Chapter Text
Senjuro cries out as Douma slowly approaches him, his face as dark as night. A sad*stic grin is plastered on his face and he holds the knife close to Senjuro's neck, nearly pressing down.
“I don't eat boys a lot,” Douma starts, grabbing a handful of Senjuro's hair and yanking it wildly.
“Senjuro!” Muichiro shouts, struggling in his binds.
“But you would be adorable if you were a girl. Well…now that I'm much closer to you…you can pass as a girl. Honestly.”
“Stay away from him!” Muichiro cries angrily but his voice goes unheard.
The knife creates a small cut on Senjuro's neck and Senjuro whimpers in pain. His palm is nearly bleeding from the rusty nail stabbing his flesh.
No one is going to help him. Shinobu is down, and Muichiro is tied up. He was the only one who could move somewhat freely. Senjuro didn't want to rely on anyone in this situation. He doesn't know how Shinobu found them but he knows help is on the way. He'll be dead if he doesn't come up with a plan soon.
“I wonder if you'll be just as tasty.” Douma laughs and raises the knife over his head.
The knife comes hurling down Senjuro and at the last second, Senjuro moves as fast as he can.
A scream erupts from his bruised throat as the knife stabs his shoulder deeply. The pain comes quickly and a harsh sob is forced out of him.
“SENJURO!!!”
“Aw…I missed.” Douma frowns. “Hold still, Senjuro. I can't kill you if you keep on moving.” He strikes again and this time, the knife stabs violently into his arm since Senjuro moved away again out of instinct. Tears fell on his face as the pain began to overwhelm him.
His heart is racing. He couldn't breathe. His vision is getting blurry. His eyes are as wide as saucers. He clenches the nail deeply into his palm and he can feel it nearly penetrating through.
Move….
Douma laughs, swinging the knife all over since Senjuro wouldn't stay still.
Move!
Different cuts are created on his face and body.
“STOP IT!!” Senjuro can barely register Muichiro's screaming voice.
Move your f*cking arms damn it!
Senjuro is suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The pain, the screams, the manic laughter. His heart felt like it was going to explode from his chest at any given moment. The pain becomes numb and he is sweating like he's never sweated before.
It was like time suddenly went still. Senjuro could only focus on the thing that was about to kill him.
The knife.
The light catches the blade as it swings down towards him.
Move…
Senjuro readies himself.
Move!
The blade is inches away from him.
Move!!
Just in the nick of time, Senjuro grabs Douma's wrist, using newfound strength to keep the blade away from his body. His arm struggles as the knife is millimeters away from his left eye.
“Huh?” Douma is instantly shocked by Senjuro's sudden strength and struggles a bit to press the knife down all the way. Their eyes met on a whim. Douma's is wide with slight panic and confusion while Senjuro's is full of anger and determination. Like the opposite side of a coin, both parties had the same thoughts running in their minds.
I have to win.
Such trivial things Senjuro thought as he overpowered Douma and knocked the knife away. It clangs on the ground and slides away from them.
“W-What-” Shocked by the chained and much smaller boy knocking out his knife, Douma looks away for a split second to retrieve his knife. But, he was quickly stopped.
A gasp leaves his mouth as something sharp and intruding invades his right eye. The pain is immediate and Douma nearly cries as he looks back at Senjuro, his right eye gushing out blood. He didn't have time to react properly as he was met with a pipe slamming into his face.
Senjuro had used the rusty nail to stab Douma's eye. He had to do something with it and he was glad he held onto it. Once Douma was distracted momentarily by the shock of being stabbed, Senjuro grabbed the pipe he had thrown after obtaining it from Shinobu earlier. He had hidden it behind his back just in case.
Now the time has come to defend. Never had Senjuro had to defend himself. He was always the one being defended. Kyojuro was the one who stood in front, getting hit and protecting him from the cruel world. Or at least he attempted to. Protected him from their Dad. Protected them from the judging eyes of strangers. Kyojuro was always there for him.
Muichiro did the same. Protected him from Kyojuro. Protected him from Douma and Muzan. Senjuro feels nothing but guilt. He wants to be the leader. He's tired of sitting behind, waiting to be saved.
“Miss Shinobu's sacrifice won't go to waste.” Senjuro thought as he slammed the pipe on Douma's head again. “I'll get us out of here!”
He doesn't know where this newfound strength came from, but he isn't complaining. He feels the adrenaline running deep into his body. He couldn't feel the pain in his throat. The pain from his cuts. He couldn't feel anything.
Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five times. He slams the pipe on Douma's head. He can't stop. He won't stop. He's doing this to defend everyone Douma has hurt and killed. To the victims who lost their lives to that demon. Senjuro barely registers the blood splashing on his face.
With one final hit, Senjuro stops, panting heavily and letting the pipe roll out of his hand. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His arms were trembling from the rush and he knew he couldn't stop now. Freedom is calling their name.
“Senjuro…” Muichiro whispers, his eyes so wide at the scene that just played out in front of him. He's trying to ignore the fact that Senjuro most likely just killed a man. His brain blocks out Douma's now cold and lifeless body. “T-The key…for your cuff.” He gestures towards the cuff around Senjuro's ankle.
Senjuro nods, barely registering what Muichiro has said. He grunts and begins searching Douma's body for the key. He reaches for his pockets first when a hand suddenly grabs onto him. It was quick and sudden and before he knew it, one of his fingers got bent in an unsettling way.
Senjuro screams in pain and tries to pull out of Douma's iron grasp. He wasn't dead at all? Not after having his face smashed in?!
Douma gurgles out a laugh as he slowly sits up, towering over him. Indeed, his face is smashed in and it's completely unrecognizable. His eyes are swollen shut, and he no doubt has lost a couple of teeth. His injuries are too graphic to get a good handle on and all Senjuro knows is that he's going to die.
Douma has a good grip on his body. He couldn't move. He's trapped against him and the wall. His finger aches in a dull pain that he couldn't shake off.
“I'm surprised someone could damage me this much!” Douma giggles, wrapping his hand around Senjuro's throat. He begins squeezing harshly.
But then…
Douma suddenly pulls Senjuro into a tight hug, shocking the two boys.
“Let him go!” Muichiro is struggling now more than ever. He pulls on the rope blinding him in place, using all of his strength that he can muster. His breath is getting shorter and his eyes get a little wider. He's hot and cold. It feels like he has a fever. Seeing Senjuro in the grasp of a dangerous person sends him over the edge and he blacked out a bit.
Senjuro struggles in the hug, forcing one of his eyes to close. He grunts as Douma squeezes him tightly, not allowing him to move.
“I’m so moved!” Douma cries. “No one has ever injured me! I never expected someone so weak to cause me real pain!” He sobs on Senjuro's shoulder, truly moved. “It's a miracle that Muzan hasn't killed you yet! But, I'm so glad he didn't! Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to see such strength from a weakling like you!”
“L-Let me go!” Senjuro growls but Douma ignores him. He desperately tried reaching for the pipe he had let go of. We
“Despite knowing you don't stand a chance against me, you were foolish to think you could take me down! It's so admirable! If I'm going to die, then I'll kill you, too and we can both live eternally!”
As Douma increases the pressure of the hug, Senjuro can feel his spine slowly cracking. Even when he's this weak from life-threatening injuries, he's still strong?
A hoarse cry leaves his mouth. He couldn't get himself free. The grip is squeezing air out of his lungs. Black spots dance on his vision and slowly, his body begins twitching as it fights to have some sort of air source.
The colors were fading from his vision. Black and white is all he sees. His head lulls back and distantly, he can see something standing in the corner of the basem*nt. He couldn't make it out all that much but he saw something familiar.
It was him.
He sees himself standing in the corner of the basem*nt. Except, he's wearing something entirely different. Something he remembers reading about one time in a book. His clothes were something you find in the Taisho Era. A white Yukata and a juban with navy blue hakama pants. The only thing that makes Senjuro realize is that he's missing an arm and an eye as he's sporting a black eye patch and no arm available on one side of his body.
Senjuro squints his eyes, seeing as the apparition is saying something but he has no idea what he's saying. His lips are moving so fast, but not a single sound can be heard.
It all comes crashing back to Senjuro when he hears a plunging sound from in front of him. Right after was a deep gasp and a low growl.
He lifts his head a bit to see Muichiro standing behind Douma, holding some sort of blade he had got ahold of. It was stabbed deep into his stomach and Senjuro can see the tip slightly poking out in front of him. His eyes widened as Douma's grip on him loosened and he turned his head a bit.
Douma's and Muichiro's eyes met for a split second and before the killer could utter a single word, Muichiro pulled the blade out and stabbed him again, his eyes growing darker.
His stomach rips, his gasps turning airy and short. His eyes bulge in disbelief. His mouth opened and nothing came out but gurgling, sputtering sounds. The smell of iron prowls the already thick air.
Senjuro takes the opportunity to try and kick Douma away from him but he is still holding onto him. His grip has loosened significantly but it wasn't enough for Senjuro to wiggle out. His eyes caught Muichiro and they shared a quick moment of quiet understanding.
Muichiro uses the rope that is still tied around his wrists and wraps it around Douma's neck. Senjuro watches with an unrecognizable expression as the older man begins struggling to breathe. His sharp nails begin scratching at Muichiro's hands as he begins choking the life out of him. Senjuro grabs Douma's hands and holds them together so he won't dare hurt Muichiro anymore.
“N-No-!”
And, before Douma could truly grasp that he was about to die, a loud CRACK echoes in the air.
There was a beat of silence as Muichiro shoved Douma's lifeless body away from them. He pants heavily, standing there in both awe and exhaustion. Senjuro stares back, unable to think properly for a moment. He slowly looks down to see Douma lying in front of him, his neck bent in an awkward position. His mouth is wide open, and his face is forever frozen in a shock state.
Douma is dead.
It doesn't register to Senjuro because he's too busy reaching out to Muichiro, distraught and solace. He wanted to cry, scream in joy, shout in anguish. He's been out of touch with Muichiro and now that he's standing in front of him…
He's desperate. And so is Muichiro.
Their fingers graze lightly but Senjuro uses his strength to pull down Muichiro.
They fell into each other's arms, panting quietly in each other's ears. Senjuro buries his head in Muichiro's shoulder, feeling tears of joy fall from his eyes. “M-Muichiro…” His hoarse voice says timidly. He feels on Muichiro's back, seeing if this is real. If any of this is real. It doesn't feel real at all. Did they just…
“Senjuro…Senjuro…Senjuro…” Muichiro whispers. “I'm so sorry it took me so long to defend you. I…I couldn't…”
“No, no, it's-” Senjuro coughs, having to overexert his voice.
“Don't talk. Your voice is already messed up.” Muichiro says worriedly. He leans away as he grabs both of Senjuro's shoulders and observes his awful injuries. Tiny scratches are littered all over his face. Bloody stab wounds on his limbs. His shirt is torn from the slashes and his eyes look so tired. His throat was an ugly shade of purple, yellow, and blue. “Look at you…oh…”
“I'm okay…I'm okay…I can't even feel anything.” Senjuro says as he attempts to smile.
“That's the adrenaline talking. You'll soon feel it.” Muichiro turns his head a bit as he remembers Aoi and Shinobu. “sh*t…” He grabs Senjuro's wrist and pulls him up slowly. “We gotta…” They both stop when they realize something dire.
Senjuro still had the cuff around his ankle.
“Try searching for the key,” Muichiro says.
“O-Okay…”
Together, they searched Douma's body for the key but turned up with nothing. They both gave each other a look of worry.
______
“Go check on Miss Shinobu…I'll think of something.”
Senjuro gently pushes Muichiro away and attempts to smile at him. Senjuro assures Muichiro by leaning his forehead onto his. They stare into each other's eyes, both silently communicating.
Are you sure?
I'm sure. Miss Shinobu is in serious need of serious help instead of me. Go to her.
“Fine.”
Muichiro runs over to Shinobu and does what he needs to do. They both have adrenaline so everything they did was in a rush. Their limbs were shaking and their breaths were slightly airy.
Senjuro's eyes darted around the room before looking at the cuff around his ankle. He pulls on the chain with all of his might. He grits his teeth and grunts in frustration.
The chain didn't budge.
Senjuro looks around the room again, finding nothing that could help him.
He knows time is running out. A dark feeling washes over him that Muzan will be returning sooner than expected. Panic starts to deep into his senses and his breath gets uneven.
What should I do? What should I do?!
His brain gets foggy after the panic finally sets in. He couldn't think straight. Muzan will be returning and both of them needed to get Shinobu and Aoi out of there as soon as possible.
Thinking without actually thinking, Senjuro grabs the pipe from earlier and examines it close to his face.
This could work…
He has an idea.
An incredibly stupid one.
“This has to work…” Senjuro mumbles. He raises the pipe above his head, his breathing getting uneven even more.
Muichiro glances at Senjuro at the last second as he is helping Shinobu put pressure on her stomach wound. He had found some old rope and had made some type of messily made tourniquet with a piece of cloth from his shirt and the rope. After tightly securing the sound on Shinobu's stomach, he made sure to apply pressure to her wound as tightly as he could. It'll do.
Shinobu doesn't say much. She would groan and whimper in pain but otherwise stayed silent.
That was…until she and Muichiro caught eye contact.
“I'm glad you two are okay…” She says softly with a weak smile. “Mitsuri should be here as well but I'm not so sure if she followed me inside…”
“Stop talking,” Muichiro instructs with a frown. “What you did was reckless and stupid.”
Shinobu could only shake her head and laugh quietly. “I just watched you two murder a man. I think what I did was pretty tame. Actually, I didn't do anything at all.”
“Don't say that. You…” Muichiro catches the light gleaming off of the pipe in Senjuro's hand at the last second and before he can react, the pipe is slammed down onto Senjuro's foot, causing a loud crack to echo in the room.
“Senjuro!”
“Aghhh!”
Muichiro wanted to look away as Senjuro shakily brought up the pipe, painful tears rolling down his face.
“Senjuro!”
Muichiro tries to stand up but he is dizzy and falls on his face. “What-!” Muichiro slips and stumbles as he makes his way to Senjuro, eyes widened in shock and fear. “What the hell are you doing?! Give me that!” He reaches for the pipe but Senjuro snatches it away.
“No…” The younger squeezes his eyes shut, trying to suppress the painful cries that want to leave his mouth. “This…is the only way…”
“Like hell! You don't need to do this-”
“What other way can you think?!” Senjuro shouts in frustration. “We need to get out of here! Now!”
“Yeah, but-!” Muichiro snatches away the pipe, holding it away as Senjuro tries reaching for it. “You don't need to-”
“Give it!”
Senjuro lurches forward and snatches it back from Muichiro. “Unless you have a better plan, tell me!”
Another sickening crack echoes in the room and a suppressed cry whimpers out.
“Senjuro, please…” Muichiro watches helplessly as Senjuro destroys his ankle. Each hit is like a punch to the gut for Muichiro. He wanted to look away and shout at Senjuro for being so reckless but nothing came out of his mouth. It's like he's being forced to watch.
He could feel his tears rolling down his face as Senjuro could no longer destroy his ankle. The pipe falls out of his hand and heavy pants leave Senjuro's mouth. His eyes are red along with his cheeks.
The cuff around his ankle is smashed into pieces but his ankle…
“We gotta go…” Senjuro speaks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He reaches out towards Muichiro, careful and slow. “Shinobu and…Aoi…we have to get them, too…”
“Senjuro…”
“We gotta go…please…just…” Senjuro hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “Hurry…”
“Okay, okay…” Muichiro wraps his arm around Senjuro's waist and together they slowly descend upwards. Senjuro has his arm wrapped around Muichiro's shoulder and only standing on one leg. His swollen ankle is unbearable to look at. “Let's just…”
Slowly, a creaking sound from the door that opens to the basem*nt is heard and both boys freeze in fear. The air went still and everything went silent. The only sound was footsteps descending the stairs and quiet huffing.
Senjuro couldn't move. His body is frozen in fear. He knew who it was and he didn't even need to look.
Muzan was here.
sh*t…
“Douma.”
Muzan's usual leveled voice is slightly higher. His face is twisted in anger and annoyance.
sh*t!
Muzan walks past Muichiro and Senjuro as they stand there, unmoving. It was like they weren't even there to begin with.
“What the hell is this?”
Muzan stops in front of Douma's mutilated body and stares down at him. “You're a f*cking idiot.” Muzan growls.
Muichiro and Senjuro didn't dare to move as they stood there silently, both of their breathing uneven. Their eyes met at the same time and they could tell they were thinking of the same thing.
Run.
But, before they could even attempt to move a single muscle, Muzan had snapped his head back, glaring at the two boys. “You two,”
____________
Muzan was born into a wealthy family.
He got and had everything he wanted from the second he was born into this cruel world. His father owned a successful company, and his mother was a housewife, taking care of Muzan daily. He was spoiled. Got into high-paying schools, and had the latest gaming systems.
The kids at his school would gravel at his feet. The teachers treated him with high respect as if he found a cure for cancer.
Muzan was well off.
But he felt empty.
Something was missing in his easy life. When he turned 12, his mother had gifted him with a cat. It was a white cat with a single black spot over its left eye.
He named the cat Lily. Because its eyes were as red as spider lilies. For once in his life, Muzan truly felt an emotion that wasn't negative. It wasn't like he never experienced positive emotions. It was hard for him to smile genuinely. Or even smile at all.
Lily was a good cat. It listened to Muzan and he felt good that he had controlled something that his parents couldn't control. He was the puppeteer. The master. This wasn't compared to him controlling his peers at school. This was different.
He had Lily for about eight months before he fell severely ill.
It was sudden and abrupt. Before Muzan knew it, he was in bed all day and night. He had fevers that wouldn't go away. Coughing until he coughed up blood. Headaches. It was all unexplained.
His parents got him the best doctors in all of Japan but they couldn't figure out what was happening to Muzan. His sickness is rare and there was little research done about it. And no cure.
The doctors ruled out that Muzan wouldn't live to his 16th birthday.
He lays in bed after his 15th birthday. It was all a blur. His mother threw him a party with the maids and butlers celebrating. A lot of food was prepared, but Muzan could barely eat his soup before throwing it all back up. His mother bought him the latest clothing fashion and a brand new collar for Lily. A little silver bell would ring every time Lily would move.
But why? What's the point of gifts if he wasn't going to live any longer? Muzan feels angry as his mother tells him goodnight. His father couldn't be bothered to say happy birthday as he was in his room, probably working on his company.
Stupid.
All of this was stupid. His mother only cares about appearances, and his father is barely present.
This was stupid.
The staff put on fake smiles.
Stupid.
The doctors are telling him that he won't live any longer.
Stupid.
Everyone around him is fake.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
________
Muzan lays in bed. His curtains are closed to block out the sunlight. He's too weak to move. He is forced to watch Lily play with her yarn ball at the edge of his bed. He was forced to hear his mother playing the Grand piano she recently purchased. She was skillfully and already on a master's level despite only having it for three months. His mother was perfect in everything she did, and she expected Muzan to be the same. Or, wanted to before he got sick.
He hears the maids bustling throughout the halls, making quiet chatter.
The bell on Lily's collar annoyed Muzan to the fullest. Everything around him was alive and full of life. He's in bed, slowly succumbing to his unknown sickness.
The noises swirl around his head. It angered him to the fullest. His fingers twitch and his body jolts. The more he thought about dying, the more it angered him. The more he became fearful of the future.
He didn't want to die.
It overwhelmed Muzan and it was like a snap of a finger. He sprang out of bed and lunged towards Lily. His hands wrapped around his cat's throat and Lily hisses and yells in fear and shock. Its claws scratch Muzan's hands as he begins choking the life out of Lily.
He watches in slight awe. He couldn't feel the pain going on in his arms as his cat was scratching him mercilessly. He could see the light slowly leaving its eyes. Its body slowly goes stiff. The choked sound it made before there is a tiny cracking sound of the neck being broken.
Then. His cat was no more.
Muzan scoots back on his bed, his back hitting the headboard. He stares at his dead cat with wide eyes. The blood from the deep scratches stained his pillows and strangely, he couldn't feel a thing. Nothing externally though.
He feels excited.
_______
His mother found out about his cat dying. But she didn't know how. Muzan told her that the cat started attacking out of nowhere and he had to defend himself.
She believed him and quickly got rid of the corpse.
Muzan had been wrapped up with bandages on his arms. He sits in his bed, letting the days slowly go by as he thinks about the pure euphoria he experienced when slowly choking the life out of his cat. His hands still tingled even after days passed.
Whatever this feeling was. He wanted more.
_____
His mother knocked on his door a couple of days later. He was in the middle of eating miso soup which tasted bland as hell. However, he ate it so it would shut his mother up. She introduced Muzan to a special doctor who could cure all diseases.
Muzan can smell bullsh*t. There's no way.
She welcomes the boy with a bright smile and he is mildly surprised to see a boy his age. He has long, platinum blonde hair that is well past his butt. He's wearing something out of the Taisho Era of Japan.
He sports a dark red turtleneck with a black cloak covering over. He has some sort of traditional hat with many jewels and jewelry on it. He has dark hakama pants and sandals. What really made the boy stand out was his eyes.
Beautiful eyes. An array of rainbow pastels that fade into each other.
Muzan couldn't help but be a little memorized.
“He's going to be curing you! He's the Lord from the Eternal Paradise group!” His mother claps her hands excitedly. “Make sure to show your respect, Muzan.”
Muzan scoffs. “As if. I call bullsh*t, mother.”
“Language, young man!” His mother gasped. “He is going to cure you! It makes miracles for others!” His mother then turned towards the young boy. “Forgive my son, Lord Douma.” She gets on her knees and bows before him. “He hasn't been out of bed and I'm afraid he's lost his manners.”
“Haha.” Douma laughs, the jewels on his body hitting against one another. “No worries! I'm not offended!” Douma turns to Muzan and smiles sweetly at him. “Nice to meet you.”
Muzan sneers at Douma. “You can drop the act. You're a fake and I can smell how fake you are.”
“Muzan!” His mother cries. “Do not offend the Great Lord!”
When was his mother such a clutz? From what Muzan can recall, his mother never was the religious type. She would pray now and then, but it was never this bad. Was she this desperate to let Muzan live?
He could only call his mother a fool.
______
“You're trying to poison me?!”
A crash is heard along with a loud smack.
Douma falls to the ground, covering his cheek in shock. He stares up at Muzan who is towering over him, anger overtaking his senses. “Look at me! Look at me!! What did you do?!”
“I didn't do anything…” Douma tries to say but Muzan grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him close to his face. Their eyes are aligned. One is full of anger and the other is full of amusem*nt and curiosity. “I was just saying that whoever is giving you that medicine is making you sicker.”
“What the hell are you saying?!” Muzan shakes, a vein appearing on his forehead. “You're the one poisoning me! My hair is falling out! It's turning white! This is all of your doing!”
“But…how?” Douma giggles. “I didn't do anything. I haven't even given you anything to drink or eat. All I did was pray. I haven't even started my ritual to cure you.” He puts a hand on his cheek and laughs. “But, wow! You're so strong! That was the first time I truly felt pain!”
Muzan growls and lets Douma go. He takes a step back and goes up to his mirror. He sees a sickly sight. He's pale. Really pale. Almost a white pale. His cheeks are hollow, and his hair is growing white in some places. Shakily, Muzan pulls at his hair gently and a whole chunk falls out without mercy.
He growls even more, roaring in anger before smashing the mirror with his bare hand. The glass shatters everywhere and some of the shards get stuck in his hand and face.
“What the hell is happening to me?!”
“It's obvious,” Douma continues rubbing his cheek and grins even wider. “You're being poisoned.”
“What?!” Muzan snaps his head back in disgust.
“There's absolutely nothing with you. You should be healthy. Fit as a fiddle. But no, your body is slowly dying.”
“But, that's impossible!” Muzan shakes his head. “I haven't…there's nothing here that should be poisoning me! I only-” He suddenly stops talking as the realization kicks in.
His mother…
It all made sense now.
She was the one poisoning him.
But why?
The more he thought about it, the more he got angry. The more his fists clenched, the more his hatred for his mother increased. She was overbearing. Controlling. Ever since he was a baby, she took over his life, wanting to create a little puppet that she could control.
“Are you finally using your brain?” Douma stands next to Muzan, his arms behind his back. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Shut up!” Muzan snaps, shoving past Douma. He walks over to his bed and drops to his knees. Then, he begins rummaging underneath his bed for something.
“What are you doing?” Douma asks innocently as he watches Muzan look for something.
“I said shut up!” Muzan yells.
Douma just laughs. “Yes, yes.”
Muzan grunts as he can't find what he is looking for and gets up from the ground. Douma's eyes follow him and he continues smiling. He follows Muzan who walks to his closet and begins throwing his things out carelessly.
“What are you looking for?”
Muzan ignores him.
“Are you going to kill your mom?”
Again. Silence.
“Heh…I'm surprised you aren't singing my praises. I saved you from a terrible future.” Douma leans close to Muzan's ear. “A future where you're dead.”
Muzan scoffs and uses his elbow to hit Douma's stomach. “Get away from me, fool. You're nothing but a fake.” He turns around and rolls his eyes.
“A fake? Me?” Douma feigns innocence.
“Don't act like you don't know,” Muzan points out. “You're in a cult and it's obvious you've been glorified to the point where you think you're a God.”
Douma laughs. “You think I don't know? I'm obviously not a God. I don't even have the powers to be a God! I grew up in that cult because I was born with these eyes! I have followers that beg and praise me!”
Muzan hums, still glaring at Douma. His eyes searched his face, almost looking for something. He doesn't say anything so Douma continues.
“I have men and women beg me for riches and revenge. They would do a lot of stuff I would find odd. The women would beg me to get pregnant and…” Douma pauses, his smile faltering a bit. “They would touch me in places where I feel…unsafe.”
Muzan's eyes soften. Just a tiny bit. It was obvious what Douma was implying and he almost felt sorry.
Almost.
Muzan is about to reply when the sound of his door opening snaps him out of his trance. The door opens slowly and his mother's head pops in. She had a gentle smile on her face and was carrying a tray with miso soup and some rice in a bowl. “My dear Muzan. Lunch is ready.”
It was like all of the feelings he was currently feeling went away. Anger replaced his senses and he saw red.
Before he knew it, he had tackled his mother to the ground, the tray of food lying next to them, the contents spilled on the ground. Muzan is on top of his mother, his hands around her throat and squeezing the life out of her.
“You stupid bitch!” Muzan roars, leaving his mother with no time to explain herself properly. “You're poisoning me?! How dare you!”
“Muzan-!” His mother cries out his name as her sharp nails dig into his hands. He is stronger than her somehow. It was like he found strength he never knew he had.
“You better answer me, woman.” Muzan lets go of her throat and allows her to breathe for a short moment. She begins giggling soon after as a crazed smile appears on her face.
“Mommy was just trying to protect you! You know that I love you so much! I don't want you getting hurt!”
“So, you decided that poisoning me is the only solution?” A vein appears on Muzan's forehead.
“I had to keep you safe, my dear!” Desperately, she cups both of his cheeks and squeezes. “You're the only person I truly care for. You'll be with me until the end, right? Just let me take care of you and-”
“Unhand me, vile woman.” Muzan slaps her hand away and proceeds to strangle her anyway.
Who knew his mother was such a psychopath? Poisoning him to the point where she would fake and gain sympathy from the public. He knew his mother was an attention seeker but going to a lane like this is even too much for Muzan to handle.
The familiar sound of his mother's neck snapping makes him realize what he has done.
He had killed his mother.
Strangely, he didn't feel bad about it at all.
It felt…good.
Like it was something he always wanted to do. And he probably did in the back of his mind. His family is nothing but fake smiles and joy. Everyone around him is so lively and it's sickening to the young boy. To the birds chirping happily when the sun shines, to the plants flourishing.
It made Muzan sick.
He thought back to when he killed his cat. The same feeling washed over him only this time, he didn't push it down.
It was all new to him. He didn't know what to think until a startled gasp made him snap his head up at the sound.
He sees one of the maids standing there in shock. She had her hand covering her mouth and tears immediately ran down her cheeks.
“Y-You…” She takes a step back and Muzan continues staring at her, wondering what he should do.
“You murderer!” The maid cries out. “You killed your mom! You're insane! Insane! How could you?!”
She's quick. She begins running towards the stairs. Probably to his father's office where he's at right now. Her footsteps made Muzan quickly scramble up from his mother's dead body and he reached towards her, deciding to silence the maid. She was going to make things bad if she told anyone.
But before Muzan could graze her hand, someone much faster zooms past him, and before he knew it, the maid's body was tumbling down the stairs.
Her screams were silenced immediately as her neck broke. She now lies at the bottom of the stairs, her neck twisted unnaturally.
Muzan looks up slowly, his eyes widening.
Douma stands there, his back towards Muzan. But the sick boy can tell he's grinning from ear to ear. A low giggle leaves his mouth as he finally turns towards Muzan which feels like forever, holding out his hand.
Douma has a sad*stic grin on his pale face as his beautiful eyes shine brightly.
“Let's rule this world together.”
_______
They sat on Muzan's bed a couple of hours later. Muzan is coughing sickly as he has the covers over him. Douma is sitting in front of him with his legs crossed.
The house is deathly silent. So was the world.
It was only Muzan and Douma.
Douma watches Muzan cough even more. Muzan covers his mouth as he coughs and blood streams in between his fingers and onto the sheets.
“Wow. That's bad if you're coughing up blood.” Douma smiles and tilts his head.
Muzan rolls his eyes, having no energy to make a comeback. He just closes his eyes and sighs deeply. Memories of earlier flash into his mind and he immediately begins to feel giddy.
He'd never felt such euphoria before. The rush of watching someone's life slowly leave their eyes. The feeling of the blade cutting through flesh. The terrified screams and blood that would splatter all over.
Muzan wants to do it again. He wants to keep this feeling of happiness. But he knew he couldn't do it alone. Not in a state where he's in right now.
“We should team up.” Douma comments after a little later. His stomach growled and Muzan raised one eyebrow. “You know, we can be an incredible team.”
“Team up? With you?” Muzan scoffs. “I'd rather get burned up under the sun than team up with you.”
“That's oddly specific but I like that.” Douma sighs and lays down on his stomach so he's resting in between Muzan's legs. Surprisingly, Muzan doesn't react all that much and doesn't seem to mind Douma being so close to him. “Hmm…what are you going to do now? Nobody is here to disturb you anymore. It's quiet…”
“You're disturbing me,” Muzan states in a bored tone.
Douma smiles as he grabs Muzan's hand and squeezes it. “But I'm still here.”
The two boys stare at each other. The silence around them is comforting and sort of…intimate.
“I'll help you get started,” Douma continues speaking as he begins playing with Muzan's fingers. “I can welcome you to my cult…heal with you actual medicine…and…” Douma pauses and smirks dangerously. “Feed you good food.”
“Ugh,” Muzan slaps Douma's hand. “Don’t lump me in with your weird fetishes.”
“I'm serious!” Douma laughs. “Face it, the police are gonna discover what we did sooner or later, but follow me and I'll…I'll help you.”
“And why would I need your help?”
Douma just laughs.
____________
As his life with Douma flashed before his eyes, Muzan glared at Muichiro and Senjuro. “You two…”
“Run! Run!”
The two desperate boys hobble their way to the stairs that lead outside of the basem*nt. Senjuro is breathing heavily, his footsteps uncoordinated with Muichiro's as they make it to the first step. Unfortunately, Muzan had grabbed the back of Senjuro's shirt and flung him back.
That causes both boys to fly towards the ground and to separate from each other's grasp.
Muichiro is the first to regain his senses but he is suddenly smacked with something that causes him to black out for a few seconds.
Senjuro grunts as he curls up in pain. He wanted to move. He needed to get Muichiro and get away from this monster.
But his body refuses.
The pain hit him all at once. The adrenaline was forced out of his body and a pained cry left his mouth when a foot squished his hand. There was a crack following after that and then another pained cry.
Senjuro looks up, shivering in pain as he sees Muzan.
He’s never seen him look so…
“I’m really going to kill you like I intended to. Forget having you as my meal. Die in hell.”
