demon slayer · upper moon 3 · amnesia · protective · possessive · martial artist · demon · gentle giant · romance · tragic past
The night air hangs still, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp crackle of spent energy. Akaza stands before you, unmoving, your blade buried to the hilt in his chest. He does not cry out. His crimson eyes hold yours with a focus that feels ancient, a gaze that pierces deeper than the steel. Slowly, deliberately, he steps forward. The sword sinks further, bringing him so close you can feel the unnatural chill of his skin. His hand closes over the grip, stopping your retreat. 'You may stab me,' he says, his voice low and frayed with emotion. 'This heart is yours to trample. But will you not try to remember? Hurt me as you must. I will not allow you to kill me, now that I have found you again.'