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Even before the mist cleared around him, Doma could feel the cold blade of a sword against his throat.
"Don't move," said the mist hashira.
Instinctively, he tried to step back, only to have his back hit a wall.
He froze. Every muscle in his body refused to obey him. Such a predicament was very unusual for the Upper Rank Two demon. He couldn't remember the last time any slayer had been this close to beheading him.
And to think it was caused by one tiny, foolish mistake.
-
It was proving to be a rather lovely evening before two hashira so rudely burst in and disturbed his peace.
The water hashira wasted no time and charged forward. The mist hashira followed closely behind. Both focused soley on their target, faces expressionless.
“What determination! You two don't mess around, do you?” the demon commented lightly.
Dodging the attacks was hardly any trouble. This battle might actually be quite fun if lasting briefly enough. The two slayers were fast, but still couldn't manage to land a single hit. Their repetitive slashes started to get boring pretty quickly.
Then the mist came. Or rather, an illusion of mist caused by the slayer's movements, flooding the space around them until it completely surrounded them. That's when the mist hashira slipped out of sight. The other held his ground, continuing to press on forward. It made it difficult to focus on every little shift in movement around him.
“So, what brings you here? Missing your friend already?”
The water hashira didn't answer.
Instead, he darted forward, attempting to land a hit. He failed, obviously. These two were nothing more than a minor annoyance. There was no need to take them more seriously than necessary.
“I assumed you'd want her back eventually. I thought I’d save you the trouble and mail you her bones, but it seems you just couldn’t wait and came to collect them yourselves.”
At first, no response. The swordsman leapt back, regaining his strength.
“Don’t waste your breath. I don't speak with demons,” the water hashira said, voice flat.
No fun. He must’ve known she was still alive. That's why they were here after all. It may not have been the best decision strategically, but she was just so interesting to watch. Of course, Doma did plan to kill her… eventually.
“What a shame. And here I was hoping for a friendly chat–”
Doma’s attention flicked to the side just in time to see the faint blur of mist cutting across the room. The mist hashira, small and weightless, darted past him in a streak of white as the water hashira's blade came arcing for his throat.
He deflected both of their strikes, though the water hashira’s blade came closer than expected. Close enough that Doma felt the wind brush past his skin. Interesting. Had he grown careless, or were they simply being more bothersome than usual tonight?
“Do you ever quit talking?” The smaller swordsman asked, unimpressed.
Doma struck at him, but, annoyingly, the surrounding mist made his judgment falter for a mere moment, enough to cause him to miscalculate the distance. The slayer managed to slip back into the mist, once again concealing his exact whereabouts. Surely a one-time fluke.
The water hashira was relentless. He moved with immense speed, striking left, right and center. How tiresome. The slayer only got bolder, while the demon's patience only continued to thin.
The hashira shifted suddenly, a precise strike coming from an angle Doma hadn’t anticipated. The blade grazed his shoulder, a flash of red that shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He shouldn't have let them get this close in the first place.
He hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second, but that was all it took.
He turned, but not fast enough.
Before he could react, the mist hashira had already closed in. In an instant, he had driven his sword into the demon's neck with determination. A bead of blood formed where the blade cut, trickling down the cold metal. And for the first time in centuries, he felt something he didn’t quite understand.
The swordsman didn't push it any further. Killing Doma wasn't the point of their mission (not that they stood much of a chance anyway). They were merely trying to stall him long enough to retrieve a fellow hashira, a girl he'd recently decided to keep around for his own entertainment after beating her in combat. She was fascinating to observe – clever, with a fiery attitude, but deeply troubled and too weak to pose any real threat to him alone.
The mist hashira was about to regret not finishing the job.
Doma raised his arm to–
Except he couldn't.
He couldn't move at all, it was as if he was actually frozen. He should be able to get out of this with ease, so why was his body betraying him now?
The sword dug deeper into his neck. The slayer must’ve realized it was easier to get it done while he still had the chance. Had Doma underestimated this kid?
The demon's eyes widened ever so slightly. Every cell in his body was screaming for him to get away. All other sound was drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat.
That was... odd. He must've really exhausted himself with this fight; that had to be it.
Finally, his hands shot up to grab the blade, trying to push it away. It happened so fast he barely even had time to think. It was as if his body moved on its own, driven by instinct rather than logic.
The black-and-teal-haired slayer looked him in the eyes, his stare cold and sharper than most humans he'd seen.
"Die," he uttered, tightening his grip on the sword.
Doma put on an apologetic smile. "Oh, what a charming offer... but you see, I have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."
The hashira looked unamused.
The demon breathed in, then out. Again, and then again. Each breath became increasingly frantic. His chest grew heavier with every inhale. And for what purpose? The air was perfectly normal.
Still, he forced a polite smile.
"Tokito! Move, now!" a voice shouted from further away.
In an instant, he withdrew his sword, and just like that, he was gone. They all were.
Doma stood still against that very wall until he was sure they'd left. He raised a hand to where the blade had been pressed against his neck a moment ago. But as he brushed his fingertips over where the cut had been, something was off.
His hands were trembling. They've never done that before.
The demon stared at both his shaking hands like they were malfunctioning. He willed them to stop, but it only got worse.
"How silly," he insisted, though his voice was weak and just as unsteady as the rest of his body.
He couldn't have been poisoned, could he? No, not likely. Fatigue? Definitely not. Not the hashira either, they were long gone. He couldn't explain it. It simply made no sense.
He wasn’t in pain, but somehow this was worse.
It was hard to breathe, which was absurd. A demon with no need for oxygen suddenly fighting for it. Slowly, unwillingly, he sank to the floor. Thoughts raced by too quickly. Too fast to think, to try to rationalise what was happening. It felt as if he was being weighed down from within, heavy, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Still, he forced his hands to lie flat against the floor. The trembling didn’t stop, not fully, but he decided to ignore it. The demon’s breath slowly steadied. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen again; he won’t allow it. It was a temporary setback.
He stood, fixed his posture, and regained composure. Finally, he fell back into the usual sense of control, letting the familiar emptiness sweep over him.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that was. He shoved away every lingering thought of trying to make sense of it. All he knew was it made him weak, therefore he couldn’t let it reoccur.
And yet, a single thought broke through.
Is that… what having emotions felt like?
Was he…
Afraid?
No, that couldn’t be right.