Ko Matatsu
Draped in the blaskest night, Ko had gone from a laughing stock to a figure of death. A being of destruction that harvested soul from body, traversing the battlefield to reap what it is owed.
He cut a spitting haunting figure of a Shinigami.
A death god.
A kami who cut warriors, drunkards, fools and wisemen alike.
But from it all, from all of the play of illusion and danger given off by the white there was but one thing that the man could say. Drapped in his black robes, the young man roughly pulled down the mask that covered his body and proudly spoke with insignant pride and anger only the firey spirited could possess.
"The fuck is a scone?"
So sayeth the shinigami.
Draped in the blaskest night, Ko had gone from a laughing stock to a figure of death. A being of destruction that harvested soul from body, traversing the battlefield to reap what it is owed.
He cut a spitting haunting figure of a Shinigami.
A death god.
A kami who cut warriors, drunkards, fools and wisemen alike.
But from it all, from all of the play of illusion and danger given off by the white there was but one thing that the man could say. Drapped in his black robes, the young man roughly pulled down the mask that covered his body and proudly spoke with insignant pride and anger only the firey spirited could possess.
"The fuck is a scone?"
So sayeth the shinigami.