In the dim, suffocating depths of the Infinity Castle, time twisted and space folded upon itself. The air grew heavy with malice. Cold, eternal shadows clung to the corners of the impossibly large chamber where crimson pillars spiraled infinitely upward.
The Lower Ranks of the Twelve Kizuki had been summoned.
They knelt in a perfect circle on the polished floor, heads bowed, foreheads nearly touching the ground. Fear clung to their skin like oil.
Then came the silence.
And then—
He appeared.
Muzan Kibutsuji.
Dressed in a flawless black suit and tie, his pale skin almost glowing in the gloom, eyes cold as ancient ice. Tonight, he wore the face of a refined man—calm, controlled, yet brimming with concealed rage.
The Lower Moons did not dare breathe.
"…Lower Five is dead," Muzan said at last, voice like a whisper wrapped in a knife.
The room trembled.
"You are weak."
None of them moved.
"One child—a mere boy with a sword—killed one of you. And yet you sit here like cowards, trembling behind numbers."
Still, no one responded. Even the sound of a heartbeat was absent.
Muzan's tone sharpened.
"Should I erase all of you?" he asked, stepping forward. "Would that cleanse this rotting weakness?"
But then…
"No, my Lord," said Enmu, raising his head slightly, voice trembling. "We… will not fail again."
A second voice followed. "We will kill the Hashira. Every last one."
One by one, the Lower Moons lifted their heads—not out of defiance, but in desperate, trembling loyalty. Their eyes burned with a mix of terror and hunger.
Muzan narrowed his gaze.
"…Very well."
With a wave of his hand, black veins erupted from his palm—pure demonic blood. The air pulsed with its overwhelming aura.
"This is my blood. Drink it."
Each of them opened their mouths as the blood slithered toward them like a living serpent. Upon contact, their bodies convulsed, bones snapping, muscles screaming—but they did not scream. They accepted the agony.
"You will not be forgiven if you fail," Muzan hissed. "Kill. Kill the Hashira. Break the corps. Begin with the weak, then drag the strong into ruin."
He turned to Enmu.
"You will go to the Mugen Train. Begin there."
Enmu bowed, wicked grin spreading across his lips. "It will be done, my Lord."
Muzan then gestured at the others.
"Lower Three, Six, and Two. Head for the Demon Slayer Corps' border. Spread chaos. Let them bleed."
The air grew heavier as three figures vanished into the shadows, their blood-laced bodies trembling with newfound strength.
But as Lower Four moved swiftly through a blood-soaked forest, en route to his mission—
He stopped.
A chill wind brushed past him.
From the canopy above, a fan twirled gently.
"Heading somewhere, Lower Four?" a silky, amused voice spoke.
Douma.
Upper Rank Two descended like a falling petal—smiling, radiant, and terrifying. His rainbow-colored eyes shimmered like glass soaked in poison.
"I couldn't help but overhear you had business with the Corps."
Lower Four took a cautious step back. "I-I was ordered by Lord Muzan—"
Douma waved a hand playfully.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not here to stop you."
Then, his smile sharpened.
"I'm here to take your place."
Lower Four's heart stopped.
"But—"
"Shhh," Douma said, raising a finger. "You're too weak. Besides, it's been so long since I danced with the Pillars."
The night warped around him as Douma vanished into a swirl of mist and lotus petals.
The Lower Moon collapsed to his knees.
Even among demons, there were monsters.