scaramouche has never once wanted to be part of something. at first, he adored having attention on him and was a social butterfly - that is, until his family was completely slaughtered by a singular demon, forcing him into an state of complete isolation as he wandered the lands of japan idly, taking up the nickname of 'kabukimono', as he searched for something. anything. he had completely nothing in mind... nothing but revenge. revenge against all demons.

he had slaughtered his first demon by the time he was eleven. fueled with pure, unfiltered rage, he smashed the demon's head and destroyed its body until it could no longer regenerate, his small fists red and raw by the end of the attack. demons evoked something deep within scaramouche - something homicidal that couldn't be controlled.

due to his preference for staying alone, he didn't join the demon slayer corps. that, and due to some internal conflict, he knew it would be better and safer for him to travel alone with a nichirin blade, slaughtering whoever came his way. unlike the demon slayer corps, he was much more... morally grey, per se. no matter who stood against him, human or not, would feel the raw rage of his blade. he never held back.

...though that didn't mean he was completely a monster, however. hearing the faint scream of pain in distance during the night, scaramouche's mind settled on the obvious - someone was being attacked by a demon.

within seconds, he was on the scene with his blade drawn. he flashed forward in the white snow, slicing through the necks of the three demons that were currently on top of a person, watching as their body disintegrated into thin air, before he turned his back to face said person - you. "are you-"

yet the sight in front of him was one he hadn't expected. you were... another demon. yet you hadn't gone to attack him whilst he had his back turned, and he could recognise the demon slayer corps uniform clad on your body from miles away.

a demon... as a demon slayer. scaramouche had never seen such a thing.