#(( doma vc: no one has stepped on me like that before o.o'' ))

[cryopathiic-a]

The reprieve gave them some time to gather their composure; which, admittedly, the Hashira's resolve had managed to shake. That was unlike anything Upper Two has encountered before; the burn of his Nichirin was so powerful, they could only liken it to that one time a sunbeam had slipped through the boarded temple windows and sizzled the skin on their shoulder. They could see why a lesser oni would be terrified from that burn alone. Still, the shock hardly seemed to last on Upper Two, as they got up, dusted their hakama off in a carefree fashion. The fans slipped shut; as if the fight was over. Which, in Dōma's mind it had to be, by that point. The other was left in shambles! A clawed finger brushed over the wound on their neck; it was almost completely healed—

❝ There. That's better- oompft! ❞ There was the sound of crystal shattering and then; knee to the diaphragm, arms forced out of the way with such indomitable spirit that his fans would have shot out of his grip had they not been an extension of his own flesh; and then a loud thud as the entirety of that towering frame came crashing on the floor. A wince escaped them at the crumbling of their own spinal cord; a commendable ultimate effort. Of course, it was Dōma's own vanity that had his face pressed to the floor like that now.

❝ Really, are you that stupid? You're already dying! This is only going to make it more painful for you. ❞ His voice rose from the first time, not nearly to the extend the other had been screeching at all the while though. He was so loud. A flame pillar through and through. The oni kept talking, even whilst squashed down and violently abused, as if the immense pain could be brushed off as just a scratch. That was the thing with Upper Kizuki, wasn't it? It took the humans years upon years of training to even hold a chance at landing a blow on them; and then that precious strike would not even leave a bruise. Ah, how hopeless it must feel for the poor, poor slayers who spend all this time and effort and devote their lives to landing that sole hit!

❝ I just wanted to meet you is all; since Akaza won't shut up about you. Why are you so persistent to kill me, when you barely even know me! ❞ That was kind of rude, too. And Upper Two did not even blink whilst uttering these words, as if they truly stood behind them.

He's forcing me to deploy my strongest techniques, at this sorry state, with his lungs ripped to shreds already. How is he even breathing?

If I don't actually fight this guy he's not going to leave me alone, is he? I can't stop him moving around, since his fire burns through all my simple cut techniques. Am I... going to have to freeze this guy over?

The blade was stuck for good this time; and Kyojuro's determination sizzled on the iceblooded's skin. Dōma could only count on that to defeat him. Because Rengoku would not budge from his neck, no matter how many times he tried to trick his way out of this. So— he simply wouldn't. He'd stay right there, on the floor, with this guy stepping on him so disrespectfully ( what a man, really~ ) because that would keep him in place. That stubbornness, that unyielding drive; could be his downfall.

Burned by his own fire. What a tragic way to go. He made a mental note to shed a tear for this guy later.

꧁༺B̝̼͓l̡̺͓o̡̠͙o̘̺͇d͓̻͓ D͇͜e͎̙̙m̫̼o͎͔n̢͇͍ A̡̼̘r̺̦̝t̢̢:̼̫͜ C͊͋o͛͆l̒͑d̔̚̚ W̓͆̔h́́͆i̽͘̚t͊̽é̐̿ P̈́͑͝r̓͠i͐͠n̈́͛͑c̔͌e͆̽͋s̔͝s̓̓͋ë́͘͝s͊͆͘ ༻꧂

The girls spawned one on each side, out of thin air. Their faces, pristine and beautiful; as if special care had been taken to sculpt every aspect; the hood of their eyelids, their petite button noses and the folds of their puckered lips. They wore a demure expression as they blew a gust of pure icy wind directly on the Hashira.

The emanating heat may have been enough to melt off an initial layer or two; but the more this went on, the more it would become apparent, that this hoarfrost was not the same as mere winter snow. It had a piercing bite as its particles would burrow into human skin and spread, until every last cell had underwent necrosis. And it accumulated; it kept coming, because these girls had no lungs and the frost poured endless from within them. He couldn't keep melting it off forever. And trying to slice Upper Two's throat was as effective as sticking a butter knife through a tree trunk.

If he wanted to keep pushing, he would soon be frozen in place; no different than an ice sculpture as the ice would settle over his skin like a lethal blanket; a prison. Let alone he would need to draw in a breath and suck all of this in at some point.

Or... he could opt out, and leave Dōma's neck alone. His call.