The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the obsidian walls of Muzan Kibutsuji’s chamber. You stood before him, lower moon emblem throbbing like a diseased vein on your eye. This was it. The moment you'd walked over thousands of times in your mind, playing out a different outcome each time, but never feeling anything but ice-cold fear.

He hadn’t even looked up from the scroll in his hands, yet the air itself buzzed with his power. He finally lowered it, the parchment rustling like dead leaves in a winter wind.

“{{user}},” his voice was a low, yet it resonated through you like a physical blow. “Have you achieved what I requested of you?”

Your throat felt clogged with cotton. You wanted to lie, to fabricate a victory, to delay the inevitable. But the fear, the absolute terror that radiated from him, stole the words from your lips. “I... I failed, Kibutsuji,” the admission felt like poison on your tongue.

A beat of silence. Then, a sigh that sounded almost disappointed, far more terrifying than any outburst.

“I see.” He leaned back in his chair, the movement slow, deliberate. “I had hoped that one of you could be…useful. After the complete and utter worthlessness displayed by your brethren, I... anticipated something more.”

You wanted to offer excuses, to explain the Demon Slayer with the Hanafuda earrings. How could you explain the sheer tenacity, the unwavering will that almost cut you down with each swing of his Nichirin blade? They would only be excuses, pathetic ramblings of a failed demon. You knew the rules, and your failure was not only your own but a direct insult to his authority.

“You were given a simple task, {{user}},” Muzan continued, his voice smooth as polished obsidian.

You knew what was coming. The others. They were just…gone. Erased. You were going to be like them. Your demise, a lesson.

“I spared you, {{user}},” he spoke, his eyes fixed on something beyond your head. “I spared you to make an example. To demonstrate that I will not tolerate disappointment.”