The One Punch Man (a.k.a Saitama) in Demon Slayer

Deep within a dimly lit, blood-red chamber, the Upper Moons knelt in a perfect circle, heads bowed low to the cold floor. The oppressive presence of Kibutsuji Muzan filled the room like a suffocating fog, every breath the demons took trembling under the weight of his silent fury.

At the center, seated on a throne of writhing flesh and bone, was Muzan himself. His crimson eyes glowed like molten hatred, fingers slowly tapping on the armrest in a chilling rhythm.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

None dared to speak first. The silence stretched until it became unbearable.

"Report." Muzan's voice was soft — dangerously soft.

Hantengu's smaller clone body, Urogi, spoke first, his voice cracking with fear. "L-lord Muzan… w-we followed your orders. We spied on the b-bald man…"

Muzan's fingers paused their tapping. "And?"

Gyokko, his cracked ceramic body barely repaired after the psychological trauma, gulped. "He… noticed us. Instantly. Even though we were hiding in perfect silence."

The room tensed. Douma's usual smile faltered, just slightly. Akaza's knuckles clenched tighter. Kokushibo, calm and silent, opened his many eyes just a fraction wider in interest.

"Noticed you…?" Muzan's voice sharpened. "From how far?"

"Across a whole field, my lord," Gyokko admitted bitterly. "Without using any special sensing arts… just instinct."

Muzan's expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew heavier. "And what did you learn about him?"

This time, Hantengu himself spoke, his tiny voice shaking. "H-he… he mocked Lord Akaza's defeat. Called you a… um…"

Muzan's eyes narrowed. "Called me what?"

"A M-Michael Jackson wannabe."

The room froze.

For one heartbeat, there was silence. Then Douma, unable to help himself, snorted loudly. "Pfft—hahaha! That's hilarious!"

Muzan's head snapped toward him, and Douma's laugh immediately died, his hands raised in mock surrender. "S-sorry, my lord! Just… unexpected humor! Please forgive me!"

Muzan's hand twitched, veins bulging at his temple. But instead of immediately killing Douma (which was tempting), he refocused. "This man…" His voice dripped venom. "What else?"

Gyokko and Hantengu exchanged terrified glances.

"He doesn't seem to care about fighting us," Gyokko admitted. "He's… lazy. Like fighting is boring to him."

"Even after seeing Upper Moons in front of him," Hantengu added, his voice trembling.

Muzan's brow twitched. "Boring? BORING?" His anger boiled just beneath his skin, pulsating with his ancient, endless hatred for humanity. "You're telling me that this bald man thinks the mightiest demons in existence are some… side quest?"

The sheer insult made the air quiver.

"It's worse, Lord Muzan," Akaza finally spoke, his usual fiery pride dimmed by memory. "When I fought him, I couldn't read his power. No aura, no malice, no intent to kill. It's like he's not even trying. His strength… is casual."

The word echoed like a curse in the chamber.

"Casual…" Muzan's hands gripped the throne tighter, his nails piercing into the writhing flesh beneath him. "How. Strong. Is. He?"

There was a heavy pause. Even Akaza struggled to answer. "Stronger than any Hashira I've fought. Possibly stronger than all of us combined."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Douma, ever the playful one, tried to break the tension. "Well, well! If he's that strong, why don't we just recruit him? 'Join us or die' usually works wonders."

Gyokko snapped, "Are you insane?! That man could erase us if he felt like it!"

Muzan's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Recruit him? No. Dissect him. I want to know what creates that kind of power. Is it a Blood Art? A hidden Demon Core? Or… something else?"

The Upper Moons stiffened. Dissecting meant capturing alive — something no demon wanted to attempt against that walking apocalypse.

"He has no blood demon art," Kokushibo finally spoke, voice low and steady. "No visible breathing techniques either. He is an enigma."

"And an anomaly," Muzan said coldly. "Humans do not achieve strength like that. Not without paying a price."

Hantengu whispered, "What if… what if he's a god? Sent to punish us for our sins?"

Muzan's glare snapped to him. "There are no gods. Only the strong, and the dead."

Gyokko cleared his throat nervously. "Then… what is your command, Lord Muzan?"

The room fell silent again. Muzan's fingers resumed their slow, deliberate tap, tap, tap.

"Prepare the Lower Moons for sacrifice," Muzan said, voice devoid of emotion. "I want his location monitored at all times. Lure him into battlefields designed to kill Hashira, and observe his every move."

The demons shivered — because they knew what 'prepare for sacrifice' meant. The Lower Moons were expendable bait now.

"And if he survives?" Akaza asked, though the answer was obvious.

Muzan's smile stretched into something inhumanly cruel. "Then I will greet him personally."

A terrible chill swept through the room. Even Douma, with all his bravado, felt the dark weight of that sentence. It wasn't just fear of Saitama anymore — it was fear of what Muzan would become if he could absorb that man's power.

Somewhere far away, in the Butterfly Mansion, Saitama sneezed loudly, rubbing his nose with confusion. "Weird. Hope I'm not catching a cold."

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End of the chapter

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