Wood Demon - Chapter 16
Chapter 16: The Sound of Unwanted Saviors
The aftermath of Jack’s nightly duels with Rui had transformed sections of Mount Natagumo into scarred battlegrounds. Splintered trees, gouged earth, and the lingering scent of ozone from Rui’s threads and decaying Blisterblooms told a silent tale of escalating demonic conflict. Jack, now a hard-earned Level 37, nursed his wounds and his growing power in the predawn gloom of Woody Jr.’s embrace. Rui, he knew, was becoming increasingly unhinged by his inability to break his ‘Older Brother,’ and by Jack’s inexplicable, unnatural ascension in strength. The fragile, terrifying equilibrium they had reached was about to be shattered by forces neither of them had directly summoned, but which their destructive energies had undeniably attracted.
A few days after Jack had unveiled his `Verdant Doppelgänger` and seen true, unadulterated fear in Rui’s eyes, the first hint of an external shift reached his hyper-aware demonic senses. It wasn’t the familiar, oppressive aura of Rui or the terrified scurrying of the lesser ‘family’ members. As he meditated within his root-cave, absorbing Woody Jr.’s lifeblood, he detected something new, something alien to the mountain’s usual cacophony of dread. Faint, rhythmic sounds, almost lost in the sigh of the wind – disciplined human movement, many sets of feet, far too organized for lost villagers. Then, a brief, almost imperceptible clang, like steel on scabbard, carried on the breeze.
“Okay, Woody Jr.,” Jack murmured, his eyes snapping open, every instinct suddenly on high alert. “That’s… new. That doesn’t sound like Rui throwing another destructive tantrum because I rearranged his favorite web pattern. That sounds suspiciously like… organized. And metallic.”
Over the next few hours, the signs grew more distinct. The unnerving caw of crows, too numerous, too… purposeful, echoing from different points on the lower slopes – Kasugai Crows, if his manga-fueled memory served him right. Then, a faint, almost undetectable scent, not of blood or decay, but something clean, sharp, and vaguely floral. Wisteria? Was it possible? Some Slayers were known to carry incense or charms.
His blood ran cold. The Demon Slayer Corps.
“Well, Jack, you magnificent, egotistical idiot,” he berated himself, a wave of cold dread washing over him. “You wanted to get stronger? You wanted to shake up the psycho-spider-family dynamic? Congratulations, you’ve officially put this entire godforsaken mountain on the Demon Slayer Corps’ ‘Priority: Purge with Extreme Prejudice’ list. Our nightly ‘Rearrange the Forest Using Only Demonic Powers and Sheer Spite’ sessions apparently didn’t go unnoticed by the neighbors. Who could have possibly guessed?”
He didn’t dare leave his sanctuary that day. Instead, he extended his `Root Sense` to its absolute maximum, a network of subtle awareness spreading through the earth around Woody Jr.’s domain. He couldn’t ‘see’ far, but he could feel vibrations, disturbances. And he felt them: dozens of new presences, moving with speed and purpose, spreading out across the mountain’s lower reaches.
As dusk began to claim the sky, the sounds became undeniable. Shouts – sharp, disciplined battle cries, not the guttural roars of demons. The unmistakable, high-pitched shiiing of swords being drawn. The explosive whoosh of what had to be Breathing Techniques. And then, the screams. The high, terrified shrieks of lesser spider demons – Rui’s puppets, perhaps some of the more pathetic, forcibly mutated creatures that skittered in the mountain’s darkest corners – abruptly cut short.
The mountain had erupted into chaos. The hunt had begun.
From the relative safety of a high crevice near Woody Jr.’s grove, concealed by a hastily grown `Camouflage Carapace` of bark and dense moss, Jack watched the distant, flickering lights and listened to the cacophony of battle. He didn’t dare send out a `Verdant Doppelgänger` to scout; the risk of it being instantly detected and leading the Slayers back to him was too great. He relied on his heightened senses and the grim symphony drifting up from below.
He saw them, eventually – small, uniformed figures moving with incredible speed and precision through the web-choked trees, their Nichirin blades flashing like silver lightning. He saw a Slayer, a young woman with a fierce ponytail, leap twenty feet into the air, her blade wreathed in what looked like water, and decapitate three grotesque spider-puppet demons in a single, fluid motion.
“Okay, yep. Definitely Slayers,” Jack breathed, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. “Moving like caffeinated ninjas with really, really sharp swords. And that whole… ‘whoosh, graceful leap, slice, demon bits fly everywhere’ routine? Textbook. My Blood Demon Art: Plant, with its exciting range of ‘aggressive gardening’ and ‘mildly inconvenient thorny obstacles,’ suddenly feels very… quaint. And underpowered.”
He watched as another group of Slayers engaged what looked like the Spider Father. The hulking, spider-faced demon roared, his crude web attacks and brute strength causing initial problems, but the Slayers were coordinated, their movements economical, their teamwork seamless. They darted in and out, their blades finding chinks in his makeshift exoskeleton, slowly, methodically whittling him down. The Father, for all his Level 18 demonic strength, was clumsy, predictable. Against trained Slayers, he was clearly struggling. It was a stark, terrifying reminder of Jack’s own vulnerability. If the Father was having this much trouble, what chance did Jack have against a dedicated team?
Rui, Jack knew, would be incandescent with rage. This was an invasion of his carefully controlled domain, a direct assault on his twisted ‘family.’ He would undoubtedly unleash his full arsenal, starting with his subservient ‘relatives.’ Jack spared a grim thought for the Mother, for Saya. They would be thrown into the meat grinder.
As the night deepened, the sounds of battle grew more intense, spreading further up the mountain. And then, Jack felt it. A new wave of presences, entering the fray from different directions. These weren’t the rank-and-file Slayers. These were… different. Each one radiated an aura of power so immense, so focused and disciplined, that it made the hairs on the back of Jack’s demonic neck stand on end. It wasn’t the oppressive, chaotic malice of a powerful demon like Rui; this was the cold, sharp, unyielding power of a perfectly honed human weapon, a killing intent so pure it felt like staring into a blast furnace.
“Whoa,” Jack whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself. “Okay. That’s… new. That’s not your average sword-for-hire with a grudge. That one… and that one over there… they feel like… like staring directly into the sun, if the sun was made of razor blades and righteous fury. Level ‘I’m going to die very, very quickly and probably quite painfully if that thing even looks in my general direction’.”
His manga-fueled knowledge, a grim and unwelcome companion in this new life, supplied the answer before he even fully formed the question. Hashira. The Pillars of the Demon Slayer Corps. Of course. Why send a platoon when you can send a demigod? The prolonged, destructive nature of his nightly brawls with Rui, the sheer demonic energy they must have been throwing around, had probably lit this mountain up like a Christmas tree on every Slayer C.R.O.W.’s GPS.
“Hashira,” he breathed, a cold dread seeping into his very marrow. “Because this situation wasn’t completely and utterly FUBAR enough. Now we’ve got the actual special forces, the apex predators of demon slaying, showing up to the party. My already slim chances of surviving this night just took a nosedive into the ‘microscopic and rapidly shrinking’ category.”
His mind, the part of him that wasn’t screaming in silent terror, kicked into overdrive, assessing, analyzing, calculating. He was Level 37. Powerful, yes, by the standards of a newly minted ‘Lower Rank Demon.’ His BDA was versatile, his regeneration robust, his energy source unique and inexhaustible as long as he had access to plant life. But against a Hashira? A Hashira was likely equivalent to an Upper Moon in sheer combat prowess, or at the very least, far, far beyond a Lower Moon like Rui. His Wood Clone, his thorny vines, his Blisterbloom minefields – they were children’s toys against that level of power, that degree of skill and experience. Nichirin blades, especially those wielded by Hashira, were forged from sun-drenched ore, designed to inflict wounds that even powerful demons struggled to heal, especially if they struck the neck.
His conflict with Rui, which had consumed his every waking and un-waking moment for weeks, suddenly seemed like a petty squabble. The immediate, overwhelming threat was the Demon Slayer Corps, and more specifically, these terrifying new arrivals. Survival was paramount. Fighting them was not an option; it was suicide.
His primary strategy, his only strategy, had to be evasion and observation. He needed to understand their movements, their numbers, the identities and locations of these powerhouse Hashira. He needed to stay hidden, to become a ghost in his own forest. His `Camouflage Carapace` would be essential. His `Root Sense` could warn him of approaching footsteps, of disturbances in the earth. His `Verdant Doppelgänger`… that was riskier now. A poorly deployed clone could lead them right to him. But perhaps, a very carefully controlled, heavily camouflaged clone could serve as a disposable, long-range scout, sent into areas he wouldn’t dare venture himself.
“Okay, Jack, new game plan,” he muttered, pressing himself deeper into his crevice, trying to make his aura as small, as insignificant as possible. “Time to be the sneakiest, most unassuming, terrifyingly well-hidden plant-demon this mountain has ever had the misfortune of not noticing. Become one with the foliage. Think like a particularly paranoid, deeply unambitious shrub. Low profile. Very, very low profile.”
He began to mentally map the mountain, his knowledge gleaned from weeks of exploration suddenly critical. Where were the densest thickets? The deepest, most inaccessible caves, far from Woody Jr.’s now potentially compromised sanctuary? Where were the paths the Slayers were not taking? The chaos of the ongoing battles might provide cover for movement, but it also meant unpredictable encounters.
And then there was the Rui factor. How would the little psycho react to this overwhelming invasion? Would he focus all his fury on the Slayers, inadvertently creating a shield for Jack? Or would his paranoia and rage drive him to eliminate any perceived internal threats – like a rapidly strengthening ‘Older Brother’ – first? Worse, would he try to force Jack to fight the Slayers, to throw him into the path of those human buzzsaws? The thought sent a shiver down Jack’s spine.
He might even witness, from a very safe, very distant viewpoint, the terrifying efficiency of a Hashira in action. A flash of impossible speed, a blur of a blade, and a section of the forest where several powerful spider-demons had been moments before would just… fall silent. The sheer, overwhelming disparity in power would be a brutal, visceral lesson.
His Level 37, his hard-won abilities, his clever plant tricks – they meant nothing against such power. His best weapon now was his intellect, his ability to analyze, to adapt, and to stay hidden. He was a demon, yes, but he was also Jack, the guy who survived by thinking, by finding the angles. And right now, every angle pointed towards one imperative: disappear.
The sounds of battle were drawing closer, the air alive with the screams of dying demons and the battle cries of the Slayers. The terrifying, focused auras of the Hashira were moving across the mountain like avenging angels. Jack huddled deeper into his hiding place, his mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations, escape routes, and a cold, gnawing fear. The unwanted saviors had arrived, and Mount Natagumo had become a slaughterhouse. His only goal now was to not become just another piece of meat on their blood-soaked altar.