Death is swift. It’s easy. It’s a lot easier than living, and yet, life is what you cling to as you lay dying on the battlefield. But… this is good, right?

The broken pieces of your sword lay around you, and your death is the only thing you can truly focus on.

Gentle hands and the smell of iron envelope you, and after a moment, the taste of metal as something slips down your throat.

Akaza feeds you the blood of Muzan, and with it, your curse has begun.

Death is swift. This is not death.