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THEY'RE FORCING US TO CHANGE OUR STRATEGY!" Inosuke roared, sweat dripping down his masked face. “MUSCLE! I CAN'T CLOSE IN ON THAT WORM WOMAN NO MATTER WHAT! So the four of us will take her on while the old guy deals with the praying mantis demon alone!”
"Nope. I’m going with him," you said flatly, eyes locked on where Tengen was still locked in a deadly dance with Gyutaro. The air crackled with bloodlust, metal clanging, and explosions ringing in your ears. "That mantis-lookin’ cockroach gives me the ick. I’m clocking in."
Inosuke whipped around with an indignant snort. “Tch! FINE. DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!”
"Y/N, please—" Tanjiro's voice cracked, full of worry, but his eyes were unwavering. “Be safe. Yell my name if you need help, okay?!”
You shot him a grin, cheeky and reckless. “Bet. You’ll be the first one I annoy.”
And then—you leapt off the rooftop.
Landing beside Uzui in a smooth crouch, you looked up at him with a grin.
"Yo, Flashy Boi," you greeted, flipping your sword once in your hand. “Guess who’s back to be your emotional support attack dog.”
Uzui, blood smeared across his jaw and fury flashing in his eyes, didn’t miss a beat. “Try not to die, dumbass.”
"Yeah, yeah. I ain’t ready to become a tragic backstory yet."
You launched into the fray with him, blades clashing against Gyutaro’s bloodied sickles, sparks flying with every hit. Your movements were synced with Uzui’s, like choreography performed in chaos.
But your eyes flicked up—instinctively checking on the others.
Tanjiro and Zenitsu were protecting Inosuke, who was screaming like a maniac while slicing through Daki’s neck.
"GET OFF WITH YOUR HEAD, YOU STRINGY-NECKED WORM!!"
And then—you saw it. The moment her head disconnected. Inosuke caught it and ran like a man on a mission.
“Let’s gooo!” you hissed under your breath—until your stomach dropped.
Gyutaro sensed it.
You spun around just in time to see him blur forward, emerging like a shadow behind Inosuke, sickles raised high and glinting with death.
Time slowed.
“OH HELL NO—” you blurted, your body already moving.
"INOSUKE!! BEHIND YOU, YOU RAGING FERRET!!" you screamed, lungs burning.
Inosuke twisted, barely dodging the first deadly swipe.
Your hand flew to the rooftop, muscle memory kicking in—Sanemi’s training. You could still hear his voice yelling at you in your head:
"Pick up the damn boulder! Throw it like your life's on the line!"
You grabbed a fist-sized rock—rough, solid, heavy. Without a second thought, you hurled it with perfect aim.
CRACK!
The rock slammed into Gyutaro’s wrist with a sickening thud, knocking one of his sickles from his grip.
"ARGH—!" Gyutaro snarled, his weapon clattering against the rooftop tiles.
"That’s right, bitch," you growled, panting as you raised your blade. "Sanemi didn’t make me yeet rocks for nothing."
But it was too late to stop the first strike. Gyutaro’s other sickle had slashed across Inosuke’s ribs—deep, and fast.
Inosuke stumbled, eyes wide behind the mask, as Daki’s head slipped from his hands and tumbled across the tiles.
"Inosuke!!" Tanjiro cried from behind, face pale with horror.
“I’M FINE!! LORD INOSUKE IS FINE!!” he wheezed, staggering to his feet and gripping his side.
"Yeah, that was dramatic as hell," you muttered, racing over and placing yourself between him and Gyutaro. Sword raised. Breathing sharp.
“You good? Or do I need to call your mom?”
“You ARE the mom!!” Inosuke barked back, wobbling.
"...Okay yeah that’s not wrong."
Gyutaro’s fingers twitched as he retrieved his fallen sickle, his glare locked on you. A slow, venomous grin spread across his face.
"You’re getting on my nerves," he hissed. “Always jumping in. Always ruining things. You and your damn mouth.”
"Wow. You sound just like my middle school principal."
His smile faltered, brow twitching.
"You’re just a pest. Not even a Hashira… but you act like one."
You shrugged. “Damn. Imagine getting clowned on by someone not even a Hashira. Embarrassing.”
His eye twitched again.
"TANJIRO, LOOK OUT!!" Zenitsu screamed, his voice slicing through the chaos. In a flash of lightning, he pushed Tanjiro off the rooftop—just in time—as Daki’s razor-sharp obi slashed through the space where Tanjiro’s neck had just been.
Your head snapped in their direction, eyes wide. You barely had time to react before turning your attention to the next horror—
Inosuke.
He was lying motionless on the ground below, his arms sprawled out and his chest barely rising.
Faint.
Possibly worse.
Your stomach twisted.
Your eyes darted to Tengen next—and your heart dropped.
He was down.
Blood soaked the tiles beneath him. His arm—gone. He was still, too still. His blades were beside him, untouched. And Gyutaro? Gyutaro stood over him like a goddamn vulture.
Your brain screamed for your body to move—but it was already too late.
Suddenly, fingers tangled into your hair, yanking you back violently.
“𝘈𝘢𝘩—!”
Your neck snapped backward as Gyutaro's grip tightened, forcing you to look into his sick, smirking face.
"Now that everyone is unconscious or gone," he sneered, "we can finally bring you to Muzan-sama." Daki appeared at his side, smiling with the same twisted excitement.
Your heart pounded. You were alone.
Cornered.
Targeted.
And pissed.
"First of all— in your dreams, jackass.
Second of all—NOBODY. PULLS. MY. HAIR!"
Fueled by rage and adrenaline, you whipped your sword upward with a scream, slicing straight through his wrist. His severed hand dropped to the tiles with a disgusting slap.
He reeled back with a snarl.
You stumbled away, panting, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum. Blood dripped from your scalp where he’d pulled too hard, and your legs were shaking beneath you.
But you jumped—backflipping off the roof with more luck than skill and landing harshly on the ground.
Your vision blurred. Your breath was ragged. The poison from earlier was still in your veins, and now the exhaustion had finally caught up with your body.
You couldn’t keep going like this.
You had to hide.
Not run—hide.
Because if they caught you now, it wouldn’t just be a fight.
You’d be dragged off to Muzan.
The Michael Jackson wannabe himself.
Your legs gave out and you half-crawled, half-stumbled into the shadows between two collapsed houses, teeth gritted.
"Fuck.."
you mumbled to yourself, forehead resting against your shaking arm,
You finally found a decent spot—wedged beneath the remnants of a shattered house wall, half-covered by debris and broken wood. Smoke and ash filled the air around you, but the space was just big enough to curl up in and stay hidden. Your sword lay across your lap, hand trembling around the hilt as blood dripped steadily from your wounds.
You leaned your head back against the cracked wall and let out a weak, shaky breath.
"Ugh... it hurts, Yoriichi..." you mumbled, voice barely audible. Your vision blurred at the edges, and the world tilted sideways.
A soft wind brushed past your cheek—and suddenly, you weren’t alone.
When you blinked, he was there.
Yoriichi.
Kneeling in front of you like a mirage, brow furrowed, gaze as soft as candlelight but weighed down with worry. His long black hair swayed gently despite the stillness around you, and his hand hovered just above yours, not quite touching.
"You pushed your body too far again." His voice was low, calm, but laced with that quiet storm of emotion he always tried to suppress. “You’ve torn muscles, reopened wounds. You need to stop.”
You chuckled weakly, wincing. “Tell that to the freak with the sickles who wants to FedEx me to Muzan…”
Yoriichi’s jaw tensed. “He almost had you.”
“Yeah, well—almost.” You raised your pinky finger a few centimeters. “Still undefeated, baby.”
He didn’t smile. Not this time. He looked… genuinely pained. “You should have let them protect you. You don't have to bear everything alone.”
Your heart thudded heavily. “I know I don’t… but I’m scared, Yoriichi. If I don’t fight, what if someone dies? What if it's Tanjiro? What if it's Uzui? What if it’s—” you clenched your fist around your sword “—someone I love?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, he slowly reached out and touched your forehead with two fingers. His hand was warm. Comforting.
"Then learn to fight smarter. Not harder. You have a strong heart, but you still don’t know how to pace yourself. You’re not invincible. And you were never meant to be."
You exhaled slowly, biting your lip. “Yeah… I know. Just sucks.”
He glanced around, eyes flicking to the ruined battlefield around you. “This spot is good. Stay low. Let your body recover—just for a little while. Help will come. You must believe that.”
You looked at him for a moment, eyes heavy.
“…You’re not real, are you?”
He smiled softly, shaking his head once. “Only in your heart.”
And just like that—
He was gone.
You were alone again. Your shoulders slumped.
But… the pain didn’t feel so crushing now.
Your hiding place, though surrounded by rubble, was hidden enough to shield you from Daki’s flying obis and Gyutaro’s chaotic movements. You curled tighter against the wall, sword still in your hand
(Also quick question would you all like to continue with your own breathing style or want to continue with sun breathing? Requests are open you can message me or send a comment here)
Just as you closed your eyes, exhausted and aching all over, you felt something brush against your leg. You jolted slightly, heart leaping—ready to swing if needed—but when you looked down through the dim light, your eyes widened.
Bandages. Antiseptic. Small aid tools.
A shattered supply box, half-buried in the rubble, must’ve fallen from one of the nearby demon slayer corpses or been tossed aside during the chaos.
“Oh my god—no way,” you muttered, scrambling weakly toward it. Your hands shook as you tore it open, eyes scanning every blessed item like it was a treasure chest in an RPG. “YES. Let’s go, divine timing!!”
You immediately grabbed the roll of bandages and pressed them against the gash at your side. Every movement stung like hellfire, but you forced yourself through the pain. You tied it tight, biting down on your cloak to muffle the sound of your groan.
Next came the wound on your arm—messy, still bleeding, but less deep. You disinfected it with trembling fingers, cursing every five seconds. "This is so not sanitary, but whatever, survival over hygiene," you muttered to yourself.
With most of the bleeding finally under control, you let out a breath. It was ragged. Shaky. But it was yours.
You tucked the remaining bandages back into the box and pulled it close, just in case. Curling back into the shadows of your hiding spot, you finally let yourself lean into the wall again.
“…Alright. That’ll buy me some time,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “Now all I gotta do is not die.”
And with your sword at your side, body bound in messy, makeshift bandages, and sheer willpower holding you together
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