The Slayer stood still.
On the cliffside outside the Demon Slayer headquarters, the wind tugged gently at the bloodstained wolf-hide draped over his shoulders. His back was to the estate, to the countless eyes that dared not approach him, but every sense he had remained alert.
There were always more demons.
He could feel them.
He could smell them.
But this place… this world… was different. These demons were wrong. Human-shaped. Fragile. Too silent.
They bled red.
And yet—they were still evil.
Still worthy of slaughter.
Inside the Estate
Kagaya Ubuyashiki had summoned only two of the Hashira to remain.
Gyomei Himejima stood silently, his prayer beads running through his fingers.
Giyu Tomioka watched the Slayer from the shadows of a veranda, eyes narrowed, his hand near his blade, but unmoving.
Kagaya spoke softly, his voice calm as ever.
"There's a storm coming. One we've never known before. And he…" Kagaya's pale eyes drifted toward the towering figure outside, "...he is not the storm. He is the silence after."
"Should we… fear him?" Tomioka asked.
Kagaya smiled faintly. "No. But I believe demons will."
Elsewhere: Muzan's Domain
Far away, beneath the seething flesh of a cursed lair hidden deep in a decaying city, Kibutsuji Muzan jolted.
His crimson eyes snapped open.
Something had ruptured.
An unnatural presence had pierced his domain, and not through Blood Demon Art or sorcery.
Something old.
Something alien.
He rose from his throne, his white coat billowing as if reacting to the tremor in the world.
Around him, the walls pulsated. Several of the Lower Kizuki knelt in fear, twitching as their master's anger boiled.
"What…" Muzan whispered, his voice like poisoned silk, "...dares to disrupt my balance?"
Then—his eyes widened.
He saw the vision.
The Slayer.
A being bathed in endless blood.
Surrounded by flame.
The spirits of a thousand demons howling behind him, not in triumph—but in agony.
A massacre.
The images hit Muzan like a war drum.
The cracking skull of an Upper Rank demon.
Screams cut short by a spinning chainsaw shield.
A gauntlet punch that shattered bone like glass.
A demon's body torn in half mid-leap.
It wasn't prophecy.It wasn't imagination.
It was a warning.
The presence was real.
Muzan gritted his teeth. Rage dripped from his voice.
"This being… is no slayer. He is death. He is the Reaper… without mercy."
His hands clenched as he turned to the kneeling demons.
"Send him," Muzan growled, his voice now trembling with fury. "Send the Upper Rank Five. Let him taste this world's power."
Back at the Estate
As the Slayer sat on the cliff, still unmoving, a low hum rumbled in the distant air.
He stood.
Something was coming.
He didn't know what.
But he knew how it would end.
He reached to his back, slowly pulling the Combat Shotgun from its holster.
The metal gleamed. The scent of gunpowder, blood, and rage lingered on it.
"Rip and tear… until it is done."
The voice whispered again in his head.
And he obeyed.
Without fear.
Without doubt.
Without rest.