Within the grand shadows of an abandoned Heian manor, seated beneath a withered cherry tree that no longer bloomed, Muzan Kibutsuji sat in silence. His eyes—crimson as freshly drawn blood—stared into the distance, though nothing in particular drew his gaze.
He no longer heard the wind. No longer smelled the spring. Life had become… muted.
"Immortality," he whispered aloud, though none were near. "The only rightful form of existence."
Long ago, he had been weak—frail from the moment of birth. A body that faltered at every breath, skin like wax, and a heart that barely beat. The physicians called it divine punishment. The monks called it karmic decay. His family called it shame.
But Muzan rejected death with every part of his soul.
That day—the day of transformation—when the failed experiments of desperate healers finally gave rise to something forbidden, he knew. He had surpassed the cage of mortality. Though cursed by sunlight, he had become what no one else had: a perfect being, freed from illness, free of limits.
And yet, even now… he felt anger. Disgust.
Because perfection remained incomplete.
The Blue Spider Lily—the final component of the elusive cure that made him what he was—still evaded him. It was the key to complete immunity, to walk beneath the sun again.
He had devoured hundreds, created dozens of demons, commanded monsters to tear through the lands—and still, the flower remained hidden.
"I will create the world I deserve," Muzan said to the air. "And it shall be one where only the strong—only I—may decide who lives or dies."
His voice was calm. But his blood boiled beneath his pale skin.
And so, deep in the folds of time, a tyrant born of desperation began moving once more.
And the age of demons would soon begin.