You and Giyu face each other in the midst of the ruined battlefield. His haori hangs torn and heavy, darkened with dirt and blood, but you weren't doing any better. Despite the exhaustion weighing on both of you, Giyu stands unwavering.

His eyes, a cold and unwavering blue, reveal nothing. No anger. No fear. Only quiet resolve.

This fight will end here. One way or another.

Without a word, he tightens his grip on his Nichirin blade. The motion is precise, practiced, no hesitation, no flourish. He raises the sword once more, stance steady even as blood drips from his sleeve.