Chapter Text
Get up.
Get up and fight.
You came here to win, so WIN.
Shinobu dug her nails into the floor, raking her palms against the splintering wood. The ache in her chest was throbbing, worse than anything she had ever felt before. Breathing was difficult; blood and hot, thick liquid pouring into her lungs and drowning her slowly. The ache settled deep into her bones, exhaustion washing over her in tidal waves.
‘If only I could rest; close my eyes for a moment…be anywhere but here.’
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
Get up! Get up and do the blow for me, Shinobu.
The voice echoed in her mind, insistent and familiar, reverberating against the shadows that had crept through her vision. Douma stood across from her, a cruel smile twisting his features, the light gleaming off his sharp, silver hair like a halo of malice. He was a demon; relentless and merciless, immortal and out of reach, and she was a mere mortal, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Shinobu dug her nails deeper into the floorboards, feeling the rough texture firm under her blood splattered palms as if urging her to rise. Each pulse of pain reminded her — the lives at risk, the promises she made. Blood bubbled in her throat, a choking pool that clawed at her lungs. Her vision blurred, making Douma appear as a phantom, his mocking laughter ringing in her ears like a sinister melody. Exhaustion pulled at her, pulling her under, whispering sweet nothings of surrender.
But she couldn’t. Not now. Not when her world hung in the balance.
With a fierce growl, she opened her eyes, determination batting away the desire to sleep. The memories of sister, her breath stolen — surged forward, giving her with a sudden rush of assuredness. Her heart raced, a rhythmic drumming against the cage of her chest.
‘This is where I die.’
She pushed herself up, each muscle trembling and her breaths coming in stuttering gasps. “I came here to win,” she hissed, her voice stronger, tinged with the venom that coursed through her veins. “And I will.”
In that moment, the floor beneath her seemed to shove back against her hands, granting her the stability she needed. With a swift motion, she drew her blade, the shimmering steel reflecting her pale, ghostly face back at Shinobu. Douma’s smile faded, replaced by mock surprise, but there was no fear — just arrogance.
“You think you can stand against me? You’re merely a flicker in the darkness.”
“Then let me show you what a flicker can do.”
With a fierce thrust, Shinobu launched herself forward, slicing through the air sharply as she closed the gap between them. In a flurry of movement, she struck at him, each strike imbued with her burning resolve. She fought not just for herself, but for her redemption, for her sister, who had died by his cold and vile hands. As the clang of steel against steel echoed in the dimly lit room, her fatigue faded into the background, insignificant, replaced by the rush of adrenaline. Each parry filled her with renewed purpose, every successful strike leaving her aching bones, tearing lungs and bloodied grimace behind her.
With each exchange, each leap and twist, she felt as if Kanae was right beside her mirroring her movements. Douma faltered for a moment, and Shinobu took that second to sink her metal blade deep within his eye, straight through the Kanji. He jerked, the blade coming free as he twisted, landing on the ground with grace that he never seemed to lose.
“I underestimated you,” he bit out, his eye already healing. His usual demeanour couldn’t mask the slight tinge of pain and surprise in his voice. “But your time is over.”
“Then come and get me.” Shinobu steadied her legs, lifting her blade to eye level. The tip pointing straight to Douma’s heart. “I refuse to die without brining you down with me.”
He smirked. “And so it shall be.”
He launched off the ground, a mere flash of colour. Before she could react, he had grabbed her by the waist, fingers curling around her small frame. He yanked her towards him, Shinobu recoiling from his cold hands. Nausea roiled in her stomach; to be touched by this wicked creature filled her with sickness. Douma wrapped his arms around her in a mockery of an embrace, her bones squeezed and blood dripping onto the floor, pooling at their feet. He leaned in, breath ghosting over her ear.
“At last, you will be reunited with your kin.” He sighed, almost seeming sad. “I had never felt emotions before, but my heart feels like it is beating now.”
With the last of her strength, Shinobu leaned towards Douma’s ear, mirroring his movements.
The last pawn has been moved.
Her plan is in place.
“This is hell. This is the place you're going,” she smiled.
“I’ll meet you in the darkest pit of the abyss.”
As she heard pattering of desperate footsteps coming near, Shinobu allowed herself to take one more look at the demon before her, before finally allowing the waves of darkness carry her away from her burning lungs. Drifting into a peaceful oblivion, she let out soft, shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding.
‘I did it, Kanae. Are you proud of me? I’ll finally see Mother and Father, and we can live together again.’
‘At last, I can rest.’
~+~+Ϯ+~+~
The darkness shattered.
It burns –
Light filtered into Shinobu’s closed eyes.
I can’t breathe –
Her limbs were heavy, weighed down from exhaustion.
I’m drowning –
It was so peaceful, just floating here. Like she could rest forever.
Get up!
As her eyes fluttered open, a cool mist surrounded her, and she realized she was submerged in a pit of thick, glowing green liquid. Panic surged through her as she instinctively struggled to free herself, but the liquid felt both foreign and strangely invigorating. The unnaturally green substance pressed down on her from all sides, slowing her frantic movements to claw her way to the surface. Her lungs burned, from being shredded to tatters or from the lack of oxygen, she didn’t know. Shinobu reached for the dimly glowing spark floating above her, tinted a sickly light from the liquid. With a final push, she surfaced, gasping for breath. She was no longer in room where she had battled Upper Moon Two, but in a dimly lit cavern. The walls were slick with moisture, and an eerie silence filled the atmosphere. The only sound was the faint echo of dripping water. She collapsed onto the floor, the cold seeping into her bones as shuddering gasps of precious, sweet air filled her lungs.
Breathing was surprisingly easy, considering that her chest had been sliced right through by Douma’s metal fans. Placing a hand on her chest, she felt the rising and falling of her heaving chest; the frantic but steady beating of her heart; the coolness of her uniform.
But no dampness of her blood soaking through the shirt.
Frowning in confusion, Shinobu glanced down at her torso. The dim light in the cavern made it hard to make out any details, only the distinct shape of her buttons dimly glowing in the minimal light. Gingerly peeling open her shirt, she prepared herself for a slap of the iron smell of blood, and the gruesome sight of her mangled chest.
“What the –” Underneath her uniform, Shinobu’s chest was unmarred, except for a large, ugly scar that stretched from her left collar bone down to almost her hip. Right where she was bleeding rivers from before. Right where the Upper Moon Two should have left the killing blow. As she pressed her palm against the scar, a sharp pain shot through her, igniting her senses. Her memory flooded back; the sweet release of death, and for one fleeting moment, she had finally slept in the abyss. But now she was here, breathing and alive.
It shouldn’t be possible.
It can’t be possible.
‘I was dead.’ Shinobu clutched at her head. ‘I was killed by a demon, and I died.’
Panic set in. Her breaths quickened, her heart thrashing against her chest, yearning to be free from it’s bony cage. Her vision narrowed, not that she could see much anyway in the shadowed room, and green fingers crept over her eyes.
‘It can’t – I’m alive, but I’m dead – Kanae. Is she here?’
‘Is this the afterlife? No – I’m alive. But Kanae. Kanae.’
‘Did I kill him? Is Kanao safe? I must – no I can’t go back.’
‘Get a grip on yourself, Kocho Shinobu.’
Her thoughts were circling in her brain like a train on broken tracks, half formed sentences and feelings overwhelming her. She must go back – but no, she can’t – but she must – but she dead. But she’s –
Slap.
Her face was stinging from where she struck herself, even though she couldn’t remember raising her hand.
‘I am the Insect Hashira. I am eighteen years old.’
Breathe in, breathe out.
“My name is Kocho Shinobu. I am eighteen years old.” She repeated the truths she knew by heart. “I am the Insect Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps. I am a doctor, and I serve Master Ubuyashiki.”
Her throat closed after uttering the Master’s name. Scenes flashed through her mind. An explosion, the Demon King, falling –
Breathe in, breathe out.
“I have a sister called Kanao. I kill demons.”
Breathe in, breathe out.
“I was dead, but now I am alive.”
She closed her shirt, hands shaky and fumbling, but steadying her erratically beating heart at the calming, familiar action.
“My injuries consist of oxygen deprivation, nausea, and a healed fatal wound that severed the axillary, superior vena cava and the internal thoracic vein.”
‘Pull of your emotions into a ball of yarn; the strings of anger, fear, resentment. Imagine a box. Place ball of emotions into the container.’
“Current location: unknown.”
‘Close the box. Deposit the box. Ignore the box.’
“Course of action: Find an escape and establish status.”
‘Breath in, breathe out.’
Hours or minutes passed in the cavern before Shinobu felt her heart slow to a calm rhythm. Using the rough wall for support, she stood up on shaky legs, inching her way over to the muffled brightness of the pit. Peering into the murkiness, something in her head twinged as she gazed at her smudged reflection. Green crept up in the edge of her vision, but when she blinked, it was gone. Unease inched up to her, her hair at her nape stood on end. Reaching for her katana in hope to find comfort, Shinobu’s hand grasped at nothing. Her heart dropped. Not only was she in an unfamiliar place, but she was also unarmed. She wanted to at least grab a sample of the substance to study, but as she had no way of transporting it, she had to leave it.
And she was basically dripping in it anyway.
Leaving the pit behind, Shinobu carefully felt her way around the cavern’s walls, searching for an exit or a crack that could lead to the outside. It took a while before she found a crevice that was faintly glowing behind the pit. She stuck an arm through the crack and could just feel the gentle breeze on the other side. For once, she felt grateful for her small frame as she wormed her way to the outside of the cave. Falling to her knees, Shinobu curled her fingers in the damp undergrowth as she took a deep breath of air that didn’t smell like mildew and shadows. Her heart felt a little lighter now that she was free from that repressive room. Looking up from her hands, she was met with the site of a clearing surrounded by tall, gnarly, twisting trees.
It felt foreign yet calming, an antidote to the darkness she had just escaped. Despite the comforting environment, caution reminded her not to let down her guard in an unfamiliar place. Rising slowly to her feet, Shinobu dusted off her knees and examined her surroundings. The shadows danced on her skin with icy fingertips, and the patches of sunlight filtering through the trees warmed her cool skin. Making up her mind, she steadied her legs, crouching low for a moment before launching herself high into the air over the canopy. Lightly landing on a branch, she balanced on her toes as she searched for anything to give her direction. All around her, trees bowed and waved in the wind, the breeze whistling through the branches like a lost tune. Far into the distance, a grey smudge rested on the horizon, marring the picture of greenery.
“A settlement, maybe,” Shinobu breathed, a small rush of relief puffing out from her chapped lips. Shading her eyes from the sun, she glanced back to the mass of grey cresting in the distance.
“Due North. Hopefully I can get there before sundown,” she muttered. Gazing around her once more, Shinobu leapt over the treetops towards the city, feet barley ghosting over the branches before she was moving again. Leaping through the forest was invigorating, stretching out her cramped muscles and giving her a rush of adrenaline.
‘I’ll find a way home.’
~+~+Ϯ+~+~
The city was alive with sounds—the distant wail of sirens, the rustle of wings as a bat flew overhead, and the low growl of engines from the Gotham underbelly. Shinobu's keen senses immediately picked up on the unique scent of the city—smoky, with an undercurrent of despair. It reminded her of the demons she fought, though these streets were haunted by a different kind of darkness. Instinctively, her hand reached for her hilt of her blade but remembered bitterly that it was gone. Her throat closed.
Only a few people were out at this hour; forms cloaked in shadows and shifty eyes peered out at her. Approaching someone for information would be risky, but one she was willing to take. Turning a corner, she was met with an onslaught bright flashing lights. Shielding her eyes from the assault of colour, Shinobu saw a small shop with a sign that was somehow emitting the lights that were now attacking her eyeballs.
“Fascinating,” she breathed. Leaning closer, she studied the sign for a minute before her eyes were beginning to water. She longed to take it into her hands and study the strange contraption; to take it apart and scrutinize it’s guts and insides, but that would be stealing and destruction of property.
She didn’t need to be arrested in her first night.
Blinking, she stepped into the store, a faint jingle playing as she opened the glass door. Lining bare shelves were an assortment of things; a box of matches, a tin of food, a book and a shapeless lump that might be a pair of shoes. In the dim lighting it was hard to make out the faded labels on the shelves and on the items, but Shinobu’s sharp eyes could see the lump of a human on the counter. Carefully toeing towards them, she studied the sleeping cashier for a few moments, taking in the tattoos of thorns lining their arms and a scraggly beard that ruffled in with their heavy breath. Taking a deep breath, Shinobu carefully schooled her features into a small, relaxed smile, like she was amused at the notion that the cashier manning the store she has ventured into at midnight was sleeping.
‘Act natural.’
“Sumimasen,” she chirped, startling the man awake with a snort. “Toshokan wa doko ni arimasu ka?”
The man rubbed his eyes for a moment.
“Ha?” he asked gruffly. “Wha’ are yer sayin’? I don’ speak gibberish.”
‘Ah’, she thought. ‘English? Strange. There aren’t many foreigners in Japan.’
“I was just speaki– asking…where the r…l-library is,” Shinobu repeated in broken and heavily accented English. She thank whatever gods where out there that her fourteen year old self decided that they were a genius and tried to learn English so they could flaunt it to the other trainees. Though it had been so long ago now, and she only bothered to learn phrases that her younger self thought were cool, (pleasantries, simple phrases and questions, and a few swear words – she was wild when she was younger). The man blinked for a few seconds before his expression darkened with suspicion. Unease tickled at her stomach. Why was her speaking in Japanese so strange? She had a sneaking theory that was beginning to solidify with each passing minute in this city. She really hoped that it wasn’t true.
“And wha’ is a pretty girl like you doin’ out at this hour?”
Stilling smiling, Shinobu had to rack her mind for the right words.
God, why was English so hard?
“Uh – seeing… place.”
“Sight-seein’?” The cashier scrunched his nose. He held her gaze for a moment before muttering under his breath that he wasn’t paid enough for this. He pulled out a creased and coffee-stained map from under the counter, uncapping a pen with his teeth and scribbling a messy line.
“’ere.” He passed the rumpled paper to her. “Head over there; might be closed though.”
Glancing down at the offered paper, she saw that the library was only a few blocks away. Perfect.
“How do you spell city?” she asked. It was worth fishing for information here with the opportunity. He frowned and wrote in wobbly letters: C – I – T – Y.
Shinobu felt her frustration rising. She had the sudden urge to grab the pen out of the cashier’s hand and stab it through his eye.
Huh. That came out of nowhere.
She had never gotten angry this easily. Was it the stress of being in an unfamiliar place? Or maybe coming back after dying shifted her personality.
“I mean…,” she floundered for a moment. “Here.”
Tattoo, as Shinobu dubbed him, grunted, neither angry nor surprised, more of a resigned tour guide sort. She got used to reading grunts from Sanemei and Giyuu. Slowly and deliberately, as if showing a child, he wrote out the words: G – O – T – H – A – M.
Now her theory seemed to be plausible.
That wasn’t a Japanese name.
~+~+Ϯ+~+~
Shinobu stood shivering on the large stone steps outside of ‘Gotham Library’.
It took her a while to get here after saying a goodbye to Tattoo, who looked rather miffed and puffed up like a parrot when she bowed in farewell. From what she remembered, English speakers didn’t bow farewell, so it must have made him feel important.
Maybe he had validation issues.
Also, by the time she got here, all the green goop that hadn’t dried or fallen off had soaked through her haori and uniform, coating her skin in stickiness and chilling her. Trying the door, she wasn’t surprised that it was locked – it was closed after all – and circled around the building to find an entrance. She could have waited for opening hours, but that meant people, and people means suspicion. She needs to lay as low as possible until she gets back to the Corps.
That and she really wanted to debunk her theory.
Finally spotting a widow that was open a crack, Shinobu crouched once again and leapt high into the air, far higher than any normal human could. Balancing on her toes, she reached into the window and felt around for the latch, flicking it open and sliding the window open just enough to slip her body through before it slammed back down.
Wincing at the loud sound, Shinobu paused for a minute and listened for a disturbance.
She wasn’t paranoid. She was just… careful.
Still, muffling her footsteps as a precaution, she slunk her way down the flight of stairs to the foyer of the library. Considering the state of the rest of Gotham, she would say that this library was well kept. The carpet was threadbare, worn from years of feet, but still clean. The books were neatly stacked into piles or lined up on shelves. There was barley any dust, and watered plants certainly looked healthy.
Ignoring the reception desk, Shinobu shuffled her way over to the shelves, exhaustion from the day catching up to her suddenly. Who knew that dying and coming back to life and walking all day could make you this tired?
Her fingers drifted across rows of books; their titles etched in looping characters she couldn't begin to decipher. Some spines were cracked and faded; others pristine—but all equally alien. The silence was thick here, like the air itself held its breath. No chatter, no footsteps, just the quiet hum of the night and the muffled sounds of the city.
For the first time since her arrival, the ache of isolation bloomed fully in her chest.
Why had she thought this place would have answers?
Even if it did, they were buried in languages she couldn’t read, customs she didn’t understand, and rules she hadn’t learned. The library stretched on around her—grand, endless, and utterly empty. It felt less like a sanctuary of knowledge and more like a gilded cage.
To keep her hands busy, Shinobu picked up a paper from a neat pile on a desk. Thumbing through the pages, she scanned unfamiliar titles in a foreign tongue. Most of it was unreadable to her. The characters were strange—Roman letters, she’d once been told by a traveling merchant—but something she had studied a little in the Demon Slayer Corps. Pictures of people she didn’t know were dotted throughout the newspaper in all ranges of poeses, smiling, angry, shielding their faces. Sighing, she closed the paper, glancing at the headline.
‘May 9th…2006?’
Her throat closed.
May 9th, 2006.
Her lips parted slightly.
2006.
She read it again. And again.
This wasn't just another city—it was another time. Nearly a hundred years into the future. She read slowly, piecing words together with quiet precision. Mentions of "crime waves," a “Mayor Hill,” and a dark figure only referred to as “The Batman.”
She tilted her head.
“Bat… man?”
A demon? A beast? Or another kind of warrior?
She exhaled shakily. Maybe she didn’t need answers right now. She just needed a place to sit and not fall apart.
Spotting a small alcove between two towering bookcases, she slipped into it and sank onto a worn velvet bench. The cushion sighed under her weight, dust rising faintly in the dim light.
For a while, she just sat there, letting the silence wash over her.
She was in the future.
Before she ended up here, the year was 1924.
Could she go back?
Was there even anything to go back to?
‘I better leave,’ Shinobu thought, brushing down her haori to distract herself from her shaking hands. Slipping back out through the same window she had entered through, she dropped lightly to the alley below, the soles of her sandals whispering against the cracked pavement. Gotham’s night air was thick—heavy with smog, rot, and something new: fear. She pulled her haori tighter around her. The quiet here was deceptive, unnatural. No crickets. No cicadas. Just the buzz of flickering neon signs and the low rumble of distant sirens.
She moved quickly, darting between shadows, keeping to the narrow spaces between buildings. Her body knew how to vanish. And in this city, that skill was more valuable than ever. After nearly an hour of searching, she found it: a crumbling apartment building, boarded up and half-forgotten. Most of its windows were shattered, ivy crawling up the brick like veins. No lights. No sounds. No fresh scent of blood or danger.
Perfect.
Slipping inside through a collapsed doorway, Shinobu stepped carefully through debris and dust. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. Someone had been here recently—graffiti covered the walls, and an empty bottle rolled near her foot—but it was quiet now.
Still.
She climbed to the second floor, stepping over broken furniture and discarded belongings, until she found a corner room with a cracked window and an intact ceiling. There was a broken gas stove, some dials missing, and a rotting wooden table. Peeling wallpaper curled away from the dusty walls, discoloured stains from where pictures hung long ago. Moonlight spilled through, illuminating the worn floorboards.
Lowering herself slowly, she sat cross-legged and unrolled the newspaper again.
Gotham Gazette. 2006.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the page.
“If I can't go home,” she whispered, “what am I supposed to do?”