The rain had started to fall. Heavy droplets pattered against the canopy as three Hashira stood at the edge of a ruined village—homes reduced to rubble, and silence that screamed with unseen horror.
Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, knelt in prayer beside a crushed child's doll. Behind him, the towering presence of Tengen Uzui, flamboyant as ever even with battle imminent, cracked his neck. Beside them, silent and calculating, Muichiro Tokito, Mist Hashira, stared into the shadows where danger festered.
Then they came.
Lower Moon 3 and Lower Moon 6.
The air distorted as two demons emerged from mist and rain, walking on walls, crawling on ceilings. One was muscular, brutal—a beast with fangs and claws. The other was serpentine and twisted, his voice layered with madness.
Tengen scoffed. "Two at once? I'd call that flashy."
Muichiro unsheathed his blade. "Don't let your ego slow you down."
Then the carnage began.
Stone shattered. Blades sang. Gyomei's chained flail roared as it tore the ground open. Tengen's dual Nichirin cleavers spun like twin comets, slicing and exploding through the air. Muichiro moved like fog itself, mist swirling behind each cut, untouchable and sharp.
But the demons had been given Muzan's blood—more than ever before.
Their regeneration was instant. Their blood demon arts merged into a chaotic dance of destruction.
Then—something changed.
The two demons began to laugh. Their bodies pulsed and quivered. Flesh rippled, cracked, and merged.
Their forms intertwined in gruesome symmetry—one torso growing out of the other, multiple arms, glowing veins, muscles bulging like boulders. A hideous cry echoed across the ruins.
"We are One!"
The fused demon—a mountain of rage and brutality—charged.
Muichiro was flung back. Tengen clashed, slashed, but was overpowered and forced into retreat.
Then Gyomei stood tall, the beads around his neck clattering. Rain poured across his blind eyes, his tears blending with the sky.
He whispered, "Lord… let this strength serve them."
The demon mocked. "You cry, priest?"
But Gyomei had stopped praying.
He raised his chained flail and axe, and for the first time in years—he roared.
"Stone Breathing, Fifth Form: Arhat's Judgment!"
The ground split. His flail struck like a meteor, shattering the fused demon's arm. His axe followed, embedding deep into the monstrous back.
Every movement of Gyomei was thunder—righteous fury, fueled by the memory of fallen comrades, of innocence lost.
The fused demon howled, struggling against the sheer force of divine strength.
Muichiro returned, slashing tendons. Tengen used sound—his explosives detonating across the demon's eyes. But it was Gyomei—calm, relentless, unstoppable—who kept them steady.
He bore the brunt. He bore the storm.
"Stone Breathing, Seventh Form: Bell of Salvation."
The demon's core shattered with a reverberating crack, its monstrous scream fading into the rainfall.
And then—silence.
Tengen collapsed, breathing heavy. Muichiro sheathed his blade, slightly impressed.
Gyomei fell to one knee, hands clasped again.
"…Forgive me. But I had to protect them."
The rain fell softer now.
The Stone had stood unshaken.