"Water Breathing, Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust."
Makomo's figure was not only graceful—it was impossibly fast. Before the Hand Demon could even comprehend what was happening, her Nichirin Sword had already swept forward, its cold edge flashing through the air. In the blink of an eye, it struck cleanly at the demon's neck.
Clang!
Ordinarily, when a demon's neck was cut by a Nichirin sword, death was inevitable.
But this time… things were different.
The blade met the Hand Demon's neck, yet instead of slicing through flesh and bone, it felt as though it had struck solid rock. The edge bit in only slightly, carving a shallow mark—nothing more.
Before Makomo could fully process what that meant—
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
A shrill tearing sound erupted beside her ears without warning. The Hand Demon's grotesque, tumor-ridden tendrils lashed out like enraged vipers, splitting the air at terrifying speed. They came crashing down toward her from all directions, accompanied by a heavy, oppressive roar.
Even as shock flickered across her mind at the hardness of the demon's neck, Makomo's body reacted instinctively. She darted and weaved through the massive tendrils, her movements as light and fluid as a bird in flight. No matter how densely the attacks closed in around her, not a single one managed to brush even the hem of her clothing.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash."
She exhaled steadily as she landed atop one of the writhing tendrils. In that instant, her blade flashed downward, cleaving it cleanly in two. Before the remaining tendrils could converge on her, she had already retreated far back, her eyes wide with disbelief as they fixed on the demon.
She couldn't… she simply couldn't cut through its neck.
"Keh… keh… keh.. That look—that's the one. The look that turns to despair."
The Hand Demon let out a rasping laugh, its voice thick with malice.
"I remember it well. That peach-haired boy back then... he was exhausted, but he finally found an opening and struck my neck... only to fail to cut through."
Its grin widened grotesquely.
"The despair on his face back then… it's as clear as if it happened yesterday."
"Keke…"
The demon's laughter grew more twisted.
"That must be the 'Sabito' you mentioned, right? Do you know? He suffered so much in the end... so much..."
Makomo clenched her teeth tightly as she twisted her body midair, narrowly avoiding another sweeping tendril. Though she forced herself to focus on the battle, the demon's words seeped into her mind like poison.
Unbidden, images surfaced—
Sabito, wounded… struggling… and finally, being cruelly torn apart by the very monster before her.
She knew she shouldn't think about such things in the middle of a fight.
And yet, as the Hand Demon continued to speak, those brutal scenes played over and over in her mind, impossible to suppress.
Her heart grew restless.
Her breathing faltered.
Thump, thump, thump!
The tendrils slammed down one after another.
She dodged each strike with precision, but wherever they landed, destruction followed—stones shattered, trees snapped, the ground itself caved into massive craters.
Makomo gripped her sword tightly, evading again and again.
Her feet pushed off the ground, and she leapt onto a nearby tree, stepping lightly across its branches. Leaves rustled beneath her steps, but only after she had already moved on.
Rustle…
By the time the leaves trembled, she had already closed the distance once more.
Twisting her body to evade another sweeping tendril, she circled the demon, then suddenly leapt—
Her small figure appeared behind it in an instant.
"Water Breathing… First Form: Water Surface Slash."
Her blade fell again, this time at the back of its neck.
Clang!
Sparks flew.
The sharp strike met the same unyielding resistance, unable to cut through.
Its neck was simply too hard.
Completely impenetrable.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Several tendrils came crashing down again, but Makomo slipped past them like a darting swallow, leaving only afterimages in the air. When she reappeared, she was already at the demon's right side.
"Water Breathing… Fourth Form: Striking Tide!"
Her water-blue blade descended once more upon the demon's neck, producing a series of sharp metallic clangs—clang, clang, clang!—as sparks scattered into the darkness.
Under the pale glow of the moon, the Hand Demon's massive body writhed, its countless tendrils lashing out in a near-impenetrable barrage, like a vast net cast to trap its prey.
And yet—
Makomo moved within it like the most agile of flying fish, slipping effortlessly through every gap, weaving through certain death as though the storm itself could never touch her.
From time to time, she found fleeting openings—her small figure flashing into position near the Hand Demon's neck, delivering sharp, decisive strikes. Nearly every slash landed true.
But…
It made no difference.
Her Nichirin Sword struck the demon's neck as though it were the hardest stone, utterly incapable of cutting through. As for the tendrils she severed, they regenerated quickly under the demon's terrifying healing ability, restoring themselves in mere moments.
If she couldn't cut its neck, she couldn't kill it.
And so, everything seemed to fall into an inescapable loop.
For swordsmen who had yet to master Total Concentration: Constant, they could not sustain their breathing style indefinitely. At most, they could hold it for only a few minutes. Makomo, already highly skilled in her breathing, could maintain it for about thirty minutes at best.
Once that time passed, she would be forced out of that state.
And the moment she lost it, her body would no longer be able to match a demon's strength or endurance. She would be reduced to nothing more than an ordinary human.
And an ordinary human… could never hope to contend with a demon whose physical abilities far exceeded human limits—let alone a monster like the one before her.
Makomo continued to dodge without pause, weaving through the relentless assault—but no matter how skilled she was, constant evasion would eventually lead to a mistake.
Her foot tapped lightly against the ground as she leapt once more, narrowly avoiding a crashing tendril—only to find another descending toward her from above.
Midair, she had no footing, no way to redirect herself.
She clenched her teeth, tightening her grip on her blade. She had no choice but to meet it head-on, even as she knew what that would mean.
If she was injured here…
the battle would be over.
A demon could afford countless mistakes.
But she… could not afford even one.
Just as the tendril came crashing down—
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance."
A figure burst forward.
Tanjiro leapt into the air, his breathing fierce and steady, the blade of his axe glowing with searing heat.
Boom!
The axe came down in a clean arc, severing the tendril that had been about to strike Makomo. Blood sprayed into the air as the attack was forcefully cut apart.
And just like that, the outcome she had feared—being forced into a damaging clash—was averted.
"Oh? Another brat… and this one isn't running either."
The Hand Demon's grotesque, tumor-covered head turned toward Tanjiro, its voice dripping with amusement.
"How… brave."
Its tone sank lower, more ominous.
"Do you want to be devoured by me too?"
"Kehehe…"
The demon suddenly burst into laughter again, pointing off into the distance.
"Look over there. You should learn from your companions—they've already retreated far away."
Makomo and Tanjiro both turned instinctively, only to see that Soma had already withdrawn with Kanao, putting a significant distance between themselves and the battlefield. It looked as though they had no intention of interfering—perhaps even ready to flee at any moment.
Makomo lowered her gaze slightly, her grip on her blade tightening just a fraction.
She didn't blame him.
In fact, part of her even hoped he would run—because that way, at least, he might survive.
And yet…
Somewhere deep inside her heart, a quiet disappointment began to rise.
Why?
He was doing the sensible thing. Even if he stepped forward now, facing a demon whose neck couldn't be cut would only mean throwing his life away. It would be reckless—irrational.
So why did she feel disappointed?
Perhaps… because she had believed he was different.
Perhaps… because, deep down, she had hoped he would—
No.
She shouldn't have had such expectations in the first place.
Makomo gently brushed her fingers along the blade of her Nichirin sword, feeling its cold surface. This had been decided from the beginning.
She was the one who would protect them.
"Tanjiro… you should go too."
She flipped her body and leapt to the side as a massive tendril, thick as a serpent, brushed past her hair. As she passed by Tanjiro, her blade flashed once more, cleanly severing another tendril that had been aiming for him.
Her voice dropped to a quiet murmur.
"Hurry… run for your life."
"Ha…!" Tanjiro breathed heavily, instinctively glancing once more toward where the others stood. The distance between them had only grown, and it seemed as though they were speaking to each other, completely removed from the battle.
He lowered his gaze, then looked back at Makomo, who continued to fight the demon alone.
His teeth clenched.
How could he possibly abandon a comrade and flee?
Besides…
This was the path he had chosen—the path of hunting demons.
And that path had always been one that walked hand in hand with death.
"Die!"
Gripping his axe tightly, Tanjiro rushed forward, his footsteps quick and resolute as the blade carved through the moonlit air toward the demon.
…
No matter how they fought—whether it was Tanjiro or Makomo—neither of them could cut through the Hand Demon's neck. And if they couldn't sever its neck, then the only end awaiting them… was death.
Makomo bit down on her lip, her eyes clouded with both pain and quiet despair.
In the end, she had failed to live up to her teacher's expectations. Just like her fellow disciples… just like Sabito… she would never be able to return.
"Kehehe… you're running out of strength, aren't you? How pitiful. I can't wait to see the look on Urokodaki's face when he hears that his disciples are dead."
"Kehehe… it's all because of Urokodaki! He's the one who got you all killed. Go on—hate your sensei!"
Makomo panted heavily, strands of her dark, sweat-soaked hair clinging to her forehead. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her blade as she spoke, her voice firm despite her exhaustion.
"It was never… ever Urokodaki-sensei's fault."
"Ha… how amusing. Every one of Urokodaki's disciples I've devoured has said the same thing. All of you… just like you, so devoted to him. And that's exactly why… you taste even better when I eat you!"
Whack!
Another tendril lashed out.
Makomo, no longer as fast as before, was a fraction too slow to evade. The blow struck her directly, sending her small body crashing to the ground like a broken butterfly. Her once-pristine clothes were now stained with dirt and grime.
Nearby, Tanjiro had already been knocked down by another of the demon's tendrils. He pushed himself back up with a pained expression, his resilience far greater than one might expect.
Makomo, too, struggled and pushed herself back to her feet.
"Kehehe…"
The Hand Demon laughed loudly. Though neither of them was dead yet, the outcome was already clear—nothing could change it now.
"Now… it's time to enjoy my meal."
A cruel, excited gleam flickered in its crimson eyes.
"Hey there, friend." A sudden voice came from behind it.
The Hand Demon froze for a moment, then turned its head. The one who had fled earlier… had returned.
From him, the demon could sense something familiar—a presence akin to its own kind.
Confusion crept into its dull mind. Just moments ago, this person had been standing alongside Makomo and Tanjiro—yet they hadn't attacked him. A demon standing among demon slayers, unharmed… it made no sense.
"Y-you… why are you back? Didn't you already… run away?"
Makomo tightened her grip on her Nichirin Sword as she stared at the figure who had appeared behind the Hand Demon.
"Didn't you already escape?"
"You should have left!"
Facing the demon head-on, Soma turned his head slightly and looked toward her. "My, my, Miss Makomo… that's a rather harsh way to put it."
He shrugged lightly, his dark eyes taking in her current state—her once-clean clothes now smeared with grime, her delicate face stained with dirt and blood. And yet, those eyes of hers still shone with a striking clarity.
"Am I really that kind of person in your eyes? That's… rather hurtful."
Under his gaze, Makomo found herself unable to meet his eyes. She turned her head away instead.
"Just go. I can still hold it off for a while longer. Stop saying such nonsense."
"Heh~"
Soma chuckled softly, his tone light as he explained, "I only stepped away to settle my precious little Kanao somewhere safe. I didn't want her getting caught in the aftermath of the fight."
"I never had any intention of running."
Still smiling, his hand had already come to rest on the hilt of the Nichirin Sword at his waist. He lifted his gaze, looking up at the massive Hand Demon before him.
"Hey, friend… you're quite a big one, aren't you?"
The Hand Demon stared at him, puzzled. "Why… why is it that we're the same kind, yet they don't attack you?"
Soma raised a brow, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"My friend, your neck may have grown tougher, but has your brain gotten worse? Since when was I ever the same kind as you?"
The Hand Demon's expression only grew more confused.
"My friend… you're clearly my 'Big Boss'. How could we possibly be the same kind?" Soma suddenly muttered those words under his breath.
"Uh... did I ever take on a—" The Hand Demon grew even more confused. It had never taken in any subordinate, let alone another demon.
And while it was still caught in that muddled confusion, Soma had already leapt into the air.
"Boss, how about I help you out?"
"Help me with what?"
"Help you cut off your neck, of course."
Soma broke into a wide grin. "It's been attached to you for far too long—it's about time it came off."
The Hand Demon froze for a split second before fury exploded across its grotesque face.
"You're playing me?!"
"Heh~ You only just realized? No wonder you're so slow."
Soma chuckled lightly.
Shing—!
The blade left its sheath, a sharp, ringing note slicing through the air. Under the moonlight, the edge gleamed with a chilling brilliance, yet at the same time, it seemed to radiate a faint, scorching heat.
To the Hand Demon's astonishment, Soma began to breathe in a steady, rhythmic pattern. Though he carried the aura of a demon, he was using the same breathing style as a demon slayer.
And in his hand… was a Nichirin blade.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance!"
He spoke softly, almost like a whisper, as his sword descended in a single, fluid motion. The blade burned with an intense, searing force as it cut through the air.
"Damn you—!"
Shock and rage twisted the Hand Demon's voice.
"You can't cut through my neck! I'll tear your limbs apart, I'll shove your head into your own body, I'll—"
"Is that so? That does sound… quite something to look forward to."
Soma's voice remained calm, almost gentle.
"But unfortunately… that's no longer possible."
The blade had already fallen.
Unlike Tanjiro in the stories—who could perceive the "thread of opening" in battle, or sever the "line of death" to strike down a demon—Soma had no such refined perception.
But he had something else.
Overwhelming strength.
Blinding speed.
When immense power was paired with incredible velocity—and guided by a razor-sharp blade—
Even if the neck before him were as hard as stone…
Even if it were steel—
It would still be cut through.
He relied on nothing but raw, absolute force.
Crack!
The blade bit into the demon's rock-hard neck—and in the Hand Demon's disbelieving gaze, it sliced clean through.
Its head was sent flying.
The massive body collapsed with a thunderous crash, kicking up clouds of dust as it hit the ground.
As the corpse fell, Soma landed lightly beside it. A faint, nearly imperceptible wisp of red mist slipped from his hand into the demon's body—only to return just as quickly.
By the time he sheathed his blade, his eyes had grown even more deeply crimson.
Turning back, he looked toward Makomo, who had instinctively prepared to rush in and help—but now stood frozen in place, staring at him in shock.
Soma smiled warmly.
"Miss Makomo… you look rather disheveled right now."
Makomo looked from his smiling face to the severed neck of the demon, still unable to process what she had just witnessed.
"I do apologize for taking your kill."
He gave a small shrug.
"You won't hold it against me, will you? After all, a certain beautiful lady did say earlier that she would put an end to all this sorrow."
Seeing him still smiling at her so openly, a faint blush crept across her cheeks. She quickly turned her head away, sheathing her Nichirin blade as she faced the other direction, her tone carrying a trace of stubbornness.
"I just… made a mistake, that's all."
"And I didn't expect you to be…"
"…this strong."