February 10th, 1916
The first thing Zenitsu and Tanjiro were greeted by; were the regular charred black and gray fields and shell craters, old and still being formed by the countless shells being dropped by German and French artillery. The trees were either blown away or dead, as far as the two could tell; as the rest of Verdun looked like Hell itself. The trenches were nothing new, as the boys had grown accustomed to it after the year went by. (Author's note: The Prelude and them getting drafted are 1 year apart, so it's 1916 currently.) Zenitsu looked up, as if trying to find any sort of solace in the sky, but the thing he saw gave him anything but solace. A large blimp, dropping bombs. A German Airship bomber.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!" Zenitsu yells, evidently scared.
"Does it look like I know?!" Tanjiro yells back, currently on a machine gun holding off the Germans pushing with other Frenchmen. Still in astonishment, a shell hits a bit too close to home, and the dirt kicks up in Zenitsu's eyes, causing him to step back uncontrollably, knocking into the trench walls.
"AH SHIT! I GOT DIRT IN MY EYES! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUCK!" Zenitsu screams, only calming down (if you could say that), after a nearby soldier hits him with the butt of his rifle.
"Arrete de crier! Ce n'est qu'un peu de saleté !"
(Stop screaming! It's only a bit of dirt!)
Rubbing away the dirt, Zenitsu takes his Arisaka Type 97 off of his back, and aims. Steady. Steady. Steady.
Hold your breath.
Steel your nerves.
Find the weak point.
Fire.
While the Hun were still loading a shot, Zenitsu fired straight into the artillery barrel, igniting the shell, and taking about 20% of the German trench in the explosion.
"Nice shot, Zen." Tanjiro congratulates his friend as he continues to mow down the German forces. One of them got shot in the foot and fell face first on the barbed wire. Eventually, all that was there was bodies. No more advancements. A stalemate. Now it was their turn to push. Verdun would not fall.
The whistle sounded, and soldiers by the thousands climbed up, and died trying to push the German lines. Nobody could even move past the trenches, so Tanjiro took up his Type 38, and started shooting from the "comfort" of the trenches. Until a sound was heard; like turning on a faucet.
"Oh shit. GAS!!!!" A French infantryman yells as the green fog makes its way to the trenches. Everyone desperately checks their uniform, some even dashing into a nearby foxhole; only to find they have no gas masks. The nauseating green gas spills into the trench as one by one, they all start coughing, most of them coughing up bits of their lungs, burning up from the inside. Bracing himself by the lower rung, Zenitsu goes into a coughing fit; almost collapsing. Tanjiro was no better, stabilizing; or trying to stabilize himself, on a shelf where rations were supposed to be, but the now dead rats in the mud must've eaten them. Death was everywhere, claiming people left and right; always awaiting its next target.
'No.... This can't be it! All of the shit I had to bear just for it to end HERE?! Fuck no!' Zenitsu thought, still getting burned as the mustard gas gnaws away at everyone in the trench. Birds start plummeting downward, the trees and plants that aren't already dead have died. Making his way to the upper rung, a lone French officer stands up, looking pale and ghastly; as if he had came back from the dead. Then a second.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Soon enough, everyone still alive stood up. The Germans won 1871, so either fight; or be annihilated. Zenitsu takes up his Type 97, and with precise aim, shoots another of the Hun; right in the eye, scoring another after the bullet exits, hitting the one behind him right in the thigh. Through the plumes of green, two men make their way through the gas. Two men who should've died. One of them wipes the blood off of his lip with his forearm, while the other takes aim once again. The sound of Gatling Guns, and Germans running filled Verdun as the advancing "undead" ripped through the supposedly invincible Germans.
"C'MON FRITZ! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!" Tanjiro yells through burned lungs.
"COME AT ME!" He yells shooting all of the remaining Hun down. Breathing heavy, collapsing to his knees through the green fog; Tanjiro thinks to himself
'Shit.... Can't even use Water Breathing or anything. This gas ripped through my lungs! Dunno how long I'll last. But I won't go down without a fight!'
Unable to handle any more of the burning, THE CONSTANT, CONSTANT BURNING; Zenitsu falls to his knees also, and completely collapses, much to Tanjiro's shock. Weakly, Zenitsu manages to grab onto Tanjiro's arm, and smile one last time.
"Hey, Tanjiro.... Give 'em hell, alright?" Tanjiro immediately drags him by the wrist.
"Nope! Not a fucking chance you're dying! Nezuko's gonna kill me, and you've gone through worse shit than this!" Tanjiro says, dragging him away from the gas, all towards the ejector-thing that the Hun used to fire the gas, but he was already dead. His once gold eyes dimmed, as his life faded away. Little by little. Time seemed to stop.
"No... nonononono-" Tears once again start falling, mixing with the blood Tanjiro is coughing up. This can't happen, right? In an instant, Tanjiro snaps. Through the excruciating pain, pushing his body to the very limit, like a rushing current, Tanjiro mutilates each and every German in an instant, as if he struck from the shadows, like a demon. A Ghost. A lone Hun soldier, falls backwards, trying to inch away from this creature that killed all of his comrades in a split second.
"Who... What are you?!" He screams, fear evident in his eyes, even through the gas mask.
"Who am I? I'm the one who you see in every dark corner. I'm there when you think you're alone. I've fought alongside Death Himself, yet I am mortal. I am the shadows. I'm your worst nightmare come to light." He says coldy, holding in a cough, before grabbing the soldier, and throwing him like a ragdoll, not enough to kill, but enough to knock him out. The last thing he sees before consciousness slips away is the haunting figure of the creature, a mere silhouette against the backdrop of his fading reality.
As his awareness fades, the soldier's mind races with a mix of fear, confusion, and the lingering words of the demon. Who or what is this figure that seems to defy both the living and the dead? What purpose does he serve in this world of fear and death? No, he is no demon. He is Death. No mere man.