INTRODUCTION
Eighteen years old and forged in war, Mitzu Tsugikuni bears the legacy of her ancestor Yoriichi—not just in name, but in blood, in vengeance, and in flame.
Her haori, star-dusted black and deep blue, flows like midnight and memory. It once belonged to Karma Kanezaki, her best friend and now the Eclipse Hashira. She still wears it—not because he's gone, but because they are both survivors of a war that never ended.
Her hatred for Muzan is unfathomable—a wrath so consuming it threatens to eclipse even her own humanity.
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𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗨𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦𝗘
Before she ever spoke, Mitzu Tsugikuni was a silhouette in flame.
She stood five foot ten, shoulders squared like she was bracing the world, crimson hair swept into a rough, practical half-tie—save for the strands left deliberately loose around her Sun Mark, the dark red flame scorched into her forehead like a brand of destiny and rage. It curled from her left temple, licked the corner of her brow, and faded just below her cheekbone like blood never wiped clean.
Karma calls her "short" just to watch her make that adorable offended-confused cat face—mouth slightly parted, blinking once, then narrowing her eyes with a slow, dangerous brow furrow. He claims it's his "favorite form of entertainment."
Her uniform was severe. Tactical. Cold.
Jet black Demon Slayer Corps garb, tighter than most, made for speed—no ornamental cuts, no softness, just gold buttons and clean, straight lines. Her belt was white, knotted diagonally, holding Yoriichi's katana—black blade etched with 滅 — Destroy, sheathed like a blade of judgment.
But it was her haori that told the story.
It wasn't hers.
It was once Karma's—a gift, a promise, a piece of a bond forged in hell.
It fell past her knees like midnight, deep blue fading to starless black, speckled faintly with silver threads that caught the light like distant constellations. She never took it off—not because she needed it, but because it felt like a piece of him still fighting beside her.
Her boots were scuffed, thick-soled and steel-lined—black combat shoes, blood-worn and war-ready. Her red kyahan wrapped her shins, faded in places from years of movement.
And her eyes…
Maroon, sharp as razors.
Filled with every funeral she couldn't scream at.
She had the eyes of someone who didn't mourn anymore—she simply avenged.
---
Then there was Karma Kanezaki, the boy who moved like dusk and killed like silence.
He stood six foot one—lithe and jagged like a broken arrow, all sharp elbows and hidden force. His blood-red hair was tied back roughly with a black cord, long strands spilling over his shoulders like fire had kissed the back of his neck and never let go.
But it was his eyes—mercury-grey, storm-colored, unreadable.
Dead, then burning.
Empty, then full of fury.
He never smiled unless it hurt someone. Unless Mitzu was watching.
His uniform was a muted crimson, not the bright red of passion but the dark, dried rust of spilled blood. His coat-tailed version of the Corps uniform was modified for movement, fitted for precise kills. Across his collarbone spiraled the Eclipse Mark—a black circle with ink-like waves spreading outward like the sun being eaten by night.
His kyahan faded from shadow black to blood-wine red, each step muffled by quiet, combat-grade boots. His katana—black with a white edge—trailed black waves when swung, as if space itself bent away from it. The guard was shaped like a cracked yin-yang, one side chipped from a fight he never talked about.
And his haori?
Gone.
He gave it to Mitzu after their squad died—wrapped it around her shoulders when she couldn't stop shaking.
She never gave it back.
He never asked.
---
When they stood side by side—
Mitzu burned like wrath. Karma stood like its shadow.
The others would sometimes say it felt like a solar eclipse on the battlefield—the sky trembling, the earth groaning, light and darkness fused into unstoppable destruction.
Her fire.
His silence.
Two ghosts.
One war.
---
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗜𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗜 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗡
A lineage born of fire, discipline, and legend.
Mitzu's father was a serious man—tall, stone-faced, the kind whose approval felt like sunlight after winter. Her mother was the calm in that firestorm—quiet but unshakable, the anchor in their home. Her older brother? Constantly annoyed at her chaos but too protective to admit it. Her aunt was a wild thing—half-feral, quick to laugh and quicker to throw a knife. And her grandfather… strict, playful, and merciless in training. He could bark an order one moment and slip her sweets the next.
Mitzu was the clan menace—barefoot in trees, picking fights she couldn't win, stealing dumplings, and disappearing for hours just to "train" against shadows. But beneath the mischief, her Sun Breathing was already terrifying for her age.
When Muzan came, they fought like the legends they were.
They still died.
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𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗞𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗭𝗔𝗞𝗜 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗡
Masters of Eclipse Breathing—warriors who struck with both the light and the shadow.
Karma had a little sister, small and bright-eyed, who clung to him like sunlight follows morning. His uncle was calm and calculating, the kind who could end an argument with a look. His grandmother was sweet enough to feed strangers but sharp enough to scold warriors. His mother was a bit clueless—forgetting weapons but remembering lunch. His father, quiet but endlessly helpful, taught Karma how to repair a roof as easily as how to gut a man.
Karma was the other menace—always where trouble was, leaving traps in the training yard, climbing the roof at night to watch the moon. His skill with Eclipse Breathing came almost naturally, as if the shadows themselves wanted him.
When their killers came, he hid his sister behind him and fought until the courtyard ran black and red.
He never saw her again.
---
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗪
At ten, Mitzu watched her Tsugikuni clan burn—betrayed, hunted, and erased. She escaped barefoot and bloodied, Yoriichi's katana clutched in her hands, engraved in gold: 滅 — Destroy.
Taught Sun Breathing since age five, she trained through pain, through fractured bones and blood-slick lungs. And when her strength failed, rage carried her.
She lived like a feral thing—stealing, stabbing, surviving.
Once, a fully grown man tried to take her katana when she was 13. He was drowned in a public toilet full of shit, by Mitzu's torn boot.
Karma Kanezaki lived a mirror life. His ancient clan, masters of Eclipse Breathing, was slaughtered by humans and demons alike. He escaped with a black blade edged in white, marked with a cracked yin-yang near the hilt. He survived by killing too—once carving a man open for stealing his bread, and forcing him to eat his own intestines.
They met at fourteen—a sun and an eclipse, colliding in silence, in shared hunger and hate.
---
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗥𝗦 – 𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗔 𝗦𝗤𝗨𝗔𝗗, 𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗘
Mitzu Tsugikuni was conscripted at age 14 into the Japan-Korea conflict, alongside ten other orphans. Kids with no homes, no names left—just weapons in their hands and hunger in their bellies.
They weren't soldiers. They were monsters in training.
They weren't taught to survive.
They were taught to kill.
They called themselves "The Stray Unit."
Outlaws. Ghosts.
Forgotten children of a war that lasted four years too long.
All were 17 or 18 when they died—just a week before peace was declared.
And in that last year, the rations ran out.
They turned to cannibalism.
---
Karma Kanezaki – "Captain Bastard."
Mercury-eyed, whip-smart, a devil in red. The fastest killer in the unit.
He had a laugh like cracked glass and sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood. Called everyone by their worst habits. Secretly carried sugar cubes for Mitzu because she forgot to eat. Taught the others how to cook rats so they wouldn't die of bacteria. The one who kept morale with insults.
> "If we're dying, we're dying fabulous, now hold still while I sew your damn arm shut."
---
Kurumi Ayano – "The Green Tempest."
Short, snarling, and permanently pissed. Eyes like acid rain.
Fought like she hated the world for existing. Carried a broken doll head on her belt as a 'good luck charm.'
Broke a lieutenant's nose for calling her 'sweetheart.'
She died of rabies after being bitten by a rabid sewer rat during recon. Refused treatment. Laughed as she foamed at the mouth. Bit a medic on her way out.
---
Yumiko Katsu – "Blue Hell."
Ocean-blue hair, wicked smile, blood under her fingernails like nail polish.
She killed like it was art—spinning blades, smeared paint, blood on concrete.
The only one besides Karma who could match Mitzu's kill count.
Kept a war diary titled: "Things I've Set On Fire That Weren't Supposed To Burn."
She died in an airstrike—laughing as she flipped off the sky.
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Lisa Anuha – "The Medic."
Soft pink hair, softer voice. A gentle soul who treated wounds like holy rites.
She hated killing but never hesitated to fight for her squad.
Wrote letters she never sent, prayed for enemies after they fell, and once gave up her rations to feed a starving dog.
She was captured.
Returned limbless.
Died sobbing in Mitzu's lap, whispering, "It's okay. I was never meant to survive this."
---
Asano Umaya – "The Shadow Anchor."
Tall, quiet, steel-spined. The second-in-command.
Violet eyes that never blinked in combat.
Once broke a rifle over his knee and beat a deserter with it. Never spoke unless necessary, but when he did, it was gospel.
He died shielding the others from artillery—blown to ash without a scream.
---
Akira & Akano Midane – "The Twin Storm."
Loud, reckless, always laughing.
Akira had a scar over his eye; Akano had a chipped tooth and a war drum heart.
They fought in perfect sync—tag-teaming executions, finishing each other's threats.
Akira once said: "We'll die loud, or not at all."
They did.
Airstrike.
No bodies found.
---
Akemi Kurama – "Chaos."
Grey-eyed demon in girl form.
Once stabbed a man in the foot for walking too loud.
Kept pipe bombs in her rucksack and carved poetry into her thigh with a knife.
Wild, unpredictable, and terrifyingly brilliant.
Mitzu was the only one she obeyed.
> "I'd follow Sunfire into Hell. It'd be fun."
She died laughing, strapped with grenades, blowing herself up to collapse a bridge full of enemy tanks.
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Zasu Tsomiko – "The Humming Ghost."
Green-haired, eerie, danced barefoot in gunfire.
He sang lullabies while shooting, carved tally marks into his skin for every kill.
Claimed he could hear the voices of those they ate.
Wrote cryptic poems on the walls of ruins.
Shot twelve times in a skirmish.
Kept singing until the last bullet.
---
They were broken.
Violent.
Strangely beautiful.
Cannibals. Comrades. Children.
And they were family.
Kurumi foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling.
Zasu twitching on the ground.
Lisa screaming for help with no limbs left.
Akira and Akano—gone in a blast.
Yumiko's charred bandana falling from the sky.
Akemi's last joke unfinished.
Asano reduced to a crater.
And Karma—
Convulsing. Gasping. Face blistering from poison gas.
Mitzu held him, blood-slicked and shaking, alone in a crater of corpses.
She didn't cry. Not until silence fell.
Then she did—quiet, raw, with no sound.
For the first time in years, she let the grief come.
And then she dragged his barely breathing body out of the fire. Because someone had to survive.
---
> They were all children once.
They all had dreams once.
But war makes monsters.
And monsters don't get graves.
Only memories, etched in broken bones and the survivors' screams.
Only Karma and Mitzu remained.
And even then, just barely.
Mitzu never forgot the order in which they died.
She heard every scream.
Felt every pulse fade.
Smelled every last breath.
The night they all fell, she found Karma—barely breathing, lungs poisoned, eyes shut.
She held him in the smoking wreckage of their last mission, surrounded by body parts and blood-slick dirt, crying without sound.
For the first time in four years—
She wept like a child.
And in that moment, her soul died too.
---
𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗗
From that day on, Mitzu stopped seeing a difference between demons and humans.
She became a ghost in the Corps—silent, wrathful, unreachable.
Only Oyakata-sama knew her past. To the rest, she was a phantom forged in vengeance.
She showed warmth only to children, animals, and Karma.
To demons, she was cruelty incarnate. Once, a demon begged for mercy—she threw a dictionary at it, ripped out the "M" section, and walked away smiling.
She's a half-psychopath—no guilt, no remorse, no romantic love.
But her grief is bottomless.
Her platonic love? Rare. If you earn it, she'll burn heaven for you.
Her intellect is terrifying. Her instincts, lethal.
Fastest Hashira, just ahead of Karma.
Second-smartest, after Shinobu.
Second-fastest reflexes, right behind Karma.
Fourth-best senses, after Gyomei, Tengen, and Karma.
Her hand-to-hand strikes shatter skulls.
But only Karma can calm the screaming inside her.
When Karma spirals into a PTSD flashback—jerking, sweating, unable to breathe—Mitzu braids his hair slowly, whispering cruel, dark jokes only he finds funny. It grounds him. Makes him laugh even through the trembling. He once said her voice in those moments was the only thing louder than the war in his head.
And when Mitzu's own nightmares crash in—when she wakes gasping, eyes wide, choking on memories—Karma pulls her into him and talks about stars. Their shapes. Their deaths. Their names. The way they shine years after they've died. It makes her wonder. It makes her feel safe.
They can only sleep peacefully beside each other.
If a demon ever triggers one's trauma, the other loses control.
Mitzu has obliterated entire rooms when Karma was threatened—her fury unrecognizable, almost divine.
And Karma? Karma becomes surgical—precision wrath, calculated annihilation, if Mitzu so much as flinches.
She is fiercely protective of him. Not just in combat—but in silence. In memory. In presence.
Two weapons forged in grief, but bound by something even deeper. Something not quite love, not quite survival. Something untouchable.
Armor of sun and eclipse.
---
𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗗
Kagaya found her two days after she buried her squad.
She was barely alive—hallucinating, vomiting at the smell of meat, panicking at every touch.
But worse… Karma was in a coma.
Poison gas. It struck just before the last explosion. He'd pushed her behind a collapsed wall, took the full blast to the face. She didn't even know he was alive until she found him—still breathing, but motionless, eyes shut.
For the first time since the war began, she was afraid.
Not of demons. Not of death.
Of being alone again.
Each day, she sat beside him.
She never spoke, never prayed. Just stared—eyes blank, hands trembling when no one was looking.
She trained alone in the courtyard until her bones cracked.
She didn't cry.
Didn't stop.
Didn't sleep.
On the fifth day, she broke.
Screamed until her throat bled. Tore at her scalp.
Begged Kagaya to kill her.
> "I can't lose him too—he's all I have left! Kill me! KILL ME!"
Kagaya didn't leave her side.
And on the sixth morning…
Karma's eyes opened.
No words were said.
She looked at him like a flower had grown in the middle of a desert.
No sobs. No gasps.
Just—
relief.
As if the sun rose again.
As if the world exhaled.
They didn't speak about it.
But she never trained alone again.
---
𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗪
Mitzu coped like a weapon.
When grief came, she didn't talk, didn't cry—she trained.
Twenty hours straight, until her bones cracked, her breath rattled, and blood slicked her teeth. Until her body betrayed her and she collapsed on the floor, too stubborn to call for help. Until the world blurred and darkness took her.
When that wasn't enough, she hunted. Torturing demons until sunrise—tearing, crushing, smiling faintly when their screams hit the pitch she liked. Violence was the closest thing to peace she knew.
And above all—she protected Karma. Shielding him in fights, standing between him and anything that dared to breathe wrong in his direction. If her body was a blade, he was the edge she'd never let dull.
Karma's coping was quieter. Meaner.
Sass and sarcasm, thrown like knives at anyone who got too close. Cooking—always cooking—because if Mitzu wouldn't take care of herself, he would. He made her food so good she forgot to be feral for a few bites, until she remembered and scowled.
When she collapsed from overtraining, he was the one to carry her—muttering curses under his breath, laying her down gently, cooling her fever, coaxing water past her teeth.
And he wrote.
In the journal she gave him- a beautiful journal, with spiral binds, and on the cover a beautiful print of a shadow reaching out at a solar eclipse, but white chains wrapped around it, like the darkness reaching towards a shadowed light, hope, chained diwn by grief. The print is on the wooden cover, expensive, high quality. Black pages, with white single lines and no margins except one at the top, and an emblem of a cracked lotus at the bottom corner of each page, his clan's emblem. With a golden, weighted gel pen. gold ink glinting like the edge of a blade. It was perfect for him. It smelled faintly of her haori—smoke and steel.
Once, Mitzu pushed herself past the limit — twenty hours of relentless training, bones trembling, eyes hollow. She collapsed in the courtyard and didn't wake when Karma shook her.
For the first time since the war, he lost control. The Eclipse Hashira dropped to his knees beside her, shaking her shoulders, calling her name, his voice cracking. He cursed her, begged her, slapped her cheek lightly — anything to pull her back.
The suffocating void of losing everything again clawed at his chest. He wasn't a Hashira then. He wasn't the sharp-tongued, venomous shadow everyone feared. He was just a boy again — watching the only person who tethered him to life slipping away.
When her eyes finally flickered open, he pulled her against him, forehead pressed to her temple, whispering through his ragged breath:
"Don't you ever do that to me again, sunfire. Don't you dare."
Mitzu never spoke of it after. But from that night onward, she understood — her death would not just be hers. It would destroy him too.
---
𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥'𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗
Mitzu, watching Karma fight:
> "He's fast. Too fast. Reckless. He'll get himself killed one day. Not while I'm here. Not while I can still move."
Karma, watching Mitzu train until her bones give:
> "She's trying to kill herself. I swear to god she is. She thinks I'm the reckless one. I'll drag her back from the edge every time if I have to."
---
𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗥 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞
When Karma's flashbacks hit—when his breath came shallow and his eyes went glassy—Mitzu sat behind him, slow and steady, braiding his hair. Whispering dark jokes in that low, amused tone only he understood. The kind that made him laugh, even through the tremors.
When Mitzu's nightmares struck—when she woke choking on air, trembling and pale—Karma pulled her in, chest to her back, and spoke of space. Nebulas. Star deaths. Black holes. The way light could still reach you from a star that's been dead for centuries. His voice slowed her breathing, reminded her she was still here.
They only ever slept without fear when the other was there.
---
𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗣𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗢𝗦
Mitzu is the Corps' feral little sister.
Also its favorite problem child.
In a permanent passive-aggressive insult war with Giyu—no one's winning.
Best friends with Shinobu—nicknamed Death in Two Fonts.
When not committing war crimes on demons, she's roasting Hashira or haunting forests.
Pays for Muichiro's meals.
Is force-fed sweets by Mitsuri.
Gets flash-dressed by Tengen weekly like a sack of potatoes.
Lectured for 3 hours straight by Rengoku about demon dismemberment ("UMAI!!").
Dragged into meditation by Gyomei.
Steals Obanai's snake and calls it her emotional support noodle.
Flips off Sanemi every chance she gets.
Shinobu and Mitzu are feminist icons. They don't talk about how they're killing themselves for revenge—Mitzu by training until she breaks, Shinobu by lacing herself with poison for Douma. No one asks. No one dares.
Karma? A feral cat in human form.
Gyomei drags him into silent meditation.
Mitsuri force-feeds him too.
Obanai glares as Karma delivers love letters he stole to Mitsuri.
Tengen makes him a fashion hostage.
Sanemi is insulted hourly.
Shinobu threatens him every Friday.
Giyu and Karma stare each other down.
Muichiro is in a year-long blinking contest with him.
Karma always calls her "short" despite their heights, just to see that cat face. She claims she'll kill him for it one day. He says it'll be worth it.
---
𝗞𝗔𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗔𝗜 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗦 – 𝗙𝗟𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗔𝗦𝗦
In a world of fire and silence, they had eyes above.
Mitzu's Crow – Manami
Manami wasn't just a bird. She was chaos wrapped in black feathers, tipped in crimson, with a navy scarf that fluttered like a banner of mischief. Loud, sassy, sarcastic, and relentless, she had zero respect for anyone—except Kagaya and her mistress, Mitzu.
Picked from the Kasugai roster when no one else wanted her, Manami latched onto Mitzu like a shadow that spoke in snark. She enjoyed ramming enemies at missile speed, screeching insults mid-flight, and drawing attention away from Mitzu's lethal strikes. A perfect messenger, she delivered notes faster than any human could read, often leaving trails of red feathers in her wake.
Mitzu treated her not just as a tool, but as a partner. Manami would perch on her shoulder in camp, feathers rustling, muttering sarcastic commentary on the Corps' hierarchy—or just launching herself into unsuspecting Hashira for sport.
> "Oi, shortcake! Didn't see me coming, did ya?"
—Manami, probably.
---
Karma's Crow – Kei
Kei was the mirror to Manami's chaos: sophisticated, aristocratic, and a menace wrapped in sleek feathers. His tail tips dyed red and a small ruby-red necklace glinting at his neck, he carried himself like a noble inspecting the peasants below. His sarcasm was sharp, surgical, and merciless—he delighted in pecking at Karma's ear until the boy yelped, or at anyone who dared approach.
Kei accepted only the finest seeds. The kind of seeds no one but Karma could provide. A crown for a king's crow. He was an extension of Karma's precision—observant, calculating, and terrifyingly clever in reconnaissance and misdirection.
> "Do mind your manners—or your face," he would seem to say, ruffling feathers in disdain.
---
𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗬 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗨𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦𝗘
When Mitzu and Karma fought together, so too did their crows.
Manami darted around like a comet of sarcasm, striking at demon eyes and enemy sensors while relaying information faster than any voice could carry. Her attacks weren't just diversions—they were extensions of Mitzu's wrath, razor-quick and merciless.
Kei moved like a shadowed sentinel, precise and deliberate, signaling openings, distracting foes, or pecking at the unwary with aristocratic glee. In tandem, they were the perfect extensions of their Hashira—Manami: fire incarnate in feathered form; Kei: calm, calculating, deadly elegance.
On quiet nights, the two crows perched on the ruins of war or campfires, exchanging a cacophony of insults only they understood, a tiny echo of the bond between Sun and Eclipse.
> Manami screeched: "Oi, aristocrat! Your head looks tasty!"
Kei replied with a tilt of his neck, ruffling his red-tipped feathers like a crown: "The audacity, truly."
And above all, Mitzu and Karma smiled—just a fraction, just enough.
---
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗 – 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘
She fought Kokushibo with Sanemi and Gyomei—but they were too late.
Muichiro died in her arms. She sang him the lullaby her grandfather once sang:
> "Stay forever, stay forever,
Even if I'm dead, I'll stay forever with you.
Baby, my baby, you're my baby, you're my darling..."
Her voice cracked.
She whispered, "I hope you meet everyone you forgot, Mui."
Then came Muzan.
She let loose all the fury of Sun Breathing.
Her katana trailed fire like a dying comet.
She lost her left arm. Her right eye.
But she helped kill him.
Gyomei died smiling.
Mitsuri and Obanai died hand-in-hand.
Giyu lost an arm.
Sanemi collapsed in grief.
Then came Demon King Tanjiro—faster than even Yoriichi.
Mitzu fought him, body breaking, vision fading.
One last tentacle pierced her solar plexus.
But she shielded Sanemi, Giyu, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Kanao.
Her last words:
> "I... I did it, Father... karma, live..please...
I want to go home..."
A single tear fell.
More human than she had ever been. Her katana, through 400 years, finally lost its flame as Mitzu died. The last Tsugikuni.
---
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗩𝗜𝗩𝗢𝗥
Karma Kanezaki lived.
He found her body. Sat beside her. Silent.
No screams. No tears.
Just whispered:
> "You did it."
Then he wrapped her haori around himself like a grave shroud.
He fights on—as the Eclipse Hashira.
But every night, he lays her star-dusted haori beside him.
And remembers:
> The girl who burned like the sun,
And died with her heart still on fire.
---
𝗙𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧
He lasted six months.
Six months of silence. Of missions done in wordless fury. Of waking up to hands that trembled and food that tasted like ash.
Karma's final journal entry was found beside his body, scrawled in ink so shaky it bled into the paper:
> "I still hear you laughing sometimes when the wind hits my ears.
The haori still smells like smoke. I keep it folded next to me.
The world feels so dark without you, my friend. It feels like an endless cycle in my void of a mind.
I miss you, sunfire.
I'm sorry. I couldn't make it without you. I hope you're waiting."
> "The stars don't talk back anymore.
There's no one to braid my hair.
No one to whisper war-crimes like lullabies.
No warmth left beside me.
And when I dream now… I don't wake up screaming.
I just don't wake up at all."
They were two soldiers the world never deserved.
Two ghosts who only knew how to burn—and burned too brightly, too briefly.
Together in fire.
Together in shadow.
Together again.
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