HxH: I Will Be Supreme

The Shogun was killed by a demon.

The consequences of this devastating act sent shockwaves through the demon underworld and the Demon Slayer Corps. Neither side anticipated the catastrophic chain reaction that would follow.

Zechuan's wanted poster spread like wildfire across every feudal city and territory. Wherever people gathered, wherever merchants traded, and wherever lords held court, his face stared back at them from weathered paper, marking him as the most hunted man in Japan. This unprecedented manhunt thrust "demons," creatures that had existed only in whispered folklore and nighttime fears, into the harsh light of public scrutiny for the first time.

The revelation shattered the careful balance that had existed for centuries.

Muzan's rage burned with the intensity of a thousand suns. He personally dispatched the Upper Moons, his most powerful subordinates, to hunt down Zechuan and bring back his head. The Demon King's fury was so overwhelming that even his closest servants trembled in his presence.

"Why? Why is this happening?" Muzan's voice echoed through his hidden domain, each word dripping with barely contained wrath.

The situation defied all logic. Every demon created by his blood fell under his absolute control; their cells carried fragments of his will, binding them to his commands like puppets on invisible strings. The young man, Zechuan, should never have acted against the shogunate's leadership without explicit orders. All demons existed within the confines of his elaborate web of control, their freedom carefully measured and limited.

Through the cellular connection, Muzan could track any demon's location and read their thoughts at will. The only possible explanation for this betrayal was that Zechuan had somehow broken free from the influence of Muzan's blood.

This realization caused Muzan's thoughts to spiral toward one name: Oboro.

Was it his handiwork?

The timing was too convenient, too calculated. As the human world violently rejected demonkind, all demons found themselves with nowhere to hide. There were never many demons under Muzan's command; they were vastly outnumbered by the human population that now hunted them with religious fervor.

The sooner Zechuan died, the faster the crisis could be contained, minimizing its devastating impact on demon society. However, with each passing day, the situation spiraled further out of control. If this continued unchecked, Muzan, the Demon King himself, would eventually be dragged into the spotlight for all the world to see.

How could he maintain his shadowy existence when the entire world knew of his presence?

If only he could obtain the blue spider lily and achieve his perfect evolution, these concerns would be meaningless. In his current state, however, he was vulnerable to the sun's deadly rays and the Nichirin blades of the Demon Slayers.

Meanwhile, the Ubuyashiki clan mobilized their own forces. The master of the Demon Slayer Corps dispatched the Hashira, the nine pillars of their organization, to track down Zechuan's whereabouts with equal determination.

Reeling from the assassination of their leader, the shogunate began offering massive public rewards for anyone capable of killing demons. Demon hunters had existed since ancient times, operating in the shadows and margins of society. Some members of the shogunate knew of the Demon Slayer Corps and their centuries-long war against demons.

This knowledge bred suspicion and blame. Certain government factions pointed accusing fingers at the Demon Slayer Corps, claiming that their failure to contain the demon threat had led directly to their lord's death.

Fortunately, the situation hadn't escalated to open warfare yet. If the shogunate asserted direct control over the Demon Slayer Corps, the Ubuyashiki clan would lack the political power to refuse. They had no escape route and no place to hide their operations.

This world belonged to the shogunate, and everyone knew it.

The assassination created a power vacuum that sent tremors throughout the political landscape. The throne passed to a descendant of the Tokugawa family, but the transition was far from smooth. The atmosphere in Edo grew thick with tension and uncertainty.

Rebels and insurgents, sensing weakness at the heart of the government, launched uprisings across the country. Even in peaceful times, the previous lord's iron grip had barely maintained stability. Now, his death created opportunities that ambitious lords and revolutionary forces had only dreamed of.

Within a month, wars erupted in multiple provinces. Each conflict fed into the next, creating a cascading effect that no one could stop.

Everything seemed to trigger a chain reaction, igniting a powder keg that had been building pressure for decades. The end times rushed toward them with terrifying speed.

Hell on earth had begun its reign.

Throughout this chaos, Oboro remained sequestered in his residence, receiving daily reports from his network of informants. Each piece of news painted a grimmer picture than the last.

Conflicts erupted on every front. The world suddenly transformed into a blood-soaked battlefield where mercy was a luxury that few could afford.

While armies clashed openly in the countryside, an intense shadow war raged between the Demon Slayer Corps and the demons. The number of refugees fleeing their homes increased exponentially each day. Even the city where Oboro lived struggled under the weight of the displaced population, overwhelming the local magistrate's office.

The daily caseload far exceeded what the understaffed bureaucracy could handle. Desperate to survive, many civilians turned to banditry, burning, killing, looting, and committing every conceivable evil just to see another sunrise.

Oboro threw a small stone into what appeared to be a calm lake, but the ripples grew into tsunami-sized waves that threatened to drown the entire world.

However, only a few specific developments truly captured his attention.

First, the shogunate recruited several members of the Demon Slayer Corps to provide close protection for high-ranking officials and important figures. This arrangement served as the Ubuyashiki clan's diplomatic olive branch, a gesture to appease the government and demonstrate their loyalty despite the current crisis.

Second, Zechuan was still alive and had not been captured, continuing to evade both demon and human hunters. His continued survival served Oboro's purposes perfectly.

Third, demon sightings had increased dramatically across the entire country. Muzan was clearly working overtime to replenish his dwindling forces by creating new demons at an unprecedented rate. The demons under his command were dying at an alarming rate, forcing Muzan to take increasingly desperate measures.

Fourth and most importantly, demons were no longer hidden in folklore. The general population now knew that demons feared sunlight and could be killed by decapitation. This widespread awareness fundamentally altered the balance of power.

"That's right, the pain is only temporary," Oboro murmured to himself as he processed the flood of information.

Over the course of weeks and months, countless reports reached his ears, and it seemed as though he could hear the entire world crying out in agony. He sensed that the "little tree" representing this world was shaking its branches violently, conveying its deep dissatisfaction with his actions.

"If you want to bear better fruit, you must endure greater pain," he replied to the cosmic presence. "If you're content being a plant in a greenhouse, there was no need to make this deal with me in the first place."

People living in peaceful, prosperous times rarely develop true awareness, let alone forge strong bonds of determination. My will requires someone capable of shouldering its weight, so I must create the conditions necessary to forge a worthy heir."

Moreover, the inheritance of will can only be properly nurtured through endless hatred and pain. If the power of demons and breathing techniques, and the entire power system of this world, want to evolve to the next stage, this step is inevitable."

This was Oboro's response to the "little tree" during their metaphysical conversation.

However, the world's spirit also glimpsed the thoughts Oboro had kept hidden in the depths of his mind.

"Yes, I am conducting an experiment," he admitted with brutal honesty.

The haze of deception no longer concealed his true intentions.

He needed the lives of this world, whether they belonged to the Demon Slayer Corps or the demons themselves. He relied on their collective wisdom and strength to help him deduce power levels beyond current breathing techniques. Their struggles, innovations born from desperation, and evolution under pressure would all help his system develop advanced cultivation methods.

Methods he could utilize when traveling to other worlds.

This was his ultimate purpose, laid bare without pretense or justification.

Later, the little tree severed its conscious connection with Oboro, cutting off their communication as if in cosmic disgust.

However, the situation remained unchanged in reality. The Demon Slayer world chose not to intervene or guide the fate of key individuals. Through its inaction, the Demon Slayer world passively agreed to honor the deal it had made with Oboro, regardless of the moral implications.

Several months passed before Oboro finally emerged from his self-imposed isolation. He left his residence accompanied by two loyal maids, ready to take direct action once again.

The time had come to find a new successor to inherit his will.

The current chaotic environment would produce many promising candidates: individuals forged in the crucible of suffering and loss. Additionally, the demon side's decline had become increasingly apparent in recent weeks. In order to maintain the delicate balance necessary for his experiment, he would need to secretly assist Muzan.

The chess pieces were moving exactly as planned.

One day, in a remote village nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, a massacre painted the earth crimson.

Blood flowed like rivers between the modest homes, and corpses lay scattered in grotesque positions throughout the settlement. The entire village had been slaughtered without mercy, leaving only one survivor by sheer chance. The man was covered in wounds from head to toe; his body was a canvas of cuts, bruises, and burns.

He had lost consciousness during the chaotic battle and was mistaken for dead among the countless bodies. When he finally opened his eyes hours later, the horrible truth crashed down on him like a physical blow.

His wife, children, parents, and siblings, everyone he had ever loved, lay cold and still around him, their blood staining the earth he had once called home.

With trembling hands, he gathered the remains of his family and cradled them against his chest, heart-wrenching sobs tearing from his throat. His face twisted with such intense grief that it seemed to physically reshape his features.

Soon, the burning anger in his eyes dimmed, transforming into soul-crushing despair. He spotted a bloodied blade nearby and reached for it with shaking fingers. He raised the blade toward his own throat.

At that moment, a shadow fell across his path, blocking the harsh sunlight.

"Giving up already?"

The voice was calm and almost conversational, but it carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

"Giving up is the easiest thing in the world; anyone can do it. But fighting for change, struggling against fate itself, that's what separates the strong from the weak."

"Aren't you going to do something for them?" The stranger gestured toward the bodies surrounding them.

The broken man slowly raised his head, squinting at the figure standing before him. The harsh sunlight created a silhouette that seemed almost ethereal, making specific features difficult to make out.

"You had the courage to charge an entire army with nothing but a kitchen blade," the voice continued approvingly. "That kind of spirit is rare."

"To those sitting in their comfortable palaces, your life and death mean nothing, but tell me: What crime did you commit? What sin justified this slaughter?"

You were simply trying to protect the little happiness you had built. You did nothing wrong."

"They are the ones in error.

This chaotic, blood-soaked world is what's truly wrong."

The survivor's voice was a hoarse whisper; his throat was raw from screaming and weeping. "Who are you?"

The silhouetted figure seemed to smile, though the expression was hidden in shadow.

"I am the one who will give you a new life and the power to make those responsible pay for what they've done."