Another failure.
It made Muzan Kibutsuji realize something clearly—
Most of his subordinates were useless trash.
First, the traitor Tamayo.
Then Nezuko, who had received his blood yet slipped beyond his control.
And now—
The Demon Slayer Corps had gained two dangerous thorns:
Aoyama Ren.
And the boy wearing hanafuda earrings.
Muzan's instincts screamed at him.
If he did not eliminate them now—
They would become a catastrophic threat in the future.
He had to act.
Within the Twelve Kizuki, demons were divided into Upper Moons and Lower Moons.
The Upper Moons bore markings in both eyes.
The Lower Moons had markings in only one.
The Upper Moons looked down upon the Lower Moons.
For centuries, it was the Upper Moons who had slain Hashira.
That pleased Muzan.
But the Lower Moons?
They were constantly replaced—slaughtered by the Demon Slayers again and again.
Lower Five, Rui, whom Muzan had favored—
Had been killed on Mount Natagumo by that boy—
Aoyama Ren.
Unforgivable.
One by one, the Lower Moons arrived at the place Muzan had summoned them to.
A vast space of shifting staircases.
At the center sat a female demon with long black hair covering her eyes, plucking a biwa.
Each note warped the very structure of space.
Nakime.
Muzan's close attendant.
As the Lower Moons gathered, unease spread among them.
Such a mass summons was unprecedented.
The sound of the biwa twisted the space again—
And a woman in an elegant kimono appeared.
Her hair styled beautifully.
No rank marking in her eyes.
A face unfamiliar.
"Bow your heads," she commanded coldly. "Kneel and prostrate yourselves before me."
The moment she spoke—
They froze.
It was Muzan's voice.
Though he usually appeared as a man, tonight he wore the form of a woman.
They dared not hesitate.
They knelt.
This was why Aoyama had never described Muzan clearly to the Hashira.
Muzan could change forms at will.
The man in Asakusa might not resemble the next encounter at all.
Providing inaccurate details would only mislead.
Silence was responsibility.
Lower Four, Mukago, trembled as she knelt.
"F-forgive us… Your scent and appearance are different from before…"
She had meant to explain why they had hesitated.
Instead—
She angered him.
"Who permitted you to speak?"
Muzan's voice dropped into something inhuman.
"Do not use your shallow perceptions to judge me. You exist to answer my questions."
The Lower Moons knelt stiffly.
They could feel it.
He was furious.
"Lower Five has been killed," Muzan said quietly. "Tell me… why are you Lower Moons so weak?"
The air froze.
"In the last hundred years, the Upper Moons have remained unchanged. They kill Hashira. You? How many times have your ranks been replaced?"
No one spoke.
No one wished to be the first target.
Muzan's gaze fell upon Lower Six, Kamanue.
"You were thinking," Muzan said calmly, "that asking me such things is pointless, weren't you?"
He had read his thoughts.
Perfectly.
Kamanue slammed his forehead to the ground, sweat pouring down his face.
He understood instantly.
This was bad.
"How is it bad?" Muzan asked softly.
Veins bulged on his forehead.
His arm warped grotesquely into a writhing mass of flesh and jaws—
It shot forward—
And seized Kamanue.
"Muzan-sama! Please forgive me! I beg—"
Crunch.
The monstrous mouth devoured him whole.
The arm returned to normal.
Blood splattered across the kneeling demons.
They were stunned.
He had just entered the Twelve Kizuki.
And now—
He was gone.
Muzan turned to the others.
"Is the Demon Slayer Corps more frightening than I am?"
Mukago trembled.
His eyes fixed on her.
"You always wish to flee when facing a Hashira, don't you?"
"No!"
The denial escaped her instinctively.
Muzan's eyes sharpened.
"I will fight to the death for you!" she cried desperately.
He smiled faintly.
"You deny my words?"
The monstrous arm appeared again.
And swallowed her.
Lower Three, Wakuraba, saw the pattern.
Mukago had died regardless of her answer.
There was no escape through obedience.
He made his decision.
Run.
He dashed toward the exit.
For a split second—
He believed he had succeeded.
Then—
His head was torn from his body.
Muzan held it in his hand.
Despite a demon's regeneration—
Wakuraba's body did not move.
It did not regenerate.
Muzan's power suppressed even that.
Holding the severed head, Muzan narrowed his eyes.
"Any last words?"
He had summoned the Lower Moons tonight for one reason.
To purge trash.
Trash that could not eliminate Aoyama Ren.
Trash that could not kill the hanafuda boy.
Trash that failed again and again.
Useless things had no reason to exist.
The biwa echoed.
The staircase-filled infinity shifted endlessly.
And the Lower Moons understood—
Tonight—
Was their reckoning.
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