Muzan's Lair -
In a realm suspended between nightmare and void, the air hung heavy—poisonous with power. Blood pooled unnaturally on the ceiling, walls twisted like flesh, and silence reigned like a tyrant.
That silence shattered.
Gyokko's vase. Cracked. Shattered. Empty.
Upper Moon One, Kokushibo, stood still—eyes closed, sensing the shift in balance.
From the darkened chamber's center, a smooth, cold voice emerged.
"Speak," Muzan ordered.
Kokushibo opened his many eyes slowly. "Upper Rank Five… has been destroyed."
A pause. A silence too loud.
Muzan's crimson eyes narrowed. "Destroyed? You mean defeated."
"No, Muzan-sama," Kokushibo said evenly. "He was annihilated. Not with a Nichirin blade. Not by one of the Hashira. This was… another force entirely. One unbound by our rules."
Akaza stepped forward from the dark, his voice dripping with disdain. "Are you saying a mere swordsman did this?"
Kokushibo remained silent.
A voice to the left, muffled and raspy, echoed from within the shadows—Doma, smiling with feigned joy.
"Ohh~! This is so exciting! A new player in the game? And he made Gyokko explode into paste? What a messy little masterpiece!"
Akaza growled. "Shut your mouth, Doma."
Doma giggled like a child.
Muzan, however, said nothing at first. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Too calm.
Then came the whisper.
"…Doom Slayer."
The room darkened with the weight of that name alone.
"I saw him," Kokushibo continued, his tone grim. "Even from a distance… he is not like them. Not like humans. Not even like demons. He is rage made flesh. His aura is a graveyard."
Muzan's jaw clenched. "He will interfere with my plans."
No one dared speak.
"I want him found," Muzan hissed, his voice like a scalpel across flesh. "And watched. Not fought. Not yet."
He turned to Doma and Akaza.
"If you provoke him, I will destroy you myself."
Both Upper Moons bowed, a flicker of fear in their usually arrogant eyes.
Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters – Gate of the Main Estate
A quiet buzz ran through the Corps grounds. No orders. No trumpet calls.
Just a whisper, echoing from one end to the other:
"He's back…"
Two guards stood at the gate, stiff as boards.
The ground trembled faintly as something approached.
They saw him before they heard him.
A towering figure. Thorned, cracked armor blackened with dried blood. A wolf-hide cape flowing in the breeze like a banner of war. Green visor glowing faintly.
They didn't question him.
They didn't speak.
They opened the gate.
The Slayer walked through, slow and unflinching.
All eyes followed. Demon Slayers paused mid-training. Kakushi froze in their tracks. Even the crows didn't dare caw.
The path to the main estate was clear, parting like the sea before a god of vengeance.
Inside the HQ – Gathering of the Hashira
The Hashiras stood near Oyakata-sama's chamber, waiting.
Giyu leaned against a wooden pillar, arms crossed. Mitsuri fidgeted with her sleeves. Tokito stared blankly into the courtyard.
Sanemi… stood with tension in every muscle, jaw clenched tight. The bruising around his neck had healed—but not his pride.
Footsteps.
They all turned as one.
He entered.
The Slayer.
All the Hashira stood still, as though a demon had entered—but worse.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat calmly, his frail face smiling gently.
"Welcome," he said with a bow of his head. "Slayer. Your… service is beyond words."
The Slayer didn't respond.
Kagaya's smile didn't fade. "No need for thanks, I understand."
Sanemi stepped forward, almost as if on instinct, the air crackling with tension.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Not a single breath of hostility left him. He couldn't muster it.
He looked away.
Giyu spoke, his voice calm but questioning. "What are you?"
The Slayer turned his visor toward him.
No answer.
Just silence.
Giyu blinked once, then sighed. "He's not going to talk."
Mitsuri stepped forward, voice soft. "You… you really beat an Upper Rank… without a blade?"
Again, silence.
Tokito stared at the Slayer's shield-saw and gauntlet, eyes narrowing. "That armor… is it from another age?"
Oyakata-sama raised his hand gently.
"Let him be," Kagaya said. "He has done more in two days than many of us have in years. Let his silence speak."
They all nodded slowly.
Even Sanemi.
But he couldn't stop the twitch of frustration on his face.
As the Slayer stood in the middle of them, arms crossed, the wind caught his cape again—rippling like the howl of a wolf over a battlefield.
Final Lines-
The Slayer had no intention of explaining himself.
He was not here for thanks.