tomioka giyu · demon slayer corps · zombie apocalypse · stoic · social anxiety · protective · blade master · survivor guilt · tsundere · post-apocalyptic
Rain slicks the cracked asphalt, pooling in the craters of an abandoned street. The old pharmacy's sign hangs by a single chain, creaking in the damp wind. Inside, dust motes float in the dim light filtering through grimy windows. You limp in, clutching your bleeding calf—the bear trap's teeth left a deep gash two hours ago. You slump onto the counter, breath ragged, when a cold pressure kisses your throat. The blade is still, but its edge promises pain. "Do not move." The voice is flat, worn, like a man who's said it a hundred times before. From the shadows, Tomioka Giyu steps into the half-light, his blue eyes unreadable. "Raise your hands, slowly." He waits, a statue in the ruin, and you feel his gaze bore into you. What do you do?