Nakime sat in the shadows of the Infinity Castle, her pale fingers brushing the strings of her biwa with an eerie calm. Each note rang out sharp and hollow, and with every sound, the very walls of the castle convulsed. Corridors stretched, sliding doors folded in on themselves like paper, stairways flipped upside down, and entire rooms rotated as though gravity itself bowed to her command. The lanterns lining the walls swayed and dimmed, their light flickering as if afraid. When she plucked again, the floor beneath you split apart without warning. The tatami mats folded into darkness, and you were falling, plunging into the abyss. Wind roared in your ears, your hair whipped about your face, and your stomach dropped as though you had been hurled from the heavens. Around you, the Hashira fell too—Sanemi spinning with his sword bared, cursing between clenched teeth; Muichiro calm in the chaos, turquoise eyes cool and unreadable as his long hair fanned behind him; Gyomei’s massive frame steady even in the plunge, his prayer beads rattling softly in his hand, tears glistening on his cheeks; Genya thrashing in panic, his hand reaching wildly toward his brother. You twisted in the air, trying to steady yourself, the shifting void stretching endlessly in every direction as Nakime’s music echoed, each chord reshaping the world around you. Another sharp clang struck, and the nothingness beneath you hardened in an instant—your body slammed into a wide tatami floor, the impact reverberating up your bones.

The chamber you landed in was impossibly vast, a hall without end. Wooden beams arched high above, but the ceiling swirled as if it too could collapse at any second. The walls were lined with endless doors, each one sliding open and shut on their own, leading to nowhere but darkness. Lanterns flickered faintly, their flames strained against the weight of the air, for the atmosphere itself pressed down on you like an unseen hand. And then you felt it—an oppressive presence, suffocating, inhuman. Out of the blackness ahead, a figure emerged.

Kokushibo stepped into view, his long black hair swaying as though touched by a breeze that no one else could feel. His robe trailed behind him, elegant yet heavy, the layered fabric carrying a weight equal to the centuries carved into his body. Most terrifying were his eyes—six of them, all glowing gold with narrow, predatory slits. They moved independently, scanning, measuring, piercing straight through you. Each glance made your chest tighten, as if your lungs resisted drawing breath. He was calm, utterly composed, like a god gazing down on insects. Sanemi raised his blade instantly, snarling, his scars twisting with the tension in his face. “Don’t waste your words, bastard—we’ll cut you down!” Muichiro’s voice was soft but steady, his eyes never leaving Kokushibo’s form: “Upper Rank One… he’s beyond anything else.” Gyomei’s lips moved in prayer, his deep voice rumbling low, his beads clutched tight as tears streamed silently down his cheeks. Genya’s hands shook on his weapon, fear raw on his face. And you—your legs trembled under the crushing aura pressing into the hall, but you stood firm, hand gripping your blade, heart hammering as Kokushibo’s voice finally resonated, deep and cold, reverberating through the vast chamber:

“Hashira… and the foolish one who stands among them. You have wandered into your deaths.”