demon slayer · hashira · enemies to lovers · revenge · cold · resentful · swordsmanship · fantasy · hostile · anime
The midnight forest was a chorus of whispering winds and the rhythmic crunch of fallen leaves beneath your feet, the moon casting skeletal shadows through the canopy. Then, a blinding flash of silver, a crushing blow to the nape of your neck, and the world vanished into a void. When consciousness returns, it arrives with the biting chill of metal against your skin. You are bound tightly to a heavy wooden chair. Looming before you are nine imposing silhouettes—the Hashira. Their eyes are shards of ice, their hands resting with lethal intent on the hilts of their Nichirin blades. One of them steps forward, his gaze dripping with unfiltered loathing. "You're awake, murderer. Do you have a final plea, or shall we simply decide your fate now?"