A man stood solemnly by a grey-gravel road.

The uncut green grass around him formed a field.

It wavered and pranced in the wind as the man stood perfectly still.

The moonlight illuminated the setting in a foreign silver hue.

Not a single mistake was present in his every movement.

He had smooth, lush, parted black hair.

His eyes were of a faint inky black and were unwavering as they scanned at the man before him.

"Muzan."

His voice spat the name in a mutter and transe.

Images of what this man had done to his subordinates merely a few minutes ago caused his left hand to shake with anger.

The scenes replayed before him.

Skulls being crushed. Hearts being yanked. Necks being grasped before legs stopped flailing and eyes overturned white.

He placed his hands on the hilt of his blade and they slowly settled down upon feeling the cold steel that had aided him in hundreds of battles.

He controlled his breathing firmly as he kept his eyes on the target.

Carefully prodding his chest, he rose his right hand to his neck where he held on dear to the necklace that rested on his pale skin.

It was cold and of a caliginous black.

He took his hand off it and kept his right hand free.

Mentally, he was going crazy.

His eyes portrayed faint signs of his interior.

He was barely holding himself back from slashing wildly at the man in front of him.

He looked into two captivating blood-red eyes before he bit his tongue hard.

"Gah."

He let the pain subside as he could only try to avoid the scent of blood coming from his mouth.

Gritting his teeth the man drew out his blade.

A blade of a drab and swarthy black reflected in the moonlight.

The man known as Muzan finally spoke despite the astounding tension.

"Cline Tirata."

Hearing his own name from this mans mouth made every bone in his body rattle.

His eyebrows were still completely relaxed yet his shaking hands showed his fear in this moment.

The man before him had long, ashy and sullen black hair.

Contrasting to his hair, he had skin several shades paler than Cline.

His eyes were of a blood-red so deep that Cline could almost feel his own blood boiling.

He was around Cline's height yet the vastness between their power was too great for Cline to see even the smallest light of hope in this situation.

Cline dared not make a single unnecessary movement against this man.

Although the man before him wore fashionable and stylish clothes, he was far from normal.

Muzan dug his fingernails into his white skin calmly.

Soon 5 slits formed on his arm and blood started to seep through.

"Become a Demon."

All one could see from Muzan were two deep-red slits.

Cline looked at Muzans actions with animosity.

Raising his sword even higher and tightening his grip to lengths further than ever before.

He pointed it at Muzan as he chose his stance.

If it's this, Cline thought. Then I might have a chance.

His body was now flawlessly still.

His arms clung to his sword and he was moments away from ripping through Muzan in a torrent of maddened swings.

His mind was brought back to reality when a minuscule sound of blood seething resounded before being thrown away by the wind.

Yet another reminder of the power of the man before him.

He watches as Muzans blood that had already hit the ground ceased to be absorbed.

It just resided there, bubbles occasionally rising and revealing its toxic nature.

The black kimono that was loosely wrapped around Cline hid his tenacious muscles and his powerful build.

Muzan, unperturbed by this shallow silence merely rose his eyebrows.

"You are strong for a human, Hashira. But your arrogance is distasteful. The only man capable of harming me has long passed and his descendants have also fallen. What good will you do by dying a useless and unknown death."

"Join me. You shall gain power far beyond your human constraints and the fear of death will be but a hollow memory."

Cline spoke with shivers in his voice yet his eyes remained determined.

"Fat chance."

A small sigh broke out from Cline. He knew he wouldn't win.

"I think I'll try my chances here, thanks."

Muzan glared at Cline with contempt and hatred.

"That mark has made you naive and a fool."

Clive felt his fingers around the right of his face.

A black mark lay there, it matched his attire and was one of the key reasons for his strength.

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say that right now, he was the corps' strongest fighting force.

Clive bit his tongue as soft as he could. He couldn't listen to Muzans deceit. If he fell for them then the shifting powers of the corps would fall for the worse.

He was already 22. Truth be told, it was apparent that he would die within the coming years due to this mark.

Whilst it had given him incredible strength, it came with its burdens.

He would never live to see the end of the Demons. Merely the end of himself.

But he had accepted that long ago.

"Care to test that?"

Clines voice was now slivery and siphoned.

His grip on his blade had become so intense that his skin was screaming in pain.

His breathing was so perfectly concise that not even Muzans advanced senses could spot an error.

Muzan admired his stance before growing tired of his act. He had suspected that he would be easy to turn, often being underpaid and under-respected within the Hashiras. He was obviously the emotional type.

Muzan grew tired and spoke much more authoritatively.

"Come. I shall let you have your fun."

Muzan opened his arms as wide as he could. The wind blew his hair wildly as his eyes remained the same blood-red.

Cline blinked twice.

What was going on?

His body was open.

He had been given a free hit?

Wait.

Cline's eyes only became more lionized as his thoughts continued to throttle through his mind.

What if it was a trick? A ploy?

He took in as much air as he could.

Until his lungs were at bursting point.

His muscles bulged in the last moment as his mind replayed thousands of cuts,severs and scrapes formed by this technique.

His form slowly straightened itself out instinctively.

.Not a single error was present. Clive had gone into a thoughtless state as his eyes had long overturned white.

𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰:

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓶: 𝓦𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼

A sea of black torrents followed his blade as Cline arrived before Muzan.

The torrents writhed and flailed before they crashed down at a huge pressure.

They threatened to tear through Muzans entire being.

Cline's hands were already purple due to the pressure he had been applying.

Halfway through Clines's assault, his blade became hot. So hot that the blade glowed with a iron-forge red.

He felt his fingers burn yet he kept his hand firmly sealed to his blade despite their pleas for release.

His black torrents bore lines and traces of red and were now immeasurably more powerful.

Cline felt the last shadow shred through something before he had already begun the second part of his blitzkrieg.

Fully empowered by a red-hot blade and a slayer mark, Cline sends another overwhelming attack crashing down

𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰:

𝓢𝓲𝔁𝓽𝓱 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓶: 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽

A frenzied caliginous-black beast formed as Cline sent his blade straight down.

It was covered in red streaks due to his blade's condition and its power was unnatural due to all the amps Cline was containing in his human body. Cline himself had never seen his power this high.

Cline felt it easily dismember and part Muzans right arm from his body.

Cline prepared for another attack when he heard the sound of an uneasy squelch.

Cline looked down and saw Muzans arm inside his chest.

All he could remember was two blood-red eyes looking bored and unappealed. The feelings of a ruler as all his adrenaline took him to the grave without a second thought.

As Cline slowly fell to the floor, Muzan merely looked to the field.

The fight had been too easy.

Clines Kimono now had blood seeping through and his skin had become the pale of the dead.

His blade was still loosly gripped.

Although Cline had some traits of the man he so feared, he was nowhere near strong enough to threaten him.

As he was disdaining Cline, Muzans right arm slowly fell down his side.

Muzan watched in peculiarity as his right arm left a bloody streak on his fashionable robes.

Few had been able to harm him at his peak.

Ah, I see.

Muzan stroked his chin.

A breathing that only lets the enemy know their losses and suffering when it is too late.

Muzan remembered his emotions throughout the fight.

Although he had been briefly shocked at the appearance of a red-blade it was far cooler than the one that had slashed him into a thousand pieces.

It was slower too.

Yet it had something the other didn't possess.

Obscurity.

Muzan left the scene as he saw traces of dawn.

Leaving the hashiras body to lie by the side of the path.

He thought for a second and decided on crushing it firmly.

Mush.

All that was left of cline was a bloody mush.

Would be best if Tamayo didn't try a new contraption. Muzan though to himself as he spread the mushed corpse remains that were once Cline.

The remains flew over the tall-dancing grass before slowly sliding down and landing on the soil.

And there they rot.

"Haa.Haa.Haa.Haa."

A young 13-Year-old boy panted heavily.

He was still lying down and looked up to a wood-tiled ceiling.

His black hair had fallen down due to the grease and sweat in it. He styled it backwards before a sudden impulse caused his heart to start creasing insanely.

He clutched his heart as his sweat ended up drenching his white robes.

"What."

"What is going on."

His name was Cline Tirata.

And a screen possessing an ethereal blue and gleaming white symbols had materialized before him.

{You have unlocked the Shadow Hashira System.}