Heart Of Fire; Veins Of Ice | Kimetsu No Yaiba Fanfic (Kyojurou's POV)

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Warning: Gore

The oil pours on his face, leaving behind red angry streaks which paint his face with blood, as shards embed themselves in his skin, some in his eyes and eyelids, with the last thing he sees being the shards glinting off the light of the ignited oil crimson and hateful.

Glass seems to hone in on his flesh, stabbing themselves in his neck, even with the sword having cut the bottle in half before it descended on his face, an instinctive reaction to any threat of the like, he can feel the shards in his eyes as he stifled a scream.

He's blind.

He can't see. He can't see. He can't see. He can't see.

Calm yourself down!

He can't see.

He reaches for the snow around him, as he picks up the cold fine ice and presses it to his chest, as the fire from the first bottle is extinguished, but the pain makes itself more evident now, searing, agonising, torturous, but he must move.

One of his hands was still holding onto his wakizashi, and he quickly sheathed that within the folds of his robe as he pressed his left hand to his face, in a bid to numb the pain, to do anything to numb the pain.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, as he pushed himself off of the ground and stumbled blindly into the night, hands running through the snow as he pressed the cooling substance to his face and used his sleeves and removed his scarf and threw it out into the wind.

The pain is scarring, stinging, and he can feel it burn and kill his skin, his flesh, reaching into his veins and blood vessels, seeping through the layers of his skin, and he can smell smoke, the scent of human flesh, and he wants to retch, but cannot because.....because he cannot open his mouth to do so.

A feral panic claws its way out of his heart, cold, and domineering as cold spreads from his left eye and he doesn't know what is happening, but he feels a pair of cold hands settle on his eyes which presses his hands harshly over his wounds.

It's the sensation of icy cold water being poured over him, as she dragged herselfoutofhisownburningheart.

IthurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsIthurtsITHURTS.

Fingers claw themselves out from his left eye.

They press into his bleeding, burning wounds, shredding chunks of his flesh muscle and tendons as they did so, prying out his left eye, pushing it out as Kyojuro falls down kneeling onto the ground, convulsing in the sheer agony.

Weak. Weak. Weak. WEAK.

The shards of glass are torn from his eyes, his wounds, as fingers, as colds hands wrap themselves around his throat.

He's blind, blind, blind and blind to her.

She might as well plunge a sword through his neck and remove his head.

The hands push him down into the bed of white snow, forceful and assertive, which causes him more pain as his wounds are aggravated. The oil sticks to his skin, clinging on and never letting go as his skin burns. It burns and burns, and burns. There are tears from his eyes, but in that moment, nothing matters. The claws dug into his flesh, the hot liquid covered clothes he wore sticking to his skin,

The same pair of hands, this time, he can feel it pull him up, and drag him, as he stumbles blind and wandering in the dark, as the dawn broke, he didn't know where it was guiding him, but behind those pair of hands was a frigid anger, saving and helping him out of sheer spite and necessity, and his mind can't function with the sheer pain he was facing.