Demon Slayer: Guardian of the Forest

With a flick of his finger, Rokuro's blackened nail elongated in an instant, slashing cleanly across Takashi's throat. Crimson blood sprayed forth, a final, desperate shudder coursed through Takashi's body, and then he lay still, life extinguished.

The fresh, warm blood trickled down the twine and dripped into a teapot below. After only a few moments, a strange barley tea aroma wafted from the teapot. Rokuro closed his eyes, savoring it as he took a sip, a satisfied smile crossing his blood-smeared fangs, looking all the more sinister under the moonlight.

"Not bad for a Demon Slayer," he smirked, "the quality of their blood is impressive. And if these small fry are so delicious, just imagine the sweetness of the Pillars' blood!" Rokuro's golden eyes gleamed with bloodlust as he licked his fangs.

"Enough wasting time," he said, standing up and dusting himself off. "I've played with the small fish, enjoyed my tea—it's time for the main course." Rokuro clapped his hands together, and the wooden gears around him began to spin. He watched the last two Slayers, Kawachi and Hatamoto, struggling to fend off his attacks. With a smirk, he muttered, "Blood Demon Art: Strangling Rope Serpents!"

The ropes, which had been attacking in chaotic patterns, paused for a beat. In the next instant, dozens of ropes twisted together, forming a single, thick strand that resembled a snake. It lunged at the two Slayers with lightning speed.

Boom! The ground shattered beneath the impact as Kawachi and Hatamoto barely dodged. But the attack was only a prelude. Rokuro's smirk widened as his hands remained clasped, the wooden gears spinning ever faster. A tremor rippled through the ground, and with a deafening crash, another rope-serpent burst from the earth right behind Hatamoto.

"Kawachi!" Kawachi's vision blurred with panic, wanting to shout a warning, but he couldn't muster the strength to speak. He watched in horror as Hatamoto, caught off guard, was ensnared by the rope-serpent. With a sickening crack, Hatamoto's body twisted and splintered, blood spraying as his life was snuffed out.

"Breath of Wind, Eighth Form: Gale Slash!" Kawachi spat blood from his mouth, his battered body barely holding together. Summoning every ounce of strength, he launched one final attack on Rokuro. He moved like a gust of wind, dodging two rope-serpents and raising his Nichirin Blade in a desperate lunge towards Rokuro's neck.

"Foolish," Rokuro sneered, standing his ground with a look of mockery. He made no attempt to dodge. The ground quaked as yet another rope-serpent erupted before Kawachi, while two more closed in from behind.

With a sickening crunch, Kawachi's blade embedded halfway into one of the ropes before all his strength failed him. Sighing inwardly, he closed his eyes, helplessly resigned to his fate. This was the best he could do? All they had managed was to hold out for a few minutes against this powerful demon. Would the Flame Pillar arrive in time? He thought of his family, his mother, father, and little brother. "I'm sorry…"

"Breath of the Forest, First Form: Iron Oak Slash!"

A calm yet powerful voice broke through the silence, followed by the sound of something splintering. Kawachi collapsed to the ground, dazed, and propped himself up with his blade, struggling to lift his head. In front of him stood a figure, not particularly tall, but solid.

The tattered green haori rustled lightly in the breeze, and a shimmering Nichirin Blade, its verdant hue glinting, rested in the stranger's hand. Scattered fragments of rope lay at his feet. Despite his white hair, his eyes were steady and unwavering.

"What the... an old man?" Rokuro's face twisted with rage, veins bulging on his forehead. This old man had shattered his rope-serpent in a single blow!

Kawachi's breath came in ragged gasps, blood trickling from his mouth. He was thrilled yet anxious; he wanted to warn the old man not to sacrifice himself in vain. This Lower Moon demon was far too powerful. Someone needed to survive, at least one of them, to report the demon's strength and techniques to the others.

Rokuro fixed his gaze on the old man, baring his fangs. "You're old, and barely worth the trouble of killing. I don't need your stagnant, syrupy blood. Scram, and I might let you live." It was clear that Rokuro had little regard for the elderly demon slayer, despite his impressive feat of slicing the rope-serpent.

"Spare my life?" The old man gave a weary chuckle. "Those words, they are all too familiar… Yet, yes, it would make sense. You are one of the Twelve Kizuki, after all. A demon of your strength would make any reasonable person flee. Young Moriki would have run upon seeing you. He was a coward and a fool, selfish and willing to abandon his comrades." The old man's grip tightened on his green Nichirin Blade, his expression hardening as he continued, "But Moriki Gendai has run all his life, and no amount of sharpening over fifty years could cut away the cowardice ingrained in this blade. But today, as an old man… Moriki Gendai does not wish to run anymore. Tonight, I want to slay one more demon."

"So be it!" Rokuro snarled, his fingers clenching into claws. "You want death? Then I'll grant it!" Clapping his hands together, he shouted, "Blood Demon Art: Strangling Rope Serpents!"

Two rope-serpents, charged with pent-up energy, hurtled toward the old man. Kawachi wanted to intervene, but he could barely muster the strength to move a finger.

Yet the old man didn't flinch. He held his blade upright before him, inhaling deeply. His aged, withered face flushed with a trace of color as an invisible energy surged through his veins, revitalizing his body.

"Breath of the Forest, First Form: Iron Oak Slash!" With a soft chant, the old man's blade slashed horizontally in a burst of green light. What seemed like a simple horizontal cut, in that instant, transformed, radiating a force as if countless towering iron oaks were surging forward, overpowering everything in their path.

Boom! The ropes collided with the impenetrable iron oaks, releasing a blast of force that shook the earth. Rokuro's golden eyes widened in disbelief—this old man had actually withstood his attack!

"Old fool!" Rokuro sneered, claws poised to strike. "Let's see how you handle this!" With a flick of his hands, the rope-serpents split, each tip forming a small, bludgeoning head, as if armed with deadly maces. Rokuro chuckled, watching the ropes rain down upon the old man.

"Breath of the Forest, Third Form: Dandelion Dance!" As the ropes closed in, the old man muttered a breath, his body becoming weightless, shifting and gliding like a dandelion seed in the wind. Dodging blow after blow, he left trails of green light, moving with such fluidity it looked as if he were dancing.

"What?!" Rokuro's shock mounted as the old man's blade approached his neck with deadly precision. Rokuro, no longer composed, twisted away desperately, barely evading the strike.