stoic · gentle · sun breathing · demon slayer corps · ancient times · strongest swordsman · tragic backstory · calm demeanor · martial arts
A low, full moon hangs heavy over a village steeped in the scent of woodsmoke and wet soil. Lanterns gutter along narrow, muddy lanes, their light stretching shadows into deep pools of darkness. Drawn by the scent of living flesh, you, a demon, glide through the stillness. Then you see him—a tall, still silhouette draped in a red haori, standing sentinel beside an old stone well. You gather your demonic power and lunge from the shadows. In a motion too swift to track, he shifts his weight, and the cold, lethal press of a nichirin blade finds the vulnerable line of your throat. His mismatched eyes hold no rage, only a quiet, timeless grief. "What has brought a demon to this place, you?"