Akaza and Rengoku clashed in a storm of fire and fists.
Even with his crimson blade blazing in his hands, Rengoku was being pushed to the edge.
The gap between a human and a demon—between flesh and the immortal—was still immense.
In just a few minutes, Rengoku had cycled through every Flame Breathing form he knew, yet none were enough to turn the tide.
Flame Breathing had nine forms in total.
But Rengoku had only mastered six.
It wasn't a matter of talent—it was circumstance.
After his father, Shinjurō, had fallen into despair, he had stopped training him entirely.
Left alone, Rengoku studied the tattered scrolls of Flame Breathing, learning all he could by himself.
Akaza had already noticed this.
And to him, that incomplete potential was a tragedy.
"What a waste! Such potential… such promise!"
As he spoke, his fists blurred in relentless succession, each strike heavy enough to crush stone.
The crimson blade could hinder a demon's regeneration—but only if it struck.
Under the perfect rhythm of Akaza's Compass Needle, Rengoku's flames failed to land true.
"Flame Breathing, Fifth Form – Flame Tiger!"
"Destructive Death: Annihilation Type!"
BOOM!
The explosion of fire and impact roared through the night.
Akaza stepped calmly out of the inferno, untouched, his eyes cold.
Rengoku's chest heaved with labored breath as he looked past Akaza—toward the wrecked remains of the Mugen Train.
That flicker of distraction didn't escape Akaza's notice. His tone hardened.
"Rengoku. Don't bother looking for her. After taking both my Annihilation and Final Type, even if she's somehow alive, she'll never stand again.
Your eyes should be on me."
Rengoku's grip on his blade tightened.
His crimson sword still glowed faintly, but his muscles trembled from exhaustion.
Though Akaza bore few wounds, Rengoku could feel the creeping drain of his own stamina.
Still, his eyes blazed brighter than his flames.
"If it were anyone else," he said between heavy breaths, "perhaps you'd be right.
But Chika… she is a miracle."
Akaza blinked, momentarily silenced by that unshakable conviction.
And yet, a strange unease twisted faintly in his gut.
Could she truly have survived both strikes?
No one ever had.
Not once in his centuries as a demon.
Even enduring a single Annihilation Type was rare.
Rengoku's smile deepened as if reading his thoughts.
"Then let's wait and see, shall we?"
Their battle raged on.
Sparks of flame and streaks of blue light tore across the night as sword and fist collided again and again.
The crimson blade forced Akaza into caution, preventing his usual aggressive momentum.
But time was his ally.
The longer the fight dragged, the more the demon's endurance would prevail.
Dawn was still far away.
Rengoku knew it.
So did Akaza.
Meanwhile, Tanjiro and the others were racing toward the wreckage of the Mugen Train.
They had stayed back, waiting for the moment to strike—
to become the "Crimson Blade Pillars," a last resort meant to restrain Upper Moons when the Hashira faltered.
But when Chika was blasted through the air, Tanjiro's patience shattered.
He sprinted ahead, heart pounding.
The Kamado family had once lived a quiet, happy life.
A warm hearth, laughter, and the scent of charcoal.
Until Muzan came.
Mother, gone.
His brothers, gone.
Nezuko turned into a demon.
The only light that had remained were his sisters—alive, fighting, enduring.
Now, seeing Chika's body buried under the rubble, his chest clenched with dread.
He could barely breathe.
"Nee-san!" he shouted, stumbling into the haze. "Nee-san!!"
Behind him, Nezuko's small hands fidgeted helplessly, her crimson eyes wide with panic.
"Calm down, Tanjiro!" a familiar voice bellowed.
Inosuke charged up beside him, twin blades at his waist, nostrils flaring.
"Let the great Inosuke handle this!"
He jammed both Nichirin Blades into the ground, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.
The feral boy's instincts sharpened—his pulse slowing, senses expanding.
"Beast Breathing, Seventh Form – Spatial Awareness!"
Inosuke's consciousness spread outward like a rippling echo.
The terrain around him unfolded in his mind's eye like a map drawn by wind.
"…Found her."
Just as he turned to point—
KLANG!
Metal screeched.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The wreckage burst open, sheets of steel scattering as something inside stirred.
From beneath the debris, a figure rose—her long hair disheveled, her body steaming with heat.
Chika stepped out, her foot landing hard on the crushed metal, ringing sharply through the battlefield.
She exhaled—a deep, heavy breath.
Her once hazel eyes now burned crimson.
Her height had grown, her frame stronger—her very presence more intense, radiating with mixed human and demonic energy.
Even from afar, both Akaza and Rengoku froze mid-motion, heads turning toward the sound.
"What…?" Akaza muttered.
"That aura—demonic, yet… not.
Even Muzan-sama has never—"
Words failed him.
He had never seen anything like this.
Through the dissipating smoke, Chika emerged fully, her aura blazing brighter with each step.
She herself looked astonished at her transformation—but along with the shock came an undeniable certainty.
She felt good.
Powerful.
Awake.
The blade in her hand—once dimmed—flared anew, its surface glowing red once more under her grasp.
The Nichirin Blade burned with sunlight's essence, its nature lethal to demons.
Yet the girl who held it now carried that same essence within her—and it did not burn her.
The crimson fire reflected in her eyes as she raised the blade high, pointing it toward the Upper Moon.
Her lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
"Come on then…" she whispered.
"…let's begin phase two."