29 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Sanemi gasped for air, the kitchen knife slipping from his trembling hand and clattering to the floor. He didn't have the strength to pick it up. His face stung sharply, the pain mingling with an unsettling itch as something warm trickled down his cheek.

Blood. His blood.

A deep, jagged wound marred his once-handsome face, a brutal slash that cut through both flesh and pride.

But none of that mattered anymore. When Haruto's blue-violet blade tore through the darkness and illuminated the attacker's face, Sanemi's mind went blank. It was as if his spine had been ripped out, leaving him utterly limp on the ground.

That face. That familiar, delicate face. The same face that had been smiling at him earlier, preparing their lunch.

"…Mom?" Sanemi's lips trembled, his voice caught between confusion and despair. "Mom… is that you?"

Haruto's heart skipped a beat, but he quickly flipped his blade, pressing the flat side against the demon's neck. With a practiced motion, he used his strength to pin her to the ground.

The demon—a woman barely recognizable—was in the chaotic throes of her transformation. She showed no sign of recognizing her son, no trace of humanity in her frenzied eyes.

Whatever had triggered her change, it had pushed her into a mindless, bloodthirsty state. She struggled violently, her grotesque claws lashing out, desperate to reach Sanemi, who was drenched in blood.

Not again. Another one with rare blood? Haruto sighed. A tragedy like this was cruel beyond words. A mother turned monster, attacking her own child.

But this demon had already killed. The blood staining her hands wasn't just from her fight with the silver-haired boy; it was fresh, from other victims. Haruto couldn't let her live.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade and angled it to deliver a clean strike to her neck.

"Turn away," he said firmly.

"W-what?" Sanemi stammered, his voice shaking.

"If you don't want to see your mother die, turn away now."

Haruto's tone carried a hint of regret, but his resolve was unshaken. Killing demons was a duty, even if they once were human. Even if they were someone's family.

"No!" Sanemi screamed, scrambling forward on hands and knees. His whole body trembled as he reached Haruto's side, unsure what to do.

His mother—no, this thing—was no longer human. She had slaughtered his siblings like an animal, her body grotesquely twisted with sinewy claws and bulging veins. Yet Sanemi clung to hope, even as it tore him apart.

"There has to be a way! She's just sick, right? If she rests, she'll get better, like always…" Sanemi's voice cracked, tears streaming down his bloodied face. "Please…"

Haruto didn't reply. He simply held the demon down, his expression grim, and drove his Nichirin blade into the dirt beside him.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the alley. A disheveled boy with wild hair stumbled into view, his bloodstained yukata clinging to his small frame.

"Brother! We need to get a doctor—" the boy began, his voice frantic.

The sight before him froze him in his tracks. His wide, tear-streaked eyes fell on Haruto, who had the demon pinned beneath him.

"…Brother?" Genya's voice was small, disbelieving.

"Genya!" Sanemi shouted, panicked. "Don't look! Stay back!"

But Genya's gaze remained fixed on the demon. His small hands shook as he reached inside his robes.

"What are you doing to our mother?" he whispered, his voice laced with fear and anger.

Sanemi's heart sank. He knew exactly what Genya kept hidden under his clothes—a brass slingshot, his brother's prized possession. Genya used it to hunt birds in the mountains, always proud to bring back extra food for the family.

"Genya, stop!" Sanemi yelled desperately, his voice cracking.

But the boy's hands moved fast, loading the slingshot with practiced ease. The sharp twang of the release was followed by the metallic clang of Haruto's blade deflecting the projectile.

"Enough." Haruto's voice was calm but firm. He grabbed the struggling demon and leaped toward Genya, disarming him with swift precision.

"You're not helping anyone by lashing out blindly," Haruto said, his eyes narrowing. "If you don't understand what's happening, don't interfere."

Genya froze, his trembling hands clenched into fists. His gaze darted to the blood-soaked creature that was once their mother, his knees buckling under the weight of realization.

"God… no…" he murmured.

Sanemi stumbled forward, pulling Genya into a protective embrace and covering his eyes.

"Don't look. Don't look, Genya," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

With a swift motion, Haruto struck the demon's neck, stunning her into submission. He thrust her limp form into Sanemi's arms. "Hold her," he ordered. "I need to check for survivors."

But there were none. Inside the bloodied house, five small bodies lay motionless, their tiny forms stained with fear and pain. Haruto gently arranged them side by side, silent in his grief. He stepped outside to call for reinforcements, his clenched fist striking the wall in frustration.

By the time dawn approached, Sanemi stood in the yard, cradling his mother's frail body. He hadn't spoken a word.

Haruto watched him, his piercing eyes softening. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly.

Sanemi looked up at him, his face hollow. "I'll… take her to see the sunrise. One last time."

Haruto nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. The silver-haired boy walked away, the weight of his shattered family in his arms, as the first rays of light broke through the night.

The sun would rise, but its warmth couldn't touch the scars left behind.