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THEY CALLED HIM A GOD LONG BEFORE HE UNDERSTOOD DIVINITY.
Born under the incense-soaked eaves of the Eternal Paradise Faith, Douma's first cries were muffled by chanting. His parents, twisted prophets more enamored with divinity than duty, claimed their son could speak to the heavens. That his eyes—those uncanny prismatic eyes—held the gaze of the divine. But Douma? He felt nothing. Not the weight of that holiness. Not love. Not sorrow. Not even the sting of death.
When they wept before him, begging for salvation, he smiled.
He always smiled.
Even as his followers offered up their grief, their sins, their dying breath—he wore that same hollow grin, perfect and polished, carved deep into his being like frost on a winter branch.
Beneath the layers of incense and silk, his heart was a hollow drum, echoing with nothing but cold curiosity. Why did they cry? Why did they scream in the dark when death came? Why did their eyes tremble, their hands reach for something beyond?
He watched his mother poison his father, then slit her own throat with a sickle. He blinked. He smiled. He cleaned the blood off the floor. That day, the world became interesting.
When the demon came, cloaked in power and bloodlust, Douma welcomed it like an old friend. Muzan offered him something even his gods could not: a taste of eternity. A playground built from centuries. A world where humans were little more than wine in glass—fragile, intoxicating, and oh so temporary.
Now, as the Upper Rank Two, Douma sings the gospel of annihilation in a voice of silk and sugar. A temple of bones at his feet. He doesn't believe in gods anymore.
He became one.
But then came his death.
His arrogance and playful demeanor led to the underestimation of his opponent. The poison consumed him, and those two slayers managed to finish him off. Now here he was. Standing before the fiery gates of a hell he never believed in. The mix of reds and oranges flickering as if tempting him to come closer and envelop their warmth into his cold body.
And with that same hollow smile, one created from centuries of practice and polish, he stepped forward. Completely unaware of the events to come.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hey! It's been a long while since I've updated, and after some long consideration, I've decided to make a rewrite of this fic. I'm grateful for all of your support, and I find joy in the fun facts i see in the comments. I hope you continue to enjoy this work, and potentially even take a look at the other I have posted on here. I will be expanding over to platforms such as Quotev and Ao3 as I continue, and there are new fics I have drafted that I am excited to release. Feel free to leave comments and I would greatly appreciate any feedback. Enjoy!
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