Muzan held the severed head of a Lower Moon in his grasp, crimson blood dripping steadily from his fingers as his piercing, plum-red eyes glowed with a menacing intensity. His gaze burned with cold disdain, his presence suffocating, instilling dread in all who remained.

"Insolent bottom feeders."

His meeting with the Lower Ranks had concluded in the only way it ever could—with their complete annihilation. He had arrived before them in the form of a strikingly beautiful geisha, clad in a flowing black yukata, his disguise so flawless that the weaklings had failed to recognize him until it was far too late.

"Down on your knees."

Muzan's command was not a request—it was an unshakable decree. His very presence demanded submission