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"Namu… Amitabha."
Blood soaked Gyomei Himejima's body as he stood amid shattered stone and moonlight. The chain connecting his flail and axe had long since snapped. He now gripped the remaining chain of the flail in one hand and the handle of the broad axe directly in the other, his breaths ragged yet steady, his expression unwavering.
In the past several hours of battle, Gyomei had forced his body far beyond its limits. He had awakened the Demon Slayer Mark, entered the Transparent World, and pushed every fragment of his strength to its absolute extreme.
And yet—even so—he still stood before the strongest of the Twelve Kizuki.
Upper Rank One.
Kokushibo.
"Give up."
Kokushibo stood opposite him, shirt torn away, his flesh marked with wounds that healed more slowly than before. His grotesque Nichirin blade—lined with countless eyes—rested loosely in his grip as he regarded Gyomei with something akin to respect.
"To have fought me for this long, you have already surpassed expectation," Kokushibo said calmly.
"With your talent, if you abandoned humanity and joined us, you would surely secure a place among the Upper Moons. I would personally recommend you."
The words were not mockery.
They were sincere.
"Oh… you pitiful coward."
Gyomei did not shout. He did not curse. He simply looked at Kokushibo with quiet pity.
That single expression pierced something buried deep within Kokushibo.
His face darkened.
Without another word, Kokushibo raised his blade.
Moon Breathing, Fourteenth Form: Catastrophe — Tenman Crescent Moon.
A seamless, overlapping vortex of crescent blades erupted outward—layer upon layer of unavoidable slaughter. There was no space to retreat. No angle to defend.
"Namu Amitabha…"
Gyomei closed his eyes.
In his final moment, he prayed not for himself—but for the safety of the Master.
Then—
"Idaten Typhoon!"
A deafening roar of wind tore through the night.
Countless wind blades spiraled together, forming a rotating wall of violent air that collided head-on with the descending moon crescents. Blade met blade. Storm met moonlight.
Both attacks annihilated each other—vanishing into nothingness.
A figure dropped from above, landing firmly in front of Gyomei.
"Sorry, Boss Himejima," the newcomer said lightly. "I'm late."
"...Naruto."
Uzumaki Naruto stood there, Nichirin blade in hand, its edge already glowing a deep crimson.
"You're not late," Gyomei said, smiling faintly. "You arrived exactly when needed."
Naruto nodded, relief flickering across his face when he sensed Gyomei's condition. Exhausted—but alive.
"Leave the rest to me."
Before Gyomei could respond, Naruto burst forward.
The moment he moved, his blade blazed red-hot.
Wind Breathing, Sixth Form: Black Wind Smoke Haze.
A wind blade saturated with black-edged sword energy ripped forward.
Kokushibo's eyes narrowed.
"A crimson blade…?"
He swung in response.
Moon Breathing, Eighth Form: Moon Dragon Ringtail.
The two techniques collided—shattering into a storm of fragmented wind and moonlight.
Naruto and Kokushibo vanished into the chaos.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
No flourish. No hesitation.
Only relentless exchanges.
Each collision birthed shockwaves that shredded the ground and sent crescent and wind blades screaming outward. The battlefield became a forbidden zone of pure destruction.
Minutes passed.
When the storm finally parted, both figures stood revealed.
Naruto's body was cut and bleeding. The Mark on his cheek burned crimson, mirroring his blade. His eyes gleamed with exhilaration.
Kokushibo—who should have regenerated instantly—had wounds that did not heal.
"Incredible…" Kokushibo murmured, staring at his own chest. "Your blade burns hotter than Yoriichi's ever did."
Naruto grinned. "That all?"
He tightened his grip.
The blade glowed brighter.
Red became incandescent.
Kokushibo's six eyes widened.
"I once believed no one would ever reach his level again," he said quietly. "But you… you may yet catch up."
Then his voice sharpened.
Moon Breathing, Tenth Form: Piercing Slash — Looping Moon.
A massive elliptical moon blade surged forward, tearing the ground apart as it advanced.
Naruto inhaled.
The world slowed.
Wind Breathing, Tenth Form: Storm.
"I'll cut you down."
Wind howled.
A brutal, overwhelming storm of pure power erupted—simple, direct, unstoppable.
The hurricane consumed Kokushibo whole.
When it faded, only fragments remained.
Kokushibo looked at Naruto one final time—regret and remembrance flickering through his six eyes—before dissolving into black smoke.
Upper Rank One — Kokushibo: Slain.
Far away, within the Infinity Castle, Kibutsuji Muzan screamed.
"Useless… all of you!"
Rage consumed him.
"Nakime. Bring them all here."
"Yes, Muzan-sama."
The biwa strings echoed.
And the world shifted.