The air in the Ubuyashiki Ancestral Home seemed to freeze. For a moment, Amane couldn't breathe. The frail, white-haired old man before her was a stranger, yet some deep, instinctual part of her knew him immediately. Tears streamed down her face.
It was Kagaya Ubuyashiki.
He was her husband, the leader of their clan, and the supreme commander of the Demon Slayer Corps. And now, he was likely the last of the Ubuyashiki line.
"Amane… I'm back," he said, his voice a dry, hoarse whisper. The ancient Nichirin sword he had wielded so powerfully just a short time ago now served as a trembling crutch, barely supporting his weight.
"You're back… Thank goodness you're back," Amane sobbed, rushing forward to help him.
As she gently guided him to a seat, the surviving Hashira—Shinobu Kocho, Mitsuri Kanroji, and Gyomei Himejima—appeared behind them. Their faces were etched with a complex mix of relief and profound sorrow. Their mission to the Yoshiwara Red-Light District had been a catastrophic failure. They had not rescued the person they were sent to find, and the cost had been immense. Three of their fellow Hashira were dead, and their beloved leader had sacrificed his own life force just to bring them home. Guilt, anger, and grief churned within them, threatening to overwhelm them.
"We… we made it back," Tanjiro said, looking around the familiar grounds of the estate. The sight should have been comforting, but it felt alien. Escaping that fortress of darkness had seemed impossible, and while they were safe for the moment, the feeling of victory was hollow.
"But at what cost…" Tanjiro murmured to himself, his heart heavy. They had gone into that battle with six of the Nine Pillars. Only three had returned. The others would now live on only in their memories.
Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Pillar. Tengen Uzui, the Sound Pillar. And Kyojuro Rengoku, the Flame Pillar.
Cough! Cough!
A violent fit of coughing wracked Kagaya's body. As Amane held him, his face grew even paler, taking on a deathly gray pallor. The aura of old age and decay intensified around him, as if his life was fading with every passing second.
"No… why is this happening so fast?" Amane whispered in horror. She had personally seen the Priest Lord, Chinami, perform the ritual. She knew the power was supposed to last for at least three days. Chinami's word was absolute. If the power was failing, then the problem wasn't with the ritual—it was with Kagaya himself.
"Master Ubuyashiki…" Gyomei said, his deep voice trembling. He, along with Shinobu and Mitsuri, knelt heavily on the ground before their leader. They knew the truth. Kagaya had burned through his own life essence fighting the top three Upper Ranks of the Twelve Kizuki. If he hadn't, none of them would have escaped. But in doing so, he had exhausted the power that was meant to sustain him.
"Do not grieve for me," Kagaya said. His voice was faint, but it carried the unshakable calm of a leader. "I am the master of my own life. As I told you before, my only regret is not seeking this forbidden power from the Priest Clan sooner."
He took a ragged breath. "If I had, perhaps more of my children would not have…" His voice trailed off, his heart aching for all the Slayers lost under his command. He had always felt that his inability to fight alongside them was his greatest failure. Whether it was fair or not, he carried that burden himself.
"Is that so, Ubuyashiki?"
A voice, cold and utterly devoid of emotion, sliced through the air.
Instantly, the world changed. A chilling wind swept through the estate, and the temperature plummeted. The bright, clear sky was swallowed by churning black clouds as a thunderstorm began to rage. A strange, invisible barrier slammed down around the ancestral home, trapping them.
Then, the space before them seemed to tear open. Layers of reality folded and fused together, and an enormous throne of ice descended from the sky with a deafening roar. Seated casually upon it was a man in a black trench coat, his presence radiating an unimaginable horror that froze them to the core.
Kibutsuji Muzan. Or rather, the one who now called himself Tsukihiko.
The name echoed in everyone's mind as they trembled, not from the cold, but from pure terror.
At the same time, thirteen figures cloaked in black robes emerged from the shadows behind the throne. The Twelve Kizuki—all of the Upper and Lower Ranks—had been brought with him. The sight of such a terrifying force was enough to extinguish any last glimmer of hope. Even Kagaya, who had been ready to fight to his last breath, felt a wave of powerlessness wash over him.
But it didn't end there.
Before anyone could react, six more figures in black robes stepped out from the darkness. As they moved forward, their robes dissolved into dust, revealing who they were. A monstrous, chilling killing intent erupted from their bodies.
They were the six Hashira who had fallen in battle. But they were no longer the heroes of the Demon Slayer Corps. Their eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and their presence was now demonic. They were Tsukihiko's… Six Demon Servants.
"Ubuyashiki," Tsukihiko's voice drifted down from the throne, light and casual. "It seems we finally meet officially."
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