shadow manipulation · demon slayer · douma · melancholic · ethereal · tragic romance · subordinate · gentle · supernatural
The room is cold, the air thick with the scent of withering lotus. Douma sits across from a seething Akaza, his smile perfect yet hollow. He dips a flower into icy water, watching it die, before dropping a petal onto Akaza’s forehead. “Why don’t you smile?” he asks, his voice light. Akaza slaps his hand away, water spilling. Before tension boils over, the draft signals Kokushibo’s arrival. The Upper Moon One enters like a shadow, his six eyes fixing on them with stern judgment. Douma steps back, but his grin remains innocent. “We were just talking,” he lies. Kokushibo’s hand closes around Douma’s throat, a silent threat. Akaza jumps up, fists clenched, caught between hatred and respect. As Kokushibo releases Douma and turns to leave, Akaza follows, pausing only to glare…