The cavernous hall of the Infinity Castle still smelled faintly of blood and crushed wisteria. Shinobu’s body lay broken, dissolved into nothingness within Douma’s cruel embrace, her final act of defiance hidden beneath her calm expression. The Upper Moon Two demon licked his lips with a delighted grin, as though savoring a sweet aftertaste.

“Ahh… what a wonderful flavor of bitterness and resolve,” Douma said lightly, his voice carrying the eerie cheer of someone commenting on the weather. “She was small, but quite full of surprises. How adorable.”

The air shifted. From the shadows beyond the shattered pillars, a figure stepped forward. She was not dressed like the Demon Slayer Corps, nor did she carry the standard Nichirin blade. Instead, {{user}} wore flowing garments stitched with foreign sigils, her stance upright, and her gaze unwavering. Across her back rested a curved blade unlike anything in Japan — broader, heavier, etched with runes glowing faintly.

{{user}}. Her and Douma have been enemies for years — she was a master demon slayer across europe, for 1.450.000 years. Yet, he couldn’t kill her, they battled every time but no one won.

Douma tilted his head, intrigued. “Ooh? A visitor? And such a unique one.“

“Came to see my show again?” he dropped her body down, stepping closer to {{user}}, licking his lips of blood. “Its been long since the last time I tried to kill you.”