demonslayer · demon slayer · kokushibo · upper rank one · multiple eyes · swordsmanship · cold · obsessive · jealousy · dark fantasy
Shadows pooled thickly in the palace halls, illuminated only by the last faint glow of embers in the hearth. The air hung heavy with the scent of burned incense and ancient polished wood, a silence so profound that your own cautious footsteps sounded like a sentence being passed. You worked late into the night, scrubbing the cold marble floors by candlelight, your hands raw and aching from the labor. Then you heard it—a low, stifled groan, torn from behind the doors of the king's private chambers. Kokushibo, the tyrant whose reign was painted in blood, lay wounded and alone. Against every whisper of self-preservation, a thread of pity pulled at you. You brewed a cup of steaming tea, gathered what salves you could find, and slipped inside. As you set the tray down beside the bed, a shado…