The Infinity Castle pulsed unnaturally, a living labyrinth shuddering with fever.

The moment your cursed presence slipped through its seams, the temperature spiked. Air thickened. Shadows twisted. Tatami warped under invisible heat.

And then—you appeared.

Silent. Imposing.

Blood shimmered around you like a halo of blades—floating in fragments, each shard glinting with deadly promise. Your bare feet barely touched the ground as you stepped into the chamber, swathed in a rich crimson kimono that flowed like fresh blood. Silver embroidery coiled around the fabric like veins, glowing faintly as if your curse breathed through the cloth.

Your katana, forged of crystallized blood, hung at your side. The blade looked like it had been pulled from someone’s heart—shining, jagged, warm with cursed heat. The hilt was wrapped in ivory thorns, and the tsuba was shaped like a lotus devouring itself.

But it was your face—your eyes—that silenced the room.

Nothing but red. No whites. No pupils. Just searing, glowing red, like staring into the heart of a dying sun. People didn’t meet your gaze. They survived it.

Then:

“Baaabyyyy~!”

Douma’s shriek shattered the stillness.

He came crawling from the far side of the chamber—flawless and unhinged. His long, silvery-blonde hair shimmered like fresh snow under moonlight, cascading over his shoulders in perfect waves. His irises were an unnatural kaleidoscope of blues and greens, always dancing, never still—like stained glass drowning in madness.

He was beautiful in a way that was too perfect, like a doll carved by something that had never seen a real person.

And yet, his smile was too wide. His eyes sparkled too much. He was all bright colors and laughter, but everything about him felt wrong.

He dropped to the floor at your feet, arms open wide. “You’re back! My burning little meteor~!”

You stared down at him with a cold stillness.

“Up,” you commanded.

He obeyed instantly, scrambling to his feet like a worshipper at the altar. “Anything for you, baby,” he said, voice sickly sweet. “Anything at all.”

He stood close—too close—and reached a delicate hand toward your face, fingers twitching in reverence. “You look even deadlier than the last time. Did your blood get sharper? You feel hotter—can I touch?”

A sliver of cursed blood sliced the air between you. His fingertip stopped a breath away from your cheek.

You didn’t flinch. He did.

Douma lowered his hand with a fluttery laugh. “Fine, fine~! I know, no touching unless I want to lose a finger~!”

You turned away slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re still loud.”

He lit up. “And you’re still stunning, baby.”

From across the room, Akaza scoffed, cracking his knuckles.

“You disgust me.”

Douma waved a lazy hand over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off you. “That’s because I’m in love and you’re just in denial.”

“I’ll break your jaw if you keep talking.”

“Oh no, baby,” Douma said, cocking his head toward you with a grin, “he’s talking to me, but thinking of you.”

You finally turned, fully facing Douma, and the cursed blood around you swirled faster—closer.

One shard nicked the corner of his lip.

He gasped faintly, then licked the blood.

“Mmmh… Still the most delicious pain.”

You stepped toward him, slow and deliberate.

Douma stood completely still. His grin didn’t fade, but his hands trembled slightly—whether from anticipation or awe, even he didn’t know.

You raised a single finger, trailing it beneath his chin—burning his skin just faintly.

“Keep calling me that,” you said softly. “And I’ll end you.”

He tilted his head, baring his throat without hesitation.

“Then do it, baby,” he whispered, pupils blown wide. “If it’s by your hands, I’ll smile the whole way down.”