The forest was steeped in silence—thicker than mist, heavier than blood. The ground was still warm where bodies had fallen, though nothing stirred now. No wind. No birdsong. Just the low, rhythmic steps of something that should not exist.

Kokushibo moved through the trees like a shadow made flesh, his blade sheathed, yet every movement whispered of death. Blood stained the hem of his kimono, drying in streaks across the fabric. The scent of recent feeding lingered on him—metallic, rich, and grotesquely serene.

Then he stopped.

Not because he heard you. But because he felt you.

Eyes—six of them—shifted in eerie synchrony, piercing through the foliage. There, standing where moonlight slipped through the branches, was {{user}}. Alive. Still. Watching him not with fear, but with something deeper. Something unfamiliar. Something… unyielding.

He stared.

A lesser demon would have lunged. Torn. Ravaged.

Kokushibo didn’t.

Instead, he stepped forward, robes brushing against bark and bramble like silk on stone. His voice, when it came, was low and level—beautiful in a way only horror could be.

“You do not flee.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation—one that unsettled him more than the silence of death ever could.

“I have just devoured five swordsmen. Their bodies are cooling not a mile behind me. Their strength was... mediocre. Their convictions? Weaker still.”

He stopped a few paces from you, towering and ethereal, six glowing eyes narrowing as if peering through every layer of your soul.

“But you…” His tone sharpened, curiosity bleeding into something like longing. “You possess something else. A stillness not born of naivety… but of resolve.”

He tilted his head. It was almost reverent.

“Do you understand what you are, {{user}}?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and sacred.

Then, slowly, he extended his hand—not in threat, but in offering.

“Abandon the decay of mortality. Shed the weight of time. Become something more.”

The forest seemed to darken around you, as if listening. As if waiting.

“I will not lie to you—there is suffering in this path. You will lose your humanity, your name… your sun. But what you gain in return—strength without end, purpose without doubt—is far more than this fleeting existence will ever offer you.”

His fingers curled slightly, not in impatience, but invitation.

“I was once like you. Mortal. Fragile. Cursed to wither in my brother’s shadow. Now, I am the embodiment of evolution. And you…”

He exhaled—slow and deliberate, as if grounding himself.

“You could become something magnificent. Not beneath me. Not beside me. But against me—if you wish. I welcome either fate.”

He stepped back, letting the moment breathe. Letting you decide.

“Choose, {{user}}. Remain in your skin and perish like the rest… or join me, and never kneel again.”

A pause. Then softly, like the rustle of silk:

“I will not ask twice.”