As Kokushibo raised his blade for the final strike upon the broken body of Shinobu, the air around him trembled—not with fear, but with the sudden and thunderous presence of power.
Clang.
A flash of scarlet and violet light collided with Kokushibo's sword, forcing it back. Sparks erupted across the forest floor as two monstrous auras clashed.
Standing between Kokushibo and Shinobu was a tall young man. His haori was a deep violet, and a long black cape billowed behind him in the wind. His eyes—one glowing violet, the other scarlet—burned with resolve and judgment.
A dark black conical hat rested upon his head, shadowing his upper face. Golden dragon patterns coiled across his Demon Slayer uniform like a symbol of forgotten royalty. A crimson aura flared around him like a storm restrained by sheer will.
"…You," Kokushibo muttered. His six eyes focused sharply. "It's been centuries since I've felt this presence."
"Sahiru," the young man answered coldly, his voice calm but soaked in disdain. "You've done enough damage, Kokushibo."
Kokushibo's lips curled into something between a smile and a grimace. "So it is you. The one who slaughtered the alternate Upper Moons. I thought you were myth… but now I see why Muzan fears your name."
Sahiru's grip tightened on his sword, a curved blade laced with strange markings—marks of deception and death.
Without another word, they clashed.
Silver Hound Slash. Sahiru vanished and reappeared behind Kokushibo in an instant, blade sweeping in a spiral.
Wisteria Blizzard. The wind carried dozens of petal-shaped slashes laced with Wisteria essence, keeping Kokushibo at bay.
The moonlight bore witness to a battle of monsters, but Sahiru's movements carried something refined, almost illusory. Kokushibo snarled, the weight of centuries of battle in every blow, yet Sahiru countered each one, his Facade Breathing both unpredictable and devastating.
"You are strong," Kokushibo admitted. "After so long, someone worthy… has come."
Then, suddenly, he stepped back into the shadows.
"I will not destroy a relic. Not yet."
And with that, Kokushibo vanished into the forest, leaving behind nothing but a memory.
Sahiru stood silently, his blade dripping crimson from a shallow cut. He turned to Shinobu, gently lifting her.
"You'll live," he said softly. "You don't get to die today."
The crimson aura slowly receded, and as the sun peeked over the horizon, a new storm had begun to rise—one wearing the mask of silence and strength.
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