RWBY: Moon Reflection Chapter 113: The Demon Tale

Crimson's voice was calm and steady as he began, his gaze fixed on Salem. The stillness in the chamber amplified his words, pulling Salem into the tale he wove.

"In a world far from Remnant," Crimson began, "there was a man who wished to be a great swordsman, the strongest of all. He trained relentlessly, dedicating every waking mont to honing his craft. His life revolved around one goal: to surpass all others and achieve greatness."

Salem's eyes narrowed slightly, her attention focused on every word.

"The man had a twin brother," Crimson continued, his tone growing somber. "Unlike the man, the brother despised violence. He loved peace and sought a life free of conflict. Yet, despite his gentle nature, he bore a jagged mark of fla on his face. People whispered that it was a curse—a sign of a painful end."

Salem's gaze flicked briefly to Crimson's marked face before returning to his eyes. She remained silent, letting him continue.

"That world," Crimson said, "was plagued by monsters. They were demons—creatures of nightmare that fed on human flesh. They were far stronger than humans, and only a few could stand against them. The fight against these demons required extraordinary strength and skill."

His voice took on a wistful tone as he spoke of the brother. "The pacifist brother, who had never trained, once took up a sword. When he did, he beca a force of nature. Demons fell before him like insects. His strength was unmatched, his skill unparalleled. The man, who had devoted his entire life to the sword, burned with jealousy. His brother had everything the man had ever wished for—effortlessly."

Salem's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of sothing in her eyes—recognition, perhaps.

"One day," Crimson continued, "the brother shared his secret. He revealed that he had been using a breathing technique called Sun Breathing. It was a technique so powerful, so refined, that none could match it. Everyone, including the man, tried to emulate it, hoping to achieve the sa greatness. But the technique was too advanced, too demanding. No one could master it."

Crimson's voice grew heavier. "So, the man and others began developing their own techniques. The man created a breathing technique of his own. It was not as powerful as Sun Breathing, but it was second only to it. He called it Moon Breathing."

At this, Salem's eyes sharpened, the connection dawning on her. She had known that Crimson's strength ca from a unique technique he used, and she knew the na 'Moon Breathing'.

"Over ti," Crimson continued, "as people beca more skilled in their techniques, marks began to appear on their faces. With these marks ca unimaginable strength. Demons began to cower at the nas of those who bore them. The man had jagged fla marks similar to his brother and believed that, at last, he could surpass his brother."

She didn't interrupt, though her eyes lingered on the jagged mark across his face.

Crimson paused, his gaze distant. "But then one of them died at the age of twenty-five. Soon, another followed. One by one, those who awakened the mark began to die. It beca clear that the mark was a double-edged sword. It granted incredible power, but it also guaranteed an early death."

Salem's expression remained calm as she listened with interest. The tale was new and unique even for soone as old as her.

"The man didn't fear death," Crimson said, "but he feared dying without becoming the strongest. He couldn't bear the thought of never surpassing his brother. One day, he encountered the Demon King—the greatest source of evil in that world. They fought a little, but then the Demon King made him an offer."

Crimson's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Demon King promised to make him a demon, granting him immortality. He would live beyond the age of twenty-five, free from the curse of the mark."

Salem's eyes narrowed. "And the price?" she asked softly.

"In return, the man would lose his humanity and beco the Demon King's business partner, aiding him in his war against the demon slayers and achieving his goals." Crimson said. "The man would forget who he was. His mories would burn away, leaving only his obsession. The man accepted. He cast aside his humanity, abandoned his family, his wife, his child. He burned his mories and his past. That day, the first Upper Moon Demon was born."

Crimson's voice grew colder. "The demon was nad Kukushibo—the Black Death Eyes. A six-eyed monster wielding the second strongest breathing technique. Kukushibo was deadlier and more dangerous even than the Demon King."

Salem's expression tightened. She could sense the weight of the story now, the gravity of what man had beco.

"For decades," Crimson said, "Kukushibo road the world, killing all who stood in his way. Even the strongest demon slayers fell before him. The humans removed his na and technique from their history in fear and hate of what he has beco."

Salem's face betrayed a flicker of surprise. To remove the na and act as if it was never there painted a clear picture of the sheer fear and hate he inspired.

Crimson continued. "One day," he said, "Kukushibo encountered his brother again. The brother was now an elderly, fragile man. Kukushibo felt both contempt and pity. He had remained strong, while his brother had grown weak with age. On the other hand, the brother cried seeing Kukushibo, feeling sorry for what he beca. Then the brother's deanor changed."

Crimson's voice trembled slightly. "Bursting with power, the brother attacked. He was too fast, too strong. He cut Kukushibo instantly, and for a mont, Kukushibo felt death approaching. But it didn't co. His brother had died in that mont of old age. If he had one breath left, Kukushibo would have perished…. No, If his brother hadn't shown rcy, Kukushibo would have been dead. To the very end, his brother continued to transcends the laws of nature"

Salem's expression was unreadable, but her silence spoke volus.

"In that mont," Crimson said, "Kukushibo knew he had lost to his brother forever. No matter what he beca, he would always be the inferior one. And with the rcy his brother had shown him, he knew he would never die with honor. On that day, Kukushibo made a decision: if he couldn't die with honor, he would never die."

Crimson's voice grew colder. "For centuries, Kukushibo road the land, killing like no other demon. He slaughtered tens of thousands, devoured all n, won, and children. He devoured their flesh and blood, young and old alike. He beca a nightmare, a manifestation of fear itself. His re presence made the bravest warriors tremble, not understanding why. Demons avoided him. Even the Demon King felt unease and fear in his presence"

The scale of Kukushibo's atrocities seed staggering, even to her. Salem's face hardened. "Were you defeated?" she asked.

Crimson slowly. "One day, Kukushibo faced four extraordinary demon slayers. Each of them was unique, their skills unparalleled, they were the best among humans in centuries. They fought together, seamlessly. Two of them died, but the last two managed to behead Kukushibo."

Salem's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you lost in the end?"

"Beheading wasn't enough," Crimson said. "Kukushibo regenerated and he evolved further as a demon. His strength grew to a new level, but he beca a monster so hideous that even the worst Grimm would pale in comparison."

Salem's lips pressed into a thin line. She couldn't imagine such a creature, and she didn't want to.

"Kukushibo was about to kill the last two slayers," Crimson said, "when he saw his reflection in their blade. He froze. For the first ti in centuries, he saw it….I saw what I had beco. I asked myself if that was , I asked myself what have I done. I felt nothing but regret. And in that mont, I began to die of my own accord."

Crimson's voice softened. "I recalled my brother. I rembered the love and hatred I had felt for him. And I still rember my last thoughts: I could never grab hold of anything. Anything at all. I abandoned my ho. I abandoned my wife and children. I abandoned my humanity. I cut down my descendants and abandoned being a swordsman. But even all that wasn't enough. Why could I not see the sa world that you did, my brother? Why could I not leave anything behind? Why in the world was I ever born?"

The room fell silent. Salem stared at Crimson, her expression unreadable. Despite the absurdity of the tale, she found herself believing every word.

Crimson's voice softened as he continued his tale. "One day, I opened my eyes, and I was an infant again," he began, his tone devoid of emotion. "I had a new family, and I didn't know why. After everything I had done and lived through, I was tired. Tired of living, tired of existing. I didn't want to live another life. I wanted to die."

Salem's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressing together in an almost imperceptible frown. For the first ti, she felt a flicker of understanding for the man before her. His words carried a weight she couldn't ignore.

"I grew," Crimson continued, "and as soon as I was old enough, strong enough, to end myself, I found I couldn't do it. I thought of my brother, the pain I put him through. I thought of this new family I was born into—a family that had done nothing to deserve the misery my death might bring them. The guilt weighed on . It was unbearable to think of repeating my past. So, I made a decision."

He paused, his marked face cast in shadows, and Salem could almost see his thoughts. "I decided that I'd play the part of the good child. I told myself, 'Just a few decades more. What's a few more decades in the grand sche of things?'" His lips twisted in a bitter smile. "But my actions weren't driven by love or care. They were driven by guilt. I didn't truly care about that family. I smiled and acted nicely to them, it was all playing pretend, none of it was sincere"

Salem tilted her head, her expression unreadable, but her silence spoke volus. She wanted to hear more.

"When my mother died," Crimson continued, his voice dropping, "I felt pity for her death, but not true sadness. I thought if I just took care of everything she did that would be enough and that would be my purpose in this life. A way to repay so of the harm I caused in the last one and a tribute for the brother I lost, I lived for his mory"

He shifted, his gaze distant. "But then sothing unexpected happened. I don't know when it started—maybe it was slow, gradual—but my family grew on . My sisters... they began to matter. I didn't even realize it. Not until the god of harmony stepped in."

Salem's eyes narrowed, the ntion of a god drawing her attention sharply. Crimson's voice grew thoughtful as he continued. "The god of harmony made understand. He helped see that I wasn't the sa person from before, that I was not living for myself. I wasn't acting out of guilt or hate anymore. He helped let go of my guilt and my sorrow. He showed how much I had co to care about them."

Crimson's marked face caught the dim light, his marks etched with stories of a life that defied the natural order. "When I was free of my guilt, I thought of dying again. I thought, 'This life still ans nothing to . Why not rest now?' But I stayed. I stayed for them. Like before, few more decades didn't matter to "

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders lifting before he turned his gaze to Salem. "It wasn't until after the war with you that I realized sothing else. I began to care about this life. It surprised . It confused . But it also gave clarity."

Salem's cold deanor wavered as his words struck a chord deep within her. She tried to harden herself, but the vulnerability in Crimson's voice made it impossible.

"And that," Crimson said, locking eyes with her, "is why I pity you."

Salem flinched at the unexpected words. "Pity ?" she asked, her voice low, almost dangerous.

Crimson nodded. "If I had gone through what you did, I would have beco a much greater monster than you, even greater than Kokushibo. But I was lucky. You weren't."

His voice is steady but heavy with aning. "I had a family who cared for , while yours imprisoned you. After everything, my brother didn't abandon , but Ozpin abandoned you. When I was a demon, there were others like . I was not completely alone. But you? You were all alone."

Salem's jaw tightened, but she didn't interrupt.

"When I gave up and wanted to die," Crimson continued, "I did. I had that release. But you? You've had to continue suffering for centuries."

He continued, his tone softening. "A god reached out to , offered salvation. But you—your fate was nothing but cruelty at the two brothers' hands. So yes, I understand you more than anyone else in this world. And that is why I pity you, Salem. I am truly sorry that all I could do was imprison you here, chaining you to your suffering."

The room fell silent. Salem's eyes shimred with sothing unspoken, her lips parting as though she wanted to say sothing but couldn't find the words. Crimson's honesty, his sorrow, and his acknowledgnt of her pain struck her harder than any weapon ever could.

For the first ti in centuries, Salem's composure cracked. A single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. She quickly wiped them away, but they kept coming.

"I... I'd like to be alone," she finally managed, her voice trembling.

Crimson nodded, his expression gentle but resolute. He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. But before he reached the door, her voice stopped him.

"Crimson," she said softly. He turned back, his eyes eting hers.

"It would be nice," she said hesitantly, "If you could visit from ti to ti."

Crimson's lips curved into a faint smile, one that held no malice, only understanding. "I promise," he said, his voice firm.

And with that, he left her to her solitude, the door closing softly behind him. Salem sat there, alone with her thoughts, her tears slowing as she pondered the strange, sorrowful man who had shared his story. For the first ti in what felt like an eternity, she felt sothing unfamiliar—she felt a connection to soone.