The noise of the bidding war was already dying down when Phyra and Kazu barged in, so their sudden entrance surprised no one. While most of the wealthy folk ignored the commoners as they shuffled out, a few groaned at the sight of them—less out of condescension and more out of frustration that they'd left empty-handed. The head auctioneer had turned away from the podium, concluding another day of business and bending back a wad of cash as he chatted with two other gentlemen. The demon slayers had been a passing thought, folding into the depths of his memory like the flipping bills that formed his stack, and to the happy rich couple who'd walked out of the building with the vase, one that never came.
The entire time Kazu followed them, the man and woman didn't notice. The former's attention was already split between his new prize and his wife's fur coat. She was visibly sweating in the desert heat, but by wearing it she asserted differences in social status that were far more oppressive. The peasants who laid eyes on it knew their place, while hers was secured among the other nobles. No, as she and her husband ascended the steps to their luxurious home, they felt above the aristocracy too, outbidding the rest and winning the item in their best clothes.
Those with bigger things to worry about didn't fuss so much about their appearances, abandoning decency and reducing themselves to beggars. But these same beggars had way more to give than their affluent counterparts, Kazu sharing his coins despite the few he had and the little girl gifting him a flower in return. Still, her mother felt the need to apologize.
"Thank you, kind sir. I'm sorry for asking so much of you. It wasn't always like this..." the grateful woman reflected. "Hokori was once a humble village ruled by a chief, and though it still is, he hasn't made a public appearance in the last five years. That's when everything changed. People were run off their land, and lavish estates sprung up overnight with no evidence of construction..."
The impoverished seldom had anything optimistic to say and only spoke of their plight. They opened up to strangers like Kazu so easily, since people in their position couldn't afford to discriminate. The auctioneer, however, only caught Phyra's scowl in the corner of his eye when he got bored of counting money.
"That's a rather rude look for a commoner. An outsider, no less," he addressed the distant girl from the stage. "Is there something you want from us? We've ceased operations for the day."
~~~
"Damn. Guess I was too strong," Kenshiro remarked. "The fight was lame a second ago, and now this? Sometimes I forget how frail the human body is."
The demon couldn't even see the slayers anymore, so that was an understatement. When the smoke cleared, all he observed were the rows of walls through which they'd blasted. The thugs became obedient again, halting their advance and awaiting the contemplating Kenshiro's next move.
"Hey, uh... boss? Do we go after them?" asked a punk whose deep voice belied his young age.
"No..." the fiend responded. "They've probably gotten away by now. We should get some rest, swarm the square tomorrow night, and let them come to us."
When he spoke these words, the underling smiled, and the tension evaporated from the crowd. Their leader was kind, recognizing their battered states and allowing them to recover. When someone got on his bad side and vanished the next day, he deserved it. When he yelled and cussed at them, they were in the wrong. In their eyes, Kenshiro was infallible, because in a human society that regarded them as scum, a demon's generosity was all they knew. Though they slept on the streets and in abandoned buildings, the hoodlums never complained, since a comfortable bed was similarly something they hadn't felt.
"The slayers I hate the most are those who try to take the moral high ground..." the adolescent muttered from his clock tower the next evening, gazing down at the rested army that congregated in the public space below. "Self-righteous pieces of shit. They come here to kill me, and why? To protect these punks? Do they actually care? No, they'll take out the big bad demon and disappear the instant the mission's complete, leaving the others to roam the streets without purpose. The reason demons thrive in environments like this is because you humans can't take care of your own. Then you pretend to care, pin the blame on my kind, and eliminate us like some disease, when we're a symptom of a larger problem. Slayers are all fucking cowards who represent society's inability to own its mistakes."
Maybe Kenshiro was onto something, or maybe this was just teenage angst talking. Though he was much older chronologically than he appeared, being stuck in a young man's body likely stopped him from maturing. On the outside, however, he carried himself like a king, ruling the slums of Korudo and discarding the human memories that made him vulnerable, forgetting the home he'd fled and staring at the new one he'd built, even if it was an illusion.
~~~
"Did he beat you that bad? Don't tell me you're still salty about the strength test."
The pink-haired demon who mocked Ren from a nearby tree was dressed as casual as her tone, in an oversized brown sweater, a matching beanie, and gold piercings on her right ear. Having watched the whole bout from a branch, she hopped off and approached the disgruntled newcomer with her hands in her pockets.
"To be honest, I didn't think you were that bad," she reassured despite her distant body language. "I didn't hear Mori call you weak either. So don't dwell on it too much."
Almost all recruits had lived by themselves prior to coming here, so Ren's reclusive tendencies didn't surprise her. But they were the first thing he needed to outgrow if he was to develop as a fighter. The only thing he was defeating with that attitude was the purpose of joining the Red Demon to begin with. The second he had fresh air and members of his own race around him, all he wanted to do was be alone.
"I'm Tomoru. Nice to meet you," the girl greeted, extending her hand. "And just so you know, the cemetery isn't our only turf. The city is crawling with hideouts where we do more than dig graves, so I'll have a lot to show you, if you want. Maybe I'll tell you Mori's weakness on the way~..."
~~~
It was hard not to lose oneself in thought gazing across the lake. The island might've interrupted its surface, but from where Sena was standing, it was a forested clump of land that stuck out like a boring cotton swab—too unremarkable to disturb her fantasy. Even Kit's rowing had fallen into a rhythm and conformed to the peaceful picture before her. If she hadn't been a slayer and this hadn't been her mission, she might've assumed the role of a camp counselor a little longer.
The difference between her and a demon was the fact that she didn't. Many who turned did so willingly as a means to escape a miserable human life, but Sena faced her cold reality head on. Sometimes she was tempted to slip into the fake identities the Corps created for her, but she never embraced the illusion, reminding herself not to rest until she slayed a certain demon and finally let her past go.
Yet she'd let her mind wander again, a soft tapping on her foot shaking her awake. The girl's eyes drifted to the ground, and only then, when they saw the gross object producing the gentle touch, did they snap out of their trance. The hand that had washed ashore was moving, feeling for its surroundings and trying to get a grip on her!
"What the hell?!" Sena recoiled, whipping her leg to dislodge the crawling body part and proceeding to stomp it out. Though it went still, her suspicions were aroused. If it functioned without a body, then this was no human hand. She couldn't yet sense the presence of a demon, but one thing was certain—the severed fingers had come to life when Kit crossed a good stretch of water, meaning the rest of the body had likely made its move.
"Kit, stay alert! The demon is-"
The female slayer couldn't finish the warning, for when she looked up from the earth and saw her unsuspecting partner's distant shape, she noticed a haunting, white-gowned figure in the canoe with him, standing over his diligently rowing form and poised to strike from behind. By the mysterious woman's will, water suddenly converged on the boat and sharpened into blades on either side of Kit. She was too late.