Whoosh!
At all three train sites, the figures of the Hashira shot forward. They moved like arrows released from a bowstring, their speed almost too fast for the eye to follow. In the brief moment they had to assess the situation, they had all reached the same grim conclusion: this had to end, now.
The demons standing before them were once their comrades, their respected seniors. But that didn't matter anymore. They were now under the control of Muzan Kibutsuji, twisted into grotesque monsters. The Demon Slayer Corps had only one rule when it came to demons: they must be killed without hesitation.
More than a rule, it was a vow. Every swordsman understood this the moment they joined the Corps. If a comrade ever turned into a demon, it was the duty of the others to put them down and cleanse the ranks. There was no room for sentiment.
And so, after a fleeting moment of grief for Sakonji Urokodaki and the others they once knew, the Hashira attacked. Their resolve was absolute, their goal simple: complete and utter annihilation.
…
As the Hashira closed in, the three newly-formed demons let out a terrifying roar. They had lost all traces of their former selves, every memory of their human lives erased. All that remained was a raw, primal instinct to kill. They no longer remembered their students or their friends. They only knew that the figures rushing toward them were a threat, and any threat to their survival had to be destroyed.
Die. You must die.
The thought echoed in their shattered minds as another monstrous roar ripped through the air. The sound was so powerful that it seemed to shake the very ground. In response to their rage, the derailed trains began to groan and screech with a chilling wail.
Before everyone's terrified eyes, the mangled heaps of metal started to move again. The wreckage shuddered, and worse, the train cars seemed to multiply, stretching out into the darkness as if they were endless.
"This is bad!" one of the Hashira yelled over the noise. "It's using the resentment of the dead passengers to fuel its power! The entire train has become part of its body!"
"If we don't find and kill the main body, every soul on this train will be consumed!" another shouted back. "We don't have much time! Move!"
Acting with the flawless coordination that only the Hashira possessed, they moved as one. Their Nichirin Blades ignited with a dazzling light, each one ready to unleash a devastating Breathing Style.
…
Boom! Boom! Boom!
But just as they lunged, the sound of gunfire and cannons erupted from the shadows. Blinding flashes of light shot through the air, weaving together to form a deadly net of firepower. It was an unpredictable and terrifying assault.
"What is this?!"
"It's the official Japanese law enforcement team!" a slayer cried out in disbelief. "They've been hiding here this whole time!"
"Damn it!" another cursed, dodging a spray of bullets. "They've turned this entire area into a trap. We're caught in the middle!"
At all three locations, the faces of the Hashira turned grim. The situation was far worse than they could have ever imagined. They had come prepared for a fight, knowing Muzan Kibutsuji would have set up some kind of trap. But they had grown used to his schemes, which often seemed clever but lacked true substance. Even after the man known as Tsukihiko had used horrifying tactics that had shaken Oyakata-sama himself, the Hashira had not truly been afraid. They had underestimated their enemy.
Now, they were paying the price for their arrogance.
Terrifying explosions rocked the battlefield. Surging flames lit up the night sky, and scattered debris flew through the air like shrapnel. It was a chaotic and deadly storm.
"Our Lord's plan is truly flawless."
A calm voice cut through the chaos. Hidden in the shadows, a young man in splendid clothes slowly stepped into the light. A serene smile played on his lips.
"Now then," he said cheerfully, "let's bring this little carnival for the Demon Slayer Corps to an end."
He raised his hand and gave a simple gesture. In an instant, countless figures emerged from the darkness. They were the cultists of the Eternal Paradise Faith. And the man leading them was, of course, their founder: Doma. He was also the demon who held the position of Upper Rank Two of the Twelve Kizuki.
…
Meanwhile, in the Cabinet office in Tokyo, the air was heavy with the thick smell of blood. The room was unnaturally silent, filled only with the bodies of Japan's most powerful ministers.
"It seems my initial judgment was correct," Tsukihiko said to himself, a small smile touching his lips. He surveyed the carnage with a detached air. "The Japanese Imperial Family really is quite clever."
He stepped over a body, his movements elegant and unhurried. "On one hand, they use modern government bodies like the Prime Minister and the Cabinet to rule the country. On the other, they use the Imperial Family and the Onmyoji to keep those same officials in check. It's a fascinating system of control."
Japan had always been a nation that adapted quickly. They understood that to fall behind in technology and politics was to invite destruction. This era, the Taisho era, was built on the foundations of the Meiji Restoration, a time of great progress. The country was flourishing. Their constitutional monarchy was similar to Britain's, but with one key difference. While the British royalty were mostly symbolic figures, the Japanese Emperor still held a measure of real, tangible power.
"Hmm… so the Mugen Train has finally begun."
Tsukihiko's expression shifted as he felt the events unfolding miles away through his demonic bloodline. He could see everything happening at the three train sites as if he were there himself. He had to admit, Sakonji Urokodaki and the others had the spirit of true samurai. The moment they realized they were being used as pawns, they had tried to commit suicide with their own Nichirin Blades.
But, of course, he had already anticipated that. Their desperate act of defiance was just another part of his calculation. His goal was never simply about killing a few swordsmen. He knew there were still six Hashira left, and their potential was far greater than they realized.
The Mark, he thought, the technique that could instantly boost a slayer's power to incredible heights. It would likely make its appearance very soon.
"Hmm?" Tsukihiko's thoughts were interrupted. "Someone's here."
His eyes shifted toward the door. A young man dressed in the formal attire of a Shinto priest was walking calmly into the blood-soaked room. A strange and mysterious power radiated from him—a force that was immense, unpredictable, and incredibly strong.
This was the man the Ubuyashiki family had been relying on, their true trump card. He was a powerful member of the Shinto Priest clan.
This man was Shibei, the Shinto Priest.
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