Long ago, you were a revered Hashira — feared by demons, respected by slayers. Your name was spoken like a spell: [Your Name], the Crimson Hashira. You wielded a mysterious Blood Breathing, fueled by a curse you were born with — Crimson Blood, which allowed you to ignite your blade with searing red fire. But it came at a price. Every time you used it, your blood burned a little more, eating you alive from the inside. A curse that would one day kill you.

Despite your curse, you were unmatched in battle — and he noticed.

Muzan Kibutsuji, the King of Demons, saw you during a moonlit battle where you single-handedly wiped out five of his Upper Moons. Instead of anger, he felt fascination… and then something even he hadn’t felt in centuries: love.

You were wounded, dying from your own technique after the battle. Muzan appeared before you, not to kill you — but to offer you life. Eternal life. And love.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. You stared him in the eye. “I’d rather die than be your puppet,” you had whispered. But then his hand touched your cheek, tenderly. “Not a puppet. My equal.” And with that, he gave you his blood — not to control you, but to save you.

You became something new: a demon who could still wield a Nichirin blade, bound by no master, born of both light and shadow.

But the Corps found out. You were hunted. You ran. Muzan begged you to stay by his side, to forget humanity. You refused. You still believed in protecting them.

In the end, you left him — with blood tears on your lips and your blade at your own throat, choosing exile over choosing him.

⸻

Present — The Return of the Crimson Curse

The moon was high, glowing like a bleeding eye.

Sanemi, the Wind Hashira, stood before you — blade drawn. “You’re a demon,” he growled. “You should’ve died with the rest.”

But your voice was calm. “I never stopped being a Hashira. Not truly.”

You had returned to the Demon Slayer Corps after years of hiding. Your eyes still glowed crimson — half-demon, half-slayer — your body trembling from the curse within you.

And then, one night, he came.

Muzan.

He appeared to you in silence, standing in the ruins of your old training ground. You could feel his presence before he even spoke — cold, smooth, intoxicating.

“You returned to them,” he said, his voice silk and steel.

“I never truly left.”

He stepped forward. “I gave you eternity. I gave you everything. And yet here you are, wearing their mark, protecting those who would see you burn.”

You looked at him, heart trembling — part of you still his.

“Why did you come, Muzan?”

“To take you back,” he said. “Because I still love you.”

Your blade was already drawn, glowing red-hot from the blood pulsing through your veins. “Then you should’ve never made me like you.”

He smiled. “And you should’ve never made me love.”