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The heavy scent of wisteria hung in the air, faint but enough to prickle at Muzan’s senses.
He stood in a dark alley, his sharp eyes scanning the empty street. Something felt… off. He had ruled for centuries, always several steps ahead of his enemies. But tonight, a rare unease settled over him.
A soft click echoed behind him. He turned, only to see a faint shimmer of liquid glistening in the moonlight- mist, infused with wisteria.
Before he could react, the vapor enveloped him, flooding his lungs with a paralyzing burn. His body faltered, his leg giving way as his strength drained faster than he could regenerate.
“Is it him?” a low voice murmured in the shadows.
“Yeah, it’s him,” another replied, this one sharper, almost amused. “The big, bad Demon King. Hard to believe he folds like paper when you know how to hit him.”
Muzan’s vision blurred as hands grabbed him, wrapping chains–heavy and hot—around his wrists and ankles. The faint scent of iron and sweat told him these weren't demon slayers.
These were humans. Ordinary, desperate humans.
When he woke, the room was dark and suffocating. The wisteria-laced chains burned into his skin, sapping his power as if he were nothing more than an insect caught in a web.
A door creaked open, and two figures stepped in. The first was a tall man with tired eyes and a scar that ran across his jaw. He looked like someone who had seen too many battles and lost too many. The other was younger, his shaking as he carried a lantern that cast flickering shadows across the walls.
“So,” the older man said, his voice gravelly,
“This is what the king of demons looks like.
Doesn't seem so scary now.”
Muzan glared at him, crimson eyes burning with fury, but the chains held him firm.
The younger man hesitated, his gaze shifting between Muzan and the older man. ”Do you think… Do you think this’ll really work? Selling him, I mean?”
“It has to,” the older man replied, his tone sharp. “Do you want to keep starving? Do you want them to come after us for what we owe?
This… this is our way out.”
The younger man nodded, but guilt flickered across his face. Muzan could see it, even through the haze of his fury.
“Humans,” Muzan hissed, his voice low and venomous. “Do you think selling me will solve your problems? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”
The older man crouched, meeting Muzan’s glare with cold determination. “You’re not untouchable now, are you? You’re just another piece of meat in this world, same as the rest of us.”
The older rose slowly, his joints creaking like hinges on the door behind him. “We leave at dawn,” he muttered to the younger man, who nodded quickly and placed the lantern on a crooked table nearby. “Make sure he’s fed enough to stay alive, Barely.”
“Fed?” the younger man asked, alarmed. His eyes darted to Muzan, who sat motionless but radiated an aura of suppressed rage. “You mean…people? I-I thought we weren’t—”
“Not people,” the older man snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through stale air. “Animal blood. Just enough to keep him breathing until we can sell him. Don’t get soft on me now, Souta.”
Souta shifted nervously, his hands trembling as he avoided looking at Muzan. The demon king, for his part, watched the exchange with cold, calculating eyes. Every word, every hesitation was a crack in their armor— a weakness he could exploit.
The older man turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Souta lingered, staring at the lantern's flickering flame, his expression conflicted. Muzan’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile.
“You look scared,” Muzan said, his voice low and smooth, like silk gliding over steel. “You should be. Do you know what I’ll do to you once I'm free?”
Souta flinched, gripping the edge of the table as if it could steady his nerves. “You’re not getting free,” he muttered, though his voice wavered.
“Oh, but I will,” Muzan replied, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “You humans think chains and wisteria will hold me forever? You’re fools. Desperate, pathetic fools. But desperation makes you predictable… and predictability makes you easy to break.”
Souta’s breathing quickened. He glanced at the door, then back at Muzan. “Shut up,” he whispered, though it sounded more like a plea than a command.
“You don't want to be here, do you?” Muzan pressed, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re doing this because he told you to. Because you think this will fix your miserable little life. But deep down, you know it won’t.”
“Shut up!” Souta said louder this time, his voice cracking as he grabbed the lantern. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle.
Muzan leaned forward as far as the chains would allow, his smile widening. ”The guilt is already eating at you, isn't it? The thought of what you’re doing. Selling a living being, even if it is me. You’re no better than the monsters you fear.”
Souta hesitated, his hand hovering over the lantern’s flames as If tempted to snuff it out and plunge the room into darkness. But then he straightened, his jaw tightening. “You’re just trying to mess with my head,” he said, more to himself than to Muzan. “It won't work.”
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Muzan chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the empty space.
Alone again, he shifted slightly against the chains, testing their strength. They burned against his skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the fury boiling within him.
“They think they’ve won,” he murmured to himself, his voice calm and measured. “But they’ve only delayed the inevitable.”
Muzan’s eyes narrowed, his mind already racing with plans. He could feel the wisteria weakening him, but not completely. If he could outlast these pathetic humans, if he could find a moment of weakness, he would show them the true meaning of fear.
And when he was free, they wouldn’t just pay with their lives. They would pay with their very souls.