The blade sank deep into the wooden floor with a dull thud.
"Is this the form you've been chasing?" Raiden asked, his voice calm.
Kokushibo froze, confused by the question. The form he had been chasing? What did that even mean?
Before he could think further, his gaze shifted to the reflection on the Nichirin blade.
What he saw made him go still.
A grotesque figure stared back at him. Horns protruded from his forehead, his flesh twisted and uneven, his skin cracked and scarred as if it had been cut and repaired countless times. Strips of flesh hung unnaturally from his body.
Kokushibo's eyes widened.
Was that… him?
For a moment, his mind went blank.
He had once been a swordsman who pursued perfection. His technique was unmatched, his presence refined. Now, he looked like something born from a nightmare.
What had he become?
In his pursuit of power and victory, he had thrown away everything that once defined him.
His thoughts spiraled.
He was no longer the man he used to be. Not a warrior. Not a samurai. Just a monster driven by obsession.
Memories surfaced.
A dream from long ago, becoming the strongest samurai.
Back then, his heart had been pure, devoted to the blade and to honor.
"Is this really what I wanted?" he thought.
That single question shook him.
The resolve that had sustained him began to crumble.
His body reacted.
The rapid regeneration slowed, then faltered completely.
Though the desire to win still lingered, it no longer held the same weight. His will was unstable, torn between pride and regret.
Then his body began to break down.
The flesh that had just reformed started to wither. Muscles slackened, strength drained away, and his form became fragile, as if it could collapse at any moment.
His newly formed hands hung uselessly.
The power that once held a blade faded.
"What was I even born for… tell me, Yoriichi."
That was his final thought.
Images filled his mind.
Moments with Yoriichi, training side by side, chasing the peak of swordsmanship, sharing something that once felt unbreakable.
Those were the memories he missed the most.
His vision blurred.
For an instant, he thought he saw Yoriichi standing there, watching him with calm, steady eyes.
There was no judgment in that gaze. Only quiet understanding.
Kokushibo felt something loosen within him.
Then he was gone.
His body turned to ash, scattering through the Infinity Castle.
All that remained were torn pieces of clothing and two broken flutes resting on the floor.
One of them was the flute he had once given away without a second thought, never realizing it would become something precious to his brother.
Maybe there was regret.
But it was too late.
"Is he… dead?"
The Hashira stared at Raiden, still trying to process what they had just witnessed.
Two Upper Rank demons, enemies that required everything they had to fight, were gone just like that.
Moments ago, the battle had been desperate.
Now it was over.
Raiden's strength felt unreal.
The reputation of the Upper Moons had stood for centuries, built on countless battles and victories.
Yet in Raiden's hands, they had fallen without lasting resistance.
It felt almost unreal.
Raiden stood on the platform and pulled his blade free from the ground, saying nothing.
He snapped his fingers.
The space around them shifted instantly.
The complex structure of the Infinity Castle opened into a vast, dim area. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if something massive was blocking the light above.
The Hashira looked up.
What they saw made their expressions tighten.
A massive, pulsating mass hung above them at an angle, like a living tumor. It throbbed slowly, veins running across its surface, glowing with a dark red hue.
It looked like a giant, beating heart.
The sound of blood moving within it echoed through the space, each pulse adding to the tension.
"How's your recovery, Muzan?" Raiden called out, his tone casual, almost amused.
The others turned sharply.
Raiden was no longer where he had been.
He now stood above the mass, his white hair faintly illuminated, his Nichirin blade raised high as heat began to gather around him.
"Thunder Flame Breathing, First Form, Thunder Prison."
Flames erupted instantly.
They spread like a raging dragon, filling the entire space in seconds. The heat surged violently, distorting the air as the fire roared outward.
The flames grew hotter, shifting from deep orange to a blinding white.
Everything around them began to melt. Walls softened, dripping like molten rock under the overwhelming temperature.
The attack struck.
The massive flesh-like form split apart.
The flames burned through it, charring entire sections instantly.
Raiden smiled slightly.
He knew it wouldn't kill Muzan.
But it would slow him down.
Inside the burning mass, movement began again.
The split flesh twisted and pulled itself back together at an unnatural speed.
Then came a roar.
"Raiden!!"
The voice echoed like a beast pushed beyond its limits.
The mass pulsed violently, as if it might burst at any moment.
Raiden lowered his blade slightly, unfazed.
"Lower your voice, you're starting to annoy me."
He rubbed his ear, completely indifferent to the rage.
Without Kokushibo and Akaza, Muzan had lost his advantage.
The situation had changed.
Now, Muzan only had two options.
Continue regenerating and risk being caught by the sunlight at dawn.
Or stop recovering and fight.
But in his current state, even if he chose to fight, he would be facing Raiden and the Hashira together.
Escape was his only real chance.
But Raiden had no intention of letting that happen.
===
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