The forest path cracked beneath footsteps — swift, purposeful, but cautious.
A small group of Demon Slayer Corps members arrived, their blades sheathed, eyes narrowing as they surveyed the carnage.
Blood painted the earth in broad, gruesome strokes. Limbs and shattered bones lay strewn like discarded puppets.
The air still hummed with the echo of violence.
Whispers ran between them — "What happened here?"
Their gaze was drawn to the cottage at the clearing's edge, where a massive figure sat like a monument on a fallen log.
The thorned armor glinted darkly under the rising sun, a cape fluttering with a strange, otherworldly weight.
The Shield Saw rested by his side, smeared with fresh gore — a weapon unlike anything they had ever seen.
One of the younger demon slayers swallowed hard, whispering, "Is that… one of us?"
The father stepped forward to meet the group, his expression grave but resolute.
They asked in hushed tones, "What happened here? Who did this?"
The father's voice was steady, recounting the terrifying events:
"A demon attacked my home. This stranger came through the night, a warrior unlike any I've seen."
He gestured toward the Slayer, who said nothing but remained watchful, silent as a storm waiting to break.
"The demons were crushed, torn apart like insects," the father explained. "This man... he fights with a ferocity and power beyond our understanding."
The Corps members exchanged uneasy glances. The Slayer's armor and weapons were alien to them—technology from a time and place far beyond their own.
Yet, they could not deny the truth written in blood and bone around them.
The elder among them nodded slowly, "If this is an ally, we must learn more."
The Slayer's cold gaze flicked to the group briefly before turning back to the forest.