The battlefield was scorched.
Demon blood stained the cracked stones, still sizzling from the heat of combat. The Marauder's armor remained as a twisted memorial — shattered pieces of what once might've been honor, now desecrated and burned.
The Slayer stood still, eyes hidden beneath the visor, his shotgun slung back. He scanned the remnants of the rune gate, smoldering with residual hell energy. The wind howled faintly across the ruins, carrying distant echoes—like whispers not meant for mortal ears.
The four warriors—Gyomei, Sanemi, Akaza, and Kokushibo—watched in tense silence.
Sanemi broke it first.
"...What the hell was that thing?"
The Slayer responded, his voice low and iron-heavy.
"A Marauder."
Kokushibo narrowed his eyes.
"It wore your armor. Same style. Same forge."
"He was once one of us," the Slayer said flatly."A Night Sentinel. Fallen. Twisted. Reforged by the Dark Lord into his pet."
Akaza tilted his head.
"So demons can corrupt even your kind…"
"Not corrupt. Break.""We fought Hell. Some didn't die. They were... reshaped."
A silence settled in. Even Muzan, now present at the edge of the ruined field, said nothing at first. His eyes traced the remains of the Marauder carefully.
"Tell me, Slayer…" he finally spoke, softly yet sharply."How many more… of you… are left down there?"
The Slayer stared back.
"Enough to drown the stars."
The Slayer Corps headquarters buzzed with rumors.
The ones left behind had seen the Slayer's fury—how he'd marched out wordlessly and crossed miles in mere minutes. And now, news came of a twisted version of him — a Slayer turned demon.
The tension was thick. Slayers trained harder. Repairs quickened. Walls were reinforced again.
Inside a war room, the Hashiras and the Upper Ranks gathered.
"So these 'Marauders'... there could be more?" Giyu asked grimly.
"Not could. Will," Shinobu said, analyzing a fragment of the broken armor. "The energy in these runes matches the remains of the hell demons. These creatures aren't just soldiers — they're symbols."
"Symbols of what?" asked Mitsuri, voice tense.
The door opened.
The Slayer entered.
Everyone turned.
He stepped forward, laying down a shard of the Marauder's helm.
"They're the reminder that Hell breaks everything it touches."
He looked around the table. Muzan watched silently, his hands folded, while Kokushibo stood behind him like a living monolith.
"Hell doesn't just create. It defiles. That Marauder was once one of our strongest. We buried him on Sentinel ground. They dug him up. They made him bleed for them."
He looked to the humans now.
"This is why I told you never to act without my word. What you faced tonight... was the smallest whisper of what's coming."
Sanemi lowered his gaze.
Gyomei nodded.
"We understand."
Far beneath the layers of Earth, deep in Hell's belly, an altar awakened.
Dark ichor pulsed in rhythm. Chains rattled. A thousand tongues spoke in unison.
"The Gate has flickered. The False King has acted. The Slayer walks again."
And there, in the center, stood a towering figure.
The General of the Abyss.
Half skeletal, half abyssal flame, wearing armor of bone and rune, it turned its head toward the breach in dimensions.
It did not speak.
It grinned.