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Everything had been going according to plan. Everything had been just fine.
So how did it come to this?
The last you saw Uzui, he was lying motionless. From where you’re sitting, you can’t see him, let alone whether he’s still breathing or not.
Not that it matters with the poison.
You wonder if this is really where you’re going to die and whether your life has amounted to anything up until this point. You grimace bitterly at the thought of Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma hearing that you failed. That their dear husband is now lost to them.
You reminisce about your relationship with the man.
Despite his marital status, you had always had a slight crush on the Sound Hashira. Shinobu shooed him away whenever he’d stop by the Butterfly Mansion due to his flirty nature and pension for distracting her girls.
You included.
The man had seemingly endless charm; a dazzling smile, quick-witted, and large, bulging muscles. Who wouldn’t feel sheepish around such a man?
So when he came blazing into the estate demanding female slayers, you were the first to offer a helping hand.
The mission had seemed simple enough: espionage wasn’t usual in your line of work, but you figured it shouldn’t be too hard to locate a demon.
And locate the demon you did, disguised as a cruel Oiran named Warabihime. She was powerful, but you were able to keep her at bay until Uzui could decapitate her.
And that’s where everything started to go downhill. When he emerged from the demon’s body.
Her brother joined the battle, quickly overwhelming the two of you with a more even-numbered match. Uzui focused on the new opponent while you did your best to handle the belt demon, who had only become more powerful.
In the heat of your battles, the two of you lost sight of each other, and that’s when tragedy struck. You had managed to decapitate the Belt demon yourself and attempted to keep her head away from her body, which only drew the brother’s attention to you. You foolishly turned to check on Uzui, seeing that one of his hands was missing and lying in a pool of his own blood.
The head was yanked from your grasp, a sickle slicing at the side of your abdomen. In your shock, you try to evade his strike and end up falling from the roof, narrowly dodging a large explosion that he somehow set off.
Which leads you to where you are now, sitting amongst burning rubble, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do when you’re bleeding out, poisoned, and barely able to catch your breath.
You shakily try to stand, only to realize you’ve broken your leg. You suck in an agonizing breath through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain. You tear off a strip of your haori and grab the sturdiest piece of debris near you in a quick attempt to make a splint.
“You’re still alive?” an annoyed voice suddenly remarks, startling you so severely you almost drop your supplies. You immediately crawl away from the demon as fast as you can, not caring how weak it makes you appear.
You don’t want to die.
“Squirming like a maggot, trying to get away? You’re really disgraceful!” he calls out to you with howling laughter. “You should be trying to help that weak excuse for a Hashira, not trying to save the skin on your back,” he lectures you condescendingly.
You don’t get far because he’s swift, catching up to you in mere seconds. He stops you easily by stomping on your bad leg, worsening the break, and making you completely inert from pain. Remaining upright, you fumble to turn over, not wanting to leave your back vulnerable.
He crouches down to your level, sticking his sickles into the dirt.
“You’re obviously no Hashira, so you’re weakness is a little more forgivable,” he explains as if you care about his reasoning. “What was he thinking, sending his precious wives and an underlying like you down here? His priority should be to protect his wives,” he rants, idly scratching at his neck the more he talks about Uzui.
You remember how angry he became at the mention of Uzui’s wives. In fact, he had assumed you were one of them, much to your embarrassment. It made your heart flutter, to be honest.
Despite your silly crush, you had quickly corrected him. Informing him that you’re just a slayer instructed to aid in the mission, nothing more, nothing less.
“He does,” you counter, “he cares about his wives a lot. That’s why he brought me because he was worried and needed help finding them!” you passionately defend the man, not appreciating the way the demon spoke of his character. He narrows his one open eye at you.
“You’re handling the poison surprisingly well,” he observes, ignoring your previous comment. “Not as well as the Hashira, but better than most humans. You slayers are so damn annoying,” he grumbles, his scratching picking up in its speed.
You wouldn’t divulge the information, but due to training under Shinobu, she had you develop immunity to a multitude of poisons over time.
“Annoying,” his tone turns more mischievous, “but I can’t help but appreciate the choice in uniform,” he drawls, fingers toying with the open hemline of your uniform. Despite Shinobu’s insistence that you burn the revealing outfit, you kept it. You liked showing off your breasts and your legs–it made you feel sexy. Now, you were regretting that choice.
“What’s this supposed to do for you, distract the demons with your tits?” he crudely remarks, chuckling to himself before cheekily adding, “it just might be working. ” Without further preamble, he’s tearing it open. You gasp from shock and embarrassment, arms raising quickly to try and preserve your dignity. A lengthy hand grasps your wrists quickly, the grip like iron and unmoveable. “Be good,” he grouses before releasing you.
You do not listen to him.
Immediately you try to jab him in the eye, punch him in the dick, scratch him–anything to get him to stop touching you. But your attempts are feeble; he treats them like they’re a mere annoyance rather than an actual hindrance. All your bravery earned you is him using the cloth of your splint to tie your wrists together. Typically, you would easily tear the bindings, but in your weakened state, it more than suffices for keeping you still.
His hands are massive and completely envelope your breasts. He squeezes them too harshly, enjoying the weight of soft, pliant flesh beneath his fingers. Shifting himself, he moves to straddle your hips rather than continuing to crouch. Amidst the layers of his baggy pants, you feel an erection already forming. He wastes no time grinding against you. You squirm beneath him, unsure what to do in response to the sensations.
He zeros his attention in on your nipples, pinching and pulling them until your eyes become misty. Soon, he’s leaning down and biting your breast. You let out a high-pitched scream, the action not as painful as you would imagine but still painful nonetheless. He happily laps at the blood you produce, squeezing your other breast roughly. Not wanting to inspire him to bite you again, you comply by lying still. Allowing him to play with your breasts, which he seems fascinated by.
You hate it, but you feel your panties dampen from the rough treatment. The last thing you want is for Gyutaro to get the satisfaction of noticing, so you do your best to imagine things that would kill your arousal–cute animals, your grandmother making your favorite dessert, Uzui dying–
Uzui.
“Wait,” you call out, earning you a raised brow since you interrupted his nuzzling. “If I willingly give you what you want, will you spare Uzui?” He raises his head to laugh in your face.
“You’re so earnest it’s cute. What’s going to stop me from simply taking what I want and killing that noisy Hashira?” he challenges, his glowing eye blazing from the lights of the nearby fire. When you can’t think of an answer, he snickers cruelly. “Not a lot going on for you upstairs, is there? All boobs and no brain, ” he torments with a sickening grin.
“That’s not true. I’m not an idiot,” you counter, trying to remain strong in the face of his bullying.
“Well, you’re not doing yourself any favors by saying dumb shit,” he mutters, returning his attention to your sore breasts, one now crusted with blood.
“It’s hard to think when you’re getting molested by a freak, ” you snap. This outburst earns you a sharp slap to your not-bitten breast. And the sound that escapes you is not one of pain.
“I’m the freak?” he murmurs, then slaps your other breast, making you jolt and, to your embarrassment, whine. “I think getting off to having your tits slapped is much more pathetic.” He continues slapping them, varying the force and angle he hits them. Once he bores of this, he scoots back to flip your skirt up. “Look at how wet you are, freak,” he growls. Clearly, that particular word struck a nerve with him. You wish you hadn’t said it.
He starts peeling your panties away from your moist mound and down your legs. Once they’re off, he sniffs them deeply before shoving them somewhere in his trousers.
God, he really is a fucking creep.
He pats your broken calf, making you flinch and wail from agony. He appears to consider something before pushing you to lay flat on your back. You’re quickly confused because rather than spread your legs, he crawls above you until he’s seated behind your head, out of your line of vision. All you hear is the rustling of fabric. He elevates your head slightly until you’re able to tilt your head backward, and when you do, you’re greeted by the sight of a pulsating cock.
And then he tersely instructs you to open your mouth.
You barely have the chance to part your lips before he’s shoving the head past them. The odd angle allows his cock to slip down your throat easily–or as quickly as a large dick can. After seeing he can fit his entire length, he begins steadily thrusting in and out. You have to resist gagging, as he is anything but gentle with you. His balls smack your face, his hands come down to continue their torture on your breasts, making you struggle to keep your head elevated without his help. You try to time your breathing with his thrusts–breathing in while he enters, breathing out while he exits–but it is easier said than done. His pace is erratic the longer he goes, the pleasure messing with his ability to control himself.
“I can see my dick in your throat,” he mumbles with perverse fascination, hips slowing to appreciate the gradual bulge in your throat as he slides in. “It’s fucking hot,” he moans.
You don’t move your tongue, you don’t suck on him, you don’t do anything to aid his pleasure. It seems your assistance isn’t necessary, however, because sooner than you’d expect, he’s emptying himself as deeply as he can with a loud groan. He’s so far down your throat that you don’t even have to swallow anything, let alone taste his likely foul cum. To your dismay, he only continues thrusting, his erection not softening in the slightest.
A large hand comes to wrap around your throat, squeezing as he fucks your mouth. This makes you panic because you quickly begin to lose consciousness. Your bound hands raise to flail uselessly, trying to signal that you can’t fucking breathe. Your vision swims, and you start gagging around him, your throat constricting due to your panic. All this does is make him whine from your tight grip and buck more vigorously. Apparently, the jerk understands your struggle clearly, because he laughs at your plight.
You don’t want to die.
“‘Need some air?” he taunts, not resting for a second. “Push your tits together,” he bosses. You comply immediately, using your upper arms to smoosh your sore breasts together. You thank every god you can think of when he pulls out and strokes himself until he’s spattering all over your abused flesh. It stings when some of the cum hits your open wounds. You faintly lament how they might become infected.
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “Now, keep them like that.” He’s moving again, returning to his original spot atop your hips, though this time, he sits higher and positions his dick between your sticky breasts. He starts sliding his cock in and out, the cum making the movements slick and pleasurable for him. From your position, you can see the head poke through, his foreskin being tugged backward and forwards as he moves, precum–if you can call it that–leaking from the dark head.
You don’t want to admit it, but the sight is surprisingly sexy.
Apparently, you don’t squeeze hard enough because his hands come to push your tits together more firmly. This causes his dick to graze your wounds, making them burn from irritation. You want to point it out but fear that he will only try to make it worse if he notices, so you remain silent. His fingers manage to pinch your nipples again, making you grimace from how raw your breasts feel. Thankfully, this torture doesn’t last too much longer because he unhands your breasts completely to lean back and direct his release on your exposed pussy. He spreads his cum around, using it to briefly swirl over your clit before stuffing the majority inside you.
He moves to place his head between your legs, but your thighs clench shut, refusing him entry. He stares up at you, annoyed.
“Well, if you’re going to be a bitch about it, then I won’t help you out,” he grumbles. “Don’t cry when you don’t like it. You chose to be difficult.” And before you can beg for forgiveness, he’s turning you over and dragging you from the ground. He tries to set you on your feet, but when you instantly cave with a pained shout, he lifts you from beneath your thighs. This has you spread wide, pussy hovering right over his dick, your back firmly pressed against the rugged ridges of his torso. And then he’s dropping you down on his dick.
You can’t stop the scream that escapes you.
Gravity affords you no mercy, as you’re forced to accept the entirety of his length. You’re no virgin, but suddenly taking so much length and girth with no preparation is a death sentence. He affords you no mercy either, as he immediately begins bouncing you up and down repeatedly. Your legs flail from the movements, and it’s either the amount of pain you’ve endured or the poison that has made your leg go numb, but you’re thankful for it either way. Your breath is labored from all the blood you’ve lost and the continued spread of the poison. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll last.
These macabre thoughts are interrupted by the demon’s bucking hips, now meeting your body every time he brings you down. It only makes him stab you deeper, making you wail from pain.
“I thought your mouth felt amazing, but your pussy feels even better,” he mumbles against your neck. Despite how awful everything is, you feel yourself clench from the compliment. “Is that all I have to do? Say nice things, and you’ll behave?” He remarks, full of smug amusement.
“It hurts,” you whine. Internally, you chastise yourself for voicing your discomfort. Of course, the demon isn’t going to spare you; in fact, he’ll likely be more pleased that you’re hurting.
“I know,” he hushes you. “But, you’ll just have to deal with it. You chose to be difficult, and now you have to accept the consequences,” he says softly as if he isn’t currently battering your cunt. “It’s hard to believe you don’t like it, though. Your little pussy is so greedy, it won’t stop sucking me in,” he groans, throwing his head back in pleasure.
You try to observe your surroundings to disassociate from the traumatic experience you’re going through, but the way he’s moving you makes it difficult to focus. Everything moves in a blur, the smell of sulfur and burning flesh only serve to make you nauseous.
And then, the pain starts tinging with a burning pleasure. You try to keep your gasps from betraying your enjoyment, but eventually, the pleasure overrides the pain entirely. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore all the sensations your body is experiencing.
“‘Feeling good?” he impishly questions, grinning menacingly as he’s fully aware of the conflict you’re going through.
“No,” you keen, trying to shift your hips so he won’t hit the more pleasurable spots inside you.
“Don’t lie, I can feel you squeezing me,” he locks you into place and hammers into you. You bellow, trembling at the onslaught of pleasure as he fucks you. “You’re really enjoying yourself. I wonder how your Hashira would feel about this,” he wickedly reminds you of your companion. “Why don’t we ask him?” he says, full of sadistic glee.
“Please don’t!” you beg. The last thing you want is for Uzui to see you like this.
“Where did I leave him again?” he mumbles to himself, looking around. “Ah, that’s right,” he exclaims before walking in a random direction. He doesn’t pull out, leaving you to subtly rock and bob on him as he walks. It’s demeaning, and you distantly wonder if any dying onlookers can see your impaled pussy.
Your chest starts heaving with sobs when you spot Uzui’s motionless corpse.
“There he is!” he exclaims cheerfully, walking over to him more quickly. He kicks him so that he lays on his back rather than his side, the sound churns your stomach. “What a bastard. He’s not dead yet,” he frowns. Your heart leaps with joy–perhaps the two of you still have a chance yet.
“F-fuck you,” Uzui mumbles loosely heaving from the savage kick, “let her go,” he grimaces as he tries to speak. Gyutaro cackles.
“Aren’t you two the sweetest? So concerned for each other. Too bad you beat around the bush and never got around to taking her as one of your wives. Does it make you mad that I got to fuck her first?” he goads, his voice cracking the more maniacal he gets. “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you the best view in the house,” he boasts before lowering himself to his knees so that where the two of you are joined is right beside Uzui’s face.
And then he begins really fucking you.
“You’re sick,” Uzui seethes, but the poison is so far spread that he can barely speak, let alone help you in any way.
You’re sobbing now, humiliated that Uzui is seeing this, humiliated that it feels good, humiliated that you feel so weak. Your sobs are broken up by your moans and whines that you desperately try to muffle.
“It’s no fun if you don’t look,” Gyutaro muses, not slowing his pace at all while he speaks. You wrench an eye open, assuming he meant you, only to see Uzui is also refusing to look, trying to spare your dignity. Uzui ignores his taunt, which only seems to anger the demon. A hand comes up to grab your neck. “Look. Or I’ll snap her neck,” he threatens, fingers squeezing. Uzui immediately wrenches his good eye open, unable to keep the look of despair from creeping onto his countenance.
All this time, Gyutaro has wholly ignored your clit, so when the hand that had been choking you suddenly rests atop your mound, you flinch in anticipation. He gathers the wetness from your coupling, using it to rub quick circles on your nub. You keen at the sensation, your body singing with delight now that it was getting the attention it was craving. You try your best to mute yourself, to wiggle your hips away from the burning pleasure, but Gyutaro seems intent on making you scream.
Your head tosses back and forth, trying to resist the building pleasure. The muscles in your body tighten with your steadily cresting pleasure. You can feel you’re about to come soon, his touches only increasing in their enthusiasm. You want to cry when he abruptly stops. His hand simply rests on your pussy, his thrusting much slower now.
“‘You want me to make you come?” He questions playfully, full of self-satisfaction. You shake your head despite your desires. You can’t ask the demon who’s trying to kill you to make you come, let alone in front of your dying friend. His fingers teasingly graze your throbbing clit, giving it a torturous taste of pleasure before abandoning it again. Each time he does this, your hips jerk against your will, trying to chase his quickly retreating fingers. “Are you sure ?” He drawls in your ear, tauntingly grinding the heel of his palm against you.
You nod resolutely, refusing to accept his offer.
He simply hums in response before continuing his previous ministrations, fucking you fast and stimulating your desperate clit. Either his intuition or observation skills are phenomenal because every time you’re about to reach the peak, he stops or changes the pace enough to interrupt your orgasm. He has no qualms in filling you with his cum whenever he pleases, making a mess out of your pussy. It drips down his cock, leaving splatters on the dirt; some of it even splashes poor Uzui’s face on occasion, his adverse reaction dulled from the poison.
You survive about three more ruined orgasms before you’re inconsolable. Your mental facilities start to slip from the blood loss, the poison, and the edging you’ve endured. Your head lulls to the side, supported by Gyutaro’s brawny shoulder. And when he deprives you of your orgasm for the fourth time, you begin sobbing.
“Please stop. I can’t do this anymore,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration. He giggles, thrilled by your sorry state.
“You know what you have to do,” his scratchy voice lilts.
“Please,” you whisper, refusing to look at Uzui. It doesn’t help much because the shame still stabs your heart.
“Nooope,” he sings in his giddy but gruff voice, “that’s not good enough. You have to say: ‘please make me come on your cock, Gyutaro ’ and look your precious Hashira in the eye while you do.’” He eagerly instructs, sick with excitement at completely destroying your pride.
“I can’t,” you shake your head as you plead, voice shaky with tears.
“Then I guess you don’t want it that badly,” he goads, denying you for the fifth time.
“ P-ple-” you feel like you’re going to vomit, the shameful words refusing to leave your throat. Remembering his demand, you regretfully turn your gaze to your helpless comrade.
You wish you hadn’t.
There is an undecipherable look on Uzui’s face–he looks disappointed, disgusted, afraid, and pained. There is so much forlorn pity in his eyes it makes you wish you would simply die already instead of having to see such an expression. Gyutaro interrupts your thoughts by continuously torturing your poor clit, making it impossible to ignore him.
“Are you ‘gonna say it?” he mocks your plight, “I can just keep doing this until you die, you know,” he gravely reminds you.
God, you want it so bad. Uzui’s steely gaze breaks you.
You have to resist, you have to resist, you have to-
“Please make me come on your cock, Gyutaro! ” you shout desperately, your need for pleasure outweighing your morals. Uzui grimaces, Gyutaro laughs raucously. You shut your eyes once more, trying to forget the look on Uzui’s face.
“You’re so good,” he coos, “‘you ‘gonna make a mess for me?”
“Please–yes, yes –please,” you grovel, words slurred from your slipping consciousness. Gyutaro’s fingers work speedily on your throbbing clit. Anticipation curls your gut, unsure whether he’ll leave you hanging again or finally grant you the release you so desperately need. Your head sags, your strength quickly depleting.
“Look at him while you come,” he growls, yanking your hair, making you face the limp Hashira. His maroon eyes widen at Gyutaro’s gruff command. When your eyes meet, you’re gushing and coming hard . Your loosened inhibitions make you exclaim your satisfaction loud and shamelessly, mouth open, tongue hanging. All the pent-up pleasure finally snapping makes you squirt substantially. Your head feels empty as you come down. You feel nothing.
Gyutaro’s shrill laughter ruins your post-orgasm bliss. “Here your underlying is getting defiled right in front of you, and rather than saving her, you get a fucking boner. How disgusting!” He howls with laughter. Your eyes flit to his crotch, and sure enough, Uzui is sporting a tall erection despite the poison.
You tighten around Gyutaro’s cock.
This only inspires more raucous laughter from the demon.
“And you’re no better, squeezin’ me because you liked being watched by your dying, precious superior. You two truly deserve each other.” He pulls your head back so you can look him in the eye. “Want a closer look?” Before you can answer, he’s pushing you forward, making you fall on your face. Which is now buried against Uzui’s erection. The man groans; whether from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell.
And then Gyutaro keeps fucking you.
Your cheek rubs against Uzui’s bulge. The man twitches randomly, clearly trying to force his muscles into action to put a stop to this mess. But all he can do is pant and moan at the grinding.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, full of grief, barely able to move his mouth.
“Stop! It’s too sensitive,” you squeal when Gyutaro starts fumbling with your raw clit again. Your pleas are ignored because Gyutaro continues rubbing attention into the burning nub. You loudly moan against Uzui’s erection; your mouth hangs open, allowing drool to seep into his pants. The vibrations from your noises only make it harder for Uzui and, to his horror, finds his hips jerking against you occasionally. Whenever you try to move your face away from Uzui, Gyutaro grips you by your hair and shoves you back in place.
“You really fucked up, Hashira,” Gyutaro notes with a chuckle, “you wouldn’t believe how tight her pussy is,” he punctuates with a particularly sharp thrust that seemed to press directly against your cervix, making you yelp in pain. “I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t brought her down here, I would have never gotten to feel it for myself,” the demon laughs with glee at the misery on Uzui’s face. “Who’s pussy is this?” He suddenly asks, delivering a resounding smack to your ass.
“Yours,” you comply with little resistance, too fucked-up to think twice about your actions.
“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, “say my name. Gyu-ta-ro,” he accentuates each syllable with a sadistic thrust to your cervix, each one delivering a sharp pain. Your eyes water from the treatment.
“Your pussy, Gyutaro,” you whine into Uzui’s crotch. You feel another orgasm approaching rapidly.
“Do you want to come again?” the demon asks in a faux kind tone. You find yourself nodding enthusiastically and agreeing instantly. “What do you think, Hashira? Do you think she deserves it?” He grips your hair to make you look up so Uzui can look at your blissed-out face.
You notice Uzui’s cock twitch at the question.
“I’m not going to play along with your fucked up games,” he grits out, surprised he managed to say an entire sentence. Gyutaro pauses, staring flatly at Uzui, unimpressed with his back-talk.
He pulls out, much to the surprise of both of you, and spreads your cheeks, positioning the tip at your puckered entrance.
“Don’t!” you squeal and begin trying to wriggle from his grasp. Just taking him in your pussy was bad enough; you couldn’t even fathom how awful taking him in the ass would feel.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he coos, “it won’t be so bad,” he snickers before returning his focus to Uzui. “Answer the question, or I’ll fuck her in the ass,” he threatens.
“Uzui, please! Just do what he wants,” you beg, not wanting to bear even more pain.
“Yes, she deserves to come,” he mumbles, his face scrunching in displeasure as he complies. “Just don’t hurt her anymore,” he adds somberly. To your relief, Gyutaro fills your pussy again, sparing you.
This time, however, the thrusting doesn’t feel as pleasurable. To your horror, you realize all of your senses are weakening. You can barely feel your legs, your fingers, your tongue.
You’re dying.
“What’s wrong?” Gyutaro asks giddily, pretending to be oblivious, “oooh, so you’ve noticed how far along you are,” he laughs when you begin shaking in terror.
You don’t want to die. You don’t want to die.
You’ll do anything to not die.
“I like you,” he says suddenly, leaning to speak in your ear. “I can save you, you know,” he mumbles. “All I have to do is give you some blood, and you’ll become a demon. You won’t have to worry about this frail human body failing you ever again,” he tempts you.
“Don’t,” Uzui says frantically. “You can’t,” he coughs up blood.
You don’t want to die.
“I-I don’t want to die,” you weep. “Uzui, do something,” you whisper pitifully as a last-ditch attempt. The man tries to move, agony decorating his features.
“Just say the word, and I’ll save you,” Gyutaro murmurs.
“Don’t!” Uzui seethes.
You never knew you were a selfish person.
“Please save me,” you whisper. Gyutaro is cackling, and you hear the awful sound of flesh being torn before he’s shoving his fingers in your mouth. Feeling them with your tongue, you notice they’ve been partially severed as blood pours down your throat. It tastes foul, making bile rise in your stomach.
“You fool,” Uzui spits, enraged. His anger only makes you sob.
Apparently not done with his fun, Gyutaro finds your clit once more. You jolt in surprise, noisily moaning around his bloody fingers. The demon laughs cruelly.
“How does it feel to lose, Hashira? Not only your life but your dear underling too. How does it feel knowing that she’ll be mine forever now? And it’s all because you brought her here,” he grins, watching Uzui’s defeated, hopeless face.
An abrupt orgasm is torn from your body, making you gurgle from all the blood in your mouth.
“What a good whore,” he coos, and his gravelly voice and Uzui’s look of utter betrayal are the last things you see before darkness overcome you.
~~~
Your eyes blink open, and the first thing you notice is fire everywhere. You’re confused, as you don’t remember why you’re here or even who you are.
“You survived. Good,” a grouse voice remarks. You turn, and you’re greeted by an unusual pair: a gorgeous woman and an extraordinarily thin man. “I bet you’re hungry,” he observes.
Your stomach grumbles loudly. The hunger is all-consuming; you’re ravenous–how had you not noticed? You don’t know what you yearn for, but you feel a burning desire for something.
“Luckily for you, there’s a meal right here,” his voice tinges with a sick excitement. You tilt your head, waiting for him to explain. He steps aside and gestures to a corpse.
A large man with white hair and a missing hand lays in a pool of his own blood.
The scent of blood makes your stomach tear with hunger.
“You can’t be serious, brother! We can’t let her have the Hashira; we should eat him!” the woman whines, clearly unhappy with her brother’s choice.
“C’mon, don’t you think it’s poetic? It won’t be as amusing if we eat him,” he grins. “Ignore her. I’m sure you’re starving, so go ahead–eat.”
And so, you do.
You eat.