Tomoe was tasked with finding a gang boss of some renown within Hosenka. It was any other night to most people, but for Tomoe, it was special. He had been given a job, sure, but more importantly he had received HER words. He was wondering whether they were real – pondering, almost, when he realized that it didn't matter either way. His emotions were real, and valid. He thought he heard that in a support group one time, but that was mostly useless. It was some kind of help group for struggling alcoholics that he was pressured into joining, but he ended up using it to score a bunch of babes for a night and then peacing out. Hot babes too, but that was besides the point; the best women were always alcoholics. Why was that such a common thing? Ah, well. It didn't matter, in the end. Alcoholics would drink, people would fuck... such was the way of the world.

“Am I right, buddy? That's just how the world is.”, Tomoe would question the nearly dead man while holding him by the hair, the two of them in the middle of a dim warehouse.

Raising the head closer to eye level with the Joyan, out of the shadows, it was eventually revealed that the nearly dead man's head was not connected to his body. It clearly just happened, because Tomoe was there and watching life drain from the man's eyes. Around him, Tomoe was surrounded by corpses upon corpses, huddled into corners and stuffed like so much vermin. They were more piles of flesh than people now, and that fact brought a smile to Tomoe's face. It was so... fun. Giving in, that is. SHE was the one truly by his side all along, and through HER visions was Tomoe given power and shown the real way to the truth.

The truth was, that many sacrifices would be needed to turn dreams into reality, and SHE would not get by in a world that had evil in it. All those who were evil would need to be purged, and Penumbral Guard was not the right way to do this. Though, was there anywhere that would accept his vision? The Midnight Cult was the only place that would accept him, and regardless of any brainwashing, he still begrudgingly admitted that he possessed deep admiration and love for HER. SHE had resurrected him and shown him how beautiful the world could be for everybody else if only SHE were here.

“It's not enough.”, Tomoe mused to himself, hand to chin in thought as he observed the blood pools gathered in rusted buckets and paint cans – no doubt harvested from the bodies of the dead hooligans that had so daringly assumed they were on his level.

He'd been given a quest still, after all, and he was figuring it out. There were many gangs and thugs on the streets of Hosenka, grouping together for strength and survival like rats in their little dens; mere vermin that thought that kneeling before the might of the law and skulking about in the shadows was the way to go. Bowing and submitting to the government and the knights and taking scraps when they weren't looking. Those weren't the actions of fearsome criminals with devious agendas, it was the bare minimum ambition of lowlives and penny pinchers. Those sorts of scoundrels didn't know their head from their ass, and would simply be jailed eventually without making so much as a peep, instead biding their time for a half-assed prison break or something. Being a former rat himself, Tomoe was all too aware of the ways of weaklings and degenerates. He'd worked under them and been one for so long in his past that it was only a matter of course that he would be an expert at dealing with them when presented with the opportunity to do so.

---

WC: 653/2,500

That was another warehouse down, and an unknown number to go. Tomoe had spent all night simply following loudmouths from the gang, the King Eagles, and tracing them back to various hideouts. He hadn't stopped for food, drinks or rest as he went about this task, focused purely on bringing these feathered friends to their knees and forcing them to perform the rituals necessary for the survival of the Midnight Cult. He didn't know whether these rituals had any true effect on her tether to this world, seeing as how he hadn't been a devout for as long as many others in the cult. He'd had an example set for him by others, sure, but it was unclear if this would even... do anything. The only thing the crimson cutthroat knew was that he personally felt better when he performed these rituals. He was no summoner, and was a novice at best when handling magic, but he couldn't deny a particular fondness for these blood sacrifices. SHE told him to perform them, after all, and he didn't think he could deny it.

There was never a path for him where he could become a hero, and he knew that already. He was resigned to it. The most he could do is punish the evildoers as he went about his rituals and his missions, as he still had more disdain for the scumbags of the world than anyone else. He still hated demons and the Abyss, but he wouldn't limit himself to staying within Fiore's laws anymore. Without fail, he would become an avatar of hatred. The most wanted man in the country. Somebody to absorb all the blame and despair of others – a villain to put Fiore's sins on. That was Tomoe Tanaka: a man with nothing to lose, and no special or great destiny. He was simply somebody that wanted to live a happy life without restrictions. To be free at last.

Following some other goofball who was talking shit in a bar earlier, Tomoe blended in with the shadows and the night life as the foolish goon put Tomoe on a path straight to another darkened warehouse. At this point, Tomoe was undoubtedly bloodied on parts of his armor, but nobody dared step up and ask any questions. If he wanted to, the Joyan could very easily hide everything and keep it secretive; and regarding his loyalty to HER, he would. And most of the time, he'd try to keep secrets. But a bit of blood? That was kid stuff. He wouldn't feel obligated to hide something like that during a nice night like this; a night so invigorating and filled with the blood of the guilty.

---

WC: 1,102/2,500

As the goon entered another warehouse closer to the outskirts of the Crimson Quarter, Tomoe's relatively neutral facial features curled into those of a devil about to raise his pitchfork. It was perfect: there was nobody around, and he'd be led in by a drunk bastard that didn't know what he was doing. It could be a trap of course, and Tomoe was ready to move quickly if that were the case. Faking intoxication wasn't that difficult once one got the hang of it, and playing stupid was just as easy. As the drunkard entered the dim warehouse, Tomoe paused for a few moments and pressed his ear to the wall to try and make out anything he could from inside. Silence. The loud drunkard wasn't being loud anymore, and nobody inside was talking. Well, not talking at a noise level that Tomoe could hear anyway.

As he entered, Tomoe felt a spotlight beam on him. Then two. Then three. Then, a goddamn parade of cackling and chuckling goons from all over the warehouse. Clearly they were hidden by some kind of magic, because Tomoe had darkvision and was still unable to point them out. Only one person stepped forward in clear view, stopping 10 meters away from Tomoe. He wore an all-black suit and smoked a fancy-looking cigar. A gold ring rested on his left ring finger that was probably so packed full of gold that it was worth more than Tomoe's life. The swordsman stepped forward and raised a hand to speak, but was met with a 'shushhhh' sound by the cigar man. That pissed Tomoe off, like he was a cat getting sprayed by water after doing something bad, but thinking about his current outfit he could probably use a good hosing down.

“You're gonna sit there and listen, boy. You've been causing some real shit around here lately, and my eyes know that for a fact. There's no escaping that fact. A little rat that's been hanging about Hosenka and fucking with us. Fucking with me. Well, I'll have you know, nobody fucks with m-”

The man was cut off when Tomoe dashed forward and threw a fist towards the man. Caught off guard at the speed and precision, the cigar man only just narrowly avoided the strike. Instead, his cigar suffered the consequences, not managing to escape the attack in time and falling in pieces to the cold, hard, dirty warehouse floor. After catching his breath for a second, the cigar man who now lacked a cigar pointed at Tomoe and shouted, “Catch his little drunk ass!”.

---

WC: 1,534/2,500

True, Tomoe was drunk. Probably verging on plastered, but what was a good ritual without a good drink to go with it? He had to pour one out for the damned souls that he reaped from the planet, after all. Each one deserved a drop of liquor, and he wouldn't waste it by simply dumping it. Much like he would take on the hatred of many, he would take on their alcohol as well. Did that make sense? Probably not, as he was drunk. Drunk and sleep deprived – the perfect combo, under these circumstances. As blasts of fire, ice, lightning and so on rained down from corners of the warehouse on top of stacked boxes and crates, Tomoe dodged to and fro, weaving around their projectiles. Their numbers were many, but their total power? Trash.

The cigarless man hadn't even attacked yet, as he was reaching into his pocket hastily and desperately for something, sweat dripping down his bald head. He almost looked like a dwarf, but with how often Tomoe had seen those, he was fully convinced that those stout drum-body fuckers weren't even real; mere fairy tales that bore no place in reality. If he ever found one of the little bastards, he'd probably be so freaked out by them that he'd sacrifice them on the spot. Who knows? Dwarf blood would potentially prove to be quite nice for rituals. If anything, it would spice things up within HER blood pool.

The cigarless man finally found what he was looking for in the rear pocket of his dress pants – a wooden, brown pipe. As a volley of magic blasts went off trying to hit Tomoe, the cigarless man stuck the pipe in his mouth like a prostitute during happy hour. Firmly inside his maw, the rather stout pipe man began inhaling dramatically, building up mana, and then exhaling. As he exhaled, dark smoke would come rushing forth from the funnel of the pipe and towards Tomoe.

It obscured him and blocked his sight, and it was at that point that Tomoe had enough. Blasting out of the smoke while surrounded in golden light, the Joyan began to fly and rocketed towards the location of the various magic blasts coming his way. With his sword in his hands, still in its scabbard, he would strike at the various invisible foes, hearing their pained screams as a sign that he was successfully felling them. They weren't exactly positioned strategically, which made it easy for him to deduce their locations and strike them down with haste and wide swings. Combined with his speed while surrounded in a glorious golden aura, they simply couldn't react to his speed and the pressure he was putting on them to try to take him down.

---

WC: 1,994/2,500

When the projectiles finally stopped coming towards Tomoe, he returned to the ground. Bodies of dead gang members and mages that were covered in some layer of invisible soot fell lifeless one by one, leaving the warehouse silent aside from the light and smoke mages respectively. They eyed each other down like gunslingers having a standoff, ready to begin their last exchange. Tomoe was holding his sword, the pipe mage holding his... well, his pipe. What else was he gonna do? He had a goddamn pipe in his mouth.

The pipe mage was the first to act, blowing dark smoke alongside a small fire towards Tomoe's direction 10 meters away. What would Tomoe do in response? Quite simple. Wearing his armor and holding the sword that would suppress the damage, he charged through it with his weapon raised to strike. Emerging from the other end of the smoke and in front of the pipe mage, the gangster would try to take another step backwards to dodge the strike just like their earlier exchange.

“Not gonna be good enough.”, Tomoe spoke plainly, almost disappointed, as he took a step forward; unlike last time, he'd have enough range to hit more than a cigar.

The strike broke the man's pipe, and also his face. The pipe man went flying backwards, tumbling into a nearby crate and the bloody stains that were his former allies. As their spaghetti limbs trickled down onto his bald head and all over his black suit – now turned crimson – he nearly pissed himself in shock and fear as the sword-wielding demon continued to approach.

“Wait, wait! We can make a deal... I can pay you more than whatever you're getting offered to be here now. You can get a lot more out of me by keeping me alive!”.

Tomoe pondered it for a moment, hand raised to his chin, and then looked with a psychotic glare towards the begging gangster. His smile couldn't be any wider, and his eyes danced with flames. He knew what would come next, for this man offering up his riches in exchange for his life. So pathetic. So worthless. So...

Tomoe walked out of the warehouse, a pretty and fat bag of jewels in his hands. Despite being a cultist and killing many gangsters, he truly did make out like a bandit that night. Money made the world turn, and there was nothing else he needed more to get himself off the ground. He was dirt poor at the moment, and that would need to change. Morals meant nothing, and he'd gladly offer his services to the highest bidder if it was significantly more; he'd even switch sides in the middle of a battle if it seemed more beneficial for him in the heat of it. There was no true 'side' he was on right now; he simply needed to kill his humanity.

But how to do that...?

Tomoe thought this to himself as he made his way to a bar. Or perhaps he would visit a hot spring and laundromat first to wipe the blood off of him. He was a murderer, but he wasn't too dirty. He would need to clean off and continue to think of the right way to go about ending his previous ties. It would be tough to fully kill his old self off, but he'd force himself to be up to the challenge. After all, in his current fragmented existence, he wasn't yet up to the task. He needed to become closer to HER ideal servant, or else he'd be lost forever.

---

WC: 2,500/2,500

- EXIT -