With a single strike, all of Gyutaro's blood sickles were obliterated.
The demon himself was thrown backward, crashing into the far wall.
For a brief mont, Gyutaro stood frozen.
He couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
A human—a re human—possessed power strong enough to wound him?
From the distance, Yukinoshita Haruno watched the clash unfold with wide, disbelieving eyes.
That strength… it was beyond anything she had ever imagined.
Shhk!
After the devastating blow, Gyutaro instinctively leapt backward, creating distance from Yukinoshita Akira. His hand pressed against his chest, and when he lifted it—blood coated his palm.
Though his regeneration had already begun, the wound was deep.
The fact that he'd been injured at all was undeniable.
"Onii-chan—!"
Even though only her head remained, Daki's voice echoed with panic. She could feel his pain as if it were her own.
They were twins—bound not only by blood but by soul. Two beings sharing one existence.
Such a bond could only exist through absolute trust… a connection so deep that each would gladly die for the other.
To Gyutaro, his sister was his reason to live. Even if it ant falling into the deepest pits of hell, he would never regret it.
And to Daki, her brother was her entire world—her only light in the darkness.
Akira exhaled slowly.
"Watch carefully, Miss Yukinoshita," he said calmly. "This… is how you use Fla Breathing."
His tone carried a strange sense of composure—one that made it sound like he was teaching rather than fighting.
After all, he intended to pass this technique on to Haruno.
And what better way to teach than through demonstration?
"So this is… real Fla Breathing?" Haruno murmured, awestruck. "The sword itself burns… like it's alive…"
Her heart trembled. The art before her defied all common sense of swordsmanship.
And the thought that he would teach her—craft sothing so beautiful for her—stirred sothing deep within.
At that mont, Akira's perception expanded beyond normal human limits. His breathing slowed, his senses sharpened. He was entering a state close to the Transparent World.
His heartbeat quickened.
His body temperature rose—thirty-nine degrees and climbing.
The Nichirin Blade in his hands began to change.
Its black steel shimred, veins of red spreading outward until the colors intertwined in a pattern that resembled living fire—burning yet serene.
"Blood Demon Art – Rotating Circular Slashes: Flaying Blood Scythes!"
From behind his twisted grin, Gyutaro unleashed a surge of power.
Dozens of spinning blades made of his own blood appeared from both sides of Akira—circling, spiraling, hunting for an opening.
Every sickle was an extension of Gyutaro himself, fully under his control.
He could twist their trajectories midair, conceal their paths, and strike from every possible blind spot.
"Fla Breathing: Fourth Form – Blooming Fla Undulation!"
A roaring surge of fire erupted.
Akira planted his sword into the floor, releasing a circular wave of fla that spun outward like a blazing whirlpool.
The incoming sickles lted instantly as the heat consud everything in its path.
Within the flas, Akira stood firm—a silhouette of a king crowned in fire.
"This can't be…"
For the first ti, Gyutaro faltered. His movents slowed. The human before him—his speed, his precision—it was impossible to keep up.
And before he could recover, Akira shifted.
His stance changed.
From defense—to all-out offense.
In the blink of an eye, fire enveloped his entire body.
The air shimred from the rising heat, forcing Gyutaro to take a step back.
"Fla Breathing: Ninth Form – Rengoku!"
The ultimate form of Fla Breathing—the embodint of overwhelming resolve.
Flas erupted, swallowing Akira's figure whole.
In that instant, he beca the fire—fierce, all-consuming, and unstoppable.
A thunderous explosion followed as he launched forward like a teor breaking through the sky.
In less than a heartbeat, he reached Gyutaro. The Nichirin Blade, wreathed in inferno, cut clean through.
The impact tore through flesh and bone alike, carving a deep wound that burned even Gyutaro's regenerative core.
"No… this can't be… A human can't have power like this! I don't believe it!!"
Gyutaro's scream was half pain, half disbelief.
The blade was already buried deep in his neck, cutting through almost completely.
But not enough. Not yet.
Akira tightened his grip.
"This ends here, Upper Moon Six—Gyutaro!"
He swung.
A blinding flash followed.
The blade sliced clean through.
Gyutaro's head separated from his body and rolled across the floor—his face frozen in shock and hatred.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Akira didn't stop. His sword moved again and again, reducing Gyutaro's body into unrecognizable chunks.
He rembered the story of the original battle—how Gyutaro had detonated his own blood, turning his death into an explosion.
If not for Nezuko's Blood Demon Art, both the Sound Hashira and Tanjiro would have died that night.
But here, there was no Nezuko.
So Akira made sure there would be no second chance.
"No… impossible… Onii-chan can't lose… This isn't real… IT'S NOT REAL!!"
Daki's anguished scream echoed through the burning hall.
Her head trembled violently—then began to disintegrate. Her body followed soon after, fading like ash scattered by the wind.
Whether she accepted it or not, the outco would not change.
"S-shit… I… was defeated… by a human like you…?"
Gyutaro's voice grew faint, his severed head trembling weakly. His glare fixed on Akira—filled with raw, burning hatred.
Why?
Why was it always like this?
Why did misery cling to him so stubbornly?
Even after becoming a demon—after all his suffering—he still died by the hands of a handso, privileged human like those who once mocked him.
It wasn't fair. It had never been fair.
"'A lowly human,' huh?" Akira said quietly, his tone calm but cutting. "You, Kibutsuji Muzan… all of you demons forget where you ca from. You were human once. You just… changed shape."
Gyutaro tried to reply—but his mouth was already fading away. His final words were swallowed by nothingness.
In his last seconds, his gaze drifted toward Daki.
Her fading silhouette smiled weakly back at him.
And for the first ti in centuries… a single thought crossed his mind.
If only she hadn't been born with .
If only she'd lived a different life, in a different family… she could have been happy.
That was his only regret.
He had shaped her world—her cruelty, her vanity, her pain. Everything she was ca from him.
If she hadn't been tied to a brother as broken as him… maybe she would have been free.
"Onii-chan…"
"U…"
In the final flicker of their existence, the twin demons called out to each other one last ti—brother and sister, together until the very end.
And then… they vanished into dust.
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