"Accept it—my blood!"
Unable to move, Shirou could only helplessly watch as the man instantly appeared before him, plunging his hand into Shirou's abdomen.
Immediately, Shirou felt something powerful surge into his body.
It was as if he'd been plunged into an icy abyss—cold, deep, and utterly paralyzing. In that instant, Shirou lost all ability to move.
His consciousness began to fade rapidly.
It felt as if, within seconds, he'd sink into an eternal slumber. He could sense his deepest memories slipping away, fragment by fragment.
Kiritsugu, Sakura, Fuji-nee—all those precious faces gradually blurred in his mind.
Even the belief he had always held—the desire to become a hero of justice—seemed to drift away from him. His very sense of self was slowly being devoured by darkness.
Is this truly how I end?
Shirou laughed bitterly to himself. Such an ending was too cruel, too powerless. He could do nothing but allow layer after layer of darkness to swallow him.
Accepting his fate, Shirou slowly closed his eyes.
The darkness eagerly enveloped his entire body, trying desperately to consume him completely.
But just as the shadows tightened their grip, a gentle golden glow blossomed from deep within him, softly illuminating every corner of his being.
The darkness fought back fiercely, desperately clawing to penetrate that golden radiance. Yet the light remained unyielding, calmly dispersing the shadows until they faded away entirely.
"Ugh…"
When Shirou regained consciousness, before he could even open his eyes, he felt a strange shift in his surroundings.
It was as though the entire world had been silenced—completely still, lifeless, utterly without sound.
At the very least, he knew he was no longer in the fields where he'd fought earlier.
Have I… become a demon?
Shirou muttered quietly, cautiously opening his eyes. If he hadn't died on the battlefield, then perhaps he truly had become a demon, just as that man had said.
Aside from a demon's regeneration, Shirou couldn't explain how the horrific wound through his abdomen had healed completely.
But the scene before his eyes left Shirou bewildered.
Wooden sliding doors.
A soft, comfortable tatami floor.
A gently burning incense burner, quietly soothing the atmosphere.
Everything was so ordinary, so deceptively normal.
It was a simple, modest room.
Where…am I?
Holding his head, Shirou slowly rose from the futon. Apart from mild dizziness, he felt no discomfort whatsoever. Even the numbness in his legs, caused by forcibly exceeding his limits in the previous battle, had disappeared entirely.
But Shirou had no time to puzzle over that. Immediately, he dashed toward the door.
He needed sunlight. He had to confirm if he truly had become a demon.
Shirou refused to become a monster who killed indiscriminately, who treated human life as mere amusement.
Creak—!
Without resistance, he pushed open the door effortlessly.
But before Shirou could step outside, he froze, unable to comprehend the sight before him.
It was a place beyond words.
Countless rooms attached randomly to the walls.
Staircases defied gravity, twisting through space.
Upside-down tables, slowly spinning paintings.
The structure of the entire area was utterly chaotic, space itself distorted and surreal.
And Shirou was standing in one of those rooms, floating within this impossible landscape.
He could even see corridors suspended in mid-air.
What the hell is this?
Before he could fully process whether or not he'd become a demon, Shirou was hit by yet another baffling mystery.
The successive shocks nearly made him stop thinking entirely.
Had he really become a demon?
Where exactly was this place?
Those questions overwhelmed Shirou's mind.
Just then, a playful gaze suddenly locked onto him from somewhere within this distorted space.
"Why… is a human here?"
A figure emerged onto a nearby corridor—a man in a Demon Slayer uniform with pale skin, prominent fangs, and black tiger-like markings on his face. His gaze, filled with amused curiosity, landed squarely on Shirou.
"Who are you?"
Out of instinct, Shirou's hand moved swiftly to his waist.
He quickly realized not only had his injuries completely healed, but the second Nichirin blade remained untouched at his side.
"My name is Kaigaku," the stranger introduced himself mockingly, resting his Nichirin blade casually across his shoulder. "You're from the Demon Slayer Corps, aren't you?"
Kaigaku's mouth curled into a malicious smirk as he eyed Shirou.
"Yes. So what?"
Shirou drew his blade immediately, carefully observing the man standing opposite him—someone wearing the same uniform, wielding the same type of sword.
But Shirou could sense overwhelming killing intent from him, along with a powerful demonic aura.
This man was clearly a demon.
A traitor who'd betrayed the Demon Slayer Corps and willingly became a demon himself.
"Hey… Tell me. Do you know Agatsuma Zenitsu?"
Kaigaku seemed completely unconcerned by Shirou's hostility, asking with a chillingly casual air.
Shirou felt he'd jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. The pressure radiating from this man was far greater than Mukago's had ever been.
"I know him."
Shirou answered cautiously, maintaining his stance. At this moment, he could only brace himself against the overwhelming presence.
"But…why would you assume I know Zenitsu?"
The moment those words left Shirou's mouth, an intense, terrifying aura erupted from Kaigaku's body. Shirou could clearly see rage twisting Kaigaku's features into something monstrous.
"You carry a scent I utterly despise!"
"Just seeing you makes me want to cut you down right now!"
Even from this distance, Shirou heard clearly the sound of Kaigaku's knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists in anger.
He could plainly see the fury etched into Kaigaku's expression.
Yet there was more than just rage reflected there.
"That weakling still only knows one technique, doesn't he? Still useless trash who can't even master the basics, right?"
Kaigaku sneered mockingly, as though recalling something amusing, confidently questioning Shirou from across the corridor.
One technique?
Shirou recalled clearly when he projected Zenitsu's blade. It was precisely the first form of Thunder Breathing he'd borrowed to decisively defeat Mukago.
But he distinctly remembered that Zenitsu knew more than just one form.
Seeing Shirou remain silent, Kaigaku scoffed coldly, a surge of violent golden lightning crackling to life around him.