A rumble echoed across the desolate cliffs.
Thunder surged through the silence, twisting and cracking through the sky like a rampaging dragon, before latching itself onto the blazing crimson blade—Tachibana Kyūjō's Nichirin Sword.
In a flash—too fast for any normal eye to follow—his slash drew a perfect arc toward the slender neck of the demon woman standing helplessly before him.
Her petite body jolted backward.
But Kyūjō didn't allow a single moment for pity to grow.
With unwavering calm, without the slightest hesitation, he struck again. And again. And again.
In less than the span of a breath, the girl's body—Nakime, the biwa-playing demon who once served Muzan—was shredded into a blur of motion, each strike so precise it could barely be registered.
Her body trembled, twitching like a marionette whose strings had been violently cut.
And in the final seconds before her existence crumbled, an overwhelming sense of injustice filled her heart.
She wasn't even the main threat. She didn't have the power to withstand even one blow from this man.
It was her flesh that was torn apart, her soul that vanished at the hands of the storm cloaked in human form.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash—Thirty-Six Fold."
Kyūjō's voice rang out with the final strike, perfectly synchronized with a thunderous crack that shook the valley. As he sheathed his blade, the scattered pieces of the demon's body fell silently to the earth.
Nakime's eyes, wide and empty, couldn't comprehend what had just happened. She faded into nothingness—without even a final word.
The storm was far from over.
Kyūjō, releasing his breath, let go of the immense energy roaring through his veins.
Veins of lightning-like markings danced across his forehead and eyes, tracing downward like jagged tattoos. His pupils glowed faintly, crackling with residual static—so intense that the very air surrounding him began to shiver.
An oppressive pressure surged outward, like a divine gale, pushing down on everything in the valley. The wind stilled. Even the atmosphere thickened—dense enough to crush bones under its weight.
He didn't look like a mere man.
He stood like a thunder god, wrapped in divine fury.
Just the presence of his spiritual force alone was enough to paralyze every demon within the valley—freezing them where they stood.
Akaza, the Upper Rank Three, found his entire body seized by violent tremors. Check latest chapters at novel_fіre.net
Not of will—but of instinct.
His own flesh rebelled against him, screaming warnings in silent terror:
Run... Run! You'll die if you stay here!
But Akaza wasn't the type to yield so easily. Rage ignited inside him, far fiercer than fear. He clenched his teeth hard, his jaw trembling from pressure—not submission.
This guy... this human...! I can't even move in front of him!? Am I really this outmatched?!
Damn it—DAMN IT ALL!!
His mind screamed in helpless frustration.
But he wasn't the only one.
Across the battlefield, all remaining demons—excluding only Kibutsuji Muzan and Kokushibō—were trapped in the same invisible vice. Not even the cold-hearted Dōma, former Upper Rank Two, could move.
His gaze flickered left and right in silent confusion, devoid of any understanding. Even he couldn't process the overwhelming chaos around them.
And at the center of it all...
Kyūjō stood completely alone.
As if he alone held back the entire darkness of this world.
"All Demon Slayer Corps—fall back!"
His voice rang out across the valley like a divine commandment.
Over two hundred swordsmen, previously frozen in awe, snapped out of their stupor. Moving in unison, they began the coordinated retreat they had drilled countless times.
Meanwhile, from the other side of the battlefield, two beings—the apex of demonic might—stood motionless, their eyes wide in disbelief.
He's still alive? No... not just alive... he's using Breathing Techniques at this level? This... This isn't even the same form as before... This is beyond Yoriichi... beyond everything...
It was only now, face to face, that Kokushibō understood the truth:
This man was the true end of their destiny.
I knew this was a trap... I shouldn't have come here today... but this... this man... he's a monster.
His gaze flicked to Nakime's remains.
For the first time in centuries... Muzan—Demon King of the Eternal Night—felt a chill of primal fear.
His instinct screamed:
Because his entire body, from skull to sole, was trembling under the crushing weight of one man's will.
More terrifying than even Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
While the mid- and upper-ranked swordsmen completed the evacuation plan, Kyūjō raised his sword once more.
As his crimson Nichirin Blade unsheathed again, a wave of scorching heat poured out—enough to sear demonic flesh on contact.
Lightning crackled across his arm, crawling along the blade before transforming into glowing symbols—ancient runes, etched into the steel like divine scripture.
He turned, his glowing eyes now locked onto Muzan.
That gaze—it wasn't just strong. It was cruel.
His last hope was that Kyūjō would attack Kokushibō first. That he'd get a few seconds—just enough to activate his most dangerous trump card: the Cell Split Technique.
A forbidden move that would let him flee and regenerate... though it would drain him of strength for decades.
But the moment he met Kyūjō's eyes, he knew.
There would be no escape today.
In desperation, Muzan activated all five brains and seven hearts embedded within his body. Power surged, muscles tensed, flesh contorted in preparation for his escape technique...
But Kyūjō simply narrowed his eyes.
"You done preparing?"
His tone was flat—almost mocking.
In the blink of an eye, his sword pierced straight through one of Muzan's hearts.
Muzan choked on his own blood. The infernal combination of red flame and living lightning burned him from within, assaulting every nerve with the agony of hellfire.
His body spasmed, and the ritual was forcibly interrupted.
And for the first time... Muzan's face twisted into real, undeniable fear.
He simply pulled out a small vial of crimson liquid from his inner coat, crushed it in his hand, and let the contents drip directly into Muzan's wound.
Then, without pause, he regripped his blade and turned to the next enemy.
"Thunder Breathing, Third Form: Thunder Swarm — Modified Variant: Pure Lightning Blast!"
A crimson streak of lightning erupted.
His blade met Kokushibō's demonic katana—Kyokokukamusari, forged from his own flesh, honed over centuries.
It shattered in an instant.
Kokushibō froze. Never—not even once—had he felt this small.
As the red blade slashed again, and he saw it closing in, he let go of his broken weapon and gently shut his eyes.
There was no point in resisting.
His head flew. His body collapsed, slowly turning to ash.
"Why didn't you dodge?" Kyūjō asked, surprised.
From the severed head on the ground, a whisper:
"Because I wasn't afraid."
That line was from a different anime, wasn't it?
Kokushibō's face, now beginning to fade into dust, turned toward Kyūjō with calm eyes.
"Why didn't you move?"
There was no hatred in his gaze anymore. Only peace.
The man once known as Tsugikuni Michikatsu—now feared as the second Demon King—had finally let go.
Because in that last moment, as he felt the absolute strength of Kyūjō...
He realized something.
Someone has finally surpassed my little brother, Yoriichi.
"Foolish little brother... your big brother's coming to join you now."
The second Demon King—Kokushibō—has fallen.
Far in the distance, the bodies of other demons began to collapse one after another. Unable to withstand Kyūjō's spiritual pressure, their flesh rotted away like sandcastles swept by the tide.
His gaze fell back onto Kibutsuji Muzan, whose half-destroyed body still remained standing.
"You thought life was something you could toy with?"
"W-Wait! Don't come any closer!! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
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