The silence before the storm was fleeting.
Darkness blanketed the Swordsmith Village, broken only by scattered fires and the sound of crashing walls. Blood soaked the soil. Children sobbed in the distance, their cries muffled by fear.
And amidst the chaos, stood a single boy—his blade trembling, his breath uneven.
Muichiro Tokito.The Mist Hashira.
He looked young. Too young for war. Yet his eyes, always unfocused, always distant… were sharp tonight.
But not sharp enough.
A grotesque splash erupted from a nearby vase, and something inhuman lunged out with glee.
"My, my~ Still breathing, Mist boy?" crooned Gyokko, the Upper Moon Five, slithering in his porcelain body with mockery in every syllable. "How resilient. It makes breaking you even more delightful!"
He cackled as another tentacle-like arm, encrusted with scales and teeth, hurled toward Muichiro. The Hashira leapt back—but not fast enough. The spike caught his side, slicing through his uniform and drawing blood.
Muichiro hit the ground, hard. Blood dripped from his lips.
Yet even now, he didn't scream. He didn't curse. He simply lay there, eyes gazing into the flames… lost.
"You're just like the others," Gyokko mocked, looming above him. "So proud, so quiet… and yet, so utterly—breakable."
But something shifted.
In the haze of pain, Muichiro saw something… someone.
A hand reaching for him.
A boy—his reflection. No, not a reflection. His twin.
Yuichiro.
The memory hit like a surge of lightning.
The cabin. The rain. The night their family died.
His brother's harsh words. His sacrifice. His strength.
The truth Muichiro had locked away to survive… returned all at once.
His eyes widened.
"I remember…"
He stood.
The mist that had always clouded his thoughts—the disconnection, the emptiness—it vanished.
The clarity struck like steel against steel.
Muichiro gripped his blade tightly. The pain no longer mattered.
"You talk too much, demon."
Gyokko paused, startled.
"What did you—?"
Too late.
The boy was gone—vanished in a blur of mist.
And then—
Slash.
One of Gyokko's arms hit the ground.
"You—!"
Another blur. Another slash.
"No—no, this isn't—!"
Mist Breathing: Seventh Form – Obscuring Clouds.
The world dissolved into silver fog.
Gyokko screamed in blind fury, lashing out in every direction.
But Muichiro was everywhere, a phantom in the mist.
"You wanted to see art?" Muichiro whispered behind him. "Here's mine."
With a clean, fluid motion—graceful and lethal—
He sliced Gyokko in half.
The demon's eyes widened in horror. His screams choked.
His porcelain body shattered as the fog cleared.
Silence returned.
Muichiro stood over the ashes, bloodied, panting… alive.
And for the first time in years, truly himself.
Far from the village center, Tharion crushed the skull of a feral demon beneath his boot.
The second hidden structure burned behind him—once a sacred site, now corrupted into a feeding pit for lesser demons. Within it, children had been kept—drugged, half-turned, waiting to become something else.
Not tonight.
His blade still dripped with cursed blood, and his eyes—those haunted eyes—burned with divine fury.
"Second shelter cleared."
He looked to the east. The wind carried the scent of decay.
"More remain."
The third structure was buried beneath a cracked shrine, shrouded in illusion. The fourth, deep within the ravine, guarded by demon sentinels that shrieked like broken glass.
He cut them down without mercy.
Each step, each breath, was purpose. Righteous fury forged into motion.
"This nation will have peace. You will not take these people."
And as the final cage fell, Tharion whispered to the flames:
"Let this land forget you."
Back in the center of the village, Tanjiro Kamado stood his ground, surrounded by demons that should not exist.
The Hantengu Clones.
Each a twisted emotion—Anger, Sadness, Pleasure, Fear—all with the strength of Upper Moons. They moved as one, voices echoing through the night like shattered glass.
Their combined assault was relentless.
Tanjiro was bleeding. Broken ribs. Torn muscles. His blade was chipped. But his eyes—
Burned.
"You… won't break me."
Lightning cracked overhead. The Hantengu clones screeched in rage.
"You… lowly human… HOW DARE—!"
Tanjiro exhaled slowly. Nezuko stood behind him, watching with fierce, worried eyes.
He smiled at her.
Then turned to face the four demons.
"I've fought pain… I've tasted grief… but your fear means nothing."
He raised his blade.
"Let's end this."
The demons screamed—and lunged.
And Tanjiro met them with fire in his soul.