Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba: Dreams of the Yokai Character Sheet

[simj26]

Name:
Self-explanatory

Callsign:
To protect the identities of the criminals, and their families, from both each other and the public, the Yokai unit grants callsigns to the members, which they WILL address each other by. Their callsigns are various names of yokai, fittingly, and are almost always issued ironically.

Age:
How many years have passed the character by?

Appearance:
Describe the Yokai, use an image, or use both to paint a clearer picture.

Background:
Pen down their stories before this one.

Breath Style:
Name and describe their style of swordsmanship. They can reasonably adopt canon styles within reason. Obviously, lore-locked ones that are only available to official characters are not allowed.

Forms/Stances/etc:
Name them as you will, Forms, Stances, Fangs, Claws, Stanzas, whatever they are, you may add them here.

Nichirin Blade:
Detail any specifics of their blade, whether they are mounted on a different type of weapon, what colour they take on, or length. Basically, anything you see fit to describe.

Misc.:
Any other details that need to be added can be given their different section outside of the preset ones. Anything else trivial can go under here.

This is not a must-follow template. You can change it as you see fit to match your aesthetics.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Full Name: Joumei Kiyotsugu
Callsign: Rokurokubi
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Appearance: A veil of razor-sharp elegance, topped with garb both traditional and fashionable. Joumei appears as a young woman of great beauty, a princess amongst the populace, but that is a finely-crafted mask that belies an impossibly frail woman. If one were to peel away her garb and well practiced posture, they would find a ghost of a woman. Her frame is meak, her flesh on the verge of allowing the ivory bone beneath to peak through. Her skin, too, is slight, its icy white only barely hiding the network of withered veins beneath. Her form hardly resembles that of a proper swordswoman, instead more akin to one belonging a lepper-to-be. Yet, she shambles on, a wraith driven by indignation and vengeance alone.

Backstory:
Atop a forlorn mountain pass, a child's cries were swept away by icy winds. Her life, taken from her. Not in a flash, but instead slowly, painfully, and unfairly.

By birth, Joumei was to be the second-born child of seven, fathered by a reclusive alpine hunter and his loving wife. He was a man sought to provide for both himself, and his family. A man consumed by pride, and one who would die for it. For a time, he did manage to satisfy his ambition, but as the years went on and his flock grew larger, he found himself unable to keep up with his own hubris. Not long after the birth of the seventh child, he vanished under the cover of snow. For days longer than normal, he was off on a hunt. Then, days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. All the while, the scant supplies he'd left behind dwindled. His family grew thin and pale, and death loomed over their heads.

One by one, Joumei watched the lives of her family dwindle, flickering away like candles in the night. First it was her mother, who wandered off into the wilderness in search of her missing love. After that, her siblings begun to drop like flies. Some followed after their parents, others failed in their bids of independence, while another pair even deigned to meekly accept their coming death. Joumei was one of the lot who chose to wander.

At first, she had the company of a sister, but they were soon separated in a snowstorm. After that, she was alone, left to stumble around the frozen hellscape she'd been so audacious as to once call a home until death decided to pay her visit.

And pay her visit, it very nearly did. The wind chilled her bones, and the snow froze her flesh. As the sun lowered on a day that should have been like any other, she could tell. The next time she shut her eyes, she would not open them again. Her grave would be one of snow, piled high to preserve her until some starving predator decided to make a snack of her corpse.

Much to her surprise, she woke up from that slumber which she'd assumed to be her last. Not atop the feathery snowbank she'd collapsed upon, but instead within a warm futon. A fire blazed a adjacent to her, a roof covered her head, and the sing-song rumblings of life filled the walls that supported it. Somehow, she was alive. With death at her doorstep, its hands firmly clasped around the knocker, she'd been whisked away to safety. Only she had been whisked away to safety.

She cried in the lap of her rescuers. Tears ran from her eyes like the rivers of the summer thaw, while her heart begun to freeze itself. She, in truth, hadn't been terribly close with any of them. Even before her father's vanishment, their fortunes had been destitute. The man had been dead set on providing through his own will, and he'd hardly managed to do it. On top of that, he'd even the blind determination to grow his family. To add more mouths to feed. More growing bodies to distribute their already thin fortunes between. To a degree, she'd resented them. All of them. Her father for his arrogance, her mother for her blind love, and her siblings for even being born.

But still.

Having everything she knew torn away from her, she didn't realize just how much it would pain her until it was too late. It was scary. Terrifying. Horrendous. The way the the familiar could be stripped away from you, the knowledge of it made her want to seal herself in a box and hide. Or worse.

But, she'd been spirited away to a bright place, and her new home. A traveling theater troupe had been the ones to luck upon her, and after nursing the girl as well as they could, they extended her an offer to stay. At first, she only did so to survive. She swore to herself that she wouldn't get comfortable, but she was still just a child, and her heart wanted to open itself to her saviors. Before long, she was laughing alongside them, practicing routines, and participating in their plays.

Only a year had passed since her loss, but she was well on her way to becoming a normally adjusted child, and that was the way it remained for years to come. She found herself rising through the ranks of the troupe, going from stagehand to extra, and from extra to actor, eventually she even started to inherit roles from her seniors. For a girl that was supposed to have been born into nothing, and lose everything still, it was a blessing of an existence.

So, naturally, tragedy felt the need to rear its ugly head. For a single night, something changed in her regular life. The troupemaster, who normally stood tall and proud over their performances, had to bid them farewell for the night, called away on other business. The woman, wizened and haggard left them in good spirits, and returned to find them having passed on to the next life. Once again, Joumei had managed to find herself as the sole survivor. The both of them were distraught. Joumei could hardly understand what had occurred that night, but from within her tear-strewn ramblings, the troupemaster was able to piece things together.

The woman had, in truth, led a life before this one. For years she'd stood on the front line, spending her youth combating the terrors of the night, risking life and limb time and time again. She was a Demon Slayer. The troupe had been both her greatest pride and her greatest shame, something she'd stolen away from her duties to create. After fighting for years and experiencing one close call too many, she'd begun to fear for her mortality. So, she'd taken the skills she'd earned in her service and used them to start something new. Years went by, her youth abandoned her, and she'd almost forgotten about the life she'd once led.

This was a reminder. All it took was one slip up, and this had happened. A Demon that she'd once failed to hunt had been stalking her from afar. Lurking patiently and carefully for the day it'd be able to strike. Then when the opportunity presented itself, it pounced with murder in its eyes and glee in its heart. It tore through her new life like a hurricane along the coastline, leaving everything in ruins. The woman's first instinct was to give chase, cut the monster down, and then do the same to herself, but a weight clung to her heels.

Joumei, still in tears, begged the woman. Not to go, not to leave her, to bring her along on whatever journey of bloody vengeance she wanted to reap. So she took her under her wing yet again. This time, not as an actor, but as a warrior. The girl's body had always been frail, marred by her early years of frost and malnourishment, but that was an impediment that the woman knew well. Once again, luck was on her side in the wake of a tragedy, and she was set on the path of inheriting the blade of the destitute.

The years that followed were not easy. To make up for her lack of strength, the training Joumei endured had to be twice as tough and thrice and grueling. In the true spirit of the stage, every movement of her teacher's style was hammered into her body. Again and again, until he was able to parallel her master like a shadow on the wall. Her training finished after a handful of years spent striving for perfection, and then she passed the Final Selection with flying colors. The third chapter of her life had begun.

As a Demon Slayer, Joumei worked with a beautiful efficiency. Her discipline was second to none. She acted as a guiding hand for her fellow Slayers, a tried and true practitioner of her Master's technique. Until the last page of that third chapter passed, she was a bright and shining star. An example to her generation.

No chapter, however, can go on forever. Eventually the day came, one of confrontation and starfall. After years of service, she'd done it. Joumei had tracked down the miserable wasted of breath that had robbed her, and had the chance to put her blade to its throat. She sharpened it to a razor's edge, steeled her will, and set off. What she found lit an even greater fire in her chest than she'd anticipated. The monster of her nightmares was not hiding in the shadows. It had instead taken her place. Her home. The stage. She'd later learn that it had been a performer in its human life, but that mattered little. In the moment, she was consumed. Not by a Demon, but by herself.

Rage. Fury. Anguish. Hatred. Her blade danced through everything, blinded by emotion. Her vision turned to a crimson red, deeper and darker than any she'd seen before, and she cut down everything in her wake. She swung it to a fro, a strength that should've been impossible for her frail body to possess overcoming her and driving her forward like some sort of woman-shaped natural disaster.

By the time she come to, she stood in an ocean of blood, and not a drop of it belonged to her prey. It wasn't like it didn't make sense. Despite her success and despite her hubris, she'd never been a lone warrior. Her victories were won with allies at her side, and it seemed that was for even more reasons than she'd thought. In the eyes of the public, the Hashira, and her comrades, she had become nothing more than a mass murderer. What awaited her could barely even be called a trial, before she was shackled, tossed into some forgettable cell, and left to rot.

Nichirin Blade:
Purple Uchikatana - Traditionally, the Nichirin Blade of a Breath of the Stage users has a pair of modifications made to its hilt. A 'clapping' mechanism is first built within its base, which to sound out with a resounding crack when the blade is swung correctly. As well as this, a long, fluttering cloth is attached to the upper end of the hilt. It is generally tied around the wielder's wrist.

Other Tools:

• Iron Fan - A sturdy fan made up out of shield-grade iron. Surprisingly light and elegant, it is a tool of defense rather than attack, employed within the Breath of the Stage to supplement the user's parries and blocks.
• Perfumed Cloth - The cloth wrapped around the Stage User's Nichirin Blade. It serves two purposes the first is to properly secure the blade in the users hands and allow them to perform additional maneuvers with the blade. The second is to be soaked in demon-poison, which can be used to disable or disorient the user's foes.

Breathing Style:
Breath of the Stage - A breathing style for the weak of body. Breath of the Stage was originally developed by a Water Breathing user whose encounter with a Demon went awry, the escaped with their life, but in exchange they were physically crippled for life. Still wanting to take to the front lines and defend humanity, they developed the Breath of the Stage and then returned to service. It is a Style even more heavily rooted in technique than most, employing impossibly complex and precise movements in order to compensate for the user's lack of physical ability. Even then, it primarily functions as a 'support' style, serving to control the battlefield and lead its allies to victory. It is found sorely lacking as a style for dueling, making its use into something only employed by the desperate and foolish.

Acts (Forms):

• First Act, Geezer's Blessing - The first, and original form of Breath of the Stage. Geezer's Blessing is based on a strike from the Water Breathing Style, and consists of three rotating strikes, each one growing more powerful than the last. It is the most aggressive stroke in the Stage Breather's moveset, and was born in a time when the purpose of the stance was muddied and unclear. At this point, it most remains as a thing of antiquity and tradition.
• Second Act, Possession Dance - A countering stance in which the user allows themselves to become 'possessed' by their blade, allowing it to dance in response to enemy strikes, weaving the wielder's body past them and countering with its own. In truth, this is merely a form of ritualistic hyper-focus, meant to clear the user's mind at the start of or in the thick of battle.
• Third Act, Boke To Tsukkomi - A fast, repeating slash. The first movement of Boke To Tsukkomi is a light strike, intended to lower the opponent's guard, while the second uses the entirety of the swordswoman's body weight, amplifying the blow several times in comparison to the first strike.
• Fourth Act, Fan of Guardian Blades: First Face- A defensive slash executed from a crouching position. Slow and meandering, but almost fluid in its movements. Despite its broad slash, it never seems to come into conflict with the movements of the user's allies.
  • Fourth Act, Fan of Guardian Blades: Second Face - When an enemy attack enters the territory of First Face, the blade accelerates and moves to deflect it. The blow becomes like a crashing tide, forcing the attack off of its proper path. Correct usage of Fan of the Guardian Blades requires proper leverage, so it is best performed from a stationary position.
• Fifth Act, Unseen Hand - A supporting stance that follows along with the advance of an ally. Guides the blade of allies, while using the swordwoman's body to block off the advance of enemy attacks, in contrast to the First Form, it uses the momentum of the user's movement to fuel its defense, rather than leverage.
• Sixth Act, Puppet on Strings - A strike which requires the user to contort their body in all manner of unnatural ways. Puppet on Strings, is in practice, a fairly basic strike. However, using an unnatural flexibility developed through years of practice, the swordswoman is able to twist their body in order to deliver a strike much lower and much swifter than what should be possible for the human body to endure.
• Seventh Act, Brilliant Intermission - Brilliant Intermission employs the bulk of the swordman's force to deliver a heavy blow that tears through the air, and triggers the blade's clapping mechanism. However, as Stage users are generally physically lacking, Brilliant Intermission's true purpose is to draw the enemy's focus with its sweeping movements and bold sounds, pulling their attention away from allies and creating an opening. Brilliant Intermission also leaves the user in a position that can easily be transformed into the other forms of the Breath of the Stage.
• Eighth Act, Phantom Blade - A trick strike. In Phantom Blade, the swordswoman's blade bobs and weaves in an indecipherable pattern of movements, snaking out for a deadly, undetected strike from within its depths. Each flick of the blade also triggers the hilt's clapping mechanism, further contributing to the chaos. It is said that, when truly mastered, it appears as if the user performs fourty-seven feints within an impossibly short span of time, their true strike perfectly hidden until it is too late. An unavoidable blow.

Misc:

• In battle Joumei wears a White Onna-Kei Mask, and paints her skin white to match.

Theme Song:

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[Rantos]

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Name
Moku no Motokiyo

Callsign
Buruburu

Age
24

Background
The performance will rage on. The dancers will keep the stage warm so long as their steps never end. In your costumes aplenty and your masks near-infinite, keep the dialog going. And as one performance ends, let another start in its wake.
When the curtains fall, you don't have to fall with them.

A life of exhaustion. Of sweat and dry throats, of sore feet and blistering hands. It was the life she knew, and it was kind to her. Moku had been born on the stage, quite literally. She had made a mess of it upon taking her first breath and did so again with each breath recurring. Even when she was young she held a fan as a geisha did. She used her legs as if all the world was a kabuki. She wore her smile as the noh kitsune did. She held the sword as her father taught.

A master of the performance himself, Moku's father acted on stages under the sun, stages lit by moonlight. On both, he was equally heroic. He was part of the family that had long created the demon-slaying art, Breath of the Performance. In turn, that had meant Moku was born into that very same family. It was no secret to Moku as she grew up, the nightly performance her father played a grand role in, a role that would soon be hers. She was told of the demons, witnessed their story told through theatrics, witnessed their masks fall to the blade on stage. She imaged herself on the stage, with the role of a Demon Slayer. Not because she had looked forward to such a fate. But because such a fate was all she knew. The bakers and the coal miners, the textile shops and the deaf hands within. Never did Moku even consider her freedom to pick such a path for herself.

She stuck to the stage. She studied the pages filled with fantasy. She stuck to the blade. She studied their wells soon to pool with blood. She watched her father on the stage, she watched him strike down demonic actor after demonic actor. Beautiful. Gorgeous footwork, immaculate swordplay, set to a backdrop of red that twinkled in the dark. Like stars in the night, a red viscous cosmos with every slash. She watched, she listened, she learned. She performed.

The lessons she had taken close to heart, the cynical words of her father. Words befitting of his Breath. His Breath spoke of survival, of elimination, of death. His Breath spoke of weakness, the chains that they had long since abandoned. His Breath, it spoke so fondly of a solo performance, one where only one has to be standing when the curtain closes. The lessons Moku took with her into the performance of the night for her first time.

A mountain of green and red. Brown earth, crimson streams bleeding down Fujikasane as Moku made her way to the peek. Mangled malice and fading ash made up the backdrop for a quick, and uneventful seven-day performance.

Days passed, not long now, and Moku found herself within the woods, an elimination mission with slayers just as green as the foliage that surrounded them. Just as green as her. Panic breaths chased by ragged Breathing. A demon forced by cowardice, forced by fear, it ran. However far it ran, its trail of broken sticks, of blood and the sound of heavy rain that escaped from its eye, illuminated the trail. And as the performance entered its final act a trembling eye watched the pack come from the bushes. Surrounded at all sides, a still breathed demon saw gaze after gaze, each and everyone aimed for his neck. A slayer advanced alone. A quick exchange, a sword hitting the ground, a hostage was taken, a human shield formed. Moku advanced. Trembling, trembling, gibbering demands through chattering teeth, the demon wanted out, the demon wanted freedom, the demon wanted a trade. Moku advanced. Sudden sunken claws, a screaming Slayer. The demon made demands, through tears and screaming, as the two begged for their lives.

"Thank you for everything you have done, Takana."

Mission successful.

Tremble, tremble. They all trembled. Wordlessly, silently, some lost their ability to stand. The performance was over. There was no ovation, nor cries for an encore. The audience was brought to tears all the same, helpless before the actor as her curtain fell. Viscous red velvet that spurted like a fountain. Spurt, spurt. Until the well ran dry. The performance was over, yet try as she might, Moku couldn't leave the stage. She could only stare blankly at the two masks that fell before her. The mask of a demon, and the mask of a slayer. She too, trembled.

Breath Style
- Breath of the Performance - A Breath that was inspired a great deal by the Breath of the Stage style. A style borne from a need for innovation, or perhaps a wish of selfishness. Like Stage Breathing, Breath of the Performance takes inspiration from the plays and stories of the generations past and present. This is where most similarities between the two are killed. Breath of the Performance is a more aggressive style that focuses on single-minded elimination. The forms center themselves around exploiting enemy weakness or creating and capitalizing upon an opening by any means. The purpose is to kill the demon. As such, the form is not made for working with others. The grandiose nature of each swing leaves no room for another to join the dance. In this regard Breath of the Performance can often be seen as a selfish style as its only role is that of center stage. The point of the breath is to ensure when the Performance is over your story continues. The responsibility of the story of others is none of your concern. When the curtains fall, you don't have to fall with Them.

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Performances​

- Kanadehon Chūshingura - Let rage be the lead, guide the feet, the arms, the sword, dance in fury. The user engages the enemy with furious slashes, one each in honor of the 47 ronin of legend. The strikes in this form as sequential, they may not be done out of order due to the technical nature of the dance so being interrupted requires starting again. The form may continue if blocked and to a lesser extent parried because of the flowing centripetal nature of each hit. The dance crescendos all to one final hit meant to be delivered with all the user's strength and the added kinetic force. Such a hit is a gambit as it was made to be a finishing blow, there is no followup, nor retreat action, leaving the user open for a graceful death if the final hit fails. "...at least then, I meet my end knowing I did all I could."​

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- Shinjūten no Amijima - Draw upon the feelings of intensity, desire for blood, for revenge. The user takes a stance and stills mind, body, breath, awaiting an attack from the opposition. The user takes advantage of the blind spot created the moment the hit connects, a perfect counter. Because the form takes advantage of the opening created by landing a hit, the user must naturally take damage. Even the strongest of followthroughs still become susceptible to this form. "Though we may not be equal in life, allow us to meet eye to eye at the Sanzu."​

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- Aya no Tsugumi - Recall the solemn days, sadness that rings empty. A simple form consisting of one, often decisive, strike. The single attack that comes in the form of an overhead or a wide horizontal swipe. Large motions that mimic that of a hitting a taiko drum. Yet ever quiet, exerting complete control and precision over the self, even as the strike connects the entire form is silent completely. It can be used repeatedly but requires the user to take the starting stance after each strike. A solemn, silent dance. "The drum itself was silent, and I caught on all too late as to why that was."​

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- Shibiri - And give to them a simple gift, one of dirt and dust, let them return to ash. A dirty form derived from the less than traditional ways of the Kyogen. The user delivers a debilitating strike with dirt, sand, dust, blood, anything on hand that can blind. Aim for the eyes, cause the enemy to blink or to blind, and in the same motion under the cover created with such a dirty tactic the user strikes the enemy's forehead with the hilt. A double debilitating move that should leave an enemy stunned for any form of followup. "It's a home remedy. Dust on the forehead. Tap on the forehead. And so long pain."​

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- Banchō - To lie is to use the love language of monsters, so speak romantically. Utilizing the clapper mechanism within the handle the user telegraphs their attack with a noise. A clap, then a slash, a clap, then a slash. This rhythm is continued for nine slashes, until the enemy starts reacting to the noise, not the attack. On the tenth clap, the user delays their attack, baiting the enemy into an early block or hasty attack. Such a faux pas can prove fatal, that opportunity is what this form aims for. In a sense, a light form of hypnotic suggestion is used, and the more focused the target the more suspectable they become. "It was the final count that took my breath away, and I could not tell if that shill scream was her's, or my own."​

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- Senbon Zakura - As anxiety creeps and trills, fill them to the brim with dread, and end the performance. A distracting form, not used to attack directly. The user takes a fairly open stance and begins to tremble. Twist the wrists, bend the fingers, buckle the knees, and bob the head. Engage in all manner of puppet-like motions. All the while the clapper screams. The point is to fill the enemy with dread and uncertainty, put on a confusing show, and in the moment of hesitation, strike true. However, such a maneuver is often seen through when performed twice. Older forms would also employ a sudden rain of Sakura petals hidden within the sleeves. "Among the clicking and twanging of the puppets, I feel at home. Could it be that I myself have become..."​

Nichirin Blade
The Nichirin blade of Breath of Performance users takes great inspiration from the blade of its derivative Breath. The clapping mechanism that is found on the blade of Breath of the Stage users is still found here, if not changed to have a more sensitive activation and an option to muffle the sound completely. No cloth tying the blade to the user is present. The blades of Breath of Performance are also often made to be longer. Increasing the user's effective kill range is the goal behind this change. Making them closer in reference to a Ōdachi. Moku's is Deep opal blue in color.

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

There are a number of common ways for ikiryō to appear: during a near-death-experience, fainting, intense passion or desire, intense hatred, or even as part of a curse. Ikiryō most commonly appears due to some intense emotion or trauma, and the owner of the soul is almost always unaware of the ikiryō’s existence. This can lead to some very awkward situations and misunderstandings. Full Name: Minato Sukune
Callsign: Ikiryo
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Minato stands the way a noble does, how he carries himself before the tragic events in his life. His fair skin a contrast to his raven hair, that flows to his shins, especially with his height of 5' 10". A part of his hair is braided, and mostly you'd see him tie it into a ponytail with difficulty. Both his fingers and palms are very calloused from using swords at a young age. From the lack of sleep and anxiety, dark circles under his eyes grow bigger each year. His body is well built, a lean body trained to its peak where he can utilize his strength. He presents himself under the guise of his old self when in truth his inability to distinguish reality and dreams have taken a toll on his calm nerves afraid of repeating the same mistake he made more than once. Still, his face still has its merits, people, mostly women, swoon for his sharp gaze, electric blue eyes, and a devilish smirk

Backstory:
Born to a noble family and a long line of Demon Slayers, Minato was born as the third son to a family of seven. He has an identical twin brother named Hirofumi who he never seemed to have gotten along well for all sixteen years they have known each other. Despite the constant bickering of the two they lived their life well, even if the family was heavily focused on training their children and taught hard work and discipline at an early age. Instilling ideals of chivalry and honor to the young ones. Of the two twins, Minato lacked the ability to learn quickly like his prodigy of a brother to which he envied for a lot.

The time came where they embarked on their Final Selection exam when they were fourteen. He didn't like the idea of being his Hirofumi's shadow so he took off in the opposite direction with the intention of being able to tale a victory of his own. After two days, Minato found himself with a group of Demon Slayers. Initially, he didn't want to accompany them but after sharing the experience of fighting a few demons who surrounded them he found it quite nice to be with a group rather than alone. His though often drifted to his twin which he hasn't seen until days later where they were attacked by a demon who ate previous candidates.

The demon was daunting, Minato felt fear that he never expected. He watched his newfound friends get torn apart while he stood by like a tree. He wanted to fight, he wanted to help but his feet wouldn't move. Had it not been for a blade much like his own, he would have been as dead as the late group he'd come to appreciate. His brother saved him. He resented the fact that Hirofumi had to save him but he was also eternally grateful. The trial was almost at an end, the two were on their way back when they both failed to notice the demons lurking in the shadows. They were outnumbered but they fought with all they can. It ended with Minato semi-conscious with broken bones and a heavily injured, mortally wounded, Hirofumi dragging him back to the entrance.

Minato came back home in bandages and the news of his twin's death. Saddened, Hirofumi was to be the next leader of the house and their father was polishing him to become a Hashira but all that was left of him was his blade. He saw everything as his fault, if he hadn't froze the others would have been alive, if he had been better his brother would have been alive. The scenes repeat in his dreams at night and in the day his father and sister look at him with slight disdain and disappointment as years pass by. His mother, whoever, was the same loving and caring woman she had always been. She was carrying another pair of twins in her stomach. Another pair of siblings who would one day be better than him, he hated himself for thinking that way.

He was seventeen when he and his family were given a mission to embark to the north, they left his mother with a relative who would take care of her while she is in her sixth month of pregnancy. The trio had gotten to their destination after three days and they did not expect to be fighting Muzan himself, although none of them knew that. It ended with both his father and sister slaughtered as they ask for help, screaming, it was haunting. When he saw Muzan, he felt like the world had gone slow but he was slower. Every time he tried to land a hit Muzan would evade, he was desperate to avenge his family or die with them if he had too. But the demon left and soon other units came to their aid but all was too late.

He wanted to disappear, Madoka had gone from loving mother to a hysterical widow. Shock was apparent, she blamed her living son for what happened. A complete turn of personality. The death of her husband and daughter had led to her giving an early birth, a critical condition. Madoka died and so did one of the twins. The baby was given to a relative after the burial. The trauma of watching others die, the guilt of surviving, and the stress of people dying around him has definitely taken a toll on his mental state. He won't admit but he had actually seen his father and sister edging him on. He could ignore them at first but as day pass by it becomes harder and harder.

After two months of loneliness, people started checking in on him. Relatives, friends, fellow demon slayer. They all died within the walls of the Sukune mansion. For every person that came was replaced with the face of a demon, Matsuoka, and Akihito telling him to avenge them. Kill the demon and so he did. Only when they stopped bleeding did he realized that they weren't demons but people he knew.

Nichirin Blades:
Midnight Blue Dual Chokuto Blades - two single-edged straight blades that are 10cm longer than a katana. The blades can connect at each end.

Other Tools:

• Small needles - needles coated with Wisteria poison, good for stunning demons.

Breathing Style:
Breath of Shadow
The technique mainly focuses on making the target suffer from sequential attacks. It's all about knowing the perfect time to strike while evading and blocking an enemy's attack, oftentimes it centers around more on evasion than it does about blocking. It also makes use of its surroundings to its advantage, blending into the shadows, hiding and then suddenly striking. More on sneaking about than attacking head-on. The fighting consists of slashing and thrusting with the aims of delivering quick and impactful strikes.

• First Form : Flickering Light

The use of speed to quickly appear, thrusting their sword at any vital part of the body, and disappear. The technique can be used in six to eight quick in succession or at an interval. It's meant to confuse the demon with the sudden change of position and quick stabs.

• Second Form : Swirling Shadow

The blade(s) is held tightly as the swordsman spins around the enemies, slicing from the legs to the neck in the same position. The technique requires practice in spinning without spilling out your lunch! This is meant for when enemies gang up on the user, but can also be used for an individual target.

• Third Form : Heavy Atmosphere

Sneaks up from the back and does five continuous powerful slashes before slicing the neck like a scissor cutting paper. When using only one sword, just one clean horizontal slice is enough.

• Fourth Form : Crossing Darkness

Thrust blades into the target's eyes and immediately do two swift cross slash, vertically and horizontally. Blinds the target to prevent them from attacking further, the technique is quite a cowardly way to fight but the disability helps to get the upper hand in the fight.

• Fifth Form : Biting Chill

The technique is used in an attempt to attack the target from behind with a quick straight upward slash before beheading with a cross slash. The cool blades slice the skin the way people get piloerection.

• Sixth Form : Eclipse

Attacks from up above with the clear intention of decapitating the head with one clean slice. They jump to the highest point that they can, and shadowing the target from the source of light, if there is one, like how the moon blocks the sun and slice their blade vertically with the end of their sword. The only form that aims to immediately execute a demon and cannot be used indoors unless the ceiling is very high.

Misc:

 

[AllHailDago]

Name:
Gen Ota

Callsign:
Yūrei

Age: 28

Height: 8'6" (260 cm~)

Weight: 507 lbs (229.97 kg)

Appearance:

Background:
Gen was born abnormally large, and the strain of this led to his mother's death during childbirth. As such his father and older siblings came to resent him. He was quickly considered a burden due to the sheer costs of feeding him, and was promptly abandoned in front of an orphanage in a rural village. Taken in by the genuinely kind owner, he was initially raised in here until he was nine years old.

It was then that the orphanage received a most unusual guest. A retired demon slayer seeking to adopt a child to be his successor. Upon seeing the children he was in awe of the towering youth that was Gen, who at nine years old already stood on par with him at five feet eight inches and seemed to have musculature well beyond his years. Yet the boy seemed to have a gentle nature when interacting with objects and the other children. The Slayer decided immediately that Gen would be perfect, and adopted him on the spot.

Gen was delighted to be adopted, even if he was a little nervous about his father being an ex-demon slayer. He moved with him to his home in a mountain forest. It was here the man told him he could teach him to use his strength and size to protect people his nervousness vanished. Unfortunately things didn't progress smoothly. His father's techniques were precise and smooth, results of his Breath of the Willows style which had been passed down for generations. The strikes were meant to be very clean and Gen, who seemed to continue to grow and had less control of his own strength in the years to come, couldn't match the fluid movements of his father.

His father seemed to act more distant and more controlling as his failures continued. Eventually he gave up trying to teach his direct style to Gen, and instead taught him only basic forms and techniques. He would watch Gen's own versions of them and helped him tweak them to match his own physical .... predispositions. When he would fail to follow instructions he would not eat. When he failed to come to practice he would not be allowed to remain inside. His father became more controlling with each passing day, and began refusing to respond to anything other than Master.

Gen would listen and follow along, not out of fear of punishment, but out of fear of abandonment. The training was grueling, but he hoped that when he completed it his father would go back to what he was like when first he adopted him. So time passed and before he knew it he had turned thirteen. Now towering over his own father at the upper end of six feet tall, Gen was prepared to attend his Demon Hunter Entrance Exam.

Used to being only in the presence of his father Gen was shy and did not communicate with other youths who attended. They seemed no more ready to talk to him either, intimidated by the young man that dwarfed even the tallest person any of them had seen. When the exams began the others avoided him, and Gen tried his best to leave the others be. Yet he crossed paths numerous times with others in the midst of combat with demons.

Gen had no qualms killing the demons, as his father had shown him many pictures both of them and their victims. Yet when he came across the first fellow applicant who had been killed by demons, he was shocked and sickened by the display of real gore. He couldn't process the sorrow or fear, both instead defaulting to anger for the first time in his life. He used these feelings and went on a rampage across the exam grounds, killing any demon he could get his hands on. To the fear of both demons and his fellow students, he actually tore some apart barehanded before using the sword borrowed from his father to finish them off.

As the exam came to a close he found himself welcomed to the Corps, but he sensed unrest even from the adults there. The only person who seemed unperturbed was an odd masked man who he later learned was the Corps' blacksmith. Said man only seemed excited at the prospect of an unusual sword project.

Gen returned home to his father, gleeful in his triumph even though the bloodshed weighed on his mind. He was sure his success would return his father to his kind original state. Alas instead he found his father to only respond that it was to be expected. In fact his father had pulled some strings and was to come out of retirement to travel with Gen. While not the happy reunion Gen wanted, he felt that traveling with his father would be pleasant. He hadn't gone away with him since he was first brought home. The years to come taught him otherwise.

Seven years. For seven years Gen traveled with his father. For seven years he defended him, fought for him, and killed more than Gen ever wanted or thought he could. Many of the killings felt wrong, but his father pushed him and pushed him. Seven years his father took the credit for every kill, every success. For seven years his father never used his sword. Until the day he tried to force Gen to kill a recently turned child. Gen could not and would not harm them, sure that there must be some way, some past example of reversing demonification in early victims.

His father did what Gen never would have expected, and struck him across the face with the sheathe of his sword before dispatching the child himself. He told Gen, who was still in shock, that he was not to speak back again. He would do as he was told, kill as he was told, and die when he was told. His Master shared with him the truth of his adoption that night. He was never his son. Never his protege. He was simply a strong, stupid tool meant to return him to his glory days, and that was all he would be until the day he died.

Betrayed and terrified of the monster his Master revealed himself as, Gen waited until he was asleep that night and killed him. Crushing his skull in with the flat of his massive sword. Gen then immediately reported to the nearest Slayer Outpost and turned himself in, feeling exactly as monstrous as the public had perceived him. Shortly after his sentencing and imprisonment he was transferred to a new, specialized prison meant for heinous crimes committed by slayers. It is here has remained for the past eight years, reflecting on the myriad dark acts his father had him commit that he had previously reasoned away out of denial.

Breath Style:
Breath of the Oak. This style, derived from Gen's masters, is considered rather simplistic. Yet due to it's needing massive power and size, it's not a technique one could easily copy. The vast majority of it's techniques cover wide areas and work as well as defense techniques as they do offense. Most of the attacks in this style involve smacking someone with the flat of the sword.

Branches(Forms):

First Branch: Timber Crush
A simple overhead strike with the flat of Gen's sword. While the initial lift seems somewhat sluggish, the swing downwards has shocked many with it's crushing speed and power.

Second Branch: Windblown Leaves
A more defensive technique in nature, Gen slams his blade firmly in the ground at an angle and spins, tearing up earth and dirt. This technique can both blind and confuse via debris, or knock back approaching groups of enemies.

Third Branch: Oaken Will

A primarily defensive technique, Gen sets the first foot or so of his sword directly into the ground and braces his full weight behind it to receive an expected blow.

Fourth Branch: Forest's Return

Meant to be a disarming counter, Gen had accidentally broken his fair share of limbs with this technique. Placing one hand on the flat of his sword, Gen catches a strike along the opposite side before twisting his sword up to the hilt of the opponents and pressing forward to rotate their weapon away from himself.

Fifth Branch: Wrath of the Wood

The only true "kill strike" in Gen's style. A simple forward lunge with all the power he can muster behind it focused into the only sharp part of his sword, the very tip.

Nichirin Blade:
Six and a half feet in length, and a foot and a half wide, Gen's sword has continually been sized up over the years as he continued to grow until it reached this final size at age 19. The edge of the sword is greatly blunted as Gen only tended to use it to cut through objects such as trees and walls. The sword is incredibly heavy and thick, the majority of it's weight bearing down on the flat of each side. These are geatly reinforced to allow Gen's style to work without risk of breaking his sword. Upon receiving his sword it turned a deep green color, though he has no idea what this means.

Misc.:
- Gen can neither read nor write.

- Every technique in his style was named by another person.

 

[simj26]

Shikigami

Murasaki Kyohei III

The Narrator​

Age:
28

Appearance:
A gaunt, pale man. He has a particularly striking appearance, with eyes like that of a cat's and sharp, almost feminine features. He stands at about 5'8" in height, and has a fairly slender frame that betrays his actual prowess as a swordsman. His most 'unique' trait in his appearance, if it can even be called that, is his strange, angular sideburns that spike out at 90 degrees. Even though he is disgraced and stripped of his title as a Slayer, he seems to prefer wearing the characteristic black uniform they wear, complete with a peaked cap.

Background:
Unlike most others in Kageyama Penitentiary, Shikigami was not imprisoned for crimes against his own kind. A writer foremost, and a Slayer second, while he acted on his duties as a Slayer, he would pen down tabloid articles to be published and distributed. Having studied under his father, Murasaki Kyohei II, who was just as eccentric, his prowess with a pen was just as skillful as his ability with a sword. However, his writings weren't always too innocent. A shrewd mind like his found a way to cash in on stories that attracted the attention of the masses- drawing out rumors and putting them on paper. This was his ultimate undoing. Much of his articles' content have caused a stir amongst nobility, and when he finally went for the one man he shouldn't have, it was the metaphorical straw on the metaphorical camel's back. This man was the emperor himself. Revealing what could only be the scandal of the decade, his papers were swiftly impounded and subsequently burned, and he was arrested for libel and treason. Out of misplaced fear of this man's influence (though he had none), Shikigami was sent to Kageyama Penitentiary. With nothing much to do within the four walls of his cell, he writes haiku that pop into his head when he has the inspiration.

Little did he know that he would soon find inspiration for an epic within these very walls of Kageyama.

Breath Style:
Breath of the Clear Sky
A style that focuses on clean and quick cuts. It is practical and has little flash or style to it, instead relying on smooth, and easy movements. It is particularly built around the concepts of iaijutsu. Its name derives from the fact that to utilise this style to its greatest potential, one must let no hesitation or doubt cloud their mind before every strike. Though there are seven forms in total, Shikigami has only mastered three.

Forms/Stances/etc:
First Form: Cutting Through Clouds:
The clear skies that lie / Beyond the vast unseen white / Cut through and behold
The basis of Breath of Clear Sky that everything else is built off on. A single, quick cut aimed at the head. This form is almost always executed from a sheathed sword and a ready position. It comes out extremely quickly, and trained practitioners have been noted to be able to cut water itself without anyone ever seeing the blade move. Cutting Through Clouds is always used to ensure that the demon suffers as little as possible, killing them as instantaneously as possible.

Sixth Form: Dark Blue
The dark blue lingers / Never-ending above us / Cut through and behold
A form that seemingly reflects any damage back to the opponent. It is multi-pronged in its use, being able to snuff out fire, deflect physical blows and counter immediately, and even reflect lightning itself. The form's actual execution is simple on paper- it relies on varied circular movements to absorb an element, then with a singular slash, banish it forwards, at a target.

Seventh Form: Clear Skies
Cut through and behold / The new world that lies beyond / The limitless skies
The final form of Breath of Clear Sky. While most practitioners require learning all six previous forms to master the seventh, Shikigami is an outlier due to his astounding laziness, being able to access the seventh through what can only be assumed to be stubbornness. It is the logical conclusion of Cutting Through Clouds- if you can cut once that quickly, then why not cut many times, just as fast? Clear Skies is an attack that seemingly creates a flurry of slashes around the Slayer in the blink of an eye. Due to its inaccuracy, it takes some luck to actually kill a demon, but the damage it can do is crippling. The fact that it comes out at high speeds and randomly makes it hard to defend against. However, this technique runs the risk of damaging the sword.

Nichirin Blade:
A bog-standard katana with a black, unmarked sheathe, and a black hilt. It has no unique guard either. Its blade is bright green in color.

Misc.:

 

[Reinhardt]

Name: Minamoto Miyuki
Callsign: Kitsune
Age: 26

Spoiler: Background

Nameless. Useless. Worthless.

That was what she used to be before she was taken in by the Minamoto household, and given the name Miyuki. Under their care she was groomed and raised not as a lady, but as a retainer - for a true descendant of their blood.

This descendant was Miyuki's companion since her renewed childhood, an irreplaceable friend, and an important person to her. After having demons attack their household in the middle of the night, with the two of them miraculously surviving through the ordeal until demon slayers arrived to rescue them from such a tragedy, Miyuki had no hesitation becoming a demon slayer to ensure her friend's safety. Even though it meant that they would have to be separated - with her traveling all over the land as her friend awaits in a secured location.

As long as they were safe, Miyuki would continue. She would take on the very world itself if needed be.

Until that one night.

She was called to hunt down a demon in a faraway village, where numerous people, including demon slayers, have been killed mercilessly and feasted upon as if they were livestock. The sight of the bloodstained streets and the scattered corpses, or at least what's left of them, was enough to make her stomach churn - whoever did this clearly no longer had any semblance of humanity in them. The deeper she went into the town, the worse the place looked.

And eventually she found the source of this carnage - the demon that was once her treasured friend, now feasting upon the corpse of what seems to be a defeated demon slayer.

Paralyzed in shock, she could not speak. She could not move. She stood there as the demon continued to consume.

However, she was not the only one sent to that location, many more of her demon-slaying comrades were as well. As one came to her location and saw the demon, he did not hesitate to strike. But he failed. In the blink of an eye, before he could even reach the tip of his sword to the demon's hair, he was cut in half...

...by Miyuki herself.

Instinct. After years of being a retainer it was nothing but nature for her to protect her friend from threats. Or at least, that was what she thought.

But as the night went on, Miyuki kept on killing her fellow comrades that dared to strike the demon. There were some who escaped this twisted fate, though they did not leave unscathed. Eventually, the demon pounced Miyuki, and even though she had no intention to do so, she blocked the attack as she was being pinned down. After moments of struggle between the two, Miyuki managed to turn the tides around and pin the demon down. It was then that it dawned onto her that she was doing this because she wanted to, not because it was her instinct. Even if her friend was long gone, and what lay before her was an empty husk, she still wanted more time with them.

The two remained at a standstill, until dawn came. And as the demon slowly burned to nothingness, it spoke her name. Once again, Miyuki became paralyzed, as tears began to flow down from her face - her gaze fixated on the tattered clothes that were now the only proof of her friend's existence.

It was not soon when another batch of demon slayers came with the other ones that escaped, and brought her back to be put to trial.

It was decided that the demon had some kind of bewitching ability, akin to those fox spirits in many tales, that made Miyuki do what she did. Whether this was true or not was never confirmed, as Miyuki's mouth remained shut the entire time.

Once the trial was done, she was sent to spend the rest of her life in prison, as payment for the lives of those that she had taken. Or at least, that was until...

Breath Style:
Breath of Winter

- A breath style that mimics the unrelenting and unforgiving nature of the cold weather, mostly focusing on taking control of the flow of combat either by making abrupt changes in ones movements, or by continuously pushing onward with innumerable blows. Compared to the Breath of Flames, where it is derived from, this breath style seems to employ one's inner savagery rather than the usage of precision and skill.​

Spoiler: Forms

First Form: Frostbite

- A swift strike thrown with unrestrained force. Often times used to maim or disable a target, with the technique's capability of breaking apart things with a single, focused strike.​

Second Form: Snowfall

- Three to six downward swings done in quick succession, with the user taking a varying number of rushed steps forward for each swing. A great gap-closing tool.​

Third Form: Cold Snap

- A sudden rotational upward slash by doing a quick twisting step, followed by a swift smack using the back of one's blade.​

Fourth Form: Frigid Spell

- The creation of an afterimage by a sudden burst of speed in one's movements, mostly used to evade hits and to make room for surprise attacks.​

Fifth Form: Hailstorm

- Numerous rapid strikes and thrusts that are thrown one after another, leaving no room for the target to escape or retaliate.​

Sixth Form: Avalanche

- An overhead slash that is done in mid air, using the momentum of one's movement and the weight of gravity to strengthen the blow. It is commonly used to break through "impenetrable" defenses.​

Seventh Form: Absolute Zero

- A single, twisting blow released with full, unrestrained force, usually aimed at the heart, the neck, or the head. It often leaves numerous skid marks around the target, as if a large drill has ran through.​

Nichirin Blade: A rather ordinary katana, with a dark gray hilt, a basic guard, and a sheath of the same standard. Its sleek, pure white blade betrays this simplistic theme, however.

 

[soggyparadise]

Name: Hibiki Kobayashi (Meaning Small forest Echo)

Callsign: Tenome


Age: 21 years old


Appearance: Hibiki Appearance- Hibiki is a handsome young man, standing at about 5’7-5’8. He certainly has the makings of a heartthrob however when he opens his eyes and people see his pale, unseeing gaze any interest is quickly snuffed out. He wears his green hair in a long ponytail that reaching down to his lower back however often lets it become a mess due to his lack of sight, and therefore lack of interest in maintaining an appearance he can’t see. However if someone else helps him tend to his hair he’d try to keep it relatively nice to make their job easier. He’ll never admit it but he likes the feeling of looking good, he just wouldn’t put much effort into it himself.

As for build he has a lean but muscular frame, suitable for running and repetitive short attacks, not so much for powerful deciding moves.


Tenome Appearance- “Tenome takes the appearance of an elderly zato, a kind of blind guildsman. Its face has no eyes at all; instead, it has eyes on the palms of its hands.”

Background:
Act I

Hibiki was born to an unknown woman who is assumed to have been too poor to be able to take care of a child, let alone one who was born with a defect such as him. After all raising a blind child would have been quite the task and even after he’d grown quite a bit it was unlikely he’d be able to effectively help make money for the home or even help with chores. Thus on a cold December night the merely week old infant was abandoned on the doorstep of a monastery which often took in young children from the surrounding towns and villages whose parents had either died or left them.
And there he stayed. And there he grew. For ten years he lived among the monks and other children, meditating and learning. For despite his impairments the people of the monastery still saw it fit to teach him, even acquiring a few cherished books in braille which the boy, now named simply Hibiki (After his habit of making noise after anyone would speak near him as a baby) taught himself to read. All in all it was a peaceful childhood, the monks did not tolerate other children picking on him for his disability, and he learned to use a walking stick, at first simply using it to feel around his surroundings but soon the tapping sound of it hitting the ground mixed with his focus on his meditation seemed to change something. His hearing improved, slowly at first but soon the sound he made with his cane painted an image of his surroundings. By the time he was seven he was running around with the other children, playing games akin to marco polo, which his heightened sense of hearing made him almost impossible to beat in.
The quality of life he’d made for himself was considered a miracle in a time where the blind were left to beg on the street and his path in life seemed clear. He’d become a monk just like the others and spend his days out in peace, eventually helping more abandoned children just like himself.
That was at least until one fateful night.
It was a frigid day in mid january, alternating freezing rain and hail taking turns to fall atop the roof of the monastery. Most of the younger children had been put to sleep already, which included most all of them under the age of 8. Meanwhile the older kids had been given a bit of free time, some reading peacefully or coloring at the table in the small room that housed most of the things the children could play with or use. However the main attraction it seemed was Hibiki himself, having just turned ten the month prior he seemed to be booming with a new sense of confidence as though he was finally growing into his own skin. And at the moment he had about six other children gathered around as he told a made up tale with such vigor that it almost appeared real. A story of demons and the heroes who fought them! The fairytale book he’d received for his birthday had told him more than enough to get his creativity flows and as his fingers dragged over the bumps on the page he grinned excitedly, adding embellishments sure to get the other’s all riled up.
However right before he got to the climax of the story they heard screams- not of joy or anger but of pure terror, something the kids had not experienced before during their time at the peaceful mountain monastery. But even if this tone was foreign to them, sometimes you just know when something is wrong. Before a monk could even come in the room, staff in hand, Hibiki and the older children were already trying to find hiding places for the others. But they weren’t nearly quick enough nor would have it hardly mattered. Moments after hearing the screams from the guards outside came the screams from the large room lined with the futons that were filled with the youngest children. Hibiki could hear them so clearly- every voice was so easy to place. And before he could even regain focus on his current task they were upon the room. Four- no five beings. Whatever they were he couldn’t call them human. Every sound that came from them was that of a monster and as the screams of others in the room filled his ears he collapsed to the floor, hands over his head.
When the room finally fell silent save for the dripping noise of warm blood as it covered the walls and even hibiki himself he finally raised his head once more, a shuddering breath escaping him only to get caught in his throat as a clawed hand pulled him up by his long hair.
“Only one little brat left?” A voice hissed in his ear, as he struggled against his grasp, hitting his calloused hand.
Another voice came, this time from right in front of him, he was so panicked he hadn’t even heard his approached. “Stop struggling” It was low and deep “Look at me, don’t you want to open your eyes and see the face of the person who destroyed your home? The person who’s about to kill you.”
Hibiki grit his teeth and slowly his pale unseeing eyes opened, meeting the demon’s face to face but looking past him.
Almost immediately he, along with a few other voices in the room burst out laughing.
“What cruel irony the last brat left alive is blind? We were going to spare you so you could crawl down the mountain and spread the word but it might be better just to put you out of your misery-”
Hibiki couldn’t help but shake, fear resonating to his core as his fate was discussed in front of him like some cruel joke. “But then again- when have I ever been merciful? Plus wolves gotta eat too.” And with just those few words he was being dragged from the monastery, from the only home he’d ever knew and tossed out in the wet remnants from a December snow, hail and freezing rain beating down on his back.
And here is where most times the story would come to an end. A blind kid cast out into the forest to fight his way down a mountain in the freezing cold? By all means this should’ve meant his death, but instead this is merely ending of act 1 and the beginning of act two.
Through sheer willpower and spite Hibiki made it down that mountain. Honing his time meditating with the monks he focussed on his surroundings, the sound of the rain and hail hitting the leaves and trees making a perfect canvas of sounds that showed him his way. And by morning’s light he was collapsing on the doorstep of a hunter’s cottage, still miles from the nearest village. Weak and at death’s door, but alive nonetheless.

And from there his story only spread. Men from the nearby town trekked up the mountain the next day to verify the story, and sure enough what they found was carnage beyond imagination. One even insensitively making the comment that he wished he’d been blind so he wouldn’t have had to witness it. With in another few hours came the slayers. A small team came to investigate such a big incident as well as the surrounding areas and the only boy who made it out alive. Their talk with him, despite being brief and decisive sparked his desire to become a slayer himself, to pursue justice for his peaceful life that was now in ashes but unfortunately life had a much different plan.

Act II
Hibiki’s second act was one of suffocating luxuries. He was a local celebrity now, and a legend to those who heard his story across the land. Each time it was told it seemed to gain a new peril or feat that he would uncomfortably deny only for the person to gush and call him humble. After all- people craved a story of hope, and what would be more inspiring than a blind child being the soul survivor of a demon attack only to trudge his way down a mountain for help.
Due to this newfound and oft unwanted fame Hibiki found himself wanted- not as a guest or a curiosity but as a son. Apparently in its circulation his tale had found its way to the ears of a lady Kobayashi; the wealthy wife of a lord in the area. Having never been able to have a child of her own and being moved by the blind boy’s story she had spoken to her husband about her need to take Hibiki in, and within days and without his say, their newly adopted son was at their doorstep.
And life was good from then on. He can’t lie and say it wasn’t, he slept in the softest bed he’d ever experienced, ate food like sweets and rich meats he’d only dreamed of before, and was given as many braille books as he could read. Everything seemed perfect for him, after all, going from an orphanage on a chilly mountain to an estate was a dream right? And it should have been- if not so suffocating.
Lady Kobayashi was a kind and wonderful woman, but she also believed it was a miracle that happened on that mountain, not Hibiki’s own perseverance that allowed him to survive, and this showed by how he was treated. Guards with him at all times to ensure his safety, often going months without leaving the grounds, and days to weeks without leaving the house. Hell, he even had maids who’s jobs were specifically to help him get cleaned, and help him eat, and help him dress. He felt like a doll instead of a child.
He tried to explain this as well, and explain that he had his own way of seeing- that he could take care of himself to at least some degree. But this only earned him small inconsequential freedoms, like having some time alone to soak in his bath, and being able to feed himself without interference. These liberties were not nearly enough however. Hibiki wanted to run- he wanted to continue his meditation that helped him to see, and most of all he still wanted vengeance.
He honed his meditation whenever he could, in the bath, as he lay in bed, and even at night sometimes when he would sneak out to the garden during the pitch black of a new moon to test the limitations of his way of ‘sight’
And after 6 suffocating years- he was ready to go.
But of course he knew lady Kobayashi wouldn’t give him up so easily, especially if she knew his plan to become a demon slayer despite his impairments. So he slipped away under the cover of a new moon soon after his 16th birthday, leaving a note in braille he had so carefully punched through a sheet of paper. He knew she’d have to find an interpreter but this was the best he could do. The note declared that if he’d successfully snuck out that it was proof enough of his competence to survive on his own as well as his gratitude to her for being the mother he’d never known.
And thus began,
Act III
The rise and fall of a demon slayer.
After leaving the Kobayashi house Hibiki was a drifter for sometime. He knew he couldn’t very well march up to the demon slayer corps and demand to be in their ranks- he’d be laughed out the door. At this point in time he didn’t even know what was needed to be accepted, was there some sort of test or did you merely need someone to vouch for you? He had many questions and it would be a hard road to get answers.
At least for a blind man every road seemed like a hard one- attempted robberies were common, as his clothes were still quite nice considering they were the ones given to him by the rich Lady Kobayashi. But with his ears as trained as they were he could often times evade such brutes by simple slipping through alleys or disappearing into forests.


Unfortunately robbers weren’t his only issue. Money was also a factor during his search for a master. Often times people would show him kindness however in light of his disability but this only served to make him feel guilty considering the ones kind enough to bestow this help were nearly always poor themselves, struggling under the thumb of a local lord. It hurt his heart to see- but still at the present he had no ability to help.
But soon enough this would change when he found himself a master. A retired slayer who came from a prominent family and had decided to live out his later years in an estate in the countryside. This was his chance to progress and like help if he wasn’t about to take it.
The man was shrewd but undeniably a master in the art of breath of the wind. At first he refused to train Hibiki on account of his lack of vision but after a month of managing to sneak past the tall walls and guards of the estate he was able to convince the old man that he was worth a shot at least. And so he trained, months came and went and he got stronger. Despite changing the style to suit his own needs, much to the disdain of his master, he was soon deemed skilled enough to partake in the final selection.
And so in the spring following his 17th birthday he started his journey to the mountain of wisteria his master had told him about.
The Final selection itself was grueling but Hibiki had an advantage. To him he could “see” as clearly in the dark as he did the light so as the demons of the mountain became more active he had no trouble hearing their movements and avoiding them, only fighting when absolutely necessary.
After the trial was completely and he made his way back to the starting point he was shocked to find only a handful of others had survived. . .then again he had heard many screams.
Hibiki left as soon as he chose the materials his swords would be created from, yelling at the bin of rocks and choosing the hunk the resonated the most, which also unfortunately seemed to unnerve some of the other survivors. He didn’t care however- he just wanted to go and rest, regain his strength for the missions he knew would soon be upon him. The missions that would bring him one step closer to vengeance for his original home.
Hibiki returned to his master’s estate, informing him of the good news as the stubborn old bastard went about his daily stretches, he didn’t exactly seem happy- but it was good enough for the ivy haired rookie.
Within a few months he received his twin swords, the blades turning a wonderful green that he was not able to see- the whole process was quite lackluster considering, however the swordsmith who delivered them seemed pleased enough with the results.

And then before he knew it, it was time to be on his own again, traveling via the instructions of a crow to slaughter demons, all the while hoping he’d be lucky enough to run into the voice he remembered to clearly “When have I ever been merciful?” The words were still so clear and he was sure he wouldn’t soon forget them.
However as he traveled, often taking care of demon problems specifically for noble families who requested his services he found himself growing in disdain for them. Especially when compared to the people they had under their boots. The poor, the hard working class that their lives of excess were built upon. Paid pennies to do their bidding. . .the more he experienced it the more it disgusted him and so- he stole. No one expected it, a blind man to steal from a noble, let alone a demon slayer, a servant to mankind? It was unheard of, which made it all the more easy for him. Gold, jewelry, trinkets, he took these as payment for the services he was already there to do. And with these frivolous things he gave back, leaving them in the homes of those most in need, tucked beneath pillows and hidden within cooking pots. A treasure for them to find and use after he was already long gone.
And this continued, unnoticed for two entire years. These rich people had so much that the absence of a few little items raised no alarms. At least until Hibiki stole the wrong thing. A family heirloom, a priceless handheld mirror, golden and jeweled, found in the house of a widowed mother and her children. She was slated for death, her children for an orphanage. He’d messed up- more than he ever had in his life. He had to set things right. And so before she could even be cuffed he appeared in the sunlight of dawn, standing atop the roof of the house as the police struggled with the woman on her front stoop. Hibiki declared himself the thief, explaining how it sickened him to see the noble family live in excess while others suffered, and with that he only stuck around long enough to see the woman released to her children before he turned tail and ran.


Within a few moments he became a wanted man.

A slayer turned criminal he had only one place to go. The corps were surely turn him in and he wasn’t sure he could trust his old master no Lady Kobayashi. The last spot of familiarity for him would be the abandoned monastery of his former life. And so he started his journey once more, back to where it all began, intending to live out as long as he could in the familiar walls, honoring those that had been lost there as and apology for not being able to avenge them.
But what he found when he arrived was even more grim than what he had intended. What he found within those stone walls was not the crumbling interior of a monastery long since neglected and in turn taken over by nature, no instead what Hibiki found was his childhood home turned into a place of abuse. Cruel, corrupt monks, forcing the orphans in their care to do labor, creating products for them to sell for upwards of 18 hours a day. It was child slavery- and those responsible had tainted this place once filled with warmth and love beyond repair.
Hibiki couldn’t handle it, one moment he was criticizing the monk in charge and the neck his swords were crossed against his throat, his hands hesitating for only a mere for seconds
“Give me one reason to spare you! Just one!”
The monk smirked like he had a trump card
“Demon slayers cannot harm a human.” He said simply, expecting to be swiftly let go- and then came Hibiki’s simple response.
“You are not human.”
When he came back to reality he was sitting among a pile of bodies in the monastery’s main room of prayer, luckily enough out of the view of the children, but stuck there nonetheless, covered in the blood of the handful of men he had slain. He was so damn tired. . .of running. . .of the corrupt. . .of this life.
He allowed himself to be taken without struggle then and ever since he has been in custody of the Yokai prison.
He was just a few months short of two years, a more rested and positive outlook replacing that which he’d come in with. Things were okay. . .they were better at least.
That is until he was informed that he was getting out at least-
Then things were great.


Breath Style: Breath of Echo
Breath of Echo is a style developed from breath of wind. It was created by Hibiki himself and is designed to be used by a swordsman with no traditional vision. Instead it assists the swordsman by using echolocation and sound waves to map out his surroundings and attack his prey. This style also requires a set of specially made blades that can connect at the hilt to form a tuning fork of sorts.



Forms/Stances/etc:
Form 1: The Tuning Fork’s Vision
By connecting his two oddly shaped Katana’s at the hilt Hibiki can create what appears to be a giant tuning fork. When in this form he can hit both targets as well as the ground itself, send out a loud note over the area. With this all encompassing note along with his echolocation he can see the area around him in great detail including targets who may be in hiding or are be behind him.
Form 2: The Blind Man’s Secret
Coming at an enemy with one sword drawn the user feigns and side steps only to draw the second blade and attack from behind.
Form 3: The Blade’s Ripple
The user attacks with a straightforward slash, whether it connects with flesh or is blocked the attack releases a ripple of power, sending it’s opponent flying back.
Form 4: Echo’s Build-Up
This form is one that takes place over the course of an entire battle. As the fight continues and the user takes more hits from their opponent, energy is built up, only serving to make them stronger over the course of the fight.
Form 5: Echoing Blade
“A parry with the sword in tuning form. A deflecting attack focused on running a still vibrating running fork up the length of the enemies blade, causing it to ring in the same frequency. By doing this the sword becomes illuminated and all attack’s become all too easy to see coming.” -Rantos bless his soul.
Form 6: Human Echo
In a forward flip motion the user uses both katanas in an X shape to spin forward at their opponent. The momentum of this creates a powerful attack that can be devastating if landed as a direct hit, however even if it does not connect the swords causes a sound wave to give off that can still cause damage.
Human echo: Electric Boogaloo
In addition to the traditional wheel like attack motion, Hibiki can also do a weaker but faster version of this form, in which he merely spins quickly on his feet, holding each sword so they curve against him, creating both a defense and an offense.
Form 7: Curse of Narcissus
A decapitation form in which the user draws both of his swords, clashing them against each other to create an echoing vibration. With these vibrating swords the user is able to cut through the target’s neck in one clean X shaped movement, decapitating them completely.


Nichirin Blade: Hibiki wields twin Katanas which each have a slight curve in them, complementary to each other. They are a pale green tone with slightly darker green rings going down their length much like the sound wave of an echo or ripples in a pond. The twin swords also have a special feature in which they connect at the hilt to form something akin to a giant tuning fork which he can use along with his breath style.



Misc.:

-Can only read braille (obviously)
-Can only ‘see’ the shape and size of things, things like color are completely lost on him.
-Wears a hat very similar to Hotaru Haganezuka’s except instead of wind chimes his hats hanging bells around the brim. The sound waves that come from these then bounce off of things allowing him to see through a type of echolocation.

 

[waifu]

Name: Yamamoto, Kana
Callsign: Kowai
Age: 19

Spoiler: Background

Kana was labeled as the "odd child" in the village she grew up in. Unable to express any sort of enthusiasm, verbally or non-verbally, she didn't adapt well to social situations. A lot of people thought her behavior wasn't appropriate or was out of the norm and kept her at a distance. She was promptly made an outcast from an early age by the other children, the rest of the village folk, and even her immediate family. Eventually rumors about her being possessed by an evil spirit started to make rounds and no one wanted to have anything to do with her. The only person she ever got along with was her mother's younger brother, who was a demon slayer. He would have her tag along in his training sessions in the wilderness, mostly to keep her out of trouble. Kana took part in his training regimen as much as possible and loved spending time with her uncle because he was the only one that truly understood her. Not only that, the strenuous training allowed her to channel her anger and frustration in a healthy way.

Bullying and pranks weren't something new to Kana, but the children of her village constantly tested her patience and tried to put her in harm's way quite often. When she was nine, the other children decided to take her to the forest under the pretense of them playing hide-and-seek. They left her in the forest, hoping she would get lost and never return. Kana attempted to search her way out for hours, but cold, lost, and hungry, she gave up and started crying. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die,” she kept thinking to herself. In midst of her crying, she didn't realize something - not someone - was already present at the scene. What appeared to be a demon, caught her attention, and with their help she found her way home. Besides her uncle, this was the first time she ever saw what kindness looked like, and she came to believe that perhaps demons weren’t universally bad but perhaps instead misunderstood just like her. Though she could not remember what the demon looked like or what their name even was, she began to develop a strong fondness for demon kind – almost to the point of obsession. However, despite her attempts to tell the villagers of the demon that saved her, none believed her story.

Kana followed her uncle's footsteps and became a demon slayer at the age of fourteen. Ironically, she thought this career choice would help her get close to demons. She made miniature clay models of all the demons she encountered; it was her way of documenting them. Every time she would fight with a demon, she would think of herself as a mother disciplining her child. She wouldn't hesitate during fights out of her adoration for demons though; on the contrary, she would enjoy it and think of it as them playing with her. On one festive night, Kana came across two or three nobles harming what seemed like a restrained demonic dog. Miserable and in pain, the men tortured it relentlessly, reveling in its helplessness. When she called them out and asked them to stop, they refused. Without remorse, she unsheathed her blade, attacked the two men, and cut the demon dog free from its bindings.

Breath Style:
Breath of Light

- A breath style that is derived from the quite well-known Breath of Flames and has been passed down to demon slayers for generations. This was the breath style Kana's uncle was instilled with, who had later passed it on to her. It is a less intense version of Breath of Flames, and focuses more on the user's agility and speed rather than offense.​

Spoiler: Forms

First Form: Brought to light

- The swordsman charges towards their opponent at high speed and decapitates them in multiple slashes.​

Second Form: Lighten up

- The swordsman uses an upwards moving slash attack.​

Third Form: Light as feather

- A series of sword slashes that take on the form of a bird.​

Fourth Form: Blinding light

- The swordsman spins their sword in a circular motion, deflecting their enemies attacks.​

Nichirin Blade: Resembling Kana's fierce breath style, her sword is red with the hilt being a combination of black, red, and golden. Kana's blade is naturally cut unevenly at the top, almost resembling a flame.

Misc.:
- Kana is 5'1.
- Kana's alias, Kowai, was given to her due to her extremely big appetite. She's always hungry!
- Kana's goal in life is to find a way to tame demons so she could keep them in her home.

 

[cinnabuns]

Naoru Tamashī​

Callsign: Yamauba

Age: 21

Gender: Female

Appearance: Why yes, Naoru has heard that she looks like a deer before. The white freckles cover her face and continue along her tall and slender tanned body, much like she was a fawn of sorts as she stands at five feet, ten inches. Naoru prefers to not wear shoes if she doesn’t have to, liking the feeling of the ground against her soles of her feet. Her breathing style allows her to ‘see’ a target’s anatomy, but it also leaves her eyes quite sensitive and gives her migraines - so she wears sunglasses, big enough to cover a good amount of her face. She has a lot of hair, black that becomes navy, incredibly coily with a shaved part on the left side of her head, that comes down and ends at the small of her back.

Spoiler: Backstory

Naoru has always thought of her life as a very interesting intersection of beliefs on the body. Her father’s family ran a holistic clinic up in the woods, taking care of their loyal clients while the new ones were scared off when their prejudices became too much for them. They were losing money, fast, even with the extra help they received when they studied the biology of demons they slayed to help find more useful ways to inhibit the creatures. They had to find something else that would keep them afloat.

Her mother worked in town, selling her body to the highest bidder of the night. When she was worse for the wear, she came to the clinic, staying there for a few weeks while she healed up from a rougher-than-usual client encounter. While she rested up, she began combining some of the logic her doctor spoke about with her own family’s healing practices, and they improved her process together, getting back on her feet much quicker than they had anticipated in the beginning. She decided to come around more often and to send more clients his way, since they both knew how difficult it was doing any sort of work when they weren’t the same color as the other folk.

It didn’t surprise Naoru’s grandmother that they ended up making a better business practice together and that they would survive comfortably due to both of their passions, and it also didn’t surprise her when they finally got married and gave birth to Naoru, their first daughter. The children who came after Naoru also weren’t surprising.

However, it was a big surprise to her when Naoru’s mother suggested they began treating the demons who hadn’t hurt anyone. There weren’t many demons in that category, as far as her grandmother was concerned, but since they were practically in the same boat - demons needed treatment, the Tamashī family needed money, both weren’t getting what they needed to survive - she realized it could be a mutually beneficial relationship.

Of course, when the Demon Slayer Corps found out about the extra source of income, they weren’t happy in the slightest. Of course, there were the tales of the demons who hadn’t bitten a human, of the demons who could even work alongside humans, but the risk was too high to give it more than a fleeting thought. For now, they were considered a disgrace by the Corps, as a way to save their own skin. Her father begged for a second chance - there had to be something they could do to keep the clinic open. One of the higher-ranking members of the Corps relented when they saw the good work the Tamashī family was doing for both humans and demons, and told him this: if the family could convince the Corps that the work they were doing was helpful to them as well as to the demons, then they could officially begin work as Demon Slayers again.

It was Naoru who, at the age of ten, realized they could make an encyclopedia of sorts on the types of demons, their blood types, and more, to help fix her family’s status. She meticulously went over anatomy diagrams, studying, taking samples when they had clients to best treat their similar issues, all the while making a book with the help of her father to assist him. It helped more than she thought it would; studying the demons allowed the Corps to keep a tab on things, allowed them to find more ideas for effective wisteria poisons and sedatives that could work against them.

For once, both of her parents’ businesses were booming, and Naoru couldn’t have been happier to have offered her father some help in keeping his business afloat. Her father was so impressed with her work that when she began to start a new book on demons and their anatomy, he revealed to her about the world of Demon Slayers. Naoru was unfazed for a while, but then wondered what the difference between a “good” demon and a “bad” demon was. Something her father couldn’t find a real answer for, other than, “you’ll feel it.”

As she grew up, learning her mother and her father’s practices, the question still stood in her mind, permeated her thoughts. She dealt with demons every night, humans in the morning. Sometimes she even liked her night shifts better than her morning ones. She saw demons all the time, but she still couldn’t pinpoint what made them better, or okay, in comparison to other demons. Was it their level of empathy for humans? Was it their ability to speak like they’d spoken before their transformation? What exactly was it?

Naoru was twelve when her father began to teach her Breath of the Body. Because he was in charge of the clinic, the classes switched between him being her teacher and her grandmother. Her grandmother was strict, but fair; she was excited to continue the legacy of the breathing style, but wanted to make sure Naoru performed it correctly. Naoru didn’t mind, as long as she was able to check in on her clients at her parents’ businesses. It took longer than expected, but once she caught onto the forms and gave it enough practice, there was no stopping her.

The Final Selection was her first encounter with a malevolent demon. At thirteen, Naoru was walking through the forest on the third day and came upon another teenager, screaming as he tried to scramble away from a demon. She noticed he was having trouble getting up, and then, peering at what the demon was holding, she realized it was holding the remains of the teen’s leg, and was taking bites out of it while following him. Naoru waited until the demon was completely enraptured with the teenager before striking. She left the demon incapacitated before turning to the teenager, but she was too late. The teen had lost way too much blood. It was grim, but she had to continue on. She did stay until daybreak however, comforting the teen and making sure the demon passed on.

When she returned on the eighth day, she was dismayed to see only a few people left from the crowd she’d seen before they’d begun the exam. She was happy to have survived, happy to make her family proud…but she didn’t think it was fair. Naoru did get some samples that she knew would help her family with their research, which perked her up a bit, and her excitement grew when she was given the chance to pick the ore for her Nichirin blade. She was finally a Demon Slayer.

Of course, when she returned home, passing wasn’t enough for her grandmother. While she waited for her Nichirin blade to arrive, Naoru continued her training, with the teen in the back of her mind. She still, even after that, couldn’t properly define what the difference between a good or bad demon was. Maybe they were the same, she finally thought once she held her blade in her hand. Maybe there was no real difference. But if that were true, then her father’s business would have been closed years ago.

Once again, Naoru found the question echoing in her mind when she treated her demon clients in the evenings, when she trained in the mornings, and when she checked in on her human clients in the afternoons. For years, it rattled her how friendly the demons she dealt with were, while the image of the almost demon slayer was a picture she couldn’t mentally erase. She was allowed to make medicine deliveries at fifteen, when her grandmother was certain she’d mastered the Breath of the Body. Naoru enjoyed this, as it meant she could be out in the forest for a reason that wasn’t training or a mission from her crow, and would sometimes come back later than expected.

To her grandmother and father’s disappointment, when Naoru was around eighteen, she began to take less responsibility and seemingly detached from her work. Her mother, however, understood perfectly; the girl had been working most of her life and was tired. She needed a break. After Naoru came back from another assignment, she purposefully took a few days for herself and then came back to the clinic. Her father and grandmother had been peeved and berated her for abandoning her duties, and even though her mother tried to soothe them, the damage was done. Naoru was actually happy to hear her crow caw out to her that she had another mission in the morning. She left without a word to anyone,

and when she came back, she finally understood the difference between a good demon and a bad one.

Her mother told her, once she’d arrived back at the clinic, that her father had gone off on a delivery but hadn’t come back just yet. Her mother asked her to make sure he was alright and to bring him home. So off Naoru went, not really wanting to see or speak to her father, but she would do anything her mother asked if her. She expected, once she got there, that her father had just spent some extra time at the location to make sure everyone was feeling healthy. But as she got closer and closer to where her mother told her her father had gone, there was a growing, negative feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t hear anything in front of her. Naoru couldn’t place why the feeling grew worse at that fact, until she knocked on the door of the home and it opened at the slightest touch.

When she spotted the blood, everywhere, her heart sank. Naoru headed in, noticing the bodies, but she was looking for a specific body. She was in a daze, continuing her search, but she stopped immediately when she heard a crunch under her feet. She looked down, and began to let out a sob when she realized the glass piercing her foot was from her father’s glasses. She continued on, ignoring the pain coming from her sole, until she finally found him, collapsing by his body. It was cold. How long had he been like this? She glanced around and recognized that this was a home for demons…and they had all been murdered along with her father. A demon? Murdering a family of demons for getting along with a human? Something, finally, finally, clicked inside her. The question she’d wanted an answer to was back, and the answer….

The answer was there. She understood now, she said to herself as members of the Corps came into the home and, at first, assumed this was her doing. She got it, she thought, as they tried to grab her. Naoru, once touched, let out a primal scream and began to fight back, in a haze from seeing her father, splayed out like that. She hit one of the Corps members, who stumbled backwards and hit his head on a cupboard, falling unconscious. When the other two Corps members restrained her, she kept screaming, crying, yelling out for her father, as the difference stuck with her. The answer was absolutely clear now, she thought bitterly as they brought her to the prison.

The difference between a good and a bad demon….

She’d felt it, walking into that house. Her father had been right.

She’d felt everything.

Breath of the Body
A breathing style adapted from watching the Breath of the Insect, Breath of the Body was taught to Naoru by her father, and her grandmother. Similar to Breath of the Insect, Breath of the Body requires a modified sword that is shaped like a needle. The sword pricks the skin and allows the user to deposit a sedative containing a minor amount of wisteria into the cuts to slowly but surely incapacitate the target. The user chooses this style for the ability to study their targets and collect samples before their targets’ inevitable decapitation or death via sunlight.

Spoiler: Forms

First Form: Body Scan - The first style allows the user to identify weak points in the target’s body and see where the joints are located. Using this style with an enhanced sense of hearing like Naoru’s allows her to map out the body of a human or demon compared with her mental diagram of their respective anatomies. When this style is in play for too long, the user will have an increase of migraines.​

Second Form: Lethal Injection - A straightforward stab that can pierce through a large boulder.​

Third Form: Acupuncture - A flurry of stabs that go across the body located in their pressure points.​

Third Form Modified: Vertical Acupuncture - A flurry of stabs that go down the body’s pressure points instead of across.​

Fourth Form: Detox - A counter move that has the user spin their sword in a circular radius to keep projectiles or wind based attacks away from them.​

Fifth Form: Retox - The user moves around spinning in a circle to confuse their target, all the while shooting out high doses of the sedative contained in needles to quickly take out the target instead of taking their time. This is effective for moments where the user needs to run or needs time to set up another attack.​

Sixth Form: Kundalini - A counter that consists of the user taking the momentum of a prior attack on them and spinning to hit nine times, heading upwards along the placements of the chakra points in the target’s body, the last hit culminating into a decapitation of the target, clean off the shoulders due to the force that built during the entirety of the attack.​

Nichirin Blade:
A smoky navy blade that is customized at the end to look like a needle, the tip functioning similar to a needle as well. It was designed for injecting the wisteria-based sedative her grandfather made for treating demons for the family breathing style. Naoru perfected the recipe, allowing for a more effective sedation period of the target. Her hilt is shaped like a filled in infinity symbol. Her sheath was also fixed to allow space for her to carry and load the sedative into her blade.

Other Tools:

• Medical bag
• Needles (many)
• Samples
• Small daggers

Misc:

• Naoru might look like the “think first, act second” type, but unfortunately, she’s very much the opposite. She thinks as she goes is more of an accurate description; the “we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it” type.
• Naoru has a enhanced sense of hearing.
• After further investigation into the murder of the demons and her father, the Corps realized Naoru wasn’t at fault for it. However, since she assaulted and attempted to assault multiple members of the Corps (and because some of the higher-ups still considered her family a disgrace), they decided to keep her imprisoned.
• Naoru has an eidetic memory; she never forgets how something looks, especially if it’s tied to her work.
• Naoru is left handed.
• Naoru is the first of five children.
• Naoru’s favorite instrument to listen to is a dulcimer.

 

[AtlannianSpy]

Name:
Sato Inuko

Callsign:
Inugami

Age:
18

Appearance:


Background:
Every good thief knows there are people you should never steal from. By the age of seven the girl was already a good thief much better than the other street kids, but the trouble is sometimes it can be hard to tell who the wrong people are. The old man looked like a good target, dressed in the modest, but well made clothes of a merchant with money to take. but not the money to raise a stink with the city watch, slowing down a little and unlikely to give chase. It was all too easy for the girl to sidle up behind the man as he browsed a market stall and slip a thin, grimy hand into his coin purse. And right at the instant the girl felt the cold hand of death on the back of her neck.

The other man, she hadn't even noticed him until now, had his sword drawn and pressed to her neck in an instant. He was terrifying, a gaunt, bearded man in rags, Rika thought only samurai and the like were supposed to have swords but he was clearly no samurai. The scariest thing about the man was his eyes however, black, empty pits devoid of emotion. Instinctively the child knew this man could end her and not feel sorrow, not feel joy, not feel hatred, not feel disgust, not even irritation. The girl's life and its end was less than dust to this man, the man who would become her master. Later the girl would go on to learn about and fight demons, but she would never meet one with eyes quite that empty.

It was the first man, the merchant who spared the girl's life.

"Isn't it about time you took an apprentice, Kuro?" he asked his companion in a warm, scratchy voice, it was the last thing the girl heard before her world went black.

The girl woke up in an unfamiliar room and slowly began to understand her situation. the man she had tried to rob was Sato yorihoshi, the head of the feared Sato Yakuza family. THhe reason the Sato clan was feared above all others was because of a certain weapon they wielded, a swordsman known as the hound of the Sato. That was the second man, the one who had nearly taken the girl's head. Since childhood he had been trained ruthlessly to fight and now he dispatched any enemies or inconveniences of the Sato Clan without mercy. Rival crime families, witnesses, magistrates, the Hound of the Sato cut them all down without hesitation, without even blinking.

But no swordsman, no matter how skilled and ruthless is immortal and after Kuro died the Sato clan would still need a hound, that was where the girl came in, she was fed and given the name Inuko for convenience and her training began.The hound of Sato was as ruthless a teacher as he was a killer. He didn't derive any particularpleasure from beating or starving the girl but he didn't hesitate in the slightest to do them anyway, they were how he had been taught so they were how he taught. Inuko's days were exhausting, full of training and exercise from dawn ending in starvation and beatings whenever she faltered. Inuko's only solace during these years was the occasional visit from Yorihoshi. The old man never really did much for her, the occasionally kind word, or smuggled piece of candy, a second hand pair of shoes once. But in the midst of a life of unrelenting cruelty these tiny glimmers of kindness were like water in a desert. Inuko became obsessed with the old man, redoubling her efforts at training trying to earn more of his attention and approval and slowly over the years any trace of the child she had been was worn away, leaving only a honed weapon behind.

Eventually Inuko was accompanying her master on missions, putting the skills that had been forced on her into practice. The first time she fought and killed it was scary, she thinks, but it is difficult to recall, she has killed so many now and remembering their faces or how she felt about them was not one of her duties so she did not. Inuko fought and killed and grew stronger and the rumors swirling around the Sato clan were amended to describe two ruthless hounds instead of one. Inuko thought that she was doing well, that she was meeting expectations of her master and the occasional scrap of kindness or affection she received from the old man were enough to fuel her to even greater heights of obedience and violence.

She was never close to her instructor and partner Kuro like she was the old man, but Inuko did come to understand him at least. Kuro had molded her in his own image after all, two loyal and unthinking tool, like two swords sheathed side by side. The reason his eyes were so empty was because the things peoples filled their eyes with were needless luxuries that she and he had no need for. This is why the events of that night confused her so much, why her mind, dulled from years of unthinking obedience, is still struggling to unravel it. Inuko had just completed her very first solo mission, the assassination of a lieutenant of a rival family, but when she returned to the Sato clan compound she found it littered with corpses. Kuro stood alone, his blade still dripping with the blood of their former master and his subordinates.

Nothing in Inuko's training had ever prepared her for this, none of the contingencies or expectations hammered into her had ever accounted for her to live while her master's died, she was supposed to die first, she was supposed to sacrifice herself like a good tool so that they could keep living. Inuko simply froze up, totally unable to make sense of her new situation. Inuko was still frozen when Kuro silently left. She was still frozen hours later when cautious guards arrived to investigate reports of a disturbance and took her into custody without resistance, she is, in many ways, still frozen to that spot and that time even now, some years later.

It was decided after some fierce debate among higher ups not to execute the captured Hound of Sato. It would, it was reasoned, be a bad look to admit that the authorities had been terrorized for months by what was, in the light of day, a skinny and unprepossessing teenage girl. There was one other factor that went into the leniency of Inuko's sentence. Upon reviewing all of the deaths conclusively tied to the girl, officers found that they were all other criminals. Whenever someone innocent, or influential had been killed, witnesses confirmed that the elder hound had taken it upon himself to hand it.

Inuko is still unsure of many things, but lately she has gotten to thinking she should try to find Kuro and ask him about that, in fact there are many things she would like to ask him.

Breath Style:
A style derived from the breath of Thunder when a Yakuza assassin infiltrated the slayer corps to steal their secrets. Though the original assassin was hunted down, he managed to spread his teachings to several disciples and the style’s continued existence among the criminal underworld has long been a wound to the Corps’ pride. As the name applies, the Breath of Lies style focuses on dishonest tactics, ambushes, sneak attacks, even once open combat begins it emphasizes concealing one’s intentions and misleading opponents as to the user’s real strength.

Forms/Stances/etc:
First Form: Cornered Rat: An Iado style slash made wherein the user draws and slashes in an instant. The attack begins from a crouched, hunched over stance that conceals the user’s strength and can be easily mistaken for groveling or cowering, Breath of Lies practitioners often pretend to cry or beg quite convincingly to augment this effect. In reality this hunched up stance in fact coils the body like a spring, providing a sudden burst of speed and strength when the user is ready to attack.


Second Form: Hazy Red Mist: Another Iado slash, intended for use against an already on their guard opponent. When the user draws and slashes with their blade they intentionally cut into the hand holding the sheath, covering their sword in blood which they flick into the eyes of their opponent, before quickly following up with a second slash at the now blinded foe.


Third Form: Traitor behind the Silk Screen: The user draws back their sword as if to launch a heavy, diagonal downwards slash. In reality, they are positioned such that their sleeve or cloak will conceal them removing one hand from their sword and drawing a small, back up blade to stab through their clothes, taking the enemy by surprise and then often following up with the originally feinted slash.


Fourth Form: Dance of the Sellsword: The user raises their sword as if to block an incoming strength. Instead of meeting strength with strength the user combines a light parry with swift, sliding footwork to pass by their opponent and end up behind them.


Fifth Form: Lockpick: The user blocks an incoming attack by crossing two weapons, using leverage to increase the load they can bear. The true intent of this form however is to position the two blades such that the primary blade can be withdrawn to slash at the opponent while the secondary blade keeps the enemy’s weapon tied up.


Sixth Form: Fly by Night: The user takes a strong stance and feints at making a strike up to the last possible moment, then suddenly shifts their weight and dashes away, care is taken to land silently by dispersing one’s weight, so enemies find the movement exceedingly hard to to follow, skilled users are even said to leave behind a kind of afterimage.


Seventh Form: Sliding bamboo shoot: A combination of blows launched from unorthodox stances which make use of confusing perspectives that make it hard for the enemy to gauge the true length of one’s blade and reach. The last strike in the sequence is a powerful slash launched holding one’s sword by the very end of the hilt to extend its range, the blade appearing to extend forwards to take the neck of the foe.


Eighth Form: Flying Crow: The user throws one of their secondary blades at the opponent. Though breathing techniques are utilized to throw the weapon at maximum speed and strength it is rarely a lethal technique, being more commonly used to disrupt or surprise the enemy or chain together discrete attack patterns.


Ninth Form: Rising Worm: The user charges the enemy with what appears to be an overhead thrust but at the last possible moment they duck down, often traveling under a counter attack, and plunge a secondary blade into the opponent’s foot. The user follows up this attack with a powerful, upwards slash with their primary blade, utilizing their crouched body like a spring. If the target’s foot was properly pinned with the first attack this upwards slash is very difficult to avoid.


Nichirin Blade:
The traditional weapon set for the Breath of lies is a Daisho, a paired katana and wakizashi, with an extra wakizashi for a total of three blades. The two smaller blades are usually kept hidden on the user's person and revealed for sneak attacks. Inuko's set was procured by the Sato clan, forged from poor quality, smuggled ore. This does not seemed to have impacted the effectiveness of the blades, but there blades have been permanently stained a rather unattractive, reddish brown color, somewhere between rust and dried blood. the hilts are black, wrapped in crude but practical leather rather than a more traditional and aesthetically appealing wrapping.

Misc.:
Inuko is a skilled pickpocket and locksmith, though these days there are few things she wishes to steal and few doors she wishes to unlock.

Inuko has spoken very little for years, her voice is fairly weak and is lost easily, she has been known to communicate with elaborate hand signals to compensate for this.

 

[Hanarei]

Name:
Tsukino Yoriko

Callsign:
Onryō

Age:
23

Background:

Spoiler: Background Details

Yoriko was born a princess of sorts... though not one you hear about in fairy tales or of some kingdom. She was born the daughter of Tsukino Kano, the head of the Tsukino syndicate one of the largest and most powerful groups in the Yakuza. It was due to her father she was caught up in an assassination attempt as a child in which her father was ambushed. While the assassination ended in a failure, unfortunately Yoriko was caught in the cross fire being sliced across her right eye unintentionally due to the efforts of one of her fathers men stopping the attack though causing the attack to fumble to cut her instead. The assassin was brutally tortured for information and then executed while her father's body guard had his own eye sliced out for his careless behavior allowing his daughter to get hurt.

Growing up with an eye patch, Yoriko found herself picked on by other kids while adults who knew better would keep their mouths shut acting as if the injury wasn't there at all in fear of her repercussions should her father find out. Rather then being meek she ended up quickly learning to bite back not being one to allow others to ridicule her getting a reputation as a bit of a tom girl. She learned a lot from her father and those under him to not take shit from anyone. If someone wronged her Yoriko was more then willing to throw the first punch in retaliation if they refused to apologize. It got her into some trouble, though much of the trouble she got into was often quickly dropped as quickly it came, though it did lead to her father warning her to be more cool headed and not act so brash.

Getting into her early teens, Yoriko sought to get entangled into the syndicate feeling a certain degree in honor in serving her family's cause, even if its affairs weren't exactly considered lawful. Her father rejected it, wanting her to keep herself out of the more nefarious parts of the trade. She still pushed him to do so causing him to give in to some extent at the very least opting to have her learn to fight and teaching her in particular the Breath of the Cyclone, a breathing technique rooted from long ago in the family before the days of its involvement in the Yakuza in slaying demons. Given her penchant for already getting in the occasional tussle it was something Yoriko had some natural talent in learning the style and ultimately over the coarse of a few years Mastered it to a proficient degree.

While her father sought to teach it to her for the sake of self defense rather then fighting demons, it sparked a desire in Yoriko wanting to take what she learned to enact some violence on demons both serving the good of others while getting some of her more violent tendencies quelled in the process. Against her father's wishes the then sixteen year old Yoriko went off to take the test to become a Demon Slayer ultimately doing so and gaining the title. For Yoriko she felt a sense of freedom in a different way then she did at home. Rather then being always on guard waiting for a possible attack, she was going out on the offensive this time against Demons who threatened mankind. An honorable duty that both helped save the innocence while in some part guiltily enjoying spilling the blood of demons who threatened them.

Yoriko worked diligently for over 2 years as a demon slayer. While part of the thrill had faded, she still felt a strong sense of duty in completing the work seeing it as a way of honoring her family applying a skill she had natural talent at and that she enjoyed. Unfortunately her time slaying demons had caused her to be much more distant from her family. It took some time for her to get word that her father had been assassinated with what had been one of his trusted higher ups setting the deed up in order to take charge. While being a Demon Slayer was a duty she had dedicated herself to, family was always something much more valuable. Yoriko went against the wishes of the wishes of the corp putting aside the duties she was charged with in order to seek revenge.

Yoriko went back home getting in contact with the members of the Yakuza who had been most loyal to her father. It was there she made a deal with a few higher ups who were sure of the new leader's guilt in the assassination seek vengeance in her family's name in exchange for disavowing herself from the group in order to avoid further problems, with her failure simply allowing the status quo to remain. With much of her skill as a Demon Slayer at play it wasn't at all hard for her to go up the new head pledging to get vengeance for her father's death taking out the few body guards he had with relative ease before slicing his head off as a testament to the deed she did. As to her word she immediately surrendered her place within the group for having plainly murdered the current head dropping all connections she had with the group.

While she had sought revenge and obtained it... her deeds going against the Demon Hunter Corps along side clearly murdering someone in cold blood she found herself locked away, something she was willing to accept in order to preserve for family's names and achievements from being tarnished by someone unworthy.

Breath Style:
Breath of the Dancing Dragon. A style originating long ago from the Tsukino family before their shift into organized crime. The style revolves around the use of angular force to increase the strength. Attacks rely on spinning of both the weapon and the user in order to inflict maximum force with the blows making it a rather flashy style. The style is known for its use of a Kusarigama to further supplement it as both another form of offense as well as defense.

Forms/Stances/etc:

Spoiler: Form Details

First Form: Twirling Fang- A very basic technique developed around the user swinging their sword in a circular motion in a near 360 turn of their body to gain momentum for more force to slice through a target.

Second Form: Flourishing Fang- An attack carrying on with the principal of the first form though requiring much less precise movement of the entire body. The user with spin their Katana in their hand creating a circular motion while winding their body up before striking out just as the blade itself travels back into their grip creating further momentum behind the blow.

Third Form: Tail Whip - The user will start twisting their body often using slashes or other attacks with blade or an unarmed attack to keep the opponent occupied to seek to keep them preoccupied. The user will then jump up twirling in the air to come down with a dialogonal strike using both the spinning motion combined with gravity to create more force to slice through an opponent.

Forth Form: Fang and Claw - Making use of the Sickle, the user will proceed to do a similiar act much like Twirling Fang. Rather then having the sickle kept back, the user will draw the sickle out for offensive purposes striking high with the Katana while attempting to strike out with the sickle to cut the foe unexpectedly should they manage to block the Katana and not spot the more discrete weapon.

Fifth Form: Protracted Claw - Utilizing a Kusarigama, the user will spin the sickle around rapidly with the chain over their head. After gaining enough momentum the grip on the chain will be loosened suddenly increasing the range of the blade seeking to strike the opponent with hits that might be missed only leading to the sickle being spun around again to strike form another trajectory able to be adjusted while keeping a good bit of distance between the user and foe. Should the foe attempt to approach the user can quite easily allow the sickle to swing in with the chain wrapping around them to ultimately let the sickle strike into them.

Sixth Form: Colliding Fang and Claw- A combination of First and Forth Form. The user will spin the kusarigama around before throwing it out. As the foe comes close or the user pushes on the offensive the user will spin their body in the opposite direction of the sickle, causing the chain to pull in closer while doing a cut with the Katana in what is meant to be a collusion of the two opposite rotating strikes into each other with the foe in the middle.

Seventh Form: Sweeping Claw and Fang- Using a spinning motion of the Kusarigama, rather then striking on level, the user will instead aim low slicing at the ground along the level of the leg in order to cut in to a vulnerable area and disrupt a foe's stance. At the same time the user will jump in using a spinning motion carring themselves in to strike at the opponents neck in an attempt to exploit them being off balance.

Eight Form: Diving Bite - The user will strike with the kusarigama either attempting to penetrate the foes skin with the blade or to wrap it around a weapon or body part. The user will then use that same momentum to pull themselves along the direction of the chain rapidly swinging them in towards the foe in a circular motion before slicing at the foe in one violent motion.

Nichirin Blade:
Yoriko's primarily weapon is a Katana with 61 cm long blade and a blue hilt. Her secondary arm is a Kusarigama (Ex with a shorter handle) consisting of a sickle with a 9 inch blade attached to a short metal handle. A chain is attached to the bottom that extends out roughly 4 meters long. The chain itself is primarily wrapped around Yoriko's arm to control the length used, though it can be detached should she wish to get rid of it for any reason.

 

[Lucem]

Name:
Mitsuki

Callsign:
Gyokuto

Age:
24

Appearance:
The rabbit mask hides onyx eyes and a fair amount of the dark hair that reaches past his chin.

Background:
Mitsuki's early years were far from glamorous. He had the misfortune of being born into poverty, surrounded by emaciated bodies that took shelter beneath poorly constructed roofs alongside disease ridden vermin. Sickness and hunger took the lives of many people, including his parents. Without them, he had little chance of survival, fated to join the other children who were left behind while their mothers and fathers enjoyed freedom from suffering. However, unlike those orphans, he was saved by kindness.

After learning about his situation, an acquaintance of his parents was quick to take him in. To him, she was nothing more than a stranger that had loose connections to people that were no longer around. She had no reason to acknowledge his existence, let alone take him into her home. Despite having two children of her own and barely enough food to keep their stomachs full, she didn't hesitate to care for him and treat him as her own child. If it weren't for her kindness, he would've joined the small, lifeless bodies that served as food for the starving rodents.

In a short span of time, he came to see this former stranger as his mother. Similarly, he came to think of her children as siblings. In addition to a parent, he gained a headstrong boy named Rokuro as a younger brother and a bright girl named Haruka as a younger sister. They didn't view him as a leech sticking himself to their underbellies, happy to have a new member in their family.

While they were better off than most in their village, every day was a struggle. As the eldest, it was his duty to look after his siblings while their mother tried to provide for them by selling her body. Keeping four people clothed and fed was difficult, but she somehow found a way to do so and always wear a smile on her face. On special occasions, they'd all enjoy a feast, not worrying about how to ration food. They'd share laughs around the fire, their stomachs full and hearts warm. He carved those memories and feelings into himself, wanting to cherish them forever. Seeing how happy his family was during those feasts inspired him. He wanted to find a way to always give them delicious food and keep them smiling.

Years passed and his mother eventually lost her life to disease. However, she had done a splendid job of raising him and his siblings into proper adults. With nothing left for them in the deteriorating village, the three settled elsewhere so they could live their lives without having to worry about a premature death. While Rokuro and Haruka both made a fine living as craftsmen, Mitsuki followed his ambitions from childhood and opened a small eatery. It wasn't a massive success, but he was still able to live comfortably. Revenue aside, seeing people enjoy his food was enough to make him believe that his efforts hadn't been a waste. His only goal was to give his siblings the same warm feeling they felt whenever they enjoyed their mother's meals together as children. It was the only way he could think of to repay them for all they had given him.

Their new lives were free from the worries that plagued them during their youth, but that didn't mean all the dangers in the world had suddenly vanished. They were simply replaced by new ones, taking different forms that could strike at any moment. The three of them had forgotten that as they enjoyed their newfound comfort. As the eldest, Mitsuki should have been the one to remind them. It was his own negligence that gave birth to tragedy. After living most of his life in a wasteland filled with dying and decrepit humans that no demon would want to claim as their hunting grounds, he wasn't prepared for what the world beyond his old village had in store for him.

A simple errand to collect materials left his family in pieces. Because of his weakness and failure to fulfill his duty as an older brother, he lost his sister. He was overwhelmed by grief and guilt, the bonds he had forged losing to the appetite of a demon. However, he couldn't allow himself to be held back by his emotions. He still had a brother to worry about.

Rokuro had survived the attack, but it was difficult to say if it was for better or worse. He now feared the sun and hungered for human flesh. His new monstrous appearance made it difficult to recognize him as the younger brother he once knew. It was a fate that could be considered worse than death, but Mitsuki convinced himself that these changes were only skin-deep. On the inside, Rokuro was the same as always. He hadn't laid a finger on him or their sister's body, desperately fighting the instinct to feed. He would never hurt anyone. He forced himself to believe that. If he didn't, he would have lost everything.

Despite what he told himself, Mitsuki was fully aware that things were not well. He was being consumed by fear and anxiety. He feared for Rokuro's safety, never knowing when his brother may find himself on the wrong end of a slayer's blade. He also feared for the safety of the people around him. His desire to reject reality and insist that his brother was special battled with the rational side of his mind. He was constantly at odds with himself, living with the war between emotions and common sense. How long could a demon resist temptation? What would he do if his brother's will lost to his hunger? He wanted to hide from those thoughts. All he could do was hide from them just like he hid his brother from the outside world. But for how long could he keep it up?

Hiding didn't solve anything. Rokuro's hunger only worsened with each passing day, threatening to force him over the edge. None of the food he served was enough to satisfy a demon's appetite. Nothing he did would bring back the smiling face he knew. Still, he refused to accept that nothing could be done. Even if everything he tried prior was a failure, that didn't mean that there was no hope. He simply had to find the answer he was looking for. Demons ate humans, but that didn't have to be all there was. He rejected his cruel fate and the order of the world. For Rokuro's sake, he would make it his life's mission to find something else that could satisfy his hunger.

Mitsuki was determined to accomplish this impossible task, but willpower alone couldn't overcome the many obstacles he faced. How would he research something like this? What could he do about Rokuro's hunger until he found the solution to his problems? What would he do if his brother went berserk? Even if he had a goal, there were several roadblocks that prevented him from approaching the starting line.

One night, he received a visitor that threatened to take everything from him. A man wearing the mark of the demon slayer corps appeared in his shop after nightfall, claiming to know his dark secret. He could tell that he was hiding a monster from the world, endangering the lives of many people just to satisfy his own selfish desires. Mitsuki couldn't refute what the man said, but he wouldn't allow him to call his brother a monster. Rokuro wouldn't hurt anyone. It didn't matter if he was a human, demon, or something else entirely. It was a claim only a fool would make, and the same went for his goal. He was berated and forced to acknowledge all the issues that made his ambitions laughable. However, he refused to give up on a fool's dream and let his brother kill or be killed. Even if it meant standing against a trained swordsman, he would not back down. He refused to lose anything else.

Mitsuki expected to be cut down that night, but the swordsman's strike never came. Instead, he removed the mask he wore and revealed his identity. At first, he only saw an aged visage illuminated by candlelight, but soon remembered where he had seen the face before. The same man once visited his shop, but he hadn't been wearing the same insignia. He looked much frailer with his body covered by larger clothes, even a tad sickly. Without money, he only sought shelter from the winter snow, but Mitsuki offered him a free meal. It wouldn't have been right to send an old man into bone-chilling winds on an empty stomach. That was all that happened between them, the two barely speaking before the man departed.

Rather than slaying a demon, the reason for the old man's visit was to repay a debt. He had retired many years ago, but he hadn't lost any of the skills or knowledge he accumulated during his time in the corps. He offered Mitsuki all that he knew. If he truly wanted to help his brother and chase an impossible dream, joining the corps was the first step.

Once again, Mitsuki was saved by kindness. The old man took him under his wing and devoted himself to a troublesome youth with numerous issues. Even if the man's motivations seemed somewhat dubious, he showed him nothing but respect and appreciation. His lessons were grueling, and he never showed restraint when teaching, but Mitsuki would never forget his compassion. When he first started training, he only had experience with a cooking knife. By the end, he hardly recognized himself. Even his master seemed satisfied with the results, finally finding someone he could pass his wisdom to. As soon as he had been acknowledged as worthy, he and his master parted ways. Knowing that he would likely never meet him again, he cherished the objects gifted to him. As a successor, he wore the elegant haori and finely crafted mask.

Mitsuki left his old profession behind, dedicating himself entirely to the corps. He went from one mission to the next, killing demon after demon without rest. He never killed another living being before, but he quickly discovered that he had no problem doing so in his new line of work. It wasn't as if he had a deep hatred of demons that allowed him to strike them down so easily. Despite everything that happened in his life, he hadn't developed a grudge against them. He was indifferent to them, only caring about the ones that tried to harm him and what remained of his family. The same went for humans. To him, demons were simply research materials.

He wasn't particularly interested in the corps or its mission to protect the innocent. Mitsuki only cared about his own goals. Like his master said, being a member was beneficial. If he wanted to find something that could satisfy a demon's hunger, it was obvious that he needed to study demons. He now had an endless supply of research materials. He studied the palates of their tongues, how their stomachs digested various foods, and many other organs. Mitsuki didn't see how his research was any different from other members studying the effects of poisons, but it was undeniable that he went about it in a concerning way. Some could have considered his methods unnecessarily cruel, but he didn't care for outside opinions unless they benefited his work. Somewhere along the line, he had become an entirely different person. Even if he couldn't see it, he had been warped by his obsession. He was generally calm, but there was now an underlying coldness.

Whenever he went into battle, he wore the mask his master had given him, hiding his face from the world. It did well at hiding his identity, but it also served as a way to strike fear into demons. He had to be in control as a predator hunting for its prey. A psychological battle was just as important as a physical one. It also concealed his emotions, preventing both friend and foe from reading his expressions. He refused to remove it, not even revealing his face to his comrades. He didn't want them to know the man behind the mask. He only wanted them to know the rabbit.

He worked hard day and night, but never got any closer to finding the answers he sought. Nothing he did was working, and he was running out of time. He had been trying to manage Rokuro's hunger by supplying him with blood, but he wasn't sure if that would be enough to satisfy him forever. There was the possibility that it would lose its effectiveness as he craved something more substantial. Mitsuki tried to deny it as best he could while pushing himself harder, but there would come a day when he couldn't run any longer. If he didn't want to face reality on his own, the world would force him to take a good look.

Eventually, members of the corps decided to follow up on their suspicions and discovered what he had been hiding. No matter what he said, they would not listen. It wasn't the same situation he had been in before with his master. There was no convincing them to lay down their blades. They were slayers and Rokuro was a demon. That was all that mattered to them, and he couldn't be angry with their decision to do their duty. He understood their position. However, he also hoped they understood his position as an older brother. Rokuro was his family, and they were trying to hurt him. That was all that mattered to him.

He never intended to kill anyone. He envisioned a perfect ending where he rendered his enemies unconscious, allowing him to take Rokuro to a new location. He wanted to complete his research and live in peace with his family. Of course, things only work out so well in fantasies. He had a bad habit of hiding from reality whenever his brother was involved. But he couldn't run away any longer. He lost that option when he was cut.

The blood that poured from his open wound marked the end of his fantasy. The blade cut his body, as well as the remaining ties Rokuro had to his humanity. He struggled to move as the kind boy he grew up with dirtied his hands, tearing away at the humans that got in the way of his first proper meal as a demon.

All he could do was blame himself in silence. He allowed things to get to this point. It was his fault that his brother had taken a life. It was his weakness that caused Rokuro to become a demon. It was also the cause of Haruka's death. He hadn't even properly mourned her passing. He just allowed himself to be transformed by his obsession as he ignored everything that sounded inconvenient. He should've done things differently. He should've been stronger. He should've been a better brother. It meant nothing, but to atone even a little for all his failures, he allowed his brother to bite into his flesh, bearing a portion of the pain he made him go through.

For an instant, there was a flash of humanity in Rokuro's eyes. It was very brief, but he could see regret, as if he wanted to apologize for what he had just done. There was no need for that. Mitsuki knew he was the only one at fault. He had to make up for his mistakes. It meant nothing to the dead, but he had to make good on his promise to his master. He had to take responsibility for his naivety and put an end to what he started. At the very least, he wanted to do it while Rokuro was still human, even if it was for a moment.

No matter what, he was always fated to end up in this position. He only delayed the inevitable by choosing to ignore the truth. He forced himself to ignore reality and live like a foolish child by chasing an impossible future. He blinded himself by choice and the path he walked only led to a mountain of bodies. There was nothing left for him except punishment. He had to pay for the sin of willful ignorance. He knew from the start that happy endings were just a fantasy.

Breath Style
Breath of Moonlight- A breathing style revolving around one's ability to remain calm in battle. Avoiding any unnecessary movements, the user strikes with speed and precision, never losing their composure as they show grace on the battlefield. While the style makes it easy for the user to adapt to their surroundings, Mitsuki takes things a step further. Instead of limiting himself to the main forms, he's taken to incorporating other breathing styles into his own. Even if every technique can't be perfectly imitated, he learns the concept and transforms it into something usable.

Forms/Stances/etc:

• First Phase, Waning Crescent- A feint where the user slashes at their target, only to drop the blade before making contact. The weapon is caught with the other hand and a second attack is made to catch the target off-guard. This can be repeated multiple times and improved with the use of afterimages.
• Second Phase, Dance Under Moonlight- A form that takes the concept used in Waning Crescent and applies it to the user's entire body. The user moves at high speeds to disorient the target with the use of afterimages and multiple feints.
• Third Phase, Waxing Crescent- A slash or series of slashes strengthened by the momentum a user creates while twisting their body.
• Fourth Phase, Moonbeams- A relentless assault of attacks where the user attempts to pierce the target's body. This puts pressure on the target and limits their movement by striking at any space they move toward while attempting to dodge. The true purpose of this technique is to cut the ankles, wrists, and other areas while the target is avoiding the attacks that are meant to grab their attention. The injuries limit their ability to move and use weapons.
• Fifth Phase, Libration: A powerful strike used to stun a target's muscles with oscillating waves. While it can be used against the body directly, this technique can also be performed by striking an opponent's weapons, carrying the waves from the area of impact to their arms.
• Sixth Phase, Penumbra- A defensive technique where the user holds their sword at an angle and deflects incoming attacks on impact. This is primarily use when the opponent is close, allowing them to quickly retaliate after an attack has slid off the surface of their blade.
• Seventh Phase, Umbra- A defensive technique primarily used against ranged attacks and attacks that cover a large surface area. The user protects their body by using a series of strikes to creative a protective shell with their blade.
• Eighth Phase, Half Body- A single high-speed strike performed immediately after the user draws their blade.
• Ninth Phase, Full Moon- The user performs a barrage of quick and precise strikes from various angles while twisting their body. They rotate around their target, keeping them contained to a single spot and caught in a dance of blades.
• Tenth Phase, New Moon- A state where the user achieves true tranquility. Their senses have been heightened so they can focus completely on their target. They analyze how the opponent moves, breathes, and speaks, taking in everything and matching it to the best of their ability. The technique revolves around becoming a mirror image of the enemy, trying to match every one of their movements with accuracy. Once they've perfected their timing, the user makes slight adjustments to their movements to drag the enemy into their pace.
• Eleventh Phase, Blood Moon: A form where Mitsuki uses his blood to affect the cognitive abilities of demons.

Nichirin Blade:
An unremarkable sword with no special qualities. While the majority of the blade is black, the edge is colored a pure white. The weapon is accompanied by a pair of tanto knives.

Misc.:
-Mitsuki possesses an extraordinary sense of taste. While he only had use for it during his time as a chef, it's proven to be valuable when tracking demons
-Mitsuki is a carrier of Marechi blood
-Mitsuki is almost always wearing his rabbit mask