Smoke drifted across the scorched ruins of the Entertainment District, curling in the air like the fading breath of the demons who had brought this place to ruin.
Tanjiro lay unmoving, his body battered beyond recognition, lungs wheezing for breath. Not far from him, Tengen Uzui gasped against the wall, his severed arm wrapped in cloth, his entire body reeking of poison. Zenitsu and Inosuke were down too—barely conscious, the venom slowly stealing away their lives.
Then came the soft sound of footsteps.
Nezuko emerged from the smoke, untouched by the destruction, her eyes glowing with sorrow and fierce resolve. Her small figure glowed with a burning crimson aura.
She walked first to Tanjiro, kneeling beside him. Without hesitation, her blood ignited.
Exploding Blood.
A wave of crimson fire burst across Tanjiro's body—but it didn't burn him. It healed. The poison hissed and vanished in an instant.
She ran next to Inosuke, his chest barely rising. The flames wrapped around him and devoured the toxin.
Then Zenitsu.
Then, at last, Tengen.
One by one, her blood burned away the poison from their veins, saving them all with a power that defied her demon nature.
Tengen, watching in disbelief, chuckled.
"She's really... a miracle, huh?"
—
Meanwhile, deep in the ash and rubble, as their bodies disintegrated under the sun, Gyutaro and Daki saw something.
Memories.
A cold street. A dying mother. A starving child.
Gyutaro remembered hunger. Scraps. The pain of never being wanted. He remembered protecting his sister—Ume—who would later become Daki. He remembered how she was burned alive.
He remembered the despair, the rage.
And the offer of demonhood.
Ume, still clinging to her brother in death, cried as her body faded.
"Onii-chan... I was scared... I didn't want to be alone..."
"We'll go together, Ume... Like we always have."
Gyutaro, as his body began to crumble into ash, turned slightly—his eyes dim yet strangely soft.
"Oi... Kamado Tanjiro," he muttered, the words scraping out of his fading throat. "You're a strange one... Thanks... and all the best..."
Daki, her voice barely a whisper in the wind, echoed with a hint of emotion. "Live well, Tanjiro... Don't become like us."
And then they were gone.
Ash on the wind.
—
Hours later…
Obanai Iguro arrived at the district, his snake slithering along his shoulders. His eyes scanned the carnage—his jaw clenched.
He found Uzui, sitting on a collapsed beam, his face pale but alive. One arm missing. Bloodied. Barely able to keep upright.
"You've disgraced the title of Sound Hashira," Obanai muttered, his voice cold.
Uzui smirked. "You're late, snake boy. The fight's already over."
"You should have died fighting."
"Don't worry. I'm retiring."
Obanai turned to leave, disappointed—until Tengen spoke again.
"Oh, by the way... Tanjiro's alive."
The words struck Iguro like a blade.
He paused.
"...What?"
Tengen smiled faintly. "You heard me."
For the first time in a long while, Iguro said nothing.
He simply walked away—quiet, thoughtful, and... shaken.