*whoosh*
Sharp, frigid winds tore across the mountaintop, carrying flakes of snow that stung against the skin. The peak was swallowed in a blanket of white, every tree and stone lost beneath its heavy weight. The air was thin and bitter, each breath forming a fleeting cloud before vanishing into the endless cold silence.
*step*
The winds were so cold that no creature would willingly travel all the way here, each gust laced with frost sharp enough to pierce bone, turning the mountain into a place untouched by life.
Yet, amidst the blinding snowfall and biting frost, a lone figure pressed forward, their silhouette cutting through the storm as they trudged across the frozen wasteland.
"It should be around here…"
Treading onwards with purpose, Aoyama softly muttered to himself as if searching for something.
Then, finally, a broken shed came into view. The wood was cracked and weathered, the roof half-collapsed, and snow had settled in the gaps. Around it, a few small graves stuck out of the ground, the names still fresh—only a few months old—reminding anyone who passed by that this place had seen life not long ago.
And on one of those graves grew a bright blue flower.
~~~
*creak*
'Not bad' Aoyama thought clenching his fists 'This craftsmanship is nice'
After an eventful meeting with everyone and expressing why he was covered in snow despite the Red Light District being nowhere near a hilly area, the rest of the Hashira were pulled away to a last-minute meeting. While Aoyama did want to talk with the others, he was pulled away at the last minute by his blacksmith, Masamori.
It appears that after a long time of studying, Masamori was able to make the gauntlets and leg guards that Aoyama had requested.
"Are you joking?"
However, they had come to a problem.
"You can't use these then!" Masamori shouted "You're going to burn yourself!"
Unfortunately, Aoyama possessed a variation of the Red-Hot Nichirin. Normally, one would have to heat up their own sword either by imbuing it with Sun Breathing and then gripping the hilt with extreme force, or by striking their blade against the Red Nichirin of another Sun Breather.
However, Aoyama didn't need a sword at all; he could heat up his own body instead. When using this skill, his entire body took on the same properties as a Red Nichirin blade, meaning that even his bare punches could hinder, if not completely halt, a demon's regeneration.
But with all the properties of Red Nichirin came its greatest drawback—its absurdly high temperature, hot enough to turn a Nichirin katana a glowing red. While this wasn't a problem for a swordsman, gauntlets and leg guards were a different story. They were strapped directly to the body, and prolonged contact with such intense heat could easily result in severe burns and permanent scars.
Even if we take into account the fact that Aoyama's body had gained resistance to heat, with his own skin glowing hot, gauntlets and leg guards were still extremely heavy weapons that would greatly slow down their wearer.
In the hands of someone experienced with armored hand-to-hand combat, that weight might be manageable. But Aoyama had never used gauntlets before; he relied on the speed and precision of his bare fists. If he suddenly strapped heavy metal over them now, it would throw off his style. Even worse, it would greatly reduce his speed, the only advantage that Demon Slayers have over demons.
"I'm sure these gauntlets will be of great use," Aoyama said trying to appease the gloomy Masamori "It's just that, the demon we're fighting this time is a bit too strong."
"No, that's not the greatest issue" Masamori replied rubbing his forehead "The greatest issue is that if you're telling the truth, do you even need a Nichrin Weapon anymore?"
"Well…"
The only reason Nichrin weapons exist is because they are the only things that can kill demons. If demons could be killed by normal means, the Demon Slayer Corps would have switched to firearms long ago. Considering that Aoyama's body already possessed anti-demon properties, there was simply no need for him to use a Nichrin weapon in the first place, much less a weapon that would only slow him down.
"You don't even need a Nichrin katana anymore!" Masamori wailed. "What's the point of me even being your blacksmith now? And on top of that, you're a physical brawler, not a swordsman.
If you didn't need Nichrin, that would've been fine! I could've just switched to iron. Since iron is so much cheaper and more common than Nichrin, I could've experimented to my heart's content and crafted a really powerful sword—but you don't even use swords!"
'Damn'
After listening to his reasons, Aoyama understood his pain
'A swordsmith's passion is crafting swords. Me not needing Nichrin would have actually been a boon for him, because then he could experiment all day with cheap iron and chase after his ideal blade without worrying about wasting rare materials. In doing so, not only would he have given me a strong weapon tailored just for me, but he might've created an improved blueprint for the basic Nichrin design—something other blacksmiths could use and refine even further.'
Thinking for a moment, Aoyama softly shook his head.
'No, it doesn't matter,' Aoyama thought with forced resolve, though his brows knit together as a faint ache tugged at his chest. 'I plan to kill Muzan as soon as possible anyway. By the time he would have even found such a blueprint, I should have killed Muzan.'
He exhaled slowly and shook his head, once, then again, more firmly, as if trying to throw off a lingering doubt that clung to the back of his mind. Aoyama dragged a hand through his hair, fingers pausing for a moment at his temple before dropping limply to his side.
Of course, plans in theory and execution are very different. He knew that better than anyone.
'Forget it.' Aoyama thought for a moment before shaking his head. 'This line of thinking is going to lead me to a darker path. If a better sword could have killed Muzan, he would've been dead by now.'
Still, it would have been nice to have a backup plan.
"So, are you going to be re-assigned now?"
"Yeah, I guess." Masamori shrugged "We need as many Nichrin Katana as possible, so every blacksmith counts. It sucks, but I don't think I'm gonna meet you again."
"You gonna miss me?"
"As if!"
That was the end of that.
Masamori and Aoyama had only met for a grand total of one time, so they weren't close enough for tearful goodbyes. In the end, they talked for a bit before bowing and bidding goodbye to each other.
~~~
After a few hours, the Hashira finally came out after their meeting.
In the end, all they could do was go over the plan again and again, turning it inside out as they searched for any possible flaw. Every detail was scrutinized to make sure nothing had been overlooked before they confronted the Upper Moons.
While that was going on, the rescue squad swiftly rescued all the civilians stored in the Obi-slashes and other hiding spots. Due to the Hashira's commands, the rescue squad did take Tanjiro, Itsuki and Mitsuri with them. Of course, out of these three, only Itsuki was somewhat qualified, after all, Mitsuri had been a Slayer for not even a month, and Tanjiro wasn't even a Demon Slayer, so they were sidelined while the other Slayers handled most of the task.
And so, Aoyama did nothing but sleep the whole day, his exhaustion finally catching up to him as he sank into a deep, dreamless rest. The bustle of the district, the distant footsteps of Slayers, even the faint creaking of the building all faded into a dull blur.
By the time evening came, the room had grown dim, the light outside thinning into a muted orange. Aoyama only stirred when he felt a hand roughly shake his shoulder and heard the familiar jingle of metal beside his ear.
Blinking his eyes open, he saw Tengen's silhouette looming over him. The moment Tengen's voice reached him, Aoyama forced the last traces of drowsiness away, his mind snapping back into focus as he pushed himself upright to listen.
*jingle*
"Listen, Aoyama, you're coming with me," Tengen said the moment Aoyama opened his eyes. "I can't sneak in with a glowing blade, so once I locate the Upper Moon, I'll try to exterminate her on the spot. If I'm unsuccessful, I'll drag her out into the open, where you and the others will ambush her."
"While I'm on my way, you're going to do that weird glowing thing on the other Hashiras blades." Tengen said, shaking one of his swords "Don't mess up something this easy by breaking their swords or something, got it?"
"What do you take me for?" Aoyama exasperated
"A sassy kid."
Aoyama remained silent for a moment, before speaking.
"Don't die."
"Eh? You worried about me?" Tengen smiled pointing a finger to himself "How touching! Did you fall for my charm already? Sorry, but I have no interest in kids when I have 3 beautiful wives waiting for me back home."
Aoyama let out a wry smile as heard Tengen's taunts.His jokes however, did nothing to ease Aoyama's worries. Perhaps noticing that, Tengen let out a quiet sigh as he shook his head.
"Don't worry, do you really think I'm gonna die and miss out on retirement?" Tengen replied as he stood up "I'm a Shinobi, I've survived death multiple times during my childhood. Compared to that, a demon's nothing.
So relax. After all, what could go wrong?"
~~~
*rustle*
Puckering up her lips after applying lipstick. Daki, in her Oiran gear, looked at the mirror with boredom as she braided her hair.
The severed head of a young woman hung from the wall, blood dripping slowly down the wood. Her eyes were wide open, frozen in terror, as though the last thing she saw had been something far beyond her worst nightmare.
"A tool that can mimic sunlight, huh?" Daki mumbled "That might be an inconvenience."
She leaned closer to the mirror, adjusting a loose strand before sighing. The shine on her lips caught the lamplight, but even that failed to amuse her. She tied the last braid with a flick of her wrist, her expression unreadable beneath layers of beauty.
Earlier that day, Daki had felt a sudden rush of energy flooding her body. Her vision blurred for an instant, and when she looked in the mirror, her reflection startled her. The glossy black of her hair had faded into a pale ash gray, the mark of her full power.
So, she tried to connect with her obi slash, but was unable to form a connection. Frowning, Daki focused harder, forcing the link open until fragments of memory surfaced, only to see it burning away after being exposed to a purple lantern, as if being burned by sunlight.
Moreover, the light from the lanterns even burned the slashes she used to contain all her "trophies". Centuries of effort, centuries of collecting and preserving the most beautiful faces she'd ever seen, just to be brought down by a single group of Slayers who weren't even Hashira, was completely infuriating.
"Humans, no matter how beautiful, grow old, wither, and become ugly." Daki scowled "Why can't they appreciate what I'm doing for them? Do they really believe in some nonsense like dying while being proud of being human?"
The vase on her table trembled for a moment,as if agreeing with her, before stopping.
Daki slowly set down her comb, her movements deliberate and graceful. The faint clack of lacquered wood against the vanity broke the silence. Her eyes shifted to her reflection; her long, silken hair had been twisted into curled twin ponytails.
"What do you think?" Daki mumbled. "How does it look?"
Daki froze mid-step, her eyes unfocused for a brief moment. Then, with a quiet exhale, she blinked and went back to braiding her hair, her expression slightly more tense than before.
"Yeah, it's too weird." Daki agreed "I'll just stick to my normal hairstyle."
"Yohoho~"
The shrill, bubbling laugh echoed through the room, grating on Daki's nerves like nails on glass, as Gyokko shot up from his pot, water splattering across the floor.
"I for one think that hairstyle suits you very well," Gyokko laughed, his voice bubbling out of his twisted mouth in that shrill, unpleasant yohoho that scraped against Daki's nerves. "For someone as beautiful as you, any hairstyle would suit you."
"Tch, who cares what you think?" Daki mumbled, her lips twisting in clear disgust. She didn't even bother to look at him; just the sound of his voice was enough to sour her mood. "Besides, I'd listen to my brother over a hundred men, much less someone like you."
"Yohoho~ how hurtful," Gyokko mocked, but his tone was more amused than offended, like he genuinely enjoyed being insulted.
"Whatever," Daki replied, exhaling through her nose as if the conversation itself was beneath her. "Sunset is getting close, so just get ready for the battle."
"Battle?" Gyokko repeated, tilting his head, eyes shining with a sick sort of anticipation. "No, this isn't a battle; this is a massacre. Perhaps the most beautiful massacre there ever will be." His lips stretched into a distorted grin, as if he could already see their torn bodies arranged like some masterpiece only he understood.
'Tch, why did I get paired up with him?' Daki internally complained, barely keeping her face from twisting. 'Akaza, Doma-dono, that Upper Moon One… hell, even Hantengu would've been fine with how he looks in his final form. At least they look strong, or dignified, or beautiful in their own way. So why did I have to get stuck with this ugly pervert in a jar?'
Her gaze flicked toward Gyokko's warped face, and her stomach churned 'Just looking at him ruins the mood. What a waste. Someone as beautiful as me having to share a battlefield with that thing, what beauty does he find in making grotesque designs with withering humans?'
*Whew*
Taking in a deep breath, Daki calmed herself, forcing the irritation twisting inside her chest back down. Her lips curved into a slow smile as strands of her obi began to float and coil lazily behind her, reacting to her mood.
"Speaking of battle,"
*swish*
Turning into a thin, pointy strip of cloth, the obi slash shot upward and pierced the ceiling above her. A wet, unpleasant squelch echoed from somewhere in the rafters, as if it had stabbed into something soft.
"It looks like we're starting."
Daki narrowed her eyes in mild curiosity and slowly drew the slash back down. As the cloth descended, she twisted it slightly to get a better look at what it had caught, like a child checking the end of a fishing line.
Impaled on the tip was a weirdly muscular mouse, its tiny limbs twitching, veins bulging under its fur in a way that looked almost unnatural.
Daki stared at it for a heartbeat, more confused than anything.
"The hell?"
Then the mouse gave a faint, spasming jerk, its beady eyes rolling, and whatever faint curiosity she had instantly curdled as her lip curled in revulsion.
"What an ugly mouse," Daki scoffed, flicking her obi sharply to send the corpse flying off the cloth like a piece of trash.
The mouse's body hadn't even finished its arc through the air when the world above her split open as the ceiling exploded in a storm of splintered wood and falling dust.
*CRASH*
"Sound Breathing First Form: Roar!"
Tengen crashed through the shattered roof with both cleavers drawn back behind him, his figure framed by the broken moonlight. Using the momentum of his fall, he swung the blades down in a single, lethal arc, aiming straight for Daki's neck.
'What!'
Yet as Tengen descended, he noticed Daki already staring straight at him, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips as if she had been expecting this exact entrance.
Their eyes met for a brief instant in midair. Slowly, almost lazily, Daki moved her mouth, exaggerating each syllable so he could read it clearly.
"So slow."
"Thousand Needle Fish Kill"
Hundreds of small goldfish appeared out of nowhere, swarming around Tengen. In an instant, each fish spewed out dozens of needles, every one of them coated in a paralyzing poison as they formed a ring of death around Tengen.
'What the? Those eyes…Upper Moon 5?!'
For a split second, Tengen's stomach dropped. This wasn't how the plan was supposed to go. They'd prepared for one Upper Moon, not for a second one to jump in from an unseen angle the moment he made his move.
'Why are there two Upper Moons?!'
There was no footing to push off from, no wall to use, no cover to slip behind. Gravity dragged him down while the storm of poison rose up to meet him. Compared to a demon that could freely twist and attack from any angle, a human body thrown into the air was nothing more than a target.
And so, he could only helplessly watch the barrage of needles on the verge of assaulting him.