2. sandstorm upon the wisteria-clad mountain.

If Kanata had something to say about his Breathing Style, a certain someone's coined it much better than he can a long time ago:

Sand is coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere.

"Appearing in sudden, explosive spurts, this breathing style enters with unexpected vigour, erupts out of nowhere before consuming its target fully... it was no trouble to me, but it is a rather impressive style, albeit self-taught."

A single training session with Himejima Gyoumei earned him some rather fine praise.

They were bullying him, really. Why would you put sand up against stone? Though, if Kanata had about a couple more hours he swears, he could have done it, alright, but like, Himejima's nichirin is a kusarigama with a morningstar of all things, so there was no chance Kanata could even reset.

"I suppose... what do you want to do, Kanata?"

He's surprised to be addressed directly, but he supposes this is just the kind of person Oyakata-sama is.

"Do you want to remain a swordsmith in the village, or will you come out and be a demon slayer for the corps? Your service and talent is greatly valued in each way, and we will not fault you for choosing either."

Of course, becoming a demon slayer is much more valuable. Swordsmiths come in hordes and can be easily replaced. Demon slayers are always dying, and finding capable ones are difficult.

"Ah— Oyakata-sama," Uncle Kiyoyuki brings up, hesitantly, "for Kanata, speech is a little..."

"Can I..."

Uncle Kiyoyuki and Chief Tecchin whirl around, startled, indignant squeaks blurting from their throats.

Kanata talks on, anyways, "can I... do both?"

He didn't see a reason why he couldn't be a demon slayer, but he also preferred to stay in the village. If he can do both at once, it wouldn't be too different from just having a part-time job, would it?

Oyakata-sama smiles.

"Then, so it shall be."

-

"What kind of idiot lugs so much up Mount Fujikasane?"

"He's so obviously overexcited. Like some child. Does he even know what the Final Selection is about?"

"He really thinks he can defeat demons with that kind of weight?"

"What's with the freaky hyottoko mask?"

Kanata is twelve when he's allowed to take the Final Selection.

Kanata really likes his new messenger bag that the leatherworkers in swordsmith village made for him. It can hold so much! A change of clothes, food and water, his hammer, coal to start a fire, a large gourd for sawdust, a few spare blades... and more!

He definitely overpacked.

But he's strong enough to carry it, and the swordsmith village really wanted him to bring more stuff because they were so worried. The Kakushi had to yell at them to let him go.

"Oh geez. There's another kid," someone murmurs. "I'm so sad. I thought I'd be the youngest here, but you're the third one already. Maybe Urokodaki-sensei was lying when he said it was too soon for me."

The girl sighs fondly, and when she approaches Kanata, it's with no hostility at all. She smiles kindly, the mask of a fox with blue flowers upon its cheeks resting at the crown of her head.

"See? I have a mask too. We're twinsies."

Yeah, they really are. Makomo wears the Urokodaki's cloud blue haori over her flower-printed kimono dearly. Kanata almost feels underdressed with his plain brown clothes.

In the distance, someone scoffs.

"Are you here to fucking play? The demon slayer corps are a fucking joke."

The boy with white hair and a multitude of scars is so familiar that Kanata spends a longer moment staring at him than he did the girl. Shinazugawa Sanemi is worn out all over, but his haori is white and neat for the day, clearly borrowed.

He's holding Masachika's old sword, and Kanata recognizes it, even far away.

Masachika had it replaced with one forged by Uncle Kanamori, but Kanata was allowed to polish this one on his own, as Masachika requested it to be repurposed as a practice blade. It still had the signature rich green of Masachika's breath within it, and the frayed tsuka needed redoing from all the bloodstains in the string.

It's red now. What a shame, it used to be such a pretty shade of dark green.

-

There's a girl with butterfly pins in her hair, and Kanata understands, mildly, that if he gets too close, he's guaranteed to die.

Kanzaki Aoi is fated to survive this selection on pure luck alone.

(Makomo mentioned there were three candidates younger than herself— so Kanata, Sanemi, and Aoi. It's a rather fruitful lineup, knowing the future. Not as impressive as the Kamabokko generation, but an impressive one nonetheless.)

So... what is going on here?

"What... another human's come to be my meal?" the demon cackles, chewing into an arm. Tearing through ligaments. Licking lips, savouring so deliciously, through the sickening squealch and stickiness of blood dripping down every new tear.

The demon crunches through the butterfly pin as if it were a cracker upon his full-course meal. And the girl, dead and stomach engorged into, lays still, a terrified visage frozen onto her face as the life leaves her eyes.

Kanata barely registers the other demon lunging for him before he's in Death's realm once more.

-

"Kid. Who told you to walk into a demon's all-you-can-eat buffet? You had one job and that was to not put yourself in situations that you'd get eaten in!"

Kanata actually doesn't feel a single bit chastised. He's too focused on his manga right now, brows set in a deep frown.

"Kid, are you listening?"

He isn't. He lifts the book, and points at a certain page: Kanzaki Aoi, alive and well, years in the future.

And then he turns to Death and squints with accusation.

"Kid... I've told you time and again. All lives are fated to come here, to their own dues," Death tells him. "Not just this girl, but the other as well. You are exceptional, but you are also part of the flow. You can't disrupt it with your own power."

Kanata scowls, confused.

It doesn't feel right to let people die in front of his eyes, but Makomo's nice. And Aoi isn't meant to die now, so why is she dead?

Luckily, Kanata still had the capability to save her— but why was she killed to begin with? That isn't supposed to happen.

"I wouldn't recommend you rely on that book too much," Death advises.

A gentle hand, ruffling his hair.

"From the moment you entered that land, it ceased to flow in the same rhythm as this story you're so familiar with. Take of that what you will."

-

"Kyaaahh!! You're here again?!" Aoi balks. "Are you f- following me? Why?"

Kanata pulls a shortsword free from his bag and holds it out in her direction. She stares at it, befuddled. Her own sword is held close to her chest, nervous.

"What?"

Kanata tosses it in her direction, and she catches it with a yelp.

She can't express her discontent, because Kanata whirls around, pulling free his longest sword, the Oodachi, and with a fierce upward swing, the ground beneath him explodes in a burst of soil and sand, right into the jaw of an ambushing demon.

Sand Breathing, Second Form: Dust Devil

砂の呼吸 ・貳ノ型・ 辻風 (Tsujikaze)

The demon howls in pain.

But another leaps up behind Aoi, and she screams in surprise. She only has time to raise her arms in defense— luckily the demon's teeth snags upon the sheathed shortsword she was still holding, instead of her arm.

And, with a resolving breath, her other arm comes up with her sword, a piercing, single-handed thrust.

Water Breathing, Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust

水の呼吸・漆ノ型・雫波紋突き

It plunges right into the demon's eye, and sends it reeling back. Aoi hesitates as the demon wails—

— "Don't stop! Kill it now!"

Kanata raises his voice.

And she spurs forward, jerked into motion by the volume.

He blade rises with water once more as she tosses aside the shortsword to wind up the long, horizontal slash that would go through the demon's neck and hands, lopping it off entirely.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

水の呼吸・壹ノ型・水面斬り

Aoi falls to her knees as the demon disintegrates. Kanata sheaths his sword where the sheath was fastened upon his bag, and nods. Aoi lifts her head, terrified and teary, and murmurs out a broken.

"T- Thank you. I'm sorry."

Kanata extends a hand.

She picks herself up, with his help.

And she smudges away her tears on her sleeves. One of her clips has come loose along with her pigtail, and Kanata glances around, wondering where it'd gone. Not in the area, and if on the ground, probably trampled.

"I knew I shouldn't have come. I keep getting saved, and— I... it's not even the second day yet..."

Aoi has to pause in her sentence, when Kanata crouches down and starts carefully dusting her off. He pushes her to sit on a rock.

By the time she's composed herself, Kanata has worked a wooden comb into her hair, tucking it in a very secure bun. Single butterfly pin adjusted accordingly.

Kind of like how Shinobu wears her own hair.

Kanata steps back to look at his work and nods like a connoisseur, very satisfied.

Aoi has no idea what is going on.

But she bows anyway. "Thank you for... for helping, I—" She is interrupted again when he pushes something into her hands. It's the shortsword, and a soft orange pouch.

It smells like wisteria.

Her own had been destroyed— the demons here are a little resistant to small amounts, mainly because they're surrounded by so much more. But it's still very assuring to have one again as a good luck charm. .

"Ah... thanks."

-

"I'll killed so many of Urokodaki's students. The mask really helps with picking out my prey! How nice of Urokodaki to label them so kindly each year!"

The demon giggles, so tauntingly, covering his mouth with his many, many hands, staring mockingly down at Makomo as he jeered and cackled.

"And you'll be number twelve!"

Makomo had been so composed, so brave when this selection began— but it was this moment where something snapped, and her heart cracked with her voice as she roared—

"BE QUIET!"

Her mask is shattered upon her head and bleeding terribly down her shoulder. Her blue haori is torn, and she'd left it behind once it started to get in the way.

And tears, they spilled from her eyes as she grieved , so desperately, for the seniors she craved with all her heart.

She leaps.

"Don't you dare laugh at them! DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT THEM!"

That had been a mistake. A single flick of something— was it a stone? It broke her form, and as she tried to grasp it, it was too late. She'd lost her momentum. Her sword was no longer swinging down.

That was all the time needed for the demon to seize her shoulder, and then her waist. It took her ankle and her arm, and she knew what was coming next.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she screamed, terrified, and filled with despair.

Sand Breathing, First Form: Sand Hunter

砂の呼吸・壹ノ型・砂狩 (Sunagari)

The shockwave of the blade flew in from nowhere, shearing through the trees right through each and every tree trunk in its way. It spliced three of the demon's arms off, but the one at its ankle squeezed further.

Makomo howls as the demon's surprise makes it wrench down upon her leg, destroying her leg from the knee and below.

The next moment a new blade brings forth from below.

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

風の呼吸・壹ノ型・鹿旋風・削ぎ

It lops off the demon's arm, and takes off most of its neck— doesn't cut through, though— and Shinazugawa Sanemi curses loudly.

He flings past the demon and lands.

"HEY, BITCH!" Sanemi yells. "Tormenting a young girl on her own, huh? You that much of a coward, you piece of shit?!"

His arms are bleeding terribly already.

"Forget the weakling! Won't you rather have a good meal right over damn here?!"

Makomo lands on the ground harshly, cradling her broken leg with tears biting back. Usually she'd be much more offended at the implication that she was just a weak little girl, but she'll have to complain about that later.

A pair of feet stop before her.

Kanata picks her up by the shoulder, and someone hisses from the woods. A girl with a butterfly pin in her hair.

"This way, hurry!"

For now, she had to escape. Crawl, if she must.

She was lucky enough to survive that . She has to get away.

But if she ran now, she won't be able to get revenge for those poor children on top of the mountain! They've all been waiting so long, is she going to fail them too?

She supposed she would have to complain about that when she was stronger.

-

Honestly, Kanata is mildly annoyed.

Saving Aoi took ages. And then, Makomo was even worse.

Even without Kanata's influence, Sanemi was always just half a pace too slow to save her. He wasn't obliged to save her either way, but he would have, simply because it didn't feel good to watch someone helplessly die for a demon's amusement— but he was too late anyways, and he would always just click his tongue and move on.

Honestly, it should have been over once she got caught, but the Hand Demon always paused for a second, just so Makomo could realize she was going to die before she died— it was an asshole like that— and that second would be too late to save her.

The Sand Breathing's first form, a flying slash that resounded across the plains, engulfing it all in a wave of sand— it had range, but it didn't have speed. It appeared abruptly, but didn't travel across fast enough. Even a human could dodge it if they saw it in time.

So yeah.

Kanata has swung his longest sword for what felt like a million times at this point. Thank fucking god, attempt one million and one worked.

He really should have tried the Oodachi sooner. But in his defense, he needed to really check that no one else was around before using it, alright? He's usually only allowed to use First Form with the tachi. Something about cutting off the lookout tower or something.

-

Shinazugawa Sanemi smacks Makomo over the head and she wants to yell a string of very organic expletives at him and make him cry, but unfortunately she's getting rightfully scolded right now.

"I don't care if it killed your entire fucking family in front of your damn eyes! You want to be next? HUH? What's that going to solve?"

"Shut up, Shinazugawa! You're so tactless!" Aoi snaps at him, furiously trying to clean Makomo's leg, "not everyone is some suicidal fearless monster like you, okay?!"

"YEAH, which is why everyone else is fucking DEAD!"

Day broke just in time for them all to escape the predicament. The Hand Demon isn't dead yet, but now they're setting up a camp to recover. It's in as sunny a spot as Kanata can find and most of the supplies are from Kanata's very well-furnished equipment bag.

Kanata comes under the makeshift roof— a blanket held up by rope and sticks— with a bowl of boiled water and a clean rag.

"What the— what are you doing?!"

Sanemi pulled away when Kanata tried to take his injured arms, but Kanata's grip is solid as a rock even when he's truthfully trying to tear away.

"I don't need it!"

"Yes you do! I don't want demons smelling that dried blood and zoning in on our camp before we can move!" Aoi snaps. "Sit the fuck still and get treated, self-harm!"

"That's not the insult you think it is!"

"In your context, it is!"

Sanemi's so preoccupied by her yelling match with Aoi that he obediently allows his wounds to be cleaned. Makomo is still terribly sniffling, but she will most likely join the fervent argument once she's recovered.

Kanata sighed.

They could just survive the Selection like this, but he has a feeling this crowd won't let him go. And if they die, it'll make the future complicated, so...

...honestly, Kanata doesn't really want to care, he just doesn't want Makomo to die since she's nice, but what if Sanemi dies? Everything he does has a consequence, and if Sanemi dies, then who else can step up to fill that hole in the plot except for him, Death-assigned isekai protagonist?

Kanata wants to do a lot of things, things that are fun, things that are interesting, but it'd be easier to make sure Sanemi lives than go on and try to think about the possible repercussions if he died. Or try to fix them. Kanata hates fixing things.

Yeah. This is starting to sound like a pain in the ass.

Guess he'll just defeat the Hand Demon here and be done with it.

-

They attack the Hand Demon at night. They come up with plans all afternoon, and the strategy can be summed up in one phrase:

Please never let these four morons plan anything together. Ever.

Sanemi gets caught easily, but he breaks out quickly. Problem is he wastes too much strength and energy doing that, and thus never finds an opportunity to attack. He's eventually cornered, and that's the end for him.

Makomo is agile, and her strikes are strong, but physically, she's weaker than she needs to be. She tires easily, and just a moment's carelessness gets her caught. And, of course, her fate has always been the same: torn to pieces, limb from limb.

Aoi is too cowardly. She falters way too much, and it's much better for her to stay back than attempt to fight. She guides away reaching appendages when Sanemi falters, and breaks apart the flow of arms from getting too far into the forest— but the second the Hand Demon finds her a nuisance, she's done.

Kanata has had it.

Blood rains down upon him. Makomo's. Aoi is screaming behind him. Sanemi is roaring, hacking away at the demon from behind, bit by bit, but Makomo's slowly, slowly, being wrenched apart as she whimpers, and whimpers— and finally, falls silent.

Sanemi roars. "LET GO OF HER, STOP IT! FUCKING PAY ATTENTION TO ME!"

But he cannot cut through those barriers of arms. Not as discomposed as he is.

Kanata sighs, standing beneath the gore, he sighs deeply. The blood is warm on his shoulders, flowing down his arms. They coagulate the sand dusted on his clothing, so he reaches to his messenger bag, and retrieves something.

A metal fan.

He flicks it open.

Time to reset.

Sand Breathing, Fift— [ERROR]

-

"Oh, we've ruined you," Death is mourning on his knees, face in his hands grievously, "we've ruined you, you poor baby child, what have we done to you."

Kanata doesn't understand him, but he's always dramatic, so he's used to this now.

"You're surrounded by demons. But no, getting one to kill you is too tedious. Getting the one in front of you to kill you is too difficult. So what do you do? You make a whole technique . Okay. Okay, I get it. Fine."

Death is miserable. Almost sobbing.

"It's okay, I'm not mad. I'm definitely not sad. Why are you like this? You had three forms when you came in here. Why are there five now?"

Because they were necessary. Obviously.

Kanata folds his arms, tapping on his elbow with a pursed lip. He really wants to get back to the scene already.

"Won't you at least stay for some hot chocolate?" Death says. "My assistants jump each time you come by only for you to leave before you even take a sip. They're so sad it goes cold each time."

Kanata rolls his eyes. He glances at the black ent standing beside a cat-shaped mug, staring up at him with hollow eyes somehow just so pleading and hopeful— and he supposes he has a minute to spare.

"What do you mean, you didn't literally create that technique to commit suicide?" Death says, disbelieving, pouty. "What else do you need something like that for?"

-

"Shit— HEY! Kanata!"

Sanemi yells at him, when Kanata gets caught. The hand still on his sword is broken, just barely hanging on the handle, there's no way he can gather enough strength to retaliate here. His other hand is crushed beneath the Hand Demon's grip, along with his ribs and everything under it.

The Hand Demon cackles as Kanata winces viscerally.

He's really making this hurt as much as he can, huh?

"Hold on!" Makomo yells, scrambling for her sword again, gasping as she stumbles on her broken leg. "Aoi! Come on, we'll do it together—!"

But Aoi freezes.

The Hand Demon is staring at her, eyes wide with a wide, wide grin.

"Just try, you two," he giggles.

And he tenses his arm, earning a sharp crunch from Kanata's torso, and a vocal, grievous howl. Kanata's sword falls, and the eyes that turn toward him are filled with horror. Bone pierces through skin, blood dripping from the Hand Demon's multitude of fists all closed over the small, frail figure.

"Fuck—!!" Sanemi hisses. "Stop it, you piece of crap!"

"Maybe I should just squeeze him to death, bit by bit, just like this~" the Hand Demon taunts, knowing well enough these untrained slayers can never cut through his neck.

Kanata lifts his broken hand, slowly, gradually— and Sanemi's eyes are drawn to it, confused. Aoi can't step forward, but Makomo senses, deep in her soul— that she shouldn't move from her spot.

The Hand Demon frowns.

"A last struggle, when you can't even reach your sword? How meaningless," he scoffs. "Man, do I hate this brat. He's all sandy and gross... I prefer you Water and Wind users... you don't make mud when I crush you to pieces. You guys burst like balloons. I much prefer that."

Yeah.

Because sand is coarse, rough, irritating... and it gets everywhere.

Sand Breathing, Fifth Form: Shamal

砂の呼吸・ 伍ノ型 ・シャマル (Shamaru)

The single snap of his finger, light but prominent, reverberates. A single burst of breath, and for a moment, nothing happens.

Abruptly, the dust explodes.

The eruption sprouts forth from Kanata's blood, and spears through flesh and bone and demon alike, in large, hedge-like geysers of pure red sand, shredding through everything in its path with laser precision.

Too bad the Hand Demon decided to hold a handful of it, then.

With a shriek, the demon chucks the bomb in his hands away, but the moment of discomposure is enough. Sanemi grasps this moment to rush forth—

Wind Breathing, Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm

風の呼吸・肆ノ型・昇上砂塵嵐

The fury of blades rising forth shreds the arms shielding his neck apart.

Kanata doesn't need to catch his fall. Makomo is right where she needs to be, and she lunges forward to cushion it, at the very least. Aoi is running forward, tossing down Kanata's messenger bag before leaping forward with her sword and an additional shortsword.

The demon's hands are regenerating faster than they can reach its neck. So, they can't stop yet.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

水の呼吸・参ノ型・流流舞い

Kanata hums at the sight. Her courage comes in bursts, and her flow comes the moment she has enough resolve to take the first step. Then, once she's set forth, she's unstoppable.

Kanzaki Aoi may be a coward, but it is this very story that cowards fight bravest.

"We need to land the final blow," Makomo grounds out, forcing herself back onto her good foot, her sword before her. "I have to do it. I must."

And Kanata nods.

Sanemi can only gouge out an opening. Aoi can only shear it down. Ultimately, they need a spear, to reach the neck. Realistically, Makomo can't do it, but she will figure it out because she can't get closure otherwise.

(Sanemi might prefer to do it, but Makomo cannot create an opening like he can. The casting has been set. But there's still one piece missing.)

(Ah, right. Kanata. Kanata can give Makomo's breathing the extra strength it needs.)

(But he can't move anymore... oh well.)

"You impertinent BRATS!" the demon howls, "I haven't survived this long to be taken down by brats like you!"

Kanata reaches for his bag, and though he can't quite get up, everything's numb, he finds what he needs.

Everything hurts so much he could die, but unfortunately— Kanata's legally incapable of dying in any way except through dismemberment and cannibalism.

So, even if every cell and organ in his body is crushed to mush, Kanata will never lose.

— look forward to losing like this another ten thousand times, Mister Hand Demon.

Until Kanata figures out how to get out of this as, well, not a vegetable... this isn't won just yet. He got really close this time, though...

Well, it's fine. He has all the time in the world to get this story beat down to perfection.

Until then, though...

Sand Breathing, Fift— [ERROR]