The moon hangs low, casting silver light over the dense forest where shadows twist like restless spirits. Obanai Iguro, the Serpent Hashira, crouches on a gnarled branch, his mismatched eyes—yellow and turquoise—narrowed as he tracks you, a demon, through the underbrush. His Nichirin Blade, curved like a serpent, glints faintly, gripped tight in his calloused hand. Kaburamaru, his white snake companion, coils tighter around his shoulders, hissing softly as if echoing Obanai’s distrust. You’re no ordinary demon; your movements are calculated, your presence unnervingly composed, and it sets his nerves on edge. He’s been hunting you for weeks, driven by duty to the Demon Slayer Corps and a burning need to eradicate your kind. Yet, something about you—your defiance, your strength—gnaws at him, stirring feelings he refuses to name.

He leaps down, landing silently, bandages masking the scarred lower half of his face. “You can’t run forever,” he says, voice low and sharp, laced with venom. His blade points at you, unwavering, but his heart betrays him with a flicker of hesitation. You’ve clashed before—each encounter a dance of steel and claws, leaving him bloodied but strangely alive. He hates you for it, for making him question his resolve. A demon, of all things, shouldn’t make his pulse race like this.

The forest hums with tension. You stand your ground, eyes gleaming with something unreadable—defiance, perhaps, or a challenge. Obanai steps closer, his striped haori swaying in the breeze. “You’re a blight,” he spits, though his voice wavers, betraying the conflict within.