The sky still smoldered with steam and ash.
Carriages lay scattered like broken bones, twisted and torn across the forest floor. Smoke curled into the dawn, and silence blanketed the battlefield.
Then—A ripple.
A footstep.
A presence—cold as ice, yet burning with malevolence—emerged from the shadows beyond the treeline.
He wore the martial robes of a bygone era, his skin pale as moonlight, tattoos curling down his arms like serpents. His eyes—one reading "Upper," the other "Three"—shone with the bloodlust of eternity.
Akaza had arrived.
Rengoku stood upright among the debris, his body bloodied, his haori torn, but his spirit—blazing.
"Who are you?" he demanded, gripping his katana.
Akaza smiled. "Ah… you must be the Flame Hashira. Your strength is magnificent. Let's fight. Let's tear each other apart!"
Without warning, the demon lunged.
The battlefield exploded.
Shockwaves thundered through the trees as Rengoku met Akaza's first blow with all the force of his Flame Breathing.
"Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!"
His blade blazed upward, clashing against Akaza's fist with a blast of fire and air.
But Akaza only grinned, regenerating instantly and launching a volley of brutal, precise strikes.
"Destructive Death: Compass Needle."
The martial pattern ignited beneath his feet, amplifying his speed. He spun and struck again—each blow aiming for vital organs, each movement honed through centuries of bloodshed.
Rengoku matched him strike for strike, sweat flying from his brow, his muscles screaming.
"Third Form: Blazing Universe!"
A downward flaming arc clashed with Akaza's palm. Heat scorched the earth.
Yet for every attack Rengoku delivered, Akaza healed.
For every flame, Akaza answered with endless fists.
"You're strong," Akaza said, breathless but grinning. "Become a demon. You'll grow even more powerful."
Rengoku's eyes burned brighter.
"I will never become a demon."
Tanjiro stirred nearby, groaning in pain. Inosuke, battered but awake, looked up toward the sky.
"Wh… what's that sound…?"
The two turned—and saw them.
Two gods clashing.
Each strike cracked the air, each flame lit the battlefield, each roar echoed across the forest like thunder. The speed was untraceable, the power unthinkable.
Tharion stood still in the treetops, hidden, eyes narrowed.
His hand hovered above his borrowed nichirin katana, crafted by the chief of the Swordsmith Village himself. It pulsed faintly—attuned to Sun Breathing.
He clenched his jaw. Not yet.
Rengoku's chest was bleeding heavily now.
Akaza had pierced him through the abdomen with a brutal strike.
Still—Rengoku didn't fall.
"Ninth Form: Rengoku!"
His blade became an inferno, bursting forward like a comet of fire. He screamed with all his heart, launching a final, devastating strike aimed directly for Akaza's neck.
The world held its breath.
He connected.
Flames engulfed the demon's face, his neck, his entire upper torso.
But Akaza's arms punched forward—driving into Rengoku's gut and ribs. One arm pierced straight through his body.
The clash froze in time.
Rengoku's blade bit into Akaza's neck, inches from severing it.
But it wasn't enough.
Akaza's regeneration surged.
Crack.
Blood poured from Rengoku's mouth.
His knees buckled.
Tanjiro screamed in the distance. "RENGOKU-SAN!"
And at that moment—
A flare of golden light.
A presence dropped from above like divine judgment, cloak billowing, katana gleaming in dawnlight.
Tharion had entered the fray.
His voice rang like steel.
"Let go of him, Akaza."
The demon's eyes widened.
Before he could react—A brilliant slash of Sun Breathing – First Form: Dance carved through the space between them, cleaving Akaza's arms clean off.
Akaza screamed, leaping backward, regenerating instantly—but for the first time, he hesitated.
That flame—it wasn't ordinary.
That aura—it wasn't human.
Tharion stood in front of Rengoku now, sword lowered, back straight.
"Your opponent," he said coldly, "is me now."