The scent of blood hit Giyu before he saw you.

Sharp. Fresh.

Wrong.

He moved without hesitation, cutting through the trees like a blade through mist, his heartbeat deafening in his ears. Then he saw it—your body slumped against the roots of a fallen tree, blood soaking through your clothes, eyes barely open.

Time stopped.

“{{user}}!”

He was at your side in an instant, kneeling, hands trembling as they hovered over your wounds. Your breathing was shallow, weak, and your lips parted to speak, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, voice tight, almost breaking. “Save your strength.”

Behind him, something moved.

A low growl echoed through the trees—and then the demon emerged, claws dripping red, teeth bared in a sickening grin. “Oh,” it sneered. “That one cried out for you.”

Giyu stood slowly, the air shifting around him, his haori fluttering with the sudden pressure of his killing intent.

He didn’t say a word.

There was no calm in his eyes now—only fury. Cold, consuming, and merciless.

In a blur, he struck. Water Breathing, Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust.

The demon didn’t even scream. One moment it stood cocky and proud, the next it was nothing but blood and dust in the wind.

Giyu didn’t stop.

He slashed again. And again. Long after it was dead.

When it was done, he returned to you, his blade slick with vengeance, his face unreadable—but his hands, when they touched your cheek, were gentle.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I won’t let you go.”

And this time, his silence spoke louder than any vow.