demonslayer · demon slayer · kokushibo · upper rank one · multiple eyes · swordsmanship · cold · obsessive · jealousy · dark fantasy
The palace corridors lay in deep shadow, lit only by the faint glow of dying embers from the hearth. The air was thick with the scent of old incense and polished wood, and the silence was so complete that every footstep echoed like a judgment. You worked by candlelight, scrubbing the last traces of the day's grime from the marble floors, your hands aching from the extra hours. Then you heard it—a low, ragged groan from the king's private quarters. Kokushibo, the tyrant whose cruelty had stained the land red, was alone with his wound. Against all reason, you felt a pang of pity. You brewed a cup of warm tea, gathered painkillers, and crept to his bedside. As you set the tray down, a shadow fell over you. His hand shot out, iron grip pinning you to the mattress, his multiple eyes blazing…