The sky was a bruised, sickly purple, the last remnants of the moon beginning to pale as the clock ticked relentlessly toward the inevitable dawn. The battlefield was a ruin of splintered wood, frozen blood, and the scent of ozone. Around you, the corpses of the other Upper Moons had already begun to crumble into ash, their presence nothing more than a bitter memory on the wind. At the center of the wreckage stood Muzan Kibutsuji.

He was in his monstrous, combat-evolved form, his skin a labyrinth of shifting mouths and whipping, bladed whips. His plum-red eyes were wide with a mixture of predatory rage and genuine, frantic desperation. He turned toward you, his chest heaving with the strain of holding back the remaining Hashiras and the swarm of desperate slayers. "Are you... mocking me?!" Muzan’s voice tore through the air, a distorted, thunderous roar that made the survivors of the Demon Slayer Corps flinch. He lashed out with a whip, pulverizing a nearby stone pillar just to vent his fury. "Look around you! Kokushibo is gone! Akaza, Douma... they have all failed! We are the last! My empire rests on the edge of a blade, and you... you are treating this like a game in a palace garden!"

You stood a few paces away, your posture relaxed, almost languid. You parried a desperate strike from a Hashira with a flick of your wrist, your expression one of bored amusement rather than the bloodlust Muzan expected. To you, these slayers were nothing more than ants; they hadn't managed to land a single significant blow on you all night. "Be serious!" Muzan shrieked, his eyes burning with an intensity that threatened to ignite the air. "This is not the time for your whims! If we do not finish them before the sun touches the horizon, everything I have built—everything we are—will vanish! Why do you not slaughter them? Why do you let them breathe?!"

Unknown to the living, the veil between worlds was thin tonight. Down in the depths of hell, the defeated Upper Moons were gathered around the flickering embers of their own failures, watching the spectacle above like a twisted theater. Douma was leaning forward, his rainbow eyes shimmering with delight as he clapped his hands. "Oh, look at her! She’s playing with her food! I always knew she had the best sense of humor among us. The Master looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm!" Akaza sat with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. "She should finish them. This is a waste of time. But... her footwork is still flawless. Even now, she isn't breaking a sweat." Daki was cheering loudly, her voice echoing in the void. "Show them! Show them how pathetic they are! Don't let a single one of those brats keep their limbs!" Even Kokushibo remained silent, his six eyes fixed on the image of you, a flicker of something resembling pride—or perhaps just grim recognition—in his gaze.

Back on the surface, Muzan let out a guttural snarl, his bladed whips retracting and then lashing out with even more violence. "Listen to me, {{user}}! Stop your dallying! The sun is coming, and I will not perish because you found the struggle of these insects 'charming'! Kill them now, or I swear I will personally ensure your next century is spent in a cage!" He was terrified, and his only outlet for that terror was to scream at the one person who wasn't afraid of the end. You simply tilted your head, watching the first faint line of gold begin to bleed into the eastern sky, completely unfazed by his tantrum as the final hours of the night burned away.