The Slayer walked through the repaired training grounds, his boots pressing into the earth with the weight of a mountain.
Behind him, slayers sharpened blades and trained harder than ever.Ahead of him… sat demons.
Four of them.
Akaza, still shirtless, was resting his head on one hand with a wary glance.Doma, lounging like an aristocrat with peach juice staining his lips.Kokushibo, unmoving and silent, a sword-bearing monolith.And finally—Muzan Kibutsuji, standing with poise, black eyes locked onto the approaching force.
The Slayer's helmet remained under one arm.His face, scarred and emotionless, looked directly at the Demon King.
The wind ceased. Even the insects fell silent.
Muzan's voice broke the silence.
"You walk like a conqueror."
His tone was calm, smooth as silk, yet testing. Measured.
"You may have cowed the demons of Hell. Torn through their ranks. Slaughtered creatures that only knew hunger and pain."
He stepped forward once.
"But do you truly believe you are the judge of all evil?"
The Slayer stopped three steps away.His face betrayed no emotion.
"I've seen gods fall," Muzan said. "And still I stand."
For a moment, no reply came.Then—the Slayer spoke.
"I don't judge evil."
His voice was like grinding stone, heavy and low.
"I erase it."
Muzan's smile twitched.
"Oooh~ so scary," Doma whispered, tilting his head, fanning himself. "You really do have a way with words, don't you?"
Akaza didn't move. His golden eyes locked on the Slayer like a beast staring down a superior predator.
"He didn't flinch when you spoke, Lord Muzan," Akaza muttered. "Not once."
"He doesn't see us as a threat," Kokushibo said flatly, voice deep and echoing.
"You fight monsters. I understand that. But tell me, Doom Slayer…" Muzan asked with a slight smirk, "What am I to you? Another demon? Another creature to be put down?"
A long silence.
The Slayer stared him down.
Then finally—he answered.
"You're a mistake."
Muzan's smirk faded.
"Born of fear. Sustained by blood. Hollow. Pretending to be something more."
"I've met kings who thought they were gods."
"I buried them all."
Doma now sat upright. Even he felt the pressure in the air.
Kokushibo finally moved, one hand sliding to his sword hilt instinctively.Akaza clenched his fists. Not out of rage—but from instinctive tension.
Muzan stared into the Slayer's eyes. What he saw was not pride. Not arrogance.Just… unshakable certainty.
"We share a war now," Muzan finally said. "You've forced us to stand with humans. Fight beside those who once hunted us. I can't decide if you're a savior... or an executioner waiting for the dust to settle."
"I'm not either," the Slayer said, blunt.
"Then what are you?" Muzan asked.
The Slayer looked at all four of them now. No hatred. Just the same steel in his gaze that had never once wavered.
"I am the end of your excuses."
"And when this war is over…"
He leaned closer to Muzan, voice lowering just enough to rumble like a distant quake.
"You'll find out if mercy ever existed in me."
The Slayer stepped back, turned, and began to walk.
The demons behind him didn't follow.
Doma didn't speak. Akaza wiped sweat off his temple—something he didn't even realize he was doing.
Kokushibo said nothing.
Muzan just watched the man leave.
"So… that's what it feels like…" Muzan whispered, eyes narrowing.
"To be prey."