The Master’s body had just erupted into a sea of flames and blood, leaving the air thick with smoke and disbelief. Muzan himself stood before you and the other Hashira, his smile twisted and knowing.

Your fingers tightened on your sword, heart pounding in rhythm with the others’ as you braced for the fight of your life. But then—

Click.

A sound like the snapping of a wooden spring echoed under your feet. Before you could react, the ground gave way beneath you.

The world blurred as you plunged into a spiraling abyss. Yellow lights flashed with each second of your descent, blinding you between shadows. The floor beneath you wasn’t floor at all but a strange repeating space—the same room stacking endlessly downward. In each flicker of light you caught glimpses of people: faces, silhouettes, fighters—yet they drifted farther and farther from each other as you fell, scattering like leaves in a storm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You needed to stop yourself, to reach for a wall, a ledge—anything—but momentum carried you further, faster. The air tore at your ears, muffling every thought except survival.

And then—impact.

Stone cracked beneath you as you landed hard, sliding forward across dust and broken tiles. The shock rippled through your arms as you forced yourself up, coughing.

A shadow loomed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” you muttered.

Standing a few feet away, pale moonlight spilling over his skin, was Akaza. His piercing eyes locked onto you instantly, widening just enough to show recognition.

“The daughter of Muzan…” His voice was low, almost reverent, but edged with fury. “And a Hashira.”

Your pulse thundered. His words were a blade in themselves—your secret, laid bare in a single breath.

The tension snapped like a bowstring. Neither of you had a choice now.

You drew your sword, steel singing in the hollow chamber. Akaza’s stance shifted, muscles coiled.

Fate had thrown you to him. And whether you wanted it or not, this was a fight you couldn’t escape.