Chapter Seven
Four years old. That was how old Doma had turned, exactly one month ago. At his age, he already looked closer to six. His considerable height had been remarked upon in his previous life as well—among their demonic company, only the First Upper Moon, Kokushibo, had stood taller. His perfect skin had by now nearly matched its color to his silver hair, which was admittedly rather off-putting, though the boy had not found himself lacking in affection from the female half of humanity. All manner of old women loved to pinch his cheeks. And as time went on, he found he needed to blink less and less—a demon's eyes could not grow dry, let alone tired.
At this particular moment, however, the child was swinging on a playground swing, his legs kicking back and forth in an amusing way. Ordinarily such an activity would jostle the vestibular system and prompt the release of happy hormones, but the boy had difficulties on both counts. The second was not so easily achieved for him, and the first was entirely incapable of affecting a body this strong. Though nothing in his proportions suggested it—his muscles did not bulge, everything appeared as it would on an ordinary person. The only unsettling feature, really, were those glowing diamond eyes in the dark.
Nearby stood Kohaku, Doma's new mother, watching him with unbroken attention. There were few children in the world loved as much as he was. From that angle, Himiko and Doma occupied opposite ends of the spectrum—but from another angle, they were inseparable. The former leader of the Paradise Faith cult enjoyed spending time with her, and it was time the girl desperately wanted. He never refused her, sharing freely from his many "privileges": candy, the game console, the computer.
Had he been an average person, no words could have conveyed how much he loved this era. But with his particular emotional makeup, it simply appealed to him. So much technology to ease the necessities of life. The washing machines alone, the dishwashers, the stoves, the ovens—and above all, the shower. Had Doma learned of all these wonders and their functions before his rebirth, he would doubtless have concluded that only a real god could have devised them.
These playgrounds, for instance, were exactly the kind of pleasant luxury that the Taisho era had not smelled of even remotely. So many joyful children wandering here and there, adults and teenagers hurrying past, an abundance of brightly colored clothing—and the overwhelming majority of them had the ability to eat as much as they wished, whenever they wished. Was this not the paradise Doma had striven to bestow upon the members of his cult?
People were mortal—they aged, fell ill, died without warning, could be killed, could be poisoned with ease. A human being was incredibly fragile.
And Doma had always believed that when he consumed people, he was providing benefit not only to himself, but to them as well. Within the space inside him, filled with countless pink flesh, the demon he had been enclosed those he devoured. In his soul he imprisoned the souls of women, children, the elderly, and men—granting them an eternal existence free from pain and suffering. Held in eternal sleep, they did not suffer. Each one dreamed the dream they had always longed for. Kanae Kocho, once partially absorbed, was reunited with her family.
Kotoha raised her son Inosuke alongside a loving husband she had never had in life.
And there were dozens of examples like these.
*I wonder where they all went… Were they reborn?* Doma was lost in thought, caught in a faint wash of lyrical feeling. *I hope they all find their happiness in their new lives.*
Paradoxically, this cruel, sadistic cannibal had never intentionally wished harm upon anyone. Had Kocho Shinobu known that, she would surely have choked on her own fury—to think that her beloved elder sister and she herself had perished for no reason but a cruel trick of fate. Though the Insect Hashira would hardly have believed in the former demon's altruism. People like that were, to put it gently, rarely encountered.
In any case, Doma's attention had already shifted to something else entirely. He noticed that the veins along his arms and legs had risen alarmingly blue and vivid beneath the skin, and that his muscles had begun to cramp—exactly as they had when the leader of the Paradise Faith cult had been turned into a demon by Muzan Kibutsuji. There was no pain, for obvious reasons. The Second Upper Moon did not feel pain at all.
*But isn't this…?* The thoughts of the diamond-eyed boy shifted course as he looked upward, directly into the Sun, without so much as squinting. *Ah, how sad… Am I going to die again?*
He could not feel it, but his pale skin had begun to smolder rapidly beneath the rays of that bright star. It was as though a thermonuclear rocket engine had been held directly against him, ready to incinerate him in a matter of seconds. The boy, hearing his mother's screams with the one undamaged ear that remained, had already tumbled from the swing and rolled freely across the ground.
"Ho…" His voice came out with surprise when he noticed something.
He had stopped disappearing. The parts of him that had crumbled to ash moments before were now regenerating at a rather brisk pace. Though he still felt a profound weakness beneath the Sun's rays—a feeling that was distinctly unpleasant. Branching out with veins and arteries and flesh, one of his arms was rebuilding itself. The bystanders who had witnessed what was happening were frightened, and already reaching for their phones to call an ambulance. His mother, however, arrived before anyone else. Taking in the sight of a perfectly healthy child blinking his diamond eyes in surprise, she asked in a voice that was tense but careful:
"Doma, how are you? Does it hurt?" She seemed to want to ask a dozen more questions but understood perfectly well that the child could not know the answers. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Kohaku waited for his response.
He shifted his gaze to her, pausing for a moment on the thin red trickle that ran from the wound. It lasted no longer than an instant before the boy moved his rainbow eyes—pupils now narrow—to meet the amber gaze of his mother, and prepared to answer.
"I don't know. I feel weak." Doma replied rather plainly, but honestly, showing teeth that had grown even whiter and more prominent—gleaming fangs that had lengthened still further.