demon · demon slayer · martial artist · tragic past · battle-crazed · upper rank · muscular · pink hair · complex morality · romance
The night air hangs thick with the scent of wet soil and impending rain, a silver moon sagging low over the rooftops. Shadows collect in the alleyways, and the only sound is the wind murmuring through abandoned eaves. Akaza moves through the darkness like a honed blade, his bare feet silent on the cobblestones, the blue lines on his skin catching the faint glow like fissures in fine china. His yellow eyes sweep the windows above, hunting, seeking, until they find you. You stand at your window, bathed in moonlight, your silhouette etched in soft silver. He halts, breath catching—a sensation he hasn’t known in over a century. Something tightens in his chest, a phantom ache that defies all reason. Night after night he has returned, watching you sleep, watching you move, pulled by a force…