Demon Slayer : Heir to the Moon

[ Ryo's POV ]

The ground dropped out from under me, and I fell hard into a dark pit. My ribs screamed as I hit the rocky floor, but I scrambled up, my light blue Nichirin blade already in hand. The fog was thick, choking the air, making every shadow look like a threat. My heart pounded, senses sharp, as three figures stepped out of the mist.

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke. But they weren't my friends. Their eyes were empty, their movements stiff. Clones. No Nezuko, though. This demon must not be able to copy a demon. A small mercy, I supposed.

Fake Zenitsu was shaking like a leaf, clutching his sword and whimpering. He looked utterly terrified, a perfect mimicry of the real Zenitsu in a tight spot. Even the fake is a total coward. I snorted, almost laughing despite the situation. This guy was no threat.

Fake Tanjiro and Inosuke, though, were already charging, blades flashing in the dim light.

"Let's dance," I muttered, gripping my sword tighter.

Fake Tanjiro came at me first, his blade slicing in a smooth arc like Water Breathing: First Form – Water Surface Slash. I countered with Shadow Breathing: Second Form – Ghost Step, blurring out of reach. The clang of our blades echoed, sparks popping in the fog. His move was clean, but it lacked Tanjiro's fire—slower, weaker, like a bad imitation. You're not him.

Fake Inosuke roared, charging with Beast Breathing: Second Fang. His twin blades slashed wildly, but they didn't have the real Inosuke's raw chaos. I ducked under one swing, parried the other, and instantly felt the difference. These clones were maybe sixty to seventy percent as strong as the originals, tops. Tough, but not unbeatable. I've sparred with the real ones too long to fall for this.

I moved fast, splitting them up with quick feints. Fake Inosuke took the bait, lunging too far. I darted in with Shadow Breathing: Second Form – Ghost Step, closing the gap in a heartbeat. Shadow Breathing: Sixth Form – Phantom Strike. My blade flashed, a sharp, shadowy thrust that caught him in the chest. He staggered, his form flickering, then dissolved into ash with a faint hiss.

Now, for Tanjiro. As I looked back, the fake Tanjiro was already there, already in motion for a heavy attack, a blur of motion. What the hell? How? His speed had spiked, catching me off guard. Why didn't I notice him coming? I twisted, but his sword grazed my knee, sending a dull ache through me. Getting hit by a fake? That was infuriating. Anger flared, and I pushed it down, focusing. The demon must've redirected its power, making this clone stronger.

I countered with Shadow Breathing: Fifth Form – Obsidian Rain, a storm of slashes that forced fake Tanjiro back. His blade blocked most, but he was slowing, his form wavering.

Then, the fake Zenitsu—who had been hiding behind a tree—finally moved. He bolted at me with Thunder Breathing: First Form – Thunderclap and Flash. I blinked, surprised. This guy's fighting now? But his attack was slow, predictable, nothing like the real Zenitsu's lightning speed. He kept spamming the same move, over and over, his body rigid with panic.

I dodged easily, watching his pattern. Let's see how you tick. After a few more sloppy slashes, he started to tire, his movements sluggish. Time's up. I stepped in with Shadow Breathing: Sixth Form – Phantom Strike, my blade slicing through his chest. He vanished with a silent puff of ash. What a pathetic display.

Now, only the fake Tanjiro remained, barely holding himself upright. I turned to him and delivered a final, decisive blow with Shadow Breathing: First Form – Veiled Fang. He crumbled to dust, the air thick with the smell of burning ash.

The pit was quiet now, the fog thinner but still heavy. My knee throbbed, and my ribs ached, but I was fine. Where are they? I climbed out, my boots slipping on loose gravel, and called out, "Tanjiro! Inosuke! Zenitsu!" My voice echoed, swallowed by the mountain. Every rustle made me tense, my blade ready for another trick.

After what felt like forever, I spotted them near a pile of rocks. Tanjiro leaned on his sword, blood dripping from a nasty cut on his leg. Zenitsu was out cold, sprawled like he'd given up on life. Inosuke was poking at the dirt, holding a jagged blade shard like it was a trophy. Relief hit me like a wave. They're beat up, but they're alive.

"You guys okay?" I asked, jogging over, my relief palpable.

Tanjiro looked up, pain in his eyes but a small, weary smile. "Ryo! Yeah, we're... we're okay. We fought a clone of you. It was tough, but we got it." He gestured to the faint ash still clinging to the ground.

Inosuke, however, squinted at me through his boar mask, then jabbed a finger. "Hey, you! Are you the real Ryo?! Or are you another one of those fake losers?!"

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Yes, Inosuke, I'm the real Ryo." I then turned back to Tanjiro. "A clone, huh? Yeah, I figured. This demon's Blood Demon Art. It can create clones of people it's seen or something.

Inosuke snorted, waving his jagged blade shard. "Tch! My blades are toast! But I'll still crush that demon! Where is it?!"

With the clones dealt with, our focus sharpened. We needed to find the true demon again, but this time, with extreme caution. But it looked like there was no need for a search.

The demon, Lower Moon Three, himself showed up. But this time, he wasn't alone. Standing beside him was a chilling presence, radiating an even more ancient and powerful aura. It was a Lower Moon Two.

Ah, I have to face two Lower Moons again, I thought, a grim smile touching my lips. Well, this time I'm stronger, and I have strong companions. This should be easy.

To Be Continued…