Becoming Enkidu in DxD-Chapter 342: How Pitiful, Big Brother!

Kokushibo was different from the rest—an existence that completely transcended every other Upper Rank.

The swordsmanship he had honed over hundreds of years had piled up into something truly monstrous.

Everything humans could possess—Breathing Techniques, Sword Techniques, the Transparent World, the Mark—he had all of it. Even before becoming a demon, he had already stood among the most exceptional of humanity.

After becoming a demon, he gained demonic power—a body of overwhelming strength, a life that did not fear death.

For humans, forbidden power meant burning away their own lifespan. But for demons, there was no such concern.

He was even among the few who had broken through the so-called rule of "death after decapitation," relying purely on his will to surpass the boundary and step into a new realm.

In the original story, Kokushibo's death even felt somewhat ironic—a kind of "death by the plot itself."

After his head was severed, he broke through his limits. Yet, by sheer coincidence, through the reflection of a blade, he saw his own face—then gave up on regenerating and simply died.

He truly chose death because he found himself too ugly to look at.

Logically speaking, he had lived for hundreds of years. Out of fear of death and jealousy toward his younger brother, Tsugikuni Yoriichi, he had even gone so far as to side with the demons.

Would someone like that really choose to end his life just because he saw his own appearance?

If it had been Akaza, Upper Rank Three, choosing to stop living, that would have been understandable. He was, at his core, a man who suffered—a lost soul whose life had been nothing but pain and disaster.

At the very end, he let go of everything and embraced death. That made sense.

But Kokushibo's ending was truly hard to accept.

"Upper Rank One: Kokushibo—no, you should be called Tsugikuni Michikatsu!"

"Where did you learn that name?"

Hearing the name "Tsugikuni Michikatsu," Kokushibo's previously calm and dignified face twisted instantly. All six of his eyes narrowed sharply.

Because not only in this world—even in the world before—only one person knew his true name: Muzan Kibutsuji.

Beneath the flow of time, everything had been buried, including every record of "Tsugikuni Michikatsu."

After all, he was a traitor to the Demon Slayer Corps—a human who had defected from humanity's side.

All information about him had been erased.

"How pitiful you are, Tsugikuni Michikatsu."

The words were spoken flatly, yet they carried a sorrow and disappointment that were hard to put into words.

In an instant, Kokushibo felt as though he had been dragged back to that night hundreds of years ago—under a blood-red moon hanging in the dark sky.

"How pitiful you are, Big Brother—"

After more than sixty years, now as a demon, Kokushibo once again saw the greatest nightmare of his life.

His own younger brother—the very object of his deepest jealousy—the shadow he had chased for his entire existence.

Not only did his brother possess talent beyond anything a normal human could imagine, he was also unaffected by the side effects of the Mark, living on into extreme old age.

Wasn't the very reason he had become a demon because, otherwise, he would die?

Then why was it that, even though they were both human—even though they were blood brothers—the gap between them was this vast?

A realm he could never touch in his entire life, yet his younger brother reached it with ease. Without hesitation, his brother taught him everything, and yet he himself couldn't bear the weight of it.

It was a painfully ironic sight.

Jealousy, anger, hatred, inferiority—all of it fused together, shaping the Kokushibo of today.

And on that night, his younger brother—who had always been so kind since childhood—drew his sword against him.

In just a single second—even though his brother was already one step from death, like a lantern flickering in the wind, he still couldn't withstand even one slash.

If, at that final moment, his brother hadn't been completely exhausted, then the one who would have died was him.

"Click—"

Yukinoshita Akira slowly drew out his Nichirin Blade and stepped into his strongest state.

Demon Slayer Mark—Open.

Transparent World—Open.

Sun Breathing: Highest State—Active.

Red Blade—Unleashed.

Hair and Mark burning like flames, a Transparent World that seemed to pierce through everything, and the Red Blade as the final peak—Akira activated it all at once.

"Who are you, really?!"

Coming back to himself, Kokushibo stared at Akira. All six of his eyes were filled with rage and killing intent.

But if one looked closely, behind it all lurked fear, vigilance, and a faint trace of regret.

"My name is Yukinoshita Akira. And I am the successor of Tsugikuni Yoriichi."

"Yoriichi's successor? Impossible! He's dead—he's been dead for hundreds of years! How could there still be a successor?!"

Kokushibo glared at Akira with absolute conviction, even though his voice carried a forced edge.

"Believe it or not, it doesn't matter. I am Tsugikuni Yoriichi's successor—that is a fact. And about all of you, I know everything."

"You know? What do you know?!"

"Everything. A big brother who once cherished his little brother—slowly swallowed by jealousy, anger, and hatred because of a talent he could never reach. Until he finally became the Kokushibo you are now."

"Shut up!"

The moment Akira struck his weak point, Kokushibo drew his blade and attacked.

His sword was called the Kokushibo Blade: Kyokokamusari—a weapon forged from his own flesh and blood. The blade, the hilt, even the grip were covered in eyes.

Without a single word, just looking at it was enough to erode a person's sanity.

The two swords collided—"Sun" and "Moon" crashing against each other.

In the next instant, Kyokokamusari released white smoke—clearly, the power of the Red Blade was also highly effective against that weapon.

This sword was no ordinary blade. It could be considered a biological weapon created by Kokushibo himself.

If it was damaged, it would "grow back" instantly. And as Kokushibo released more of his power, the blade would extend and branch out into countless crescent-like edges.

The sword itself was a "living" being, bound to Kokushibo's very existence.

"Moon Breathing: First Form—Dark Moon, Evening Palace!"

An iaijutsu slash so fast the blade nearly vanished, leaving behind a trail of countless crescent-shaped moon blades along its path.

"Sun Breathing—First Form: Dance!"

Flames erupted, instantly crushing the entire attack.

At this moment, Akira had inherited more than ninety percent of Tsugikuni Yoriichi's power—far beyond anything Kokushibo could ever reach.

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