Archive of Our Own

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Dōma had been significantly blessed.

He was finally granted his ultimate wish, after three long decades of arduously attempting to please his master. At last, it paid off.

Ascension.

To Upper Rank Two.

He surpassed Akaza – which made him feel very smug as Dōma was turned to a demon much after the newly demoted Upper Rank Three.

It was quite a big accomplishment, but regrettably, most of his Upper Moon colleagues weren’t very congenial in the best of times, and in the worst of times, they actively loathed him – he didn’t really understand why, Dōma thought he was nice enough to them.

Ah well. He could always make do with the members of Eternal Paradise Faith.

His worshippers, they were deeply loyal and would be loyal until the end of time. Especially his female followers. They would be more than willing to celebrate with him. Giving him their bodies with undying love and faith. Willing to even lay down their lives for any passing fancy he could ever have.

While their devotion knew no bounds, lately Dōma has found it…boring.

If he was being fully forthcoming, his desires for typical celebrations have reduced substantially. A tepid inkling, a lingering unpleasant itch. Unappetizing, even. It’s all become rather lackluster.

Even the most beautiful of his female worshippers ended up making him lose interest once he spoke with them for more than ten seconds.

His male worshippers on the other hand, he barely tolerated them at all. Not that they ever noticed, they were stupid and slow, falling for his wide smile and glittering rainbow eyes crinkled in ‘warmth’ as he gave them the most generic bits of advice for enlightenment.

Always the same thing. Amid the rituals and unending praises for his excellence and his compassion, Dōma still found himself bored. Even when they actively worshipped him by prostrating themselves beneath him, praying tearfully, an almost delirious look of adoration in their blank eyes.

The boredom was occasional, at first. But it has become increasingly frequent with time. Its dullness encroached closer, a threatening whisper that has plagued him since his human life.

The apathy he was afflicted with since his birth was extensively intertwined with the heavy weariness of knowing the truth:

Values, virtues, and goals are worthless. Beliefs and faith in a higher being are baseless. No one truly has purpose or intrinsic worth.

Dōma lived and breathed these absolute truths. If he could find enough motivation and desire for it, he could probably write multiple texts on the epistemology of nihilism. But that would be antithetical to his following, and he does find the Sect a nice outlet to satiate his appetite.

Despite the aversion he feels for his followers, it’s something he does for them.

A selfless sacrifice. Blessing them with his essence is an exercise in charity work. Consuming them into his body was merely a release of their chains of suffering and anguish. He saved them. His beneficence has no bounds.

He deserved something better. He deserved to celebrate his accomplishment solely for himself.

Dōma’s absolute power over his following, it is nice and all, but…

How delightful would it be to collar not just a regular demon; but one that is considered part of the most powerful demons in all existence.

An Upper Moon.

Maybe that way Dōma could truly feel something for once. Something other than pleasure that made his blood pump and his skin bead with sweat. Rather, an actual emotion that got his heart pounding and his body warming in its intensity. 

It was unequivocally a desire born from pure and raw selfishness. A self-serving plan with only himself in mind. It wasn’t a longing that just came up on its own, a sudden and unreasonable urge. Not at all.

It came to him with time. As he learned new things about the Upper Moons. New knowledge.

Dōma catalogued bits and pieces of information he obtained from each of his fellow upper ranks, even when they thought he paid them no mind. Even in the case of the unattractive ones.

Dōma had a somewhat strong negative bias against unattractive demons. Or people. Or animals. Even objects. He was good at masking it with his jovial cheer, but it remained the case.

The ugly, did they even deserve to live?

It's not his fault he thinks this way; it's natural instinct for all conscious beings. This is seen even in animals; evolution has caused the most bland and unattractive male specimen to die off, whereas females choose the most colorful, the most aesthetically pleasing mate, always. It’s ingrained, the aversion to unpleasantness, especially when that unpleasant stimulus comes from the sight.

The original body of Upper Moon Four was, for all intents and purposes, very ugly.

Upper Moon Five was also incredibly unattractive, but at least his overdramatic flair and artistic style worked in his favor, and it has on more than one occasion evoked some level of curiosity within Dōma, to have odd conversations about his art and his inspirations for the hundreds of pots he has created with great vigor for their Master.

It was unfortunate that the fourth rank demon did not have a personality that evoked a modicum of intrigue. No saving grace.

Dōma would look at that hideous demon with pity, crooning in concern at the old man's fearful trembles and sniffles, as if attempting to get to the bottom of his distress.

He wasn’t ever cruel or unkind to any of his lower-ranked colleagues. not at all. He has always thought subordinates should be treated with respect.

Besides, Dōma understood perfectly that Hantengu was more than meets the eye. Looks are deceiving, and his apparent weakness was a front. Of course it was. He was an Upper Rank for a reason, and impressively, he wasn’t dead last in the upper echelons of the most fearsome demons in the world.

Hantengu’s blood art preyed on others to underestimate him. A nice little trick, to make slayers believe he would be easily defeated, only to be sorely surprised when different versions of the same demon emerged from the blood and flesh, clones of himself that were younger, stronger, each with a unique blood art. He knew of his abilities but had never seen them himself.

Maybe it was why all he could think when seeing Hantengu in the once-in-a-blue moon Upper Rank meeting is just how hideous and pathetic he was.

That was before Dōma had a chance to see Hantengu's split forms in a rare exception around four meetings ago, where his clones were present in the Upper Moon meeting.

But since that faithful day he bore witness to the clones, Dōma was awestruck.

Wow, they were beautiful.

He had never seen such an attractive male specimen, much less four separate ones.

Smooth brown skin, muscular physique, long messy hair, what a face, vivid sharp eyes! They were identical but somehow, with individual charms.

The big-eyed melancholic expression from Aizetsu, the Sorrow demon.

The feral laugh and flapping of powerful wings possessed by Urogi, the Joy demon.

The fantastic set of muscles and ridges that Karaku, the Pleasure demon, boasted, with an impressively long tongue that sparked less than pure thoughts.

And Sekido. The Anger demon.

Oh, Sekido was special.

That aesthetically pleasing face, extremely expressive.

The anger simmering in those dark blood eyes was electrifying.

Ruby irises moved like actual flames, curling smoothly as if burning beneath his fixed gaze.

His voice gravelly, deep and masculine, always on the verge of a snarl.

Sekido naturally took the reins of the conversation whenever Upper Moon Four needed to report on something valuable or useful for their Demon King.

He was the leader.

He looked like one, the way he carried himself. Not forceful or artificial, but like instinct.

A leader among the Upper Ranks. No one else had a mini hierarchy at the top of the food chain. How interesting.

Sekido did not raise his voice once whenever speaking, nor was he ever disrespectful towards his superiors. But his presence, in comparison to the other clones, was more prominent. A sharpness that commanded something bigger than attention. It commanded respect. It commanded regard.

And for the first time in a very long time, pure and genuine intrigue was activated. In that one meeting, when Upper Moon Four gathered, split up.

Perhaps this tidbit of personal information is not well-known. Or perhaps it is.

But Dōma can attest confidently that his fascination (or more so puzzlement) with the stupidity of his followers didn’t hold a candle with how captivated he was for natural-born leaders, of people who ordered many, and always made them do what they were told.

Meanwhile, Dōma was placed into leadership as a child, as the “Founder” and the High Priest of Eternal Paradise Faith. Not willingly. Not by choice. That path was laid out entirely by his unintelligent parents. It’s okay though; he didn’t mind the life he lived as a human, even if his exasperation with the sob stories and pleas from those foolish people sometimes made him tear up. It worked out for him perfectly in the end, after all.

This fascination was mostly focused on his Master, the Demon King, Kibutsuji Muzan. And to a lesser extent, Dōma also held admiration for Upper Moon One, Kokushibo, even though he was always alone, so no one truly followed him.

But seeing that clone with those vivid red eyes, the one who embodies a leader, he understood this is a demon whose essence, apart from anger and fury, is power. A chaotic sort of power that felt like sandpaper, rough around the edges. It was more a psychological power than an objective one, of course. And it rubbed him the right way.

Afterwards, Dōma input significantly more effort to forming an alliance with the fourth rank demon. He pleasantly talked to the old man, the frightful skittish thing.

He encouraged his delusions, agreeing fervently when the decrepit geezer would sob into his face about the injustices he has suffered, how he has been victimized by villains. He understood Hantengu thrived in that role: his deep desire was to be a perpetual victim, as long as he would live.

His endeavor of calming the thin rattling bones of the meek Upper Moon Four eventually bore fruit. The split versions of himself began to emerge, entirely unrequested. For the most part, it stayed with just one split. He did not encounter the sorrow and joy demons very often.

With Sekido, discussions about logistics, on strategy for the Master's bidding were the most common. Occasionally, some interesting conversations arose, more philosophical. The existential sort of topics that Dōma secretly craved to speak more about, especially when his nihilistic perspective was shared.

This happened infrequently. Sekido was not much of a talker. But that did not mean he hadn't noticed a difference – a gradual opening up of a very reserved personality. Slight. But significant.

It started simple enough. A casual statement about the hassles and responsibilities of leading over a group that depended on one individual completely. That was enough to get Sekido started on highly amusing rants about his ‘stupid, imbecilic’ counterparts.

Mostly complaining about Karaku and highly aggravating situations the pleasure manifestation sometimes placed them in, which infuriated him to no end. They were truly polar opposites.

Karaku was boisterous and exuberant, with a grin that oozed of relaxed decadence. He liked having a good time, this was confirmed by the same mouth of the pleasure clone himself. He followed a very direct mantra: to have the most fun and live all the pleasures life can offer.

He was more simple-minded than Sekido, by far. Easily entertained by the brothels nearest to his Shrine. By the ‘special’ bathhouses with the very helpful attendants. They barely had any substantive conversation, unnecessary as they ‘bonded’ by their shared affinity for fermented Marechi blood mixed with sake. The lingering remnants of Dōma's human preferences for specific vices.

Dōma made sure to provide those simple pleasures, even though he found it a drag sometimes. But it was easy.  Did not take any effort on his part at all and before long, Karaku was eating out of the palm of his hand. He probably thought they were genuine friends. As if that truly exists.

It was necessary for Karaku to be disarmed against him. His keen eye immediately noticed the territorial tendencies the pleasure manifestation had regarding his anger counterpart. And due to his ardous work, Dōma was eventually deemed harmless. Safe.

Whereas, Sekido remained the real challenge here.

Still always wary of him. Reserved.

Dōma liked a challenge, and he had an urge to challenge himself in celebration for his Ascension.

It was decided.

And enacted.

Ideally, he would ensure that within the first contact, the old man was already split up due to an assignment for a mission. In that way, he didn’t need to deal with the added hassles of figuring out what to do with Karaku if he was to decapitate the original demon here in his place of residence.

Although, perhaps that could also be interesting.  To celebrate with the two clones.

But…if he was being completely honest with himself, the anger demon was of primary interest to him, the one who captured his attention. Why keep the other one around if his heart did not hold enough conviction for both?

It took some coordination, but it worked itself out.

Upper Moon Four was ordered on another scouting mission. Further expand their reaches in the search for the Blue Spider Lilly. And given his abilities, Hantengu would cover much more ground if he split up to his manifestations.

It was the perfect time.

Technically, he doesn’t need an excuse to request Sekido to meet him in his Palace at the Infinity Castle.

Dōma was two full ranks above him, and hierarchy was of tantamount importance, at least according to Kokushibo-sama. The ranks lower than them are expected to obey their superiors (except pesky Akaza, but there is some clear favoritism by their Master there).

Yet, he still offered an excuse anyway. In reality,  it was an order, gentle and casual, but an order nevertheless.

‘Requesting’ for Sekido’s tactical expertise in formulating a well thought-out plan to smoke out the Ubuyashiki family and destroy the headmaster of the Demon Slayer headquarters. A plan born from the collaboration of Upper Moon Two and Four, with obvious benefits to their Master and to the Fourth rank demon especially.

Perhaps the clones could surpass Akaza for Upper Three. Wouldn’t that be hilarious to see, if that strategic planning was actually meant to occur.

But, to Sekido’s surprise, it wasn’t ever meant to.

So while his other counterparts were on their mission, scouting along different regions of the country, spread out, he had the anger demon transported by a disgruntled Nakime who only agreed to help him due to his perchance for annoying her until she wanted to tear her hair out.

Ah. His guest was finally here. Fantastic.

 “Dōma-dono.”

The smaller demon nodded curtly, ever so respectful and gruff at the same time.

Dōma liked that juxtaposition, the measured calmness he conveys, knowing that a deep level of rage vibrated inside him. It must always be in him.

He was anger, quite literally, to the core. Born as an emotion, but also with the capacity to control his emotions.

Dōma wondered how that felt like. He wondered just how honest this face was.

Was Sekido good at making others believe he had total control? Or was it an excellent mask that he has worn to perfection, to hide the fact that he was always a second away from unraveling, from losing his temper?

As a demon who felt little emotion, Dōma sure had the curiosity to know what he was missing out on.

He has seen how fiery and explosive he was with Karaku. Maybe tonight would be the chance to find the answer to his questions.

If he pushed him enough, perhaps his anger exploded in a raw and beautiful way towards him. That was an exciting thought.

“Sekido, how many times do I have tell you to drop the honorific? We’re friends, no?”

Dōma hummed cheerfully, making a flourishing gesture for the lower ranked demon to enter his humble Palace for the first time since they’ve become acquainted.

Sekido said nothing but his lips thinned out slightly.

Discomfort. How funny.

Dōma gave Sekido a ceramic cup of fresh Marechi blood, spiked with sake to hide the possible taste of the other substance in it. Heavily laced with wisteria, crushed into super fine dust and thoroughly dissolved.

It would take too many cups to weaken an Upper Rank significantly. But it wasn’t meant to knock him out. Just meant to take the edge off.

It needed to be done. He understood the necessity of finesse in this instance, the requirement of this step was not lost on him.

Sekido couldn’t stay sharp. Not at first, hence he needed to be disoriented. Confused. 

Dōma held his own cup of blood, jovially discussing over strategies, the past failures of previous demons to take down the Ubuyashiki family, which ended up becoming more of a mocking session of those who tried before to please their Master, with nothing but their demise to show for it.

“I am sure, it can be done. For this to work, collaboration has always needed to occur. Who knows why our Lord disapproves of such endeavors.” Dōma smiled.

“Master knows best, always. There must be good reason for his disdain for large groups of demons working together.” Sekido stiffly replied, finishing his umpteenth cup of blood.

He didn’t know just how many he has finished thus far.

Too much time has passed but Upper Rank Two's attendants come in like clock-work to diligently refill their drinks, bowing briefly before retiring.

All of them human. Did they know what their fate would be?

Sekido found that strange, but he accepted the unbelievable fact regardless.

There are people so moronic and brain dead to venerate a being who will tear their throat out eventually. To still make the choice to worship Dōma even when placed in the midst of the demonic realm of Kibutsuji in all its glory.

But the second rank demon had a smile that seemed to grow bigger and bigger with each minute that passed. How annoying.

Sekido really disliked this. The tolerance he had built towards his superior was breaking down faster than he imagined.

Dōma’s lack of seriousness over their so-called strategizing was pissing him off.

In fact, it almost felt like he was wasting his time in purpose, detouring the conversation repeatedly to asinine stories that Sekido doesn’t give a damn about, to see what he would do. To see if he would push back to try and get them on track. Which he did, every single time, tone slightly more frustrated with each redirection.

“Sekido-san, you’re not angry at me, are you?” Dōma asked, batting his eyes.

But, Sekodo remained in place. Knowing what it meant to defy or disrespect him.

Even if Dōma gave him a bad feeling.

Not always. But enough.

He admitted (only to himself) that Dōma creeped him out, and right now, it was an even stronger feeling of tenseness. Of wariness.

The bad feelings overlapped with another sensation. Almost as if he felt…fuzzy.

Dōma gave him a smile full of dangerously sharp teeth, iridescent eyes glimmering.

“You know, I recently was ascended to the second rank.”

He mentioned suddenly, once again derailing their past conversation, pointing to his eye where the number displayed his accomplishment.

Sekido already knew that, and with brows slightly furrowed in irritation, he nodded once to indicate acknowledgement.

“Can you believe I haven’t gotten the chance to celebrate?”

Dōma chuckled once, stretching out on the thick Western-style sofa, an upscale bone-white piece that contrasted with the more traditional Japanese furniture such as the chabudai table and the zabuton Sekido was currently sitting on, silent and unmoving.

It should clash, the different accents and esthetics, but for someone who believes himself a savior for those insects known as humans, it does not feel particularly out of place for him.

“It is good that I can celebrate then. With you.”

It made a shift in the air, thick and oppressive.

Sekido did not like how that sounded, like a promise heavy with darker intentions.

Only half a second after the thought to excuse himself and leave this place  passed his mind, was when he heard something else.

The clicking noise of a lock.

Red eyes blinked repeatedly and looked down at his arms, noticing the engraved chains over the iron. Nichirin metal cutting into his skin, burning with the contact. Dōma was right beside him, his speed unmatched even by his own standards, the main body.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A sinking hollow feeling  ballooned from Sekido’s stomach all the way to his esophagus.

“Oh, these old things? They’re helpful tools, strong enough that even powerful demons can’t break free from them. So you don’t go running away.”

Dōma replied happily, a finger running along the chains, much too playful.

“What??? Dōma, what are you…” The saliva in his tongue felt thicker, a dread opening a hole right where his stomach is.

Dōma suddenly invades his personal space, nanometers from his face, hands creeping around his neck, placing a heavy cold weight over his neck, around his throat.

Too close. He is too close.

Sekido recoiled strongly, attempting to pull away by standing from his zabuton, he had no idea what it was, but he knew it was bad news when it pulsed the minute it touched skin, as if analyzing his body and physiology deeply.

His attempt was useless when Dōma pushed him back down, purple fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“No.” Sekido automatically protested, red eyes wide and angry, instinctively pushing at his arms, even though it was for naught. His strength, impressive as it was, did not compare to Dōma's.

“No, release me this instant!!!” Urgency tinged with anxiety.

Dōma tilted his head in amusement as his gaze sharpened over the smaller demon.

Oh, fear wasn’t lost at all. By the looks on his face, Sekido seemed quite alarmed.

Panicked.

Dōma's blonde hair took over his vision, the darkness of his hovering form forming a sickening dread throughout his body.

“Are you upset, Sekido?”

And to his surprise, Sekido’s response was to retaliate.

The scwhing of the Shakujo staff, emerging from his palm, paired with the clinking of large gold rings as he slammed it deep into Dōma’s head, impaling him straight through.

The first violent attack. How delightful.

“Let me go.” Sekido’s snarling command also serves to amuse him greatly, his fierce red glare burning into him while the injury continued to bleed, streams of crimson dripping down, staining the anger demon's forehead and cheeks.

Such a pleasing view.

“Is this you proclaiming a blood battle?”

Sekido felt the blood drain from his face.

A blood battle to fight for a higher place on the rung. When has it ever been done successfully? Never. He doesn’t remember the last time someone proposed one in the first place. Sekido was not prepared for that sort of battle.

“Would you like us to formalize it, then?’

The more powerful demon's chuckle  enrages him, colliding with paralyzing fear. How can he win against Dōma? Especially when he’s been chained and collared. Literally.

It seemed Dōma read his mind, creepily enough.

“If that is the case, then I will remove the chains from your wrists. Once I remove them, you can attack me to your heart’s content. You understand the rules that you must follow. You must unequivocally defeat me. If successful, you raise yourself in the hierarchy.”

But if he is the one defeated…Sekido knows that a fate worse than death awaits him.

It is obvious now that this was a trap.

Dōma had no interest in pursuing Kibutsuji’s mission, not tonight.

Sekido's defeat was most probable outcome. Two full ranks of difference in power.

He didn’t even have his best chances to win. He was already at a disadvantage due to him being split twice, as Aizetsu sapped some of his power. And in this circumstance, he would be fending for his own, instead of relying on the assistance of his clones.

His clones.

Karaku, Aizetsu, and Urogi are in separate regions, northwest, central  and southeast Japan.

Should he request for help through their mind link....?

The mere thought feels humiliating, especially when he knew how Karaku was. He could already imagine the taunting coming from him.

Look at you, being a damsel in distress! Do you need me to come rescue you, princess?

Karaku could be a real fucking asshole when he wanted to.

Aizetsu wouldn’t mock him, nor would Urogi. But he didn’t want to probe their mind.

No. It he was to do this, he needed Karaku to come. Pride and shame be damned.

Karaku.

Karaku!

I need you to come to Upper Moon Two's Palace in the Infinity Castle. Now!

Karaku’s thoughts instantly filter in his mind.

Huh? What happened? You sound panicked.

“You’re asking for help, are you? That isn’t an issue for me.” Dōma shrugged, completely unbothered as he removed the chains over his wrists.

“Why are you doing this?” He demanded.

The collar stayed on, but it was tied to nothing. Some sort of technique must be embedded in it. Its coldness does not dissipate, still freezing to the touch despite it being tight against his warm skin.

Dōma is confident he cannot escape, even with nothing holding him down.

“Because I'm horribly under stimulated, darling. And you’re the perfect distraction.” Dōma pulled away, standing with a horrid smile.

Sekido also rose, swallowing harshly as he considered his next action.

“And what happens if I lose?”

Dōma chuckled at the question. As if he doesn’t already have an understanding of how this works.

“Then, I’ll welcome you to your new home until I tire of you.”

“What?”

Sekido barked, even though the realization is as clear as day, nauseating and repulsive.

Dōma aims to have him as some demon pet. A plaything to cure him of his apparent boredom. For who knows who long.

“I’m sure you have notified at least one of your clones to come to my residence, but the more the merrier! I am suspecting Karaku, right? You two seem close.”

Sharp fingernails point directly to Sekido, waiting.

“Karaku can join us if you want him to. Just know that when I eventually defeat you, he will bear witness to your training.”

That paralyzed Sekido’s mind in its tracks.

Training?

“For you to be my concubine.”

“I WILL DO NO SUCH THING!”

The furious roar tore out of Sekido’s throat before he could stop it, blazing fires coming out of his eyes.

Sekido??? Why aren’t you answering?

“Oh-ho! What a temper.” The sugar-sweet giggling was making him even more enraged.

“You will not dare lay a hand on me!!! Y- you can’t do this, I’m- I’m an Upper Moon!!!”

The tessen materializing in Dōma’s hands, blinding in its golden gleaming, sharper than any existing katana. The excitement in his grin was revolting.

“Then you better win.” Dōma sung cheerfully.

Sekido.

What’s going on.

Karaku sounds significantly more serious now.

“Well? I want to see what you’re capable of. Begin.”

Sekido glared at him with such poison in his eyes, it feels the physical violence through his dark stare.

This was a game for him. A feline playing with a mouse, stuck within its grasp. So confident in his abilities that he didn’t bother to move this battle to a more appropriate sparring location. He obviously thought this would be a very short fighting session.

But even if that’s the case…would he roll over and let Dōma what he wanted to him?

Fuck no.

Lightning breaks through the marble floor, the Shakujo staff slammed once, twice. Each electrical current converging at once to strike Dōma where he stood.

The blinding light from the electricity was accompanied by the scent of charred flesh and flames. He input his entire effort in this lightning attack, hoping to momentarily overwhelm Dōma. The gasps and small sounds of pain are not lost on him.

Sekido is on the move, zōri sandals slapping over the fractured mirror-like floor, reaching for the exit, the large wooden main doors of Dōma's palace.

He won’t fight until his energy gave out. The only logical choice was to escape. He wasn’t going to fool himself and believe he can defeat the second most powerful Moon.

“Frozen Lotus.”

The whipping sound of his tessen, followed by the coldest atmosphere Sekido has ever experienced, misting the air into pure frost. Then, the excruciating pain of ice icicles and sharp lotus petals stabbing him throughout his body.

Sekido faltered, gritting his teeth as blood fell in torrents from the wounds. They remained embedded in him, the ice impeding the injuries from closing.

He has to escape, it doesn’t matter in what stage, but he has to leave Dōma's realm. If Nakime could help him, if she could teleport him out of here –

“Hahaha! That was good, Sekido! Bravo. That one hurt more than I expected.”

Don’t look back.

Sekido tore the two large doors from its hinges, the desperation to get away too strong to control his strength.

“Cold White Princesses.”

Two humanoid female figures, made from pure crystalline ice, bursting and exploding with frost so painful, it feels like his flesh will crumble into icy dust.

He slammed the Shakujo staff again into the floor, the lightning rushing through his body helping to melt the ice off from his skin.

But…his strength. Something is interfering with it. Not a lot, but he can feel a difference by his heavy breaths as he activated his blood technique.

Wisteria.

It came to him in a sudden burst of realization.

Dōma had been gradually poisoning him with Wisteria in his drink. And he didn’t notice its effects due to the intoxicating combination of the Marechi components, and the distilled fermentation of blood-based sake.

The same Marechi blood, a liquid supposed to nourish his body and his abilities, causing him to falter, dizzying up his head and vision.

“Lotus Vines.”

Frosty vines circled around his legs and his waist.

With a loud grunt of effort, Sekido destroys them with his staff and a powerful kick.

The vines materialized again and wrapped around his arms instead.

 A large thick vine around his neck.

Tightening until he felt the snapping of limb, not torn off entirely. It left him in an agonizing state of limbo where his regeneration attempted to mend the flesh back together but was unable to.

The constant pain shot up the spine, his trachea crushed beneath the unending pressure, the thick heavy collar aiding in the crumpling of his throat.

Blood filled Sekido’s mouth, the hot liquid tasting like iron, its scent filling his nostrils, dribbling down his mouth.

The vines holding him hostage rose up, keeping him suspended in the air, high above, almost enough for his head to hit the ceiling, even in the towering palace.

Not able to break free from the ice holding his arms, the frozen mist filling his vision, his lungs. The tiny ice expanding within each bronchial sac, causing internal bleeding. He desperately attempted to obtain air, but it was futile. This entire fight is futile.

The wisteria in his system slowing him down. Just enough for him to make him feel weakened.

The broken staff, lying on the floor.

Icy whispers underneath his kimono, disgusting vines that pulled at the fabric.

Slick burning ice between his legs, tearing through the thick fabric of his underclothing.

“NO!” Sekido shouted so loud, it was almost a screech, and he thrashed as if his life depended on it, the vines leaving their cold touch over his skin.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you, Sekido?”

The vines suddenly disappeared, leaving him in a free-fall.

He was about to crash into the hard marble but, two muscular arms caught him instead. A bridal carry, humiliating him further.

“You’re a lot lighter than I expected.”

Asshole!!!

With a wrathful snarl, Sekido punched a hole straight through Dōma's head, fist tearing up and splitting his skull half.

Simultaneously, lightning burst forward, an electrical attack of the highest voltage, attempting to burn the higher-ranked demon so thoroughly, he could pretend for a second that he halted Dōma’s regeneration enough to get the fuck out of this hellscape.

And yet, he saw it with his very eyes. The mending of the muscle and sinewy tendons, despite the electric currents still burning and cooking the skin.

His staff emerged from his palm again, with full intention to strike strong and fierce but Dōma slammed him to the floor so hard, there’s a large crater beneath him, surrounding their bodies for at least four meters.

Dōma was on top of him, holding his wrists as if he was a weak low-level demon, instead of an Upper Rank. His attempts to kick him, to buck him off were hindered by the powerful demon's heavy weight, his thighs pressing down on him as he straddled him.

He didn’t only surpass him in rank, but also in height. Mass. Easily overpowering him physically, without using blood art at all.

The cold chill of pure terror settled in Sekido's bones like the same nichirin swords that are used to slay his kind. He knew he had lost. Even before he started his first attack, it was sealed in stone.

“You want to keep trying, Upper Moon Four?” Dōma smirks, looking down at him with shiny rainbow irises. They gleamed in mirth.

“You’re more than welcome to.”

Sekido’s blood was pounding so hard, he could barely hear the words of his mouth, roaring inside his ears, heartbeat erratic and painful.

“But I think you know as well as I do that you have been defeated. Now I aim to reap the benefits of my triumph.”

“No–”

Vines crawled over Sekido’s body once more, tearing the obi knot open as if it was rice paper, Dōma held him down with one hand, his captured wrists hurting with the pressure. It didn’t take any effort; the knowledge of that fact burned him.

The collar pulsed again, painfully,.

The cold chilled him, especially now when his skin was uncovered from his unraveled robe, kimono pooling around him.

“Let me go, let me fucking go!!!!” The screeches were akin to a wild rabid animal.

Ice cold fingers began touching him, below his navel, traveling down to his manhood, stroking him repeatedly, and Sekido’s body stiffened into limestone, breath sucked out of his lungs in a blink of an eye, paralyzed.

Before continuing its path further, until pointy sharp nails were circling his rim.

That's when it exploded out of Sekido. The energy of his ire reinvigorated his violent thrashing, snarling and roaring.

“Don’t TOUCH ME!!!”

Sekido smashed his forehead into Dōma's face, shattering his nose, brow ridge, and forehead into a million shards of sharp bone.

Long purple claws swiped upward and dug themselves in the underside of Sekido’s thighs, tearing the skin and muscle, to the center of his inner thigh, warm crimson liquid coating the quivering brown skin.

It elicited a sharp pained gasp that brought shame and anger within his heart.

Blood gushed out to collect itself between his legs, even as the wounds closed quickly once the nails were retracted.

“You’re such a fighter. You don’t give up easily. I respect that.” Dōma's cutesy voice made him want to eat his face right off.

This isn’t respect.

Bright rainbow eyes took in the sight beneath him, regenerated like new, his smile warm like a perverted version of the sun. 

This is denigration.

It made Sekido wish he had Urogi's sonic scream ability, to burst out his eardrums.

“Don’t you see that I am doing you a favor? I’m not a sadist, you know.”

Again, the same talon-like fingernail touching him in his most intimate body parts, smearing his own blood around his puckered rim.

The sharp pointy tip, breaching his hole with the help of the slick crimson liquid.

“Don’t! Don’t! Stop, please…!”

It was mortifying that he resorted to begging.

Sekido attempted his hardest to close his thighs, to slam them shut, but Dōma’s wide muscular body impedes it, his hips filling in the space between his legs.

“I’m even generous enough to lubricate you.” The poisonous sweetness dripped out of smiling lips as he continued to push forward.

“To open you up.”

Despite Dōma’s assurances that he wasn’t a sadist, he didn’t believe a word of his lying mouth.

If he didn’t find pleasure seeing others in pain, why was he doing this to him when he could use any of his worshippers to give themselves over, not just willingly, but eagerly? What else could it be, if not wanting to see him broken and helpless?

The digit invaded his body, slow yet unyielding, until he was knuckle deep.

The slow pace comes to an end, finger pistoning in and out, the copious amount of blood reducing the friction of the harsh intrusion, even though the sharp nail scraped at the walls of his rectum. That is, until another finger was added.

A sharp pain bloomed inside him when he felt the sensation of two sharp nails entering him, his groans deafening to his own ears. 

The obscene squelch of blood as those fingers pumped in him, nonstop.

“Stop...stop!”

His snarls sound like more like pitiful whines, frantic movements of his arms barely managed to brush Dōma's face again with mere elbows, all in the attempt to hit him, which he easily avoided by hovering over him.

Sekido.

No. God, not now.

Sekido, I will come for you. Nakime isn’t fucking helping me, but I’ll figure it out. Tell me what’s happening. Why aren’t you opening up your mind?

It was not common for Karaku sounding so severe. So worried.

Sekido regretted his initial call for help, he should have never told Karaku to come. Not when he ended up like this.

He couldn’t bear for one of his clones seeing him like this. In seeing him so pathetic and helpless. Treated like a common whore, like a toy.

Don’t come. Get back to our Master’s mission. I took care of it.

Especially Karaku.

…Sekido. You’re lying to me.

Don’t fucking come, you idiot, do as I say.

“You’ll like it here, I promise. I want to bestow upon you my blood and power if you behave well enough. Aren’t you grateful for such an opportunity? No one else can obtain these privileges.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” Sekido tried to control the thickness in his throat as he spat out.

“You are...a vile and repulsive mistake, even our creator hates you. Muzan loathes you, despises you almost as much as the sun-breathing slayer, and he regrets ever turning you into one of us.”

He hissed; each word filled with as much venom as he could muster.

Dōma merely smiled, his tirade sliding off him easier than water, fingers pulling out.

“And yet, you’ll take it nonetheless.”

Sekido felt something much thicker enter him, and the excruciating pain left him momentarily unable to breath, the stretching burning sensation radiates like a poisonous drop of water in a puddle.

Doma's movement, igniting an even stronger, blinding pain inside him.

“It hurts–!!!!!!”

A croaking voice overtook the once vicious tone Sekido carried, and tears spring up in his eyes involuntarily.

Unable to stop himself from crying out loudly, pitifully, when he can feel Dōma's hips touching his skin, pushing deep inside him.

The violation of his body making Sekido’s blood technique surge for the twentieth time already, lightning sparking up haphazardly, erratically. 

It did nothing to stop Dōma. He kept going as if the electricity zapping him was a mere trickle.

Sekido wanted to tear him into shreds.

His flesh sizzled with a cacophony of emotions that bubbled and necrotized his arteries, veins and organs, like the most painful venom to ever exist.

The hopelessness of it all was what made it more sickening, the atrocious stabbing carving a metaphysical wound in his psyche.

For a moment, he wished he did not exist in order to not feel this pain of Dōma raping him.

Sekido felt warm breath hovering over his neck. A hot tongue swiping upward to his pulse point. The revulsion clenched his body instinctively. 

“It’s okay...” Dōma panted. “It will stop hurting soon.”

Sekido couldn’t stop fighting it, he won’t stop fighting him, he couldn’t continue letting this demon do this to him!!!!!!!

Sekido raised his head and sunk his fangs into Dōma’s throat as deep as possible, tearing out his jugular and trachea, mauling him with as much anger and savagery as possible. As if he was an uncontrollable beast with no logical thought and rationale. 

Blood gushed like a fountain, splattering all over his face, the hot liquid filling his mouth. A soft moan emitted from the stronger demon's lips.

To his blatant disgust, he realized Dōma felt pleasure from the pain.

He not only heard it but felt it, the thrusts of Dōma’s hips more forceful. Painful.

“NO! No, I don’t like it!!!” Sekido cried again, broken, body arched with the new sped-up pace.

Big globs of tears of anguish rolling down the sides of his eyes, clearing Doma’s blood from his temples, and he slammed his head back to the cratered floor.

“STOP IT!!!!!!!!”

His desperate screams sounded like kunai blades stabbing into his heart, stabbing into his pride as a demon who was supposed to be stronger than this, who was supposed to be able to hold himself as someone powerful, someone who enacted violence.

Not someone who suffered through something like this.

Sekido.

SEKIDO.

What is he doing to you?

Karaku again. He suspected.

But Sekido’s thoughts about Dōma interrupted his mind, unwillingly flooding it to his clone.

I hate you; I hate you, I fucking hate you!!!!

He was having trouble controlling his thoughts, his emotions, his pain.

…that motherfucker.

Sekido shut off his mind-link entirely, he couldn’t trust himself anymore, he already divulged too much.

At last, the torture ended when Dōma grunted once and spilled his essence inside him.

Only the sound of rough exhales, ringing like tinnitus in his ears. The panting right over his neck was repulsive.

Sekido tried to control his ragged breaths.

His silent sobs.

“I am so happy that you’re staying here with me, Seki.” Dōma smiled as he looked down at the demon, shaking like a leaf beneath him.

Emotions plastered all over his face. His rage. His despair. 

“Do not ever call me that.” Sekido’s trembling growls sounded so brittle. Conveying brokenness, not strength.

“Ever again.”

“Aw, no need to get so upset. How about my little nightmare?” Dōma chuckled, finding himself incredibly funny and witty.

“You’re quite the fighter and I know you’ll be a pain in the ass for my poor attendants to take care of.”

Sekido spat directly at his face, blurry vision still present from the infuriating tears that have not yet dissipated.

“Rot in hell.”

Dōma snorted, finally letting him go to wipe the saliva from his face.

The smaller demon instantly backed away, as far as he could, moving legs and arms never as fast as right now.

He covered his body with the kimono, hands much too shaky to tie his obi knot well, piercing poison-tipped daggers into Dōma’s skull with a vermillion-colored glare, filled with deep hatred.

“You already got what you wanted from me.” Sekido gritted lowly as he wiped the wetness from his eyes and face. “Release me, you bastard.”

The collar around his throat chilled to freezing temperatures, and he stilled in surprise, covering the heavy metal with a hand.

Dōma merely hummed.

“I’ll leave you to acclimate yourself to your new home.”

Sekido's skin vibrated in seething anger at the outrageous shamelessness of the higher-ranked demon.

Two women, appeared out of nowhere, beside him, composed, tiny and obedient.

Kill them.

The same ones who refilled his blood drink. They were in on it too.

Kill them.

“Your Excellence.” They bow, reverent to their divine being.

“My darlings…please assist my new pet for his sake bath. He needs it direly.”

.

.

The bathhouse was a mockery of elegance.

Ancient-style roman pillars circled the room, the fixtures seemingly endless with the seemingly never-ending ceiling. A clash of inspiration from another era, another culture.

The carved European-style bathtub was large enough for the two attendants to be inside the water  and probably three more bodies could join in too.

A steady stream of perfumed oil added to the cloudy sake-infused bathwater.

The water was pink, dyed with human blood.

After enduring such a disgusting defilement, after being humiliated so deeply...Sekido destroyed the first two girls in a fit of rage.

Absolutely ripped them to pieces.

Dōma's coos and the females’ high-pitched voice made him snap, tearing into them like a ravaging beast.

Dōma didn’t care.

In fact, he laughed in his infuriating lilting way, even covering his mouth, too coy and feminine, before snapping his fingers again.

“I expected that you wouldn’t be easy. You certainly don’t disappoint.”

Sekido learned quickly that the collar didn’t just serve to chill him to his core.

As he suspected, it was imbued with a powerful demon art that Dōma activated at will. Freezing his blood and cells, the cold more debilitating than he would ever imagined.

The paralysis took hold, faster than fire spreading over dry wood. It felt like even his heart slowed down.

Two more women appeared, neutral and composed, as if they did not see the blood and entrails smeared on the floor, or the crimson liquid soaking Sekido’s kimono. Completely unbothered.

The chains were back on his wrists. Restricting his movements some and causing him unpleasant discomfort from the nichirin steel burning into his skin.

Sekido overheard the soft giggles of those human women, their soft hands soaping up his skin, removing the crimson stains from his body.

Their eyes roaming over him.

Not with apprehension or with respect. No, their gaze made him feel like a slab of meat at the wet market.

They had the audacity to look at him with those eyes.

Him.

Sekido, manifestation of Upper Rank Four. His mere presence should strike terror in their hearts.

The fact that they didn’t fear him, made his heart clench and his stomach turn inside out with wrath.

More oil massaged into his back and shoulders. Then lower, past his hips.

Sekido snarled in indignation.

Brown nails, thick and elongated like wood, dug in the attendant’s arm, making her yelp in pain and fear. A whisper of satisfaction rose up when he heard her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, human scum.”

Suddenly, pain shot up right down his brain and spine.

A pain that felt like a cold that was pure frost. Freezing his spinal and peripheral nerves in sharp electric shocks. Pulsating around his neck.

The goddamn collar. It somehow knows when to activate. It can’t be because he gets too angry, it would be activated constantly.

He has no idea what causes the collar to punish, but what difference would it make if he knew? He can’t remove it; he already tried. His strength remained compromised.

The sickly scent of wisteria permeated the steamy air, a reminder of that impairment. And of course, the human women were not affected. Human weaknesses were abundant and pathetic, but subject to wisteria poisoning was not one of them.

And yet…

Despite the wisteria, despite the collar and the wrist chains, Sekido could kill the humans who were bathing him.

A snap of their necks and it would be done. His remaining strength was more than enough to kill demons.

But two more attendants would follow suit.

If he killed those two new ones, two more would take their place. Again and again, an endless loop of it. If it went long enough, perhaps Dōma would run out of followers.

But who would try to keep him obedient and submissive after this fact??

Dōma himself.

“I will slit your throat if you do that again.”

.                   

They escorted him to a massive chamber, a room fit for a royal subject.

Mostly classical Japanese, with tatami mats and zabuton cushions lying for sitting, but some European elements could also be seen.

An upholstered Western chair, blood-red cushions, a small high table as if to be used for tea, and thick heavy curtains furnished the space.

He understood that their Demon King had an affinity for certain Western-style accents, and  wondered if Dōma was attempting to emulate Kibutsuji-sama in the same way. For approval perhaps.

The palace itself was massive. Fit for an emperor. Or someone who thought themselves divine like the narcissist owner of this residence.

A too large futon, even though demons do not need to sleep. It was only then that Sekido noticed.

What in the fuck is this white flowy monstrosity laid out over the futon?

Oh hell no. No, just no.

That disgustingly skimpy fabric was meant for Sekido to be worn as if his clothing wasn’t a part of him and he couldn’t grow his mismatched kimono whenever he wanted.

Seeing the scandalous outfit cemented what he already knew, what Dōma told him audaciously.

This bedroom. That disgrace of a cloth.

Fit for a fucking concubine.

A cult leader eager to display his newest conquest. Meant to be paraded in front of his followers. To be showcased like the most depraved of trophies. 

Sekido lit the white flowy robe on fire with lightning.

The weight of the horrific events Sekido experienced made him feel like death. Emotionally exhausted.

He sat cross-legged on the futon, inhaling deeply to collect his bearings. Reveling in the silence.

Only then did he permit his thoughts to roam free, even when they caused him discomfort.

It wasn’t as brutal as he was expecting. He did not feel pleasure, thank the Gods, but he knew the upper-rank demon could have been far more punishing.

He has seen just how cruel and sadistic demons were when taking another, until the profaned body was so mutilated, even regeneration took a while to mend the extensive damage.

What happened was worse. Physical injuries were healed, but it still left an ugly mark on his soul. A permanent brand.

Sekido wished to be back with his clones.

No matter how much they infuriated him with their incompetence, the anger he felt paled in comparison to this…emptiness.

Sekido’s heart shriveled at the thought.

Anguish spread like a disease from his core. The lack of his counterparts asphyxiated him, making him feel like a fish of water.

They’ve been separated before. The reason for this most recent split is for each clone to go to vastly different regions of the country. It was fine. Normal. They always knew they’d come back to each other.

This was different.

Sekido was trapped in the domain of the second most powerful Upper Rank in existence. Hidden in the mazes, doors, and labyrinths of the Infinity Castle.

Only the biwa demon could teleport him out of here. Consequently, only she could teleport his clones in.

No other way to access the dimension that she herself created.

And for whatever reason, Nakime helped Dōma in getting him in his clutches.

It was not a selfless favor. No demon did an action if it didn’t benefit themselves or their Master in some capacity.

She is not an Upper Rank, but Sekido has the suspicion that she aims to become one.

Maybe she realized she could use Dōma’s plan to her advantage.

All suppositions but they made perfect sense to him.

It’s why he decided to not open up the mind link to any of them. He knew they would have little opportunity to help him when Nakime wasn’t cooperating.

And he didn’t want them to know too much.

He didn’t…want Karaku to delve inside his mind more that he is comfortable with.

The dickhead was annoyingly proficient at passing through his boundaries like they were shallow lines in the sand. And while he was embarrassed to admit it, he was too mentally fragile to keep him out.

The silence in his head is lonely but necessary.

Would Karaku find a way to get Nakime to teleport him?

If he did, he would probably have Aizetsu and Urogi come with. Three clones have a better fighting chance than one collared one.

Or he could absorb them for Zohakuten to emerge. The best chance to escape this.

Even if his three clones come for him, even if he absorbed them to manifest the strongest version of themselves, would it be enough?

This was Dōma, Upper Rank Two.

Additionally, it would be a detour from their mission. If their mission was sidelined, what if Lord Kibutsuji was angered? Disappointed?

Or, the other option.

Requesting for intervention from the Demon King himself.

He was the ultimate authority. No demon would never refuse an order from their Master. But that action might doom him. It might doom all of them.

He would look at Sekido with disgust at his blatant weakness. His stupidity that he let this happen, that he placed himself in this situation.

Contaminate the rest of his clones. Reconsider their worth as an Upper Moon. Their reputation.

Dōma said he will tire of him eventually. How long would that take?

He couldn’t wait for that to happen on its own. Death is a better option.

But without the main body with him, there is no way for him to die.

He was stuck here until he either comes up with some plan, or Dōma grew bored of him.

.

.

The blood left outside hasn’t been touched in what feels like four days. Or maybe it’s been a week.  There’s no way to know, not when the moonlight doesn’t ever illuminate this farce of the night sky.

He won't consume it, even if his throat is parched. That drink probably more wisteria than blood. He refuses to willingly poison himself to make things easier for Dōma.

Sekido was fetched like a dog on the fifth day.

Taken to another chamber, twice as big as the one he was placed in.

Thick intricate-patterned carpets layering itself over the floor. An alcove, towering like everything else around this palace-turned-prison, to the right side of the chamber.

A massive Western-style bed, luxurious pearly white drapes formed in a rectangular canopy attached to the ceiling, the white coloring the bedsheets.

Sekido swallowed harshly and repeatedly. Heart pounding as if it wanted to beat out of his chest.

He wasn’t stupid.

Sekido knew why he was taken here.

And even if he didn’t feel the effect of wisteria in his blood vessels, he remained as trapped just like before.

“Oh no, where’s the little number I had picked out for you? Don’t tell me you misplaced it.”

Dōma's breathier voice tainted the silence of this space.

“The kimono looks nice on you and everything, but I was hoping for a different look on you.”

Dōma looked at him up and down, the smug grin not leaving his face for a second.

“Ah, don’t worry, I have plenty of robes in my wardrobe for these occasions. I’ll will gift you one. The nicest one, as this is a very special occasion.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’d rather do more pleasant things, Sekido.”

“Get away from me.”

The collar’s temperature suddenly plunged to below zero Celsius, a salient warning, but he did not care.

Even if the cold spread from his throat to his chest and lungs, and froze him to a block of ice to shatter afterwards.

Sekido stepped back again, fierce red eyes sharpening.

“Don’t you dare– don’t–don’t fucking touch me!”

..

The thick hot air suffocated him.

Hotter than the inside of an onsen placed right above an active volcano.

The heat contrasted with the burning feeling of the icy collar.

Fingers tangled into Sekido’s long raven hair, pulling back with each violent thrust of his captor’s hips.

Splitting him in half, it felt like.

His arms trembled violently as they held him up, waist held by a chilly hand, nails digging in his side.

The pain was almost unbearable. With him being forced on hands and knees, he felt it even deeper. The overwhelming fullness was nauseating.

When would this nightmare end? Sekido felt like he had been here for hours.

He despised the defilement of his body.

He despised the unsuccessful attempts to rid himself of the disgusting demon mounting him.

The burnt canopy curtains are the result of it, black charring the white duvets, destroying what obviously was an expensive fabric from its thickness and (previous) softness.

He tried stabbing and impaling him with his Shakujo staff once more, but all that caused from Dōma was delighted laughter and a singsong accusation.

“You’re a big old sadist, aren’t you? Ha, I’m learning so much about you, my little nightmare. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving. A little pain now and then keeps things exciting.”

Furious red eyes brimmed with shimmery tears, each movement behind him producing aborted gasps from his now bleeding mouth.

Sekio tore his lower lip as he tried his very hardest to not let a single noise out, pained or otherwise, that could provide satisfaction to the revolting man pressing forward again.

He hated the pressure. He hated the sensation.

Dōma, the horrible stubborn piece of shit, kept trying and trying to elicit a reaction from Sekido that wasn’t complete suffering, disgust and fury.

And he was so goddamn sick of it.

“I hate you; I hate you–”

What Sekido wished was a vicious curse of rage and loathing ended up sounding like a broken cry of despair and affliction.

Dōma’s pelvis nestled right behind him, cock sliding in and out of his body, slowing down in response to Sekido’s emotional hiss of loathing.

“I know you’ll sing a different tune once I find it.”

He snarled at Dōma's moronic simpering promise. Sekido didn’t want him to find shit.

What he needed was for Dōma to get the fuck off him, to stop rutting into him like a beast, to leave him be and never put his filthy dick in him again.

It hurt by how sore it felt, and Dōma hadn’t finished, not once. It was a disgusting thought, wanting that to occur already, but at least this misery would end.

Red. All he could only see and notice was the blood red.

Sekido wished he could turn the larger demon’s insides outside, until his entrails hang around the bed like a macabre art piece, replacing the canopy of curtains he ruined.

Unexpectedly, Dōma pushed his back down, pressing Sekido’s chest to the duvet.

“!”

Sekido’s horrid pain was replaced with a brush of electric sparks, stemming from the bottom of his spine and spreading upward, a wave of goosebumps covering his skin.

He barely suppressed the sharp inhale, but Dōma noticed when he involuntarily tightened his body. It stoked the embers of an aching want buried deep beneath his loins.

“Looks like I found it.”

He heard the obnoxious smugness oozing out of Dōma’s words, he felt the self-satisfied grin widening over Dōma’s face. Sekido seethed at the indignity.

And like a simple-minded animal that barely learned what behavior obtained a treat, Dōma angling in the exact same position, pressing himself over that spot again. And again.

“S-stop–!” The reflexive hitch in his voice veered dangerously close to something else.

Dōma snapped his hips forward faster. Stronger. Pulling his hair back, hard.

Heat ignited in his abdomen. Sekido’s blood boiled what this bastard was forcing out of him.

“N-h, n-nhm–”

Even when he despised this with all his soul, Sekido still felt his body taut and tense up, eyes shutting tight as his head rolled back.

The choked-back moans filled his throat and mouth, drowning him in a sea of frustration.

Tearing up his eyes with salty water, stemming from the repulsive sensation of rapidly accumulating pleasure instead.

No.

He refused to let go. No, he would not give Dōma that satisfaction, and he needed to rip himself away, to cut this demon's body in half, to –

Large hands covered the back of his hands, cold fingers intertwined between his own, forcing palms to dig in over the cotton where Sekido lay.

Taking this degradation as if he was some back-alley whore. Sounding like one too.

“You sound so pretty when you’re not snarling out insults left and right.”

Dōma pressed himself further, almost covering the smaller demon’s body with his own, skin making contact with hot brown flesh.

Sekido wanted to curse and scream to the high heavens, to rip Dōma and himself to pieces.

“You are a sight to marvel at...can't wait to have you in every way possible.”

.

.

Sekido couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he honestly would had rather Dōma placed him on his hands and knees again.

Rather than…this.

Today's torture took place in Sekido’s chamber instead.

A soft knock, but no waiting for permission to enter, invading his space. Like he invaded everything else.

“Come on, now. Don’t be shy.”

He was coerced to wear a deep dark red flowy number, almost maroon colored. His throat trembled from the large knot wedged inside, not letting him breathe properly.

Sekido wore his shame on his eyes and heart, ripening to the point of rot, just how he wore this debasing robe.

To rip it off and burn it meant that the next slip would be next, until he is mentally exhausted, stalling the interaction between the upper-ranked demon and him to unnecessary lengths.

He wanted to get it the hell over with.

Even though this is worse.

Even though Dōma wanted him to take charge. Talking about showcasing his talents. The fucking nerve.

And when Sekido growled that he wasn’t a cheap slut to show off bedroom talents, Dōma smoothly countered, pleasant as ever.

“Oh, are you an expensive one, then? With the skills for fan dances and chadō?”

The sugar-laced threat was clearer than the crystalline waters of the Niyodo River.

If he so desired, Dōma would make him learn entertainment in addition to everything else.

His thighs shook when he straddled Dōma's lap, refusing to make eye contact with those sparkling iridescent eyes.

He no longer had chains over his wrists, as Dōma sang his high praises of being a good trainee, and that he was learning ‘fast.’ Revolting.

How long has Sekido been trapped in this hellish prison? The days blur together.

He was sick of the tears streaking down his cheeks.

He was sick of the constant toying, to see how much Dōma can get away with before he breaks down.

He was sick of knowing how useless his violent retaliations were.

Whenever he broke his teeth in, ripped off his jaw, clawed out his eyes, his response to Sekido’s violence was never satisfying.

Either Dōma laughed wide and bright like a complete psychopath, or his eyes widened for a second before relaxing to a smoldering half-lidded gaze. A stare that made Sekido feel exposed further, as if not only baring his skin but peeling it all, until he felt vulnerable and small.

Dōma was a masochist. He didn’t suffer from the pain at all, but welcomed it. Enjoyed it.

Sekido pushed away the intrusive thought of who that reminded him of.

Dōma took him out of his mind when he moved beneath him, procuring the bottle of oil right beside the futon.

“Would you like me to help you?”

Silence. Dōma took it in stride, the cold shoulder accepted as a yes, even though he would rather swallow glass.

With a pleased hum, Dōma coated his erection with a good amount of oil, scooping up the residue to spread the warming liquid right over his backside.

“Don’t.” Sekido hissed, scowling with the heat of a million scorching suns.

He wasn’t interested in Dōma opening him up with those sharp talons. He wasn’t interested in being opened up at all.

“Hm, are you sure? You are aware I am much bigger than average. You'll find it more painful without preparation.”

Oh, fuck you, arrogant prick.

Never mind the fact that it wasn’t a lie. Dōma was really big. Uncomfortably big.

“Alright then, it’s your choice.”

My choice. Don’t make me laugh asshole, as if this was my goddamn choice!

The vein of his temple pulsated so much, if he was a human, he reckoned this would be enough to send him to some anger-induced aneurysm.

“Arms around my neck. As if you like me.” Dōma coached with an infuriating smile, good-natured, eyes roaming over him with clear lust.

“I loathe you.”

“Oh, I know. You've said so at least ten thousand times by now. It’s okay.” He shrugged, fingers wrapped around his waist, nails tapping along his skin patiently.

“You can pretend I’m someone else if you want. I don’t mind.”

Sekido stiffened at that ‘permission’, outraged that Dōma believed he could ever try to make this enjoyable for himself, on purpose, by replacing Dōma with someone else in his mind.

Sekido didn’t understand why. To taunt him after the fact that he wanted it, elaborating some manipulative mental gymnastics that feed into his delusions?

Was it just another surefire way to degrade him, to place him as the active participant of his own violation?

“Or you can live with here in the present with me.” Dōma offered, a lone eyebrow raising if it was a tantalizing offer.

Ugh. Horrendous. Sekido definitely was not doing that. But he also hated the prospect of imagining a different face looking back at him.

As if he would ever taint those experiences with this mockery of intimacy.

But when Sekido placed his arms around him, begrudgingly beginning to move, his mind automatically (and unwillingly) provided him with memories of a time when he was in a similar position, but in stark contrast to now, he wanted it then.

The breath of his counterpart’s lips caused shivers to go down his spine as a hand traversed over the bump of each vertebra with a low crooning voice, teasing him.

“You missed me that much, hmm?”

Stop.

He swallowed painfully. Don’t go there.

Dōma’s size hurt. It always hurt.

Maybe if he kept painful, then the brand of his soul wouldn’t continue to deepen, the ruining of his mind, where he wanted to end it, rip his skin off and tear his heart out.

Disconnect. Distance. Separate.

Dōma analyzed his face, hyper focused and intense.

Hmm?

The pretty vermillion color of Sekido’s eyes dulled until they no longer had their typical vibrancy, where they reminded Dōma of precious ruby gemstones.

Sekido moved mechanically, his thighs rising and lowering, pace a little too slow for Dōma’s liking.

Dōma was patient, he knew his pet needed to acclimate to his size and he wasn’t lying when he declared he did not derive sexual pleasure from him grimacing in pain.

But this was Sekido actively pulling away, not by thinking of someone else, but by going through the motions as someone experiencing it from outside, from a third perspective, dissociating so hard, he no longer feels anything.

His anger, his fire, his overtly emotional expressions. Doused with numbness until it was extinguished completely.

That was decidedly less interesting.

After giving him another moment of time, Dōma knew this would not suffice.

“Do you like being kissed, Sekido?”

And it was telling that his eyes popped open right away, violently shaking his head. A clear no, but imbued with distress.

Ahhh…his little nightmare did like being kissed.

“That's definitely a yes. But not by me. By someone else.” Dōma chuckled, wrapping his arms around Sekido’s waist until each part of their upper bodies touched, jaw nestled right over his shoulder. Completely pausing his movements.

Then, Dōma pressed his pet’s hips down, his own hips thrusting up.

Sekido’s eyes shut tight as a pitchy gasp was punched out of his throat, body tensing.

“Maybe I can get more from you with the adequate motivation.”

The pressure on his back felt unyielding.

Sekido's body collided with the larger demon's overbearing presence, as if trying to imprint himself deep within his flesh, his consistent rhythm was overwhelming.

Fangs scrape at his throat, not painfully, just enough to elicit chills, raising his skin.

“No.” Sekido hissed, turning his head away, using the curtain of hair to distance himself, maybe not physically, but mentally. He would absolutely hate it if Dōma tried to press his lips, probably colder than a dead fish, to his mouth. 

He couldn’t have Dōma try to kiss him. He’d probably vomit.

Dōma's fingers pressed on the small of his back, moving his hips forward instead of down.

Sekido pulled back as if was electrocuted, arms straightened and shoving at his shoulders.

Eyes fluttered open, his grimace no longer a conclusive demonstration of pain.

Dōma took advantage of that momentary lapse of his dissociating mask to do it again.

A slight arch of Sekido’s back followed.

“No? Then try harder.”

His minor threat worked.

Sekido’s pace quickened as a result, effort in maintaining his neutral expression becoming significantly harder since he was now present in his body.

Dōma knew it from the subtle reddening of his pet's ears. From the gradual flush dusting across his cheeks, slowly turning a darker red.

Ragged shallow breaths heating up the air as he rolled his hips so deliciously.

“What a difference.” Dōma cooed lewdly with a smirk, fixated on the trembling of Sekido’s eyelids and the inevitable lowering of his eyebrows.

“You’ve had practice…”

Sekido attempted to ignore him, so he can be done and never think of it again.

“I wonder with who. Should I guess?”

“Look at you go.”

Warm hands caressed his hips, squeezing at them individually.

One of them trailing up the grooves of his abdomen until two fingers pulled at his nipple, flicking it gently until soft moans reverberated from his throat.

“You’re a natural, Seki.”

Emerald-colored eyes drank him in as if he was the most breathtaking sight to exist.

He closed the distance between their faces, arms around his partner's neck, mouth desperate when he smashed their lips together.

“Shut your goddamn mouth.”

The snarl was significantly dampened by the broken hitches in his tone.

“You went somewhere just now, I could tell by your facial expression.” Dōma chuckled.

He didn’t need to hear his stupid smug words.

“You thought of someone else.”

A trembling whimper spilled from his lips unexpectedly, when Sekido inadvertently rolled his pelvis forward again.

His cock had brushed against his prostate.

And of course, those depraved rainbow eyes lit up.

“That’s perfect. Keep going.”

His mouth dropped open, unable to close itself, panting heavier as he instinctively moved his hips to hit the same spot.

“That’s it, keep going.”

His constant shame obscured by this filthy display of want, the heat not just stoked by a soft breeze but spreading like a fire.

“I love how you look riding me. You take me so well.”

Sekido’s vision blurred again, tears filling his eyes.

Heaving pants transformed into groans. Pitchy and quivery, coming from deep within his chest.

“I know you want to come. I want you to come.” Was Dōma's order, devoid of the usual playful lilt.

Completely serious now. Hands tightening around his hips.

It wasn't true. Sekido didn’t want to.

But he was going to.

The thick shaft rubbed along his walls, making him shiver with the pleasure flooding into his system, the gland of that stupidly huge cock hitting right at his prostate over and over.

Fingernails tore into Dōma's flesh. The air boiling hot now, so humid it felt like oxygen was no longer present.

Perspiration beaded at Sekido’s forehead, dampening his neck, chest and back. Face steaming in heat. He refused to open his eyes again.

He won't see that face, not when he feels so close.

“Hah, hah, h…”

Back arched, the sensation of electricity becoming too strong, too overwhelming.

Fuck, I’m –

Sekido’s mind blanked with pure white-hot pleasure, activating all cells of his body, seemingly at once.

Dōma saw it. Heard it, felt it.

His pet's flushed red face, the tears threatening to escape his closed eyes.

His mouth agape in ecstasy, surrendering himself with a heaving moan as he climaxed so perfectly.

Clenched tightly around him, making his control snap.

Dōma switched their position, holding him forcefully by his waist as he shoved him down the futon, forcing his legs to spread wider as he loomed over Sekido.

Slammed his hips into him with abandon, chasing his high.

Sekido’s beautiful sounds caressed his ears as Dōma kept going. Wet ruby eyes  finally opened up, making eye contact.

The collar, one of his greatest creations, fit snugly over his neck.

Bitten-swollen lips begging to be…

Oh.

So that’s how it feels like.

.

.

“My humble followers.”

Dōma proclaimed to his silently praying worshippers, smiling with a glittery shimmer in his rainbow eyes.

“Rise.”

Obedient as ever, all followers stood from their dogeza, reverent with wide devoted eyes.

“Tonight, I will not be taking any consultations. Something wondrous has occurred. I wish to share this discovery with you all.”

He clasped his hands together, as if overjoyed.

“You notice that I am accompanied today by this beautiful creature.”

Right beside him, Sekido was perfectly sat in seiza form, legs tucked behind him and over his lap, in an attempt to protect his modesty. Inside the pedestal, with kanji scrawled over it: Sukhāvatī, Paradise.

Dōma’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder. The smooth shiny cloth over his skin bunched up, slightly crumpled before the fingers retracted.  Another one of the flowy slips that left little to the imagination.  Sekido did not react. Did not move. He could not afford to.

Sekido was waiting.

Waiting to be liberated out of the hell he had been forced to be in for what felt like centuries. Nakime was no longer the sole portal for contact. Dōma's Eternal Paradise Faith shrine was not a secret location. It was in the normal wordly dimension.

That meant...

His clones were coming. He had finally opened the mind link, only as long as necessary to feed his clones what they needed to know.

Dōma was not an unintelligent demon. But he was rather fixated on him, in a way that caused goosebumps of revulsion to submerge and drown Sekido.

“I don’t want to ever let you go…but our Master might get upset with me if I keep you with me forever.”

A sordid giggle.

“Let’s see how long it takes for him to scold me.”

It was no longer enough for Dōma to merely parade Sekido around the followers and attendants he kept at his Palace.

He wished for more witnesses. More faces. More of Sekido’s humiliation.

With the scandalous silk thing loosely covering his body, he felt worse than the lowest of whores.

“A demon.” Dōma said provocatively, gesturing for his followers to take note of the obvious horns on Sekido’s forehead.

The humans gasped and murmured softly amongst each other.

As if they didn’t worship a powerful demon already. But they were idiots and must have thought Dōma was the opposite. A divine being, worthy of even being a God.

“One who came to me in extremely bad shape. You might have noticed I have been less…present. Some might even say distracted. But, you would be mistaken.”

He trailed off for suspense.

“It was for a good cause. I took it upon myself to save this creature. To open his mind and soul to our Faith and to end his suffering. His evil ways have now been resolved and my passionate effort to ensure his soul has been successful.”

Immediately, the clamoring of praises and devotion rang high in the master headquarters of the cult. Some people already fell to their knees, tears streaming down their face in witnessing such a miracle.

“I present Sekido. He hasn’t yet passed the stage of  complete salvation, but he will be my celestial consort. It is only this way that he can leave his demonic ways behind.”

Sekido visible stiffened, eyes widening as he took in Dōma's bullshit proclamation. Capturing the truth within those lies.

Consort?!

Fury ignited like an inferno within Sekido. He seethed silently, realizing the extent to Doma's plan.

That motherfucker wanted to keep him indefinitely.

“Once he becomes my consort, my divinity extends to him and he shall be revered. I implore all of you to kneel and pray for this demon’s complete conversion.”

Every single person does as told, lowering themselves to pray. All in awe over being graced with directly seeing one of his miracles, in the flesh.

His power to even convert demons, the lowest of filth?

It was amazing. Incredible.

That is until…

A deafeningly loud bang, followed by an explosion of wood and debris scattering everywhere that breaks the moment of prayer and reverence.

“Oh-ho! Now, this looks like a party!”

Karaku’s cheerful voice rang out.

Sekido’s heart immediately hammered in his chest in hearing him. He whips his head up, sight focusing on the familiar faces.

The overwhelming relief filling his soul.

Aizetsu and Urogi were here too, covered in blood, probably from the humans outside of the room at the time. Outside of the building.

The dark emerald fire in Karaku’s eyes was particularly breathtaking, his wide grin filled with danger and retribution.

The Uchiwa fan spinning around in his hand.

“This will be fun.”

.

.

Muzan Kibutsuj sighs as he severed contact with his Upper Moons.

What a waste of time. He didn’t need to intervene in such petty insignificant squabbling.

But it was necessary, especially after the massacre in Upper Moon Two's estate.

The whole estate was destroyed.

Around 100 humans killed, torn apart viciously, a complete bloodbath. Tch. Doma's little cult gathering that Muzan was never thrilled with.

It was Dōma's fault.

He caused a severe friction in the ranks by stoking animosity with Upper Moon Four, resulting in the mass casualty.

He manipulated Nakime's deference for hierarchy to do what she was ordered. She was punished to a lesser extent, but punished nevertheless.

The entire situation was embarrassing and foolish. So many lives lost were noticed and speculations were brought up surrounding the area. It was most obviously newsworthy. A mess Kibutsuji himself was forced to contend with.

Upper Moon Four's violence was impulsive, rash and stupid.

But Muzan made the executive choice to let this one indiscretion go. Could he even blame them entirely?

Dōma was indeed quite loathsome.

It wasn’t his style. He was of the opinion that weakness must be crushed. But this batch of Upper Moons have been undefeated for more than a century. He did not particularly want to remove one because of this inter-rank drama.

In a split-second decision brought by yet another spike of annoyance, Muzan activated the channels of communication to his subordinates again.

And if I ever hear a repeat of a Higher rank taking another lower-ranked Upper Moon hostage, you will pay dearly with not only your high rank title but everlasting suffering.

…

Yes, Master.

Was the diligent response from all of his subordinates.

Including Dōma who still remained in punishment. He’ll keep him there for a little more time.

Decades passed.

Things went back to normal.

Not a peep of discord was heard from his Upper Ranks.

Only one noticeable difference: Upper Moon Four never split again in subsequent meetings.

.

.

.