A roar like thunder split the night. A scorching wave of flames exploded forward, melting the darkness as a blazing blade carved through the courtyard.
Dreambane recoiled in panic, nearly stumbling as he leapt back.
When the fire cleared, a towering figure stood planted before Ryo like a flaming fortress.
He had a wild mane of gold and red hair that shimmered like burning embers. His feathered haori, colored white and crimson, whipped in the heat swirling around him. Every inch of his stance radiated unshakable conviction.
Dreambane's confidence shattered. His hands were still tingling from the burn of that strike. That kind of overwhelming aura… that power…
"You… you are a Hashira?!"
The Flame Hashira offered him not a single glance.
He stepped forward, placing a heavy, blazing palm on Ryo Anzai's shoulder.
His voice was a ringing bell of righteous fire.
"I felt the purity of your resolve to exterminate demons! Well done! Such determination is the sharpest blade one can wield!"
The force of both voice and impact almost knocked Ryo over. The oppressive haze from the Blood Demon Art cracked apart instantly. His vision sharpened, his thoughts snapped back into place.
He blinked at the man now standing before him.
That stern, heroic face. The iconic owl-like hairstyle…
He almost called out the wrong name on instinct.
Wait. The age wasn't right.
This wasn't him.
This was his father.
The current Flame Hashira.
Shinjuro Rengoku.
Ryo's lips twitched.
Sure, early-era Shinjuro was amazing. But later? After his wife's passing, he quit life harder than a burned-out esports streamer. The ultimate burnout champion.
But right now? Pfft. Chef's kiss.
Peak Shinjuro was absolutely reliable.
Ryo flashed a smug grin and casually flipped Dreambane the middle finger.
I can't beat you right now? Then enjoy a beating from this guy.
Let's see how long you stay fabulous.
Dreambane shook with rage.
"A Hashira means nothing! You will still die under my Blood Demon Art!"
He shrieked, fingers spiraling into a frantic dance. A twisted chant poured out of his throat.
Hundreds of blood-soaked seashells materialized from thin air, vibrating like a swarm of wasps.
Dreambane flung his arms forward. The air screamed.
Shinjuro's eyes blazed brighter, utterly fearless.
His foot drove into the ground with volcanic force. Flames erupted around him, cracking the earth beneath his sandals.
"Flame Breathing. Third Form. Blazing Universe."
His blade carved a colossal arc of fire.
Flames howled like a divine beast unleashed. A roaring inferno surged forth, devouring the incoming sea of shells. Each demonic fragment was swallowed, purified to ash within seconds.
The night glowed white with heat.
"No! Impossible!"
Dreambane's howl cracked.
His technique — annihilated like a parlor trick.
He panicked. Turned.
He had to flee.
As long as he reached that man, he would survive — he always did!
But he barely moved an inch when fire roared behind him.
"Demon! Do not flee!"
Shinjuro's shout quaked the skies. Flames coiled along his sword.
"Repent in the cleansing blaze of hell!"
Ryo froze.
Wait. What? Excuse you.
I need the kill credit! That's five years of lifespan!
Don't you dare rob me! I am built to leech EXP!
"Flame Breathing. Fifth Form. Flame Tiger!"
With a roar like an erupting volcano, a scorching tiger made of pure flame lunged forward, jaws yawning wide.
Ryo clenched his sword.
"Fine, I'm coming too!"
Lightning crackled around him as he shot forward.
Hold on, you flamboyant clown!
You die on MY scoreboard!
Dying in someone else's cutscene doesn't count!
Dreambane's eyes reflected the blazing tiger, terror swallowing him whole. And beside it… a tiny streak of furious lightning racing to steal the kill.
The explosion of fire lit up half the night sky. Heat blasted outward like a living thing, threatening to consume even the victor.
At the final heartbeat, Ryo burst through the inferno like a madman on his speedrun grind. He swung.
Dreambane's head separated cleanly from his shoulders.
Ryo skidded to a stop beyond the flames, clothes charred black, hair singed to crispy noodles.
He gasped out a shaky breath, trembling with the thrill.
"You're welcome, idiot!"
He spat on the scorched remains, voice cracking with triumphant exhaustion.
I literally sprinted through a flaming tiger just to personally decapitate you.
Someone congratulate me. I am incredible.
I could cry.
The wind stirred ash and smoke, carrying away the fading corpse.
Pieces of Dreambane's forgotten humanity surfaced in his final moments:
"I was raised with wealth and privilege. My parents controlled the greatest pearl trade in the land."
"I saw a beautiful girl one day. I wanted her. I demanded her."
"She rejected me! Said her heart belonged to someone else!"
"That filthy commoner! That disgrace!"
"I killed them all! I claimed her… everything she had!"
"But she stabbed me on our wedding night!"
"As I lay dying… I saw the eyes of a god…"
"He gave me demon blood… gave me new life…"
"From then on, I feasted on women… manipulated desire… turned shells into weapons…"
Ryo spat again.
"A true piece of garbage."
And he worshipped that Upper Rank freak with rainbow eyes? What a pathetic fanboy.
Not even worth recycling.
[Demon Dreambane defeated. Lifespan gained: 5 years.
Current lifespan: 8 years, 360 days.]
Nearly nine years total.
Ryo's grin widened.
So much better than sharing the kill.
Personal execution = maximum profit.
A trembling sob echoed behind them.
The rescued woman finally broke free from the demon's influence, saw the bloodshed and blazing swords… and screamed as she sprinted into the night.
Not even a thank you.
Ryo didn't mind. Demon Slayers weren't in this job for applause.
A booming laugh thundered behind him.
Shinjuro marched over, slamming another enthusiastic hand onto Ryo's shoulder.
"Well done, boy!"
"To resist such a deceitful Blood Demon Art without losing your heart! I admire your burning spirit! As pure and scorching as a blazing ember!"
He leaned in, eyes shining with fierce respect.
"Boy! Would you like to become my successor?"
Ryo's expression deadpanned.
Oh wow. That line.
So it really was genetic. Rengoku family tradition:
See promising youth → attempt to adopt.
Ryo raised both hands in refusal.
"Sorry. No thanks."
Shinjuro blinked, speechless.
Most swordsmen would kneel and cry tears of gratitude for such honor. A Hashira offering mentorship was a dream.
And this brat… rejected him?
Ryo sighed inwardly.
Being a successor would grant privileges, yes. But Ryo's path was lightning. Thunder Breathing and stats required lifespan. He couldn't afford to split focus. One wrong investment and he'd die before seeing endgame.
Zenitsu honed a single form into godhood.
I'll master every form. Then I'll be unstoppable.
"Flame Hashira, sir. I will reach Hashira rank by my own power. Save the successor role for someone who can wield your flame."
Shinjuro's face split into the biggest grin.
"Hahaha! You are truly fascinating! No arrogance. No fear. Far better than my own boy!"
His imagination sprinted off into heroic dad territory.
Ryo's was sprinting in another direction.
Because that intense stare? That blazing enthusiasm?
Ryo felt cold sweat down his spine.
Bro. You have a wife and child.
Do not look at me like I am your new favorite collectible.
And growing up around… certain social experiences… Ryo had learned one truth:
Trust no man who gets that close that quickly.
Especially ones whose pecs could crush granite.
Before Shinjuro could hug the life out of him, Ryo bowed abruptly.
"Flame Hashira! I must attend to personal matters! Goodbye!"
He activated Thunder Breathing and vanished before Shinjuro even exhaled.
Left behind, the Flame Hashira rubbed his head in mild confusion.
"What a shame. I wanted to invite him to my home."