The moon hung low and cold over the Swordsmith Village.
Tanjiro sat cross-legged, his breathing steady. Across the clearing, Muichiro Tokito leaned against a pillar, gazing into the distance.
Nearby, Mitsuri Kanroji laughed softly as she braided Nezuko's hair. It was a rare moment of calm. Of warmth.
It was the last they would have for a long time.
A sudden chill.
Wind shifted violently.
And then—boom.
The entire sky shattered as if glass had been punched, and from above, a massive writhing demonic mass erupted from the shadows.
"DEMON!!!"
Screams tore through the village.
Hantengu, Upper Rank Four, split into multiple clones—each representing a twisted emotion. Rage. Joy. Fear. Sadness.
Gyokko, Upper Rank Five, slithered through the smiths' homes in a grotesque vase, snatching lives with warped elegance.
Tanjiro leapt up.
"It's starting—Nezuko, stay close!"
Muichiro shot forward like a ghost, blade already drawn.
"I'll take care of this. You stay alive."
Mitsuri's haori fluttered as she vanished into the treetops, eyes ablaze.
Miles from the main battle, Tharion moved swiftly through a lesser-used mountain trail. Something had called to him—an energy, faint but wrong. It was the same cold presence that lingered in Doma's shrine.
And then he found it.
A stone temple, concealed beneath illusion and overgrowth. The entrance was sealed by talismans—demonic runes humming with blood.
He felt voices.
Children.Muffled sobs.A lullaby. A lie.
"There are people inside…"
As he approached, two figures stepped from the shadows.
Twins.
Clad in tattered ceremonial robes.
Their eyes glowed the same sickly yellow.
"A swordsman… here? Lord Muzan warned us about interlopers."
They spoke in unison.
Lower Rank Six (Fractured) – Kurai and Kasume, bonded twins turned demons.
Each held a curved blade—one black as night, one pale as bone. They moved as one, their footsteps matching like a mirror.
"You shouldn't have come, stranger," whispered Kurai.
"The offerings are not yet ripe," Kasume added.
"Then I'll burn this place to the ground," Tharion replied, drawing his blade.
They struck.
A synchronized assault of mirrored chaos—one slashing from above, the other below.
But Tharion moved with divine calm. His eyes flickered, reading the twin pattern. His blade intercepted both strikes with a single pivot, parrying left and spinning through the narrow corridor.
Steel screamed.
Kasume shrieked as Tharion's blade shattered her fang-blade, slicing across her ribs.
Kurai roared, calling forth tendrils from the walls—enchanted wood grown from demon roots.
Tharion dodged, leapt upward, then drove his palm down—
"Lightflame Break – Phase II!"
A pulse of holy heat exploded from him, incinerating the dark vines. The air shimmered gold.
"Impossible," Kurai gasped. "That light…"
Tharion's blade glowed as if forged from starlight itself.
"I don't need sunlight. I carry something worse."
He dashed forward, stepped past Kurai's next strike—
And severed both their heads in one smooth, sacred arc.
The sealed temple groaned.
With a brutal kick, Tharion smashed the cursed doorway open.
Inside: nine children and four women, chained to ritual stones, drugged and weeping.
Their eyes lit with faint hope when he entered.
"You're safe now," he whispered.
He freed them all, carrying the youngest in his arms.
Tanjiro clashed with the Hatred Clone, his blade trembling as thunder howled.
Muichiro fought alone in the forest, cornered by Gyokko's monstrous creations, his Mist Breathing flickering like vapor.
Mitsuri leapt in at the last moment, slicing down a rage spawn before it could impale a smith.
"We have to hold out! Protect the villagers!"
But they were already being pushed to their limits.