim light. His expression was unreadable.
"Surprised to see me?"
"You... traitor!" Mingzhu barked. "You killed Qingyu!"
"I didn't betray the Corps." Akira's voice was calm. Deadly calm. "They betrayed me first."
"And Qingyu?"
"Don't remember," Akira replied coldly. "I've killed too many lately."
"He was my disciple!"
"Then maybe he should've chosen a better master."
"You bastard!"
Mingzhu's blade flashed like lightning.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form—Thunderclap and Flash!"
"Sun Breathing, First Form—Dance of the Fire God!"
The clash lit the air with fire and thunder. Sparks burst in every direction as the two collided.
At close range, Mingzhu sneered. "Your grip's weak. Looks like the rumors were true—you're a cripple now!"
He drove his blade down, forcing Akira back.
"You're nothing without your sword hand!"
He lunged again.
"Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form—Distant Thunder!"
Akira took the hit. Blood burst from his mouth.
He staggered—but didn't fall.
Instead, he smiled.
And then, he ripped off his charred sleeve.
Mingzhu's smirk faltered.
Akira hadn't held the sword with his hand.
It was bound—tightly strapped to his forearm, the hilt secured in place with thick cords. He was fighting using only the power of his arm and shoulder.
"You lunatic..." Mingzhu muttered.
Above them, the crows cried out again.
More were coming.
Time was running out.
Akira's blade danced again. This time, recklessly. No defense. Only attacks.
His eyes were hollow. His movements wild.
Mingzhu blocked, dodged, retaliated—but even he was being worn down.
"You'll die at this rate!" he snarled.
"Then I'll die," Akira said flatly. "But not before I drag you down with me."
Their blades clashed again, over and over—sword against sword, hatred against hatred.
Blood flew.
Wounds multiplied.
Akira fought like a man with nothing left to lose.
Because he didn't.
---
"Caw! Caw!"
Another crow screamed overhead.
Mingzhu heard it.
Another Pillar was close.
He needed to end this.
Now.
With a roar, he charged. No technique. Just raw power.
Akira stood his ground.
They collided—
And then pain.
Akira faltered. A deep slash cut across his abdomen. He gasped, stumbled—
And vanished into the trees.
Mingzhu gave chase.
But two steps in, his leg gave out. A gash—deep, precise—tore across his thigh.
He crashed to the ground.
"Damn it...!"
The forest swallowed Akira whole.
---
"Thunder Pillar!"
A familiar voice rang out.
Mingzhu lifted his head, exhausted.
"Rengoku..."
The Flame Pillar approached, his golden-red hair bright against the dusk.
"What happened? Demon attack?"
Mingzhu shook his head.
"No... it was him."
"Akira?"
Rengoku's expression turned to stone.
"You saw him?"
"I almost had him," Mingzhu hissed. "I would've finished it—if he hadn't run."
Rengoku's eyes darkened.
"The Master said to bring him back alive."
Mingzhu didn't look up.
"That thing... is no longer human."
"He must die."