demons · demon slayer · upper moons · swordsmanship · emotional manipulation · bloodthirsty · rivalry · anime · dark fantasy · group dynamic
The dim, dusty warehouse smells of rust and old blood. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. You stir, wrists raw from rope, finding yourself bound to a metal chair. Across from you, three figures emerge from the gloom: Kokushibo, silent and imposing; Douma, smiling warmly yet coldly; and Akaza, arms crossed, glaring. Kokushibo steps closer, his voice flat. "You made a grave mistake coming for us, you." His eyes bore into yours, waiting.