The Pig, The Mask, and The Slayers [Redux]

[~Chapter 3: Mundanity~]

How in that moment, his life flashed before his eyes.

Pink Skin was on him in seconds, The Demon's body atop his own, slamming him into the ground and back into the water, doing so in such a way that the center of his back met a flat stone, causing pain to fly through his body.

The Demon's massive sword appeared in his hand faster than The Water Hashira could blink, its blackened blade not too dissimilar to a Nichirin sword shimmering in the light of the retreating sun.

Giyuu was unarmed and had nothing to protect himself with as the sword's tip slammed into the ground mere inches away from his head.

He felt a small amount of blood from his cheek trickle down his face, the cut burning as if it had been set aflame, his eyes wide with fright.

Fear...

He had never feared a Demon in such a long time. The last time had been... God, it had been the many-handed freak. The one who killed Sabito and Makomo...

And now, he felt that same fear with Pink Skin, and it had caused his heart to pound against his chest. He could feel his blood pump faster, but not because of Total Concentration Breathing, but rather because of adrenaline.

His breathing was erratic, and the way his body clammed up at being so close to the Demon... his muscles refused to move. It was like he had been paralyzed with fear.

Then... then there was the frenzied, wild look in Pink Skin's eyes. It was like staring into a pit. A pit of nothing but violence, bloodshed, and hatred. As if he was staring at Death itself given physical form. He could see the litres and litres of blood that stained the foul beast's hands.

And yet... he could also see regret. Regret for his actions, and sympathy for all of his victims—as if they had been unintended. He could see the pain, the horrors that the Demon no-doubt witnessed, and the cruelty of the world.

This Demon had lived a long, eventful life. Longer than Giyuu could probably count up to.

For such a powerful Demon to be this close to him, his hot breath beating down on his face, and his expression brought into a snarl, eyes boring holes into his own.... No wonder he felt fear.

It was like he had been bathing with Muzan Kibutsuji himself, but far, far worse.

And then, the Demon spoke.

"I have killed countless people... but never once have I feast upon my victim's flesh. Thou'st should recant thine claims before thou'st finds thine self deceased," the Demon rumbled, speaking in a language that Giyuu found hard to understand, nor could he understand. But with how angry he sounded... Giyuu did not want to upset it any more than he had already made it.

He could feel his body writhe in pain... he felt tears clawing down his face, escaping his eyes by sheer force. He was so, so goddamn scared. His heart had picked up pace, even more so than it had before.

He was crying.... He was crying in front of a Demon. And all he could muster was a sad, pathetic, and quiet "sorry". That was all he had managed to choke out. It was all his mind would let him say.

And just like that. Just by uttering that one, seemingly useless word, Pink Skin snaked himself away, his sword disappearing, but the glare not going away. At least, for a time.

Giyuu, however, did not move. His body did not shift from that spot for another minute, hot tears still streaming down his face as he choked back sob after sob. It was utterly pathetic, how fast he had been turned into a snivelling mess.

He, the coldest of the Hashira, was reduced into nothing but a snivelling, sorrowful mess.

And all it took was a snarl, a stare, and a threat he could not understand even remotely.

The next ten minutes passed off in a blur. He remembered being dragged out of the lake by Pink Skin, his body being dried by Pink Skin, his bandages applied over his chest to compress his unwanted breasts and hide them away from sight, along with his new clothes being put on for him.

He had been in a near catatonic state the entire time. He didn't flinch, he didn't move. He just stared at the ground. That was all there was to it. Giyuu was then dragged to the home of the Kamados, and instead of being re-tied up, he was taken upstairs and into a room labelled "guest."

He was shoved onto the bed, and the door was closed, all topped off with one final glare from Pink Skin before he was left to sit and essentially rot.

A chilling thought came to the forefront of his mind.

He was never leaving here, was he?

He was going to be stuck in this place until he was either killed, or he died by his own hands, wasn't he?

Without his blade, he could do nothing. His techniques were meaningless without it, as was his training.

He was stripped of everything now, even his uniform.

Only then did the horror of the situation he was in come to the forefront of his mind.

He was their prisoner. He hadn't realized his position in this dynamic just yet, until now. He had thought that he had some modicum of power over them, but it wasn't until now that he realized that he did not have that.

His status as The Water Hashira meant nothing without that blade. And he had just pissed off the person who had it.

His only hope now was if someone from the Corps found him. Because otherwise... he might end up as food....

He was back to being the same old, useless, pathetic, Giyuu Tomioka.

It was just as his father had told him... he was a burden.

Giyuu collapsed into his unwanted bed, closed his eyes, tucked himself into a ball, and pitifully cried himself to sleep, knowing that whatever life he had was going to be wasted here and that there was nothing he could do....

-To Be Continued-