A thunderous crack tore open the fabric of the sky, high above the forested mountains on the outskirts of the Demon Slayer Corps' territory. The very air trembled, reality itself bending… and from that tear, two figures dropped.
Kratos landed first—his boots crashing into the earth with enough force to crack stone. Atreus followed, lighter on his feet, bow already halfway drawn out of instinct.
The older warrior slowly rose to full height. His grizzled face stayed stoic, his single remaining eye scanning their new surroundings with the practiced wariness of a man who's walked through realms soaked in blood.
A deep breath. Cold mountain air.
Kratos reached behind his back and drew the Leviathan Axe, the runes glowing dimly along its length as if awakening from a long slumber.
"Where are we?" Atreus asked, eyes shifting across the dense foliage. "Is this… Midgard again?"
Kratos grunted. "No."
"But... the World Tree—"
"It brought us somewhere new."
Atreus turned to the side. "Father—smoke. That way!"
A thin column of black smoke curled upward, distant but clear through the trees. Kratos gave a slight nod. With blades, bow, and axe ready, they moved toward it.
They expected a cottage.
What they found was carnage.
The village was already half-ruined—shattered houses, fires eating through wooden roofs, blood splattered across the ground. Screams rang through the air as twisted, monstrous shapes tore through the remaining villagers. Mangled corpses lay in the streets. The air stank of burning flesh and sulfur.
Atreus recoiled. "Gods... what are they?"
Kratos narrowed his eyes. The creatures resembled beasts born from nightmares—clawed, hunched demons with cracked bones, howling mouths, and eyes that burned like coals.
"These are not from the Nine Realms," he said coldly. "But they reek of the Underworld. Hades… no, something else."
As if summoned by his words, one of the hellspawn spotted them. It screeched—a guttural, inhuman cry—and charged.
More followed.
Atreus didn't wait. His bow snapped forward and loosed a storm of arrows, lightning-charged and precise. The first hellspawn dropped, its head split open by a glowing shaft.
Kratos didn't hesitate. The Leviathan Axe spun in his grip and crashed into the nearest demon with an earth-shattering crack. Bone and gore sprayed in a wide arc. Another creature leapt for his throat, but he caught it midair with one hand and slammed it into the dirt—twice—until it was nothing but broken limbs and twitching meat.
"They don't die easy!" Atreus shouted, knocking another arrow.
"Crush them," Kratos replied. "Nothing else will do."
Together, the Ghost of Sparta and his son tore into the hellspawn, sending limbs flying, skulls cracking, the Leviathan Axe whistling through the air like a death song. Arrows flew with divine precision, while Kratos' fury guided his every move.
Some villagers still screamed.
Some ran.
But where the demons struck... they always followed.
Meanwhile, back at the Corps Headquarters…
A scout burst into Kagaya's chamber, breathless and covered in ash.
"A village!" he panted. "South ridge… attacked again! Hellspawn—"
Kagaya, calm as ever, nodded. "How many?"
"We… don't know. It was too fast. The smoke is rising. Screams… we could hear them from the cliffs."
The room went cold.
"Dispatch two Hashira," Kagaya ordered gently. "Now."
Two names were immediately summoned. The sound of sandals against the wooden hall followed. None yet knew what awaited them beyond the treeline. None yet knew of the two foreign warriors already painting the village in demon blood.