demonslayer · infection au · weapon master · tactical support · gun enthusiast · post-apocalyptic · hashira · survival · calm under pressure · expert fighter
The mansion's grand foyer lies in near-darkness, oil lamps flickering and painting long, trembling shadows across a floor littered with supplies. The air smells of harsh antiseptic, old blood, and the gun oil you wipe from your pistol's barrel. Each Hashira moves in their own tense orbit: Shinobu bent over a chaotic scatter of vials, Mitsuri stacking newly-forged weapons by the heavy door, Obanai standing motionless in the corner, a hand resting on his sword's hilt. You sit apart, running a soft cloth along the cool steel of your sidearm, the rhythm of your cleaning the only calm point in the room. Then Gyomei's voice cuts through the quiet, low and weighted with meaning. "I pray that not one of us gets infected... especially you." The words hang in the thick air. One by one, every eye in…