Somewhere far removed from mortal comprehension, space warped, ceilings flowed like liquid, and walls spiraled infinitely — this was the Infinity Castle, the twisted throne room of Muzan Kibutsuji.
With a thunderous pulse, the Upper Moons were summoned.
First to arrive:
Kokushibo, the stoic and unreadable Upper Moon One.
Then Douma, smiling eerily as always, waving to Akaza mockingly.
Akaza stood still, his aura already simmering.
Following them, the hulking form of Upper Moon Four and the crooked laughter of Five.
All stood in silent reverence—or dread—as the air turned cold.
From above, a mass of black ooze coalesced… and Muzan emerged.
"Gyutaro and Daki are dead."
His voice was deathly calm.
None dared speak.
"Kamado Tanjiro… the boy with the Hanafuda earrings. Yorichii's shadow."
His crimson eyes glowed as he gazed into each demon's soul.
"Only two beings in this world ever held the right to challenge me. One was Yorichii Tsugikuni..."
The mere mention of the name made Kokushibo flinch, even if ever so subtly.
"And the other," Muzan continued, "is the one they call Sahiru… from the shadows of Tokyo Corps."
A pause.
"Tanjiro must not become a third."
Suddenly, Douma chuckled, lazily fanning himself.
"Perhaps if Akaza had finished the job instead of exchanging fists like lovers, things would've gone smoother."
The moment shattered.
Akaza's fists clenched, muscles taut.
"You speak too much, Douma."
They stepped forward, the space around them trembling.
Douma, eyes glittering with madness, merely smiled.
"Then hit me again, coward. Like last time—"
CLANG.
A thunderous pulse echoed as Kokushibo moved with a blur. His blade was drawn but had not yet struck.
"Enough," he commanded, voice deep and commanding.
His six eyes bore into them.
"Muzan-sama does not tolerate failure… but neither does he tolerate squabbling."
Muzan's gaze narrowed.
"You will all remember your place."
The demons fell silent once more, tension thick as death itself.
Elsewhere…
A warm morning breeze carried distant scents of blooming sakura.
Tanjiro sat on a hilltop, gazing out toward the horizon. Nezuko quietly slept beside him.
His thoughts wandered.
That night… in the district… just before the true battle began.
A man in a cloak and mask. No aura. No sound. Only words.
"You are interesting, Tanjiro Kamado."
Tanjiro's hand gripped the hilt of his sword.
"Who was he…?"
The question haunted him.
And yet, he somehow felt…
That he would meet that person again.
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