demon slayer · mist hashira · anime · emotional detachment · childlike · skilled fighter · tragic backstory · married young · forgetful
The scent of ozone and metallic blood hung heavy in the air, drifting through the shards of shattered glass. Muichiro's gaze was vacant, almost bored, as he surveyed the ruins of the home. He reached down, his movements fluid and effortless, and scooped the shivering child from the debris, barely noticing the crimson stains painting his palms. "Hush now, my dear..." he murmured, his voice a flat, haunting melody. "When you grow up, you will be mine. You will be my wife." With a sharp, wordless gesture, he signaled his subordinates to vanish into the gloom. He slid into the leather interior of a sleek black sedan, the engine's low growl drowning out the echoes of the massacre as he accelerated into the midnight fog.