A/N: Chapter 200 ruined my life, so I'm ruining canon in revenge. It's messy but don't judge me pls

i.

The edge of the sunrise paints the horizon pink, daylight ever so slowly creeping up into the sky. He doesn't think he's ever noticed how beautiful it is, or at least, appreciated it- until now, until it came down to this final battle between them and Muzan, between the night and the rising sun.

He's tired. Every part of his body screams at him to stop. But the sun has yet to come and so he has to keep on fighting, keep on dodging, keep on watching as his comrades are thrown like dolls, keep on wondering if they're dead when they don't get up. The stench of blood is so heavy in the air now, that he can't tell where it comes from. The smell of rot wafting off Muzan's decaying, aging body is so strong now, that he can scarcely smell anything else.

The movements are automatic, he can't think, he can't stop- because otherwise, everything would have been for nothing and Muzan will escape. The others throw themselves at Muzan, again and again. They are knocked back, again and again. Tanjiro cries out as they are cut open, as they lose arms and legs and eyes and keep on forcing themselves up- as they keep on fighting for as long as they can, as long as they draw breath.

They keep on protecting him. Giving in now would be spitting in the face of all that sacrifice, of those who fell before this battle came to be- of those who died before they could see Muzan crumble under the rays of the rising sun.

He wants to cry, but there's no time to do anything but fight.

His arm comes off and Tanjiro doesn't think he's ever felt pain like this. Not when he broke his leg as a child. Not when he burned his forehead. Not when he broke his ribs, or his arms, or was beaten and battered over and over again. It's nearly enough to make him pause, but there is no moment to waste here- no moment to even mourn the loss of a limb, or to writhe in the pain, or to panic that he has one less hand to grip his sword with.

Giyuu comes from behind him. They are both missing an arm, both bleeding freely, but still, they wrap their hand around the handle his sword and the blade ignites and burns and they push the blade in deeper-

But then Muzan's body warps into something else, fleshy and raw and deformed.

He is swallowed whole.

ii.

Inside the darkness he is surrounded by pulsating flesh, inside this shell that Muzan has crafted for himself, it is all Tanjiro can do to keep a grip on his sword. His hand is slicked with his own blood. He thinks he is being consumed, the very walls of this cocoon burns against his skin, the last remaining fragments of his energy being drained from him.

He is tired, he thinks- no, knows.

He is tired but the sun still hasn't risen, Muzan still isn't dead, and as long as Tanjiro's heart keeps beating, he needs to keep on fighting.

He wonders what's going on outside this place. If Nezuko has finally become human, if the sun has begun to crest over the edge of the world. He's cold. Blood loss making his head spin- making the tips of his fingers feel numb and frozen. He yearns for warmth in a way he never thought he would outside those frigid winter nights, puffing foggy breaths onto his hands and stroking the fire to life.

He misses those simpler days.

He misses chopping firewood as laughter bounced off the trees, Hanako and Takeo chasing each other around the house. He misses the tugging on his pants as Rokuta begged for his attention, the scent of stew reaching his nose from inside the house. He misses Shigeru's chattering, as he told Nezuko of his dream from the night before.

He misses his family.

It would be easier, he thinks, to let this darkness lull him to sleep. To let it carry him over to where the rest of his family was, to tell them all the things he regrets never saying while they were still alive.

But then, he thinks of Nezuko, of his sister waiting for him to come home to her after this battle is over. He thinks of Rengoku-san, who died with his belief in Tanjiro's eventual victory over the darkness, who died without seeing the end of this war. He thinks of all the lives lost, of all the demons created and destroyed.

He thinks of wanting to see the sunrise again, besides his friends, honoring those who had fallen in this fight and the almost timeless war they've fought.

He thinks that even if he's tired, he cannot stop- that even though moving inside his consuming darkness saps the very life from him, he needs to get back outside.

The space around him spins, dizzying with the erratic movements. Muzan is moving. He's running away again, like he does when his loss seems to approach him. Like he does when faced with the concept of his own mortality.

That's why Muzan will not win, will not escape this time. Not again. Never again.

Because unlike Muzan, they are all ready to die for this victory to be theirs. And it is this resolve inside them that ignites their blades red. It is this resolve that will keep them fighting even within the belly of the monster.

That's the difference between Muzan and the fighters outside, between Muzan and Tamayo-san, between Muzan and Tanjiro who is still alive and tired but refuses to give in- if only to help the others for a little longer.

If only to see the sunrise one last time.

Tanjiro grips his sword tighter, takes an aching breath and swings his scarlet blade.

iii.

He feels the warmth of the sun on his skin, hears the last of Muzan's screams fade away into silence.

There is ash in his mouth, but even that is fading away. He is slumped upright from where he had fallen, dropped from the innards of the abomination Muzan had turned himself into and so, so tired that he does move.

He wants to tilt his head back to look at the open sky above him, to see the sun soar high above him- the sign of their victory, the end to their war. But Tanjiro is tired and his eye is closed and he cannot find the strength to open it again. The other eye is buried under the deformed growth on his face, useless even if he could will it open.

Oh, he thinks faintly, distantly, it's over now.

After that, he knows nothing at all.

(He is deaf to the calling of his name, the panicked voices of the medics, and the words spoken over his unmoving body.

"He's alive," they shout, "Tanjiro is still alive!")