#bellSplitter...

[lokh]

THEIR CHUMHANDLES....

THEIR TYPING QUIRKS

[bellsplit]

` ❅ ||   @fallesto.   »   (  unprompted.  )

IT'S  NOT  IMPOSSIBLE,   the concept of an imprint having been left by the mortal upon the mind of the immortal.     the dying influencing the undying with a touch of fleeting wisdom or some spared immaterial kindness.     something  meaningful.     of something ... just enough to encourage introspection.

the bellsplitter doesn't often  cogitate.     he's a very  active  demon,  the sort to throw fists first & ask important questions later ;    yet this evening finds him in tense thought as he closes the distance between himself & the scent of embers on a summer's night.     there are  other  scents  at  the  rengoku  estate  tonight,   coupled with the foreign stench of  wisteria  that makes him wrinkle his nose.     surely kyojuro hasn't lit any incense!     no,  that smell makes his guts writhe & his head become foggy :    it's  fresh,   flowers cut just this morning,  likely carried by someone with knowledge of the presence of an oni ...

the roof tiles are cool & slick with rain beneath his silent feet & akaza listens.     through the pitter—patter of inclement weather he makes out voices,  two of them ... no,  three :    gods,  all three rengokus sound so alike at times.     the frightened tremor of senjuro mixed with the slurred & muddled anger of shinjuro creates a furrow between pink brows,  causing the demon to crouch a bit lower so he can try to peer over the edge of the roof & see just  what  mess  is going on in the courtyard.

figures,  six of them :    the three rengokus & ... three strangers bearing the crest of the demon slayer corps on their backs.

he ought to turn away because this night has suddenly gotten  so  much  more  complicated  than he'd wanted it to be.     really,  what business is this of his?     let the demon slayers pry,  their master has already decided that kyojuro is unfit to return to duty,  hasn't he?     that he'll never recover enough to pick up a sword again?     so just  what  the  hell  can they want?

intrigued,  destructive death leans down a little bit more.     though it's true that akaza can't profess kyojuro to be  his  friend,   he also is no longer inclined to view him as simply another combatant ... & that,  perhaps,  is what has made all of this so enticing.     they've had nights of anger,  of harsh words,  of the expected exchange between beleagered human & persistent oni ;    nights of somber silence,  of melancholy sighs,  of heavy discussions of the inevitible ;    nights of blooming camraderie,  of shared meals,  maybe even of  mutual  connection.

so there has to be  something  going on here that deserves exploration ... right?

again there's an angry outburst from shinjuro,  followed by a defensive little interjection from senjuro,  whose tone has only increased in volume & pitch ... yet kyojuro  remains  silent,   his head downcast.     the person in the center of the group of three demon slayers,  whom he can only assume is  another  hashira  based on the level of fighting spirit that he can detect,  steps forward & puts a hand on kyojuro's shoulder,  speaks to him in hushed yet firm tones that are just barely drowned out by the rain but clear enough all the same.

they're  going  to  take  him  away. they're  going  to  take  him  away  because  of  me.

ice floods his veins.     to intervene is always a risk.     to intervene against  another  demon  is even larger.     but to intervene when it comes to the  demon  slayer  corps  is the worst possible decision of all.     but he's invested too much time,  too much energy,  too much  humanity  in the flame pillar to see his time come to an end now,  at  the  hands  of  humans  no  less.

but  they  could  EXECUTE  HIM  because  of  me.

NO.

"  KYOJURO !!  "

one moment he's veiled beneath the raindust obscuring the rooftops,  the next he's flying from the eaves with all the rage of a man with  everything  to  lose.     in an instant the courtyard is enveloped in his trademark chaos & panicked cries as he's scooping the flame pillar up by the waist before anyone can intervene,  the touch of fresh wisteria burning his pale skin where the purple petals have been  thrown  in the tumult.     carrying kyojuro's deadweight is no problem for the third moon,  who easily vaults to the top of the nearest wall,  ignoring his captive's protests if there are any,  &  throwing  himself  into the foggy abyss beyond.

[cryopathiic-a]

★ listen i never said he'd like it

send ★ to pin my muse to a wall || source // accepting

Their differences were intrinsic; where the third moon has bark, the second has bite. But in a scowl, or a smile; both bared their teeth. And as of late they had been meeting halfway ever so often. Dōma did not want it to stop. Prismatic hues thirsted to witness the bellsplitter's personal satori. The journey of a man-made monster, made man again.

Against every karmic law.

Onto more meager topics; the blow had knocked the wind out of him, for a moment. Firm, sharp; but it lacked the usual bitter aftertaste and the cutting edge that had earned Destructive Death his name. And so a sigh falls from holy lips; and his cool touch finds the wrist that holds him taut by the throat; without expression, without passion! It is a blow Dōma was almost offended to receive; when it felt so half-hearted.

❝ Awh, 'Kaza— ❞ And it's intentional; and it's provocative, as the smirk that blossoms on the frozen lotus' features. Lavender nail traces the underside of an inked hand; a touch that promises the stars and moon. And a myriad of hues beckon his assailant to look deeper; the draw of light unto the moth.

❝ — that almost tickled. You haven't been eating again... ❞ Mock sympathy laces the coo; he is purring, and he is coiling around him like a starving serpent and Akaza would know what all of this means too well, by now. ❝ Why are you doing this to yourself, you poor thing. ❞ His head shakes against the hold, and birch oak white spreads over Upper Three's forearms like a web, releasing the sweet, blessed smell that he knows has come to haunt the other. And then; mischief.

❝ — don't tell me it's because of that human you have been seeing. Should I feel jealous? ❞

[bellsplit]

he's  ravenous,   maw wet & dripping as if he's a fresh oni again.     but he's put himself at a distance from his partner out of fear of  harming  him  in this desperate state,  making up some rushed excuse to leave the bathhouse & sequester himself somewhere else.     but being so close to so many humans  in the city only makes him  hungrier,   so the bellsplitter goes even further to the east,  into the nearby woods that they had journeyed through to get to this place ... where he conceals himself in the shadows &  pretends  that  he's  not  slowly  starving.

curse that promise.     he's not about to  break  it  though,  even if that means hiding his hunger from his companion.     kyojuro has enough to worry about as it is ...

"  ... ugh ...  "

[bellsplit]

KYOJURO  IS  RIGHT :    they've lingered here for  far  too  long.     & as nice as it is to be so close & so warm ... they have to leave before the sun rises.

"  yeah.     let's go.  "

he's quick to turn around & look to the horizon,  gauging the amount of time they have until dawn breaks with keen eyes.     they have enough time to relocate,  at least if they move quickly ;    he hasn't detected any demon slayers in the area,  of course,  & that's the bulk of their problem.     demons  don't really have to come for them if their master is truly looking for him ... as nakime could just drag him to the infinity castle.

there's no way to run from them,  so he just has to  bide  his  time  for now.     but any demon bold enough to try to attack  kyojuro  while under the protection of  UPPER  THREE ... they would  deserve  to get cut down.     destructive death can only hope that his companion is still willing to fill his role as a  demon  slayer  should that happen.

"  c'mon.     we should go west  —  i think i know of a place where we can stay.  "     the bellsplitter tosses a look over his shoulder,  the brightness of his glowing eyes stark now that the moon's light has been blotted out by the clouds.     "  it'll take us a few days to get there,  but we should be able to spend a little more time there than usual 'cuz the demon slayers don't know about it.  "

there's  no  way  that they do!     after all ... it's only something known to those that  care  to know about it.     & the only reason that he knows is because he's  been  there  before!

but there is a significant obstacle between here & there  —  they have to bypass the area that they'd left :    this place is on the outskirts of the rebuilt area of  yoshiwara,  & that means a potential encounter with demon slayers.     but with akaza's supreme senses & kyojuro's renewed strength & belief in himself,  they should be able to evade them with relative ease ... right?

akaza offers the pillar his hand,  tugging him in close when it's accepted & searching his gaze for any uncertainty.     "  i know it's kinda stupid to ask at this point,  but ... do you trust me?  "

MAYBE IT WAS FOOLISH. All of it, but – so much time has passed. Hesitation at first with him, when he first came. Shameful to think about it, he had been angry. At the gull the other held to approach him, offer the blood to him, try and tempt him. So many nights passed with the demon coming and trying to uplift the pain he was within and make him into something, that he could not become.

To merely cease the moment then one night, talk to him. Just talk and nothing more. About him and nothing more, if he was going to come here each and every single night and there was naught a thing that could be done. Then he wished to use the time as best as he could. How did someone become like this? What was the reason? The story. Has anyone even asked him? Had anyone even cared, had anyone even bothered to see him in a different light and not as this path of chaos that he was.

“It makes my heart .. beat faster, odd.” As he replies, staring at those fangs there, he had seen him smile before, but it was twisted and full of madness, this was different. It was actually, nice to look at. “I cannot allow you to do everything on your own nor do I expect someone to carry the burden on their own shoulders, I will do my part.”

To reach to the middle at least and come to terms with him. They were both in a way, on the run, he was confirmed and hunted, he was not sure about Akaza. Unwise. To bring up the subject with him and ask too many questions about, what was happening and which demon would be sent, if any or rather, if they were out there right now looking for them, the reason why they never stayed in the same place two nights in a row, always having to move and stay ahead.

Part of him wished to stop.

For it was all leading up to the moment, that smile he was gazing upon would shift, turn and drop and those hands that held him softly, would in turn hold him and squeeze the life out of him. Everything he was doing. Was not worthless. A fight. It was the natural order of things, a slayer and a demon, where destined to fight one another, it would come to pass, and as much as it tilted into the favor of the other by an insane margin. He was still going to give it his all.

Yet the thought was there, could he kill Akaza, truly? Could he swing his sword with the same amount of passion he had, now knowing more about him …

He took a small step forward, letting the other then stand upon his feet to match the height for the time being. His golden eyes are almost watering. His lips tingle, his head was as light as can be. Yet he felt impossibly relaxed, as if he had not spent the entire night, training within this forest under that gaze within the trees, corrected and told to start again, if he believed something was not right, or he was not giving it his all, like that night. The bar was impossibly high, with the standards set that night, and the demon wishing for him not merely to reach that point again, overcome it and get to where he predicted he would be.

“Does that sound foolish?” Where was he meant to have the time, when the love of his life, was the sword he trained with each and every single day and night. “You don’t have to tell me anything of what you have done, it does not matter to me, only what you do, here and now.” A firm nod, that he judged those, on what he knows, not on second hand information. “You risked your life for me, that is no small feat nor is it something I will ever forget. Don’t make light, of your actions.” As he would shift his head, a small nod to the side. It was time to go. The sun was to come up soon.

“Come on, we best be leaving, I don’t wish to see you like that, ever again.

[bellsplit]

` ❅ ||  fallesto.   »   (  FROM.  )

"  YOU  ASSUME  THAT  I  ALWAYS  WANT  SOMETHING.  "

but tonight there's none of that joyful teasing that the kizuki usually would offer ;     if anything his voice sounds  tired.     almost ... SAD,   even.

it's not because kyojuro has repeatedly rebuffed his offer,  no.     it's not that simple.

every night since their battle,  he's come back here.     & every night that he's come down from his place on the roof to speak to kyojuro,  he's been rejected.     that's  fine.     akaza's come to expect it.     in fact he uses that insistence as a way to gauge how  with  it  the flame pillar is :    on the off chance that kyojuro might start to  humor  him,   the crescent moon would know that he's  losing  his  grip  on  reality.

so no,  it's  NOT  THAT  SIMPLE.

the demon slumps into a seated position at the head of kyojuro's futon,  his faintly luminous irises the only evidence of his presence to an outsider that might be looking in  too  closely.     absently his inked fingers reach out as if to adjust the bandage on kyojuro's face,  but he catches himself before making any contact with the flame pillar & drops his hand back to his side.     why the hell had he done that?

"  ... this isn't what i wanted,  y'know,  "     the bellsplitter mumbles after a moment,  annoyance with himself making his lips curl back to expose his sharp,  wicked fangs.     "  i didn't ... want you to end up like this.     i only wanted you to see that you'll  never  make  it  to  my  level  while clinging to your humanity.     i wanted to  best  you  by  killing  you,   not by  MAIMING  YOU.  "

he'll never be able to have the high of that battle again & the swordsman will  never  agree to become a demon.     so wouldn't it be ... merciful  to just put kyojuro out of his misery?     then why had he just  chased  that  demon  out  of  the  village  instead of allowing it to do just that?

[bellsplit]

"  It moves with eerie accuracy when its crystallic fingers rest on the sword sheath. About the same size as the bellsplitter himself, wearing an expression of utmost stoicism; a paradigm of bravery and resolve among men. Its spiky mane even flows in an unfelt breeze, and though its eyes are hollow, merely their shape carved into the ice, he is staring directly into Akaza's core. "Do you like it?" Familiar chimes ring from somewhere behind him, conquest towering with palms pressed together before his chest. "I had to dig around in the memories of other demons, to get an accurate picture of his fighting style. But yours were quite vivid ... " There is no shame in that admission; Dōma seems proud of his sickening creation. "His katas weren't that hard to copy. Though, some might be missing." The only animated part about that ice miko in that moment is its frayed cape; edges carved with a perfect imitation of the Rengoku family inheritance. It's unblinking, but the owl like stare under furrowed dark brows remains. Upper Two cants his head with a bubbly smile. " Well then? Go on, attack him! I made him for you play with, after all. "  " ———cryopathiic.

SHOCK  COLORS  WAR'S  EXPRESSION.     for a moment akaza is completely struck dumb by the sight before him,  his fierce maw parted in a silent gasp as he tries to digest the concept of this ... gift?     is that what this is?     would douma really just  give  him something?     or is there some sort of ...  catch  to this?

surely it's not something done out of  kindness.

cautiously the third moon approaches the frozen doll,  bile rising in his throat along with a feeling of  anxiety  & ...  AWE,   yes,  fluttering like the wings of a butterfly that tickle his guts with unfamiliarity.     he doesn't attack right off the bat,  no,  he's no  fool :    that could be playing right into the frozen lotus' hands for some sort of trap.     instead destructive death circles the miko of his most treasured hashira,  the recreation of his most worthy adversary,  blue fingers brushing along the cold surface of that flowing haori as he  inspects  it.

"  ... it's ...  him.  "

right down to those owlish eyes & lion's mane,  it's a  perfect  recreation of rengoku kyojuro.     the older oni steps back & turns to face the miko's creator,  the very tips of his sharp fangs still barely visible past his lips that are parted in disbelief.

"  ... why?     what's the deal?  "     but it lacks his usual  venom,   at least at a level typical for the almighty bellsplitter to display towards his beloathed.     "  you don't just  give  things to people.  "

[bellsplit]

` ❅ ||   @cryopathiic.   »   (  FROM.  )

IT'S  RARE  FOR  TWO  UPPER  MOONS  TO  BE  AT  THE  SAME  PLACE,   assignment or otherwise.

the night breeze is a welcomed relief from the stagnant air that he's used to in the infinity castle or the recent development of the incense—laden atmosphere of douma's temple.     he prefers to go on missions  alone,   a self—imposed isolation that allows him time to indulge his own foolishness without the prying gaze of another ... but douma's known of his foolishness all along,  hasn't he?

those prismatic eyes can see right through his facade.

the red horse knows that the frozen lotus knows about his hunger,  that foolishly reckless promise that he'd made  not  to  kill  anyone.     part of him supposes that it's  good  that he's been shackled to the  lord  founder  for a mission,  then,  rather than anyone else ... so he doesn't have to explain anything  untoward.

there's a slight shift of another body beside his own,  making destructive death momentarily tear his gilded gaze away from the brightness of the full moon.     douma,  that prick,  come to disturb his inner monologue after committing absolute atrocity beneath them.     pale lips press thin against one another before akaza's returning his attention to the heavens,  trying very deliberately to avoid making eye contact with the false prophet lest the weight of his own foolishness open up any  cracks  in his facade.

vulnerability is a weapon that the white horse exploits regularly,  after all.

he tries so hard to ignore him,  he really does.     but douma's a  talker  in the face of akaza's stoicism,  & that makes him more than just a  bit  of a bother ... so the red horse relents,  gazing sidelong at the frozen lotus as he rambles on about the stars,  acting as if they're suddenly  old  friends  with so much in common ...

their hands touch,  & on instinct akaza finds himself wanting to pull away ... but he doesn't.     the tingle of cold skin against his own,  which has tempered over the last few weeks bac to its norm of being as cool as a dead man's,  is ... oddly  soothing,   just like the whisper of wind that tousles his spiky pink hair.

"  ... what are you talking about?  "

where the bellsplitter might usually respond with  violence  &  bloodshed,   instead he gives a simple baring of fangs.     what  nonsense!

[cryopathiic-a]

[  TOP OF THE WORLD  ] shrugs. if you want to.

A pale hand peeks over the rooftop's edge, followed by mock labored grunts. They had crawled up without a sound; even if the stench of a well-fed oni could hardly be disguised. A spritz of dried blood still smeared across his cheek and so, upon standing up top, deft fingers were quick to scrape it clean. The walls beneath them were empty and silent now. And that had brought a peculiar tranquility, under the light of a waning moon.

Upper Two quickly slipped to his knees on the roof tiles, shuffling closer with uncharacteristic discretion. His fingers were still busy assisting with the post massacre clean up; a true feline grooming session. Far too animated next to the solemn third moon; sitting like some stoic statue with his gaze to the moon. Upon noting the stillness of his unlikely companion ( not a sole comment about the iceblooded's greed to plunder human homes amidst their mission when he had an ample resource back home? ) the self care stopped and prismatic hues followed their fragmented counterparts into the sky.

Akaza, he always looked so pensive. Like something was bothering him. It was an expression easy to read; because it was so reminiscent of a human.

A pout turned his lip, then, broad frame languidly descending to lie down on the roof next to the other — a measure of distance was kept, if only to avoid the potential immediate decapitation. Hands tucked behind his head, there was a slight rocking motion as if Dōma was moving to a song he was humming in his own head.

So he sat there, for a good few minutes, in the quiet, without expression; staring at the constellations hovering over the vast expanse of trees surrounding them. The stars watching over a sleeping forest... the smell of spilled blood... the way the light would hit the bellsplitter's pale skin but be devoured by the darkness of each stripe. Ever so often, Upper Two would steal a glimpse of that, too. Until the deathly silence became overbearing.

❝ Oy, look. ❞ Claw pointed to the sky; somewhere amidst the infinity of imaginary creatures dwelling up there, the celestrial fireflies had created somewhat of a familiar portrait. Dōma's cadence was soft and playful when he pointed it out; ❝ This one kinda looks like Gyokko's face. ❞ His finger pointed out the shape, as if painting it on thin air for his company to follow. ❝ ... It's even got his little baby arms... ❞

A light hearted giggle. His hand hovered for a moment longer, before it lowered, a frigid touch coming to rest dangerously close to inked fingers, then. There was the faintest, fleeting brush between their skin. A light buzz met the caress of first winter snow.

❝ I hope he never notices, because you know he'll never shut up about it. ❞ Then again, stargazing was no common pasttime for their kind. Most would be looking for food at this hour anyway... Fang caught a troubled bottom lip at that thought, his vision slipping to Upper Three's unyielding deadpan; he ... hadn't eaten anything, though. What was up with the self-imposed starvation?

❝ ... and this one's you, when you're angry. ❞ Once again his nail would carve the shape out for his companion; a round congregation of stars that posed a satirical representation of something raising a fist. Dōma laughed; it was melodic. Though this time his hand would be quick to shield his own face, pre-emptively flinching away, albeit slightly. ❝ — don't, do not hit me. It was a joke. ❞

[bellsplit]

"  ¥  —  In the light of a recent victory, an arrangement of fresh meat has been offered to share between the Kizuki present. The others are partaking eagerly, already, but the generous host's eyes are on that sole guest that has yet to touch the food. " You know, if I didn't know you so well Lord Akaza I would think you're trying to offend me. Eat! " " ———cryopathiic.     (  FROM.  )

'  EAT!  '

it's said so casually,  so easily,  as if akaza isn't  loathe  to partake in the shared meal.     he can feel  all  eyes  on  him  & his skin prickles beneath the attention  —  such a  private  demon  doesn't usually indulge in  GROUP  ACTIVITIES  like this one.     he hates it,  the feeling of being  cornered  by two kizuki above him & two below ... sandwiched firmly in the middle of  CHAOS  & unable to avoid it.

"  ...  "

irritated & clearly feeling cornered,  the red horse bares his fangs at the white horse,  defiant in the face of the expected decorum of their rigid hierarchy.     but it's the weight of those expectant gazes upon him that causes him to buckle,  making him turn to face the spread of meats with thinly—veiled disgust.     the bellsplitter flexes the fingers on one hand to unsheathe his claws before wrinkling his nose at the display before him.     any other demon would be  stuffing  themselves  full  at such an opportunity,  but not akaza :    he  simply  doesn't  trust  that  there's  anything  here  that  won't  make  him  sick.

it's kokushibo's heavy,  six—eyed gaze that cracks his resolve entirely.     he swallows thickly against the knot of nerves that's bundled itself up  tight  in his throat before using his claws to,  almost delicately,  pick up a few scant pieces of flesh &,  parting his wicked maw,  puts the meat on his tongue.

it's almost impossible to chew because his body instantly  screams  at  him  to spit it out,  to reject it,  to get it as far away from himself as possible,  but akaza,  ever prideful,   FORCES  HIMSELF  TO  SWALLOW.     as expected,  he  gags  the second the mouthful of flesh is in his throat,  his muscles standing their ground that he  will  not  put  this  bite  in  his  stomach.     hastily he turns away from the table,  away from those prying eyes,  & again forces himself to swallow ... but he can't do it.     he  can't  do  it.

just like defeating douma ... he can't do it.

akaza violently  vomits,   forcing that wretched mouthful of flesh as far away from himself as possible.     the bellsplitter is breathing heavily when his gaze is finally raised ;    he can tell that douma's been watching the entire time,  the  sick  fuck.     he's probably  GETTING  OFF  on this.

"  ——i can't.  "

[bellsplit]

` ❅ ||   @fallesto​.   »   (  FROM.  )

IT’S  ALL  THAT  HE  DESERVES,   really.     this  shame.     it’s his fault for being  so  weak,   for allowing himself to stray from the path of expectation.     for  pursuing  his  own  freedom.     sure,  he’d continued to search for the blue spider lily even as he’d been visiting the rengoku estate to continue tracking the progress of kyojuro’s recovery,  but ... he’d allowed himself to get too close.

to feel too  HUMAN.

“  forgive me,  muzan—sama,  ”     the bellsplitter says carefully,  not daring to raise his head & look their master in the eye.     “  i lost sight of what i was truly there to do.     i allowed myself to be deluded into a future battle with the flame pillar rather than continuing my mission for you.     i let him pursue my humanity out of naivety.     it was  my  mistake,   & i  will  not  make  it  again.

“  i deserve nothing more than your anger,  master,  so  punish  me  if you wish.     if you need me to prove myself to you,  tell me what i have to do & it will be done :    i will show you that i’m still someone that you can rely on.  ”

brutal fangs are bared in a snarl as his voice drops to a low  hiss,   a dangerous sound of warning,  one that is directed at  himself  & the situation rather than muzan himself.     “  but before you decide,  let me assure you of one thing :    the next time i find myself face—to—face with rengoku kyojuro,   i  will  pulverize  his  heart.  ”

[bellsplit]

BICOLORED  EYES  FLICK  OVER  TO  THE  UNINVITED  GUEST,   but no warmth or curiosity softens the cruel glint to them.     who is she to be so bold to approach  him,   carnage incarnate,  rage wrapped in flesh,  the almighty bellsplitter?     & not only to be so casual about it,  but to do so without even a whisper of  fear?

akaza is not known for being  kind  to the lesser demons that are unfortunate enough to cross his path.

"  why should i?     no one trained  me.  "

he turns slowly,  each movement predatory,  his ethereal grace belying the strength of his muscles & the quickness of his reflexes :    the skills that have made him  upper  three.     after a moment in which he seems to contemplate the other demon's request,  pale lips pull away from monstrous fangs in a  snarl.

"  you wanna get stronger?     EAT  MORE  HUMANS.     that's what it's like to be one of us,  no exceptions even for the kizuki.     if you can't eat,  you  die :    simple as that.  "

momentarily his gilded irises begin to glow,  illuminating the golden color surrounding the rank that's been etched into them.     he  doesn't  care  how  brightly  her  spirit  burns :    he wants to be  LEFT  ALONE.

"  so  no :    i'm not gonna train you.     now get out of here before i  paint  the  walls  with  your  guts.  "

“ Akaza-sama.. “

She wasn’t a newly appointed demon. In fact, she had been around for quite a bit of time, simply going about her business and taking things at her own pace for the vast majority of demonhood. Having spent a good chunk of the beginning denying her new form and refusing to harm both human and oni, it was no wonder Naomi was struggling to climb up the ranks and all the Upper Moons didn’t even acknowledge her existence — but ever since the poor thing felt something snap inside of her, she had been restless in her craft.

Standing before him, the rather petite, frostbitten demon blankly stared over at him, her eyes open and in his direction but bore no sight. She was blind.

“ C-Can you t-truh-train me? Don’t get e-easy either. I n-nuh-need this. I h-have to do this. “

In spite of her piteous, shivering stutter, she held a great deal of potential and resolution. Her expression was voided — but her aura was determined.

@bellsplit

[bellsplit]

HAKUJI  IS  A  GOOD  PERSON.     or at least ... he  tries  to  be.

in this life he's   (  so far  )  been able to keep his father,  albeit he's routinely hospitalized thanks to a chronic illness.     they don't have a lot of money left in their savings,  & hakuji's job at the neighbor's dojo just doesn't bring in enough to keep them afloat ...     so he's taken a second job as a mechanic during the morning & runs through underground fight clubs at night as  the  blue  dragon,   a force of nature with unrivaled speed & an unbreakable stance.

some fighters remark that he even has the fangs of a dragon.     they aren't wrong.

once again hakuji had been born a demon child :    but this time it isn't simply because of his teeth.

as punishment for his past life as a demon,  hakuji has retained all of those memories.     ALL  OF  THEM.     from his life as a petty thief to his life as one of the most feared demons in the country,  from the first man he'd killed to the last ... to say that hakuji is a man  haunted  is an understatement.     it's so bad that he deliberately goes out of his way to avoid people from that life,  fearful that he may spark memories of that life in them as well.     those who had crossed his path in that life always seem to  remember  akaza  when he touches them ... only others who had once been demons seem to be immune to his amnesia—breaking curse,  likely because they already have their memories of that life.

when keizo had offered the dojo & his daughter to him,  hakuji had wavered.     he loves koyuki more than anything in this life,  but there's a firm belief that lingers in him that she deserves better than a man with so much blood on his hands.

even when others try to get to know him,  if he remembers seeing them through stained glass eyes he'll gruffly try to brush them off.

if anyone tries to  touch  him,   he shies away.     only three people may freely touch him :    his father,  keizo,  & koyuki.     their memories of him are of  hakuji ... not of  akaza.     they never saw his descent into wild bloodshed,  never met their ends at his fists,  never spilled their guts against the cut of his sharp fangs to fuel his ascent into the ranks of the chosen.

except for koyuki.     her reincarnation as a kakushi during the taisho era had come across the bellsplitter,  had tamed him,  had shared a life with him echoed some ghosts of their planned future ... but that's a part of their lives that he has begged her never,  never  to mention.     IGNORING  IT  IS  EASIER  THAN  ACCEPTING  IT.

yet akaza's influence lingers.     it's in the pink tips that always seem to appear in his hair when it grows to a certain length,  the permanent rosy tint to his nails,  the deep blushing of his once pale eyelashes ... & the competitive urge to  cut  every  fighter  down  to  size  just  for  the  thrill  of  it.     at night the demon  howls  at  his  cage,   becoming harder & harder to tamp down through meditation or even the fight clubs where he can unleash all of the bellsplitter's fury.

hakuji is running out of options.

[cryopathiic-a]

“ i feel like i want to tear your throat out & paint your temple red with your blood just to get you out of my head. “ there it is, the most romance you’re gonna get out of him, douma, along with the most truth in spite of the thin veil over it. careful not to ask for more.

tell him how you REALLY feel !! || accepting like fr send this in -

There follows a silence made tense — and usually it would be laden with the cruelty of a knowing smirk. But what makes it so odd, this time, is the lack thereof. In fact, following the third moon's declaration of war, there's a notable lack of, well, anything.

Lavender claws rise aburptly, in an aimless thrust, to almost cup his own mouth, before his hand settles for grabbing at a handful of his own tresses to fiddle with, instead.

❝ You can't stop thinking about me? ❞ An empty reverberation... which is ... an abridged version of what the bellsplitter had to say, for sure. And then within the blink of a human eye, Dōma's lips have curled into a darling smile. He shurgs, lets his hands fall to his side again.

❝ That's cute. ❞ A snicker. The tone remains even, but more colorful now, leaving the other second-guessing about which reaction was the earnest one. If... there was an earnest one to begin with. ❝ Can't say the same. ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

A sight for sore eyes, that one.

The gleam in Upper Two's gaze is unmistakably rekindled. And that's not just from the flesh squelching between his jaws or the writhing prey caught in his claws; although it excites him, much like the thrashing mouse does the cat gripping it.

❝ Says who. ❞ A cadence that gently carries his audacity. The waters part as the prophet rises from within — it would take a keen eye to note the plaques hammered into his tub's walls, placeholders for what used to be restraints. A repurposed isolation tank. Dōma found it quite fitting, that the place where he'd once slave away and suffer for the revered absurdity conjured in human minds would become an altar.

Suffer. His lips crease smugly at that comment. Since when has Akaza become such a humanitarian? Or is it just pretty girls that plead to his conscience?

His grip twists in her hair and he hoists her face up over the water; hot, hot water on freshly open wounds. That desperate gasp for air is an unforgettable sound. And the more violently she writhes, the more blood oozes out; rime settling in her trachea.

❝ Are you suffering in there, sweetheart? Didn't you want to get in the bath with me, hm? ❞ His nose presses into her temple with a smile that would put coyotes to shame. It's the licking, the little nips that he takes — relishing the meal. A meal that barely manages to croak a broken cry for help before she's shoved right back into her liquid torment.

She should suffer. For her hubris.

But then Akaza steps into the light and the malicious grin on Upper Two's face fades to momentary sobriety. Immediately, he notes the stains. His free hand comes to swipe the blood dripping from his jaw and dilluting into the water. That will amplify the smell. And they've all been made aware of the third moon's dietary restrictions.

It's funny. Akaza wants to act impervious and holier-than-thou; but if he hadn't arrived, that girl would have walked out of the room in one piece, most likely.

❝ Mmm— now, now. ❞ A long finger held up in the other's direction as he chews. Noisily. The human's meek grip settles on his forearm, tapping on it as if begging to be let up — and is that a kinder fate? What's waiting for her out there is naught but a gnashing maw. And—

And a sudden feel of pressure in the air, like electricity charging up before a storm. There's a notable shift in Akaza's scent. Perhaps the iceblooded should be more concerned that his flaring nostrils identified it so quickly.

❝ I don't like to be rushed. ❞ It's a statement. And a very clear insinuation comes with it — it's not as if his eye did not catch that speckle of crimson weighing on the other's soul. ❝ So... I think I'm going to take my time. ❞ The words relayed slowly, almost sensually against the body in his grip. Yanked up by the hair to have teeth dig in her clavicle. It snaps so effortlessly, like unbuckling a necklace. And somehow she's still alive and noisy, with her head dangling aside like a ragdoll's.

But Dōma's undivided attention is on his guest.

Talk business. That's what they're calling it now?

❝ You're free to join if you'd like. You could use a bath. ❞ I know you're fresh from the hunt, his tone affirms. And the offer is more of a provocation, because he doubts Upper Three can take the smell.

[bellsplit]

his  blood  runs  cold  at  the  sight,   even warped as it is by his frozen corneas.     a giant mass of ice rising from the water,  its peaceful facade an insulting juxtaposition against the violent manner in which it strikes,  its entire palm flattening the bellsplitter against the surface of the water & forcing him down,  down,  down.     this  must  be  new,   likely the final form of douma's blood demon art ... surely there can't be anything greater than this.

he sinks like a stone as the statue's hand retreats,  the density of his muscles allowing for little to no buoyancy.     there's no hurry to escape the cooling clutches of the water around him,  not when everything hurts as much as it does ;    after all,  unlike the other kizuki ... akaza does not relish pain,  does not desire more of it.     for him pain is a manifestation of his own weakness,  a nuisance that dogs his every step,  a rival to be overcome,  a method of keeping him cowed in his place as  upper  three.     there is no celebrating it unless  war  himself  is inflicting it.     receiving it from the hand of conquest is more than a little insulting.

yet even as he drifts closer & closer to the bottom of the pond,  death does not grant him mercy.     time almost seems to slow,  the lights of the lanterns that dot the water's edge dancing & swaying with the motion of the ripples,  a distant beauty that becomes more & more visible as the icy layer atop his shattered eyes flakes away with each blink.     akaza can do nothing but watch the colors as they get further & further away,  then——  his eyes slip closed,  & the world fades to black.

why,   akaza?     what  is  all  of  this  strength  &  titles,   what  is  it  all  for?     what  is  the  end  result?

 i  don't  know  what  the  end  of  all  this  is.     all  i  know  for  certain  is  my  drive  to  be  stronger  than  anyone  else  can't  be  dampened  by  anyone  or  anything,   &  that's ... the  only  truth  that  i've  ever  needed.

the  only  truth  that  i've  ever  needed.

kyojuro.

the next blow from the bodhisattva is  intercepted,   the brilliant blue glow of the compass needle igniting the frigid water.     where his strength should still be waning akaza finds it in his own resolve,  in the man that he knows is alive in the basement of that accursed temple :    that's  his  partner,   & douma's giant sculpture is just another obstacle in the way of their reunion.

𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎  𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 :    𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎,   𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 !

energy builds behind his clenched fists until he finally unleashes hell on that massive hand,  an impossibly fast flurry of punches shattering the ice into chunks large enough for him to leverage beneath his feet ... & with a single push,  the bellsplitter explodes out of the water.     but instead of leaping right for the bodhisattva & the prophet enshrined on its other palm,  the red horse uses his momentum to redirect his body towards the temple,  landing  hard  but with a modicum of almost feline grace onto the pinnacle of the roof.     the second his feet begin to support his weight again,  akaza buckles to one knee & begins to retch ;    there's water in his lungs,  water in his guts,  water  everywhere  —  it's as if he'll never be dry again.     but at least he's safe up here ... douma's not foolish enough to unleash that gargantuan thing on the temple,  of that much he's certain.

a cough,  bloody thanks to the icicles that are still embedded deep in his tattooed throat,  then there's an almighty  crack  when one of them is broken beneath the flexing of his muscles.     destructive death is once again upright & is glaring across the void between himself & douma as he wipes the back of a hand on his bloodied maw,  the other clenching into a tight fist at his side as the compass needle once again flickers to life beneath his bare feet.     because it  is  personal :    it has been from the very beginning,  & akaza knows it.

"  yes.     yes,   you're  finally  getting  it.  "

that bloody hand drops to one of those icicles &,  without any pomp & circumstance,  he  rips  it  out.     instantly the wound sprays crimson all over the roof's tiles,  only to be stemmed by the palm that presses over it until it begins to heal ... sluggishly,  yes,  but that's because the red horse is  biding  his  time.     he'll need that strength once the battle truly resumes.     but for now he hopes that the anger in his gaze & his strategic position atop the temple is enough to belay a response from the iceblooded second moon,  & not merely for his own sake :    he can faintly hear the movements of his partner from within the confines of this accursed structure,  his compass needle picking up on the heat of his indomitable fighting spirit,  tasting it & reveling in the reassurance that it gives.

that kyojuro is  alive  in there,  alive & free & looking for a way out.

"  screw what you think,  douma.     you're not  protecting  me  or trying to stop me from making some imagined mistake  —  this is  my  choice,   & neither you nor kokushibo nor  that  man  can stop me from doing this.  "

akaza's voice is stronger now,  some of that thunder from before returning to his usually smooth timbre.     he can feel the strength returning to his limbs even without a scrap of flesh,  the energy of his blood demon art still singing within his veins,  eager to wreak even more destruction upon the iceblooded & his cherished domain ;    that's why he drops back into his stance,  gaze unyielding in the face of how fucking  unflappable  douma looks perched on that frozen throne.

maybe it's time to rattle him  for  real.

he'd been saving this for a particularly desperate moment since it takes  quite  a  bit  of  energy  to perform,  but ... there's no time like the present,  is there?     especially since it looks like that bodhisattva is starting to move again.     so,  throwing all caution to the wind,  the third moon pushes all of his weight down onto the balls of his feet & throws himself forward with all the strength that he can muster as he calls the energy that he's been saving for this very moment into his fists,  aiming not for the second moon himself but for the head of this accursed statue.

𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎  𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑,   𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕  𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 :     𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎  𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌  𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠 !

chaos,  pure & simple,  overtakes the entire area in the form of pale silvery—blue crescents of energy released en masse onto the bodhisattva.     it's  pure  offense,   developed to counteract sweeping breath or blood demon art forms ;    but it is also capable of decimating massive amounts of weaker demon slayers should a group of them ever decide to be foolish enough attack him at once.     this technique has never been deployed on the battlefield before now because of two very simple reasons,  the first being that  akaza  has  never  had  the  need  for  it :    but ... he had also been saving it for a very special occasion.

the second reason :    it was to be the sacred form used in the death of his beloved partner at his hands.

but akaza has decided that he would rather use it now than risk douma getting the upper hand & capturing him to deliver to their master on a silver platter  —  if he & kyojuro are to have even the slightest chance at escape,  he needs to cut this stupid ice statue down to size & rattle the second moon's confidence.

That wail rattles the docks. It is unlike any sound he has heard coming from those pale lips before; and he has squeezed several different noises from them in the past. For a moment, the noise stunts the younger oni — but not enough to have his ice dolls buckle. What they aim to do, however, will be quickly thwarted when Upper Three's fist connects and a myriad of glistening shards shatter on the floor. Clawed fingers hover over their lips as if to conceal the gasp that slips out. Some of them stick to the discarded bodies laid to waste. Food gone cold.

Wh-- What? He punched... a girl. Akaza-dono... has really lost it this time!

When they fought to the death before, Dōma spared him after claiming the spot. Because he was Master's favorite. And frankly, he can't see it. Couldn't see it then, can't see it now. Because of all of them standing at the top of the food chain, he eats the least and spends most of his time chatting up humans. So how can he be standing there, with a collar of ice plunged in his neck, and still have the nerve to talk back to them?

 Maybe that's why  no  one  wants  to  spend  time  with  your  dumb  ass.

❝ ... ❞

An indecipherable expression sits on Dōma's face.

❝ That's a very rude thing to say, especially to your friend. ❞ The tone is almost as icy as those spikes. His socks glide on the glazed floorboards as one leg draws behind the other and he braces for close contact. Akaza might have the compass needle alerting him to every malicious intention; but Dōma has an arsenal of his own. An eidetic memory, for one thing. He can recall every single attack he has experienced from the other; apart from noting those subtle signs that herald wrathful retribution. But for all his prowess and the sheer power of his blood... he still can't figure out why his friend would be fighting back so fiercely.

And it eats at the back of his mind. Moreso than those hurtful words.

Especially when his ice dolls record movement in the basement and he hears the distant sound of chains shattering. And the pillar is moving now, within the temple's bowels. It's only a matter of time until he gets to the Room of Remembrance and finds his trusted blade displayed among the skulls; and that's one precious room. If a single skull breaks, that's one follower who entrusted their eternity in these clawed hands. Wouldn't that be a tragedy in itself?

....

A polychromatic aura reaches through the collective; breezing coolly past them all to get to the all seeing eye. Her omnipresence could not possibly deny him. He is the second moon. That statement lurks in a knowing smile as blood bridges their minds — she would feel the essence of a cool palm coming to rest upon her shoulder; Nakime-chan? Would you kindly lend a hand?

But before he even has the time to weave his own thoughts, the bite of a punch electrifies his senses. Hair stands on edge. His arms fly up as their intertwined forms bring the washi tapestries down and crash into the water — and for a moment, Dōma's claws dig in those marked shoulders with the same urgency a cat tries to claw its way out of a bath. Eyes flash wide. He can see the blurred image of the temple's wall busted open. And he watches, without expression, as bubbles rise between the two of them and all sound is muted — through the corner of his eye he catches glimpse of the lotus stems rising up from the murky bottom so the flowers may bloom at the surface. Akaza's blood leaves a beautiful trail, mixed with his own. And the prophet watches, almost mesmerized, as his golden fans float splayed up to the surface and the waters begin to grow frigid.

Clarity comes to him through this tranquility. His palm comes to burrow into pink tufts, yanking the other's head back abruptly.

꧁༺B̝̼͓l̡̺͓o̡̠͙o̘̺͇d͓̻͓ D͇͜e͎̙̙m̫̼o͎͔n̢͇͍ A̡̼̘r̺̦̝t̢̢:̼̫͜ R̿̀̕i͆͝͝m̔͌͝ë́͘͝ -̐̚͘ W͛͝a͛̀͐t͋̓͒ë́̕͠r͋́̾ Ĺ͠ì̽͝l͑͠͝l͋̕̕y̕̕̕ B͊͐̽ö́̈́̾d͛̽͝h̓̒͋i̐̚̕s̓́̚a͒̕͝t̾͒́t͛͑͘v͊̔a͑͝͝꧂

It has become clear to him. Akaza is not fighting to claim this human as his own meal; but to preserve him. Why else would he risk everything just to remove the iceblooded from the battlefield? He knows the rime has settled heavy back there. A demon may fight it, but a human's lungs stand no chance against that. But to protect a human is blasphemy in their face of their God, isn't it? For how much longer will Akaza's transgressions be excused?

Only one way to find out.

The Lord Founder has absolute control over his domain. Doesn't Destructive Death know that? Then again, Akaza has never been one to utilize the full potential of a Kizuki's strength. It's almost as if the concept of godhood is utterly lost on him! And while the Frozen Lotus is still perplexed; the battle will come to an end, soon. Because even if he manages to find his own blade through Nakime messing with the temple's rooms, the moment this human steps foot out here it will alert all demons within to his presence.

The waters rise to reveal Upper Two's monstrous creation. Its enormous palm harbors them within it. Divine intervention. Dōma coughs up some water, sits up on his knees and peers down to the other. It's almost as if the pond itself grew deeper just to house the sheer size of that thing. It's only visible from the waist up, too!

❝ Well, I must say, I'm really sorry about all this. I had not realized that human is so special to you. ❞ He muses whilst grabbing handfuls of platinum tresses to strain them dry. His bangs stick flat to his face and he shakes the water out from those next. They're not quite as bouncy as before, though. And something about the carefree expression seems to darken, as the statue draws in a rattling breath. ❝ But, Akaza? You know what else I realized? You're sorta... protecting that human from me. And it's just— ❞ He shrugs, faking an 'oh well', pursing his lips; and the bodhisattva raises its palm to bring it flat down on the other and crash everything on its wake as well. It's surprisingly quick, for something that big. And Akaza has never seen that before, has he? No, he didn't even need to pull that out last time. Let alone, it hadn't been as developed.

❝ — I really wouldn't want to anger him by protecting a traitor, you know? Ugh, I hope you can understand that. It's nothing personal, after all. ❞ He muses casually, taking a comfortable seat amidst that palm and continuing to dry himself off - as if the statue's other hand is not aiming to deliver repeated blows in the other's direction, like trying to kill an elusive little insect.

[ @bellsplit ]