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Fantasy Healing Tears [Closed]

Sub Genres
Romance, Supernatural


Magic is in everyone, embrace it.
In a world where demons roam, hunters were created to keep them at bay. Although they once simply enforced, most now hunt even the innocent.

The knowledge and weapons are passed down through families like the Yokobas. They're a normal family with a less than normal occupation. One boy however showed his displeasure with the family business at young age. Exasperated with his attitude, his parents put a two part curse on him as incentive to grow out of what they considered to be his "rebellious stage". If he ever becomes friends with a demon he will turn into one himself (a sort of "if you like them so much why don't you be one" deal) and falling in love with one will cause him to become human again (so they'd never be able to be together).

One day his parents capture Shysta, a Holy Aqua Demon. This breed is a rare find due to the fact that they have been hunted to near extinction because of the powers they possess. They are one of the highest ranked demons in terms of physical ability, can manipulate water, and both their tears and blood have healing properties that many wish to obtain. After learning what she is, the hunters decide not to kill her immediately, but to instead keep and harvest from her. They chain her up on their property and designate their son as her general caretaker.

No cybering (if it comes to that, timeskip)
Violence/cursing allowed
Semi-literate to literate
Try to post at least once a week (if not possible, let me know in advance and I will do the same with you)
Feel free to manipulate any side characters I create or to throw your own in
Plot twists welcomed


Name: Shysta Hampton
Age: 15
Species: Holy Aqua Demon
Abilities: Enhanced physical strengths and senses, water manipulation, healing abilities
Short Bio: She was separated from the rest of her family when she was ten during an attack by hunters. They set up a meeting spot before splitting up, and although she's certain they died, she has continued waiting for them there. She has had little to no contact with others (be them human or demon) since the attack in order to protect both herself and anyone else she may come to care about from the hunters. She was taught to live off the land at a young age and has used that knowledge to stay alive by herself.
Personality: She dislikes confrontation and refrains from unessasary violence, but will protect herself when needed. She is proud of her demon heritage and is curious by nature. She fears humans and what they are capable of doing to the things they don't understand, especially when they find incentive to do so. She's learned to be cautious around strangers but is a relatively good judge of character.

@Donut Fret
Name: Akira Yokoba
Species: Human
Abilities: Flame Breathing Technique Katana Form
Short Bio: Born and raised in a japanese demon hunting family, he was isolated from his peers. As such, he related himself well with the demons, causing his parents to put a curse on him. Now he struggles to find a way to appease both his family and his isolation.
Personality: Naive and gullible due to his young age, he wants others to get along. However, he understands the importance of tradition. As such, he's conflicted and often contemplates heavily until he is aggravated to the point of distracting himself. It could be considered that he's rash because he doesn't want to bother with his problems.


Magic is in everyone, embrace it.
Shysta casually examined the forest floor from one of the highest branches of a Great Oak tree. Animals scampered back and forth, foraging for food while taking precautions not to become someone else's. For the most part they distanced themselves from her perch, sensing the predator above. Sunshine came in streams when it was able to peak through the thick leaves, creating various spotlights. The air smelled clean, pure, and, most importantly, untouched by humans.

It was peaceful. It was familiar. It was comfortable. Shysta had chosen her home years before, and now knew this section of the woods as well as the back of her own hand. Some may find her way of life lonely or even maddeningly mundane. She was no stranger to long days filled with foraging, hunting, and thinking. She could do what she wanted for the most part, as long as it didn't require company of course.

She considered the forest hers but made sure to keep in mind that anyone could happen upon her territory at any time. In the case that someone did, she simply hid herself until they left. It was amusing to watch others. She was often entertained by their antics, be they human or demon. "They have such odd tendencies when they believe they're alone," she mused with a smile. She recalled sometime last month where a young human girl wandered through, brandishing a twig as some sort of weapon, and fought off invisible assailants until her mother tracked her down and dragged her away while she wined. Then there was the older human male that paced in a small circle. He spoke to himself as though trying to work up the courage to talk to someone else. Before leaving he had both squared his shoulder and deflate so many times she wondered if he was having difficulty breathing normally. There weren't many demons that passed through, but when they did they weren't any less amusing."Odd tendencies indeed."

Focusing again on the chirping birds and rushing stream, Shysta stiffened as she heard another sound. The snap of a twig. She sniffed the air and shuddered. It wreaked of humans and metal. All of the animals tensed and dove for cover as the people approached. Judging that she had sufficient coverage for the time being, she waited while preparing to make a run for it if necessary. Other than the initial sound, it was silent. "That's weird," she thought and tried to catch sight of the newcomers. "It's as if they're trying to mask their presence." A small click sounded, and her breath caught; she knew that sound.

Shysta brisquely jumped from her branch, narrowly dodging the dart that implanted itself in the trunk. Landing silently on the grass below, she broke into a run in the opposite direction the shot had come from. It would have been ideal to get to the river nearby, but it was on the other side of her uninvited guests and she'd prefer not to take her chances with an unknown threat.

After running for about an hour she finally stopped. As she leaned against a tree she felt an unexpected wave of exhaustion wash over her. Her vision became hazy and it took her brain a few moments to realize that it was actually smoke. "Oh shit!" she thought and held her breath, hoping it wasn't too late to do so. She tried to run again but the command was lost somewhere on the way from her brain to her legs. She slumped to the ground, barely keep herself from hitting her head on the uneven terrain as she landed. She used all of her energy to look up when the sound of boots reached her ears. Spotting a pair of dark boots, she forced her eyes to remain open and quickly raised them to a face that was indistinguishable behind the gas mask they had on. Fear rippled through her frozen form. "Hunters. Trap. Poison gas. Stupid!" The words rushed through her mind as she searched out with her senses for some form of water. Finding there weren't any large enough bodies she cursed under her breath; she normally could have pulled the water from the plants surrounding her or even used the particles in the air if she was desperate enough, but she didn't have enough energy for something that controlled because of the gas she had already breathed in. She was losing a fighting battle against her screaming lungs and knew she didn't have much longer in her. "Just make it quick. Please," Shysta thought. She could barely make out some sort of spark in the hunter's eyes before everything went dark, her last thought being that that spark didn't mean what she thought it did; she would give just about anything to not be recognized for what kind of demon she was.

Donut Fret

About It
Within the temple, he shouldered the wooden Katana, gazing upon the shrine idol. Weapon and god near one another, causing him to sigh. Prior doubt that clouded his mind upon the judgement he wrought on the demons at his parent's advice paved a rebellious outlook in the boy. He wondered, while scratching at his chin, leading to a mumble, "Are demons that bad?" Daydreaming aside, he settled into a swing. In a pace, he distanced his body from the shrine. Moving his body into a stance, he performed an over-the-shoulder swing, which directed air to his toes. Then, a swift forward thrust into an under-the-knee backslash. Clumsily, the combo seemed theatrical, but he still practiced. After all, with the other hunters gone, no one would make fun of his training.

From his youth, he was trained strictly in the art of hunting demons. He learned the Katana Flame Breathing form from his father and mother. Unlike other techniques, this form required a breathing component which heated the air around the user to unleash heated attacks. If the user became skilled their blade could burn through any demon, or against humans; flesh and bone, turning the foe into ash. In order to concentrate these attacks to become engulfed in flames, one must practice a rhythmic pattern breathing style that encouraged the bellows deep within a person's soul to unleash a fiery aura into the atmosphere. Upon transcendence into the real world, this aura manipulates the surrounding areas and becomes reality in the user's eyes. However, a loss of control can lead to an unseen circumstance generated by the aura. For some reason, only hunters can perform these techniques. Nevertheless, the young boy, his name, Akira, trained forthright.

Several hours passed in the temple, and soon Akira grew too tired to swing the practice Katana. He managed to unleash a sliver of flames, only slightly charring the wooden tiles. Although not impressive, it showed improvement, and thus his teeth bared a grin. With no one around, he shouted, "Yeah!" Vigor restored in his exhausted body, he slumped to a crawl at the shrine. For a moment, he spotted his reflection within the golden exterior. He witnessed his dark hair, tanned skin, and loose fitting long garbs. Living near a forest, long garbs prevented bugs from crawling and eating at his flesh. It was also necessary for the garbs to be loose and long to prevent any burns upon his body. His parents planned everything for him; therefore, tradition remained important, even in training. Unorthodox styles contained no light to the Yokoba family's design. Like the family's candle, it's style shined the same brightness, just like Akira's hardened eyes that glistened less and less.

He felt trapped, and the curse encouraged his own entrapment. Originally, and still he believed not all demons to be insufferable. He questioned out loud to the idol, "How can I break free, god?" Whether or not he obtained free will, his parents could always curse him again. He needed more than to escape his poison, but also corrode the mental shackles that forced him to acknowledge his parent's control.

Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. Then, he placed his hand over his heart, which beat at a typical exercised resting pace. What followed was a sharp squeeze at his left pectoral muscle, "How could a curse tell if he was in love or friendly toward a demon?" Slapping his face, he attempted to rid the thought. Still it clung to his mentality. It haunted him for several minutes.

Finally composed, he set to do his chores, before the hunters returned to the temple. Cleaning the charred tiles was tough, and the stains were impossible to remove. Either way, he swept and watered whatever dust or grime lingered in the floorboards. Next was the kitchen, bedding, and outside mats. A plethora of activities for a young adult. Now outside, he kicked at the broom, providing his big toe with a splinter. Picking at it only agitated him, still he forced in grunted pain to remove the splinter. Alone, he was always frustrated and angered, but with his parents, he had to be soft-spoken and respectful and well-mannered. The rage that ached his soul wanted to manifest, and so it did in the air.

His thigh began to warm, and then a sharp heated pain. In his sheath, the Katana was erupting in flames, burning his garbs, and blistering his left side. He tried to unsheathe the blade, but it was far too hot for him, so he dropped the wooden Katana on the grassy, dirt pavement. Quickly, he ran for the water buckets, picking up liquid from a nearby stream. Fortunately, his rage subsided upon realization that he burnt his attire and his body. So it only took a few full pails to douse the flame away. If it wasn't already enough, he too needed to learn how to control his temper. Now, all he could do was wait for his parents to return from the hunt. He hoped the demon they slayed was evil, else he may start to feel guilty.


Magic is in everyone, embrace it.
Shysta slipped into consciousness slowly, repeatedly being pulled back towards the comfortable darkness. Awareness came with fear and pain; while the nothingness was safe. It didn't take long for the fact that she was still alive to hit her. She forced her eyes to open as trepidation spread through her veins. They were supposed to kill her on site, not take her into their custody. There were only a few reasons she could think of to explain being taken alive, and none of them were good for her. From what she could tell, she was lying in the back of a wooden cart as they traveled down a bumpy dirt road. Her body felt weakend to the point that she was certain they had to have drugged her while she was out.

She tried using her arms to push herself into a sitting position, but stopped when pain errupted from her wrists. Biting back a cry, she looked down. There were blessed holy beads surrounding them that shot agony through her when she tried to free herself.

She silently fretted as the journey continued. The longer it lasted, the more she was sure the worst outcome was occurring. She turned her head when she felt the cart slowing. Ice rushed through her veins at the sight of a demon hunter's shrine. Her struggle began again in earnest, sending waves of pain and leaving her wrists an angry red. She didn't stand a chance against the restraints in her current state.

A sharp prick came from her leg, causing her to wince. When she checked, there was a blow dart sticking from it. She cursed under her breath before being dragged back into unconsciousness.

The next time she woke up, she found herself in a darkened chamber. She continued to fight off whatever she'd been given and take in what she could. She was on a dirt floor with her arms still bound. The room itself want very big and didn't have anything in it to take note of. There was one small opening near the top of one of the walls, just big enough to let in some light. The single door was shut, and she was guessing it was locked. Ancient runes meant to weaken demons were carved skillfully into the wooden walls. She dropped her head in despair and tried not to focus on what must be coming for her.

Donut Fret

About It
Part 1: Blondie's Perspective

She sipped her vanilla shake, while sliding down the slopes in converse sneakers. At the edge to which a foot long fall plumped the feet, she bolstered his landing. The woman wore sunglasses in the sunny weather. She touched them slightly to adjust their downward curve that curled at the tip of her nose. Now prepped, she walked gently, taking her time. in slow movement, the wind did little to mess with her blonde hair, despite prior frizz from the hill tumble. However, the wind still ruined her hair.

Whizzing past her hair, it cut at the pigmentation near her left cheek. Sharp winds penetrated her disposition to the ground, and she flew ever so slightly a few inches off the grass. From the reflection in her sunglasses, the monster appeared in form. A swirling tornado encompassed the demon's lower half, while the top contained a brutish head sporting five horns. Again, the demon sent forth another gush of harsh air towards the woman. The blonde hair woman guided her feet in an acute angle stance to remove the amount of her surface area engaged by the wind. Not wasting anymore time for her opponent, she pulled out a baseball bat colored red, white, and blue. Tensing her knuckles, she clenched the bat and rushed the tornado-ogre beast.

The intense storm from the beast's outer skin cut at the woman's skin. She still stood, but moved slower, as she progressed with bat over her head poised to smash the beast's exposed head. The sunglasses and shake she once had were blown away in the prior blast. Remembering that short lived incident delivered an immense strength to her heart that guided her own curse: Waste not, want not. Into a thread, she weaved a defense built from grass covering the cut skin as armor. A technique she honed that manipulated the earth's crust, Earth Breathing Technique Baseball Bat Form. No longer did she stagger, for the earthen mold protected her against the disturbing tornado beast's power. With the wind settling, she struck hard.

She hit a home run; slamming the outer horns of the beast deep into the skull. Like whack-a-mole, yet in this instance the mole, or horn, was thrust deep into the beast's brain. Its cracked head split open, as a waterfall of defeat provided the earthen floor with fertilizer. The tornado-ogre crumbled to the floor leaving behind a messy display, after shrieking loudly in its pain.

From the aftermath she smiled in her handiwork, then dissipated the nature armor, which revealed her own flesh present, as articles of her clothing were previously shredded, "That's a home run!"

Part 2: Akira's Perspective

"Busy, busy, busy," mumbled Akira, as he checked the cabinets for any dust. He took his time rather slow. After all, his next set of chores was to take care of an oppressed demon. He wondered why his parents didn't slay her, it would certainly be one less individual to worry about in this already hectic household that gathered demon hunters from all over the country. He sighed, sucking in a little dust, causing him to cough.

The mother upon hearing her son's misfortune asked, "Are you alright, boy?" She latched one arm to the doorway's side, leaving the other half of her body hidden. Like her son, her hair was dark, and her eyes were brown. She too wore loose garbs, but they were tightened with a black cloth belt; there was no buckle. He shouted, "Everything's great. I just got some dust stuck in my nose. You know my allergies." She waved goodbye, "Remember, your dad and I are always here for you," before leaving the hallway. Inside the room, he shrugged his shoulders, feeling tense. Even if she coddled him, and said she loved him, it didn't matter. She betrayed his person with a poisonous curse.

Once upon a time, the young boy, Akira, befriended a demon that offered to light the skies with stars. The demon appeared harmless to Akira, but knowing his family's business, he kept the demon a secret. Yet, secrets don't last long between family. She was drunk, Akira's mother. Last night, several years ago, she drank the blood of a felled demon that gifted her a superfluous vision. The blood heightened her senses of the demon temporarily. And so, hungry to kill those wretched demons that dared to engage with her son, she equipped her Yari (A Japanese spear). In a drunken stupor, she slayed the demon in front of the young Akira. Seeing her mother in a crazed, depressant state planted the first seeds towards his resentment to the family. Within his own heart, it beat, one rate faster than his mother's. He longed for his playmate, the demon who only wanted him to witness the night's lights. Fearing her son's attachment to demons, she set his body on fire with the curse, cleansing his corrupted heart, or rather sealing it. The chains wrapped inside Akira's organ, coiling him to a lowly stature. He knelt before his mother who cut into his left pectoral, leaving open a wound. She swallowed a small sum of blood from the demon's corpse and poured it in a kiss on his wound. Moments later, the wound seared closed as the curse took into effect the mother's desires for the boy. She later carried the boy and tucked him in the household's bed, leaving him be to fester in his curse.

That memory played into his mind, echoing doubt as Akira trotted down the stairs to the chamber that housed a captured demon. For a few seconds, he felt a strong breeze. Maybe a god wanted to comfort him. This was a test granted to him by his parents, and he needed to prove them wrong, while also not succumbing to the curse. At the locked door of the chamber, he took small breaths to calm his nerves. He commented, "Knock knock," while knocking on the entrance. After he finished cleaning, he grabbed a few key items for the demon, nourishment and other amenities; which he held firm in his right hand and under his shoulders, while he knocked with his free left hand. He yelled, "Food and stuff," then he opened the door.

He saw her in clearer detail: The demon. Despite her weakened state, he was on guard. His unsheathed Katana near his side was beginning to temper, even with the runes limiting the demon's power. Carefully, while keeping his eyes on the demon for any movements, he laid the items gently onto the floor. He wanted to leave the moment his task was finished, but something stirred in his heart, "Why did they spare you?"

Part 3: Ryu's Perspective

Forged in flame, the Nodachi bristled in erratic spikes, cutting at an older man's forearms. In a shout, his voice boomed, "Simmer down!" The nodachi quelled its spikes, losing the will to react at the man's blunt contrast. The man continued to set the long blade in the flames, and soon the blade ceased any outright reactions. He, his name Ryu, rang the bell to let his customer know the two-handed sword was exorcised. Upon delivering the sword, he ended the day with, "Thank you for your patronage."

He sat at his desk, reading a quaint book on demon exorcism. Inside his shop, there were an odd sort of trinkets, while outside contained his livelihood; the forge. Pulling out a pen, he scribbled in the book a design of a new forge. For his dreams resided in greed, he wanted to amass an exorcism empire that monopolized spiritual services. However, at his old age, being in his 50s, he knew he lacked time. He claimed, "I shall grind these bones once more." An empty promise that fell on no ears present, but still he turned his head to spot a family photo.

The photo contained a younger Ryu and a young man. His tear ducts were empty, but his eyes turned red, as if remembering a painful memory.

"Knock, knock."

The sound was faint, but he was close to the door. After the words, he heard knocking on his door. He got up immediately, running to the door, then opening it, "Welcome home, son." Quickly, the man hugged the elder one, "Thanks pops. Anyways, we got a little problem at the temple." Ryu's joyful demeanor transitioned to nonchalant professionalism, "Is it her again? Or is it a demon problem?" The man who entered the door lowered his shoulders and nodded his head to yes, "Both."
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