Kenji narrowed his eyes, heart pounding like a war drum, sweat dripping as the scorching heat approached in a wave of blistering fire—DEMON ARTS: HELLFIRE TSUNAMI—Gyutaro's roar still echoing, his voice thick with disbelief and fury, "Impossible... my flames sliced by a child?!" The searing wall of demonic fire surged forward like a vengeful god, devouring the ground, cracking the earth, scorching the heavens themselves, and in that breathless instant, time seemed to pause; the night around them held its breath, the moonlight dimmed behind blackened smoke, and Kenji made his choice—not to cower, not to leap, and not to call for help, but to face it head-on with the steel resolve of someone who had already chosen death if it meant victory; with a single, fluid motion, his feet dug into the ground, his blade crackled with a brilliant light, the energy of a dozen fallen comrades flowing into the hilt like whispered prayers, and he roared, "FORM TEN: STORMFANG SEVERANCE!", slashing horizontally, unleashing a shockwave of pressure and spiritual force that tore through the flaming tsunami with a thunderous scream, cleaving the inferno in half, fire evaporating into steam around his body, his uniform smoldering but his eyes burning brighter than ever—as the smoke cleared, Kenji's silhouette stood at the center of a scorched battlefield, the flames behind him dancing like shadows fleeing the sun, and Gyutaro staggered back, a look of genuine terror flashing in his bloodshot eyes, because never—never—had a human not only survived Hellfire Tsunami, but utterly destroyed it, and Kenji raised his sword once more, scars glowing like molten veins, murmuring, "I don't need saving, Obanai—I was forged for this," and he lunged, each step shaking the ground, blade arcing like lightning, Gyutaro attempting to counter with a desperate lunge of his own—their weapons clashing in an explosion of sparks and sound—but it was Kenji's spirit that proved sharper, heavier, unbreakable, driving through the demon's defense like sunlight through fog, slicing across Gyutaro's chest, drawing thick black blood and a howl that split the mountains, yet the demon didn't fall, instead spewing more flames, claws growing longer, body twisting with rage, and with a sickening grin he sneered, "Then DIE LIKE ONE," as he unleashed DEMON ARTS: HELLFIRE WIDOWMAKER, a spiral of flames and blades meant to shred everything in its path, and Kenji again stood his ground, bloodied but not broken, channeling his breathing with surgical focus, whispering the name of his fallen master—"This is for you, Master Hiroshi"—and spinning into the flames with a spiraling counterstrike, his body a blur of motion, steel singing against fire, a dance of death wreathed in light and shadow, until the final blow fell, clean and sure, severing Gyutaro's arm, then his leg, and finally his head, the demon's mouth still forming curses as it hit the ground—but even in death, his flames erupted one last time in a suicidal blast, forcing Kenji to shield himself with the last of his strength, body hurled backward, crashing through trees, unconscious before he hit the ground, silence returning like a heavy curtain, and out of the dark woods stepped Obanai Iguro at last, his bandaged face grim, serpent coiled around his neck, gazing down at the battered, smoking battlefield, murmuring, "You really didn't need me, huh?" before turning his gaze toward the rising dawn, where the flames had once been, and where Kenji, bruised and burned, but breathing, had carved his name into the legacy of demon slayers forever.
Kenji Call for my help, Obanai Iguro! He focused his mind, channeling every ounce of desperation, fear, and determination into that single call for aid. "Obanai Iguro, Demon Slayer… HELP!" he shouted with all the force his trembling lungs could muster. In a blur of wind and shadow, I appeared beside him, sword already drawn, my serpentine companion Kaburamaru hissing in anticipation from around my shoulders. The air between us thickened with tension as Gyutaro snarled, emerging from the swirling blood mist with his grotesque grin twisted in sadistic amusement, his voice raspy and cruel: "Two insects still mean nothing." His sickles gleamed with bloodthirsty intent, and his eyes, those sickly green windows of malice, locked onto us with the unshakable confidence of a demon who had never known true fear. But I was not afraid, and neither, I sensed, was Kenji anymore. There was something in his eyes now—a flicker of faith, of renewed strength kindled by my arrival. I adjusted my stance slightly, positioning myself between Gyutaro and the boy, the heel of my foot scraping the dirt as I crouched low, ready to spring. "Kenji," I said without looking back, my voice a low murmur, "don't move unless I tell you to." He nodded, silent, eyes wide, hands clenched tight around his broken sword. Gyutaro lunged, faster than most eyes could follow, his sickles sweeping in a deadly arc, but I was already in motion, twisting away with the precision of a serpent striking through tall grass. My blade met his sickle with a metallic scream, sparks dancing like fireflies in the gloom. His strength was monstrous, but I held firm, pushing back with my full weight and spinning low to slash at his legs. He jumped, flipping in midair, and launched a volley of blood blades toward us. I slashed through three, dodged the fourth, and took the fifth across the shoulder—it burned like acid, but I didn't flinch. Pain was nothing new. Kaburamaru hissed and tightened around me, syncing with my breathing, coiling and uncoiling as my movements blurred into the Serpent Breathing forms I had mastered through blood, sacrifice, and relentless training. "First Form: Winding Serpent Slash!" My body twisted, blade whipping in a spiraling arc that forced Gyutaro back, his grin faltering for just an instant. Kenji took the opportunity to leap behind cover, clutching his arm, whispering encouragement to himself—he wasn't out of the fight yet. I pressed the attack, footfalls light and quick, blade dancing with impossible angles, my vision tunneling into nothing but the target ahead. Gyutaro snarled again, flipping backward to regroup, blood pouring from his mouth as he coughed and muttered, "Annoying little pest…" Then from behind him, a scream split the air—Daki, his sister, emerging with that eerie porcelain beauty and rage in her eyes. Of course. The two shared one body, one life. If one was to fall, the other must too. Kenji stood, staggering but defiant, eyes darting between the two demons. "We have to take them both down at once!" he yelled, recalling what he'd been told in training. I nodded grimly. "I'll handle Gyutaro. You take Daki. Don't hesitate." He swallowed hard and charged, while I dashed forward once more, trading blows with Gyutaro, our weapons clashing in sparks and blood. My world became a blur of red and steel, the rhythm of battle flowing through me like venom through a snake's fang. He was powerful—unbelievably so—but I'd faced worse. I remembered the face of my fallen comrades, of Mitsuri's gentle smile, of the Corps I swore to protect. I would not fall here. Gyutaro roared and summoned a storm of blood blades, but I weaved through them, each movement a death-defying dance. "Fifth Form: Slithering Serpent!" My body spun low, carving a path beneath his guard, slicing deep into his side. He screamed and retaliated, catching me with a grazing cut across my ribs, but I didn't stop. Pain blurred into instinct. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kenji clash with Daki, their movements clumsy but determined—he had heart, and that counted for more than skill alone. The battle raged on, a whirlwind of violence and resolve, until finally, I saw it—an opening. Gyutaro overextended, sickles raised too high, and in that moment I struck with all my strength. "Seventh Form: Coil of the Serpent!" My blade curved, slicing across his neck just as Kenji's own sword struck Daki's. Two cries of agony echoed through the air, two heads flying, two bodies falling. Silence. Then, the final whisper of wind as the demons' bodies crumbled into ash. I collapsed to one knee, blood dripping from a dozen wounds, breathing ragged. Kenji dropped beside me, exhausted but alive. We had done it. Against impossible odds, we had triumphed. The night was still, the stars above witness to our victory. And as dawn began to break, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, I allowed myself a rare smile. Not for the battle won—but for the hope that perhaps, in this cruel world, even the weakest voice calling for help could summon something strong enough to change fate.