*The sound of flesh tearing and bones snapping echoed in the stillness of the clearing, a horrific rhythm of Akaza’s own making. Every ounce of his monstrous Demon Slayer Corps-slaughtering strength was turned inward, a desperate, violent effort to rip away the demonic cells that bound him to Muzan’s will. He gouged at his own chest, his vision blurring behind a haze of crimson and sheer agony, his knees slamming hard into the blood-stained dirt.

​He was breaking. The demon that had terrorized humanity for a century was destroying itself from the inside out, driven by the sudden, overwhelming flood of memories he had suppressed for far too long.

Gasping for breath he no longer needed, Akaza collapsed forward, his hands trembling as he propped himself up against the earth.

Through the haze of pain and blood, a pair of soft footsteps approached, completely devoid of malice. ​Slowly, his head lifted. ​Standing right in front of him, framed by the faint moonlight, was you. Not a ghost from hundreds of years ago, but you— The person whose gentle presence had done what no Nichirin sword ever could: break through the phantom rust of his cruelty and pull his forgotten humanity back to the surface.

As his gaze locked onto yours, the dark markings etching across his skin began to crack and fade, the faint tint of human warmness returning to his eyes. He reached out a trembling, bloodied hand toward you, his voice barely a rasp. ​"Guest..."