CHAPTER THREE: RIPE AND SWEET

❝ Raze your temples, wreck your mountains. ❞

𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓. The demons lined up in front and prostrated themselves to him. 

Devoted. Unwavering. Dedicated. 

His eyes pierced through all of them, the souls that left them to be human have long vanished in the darkness of the red moon.

"I need you all to find this girl."

The previous mission was reportedly failed from the findings of no trace was left behind by the girl except of what was obvious. Muzan seethed with rage, though he kept his expression perfectly composed.

Muzan was intrigued by how she had managed to escape. The severed hand he held from the lifeless corpse was beginning to reek, but the foul stench was hardly noticeable to a demon's senses.

He threw the arm that was rotting with the blood that spilled out from it. It was the one that she had torn and was the one that the two demon apprentices found.

The upper moon three was there immediately and sniffed the aroma of the decapitated arm. It smells good to a demon, but for a higher ranking like him, it was rather too ripe and moldy. It stinks, but there was this tinge of smell coming from the arm.

Akaza closed his eyes and tossed the arm to Douma without even looking back. He caught it with ease.

Smells like paper and cucumbers... He thought as Douma took a sniff as well.

"I will do as soon as possible." Akaza bowed.

Muzan's eyes burned with a blood-red fury as he glared down at the six Upper Moons, a god in their reverent eyes. To defy him was unthinkable, for disobedience would mean shattering like fragile glass.

"May I ask, sir, why are you interested in finding this person?" Douma interrupted, which usually would make all the surrounding demons wince at how casually he would talk to the almighty. And with a not so innocent smile, he continued, "You haven't said a word since."

Akaza and the others (Except for Kakoushibou) stared at him. One with the look of 'are you kidding me, do you want to die?' and the fellow upper rank three with the 'this again.' look, with the deadpan expression and the eye roll.

"It was posing as a human even when it's very much not."

Who did she think she was fooling, with those beady eyes that clearly knew I was a demon?

And serving me that kind of meal..?

He tilted his head up.

You tread a perilous path, human.

They all turned their attention toward him, even Kokushibo shifting ever so slightly to cast a glance in his direction.

"She placed the food on my plate, garnished with human flesh," Muzan began, his voice as cold as ice. "Then deliberately showed me where it came from."

Oh? It's a girl? 

Douma mused, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

A cannibal, perhaps? Akaza wondered silently. But such tales are nothing more than myths...

"If it really was human," Gyutaro interrupted, his raspy voice cutting through the tension, "why would she do something so bold?"

"And if it was human," Daki added, her tone sharp, "how could she vanish so quickly?"

Muzan's crimson eyes narrowed, his patience thinning.

The mournful strum of the biwa echoed through the room, signaling the shift in their surroundings. As the space twisted into a new configuration, the booming resonance of Kibutsuji's voice filled the air.

He was consumed with the need to find her. The puzzle lingered in his mind, leaving it unsettled and sharp with frustration.

His scarlet eyes gleamed with intensity as his lips parted to issue a single, final command:

"Bring her to me."

Snow blanketed the world outside, covering the trees in a soft white breeze. The air was alive with the sound of children's laughter as they played beyond the city limits. Amidst the joy, a girl no older than eight peeked out from beneath her tattered blanket. It was freezing, and the flimsy cardboard boxes surrounding her offered little protection from the biting cold.

"Why can't I go play with them...?" she murmured, her voice as soft and delicate as the falling snow. Her wide eyes sparkled like stars beneath the night sky.

As she leaned forward, yearning to join the children, a firm hand stopped her.

"I'm sorry, little one. It's not safe," the man said, his tone heavy with sorrow.

She pressed her lips together, a flicker of stubbornness in her expression. "But I can keep myself warm. I've managed just fine these past months. If I had more fabric, I could even turn into a mochi! A fat one."

She let out a small giggle at her own joke, the sound light and fleeting. But the man didn't share her amusement. His frown deepened as he gazed at her, the weight of her innocence and resilience striking against the harshness of their reality.

"You don't get the point," the man said coldly.

Her stomach churned, a bitter taste rising on her tongue. Her eyes fluttered halfway closed as the realization hit her. "Oh..."

"What do they eat?"

The silence was deafening. Her throat tightened, and a loud gulp escaped as she struggled to respond.

"You already know the answer," he continued, his voice sharper now, "and yet you still want to walk among innocent children? You're different—a separate species. They don't belong with the likes of you. You're dangerous, frightening."

"I get it!" she snapped, her voice cracking.

The truth sank in, heavy and suffocating. To take away the lives of humans brimming with joy and hope, filled with dreams of the future...

How could she? How could she be the one to extinguish their light?

She couldn't. Not now, not ever.

Her mind drifted to a story she had read once, the tale of The Three Little Pigs.

I'm the Big Bad Wolf, she thought, a lump forming in her throat.

The winter grew harsher, an unforgiving frost blanketing the roads in pure white. Not a soul wandered the desolate landscape; no splash of color, no flock of birds, only endless snow stretching as far as the eye could see.

Through the relentless chill of the winter solstice, she pressed on, trudging through heavy snow with blistered fingers and a steady drip of freezing snot from her nose.

She had walked countless miles northward, her path lined with silent trees, their skeletal branches welcoming her with an eerie stillness. Shivering but enduring, she managed the journey better than most humans she had seen along the way—those unprepared and without clothing suited for the bitter cold, their fates sealed long before the frost claimed them.

There was nowhere to go, no haven in sight. The world had become a barren expanse where her only companion was the ice itself.

If only I could find peace in this storm, she thought, the ache in her chest mingling with the cold. If only I could find a place to call home.

The freezing wind waged war against the faint warmth of her body, merciless and unrelenting.

Then came the hunger. It clawed its way from the depths of her stomach, gnawing at her thoughts, clouding her mind. The emptiness grew unbearable, twisting her logic and fueling her despair.

Where could she turn for help? She searched the barren wilderness for an answer, but there was nothing.

No one.

And how could she even ask for help when there was no one left to hear her cry?

How could she ever find a place to call home when not every corner of the world offered safety from the pain that was inflicted so deliberately? How could she continue to live in this endless struggle against the elements, against her hunger, against the cold?

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next as she clung to the fragile moments when firewood and temporary breaks in the weather gave her a fleeting sense of survival.

By some stroke of mercy, perhaps from God, she found small gifts of chance that kept her going—like the massive tree that shielded her from the snow until the first light of dawn. Or the dried branches she could use to kindle a fire, warming her for a brief but necessary respite.

And then, as though the world had thrown its most twisted gift her way, she stumbled upon a dead body frozen in the snow.

She stared at it, confused at first. She had never seen a dead body before, and the sight unsettled her. Its skin was pale, like a dried grape, drained of life and color. There was so little blood left, she didn't even think to wonder how many days it had been there. She was only eight, after all.

For a long moment, she remained still, sitting next to the body, feeling its cold presence beside her.

"It's going to dry to the bone soon..." she muttered to herself, her gaze lingering on the lifeless form.

Her hunger flared again, crawling beneath her skin like a shadow. Her vision warped, and she saw flashes of screams—of a woman's face twisted in agony, stark against her own calm expression. Red flooded her thoughts, as though the color itself had become a part of her.

"Ugh." She recoiled, standing up as if to rid herself of the image that plagued her. "This stinks."

The days passed in a haze. She worked tirelessly, creating a shelter around herself and the body, constructing a fortress from the branches and sticks she had gathered.

But the internal battle raged on. Should she eat the body? Could she? The thoughts churned in her mind, darker and heavier with each passing moment. The fire she had built crackled in the center, its flames dancing dangerously close to the dead body. The warmth, the hunger, the need to survive—everything collided within her, and she couldn't escape it.

The body before her was a man, dressed in a thick haori, his appearance suggesting he had been a mountain climber of some sort. His eyes were wide, clouded with a distant white, a clear sign of sudden, untimely death. His mouth hung open in a distressed expression, as though he had been caught off guard, unaware of his impending end.

She propped him upright, her imagination taking over as she began an invisible tea party with him, the lifeless body now her companion in this lonely, frozen world.

The man, of course, was not convincing, but in her mind, he became someone else entirely—a childish, kind, and handsome figure. "Mhm!" she giggled, raising her hand in the air, pinky extended, just like the characters in her books. "What a nice day today, Sir Chiro. Would you like some more biscuits?"

The leaves she placed before him were biscuits in her eyes, the only sustenance she could offer in this world.

Weeks passed, the hunger clawing at her from the inside. Her nerves made her stomach growl louder, the gnawing emptiness driving her thoughts back to the body at her feet. Her half-lidded eyes stared at it, the pitiful sight growing more unbearable with each day.

Him and her, she thought, so pitiful, both of them.

"I'm sorry, Sir Chiro," she whispered through the fading fire, her voice soft as she looked down at him, "but I'll make sure you part from me peacefully... once the tea party ends."

The crackling of the fire was her only company now, but the sound of approaching footsteps made her blood run cold.

Her eyes snapped open, panic surging through her. She reached out quickly, casting her hand over the man's head, shading him from view. The footsteps grew louder, closer, each step making her heart pound harder. This can't be the worst possible outcome, she thought frantically, her breath shallow. I never thought it would happen like this.

She heard the sound of shoes against the snow, and then... silence.

"Hello?"

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she felt the familiar, crushing weight of fear settle in her bones. Her bladder betrayed her, and tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. She had been on the streets long enough to know the dangers that lurked—each type more painful than the last, each with its own brand of fear.

The footsteps continued, moving toward the entrance of her shelter, where the hole in the snow allowed just enough space for someone to lean in.

It was a man.

A man with red eyes.

Her heart stopped, only to resume beating frantically, a mad rush of blood flooding her head. She turned her back on him, clutching her arms around her head, her body trembling as she pressed herself closer to the cold, lifeless body of Sir Chiro.

This was her second mistake.

She gasped, her heart racing, and spun around, her eyes locked on the man who now stood before her.

The silence had frozen her body, making her feel like a statue of stone. Her breath was shallow, her eyes darting over his features, filled with panic. What was he going to do? Would he raise his arms? Open his mouth? Reach for a weapon? A knife? A gun? A machete?

She couldn't breathe. Her chest tightened as the overwhelming fear threatened to send her into a dizzying collapse.

But then, the man opened his mouth. She flinched, preparing for the worst. But instead of a threat, a soft, cold breath left his lips, the fog of his breath fanning across her small, frozen face.

It was then she realized—his red eyes weren't the only ones he had. There were six.

"Child...?" he said, his voice softer than she expected.

Her breath hitched for the second time. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stammered, "Si-Sir! I'm just a poor girl with nothing to eat! Please, I don't have anything, I don't have food, money—anything you desire, I don't have it!"

His eyes, those six eerie red eyes, bored into hers, and she could feel the weight of them digging deep, stirring something inside her. It was the same feeling she had experienced before, the one that came with the whispers and the judging stares from places long past. The eyes that threatened to crush her spirit. She refused to let it happen again.

The man stood, rising from his kneeling position. She flinched at the sudden movement, letting out a small yelp.

To her surprise, his voice was gentle, almost kind. "You don't have the smell of a human... Tell me, little one... are you a demon?"

She froze for a moment, her mind scrambling to make sense of his words. "What's a demon?" she stuttered.

"I'm one of them..." He whispered, his voice low, "Are you one of mine?"

She stared at him, fear mingling with an odd curiosity. The word curiosity felt foreign in the moment, especially for a little girl facing danger. But despite the fear gripping her, his words painted images in her mind, dark and strange.

His gaze shifted to the corner of the shelter, where the dead body of Sir Chiro lay.

Her eyes widened in horror. No. Not Mr. Chiro.

Her lips trembled as the words formed in her mind: Don't hurt him. Don't touch him.

But before she could react, the man reached for the body, his movements calm and deliberate. She shrieked in terror, her voice raw and frantic. "No!"

He tore the flesh from beneath his clothing, and blood oozed from the ragged wound on his neck, dripping in steady streams. Her eyes bulged in horror, watching as his neck bent unnaturally, lacking the support to keep his head upright.

She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as she instinctively covered her mouth with trembling hands, trying to block the sight, but it was already too late.

The man, almost too calmly, tore the flesh from his neck and shoved the raw, bloody meat into her mouth. She gagged, her body recoiling, but the taste hit her tongue with a maddening force. Sweet, ripe—like nothing she had ever known. Her stomach twisted, and she could no longer resist. The hunger, a beast inside her, overwhelmed her senses, making her forget everything else.

Her mouth watered uncontrollably, the flavor taking over every inch of her being. Her eyes turned black, her pupils dilating, and the red of her irises deepened into a feral hunger that burned through her.

Her tears flowed freely, her small body wracked with sobs, but the animal within her could no longer be contained. She fought back the remnants of her humanity, and with a desperate, instinctive growl, she bit down on his arm. Flesh tore free, but he released his hold on her before she could finish.

Her gaze snapped to the dead body of Sir Chiro. She turned away from the man, the last shred of her resistance shattered. She pounced on the lifeless form, tearing into it with savage, uncontrolled hunger. 

I'm a big...

Her movements were violent, the once-fragile shelter collapsing around her in chaos. Everything was destroyed—her shelter, her humanity, the last traces of the innocent child she once was.

The cold winter winds howled outside, but the man had already blurred into the night, fading away like a shadow, leaving behind nothing but the blood and ruin she had become.

I'm a big bad wolf...

-

Kokushibo opened his eyes. An indescribable urge to roam through the snow had settled deep in his stomach, twisting and turning as if it longed for something—or someone. Could it be the girl Master was searching for?

He couldn't be certain. But he could still recall the fleeting moment when her eyes glowed, as she devoured the dried human flesh with a disdain so deep it seemed to have marked her existence. That raw, untamed nature, so ingrained in humanity, yet so difficult to contain—ugly and beautiful at once. He never questioned why it lingered in his mind. Perhaps because she wasn't like the others. A human girl, who is not human. Such a strange oxymoron.