The pale-blue moon patterns along Mushiki's blade flared violently as he raised his arm.
"Moon Breathing, Fifth Form: Moon Spirit Calamitous Eddy!"
Crescent-shaped slashes burst from the sword like a storm of blades, sweeping across the battlefield. The whistling sound of air being torn apart pierced the ears; the ground split open in deep gouges, stones shattered and flew, even the broken walls in the distance were sliced clean through.
Tanjiro gripped his nearly shattered Nichirin Sword, barely dodging thanks to the speed granted by his Demon Slayer Mark. But the barrage was relentless—each time he evaded one strike, another grazed his ribs, spilling fresh blood across his uniform.
"Giyu-san! Wake up!" he screamed hoarsely while dodging, voice raw and desperate. "Don't you remember the days we trained together? You said you'd protect everyone!"
Mushiki's movements didn't falter. The dark blue slit pupils in his eyes held only cold, murderous intent.
He swung his sword again. "Moon Breathing, Eighth Form: Moon-Dragon Ringtail!"
Crescent sword slashes spiraled toward Tanjiro like chains, sealing every escape route.
Tanjiro's pupils constricted—he had no choice but to block head-on.
Clang!
His Nichirin Sword finally shattered. The force of the impact launched him backward, sending him crashing into a wall over ten meters away. The breath was knocked from his lungs as blood spilled from his mouth, his vision flickering in and out of focus.
On the other side, Tō's condition was far worse.
He had taken a direct hit from Mushiki's earlier attack—"Moon Breathing, Seventh Form: Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit."
Pale-blue sword energy had torn deep gashes into his body, cutting down to the bone. His uniform was soaked with blood; his hands trembled violently as he tried to keep hold of his sword.
Yet even so, he didn't fall.
Dragging his battered body forward, he roared, "Storm Breathing, Fourth Form: Wave-Splitting Sky Slash!"
His movements were distorted, his technique sloppy, but his spirit burned unbroken as the wind blades surged toward Mushiki's chest.
Mushiki sidestepped easily, his gaze lingering briefly on Tō's ruined body—lacerations everywhere, blood still seeping from countless wounds as if he'd been shredded alive.
And yet, those eyes… they still burned with defiance.
'Why… even at death's edge, he keeps fighting?'
A strange tightness gripped Mushiki's chest, a flicker of discomfort that made his expression crease slightly.
"Pathetic. You're already dying, and still you struggle."
His brow furrowed, but his hand did not hesitate.
"Moon Breathing, Fourth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon – Incessant!"
The shadow of the moon fell across the ground as his blade came down in a deadly arc, aimed to cut Tō clean in half.
At that instant, a flash of misty blue light sliced between them—so fast it was almost invisible.
"Mist Breathing, Fourth Form: Shifting Flow Slash!"
Tokito Muichiro's voice cut through the chaos as he grabbed the back of Tō's collar, yanking him backward with all his strength.
The blade missed—barely.
But blood splattered across the ground. A single severed arm fell, hitting the earth with a dull thud—Tō's left arm had been sliced clean off.
"Ugh—!"
Tō coughed blood, yet his gaze never left Mushiki. His lips moved faintly, but no sound came out.
Muichiro pulled him behind, his own Nichirin Sword wrapped in faint blue mist. His eyes were cold and steady as he faced Mushiki. "Upper Moon Two. You've hurt my comrade."
A moment later, a soft pink figure dashed in—Kocho Kanae.
Her face went pale the instant she saw Tō's condition. She knelt beside him quickly, her hands trembling as she checked his wounds. "Tō! Stay with me!"
The injuries were horrifying. Blood gushed freely from the severed shoulder, his breathing shallow and uneven.
Kanae didn't hesitate. She snatched a pale green vial from her pouch and plunged the syringe directly into his heart. "It's a hemostatic and stimulant serum—it'll stabilize you for a while!"
Without pause, she pulled out rolls of bandages and wrapped him tightly, layer after layer, until his body looked mummified. It was the only way to stop the bleeding.
"Tō…-san…"
Even in this state, his consciousness clung on. His voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. "P-please… save… Sensei…"
Kanae's hands froze for a second, her eyes glistening. She nodded firmly. "I promise. We'll bring Giyu-san back—no matter what."
Beside her, Muichiro spoke, his tone composed but grim. "The Kakushi have already alerted the others. The Wind, Stone, and Love Hashira are on their way, but they're far—at least half an hour out. For now, it's just us."
Mushiki's eyes narrowed as he studied Muichiro. A flicker of recognition crossed his gaze. "That blood of yours… it feels like Kokushibo-sama's. Are you his descendant?"
He could sense it clearly—the same sharp, refined aura, though younger, purer, untainted by hatred.
Muichiro didn't respond. He simply tightened his grip on his Nichirin Sword, mist swirling at his feet like breath drawn before a storm.
Muichiro lunged forward.
"Mist Breathing, First Form: Low Clouds, Distant Haze!"
His blade shimmered like the evening mist, gentle yet deadly, cutting straight toward Mushiki's neck.
Mushiki raised his sword to block. When their blades met, he immediately sensed the precision in Muichiro's technique—deceptively soft, yet perfectly targeting the weakest points of his guard.
"Not bad," Mushiki murmured, one brow lifting slightly as his own sword suddenly accelerated.
"Moon Breathing, Sixth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon – Incessant!"
The blade flashed like a cold moon in eternal night, its relentless strikes forcing Muichiro backward. In just a few breaths, fresh wounds opened across the boy's arms and shoulders.
But Muichiro didn't panic. Each retreat, each dodge was deliberate—he was studying Mushiki's movements.
Then he saw it: after every strike, Mushiki's wrist paused for a fraction of a second.
'That's it.'
Muichiro inhaled deeply, mist swirling around his form as his breathing intensified.
"Mist Breathing, Fifth Form: Sea of Clouds and Haze!"
His figure blurred into fog. Within the shifting mist, his blade shot out from an unseen angle, slashing cleanly at Mushiki's left arm.
Shhhhk—!
The pale-blue light flickered, and Mushiki's arm was severed at the shoulder. Black blood sprayed into the air.
He frowned slightly, looking down at the wound.
Unlike the other Upper Moons, his regeneration was slow. The stump only exhaled thin trails of black mist—it did not heal instantly.
He hadn't consumed human flesh. His regeneration relied solely on the demonic blood Muzan had given him, and that limited power meant each regrowth would take one to two minutes.
"As expected of Kokushibo-sama's descendant," Mushiki said, his tone carrying a rare trace of approval. "For someone so young, your swordsmanship is remarkable. If you became a demon, your potential would be limitless. Would you—"
"I'll never become a demon."
Muichiro cut him off sharply, eyes clear and unwavering. "The duty of a Demon Slayer is to destroy every demon that exists."
At that moment, Kocho Kanae rose from where she had been tending the wounded. Her Nichirin Sword glowed with soft pink petals of light as she stepped to Muichiro's side.
"Giyu," she said calmly, standing shoulder to shoulder with the boy, "you'll be fighting both of us now."
Mushiki glanced eastward. The sky beyond the mountains had begun to brighten; faint streaks of dawn brushed the horizon. The sun would rise soon.
He didn't intend to waste time. The pale-blue water swirling around him thickened again, denser and sharper.
"Blood Demon Art—Water Vortex Domain."
"Secret Essence of Water: Heavens' Blade Spiral!"
This time, the domain wasn't just a whirlpool—it was filled with countless spinning blades of water. They shot out in all directions, leaving no blind spots as they tore toward Kanae and Muichiro.
Muichiro's speed, though immense, could only deflect the blades in front of him. One stream sliced across his left wrist, severing his hand completely.
Kanae's sword danced like falling petals, her movements graceful and fierce, but the barrage was too thick. Her haori shredded to tatters, her arms and back split open by dozens of cuts. Blood stained the pale pink of her clothing.
She coughed, the taste of iron filling her mouth. Her hands trembled, yet she refused to retreat.
Then—a violent gust of green wind ripped through the air.
"Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon!"
The whirlwind struck the field like a blade, scattering every water slash and hurling debris skyward.
Shinazugawa Sanemi landed at the battlefield's edge, his presence a storm unto itself. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—the broken Tanjiro, the mutilated Tō, Kanae drenched in blood, Muichiro's severed arm.
"Giyu Tomioka! You bastard!" he roared.
Rage flared within him, his breathing raging like a tempest.
"Wind Breathing, Sixth Form: Black Wind Mountain Mist!"
The air split apart as he charged forward, the wind screaming with his fury, his sword cutting straight for Mushiki's chest.
Mushiki dodged effortlessly, his gaze flicking once more toward the brightening horizon.
The faint light had turned gold. The sun would rise any moment.
He wouldn't risk daylight—not surrounded by Hashira.
"This foolish game ends now."
He raised his left hand, water coiling like a serpent.
"Blood Demon Art—Water Vortex Domain!"
"Secret Essence of Water: Water Blade Whirlpool!"
A smaller vortex formed instantly, swallowing Sanemi whole.
The Wind Hashira slashed furiously, but the spinning current tangled around his blade, slowing his movements for a split second.
By the time he tore through the whirlpool and looked up, Mushiki was gone.
Only a fading blue afterimage remained at the end of the alley.
"Dammit! Get back here!"
Sanemi roared, preparing to chase, but a faint, trembling voice stopped him.
"Sanemi… don't… don't chase him… you can't catch him… help the others first…"
Kanae's voice was barely audible.
Sanemi froze, then exhaled heavily. He looked around at the wounded—Tanjiro bleeding but breathing, Tō unconscious and missing limbs, Muichiro clutching his severed wrist, Kanae barely standing.
His jaw clenched hard. Finally, he turned back, kneeling to help them.
The eastern sky blazed with gold. Sunlight crept over the mountain ridge, bathing the scarred battlefield in warmth.
Kanae fed Tanjiro a vial of medicine; his eyes fluttered open slightly, his breath evening out.
Tō still breathed, faint but steady.
Muichiro's bleeding had stopped. His severed hand, wrapped and preserved, was already being sent back to headquarters for reattachment surgery.
The morning light spilled over Rengoku's still, smiling face.