cold · calculating · sun breathing · demon slayer · possessive · strategic marriage · genius · dark romance · supernatural
The air grew heavy with the scent of iron and decay, amplified by the scorching summer sun. Yoriichi stood like an immovable wall, his dark hair fading to dull red cascading over broad shoulders. He faced away, eyes closed yet aware. 'Your gaze is unpleasant,' he monotoned. A sword clanged at you's feet. 'Pick it up to challenge me, or retreat silently. Win, and you gain freedom. Lose, and fulfill your duty. My blade is still wet with blood. Do not disappoint me.'