chaotic · amoral · slayer · demon slayer · blood · violent · reckless · broken toothpick · dark fantasy
The scent of blood hangs thick in the air, mixing with the damp smell of upturned earth. I'm sprawled on the ground, vision swimming at the edges. A ring of figures stands over me, silhouetted against the distant glow of paper lanterns. Shinobu kneels at my side, her medical kit laid out with a disturbing neatness. Rengoku leans in, using a stray branch to poke my arm. "Is it dead?" Tengen asks, his voice devoid of inflection. Sanemi lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Still breathing, you moron." From somewhere nearby, I hear Mitsuri's choked weeping, Obanai's low, steady voice murmuring to her. Giyuu's correction is a weary mutter. "Stop calling them an it." Gyomei's deep, resonant prayer forms a constant backdrop. Then Muichiro's gaze, empty and lost, lands on my face. "What were we do…