The battlefield cracked under the weight of fury and memory.
Zohakuten roared, his monstrous wooden dragons lashing out in a storm of destruction. But Tanjiro stood rooted — his blade steady, his body bruised, and his soul… blazing.
In a split second… everything froze.
In that silence, Tanjiro's mind plunged into the depths.
A warm light enveloped him.
There, standing before him, was a man — gentle eyes, long hair, and a pair of earrings that mirrored his own.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The ghost of the greatest Demon Slayer reached out and rested a hand on Tanjiro's chest. Not a word was spoken — only memories… of flame, of sorrow, and of infinite resolve.
Then — Sanctity burned.
"Hinokami Kagura: Halo Head Dance."
Tanjiro's sword gleamed, arcs of fire spinning around him like divine halos. Zohakuten's dragons lunged—but were cleaved one after the other. The earth shook with the impact.
Zohakuten faltered.
And in that moment… Muzan's blood within him trembled.
Visions, not his own, assaulted him.
— A field of corpses.
— The face of a demon reduced to fear.
— A man in red, his sword glowing like the sun.
— Yoriichi.
Zohakuten screamed, "STOP! YOU'RE NOT HIM!!"
Tanjiro didn't flinch.
Flames danced at his feet.
Nezuko burned bright beside him.
And Genya gritted his teeth as he reloaded once more, his body shaking from the toll of demonization.
Suddenly — a crash!
Mitsuri Kanroji flew through the smoke, her flexible blade cracking into one of Zohakuten's wooden arms.
"I'm late!" she beamed, "But I brought love!"
Her speed was dazzling, her strength overwhelming.
"Love Breathing, Fifth Form: Swaying Love, Wildclaw!"
The ground split. Zohakuten was forced into retreat — but he was no longer laughing.
Three Demon Slayers now stood against him, their breathing in perfect rhythm.
Elsewhere, deep within the mist...
Muichiro dragged his poisoned limbs, sweat pouring from his temples. His uniform was torn, the green veins of Gyokko's venom pulsing through his skin.
Gyokko laughed, twisted and vile.
"Why don't you lay down and die, Mist Boy?"
Muichiro gripped his blade harder.
"Because…" he whispered, "I remember now."
Memories of his family. Of his brother. Of why he held the sword.
"Mist Breathing, Seventh Form — Obscuring Clouds."
The battlefield dissolved into shifting fog. Gyokko spun, searching, but saw nothing — only the breath of death.
And then—
A single clean cut.
Gyokko's vase shattered. His voice choked.
Muichiro fell to one knee again — but he'd done it.
He had won.
And the mist cleared to reveal a dawn of hope on both fronts.
____