Muzan's voice shook with rage, like he was venting centuries of fury from being trapped inside the spiritual core, his body stolen and replaced by someone else.
His roar echoed across the battlefield.
Rengoku Kyojuro froze for an instant, then quickly steadied himself. He drew his Nichirin Blade, his fiery eyes fixed sharply on Kibutsuji Muzan.
But the ones most shaken were Yoriichi Tsugikuni and Tanjiro.
Tanjiro clutched his ears, eyes wide, hitting the sides of his head as if trying to fix his own hearing.
"No… that can't be right. Why would Mr. Houmiya say he's Muzan Kibutsuji…? He's the one who destroyed my family… the enemy of us all!"
Seeing Tanjiro unraveling, Rengoku blurred forward, placing himself between him and Muzan.
"Kamado-kun! Your breathing is off. Stay calm!"
Then, with his usual fearless smile, Rengoku gripped his sword tightly in both hands. Flames burst from his body as he charged, leaving behind a blazing trail.
"Are you underestimating me!?"
Just before the strike landed, Muzan's whips lashed forward, blocking the blow. His gaze shifted from Yoriichi to Rengoku, his crimson eyes piercing as though they saw through his very soul.
"Humans…"
Eight more whips sprouted and whipped through the air, aiming straight for Rengoku.
Kyojuro planted his stance, his sword glowing with heat. Flames swirled around him in a fiery spiral, walls of fire pushing back the onslaught.
"Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Muzan's eyes narrowed. His movements were sluggish, his whips clumsy compared to their usual precision.
I haven't fully taken this body yet… but this strength is enough.
"ROAR—!!"
A massive shockwave erupted from Muzan's mouth, shattering Rengoku's wall of flames.
Rengoku took the blast head-on, blood bursting from his ears, nose, and mouth. He staggered, but in the next instant, he steadied himself, blade raised against his shoulder.
CLANG!
The final whip slammed into him, the force so great he was hurled backward. His sword carved into the ground to slow his flight, but even then, he was sent tumbling more than ten meters.
"Kh… cough, cough…"
Kyojuro pressed his hand to his mouth, blood dripping between his fingers. His arm was mangled and bleeding badly, but his face still wore that same unyielding smile.
"Rengoku-san!!"
Tanjiro and the others rushed forward, but Kyojuro shook his head firmly. This battle was far beyond them now.
At the side, Yoriichi stared at the boy whose body now twisted with Muzan's presence. His grip on his blade faltered. The hesitation was unlike him. Was it really the boy—or only Muzan?
Meanwhile, Muzan adjusted to his new vessel. He could still use his old Blood Demon Arts, though not the ones created by the human who'd possessed his body. It didn't matter. Once this body was fully his again, he'd wield every ability as he pleased.
"It's time to clean up. Blood Demon Art—Black Blood Thorns!"
Black spikes erupted from his arms, stabbing out in all directions, aiming for Rengoku.
But a red flash cut across the battlefield.
"Third Form: Red Mirror of the Blazing Sun."
Yoriichi appeared before Rengoku, his blade slicing through every thorn. The crimson glow of his Nichirin Sword stunned Rengoku.
"…His blade… wasn't it once black?"
Before he could ask, Yoriichi's quiet voice carried across the battlefield.
"Kyojuro. Tanjiro. Inosuke. Zenitsu."
"Do not speak of what you saw or heard here… to anyone."
Tanjiro shouted, "But Master Yoriichi! He said he's Muzan Kibutsuji—"
"It's a lie," Yoriichi cut him off, eyes hard. "He is not Muzan. He's being influenced… controlled."
Rengoku frowned, then slowly nodded. "If that's true, then it makes sense. This isn't something that boy chose himself."
"If Rengoku-san and Master Yoriichi both believe it…" Tanjiro muttered, though doubt and conflict churned in his chest.
Not far away, Muzan heard everything. His eyes darkened with fury.
Why? Why won't they acknowledge me?
Yoriichi steadied his breathing, gaze fixed on Muzan. The most important thing now is to bring the boy back…
"…Forgive me, Kumokawa. I'll make this right."
In an instant, Yoriichi vanished, reappearing before Muzan with his sword raised.
The Transparent World opened before him. His crimson blade glowed with the light of the sun. His stance flowed, merging every form of Sun Breathing into one seamless strike.
"Thirteenth Form!!"
The blade carved through Muzan's body with blinding speed. Every strike burned like sunlight, shredding his whips, tearing his flesh, leaving him reeling.
Muzan's eyes widened with fear. This was it—the god of slaughter, the man who haunted him for centuries. Every cut seared like the sun itself.
Yoriichi's face was expressionless, but his voice thundered with command.
"Now—get out of this body, and return it to its rightful owner!"
Psychological Shadow of Muzan at this moment:
Muzan—who feared nothing—was once again trapped in the terror of Yoriichi. The pain of sunlight, the memory of near-death centuries ago, the humiliation of weakness. His pride cracked. His heart screamed the truth he'd never admit: No matter how much I evolve, before this man, I am nothing but prey.
"…Return? Return it to me? What am I to you… just an object?"
That uneasy thought came from the one listening in on Yoriichi and Muzan's conversation from a distance, using his breathing technique.
Inosuke grunted, tilting his head.
"Inosuke hears weird words again… Sanhachiro, you're thinking about something really strange!"
Zenitsu clutched his stomach, pale.
"…Why does my mouth taste so bitter all of a sudden…?"
At that moment, Muzan faltered. For the first time in centuries, his face twisted in fear and confusion.
When his spiritual core had been shaken earlier, he'd still managed to observe part of the outside world. He remembered seeing the human who had possessed his body run into the man before him. Muzan hadn't seen their battle clearly—but he'd seen the man cut him down in an instant.
Back then, Muzan thought it was the human's weakness, not his own. The perfect being cannot lose… I cannot lose.
But now, he finally understood. Before this man—this chosen of the gods—his so-called perfection was nothing.
Suddenly, pain more vicious than Jigoku's sword strikes tore through him. His regenerating limbs halted; his body shuddered. Muzan's expression warped as he gasped out:
"—Stop! Agh… stop right there!!"
Yoriichi narrowed his eyes slightly. Was Muzan faking? The sun was nearly upon them.
Yuichiro turned his head toward the east, realization striking him.
"…The sun!"
If they didn't move quickly, Muzan would burn. Yoriichi prepared to act, but then—
Muzan's body flared red. The flames meant to hold back his regeneration vanished, and his shattered body reformed instantly. Yet his pained expression didn't fade. He clutched his head, groaning like something inside was tearing him apart.
"Don't—don't stop me! You're mocking me again, aren't you?!"
His tone shifted suddenly, making Yoriichi freeze mid-step.
"…Are you still in there?" Yoriichi asked softly.
A faint voice slipped through.
"…Not gone… just… holding on…"
But then the pain surged again, and Muzan's voice roared back, drowning everything out.
"This is MY body! Get out—get OUT!!"
Yoriichi watched in silence as Muzan and the other soul inside wrestled for control. His grip on the Nichirin sword loosened. He couldn't kill, not like this—not while the sun was so close.
Anxiety gnawed at him. But in that same instant, he remembered something. His resolve hardened.
He slid his blade back into its sheath and stepped forward.
Muzan sneered, distracted, his body trembling as he tried to complete his transformation.
"…Just a little longer… Thirty seconds more, and I'll…"
He was cut off when Yoriichi's hand clamped over his face and slammed him to the ground with crushing force. Yoriichi's knee pressed into Muzan's abdomen, pinning him.
Muzan thrashed.
"Gh—?! You… what are you—"
But Yoriichi's calm, steady grip didn't falter. He pressed Muzan's head harder into the earth, searching with his other hand until his fingers brushed against something small and round hidden under the clothes. His expression flickered; he pulled it free.
It was a tiny vial filled with a strange white powder.
Without hesitation, Yoriichi snapped the seal and forced it between Muzan's clenched teeth.
Muzan's eyes went wide with panic. His instincts screamed.
"No… no!!"
He struggled, limbs thrashing wildly, but Yoriichi's hold was absolute. The powder spilled down his throat.
"Aghhh—!!" Muzan choked, coughing shards of broken glass as he bit through the vial in desperation. Blood dripped from his mouth, but it was too late. He had swallowed enough.
His vision blurred. His strength faltered.
Through the haze, Muzan glared at Yoriichi, his voice rasping with bitter venom.
"…Even if he gains this body… if he denies his own memories and his true self… then he is still nothing. But if he becomes his real self…"
Muzan's lips curled in a weak, twisted smile.
"…then I can't compare to him at all…"
With those words, his voice dissolved into silence. His body went limp, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Yoriichi remained kneeling, his hand still on Muzan's face. The red light of dawn spilled across the land.
For the first time in centuries, Muzan Kibutsuji had fallen into unconsciousness.
Yoriichi's face betrayed no expression, but his heart was pounding in his chest, filled with a quiet confusion at what he had just witnessed