You had trained for this. Hunted for it. A confrontation with Upper Moon Three — the demon who slaughtered your mentor, the Flame Hashira. And vanished like mist. Tonight, you finally found him. Or so you thought.

Your blade slashed through the fog. Nothing. No blood. No contact. Just air.

Then, a whisper behind you. Too close. Too calm.

“Careful, Love,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your ear as his fingers ghost along your neck. “Pretty little slayers like you shouldn’t swing without thinking.”