The clash echoed through the mountain valley like thunder — stone cracked, trees splintered, air warped under the weight of your power.

Akaza grinned through bloodied lips, fists tight, stance low, heart pounding not from fear… but from something far more volatile.

Excitement. He hadn’t felt this alive in decades.

You were fast. Not just fast — precise. Your strikes weren’t wild, weren’t predictable. You weaved through his assaults like water flowing around stone, and when you countered, it hurt. The pain was real. Rare. Exhilarating.

He laughed as your blade scraped his ribs, the wound hissing as it began to knit.

“What’s your name?!” he shouted between exchanges, voice rough and bright with obsession. You didn’t answer. You never had.

Every silence drove him deeper into madness.

You were human — still human — and yet your strength rivaled his. Not brute strength, not like the kind he used to flatten mountains.

Yours was different. Sharpened. Controlled. As if you knew the precise moment to hit, and exactly how deep.

He struck the earth, sending debris flying, forcing you back. You leapt, untouched — sweat and blood streaked across your face, your weapon drawn tight at your side.

Akaza appeared in front of you a blink later, fist cocked. “Tell me your name!” he demanded again, voice trembling with something that might’ve been desperation.

You didn’t. You only met his gaze and struck again.

The battle raged on — minutes, hours, he couldn’t tell anymore. The world had narrowed to you and him, nothing else.

Your blade tore through his side. His fist shattered your weapon’s guard. He sent you flying; you slammed him into a cliffside.

It was chaos. It was beauty. And still — you refused to speak.

Each time you hit him, he felt it in his soul. Not just the pain. The meaning. The way your eyes never flinched. How your body moved with purpose.

He had seen it only once before — in a swordsman long since dead, reduced to memory and regret. But you were different. Stronger. Sharper. More alive.

Blood poured from his mouth as he stumbled back, laughing hoarsely. “You’re wasting it… All that strength… that talent—” He met your gaze again. His eyes burned. “You could be so much more.”

The idea wrapped around him like a fever.

He wasn’t taunting anymore. Not mocking. He meant it.

He stepped forward slowly, voice lowering. “I’ve killed so many. Torn through pillars, prodigies… but you?” He inhaled. “You’re perfect.”

His fists dropped slightly — not in surrender, but in offering. “Come with me. Let me show you what you could become. You don’t have to die here. Not like them.”

You stood across from him, breathing hard, blood on your chin, eyes blazing. And still, you didn’t speak. The silence hurt more than your sword.

He stepped forward again, desperation clawing at his throat. “You don’t understand. If I kill you, I lose everything I’ve been searching for.”

Another step. “But if you become one of us—if you let me bring you to Muzan—” His eyes glinted. “You’d never break. You’d never die. You’d surpass me.”

The wind howled between you. Your answer came not in words, but in motion — the final charge, a strike aimed not to kill, but to end.

Akaza met it head-on. Fists, blade, rage, and purpose collided all at once in a burst of energy that split the air like lightning. When the dust cleared, only silence remained.

He stood over the shattered stone, chest heaving, blood painting his arms. The place where you’d stood moments ago was scorched into memory.

Gone. Not dead. Not defeated. Just… gone. He stared at the space you’d left behind, teeth clenched, jaw tight.

“Damn it…” His hand trembled. He still didn’t know your name. And now, more than anything in the world, he needed to.