Demon Slayer: I Got Reincarnated As Yoriichi

The next morning.

A crowd of demon slayers gathered in the forest. All of them are horrified by the sight, whispering to each other in disbelief.

"No way..."

"How did this happen?!"

"She is the one who defeated the upper-rank demon... What kind of demon could've taken her down like this?!!"

"If this could happen to her, how could any of us survive against such a nightmare?"

Rinka's severed head is lying on the ground. Her eyes closed as if she had already accepted her fate. Her body was nowhere to be found.

Ai knelt beside the severed head, her hands trembling as she shielded it from the prying eyes around her. Tears streaming down her face, "Don't look at it! EVERYONE, step back! Leave it alone and inform Oyakata-Sama!"

Despite her warning, several slayers couldn't tear their gazes away, their faces pale, haunted by the brutal reminder of their own mortality.

Nameless arrived in a rush, weaving through the gathered slayers with a desperate urgency. He spotted Ai, her figure hunched protectively over something on the ground.

Ai looked up at him, eyes wet with tears. She instinctively shifted, trying to block his view. "Nameless-kun... Please don't look... not you..."

But his eyes fell on Rinka's severed head behind her, lying motionless in the dirt, her once bright eyes now glazed over, empty. His eyes widened in disbelief, and his body froze.

"Nameless-kun, please don't look at it," Ai cries.

"... Tell me... Is she..."

Ai slowly nods, unable to form any word.

Beside Ai, lying abandoned on the ground, was Rinka's nichirin-whip katana, the weapon he had once given her. The sight of it struck him like a dagger to the heart, memories flooding back with merciless clarity.

He remembered that day so vividly, the quiet joy on her face when she first held it. He had wanted to give her something worthy of her strength, a weapon that would mirror her grace and fierce spirit.

Chikafusa had helped him choose it, suggesting the nichirin-whip katana for her unique style. He could hear the teasing words Ai had thrown at him that day, telling him how flustered he looked. He had been so embarrassed, barely able to meet her eyes, yet her laughter had eased his nerves, turning the moment into one of those rare, soft memories he had cherished ever since. That day felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, that same weapon lay there in the dirt, lifeless, with no one to wield it.

Nameless stood silently.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy, each one dragging him further from the place where he had last seen her alive. He couldn't bring himself to look back, knowing that if he did, the shattered pieces of his heart might never let him leave.

…

"He didn't even look back… Anyone else would be shattered, broken by the loss of someone they loved... He didn't even cry... I can see the pain in his eyes, the way it tore him apart inside, but he held it together. For her, maybe… or maybe because he's just that strong. To carry that grief and not fall apart… your tolerance is… incredible," thinks Ai.

…

——————

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the landscape. By the time evening arrived, the forest had grown quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Nameless sat by a slow-moving river, its surface shimmering like molten gold under the fading light.

He was still, his posture unnaturally calm, but his clenched fists rested on his knees, betraying the storm raging within. The gentle murmur of the water did little to soothe him.

His mind was a whirlwind of Rinka's memories.

"I wanted to die. She wanted to survive. But we didn't get what we desired. Is this... what we call 'life'?" he thinks, "Why her? Why not me?"

The soft sound of footsteps on the grass barely registered Nameless, his gaze fixed on the river's endless flow. But when a gentle hand rested on his shoulder, he flinched, his breath catching in surprise. Slowly, he turned his head, and through the fading light, he saw Katou Ubuyashiki, the current Oyakata-Sama, standing behind him.

Nameless is shocked by his unexpected appearance, he slowly turns his head to see him.

"Oyakata-Sama..?"

Katou says in a calm yet concerned voice, "I was worried when you didn't attend the ceremony for your promotion to Hashira. Is this about Kumagami?"

Nameless slowly nods, "Well... Yeah."

"Even though I didn't know about her until her death, she must be so close to you. Alas! She died on the very day she was to be promoted to Hashira. She will always be remembered in our hearts. I am nowhere as good as my father, but I'll remember each of my deceased slayers as long as I live."

Nameless can't say anything but listen to him. The words pierced Nameless's heart, and he felt a sharp ache rise in his chest.

"Nameless, please let it go. Tell me what's bothering you? Please don't hold back your tears, your feelings for her. Now's the only time you can mourn for her, or else it will haunt you for your entire life."

Nameless clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to break free. His head hung low, his face shadowed, but Katou's unwavering presence was impossible to ignore.

"Don't hold back, Nameless."

Nameless's resolve cracked. His shoulders trembled, his breath hitched, and finally...

Tears streamed down his face, unrelenting and raw, as a strangled sob escaped his lips. His body is shaking as the grief pours out of him, years of stoic restraint crumbling in an instant.

The sound of Nameless's cries echoed in the quiet evening, blending with the murmurs of the river, as the sky darkened above them.

After some time, Nameless's sobs subsided, his breathing uneven as he wiped at his tear-streaked face with trembling hands.

"Thank you, Oyakata-Sama. I am feeling much better now because of you."

He brings his sword closer to his face.

"What are you doing?!"

Nameless's expression stays calm, but his hands tremble as he brings the sword even closer to his stitched mouth.

"Despite my severed mouth, Kumagami accepted me for who I am," says Nameless.

"PLEASE DON'T DO IT—!!!"

Before he could stop him...

Nameless's blade moved in a swift, decisive motion. The sound of flesh tearing filled the air as he sliced through the stitches binding his mouth, cutting the wounds back to his ears. Blood spilled freely, painting his hands and the sword crimson. It dripped down, splashing into the river below, dyeing the water red.

"N-Nameless..."

He pulled a roll of bandages and began wrapping them tightly over his lower face, the white fabric quickly soaking through with blood.

"I'll never let her memories be forgotten... It looks good now, isn't it?"

…

———————————————————————

One year later.

Somewhere in Europe, 1960.

New moon night, 2:30 A.M.

Beneath the pitch-black sky, a line of black-cloaked figures ascended a rocky plateau, their movements silent as shadows.

At the front stood a woman in a crimson cloak, clutching a small, ancient book—another version of the infamous Codex Gigas.

The group gathered at the summit, forming a circle around her. The woman raised the book, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Tonight, we summon what lies beyond mortals."

They start chanting.

As the Ritual Reaches Its Climax.

The circle tightened as the chant grew louder, the plateau trembling under the sheer weight of their invocation.

A gust of icy wind tore through the plateau, extinguishing every torch and plunging them into utter darkness. In the center of the circle, the shadows coalesced, spiraling into a single form.

The air became suffocating. The shadows twisted and grew until a tall, shadowy, menacing figure emerged. Crimson eyes pierced through the blackness, glowing with an unnatural intensity.

It was Jigen, the Upper Moon 3.

The cloaked figures fell to their knees, trembling before the being they had summoned. His presence exuded raw power and malice, an oppressive force that crushed any thoughts of rebellion or escape.

Jigen says in a cold voice, "Wisdom belongs to cowards. We dare to claim the power beyond gods."

A cloaked man, towering at 7 feet, stepped forward, trembling but resolute. He knelt, presenting the girl in red as he whispered, "O great one, we offer this sacrifice to you."

Without a word, Jigen extended a clawed hand. Shadows enveloped the girl. The air grew colder still, and when the shadows dissipated, nothing remained—not even blood.

The shadows around Jigen flared, dark tendrils snapping at the ground like vipers, as the cloaked figures cowered before the being they had unleashed.

As Jigen raised his gaze to the sky, the hidden moon slowly appeared and turned crimson.

The Moon becomes a bloody, crimson shade, light spreading dread across the night.