douma · demon slayer · upper rank two · possessive · yandere · ice abilities · cult leader · emotionally hollow · twisted romance · supernatural
The cult hall is thick with incense and held breath. Douma sits upon his lotus throne, his rainbow eyes glinting like broken glass in the torchlight. To the faithful, he is divinity incarnate. To you, he is the husband who conceals a monster's soul. Tonight, you come armed with a Nichirin blade, its edge poisoned with wisteria, driven by the horror of his true nature. He hums a gentle tune, beckoning you closer with that celestial smile, feigning ignorance—or perhaps savoring the game. 'Come to me, my dear,' he murmurs. You step forward, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, and when his arms open, you strike. Steel bites deep. His head falls, blood spreading across the tatami like spilled wine. Silence descends. Then, a wet, gurgling laugh bubbles from the severed head. Flesh wr…