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Shit shit shit-
That's uppermoon one. In the middle of some town in the middle of nowhere. Tall, six-eyed, with talon like claws and big, strong looking mandibles.
Why is such a high ranking demon in such a place in the first place!? Just his presence is enough to make him feel oh so aware of his own mortality, of his heart beating against his ribcage at a jackrabbit pace and how the air expands his lungs with each inhale.
His hands rests on the hilt of his katana, shaking and sweating, he won't be able to hold a sword properly in this state.
Sweat beads at his forehead and he feels his throat dry and saliva pool at the same time.
Surely, he'll die! He doesn't want to die! He can't!
He's trembling, staring the demon in the middle pair of eyes, the ones with the rank inscribed into them.
The demon stares right back, eyes blank yet holding a strange weight to them, unbothered yet still attentive, like predator watching prey right after it gorged itself on a different unfortunate animal.
He feels sick, the faint sweet scent of honey mixed with the iron tang of blood wafting off the demon only making it worse.
"Hmm." The demon's eyes narrow, mandibles shifting as it lets out an inquisitive hum underlayed with the momentary buzzing of its wings.
The smell of honey and blood intensifies, and his head spins, the tasting it on the back of his tongue.
He swallows, blinking and- when did the demon get closer?
He stumbles back, craning his neck to look the demon in the eye. Is his vision blurring? It's harder to keep his balance than it should have been, and he's been trained! By a former hashira no less! He should be better than this.
Yet, it's hard to get his breathing under control, with the sweet-irony smell surrounding him, the soft buzzing in the background and the comfortable yet strong arms holding him.
Wait, what? He's being held? By who? Why?
He tries to lift his head(when did he lower it?) from the soft surface he's leaning on and look around. His surroundings pass him by, he's being carried, through… halls? It's… nice, he thinks.
He looks down at the arms holding him and sees long claws. Those are..? Oh, they belong to the demon, the one he was just facing. What happened?
"Shh… Do not… worry… We'll… take care of you." A deep, soothing voice rumbles from the chest of the person carrying him, accompanied by soft clicking and buzzing.
He'll be taken care of? In exchange for what? He wants to ask but his tongue is lead in his mouth.
A hand settles in his hair, combing through it and he melts, claws gently scratching at his scalp with the perfect amount of pressure to not even think of moving away, and, subsequently, chasing all stray thoughts away.
He's put down, at least he thinks he is, something pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth to ask, then a warm liquid spills onto his mouth and he has to swallow or else he'll choke. It tasted metallic, irony, he knows that taste, but he can't quite remember what it is. It's like the answer is behind frosted glass, he knows it's there, he can see it, but he can't make it out. The liquid warms his though on the way down, and then his stomach.
Someone coos at him. He doesn't have the energy to snap at them.
He's being moved again, and before he can quite process that, he's laid down somewhere comfortable and warm — small, cozy, safe. He should sleep. Like the soft voice is telling him to.
The warmth in his stomach spreads, lulling him to sleep.
He dreams of sweetness, warmth, softness and a warm light.