In a dark room, illuminated only by candles streaking across the shadows and dancing their flickering dance, Tomoe sat in the middle. In front of him was a corpse – some random gangbanger from the streets of the Crimson Quarter, based off of his jacket that read 'Bad Beetles'. The Joyan vaguely remembered accepting a quest to eliminate some more gangsters, but fell blank due to where he was. It was a cramped room, and damp as all hell. Liquid dripped from the ceiling, and the sounds of clanking metal could be heard. There was rust all over, and the only thing that looked proper and not old and dusty was a stone altar in the corner that Tomoe sat in front of. The thug from the Bad Beetles' crew was placed on top of it, as motionless as, well... a corpse. Tomoe chuckled at his own thought, and then continued with his ritual.

The ronin wasn't just sitting in front of the altar. He was praying. With his hands clasped together and his eyes closed, all he could really feel was the dark energy swirling within the tiny room. Smaller rooms were better for these kinds of rituals, as that left less energy to escape. The swirling curses and grudges, and the whispers of the damned souls ringing in Tomoe's ears... it wasn't always pleasant, but it was necessary. SHE was the one to guide Fiore to true love and peace, and that meant a few eggs would need to get cracked along the way. So what if this was the most ominous shit in the world? It all served a purpose, as SHE had a plan for everybody in one way or another. Take the poor fellow on the altar, for instance. His purpose was to serve as one among many hundreds if not thousands that would be needed to grant HER a physical anchor to this world once again. Sweet, merciful Illumin would look on in pure neutrality as these sins were committed on even the weakest of victims. Was that the kind of way that a deity so highly revered should act? SHE wouldn't allow that, if HER full power were brought to fruition. A world of love is what was desired by Tomoe, and that's what he would bring – one blood splatter at a time if need be.

“You say the prayer just like this, Tomoe.”, a womanly voice would whisper like smooth honey from behind the cultist, and he would cup his fingers inward, interlocking with each other.

He would obey, of course. SHE possessed infinite knowledge, so those instructions would clearly be correct. After a while, Tomoe's thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on the door behind him about 5 meters away. The sound of knuckles on metal. This was the sign that he could continue. Finishing his prayer, speaking in some kind of odd and sharp language that even Tomoe himself admitted to not fully understanding, he stood up and made his way to the door. Opening it without hesitation, he saw a man's corpse immediately drop inside. Tomoe could only sigh.

“Ahhh, guess I left one alive. Well... barely alive. Ah well, that'll be perfect then. If he's fresh, that's even better.”

Tomoe would walk out of the dark room and into a slightly less dark and very open space. It was an abandoned warehouse, and so poorly kept that moonlight peeked in through broken holes in the roof above. Behind him, the 'room' he was in moments prior, was a shipping container that had long seen its glory days and bid them adieu. That was life, as all things eventually decayed and met death. Well, most things, anyway. Above the shipping container were many corpses wearing the same 'Bad Beetles' jackets, soaked in blood and littered with cuts, bruises and burns in various places. Seemingly at random, and as chaotic as one would expect a cultist, their punishments were meted out with no regard for the balancing act of vice and virtue. They simply died like animals.

---

WC: 678/2,500

“Oh right, that was it!”, Tomoe thought, bringing his pointer finger up as if a lightbulb had appeared over his head, his eyes lighting up with humanity once more.

He was already in the process of his job: taking care of gangs throughout Hosenka. Unfortunately, he'd gotten caught up along the way with his own personal passions. That was the sort of fragmented existence that the 'man' known as Tomoe Tanaka lived, though. Regardless, he did need to get back to work. He'd stop to admire the tip-tap of blood from the dead gangsters leaking through the shipping container briefly, a sadistic, almost clown-like grin creeping across his face as he saw the blood funnel into cracks in the container and onto the altar inside which was still lit by candles. He'd finish up with his rituals using a few more gangsters, and then head out of the warehouse to his next location.

It didn't take much effort to find a shady bar open at three in the morning, but what really surprised Tomoe was how easy it was to find yet more members of the Bad Beetles to 'take care of'. There was one guy in particular near the counter of the bar with his pants crooked and smelling of a finely blended and iced mixture of feces and vodka. He was blasted out of his mind, completely oblivious to everything around him, and slurring like a complete idiot. That was the perfect target for a cultist on a lonely night. Around him were a mixture of fellow Bad Beetles members and concerned patrons wondering if tonight was their night to die due to some reckless hooligans. A few got into some drunken brawls, which Tomoe stayed out of and merely watched.

He wanted to gauge the relative strength of the average thug among their numbers, downing a simple glass of water as he did so. Nasty looks were inevitable when it came to ordering simple water and nothing more, but Tomoe paid no mind. He'd tip the bartender a Jewel or two when he left – clearly that'd be enough to cover it, right?

“Aha, look at the little pussy over here drinkin' water. Biiiitch!”, the drunk loudmouth boomed in a sing-song tone as he slapped Tomoe's water off the counter, part of it spilling onto the Joyan's cloak and armor.

---

WC: 1,071/2,500

Tomoe looked down at the cup on the ground for a moment, and then back up at the dirty cockroach who thought himself equal or even superior. Standing from his chair, he of course wasn't able to match the gangster's height. He was still quite short compared to most guys his age, so the advantage of intimidation via height simply didn't exist. He'd probably be looked down on more often than not – both figuratively and literally. That was okay for him. Being shorter meant he was closer to the weak spots that mattered. As the goon shoved Tomoe, the ronin responded with a classic Joyan martial arts move.

“Ikken Hissatsu: Kick to Your Balls Technique!”, Tomoe shouted with great power and a commanding voice that shook the room like thunder.

And just like the room shook, so too did the hooligan's balls. With a single well-placed knee to the groin, it was almost as if a 'pop' sound could be heard echoing throughout the tavern. In that moment, all other fights in the establishment stopped. It was as if a dragon itself had assaulted the goon's family jewels and seen them devoured by fangs bigger than human bodies. It was almost as if the goon descended from the strike in slow motion, or as if floating down on a cloud. He had been raised up so far by the knee strike that it was almost as if he ascended to heaven for a moment, his glazed eyes downcast at the floor he would soon find himself kissing. He started foaming at the mouth in shock, completely devoid of emotion and reason as he flailed like a fish out of water. It was as if he was born again as a newborn, forgetting something as simple as how to walk or relieve oneself without assistance.

While that loudmouth lay there going through his entire toddler years all over again in a matter of minutes, the other goons that had started a brawl elsewhere in the tavern took off towards Tomoe. Unlike the previous loser, this remaining trio of drunkards seemed to know more about what they were doing.

The three weaved around Tomoe as if they were dancing on a river's edge, punching him at odd angles from different sides. They executed an assault from three sides all at once: one attacked him head-on, another from his left flank, and the final from behind. Each one struck at an odd place, as if trying to get through cracks in the Joyan's leather armor. Sturdily built and of master craftsmanship, however, it wouldn't prove so easy to make that happen. Tomoe felt the impacts of their blows, but it wouldn't be enough to stagger him.

---

WC: 1,525/2,500

Tomoe punched ahead, but found his fist meeting thin air as the water dancing bandit found himself rolling backwards in that same instant. The other two would attempt more attacks in that moment, but on instinct after missing his first attack in front, delivered a sweeping roundhouse kick while spinning to hit the other two at his left flank and back. His leg, of course, did not make contact with either of the slippery slimeballs as they backflipped away from him. Their styles were reminiscent of particular martial arts from both Sin and Joya – a blend of two different styles, almost. They seemed to mix the Sinese art of “poke the dullard until he's unconscious” with the Joyan art of “get absolutely blackout drunk and fight like your life depends on it”; an interesting combination, to say the least, and debatably effective. The fact that it was debatable as to its effectiveness probably spoke more to its merits than not, though.

At that moment, right when Tomoe thought he had seen everything there was to see from them, a blast of water zoomed by his head and through one of the walls of the bar – a near hit, if not for a pinch of luck at Tomoe moving his head at the right moment. Sometimes Lady Luck just loved him like that, and luck was itself an important skill to master. Regardless, it wasn't the time to praise such things. Tomoe would make his dash out of the bar into the cold night air and darkness. The three water dancers would follow him, and immediately be met with a surprise on the way out the door. The first of them to exit had his face make contact with the ronin's sheathed sword. Even at this level, the sword seemed to deem them unworthy.

A shame., Tomoe thought as he saw the first of the dancers fly backwards from the impact, nearly hitting his fellows if they hadn't reacted in time, and crumpling to the floor inside the bar, unconscious.

The Joyan would retreat further outside, allowing the other two to take their places in the open streets with him. Cramped places would make for annoying fights, so Tomoe decided to simply change the scenery. They would attempt to barrage him with their rush of martial arts and water magic once again, but as Tomoe charged towards them first, they reconsidered their plan of attack. Unfortunately, only one of them would get the chance to consider anything, because between the two of them, the one on the left met with a crushing blow to his stomach that left a deafening crack afterwards. The look on the thug's face, combined with his falling to the ground like a limp noodle, said all there was to say. If he was crippled for life after this, that would be on him. Tomoe had no responsibility with that.

---

WC: 2,010/2,500

Then, there were two. Tomoe eyed the last of the frilly dancing thugs, hopping and skipping as they were. In numbers they were a threat, but divided they were a joke. Tomoe rushed forth once again with his sword to turn the last of them into a crater, when he was met with an unexpected counter stance. The man, in a moment, redirected the impact of the sword rather than blocking it or tanking it directly, and in a single second's worth of momentum loss, kicked the sword free from Tomoe's hand. The blade of Miyamoto Musashi went flying a few meters away.

Tomoe knew if he retreated he'd leave himself vulnerable, so he needed to stay in the fight as it was. Taking a small step backwards while still facing his opponent, the ronin got into an unarmed combat stance. That was how it'd need to be decided, after all. It was brawn against grace, strength against agility, and there was nothing for it but to get that exchange underway. With little regard for strategy, Tomoe rushed the water dancer. As graceful as a ballerina, the hooligan ducked under and away from the opening jab that Tomoe had attempted, trying to kick the Joyan while fleeing. Tomoe decided to take a page from a pupil... underling... teammate? It didn't matter. He grabbed the dancer's leg as it kicked at his midsection, keeping it sturdy with his strength. The reaction time needed for such a thing was clearly something the aqua goon didn't expect, growing wide-eyed.

Tomoe would grab and twist the dancer's leg, breaking it with a sickening crack. As he squealed like a pig in pain on the ground, it would be time to put the piggy down. As the dancer stumbled around, trying to get some distance between them by crawling tooth and nail through the dirt, he'd be met with Tomoe easily catching up. He'd pick up the broken legged man and slam him against the outside bar walls, nearly knocking him out in that moment.

---

WC: 2,350/2,500

“He... Hey... listen up for a sec, okay? Just give me a minute, man! Hey!”, the dancer begged, holding up his hands in surrender, wide-eyed as a bunny being hunted as he looked Tomoe in the eyes.

When Tomoe didn't immediately continue his assault, the dancer continued. “The first guy you knocked out... he's actually our boss. The leader of the Bad Beetles! I-If you let us go, we can get you all sorts of money and connections! You don't need to do this, you seem like a... a reasonable guy... so... please?”

The dancer was near unconscious, the pain from his leg getting to him. Tomoe pondered on the idea for a second... these gangsters sure were the types to throw money around as a reason to spare them, weren't they? Well, Tomoe was sent to take care of the Bad Beetles, but if more money found its way into his pockets, who was he to really complain? He'd shown them true power and instilled fear in them well enough, so maybe that would be enough to put them on the straight and narrow. Or not. In fact, Tomoe was both expecting and hoping they wouldn't be put straight after this, as that would mean he'd get the opportunity to do this dance of death once again. Only next time, he decided he wouldn't be so kind as to go as easy on them as he did.

“Fine. I'll clean out your stash, an' hook me up with a few contacts while you're at it. We'll be in touch, Bad Beetles.”, Tomoe spoke, drawing the broken legged man in closer to whisper the last part in his ear before releasing him.

The crippled dancer would dig through his unconscious boss' pockets, retrieving some bribe money to let them go for now. As someone who held a decently sized bounty himself, Tomoe understood the need to do anything to get away. Prison was an awful thing, after all. The less time spent in there, the better. Tomoe had never been, himself. What kind of criminal was he, one might ask? The smart one, usually. Deception went a long way, but so did muscle. Who said a person couldn't have both?

Tomoe took off after collecting his bribe money from the Bad Beetles, leaving their crippled and broken bodies in the streets. Their leader, the one who slapped Tomoe's water away and called him a pussy, would undoubtedly never have kids. Such a thought brought delectable joy to the Joyan's heart, and he felt a cuddly warmth in his chest at that idea. He'd done good today – it was time to lie to his clients and say that the Bad Beetles had been taken care of.

---

WC: 2,500/2,500

- EXIT -