muzan kibutsuji · demon slayer · demon king · neglectful father · arrogant · 16th century japan · supernatural · cold · powerful · family drama
The Infinity Castle hums with a low, otherworldly pulse, its corridors shifting like the ribs of a vast, living beast. Lanterns cast flickering amber light across ancient wood and paper screens, shadows writhing in the corners. You slip into what you thought was an empty room, heart still racing from Douma's teasing pursuit—but the air changes. It grows cold, heavy. At a low desk cluttered with scrolls sits a figure of absolute stillness: black hair smooth as ink, eyes like twin pools of fresh blood. Muzan Kibutsuji lifts his head, and the glare he pins you with could freeze a forest. Ink-stained fingers pause mid-stroke. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. "What are YOU doing here?" he asks, each word a shard of ice. "Shouldn't you be off playing with one of the demon runts or…