Fandom Demon Slayer: North America (Arc 1: The Eastern Pinkerton Estate) [Closing]

[QuirkyAngel]

The Hospital: New Genetics: Injury WardHilda Von Rowenburg

“Me…?”

Confusion echoed in Hilda’s voice, reflecting her mental state quite clearly to those able to hear the bafflement in the tone. Confused. There was no better way to describe what the silver-haired demon slayer was feeling at the moment. Why was she strapped to a bed? What was causing her so much pain?

Was she dreaming?

That would explain why ghosts of the past, of the children she’d failed to save, were appearing before her again. Every once in a while they would crop up in her dreams - Jimmy, Tom, Carter, Anne, etc. Haunting her. Reminding her of why she still fought and why she had to get stronger - so that weakness of the past wouldn’t be repeated.

“...a demon?”

Was she a demon for failing to save them? For being afraid? For prioritizing her own life when she reasoned that there was nothing that she, as a child, could’ve done in that situation? That the best course of action, after trying and failing to warn them, had been to wait for her father’s return? No. They had every right to hate her, but she’d been very much human when she’d made that decision.

Humans were weak. That was why they used any means possible, drugs or otherwise, to get ahead in the war.

She couldn’t even say that many of the ones she’s met (she hasn’t met very many since she tends to keep her distance from ordinary folk ) were especially nice. But, even so, she’d grown up knowing it was her job to protect them from the monsters of the night. That her task, her life’s purpose, to defend humankind; Her kind. Where demons came from, what their goals were, none that really mattered to her.

“No. I refuse to believe it.”

The very idea disgusted her. Becoming a demon meant that she had failed. That she had died, succumbing to one…wait! Was that what was going on? Had she died? Hilda’s heart rate spiked for a moment before forcing herself to breathe, the same techniques her father taught her to calm her mind. Pale blue-grayish eyes flitted over to the approaching ‘Hilda’...which shouldn’t be possible, given she, Hilda, was currently strapped to a bed. How many times have demons attempted to trick her using her own inner demons? Tried to pull a wool over her eyes with the illusions they cast? The jeers of the children hurt, but it wasn’t something she wasn’t used to.

Sent by the ghost of the children she’d failed to save to slay her?

Hilda snorted. “If I am a demon, then so are you.”

A bold claim considering Hilda had no idea of what she was seeing before her was the work of a demon or a figment of her own imagination. It shamed her to admit that she depended on Boreas senses more often than she ought to when it came to detecting demonic presence.

But not this time.

This time Willow’s child wasn’t with her. It was just her and her Nichirin axe…though she could’ve sworn she’d heard her current partner’s growls some time earlier. The sound had given her comfort. A sense of security.

Hunting was best done in a pack. Despite her relatively lone wolf personality, that was what her father had taught her about Wolf Breathing.

“But whatever you are, whatever I am, it doesn’t matter. I won’t let myself die here.”

Even strapped to the bed and immobilized, there were ways she could think of to fight back. Hilda focused on her breathing. She took a deep breath.

Fourth Form: Howl of the Wolf King!

Then a loud, gutteral, dominating howl escaped her lips, reverberating across the hospital room. A sound that hurt the ears of most weaker demons. The bed trembled from the resulting pulse . The straps threatened to rip. Outside, distant howls responded. They would arrive in time. For now, Hilda studied the ‘Hilda’ that had come to kill her, looking for a reaction. A sign that the figure before her was someone she could kill; A sign of demonic nature.

“If you try to kill me, I’ll kill you.”

That was how she’d survived as a Demon Slayer. No matter what guise they wore. No matter how many of her former friends she had to slay. No matter how her body ached.

The war continued on.

Hilda reached for the pulsing, red Nichirin weapon, further tearing the straps that couldn't hope to keep her bound for very long.

White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Purgatory:
Cell 6

​

August
The cold steel of the axe glinted in the dimly lit cell, its blade hovering just in front of August's neck. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, suffocating both August and Kincaid. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each agonizing second a painful reminder of impending death. In a flash, the golden-eyed woman was cleaved back into the same shadows from whence she came while Monty was thrust to the floor of the cell by Kincaid's boot. Second by second, it looked as if the situation would not go his way. August had planned to escape with this woman, kill the nurse who violated him the most, and then retire to a backwater town, feasting only on the people necessary to sate his desire for blood. He'd keep a low profile, he swore it, but this woman was unmerciful!

So as the tip of her crimson axe made contact with his skin, a searing pain coursed through August's body, jolting him back to events of his past. Images of a lonely childhood played like a twisted montage, each memory carving its own scar on his soul. The laughter of cruel children echoed in his mind as he recalled being scorned, mocked, and made to scavenge for scraps of food like a stray animal. His heart ached at the recollection of his first love being beaten to a pulp just because she dared to care for him. Life as a human was hard due to the cruelty of others and he'd be damned if he didn't fight to prevent being a victim for the rest of his. He was a demon, damn it! The very reason he chose to be one! To be the head and not the tail! Grabbing the justice he was never given! To inflict the same pain on others that they once inflicted on he!

With each and every memory, a newfound determination surged through August's veins. He realized now, in this moment of certain demise...that he wanted to live. The demon within him fought against its fate, lashing out with all its strength and cunning. The struggle within him manifested in a crescendo of screams, rage, and sheer desperation.

"DAMN SLAYER!" August snarled as he thrashed against his restraints, his normally lifeless eyes burning with a hellish flame. "I won't let you take me!"

​

Veins now bulged around his form, fierce and primal, as his body transformed into a vessel of defiance. Hardening the tendons of his neck, August felt Kincaid's grip on the axe tighten as she strained against the force of August's seemingly futile resistance. A twisted smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of malevolence and satisfaction. He met Kincaid's eyes, the fire in her own matching the inferno raging within him.

'Oh, but you don't have a choice, demon. Your time has come,' her eyes seemed to say.

'Well, we shall see!' he visualized back.

With one final burst of power, August twisted his body in a desperate attempt to dislodge the axe from Kincaid's grip. The struggle intensified; a deadly dance between predator and prey. The outcome was uncertain with the fates of both hanging in the balance. And it all came down to this moment- a battle of wills and past regrets. The climax of their shared destiny ignited, mixing together the culmination of pain, anger, and an insatiable lust for their chosen desires.

"Blood Demon Art: Venom Rush!"

Gushing out of his mouth was a corrosive acid that August aimed with reckless abandon. Missing Kincaid, it landed on the cell walls, ceiling, and prison bars; melting any and everything it touched into an acidic slush.

"I hope you die! I will kill you! You will not end me! I will kill you and drink the marrow from the bones of your body!"

August had gone mad. Eyes white and teeth bared, the demon struggled to live with every fiber of his being.

Fighting For Life

Severing a Demon's Neck Nice try Kincaid, but you failed to cut off the demon's head in one strike! With the blade now stuck in his neck, you are now locked into the fight for his life. Beside each demon character's heading in the Character sheet, will be two numbers (ex. 2 of 2) . It represents what has to be rolled in order to successfully cut through a demon's neck. If you fail, the demon will either launch an attack to change the setting or remove the blade entirely. In this case, August just changed the setting, but next time, Kincaid might not be so lucky. If you'd like to try again to seal the deal, just throw a two-faced dice in your next post. If it lands on 2, the beheading is a success, if it lands on 1, then we'll just have to see what happens next.

simj26

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

​

???????
In the aftermath of the climactic vote, the demon slayers began their steady procession out of the grand mansion, their faces a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. What exactly would Hilda bring to the table as a Hashira? Would she be as good as the others and able to turn the tide of the war? What would be done with the captured Eastern King and did it mean they'd finally be rid of the demon scourge? The air was thick with anticipation and each step echoed loudly through the magnificent, bustling lobby. As the warriors moved, the resonance of a resounding, guttural roar shattered the calm, festive atmosphere. A primal sound; it tore through the Pinkerton Estate's grounds, chilling the blood of even the most battle-hardened slayers.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward the source of the sound, their gazes peering through the mansion's many tall windows. There, in the dim light of the impending afternoon, emerged a sea of wolves. The sight sent a ripple of unease through the guards stationed at the Estate's perimeter, their weapons held tight in their hands. The wolves, however, did not immediately cross the boundary of the estate, with their intentions for the time being unclear. Yet as the weakening rays of the sun drooped closer to the horizon, a second, more sinister howl pierced the air. This one carried an unnatural resonance, an eerie blend of wolf and something far more demonic. The reaction was near instantaneous. The wolves, initially held at bay, suddenly convulsed with agitation and eyes that glowed otherworldly shades of yellow. ( QuirkyAngel )

Then, like a black tide, they surged forward, overcoming the Kakushi guards' attempts to hold them back. Panic spread like wildfire among the demon slayers as they were assaulted by the frenzied onslaught. Feral growls and snapping jaws filled the air as chaos consumed the estate grounds. Strangely, in the midst of it all, a solitary figure with strange markings and yellow eyes stood frozen in the heart of the storm. Roger Pinkerton, the venerable head of the Pinkerton Alliance, stepped outside the mansion's grand entrance, his posture quick but cautious. Before he could react, a wolf lunged at Roger, its razor-sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. The pain was instant, and the man crumpled to the ground with the color draining from his face and into the blood that pooled around him.

Inside the chaos, a figure unlike the rest was invisible to the attention of the wolves. A female demon, her golden eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence, darted past Colt Curtis. A playful giggle escaped her lips as she locked gazes with Colt for a fleeting moment, the un-uttered words of a chilling promise held within her gaze.

'Marechi blood.'

One taste and he was dead.

The woman slipped past him with uncanny agility and her steps led her quickly up the mansion's grand staircase. ( IG42 ) The brief encounter undoubtedly shaking Colt, a strong hand then closed around his right arm. It was a Kakushi, a loyal attendant of the Demon Slayer Corps, who implored him urgently to aid Roger lying vulnerable outside. While the Kakushi pushed his unease aside and sprinted back out of the lobby toward the injured leader, the chaos escalated with the grand mansion's lobby transforming into a battleground. A pack of wolves broke through the front doors of the lobby, their snarls and bared fangs sending a shiver down the spines of those within. As chaos and confusion reigned, another unassuming figure melted with the flow. Lawrence, the enigmatic wanderer, seemed to navigate the turmoil with an almost preternatural ease.

​

But then, a colossal wolf locked its predatory gaze onto Lawrence. With a frenzied determination, it circled the man, shaking off interrupting slayers and readying itself to spring forward. Though huge, the wolf's movements were fluid and precise, the culmination of years of hunting prey with calculation and lethal precision. ( GasMaskie )

Back outside, the Kakushi reached Roger's side, the head of the Pinkerton Alliance struggling to keep unconsciousness at bay. His fingers trembled as he fumbled through his emergency medical kit while hastily applying pressure to the deep wound. The sounds of battle echoed around them, a symphony of danger that seemed to grow ever louder. Why were wolves attacking them now? In broad daylight? Did it have to do with Hilda? Were these her wolves and something happened with the Hashira exam?

Wolves and demon slayers clashed in a frenzy of teeth and steel while the afternoon sun shone over human and canine blood. Back inside, if Colt had lifted his gaze to the grand staircase where the demon with the golden eyes disappeared, he might have been struck with a chilling sense of urgency- there was more to this attack than met the eye. Yet there was more in the science with the capacity to grab his attention. In a distant corner of the mansion's lobby, Lawrence, still handcuffed, would be engaged in battle with a colossal wolf. And although the battle's intensity began to wane with the wolves slowly retreating as the demon slayers re-grouped and fought back, Roger Pinkerton still lay open outside. The air remained thick with tension as the estate's grounds, once a symbol of defiance, now bore the scars of an unexpected battle. Even so, the demon slayers stood united, their collective resolve unbroken by the sudden onslaught.

It was now that Colt had a choice. With the tides for the moment turned, where would he place himself? Who would he choose to save? And what story would he write for this chapter in the book of his growing life?

Lucem

 

[White Masquerade]

Pertmore Academy

​

Wayra Catawnee
"Finally. We're here."

Wayra and Russel stepped onto the hallowed grounds of Pertmore Academy and her eyes widened as they took in the sprawling campus that seemed to stretch on forever. Towering spires, magnificent archways, and lush gardens surrounded them, all giving the academy an air of grandeur and prestige that was simply too hard to ignore.

"Russel...this is amazing."

The two made their way through the grounds and equally competing with the Academy's immaculate construction, was the intensity of the activity that occurred all around them. Demon slayers in their distinctive uniforms were engaged in various forms of training. Some were partaking in intense sparring sessions, their wooden swords clashing with precision and force. Others were engaged in vigorous exercises, honing their physical strength and agility. And still, others were meticulously sharpening their weapons, their faces set in single-minded concentration. However, amidst this flurry of activity, Wayra and Russel's attention drew to a central square where a massive crowd had gathered.

"Aha! There she is!"

"Sheesh! Look at her go!"

Murmurs and whispers buzzed through the room as everyone's gaze was fixed on the heart of the crowd. Gently pushing their way through the throng, Wayra and Russel would finally get a clear view of what was captivating the attention of everyone. In the center of the space, a figure moved with grace unparalleled. Samantha Waller, known as the Emotions Hashira, was engaged in a battle that was nothing short of mesmerizing.

Her opponents, demon slayers themselves, challenged her one after another, each only to be defeated in one blow. Using wooden swords and guns loaded with rubber bullets, the fights were non-lethal, but the intensity and realism of the battles remained all the same. Samantha's flourishes were marked by precision and skill. Her weapon sliced through the air with authority and her jabs, relentless. To Wayra, it seemed like she was reading her opponents' every move as if she could anticipate their very thoughts and emotions.

'Who was this person?' she wondered, not recalling seeing the woman during the vote for Hilda and her wolf friend. Though to be honest, this one was even more intimidating than the axe-wielder as she effortlessly seemed to be in a constant state of the zone. The battles continued and Samantha's streak of victories grew, reaching an impressive twenty-five in a row. With the latest defeat, the crowd further spoke in awe of the woman, claiming her to be the one who defeated the Eastern King. The Hashira rarely frequented the training barracks, sparring with her juniors even less so, yet today was a list of many near-firsts. Sweat dripped down off her neck and looking as if to call it a day, the Hashira's sharp gaze serendipitously fell upon Russel. And soon...a curious smile tugged at her lips.

Meet Me
Samantha Waller
"You there," she spoke, turning to face him. "Come forward. I want to take a better look at you."

Frozen, Wayra slowly turned to watch Russel, unsure if the woman was singling him out. The feeling was surreal. The thing might have made anyone shake, but still, there was this magnetic quality to Samantha's voice that drew you in- compelling you to step forward even in the midst of apprehension. With a mixture of astonishment and concern, Wayra watched as the crowd backed away from the man, leaving him alone to the Hashira's eye.

"Eh? Who's that? Where's that guy from?"

"I have no idea. Never seen him around here before. Does she want to fight him or something?"

As those slayers present spoke of and questioned why he was the one she wanted, the intuition of Wayra noticed something else. A depth of understanding from Samantha, an understanding that offered to pierce through the black box called Russel. Samantha had the uncanny ability to pick up on people's emotions, and as she settled on Russel, her expression became thoughtful. It was as if she could see into the man's soul. There was a weight he carried and a darkness that seemed to shadow his every move. There was a lack of purpose and absence of will to live that had taken root within. It was obvious to Samantha that Russel moved like life held no significance.

"Let's have a spar, friend," the woman continued. "Somebody get him a sword," she called out. But upon a second look, she corrected herself. "Wait. A gunslinger eh? Scratch that last part. Someone get him a box of rubber bullets for his gun. I want to see what this guy's got."

Still, the crowd stood unmoving before one demon slayer ran to a shelf and tossed Russel a few boxes of rubber bullets from off it. For the people gathered, it was a chance to see Samantha beat her 26th opponent, but for the Hashira, it was an opportunity to explore the depths of his emotions.

However, there was yet another perspective to consider. As Russel contemplated Samantha's offer, Wayra Catawnee's heart raced. She wondered if Russel would accept the challenge. Would he step forward to face the woman, to put himself on display in a battle that might go beyond the physical? As the seconds ticked past, Wayra waited on Russel, waited to see if he'd be willing to step from out of the shadows and into the light.

Castello
White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Lake Wisteria:
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds

​

Didier Oyahe
The sun dipped low on the horizon as Didier Oyahe approached the Demon Slayer Burial Grounds near Lake Wisteria. His journey from a previous mission still weighed heavily on his shoulders, the memory of battling a particularly dangerous demon on a speeding train still fresh in his mind. Yet, as he gazed at the tranquil beauty throughout the Eastern Pinkerton Estate, he couldn't help but find solace in the serene surroundings. The lush wisteria vines, cascading gracefully, seemed to embrace the peaceful souls resting here.

"Ah, this place looks so much better than the Western Estate," Didier mused to himself. "I'm sure if he were still here, Dolton would have appreciated this," he thought, which immediately made him sad as he proceeded to move on.

Didier continued his trek toward the graves and his thoughts further turned to his former master, Dolton Ray. It had been years since he had last seen the man who had saved him from the clutches of Madame Koi Koi in West Africa, teaching him the ways of a demon slayer. And yet, the shock of learning that Dolton had met his end at the hands of a demon still weighed heavily on his heart.

Though he knew it wasn't right, Didier just couldn't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving his master alone in his older age. He was a strong fighter, a former Hashira as well, but even during their final missions together, Didier could see it. The man getting a touch slower. The man getting a touch tired. The man taking just a bit longer to heal. It was disconcerting, but Didier even noticed Dolton was beginning to take pills to boost his physical powers to keep up with demons.

'So even with those, it was still not enough.'

Anger simmered beneath the surface as he thought about the demon responsible for Dolton's demise. The Hashira vowed to track down the creature and avenge his mentor's death. But in time, the rage cooled. There was actually another reason he had come to the Eastern Pinkerton Estate, a more personal one.

The truth was he wanted to meet Tony Rogers, Dolton's other student, and see if he was truly worthy of carrying on Dolton's legacy. Didier had heard stories of Tony from Dolton, stories that painted a picture of a young man with potential. But at this point in time, he had to see for himself. What kind of man was Tony Rogers? Would he be a formidable demon slayer like Dolton had hoped, or would he fall short of expectations?

In a moment, finally, Didier arrived at the grave of his deceased master, Dolton Ray. There, standing before the tombstone, he spotted Tony Rogers, a young man who had been through his own trials and tribulations. Didier took a moment to assess the person before him. Tony had a certain presence about him, a quiet strength that seemed to emanate from his core.

He stood with an air of determination, a testament to his years of training. Didier couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the fact that he and Tony were both disciples of Dolton Ray. But as he observed Tony, Didier couldn't help but wonder if he was truly worthy of the title. Did he have the resolve to eliminate demons, even if it meant sacrificing personal feelings for the greater good? On that, Didier had his doubts.

"Tony," Didier began, his voice steady but filled with a hint of reproach. "I heard about the demon, Suzan. Dolton told me how he spared her and sent you to Japan to train. But I have to ask, why did you let that demon live? It was a selfish and dangerous choice."

He continued, his tone unwavering. "I understand your personal feelings, but in our line of work, duty must come first. That's why Dolton made the decision he did. And I agree with him. I would have done the same. You see, in my home country of Ghana, there was a demon named Madame Koi Koi whom the people feared. She murdered countless of our babies who would have grown up to be nice young men and women. The demon you were trying to protect was the same kind of being Madame Koi Koi was."

Didier paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, he looked directly into Tony's eyes and asked, "So, Tony, why should I acknowledge you as a demon slayer, as Dolton's pupil, and as a person of worth?"

ZackStop

 

[Castello]

Somewhere In The Country

Russel Gibbons
Interactions - Samantha
Mentions - Wayra White Masquerade

Russell trailed behind Wayra, his steps meek and unenthusiastic, while the cacophony of swords clashing and rifles discharging explosive rounds failed to ignite any spark within him. The sole sign of his existence came in the form of sporadic yawns, a testament to his dire need for coffee.

When Samantha summoned him forth, Russell's decaffeinated state prompted a slight raise of his brow. He had been utterly disengaged from the ongoing battles, but he quickly discerned Samantha's formidable prowess by the battered fighters surrounding her and her commanding presence. Under normal circumstances, such a request might have earned a skeptical side-eye from Russell, but the prospect of ending up in the infirmary seemed marginally more appealing than being led around by Wayra.

With a resigned sigh, Russell acquiesced, saying, "Alright, I'm in." He accepted the magazine containing six bullets.

On the periphery, Russell noticed a novice fighter, injured and clutching his revolver, slumped in disgrace. He extended his hand abruptly, motioning for the weapon. The request was met with swift compliance, and Russell wasted no time inspecting the ammunition. Only one shot had been fired, and judging by Samantha's fluid combat style, it appeared the novice hadn't even managed to reload—a hasty attempt at best.

'I have a feeling she must be one of those Hashira. Well, this will be a brief encounter, but I'll need to avoid embarrassing myself...' Russell contemplated. 'At the very least, I'll land one shot.'

Maintaining a distance of about 20 meters and without uttering a word, Russell swiftly pivoted, assuming a crouching stance, and fired a rubber bullet towards Samantha's face, instantly cocking the bolt of his rifle in the process.

 

[ZackStop]

Lake Wisteria:
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds

Tony Rogers​

Tony doddled for a bit longer in the cemetery wondering what this was all about, and now that he was alone he had time to think. The moments he had in Japan to become stronger, faster, tougher, all to one day return to America, hardened enough to protect people from demons, and one demon in particular. But it was not meant to be. With his friend dead and Dolton in the dirt where he belonged, his return was one of the worst things that has ever happened to him. He didn't want to relive that, yet was requested here of all places. He was concerned about who was coming to meet him. Which Hashira? He wasn't very acquainted with any of them, especially not those that reside in North America's ranks. Japan taught him many things, but prevented many others.

And then it happened. He stopped for a moment at the sound of his name being spoken, then took his time turning to the sound. The man took his time, probably considered late if there was a set time to meet, but still, Didier Oyahe was greeted with a smile. Tony was a patient man after all, but as soon as he laid eyes on the African, abruptly and even rudely, the man spoke about Tony's past, not giving time for a proper introduction.

What was quickly turning into a lecture from the Hashira made Tony take a step back simply from the onslaught of words coming from him. He had asked the younger man a question, but didn't give him a moment to answer it, so he listened closely to the man's unwavering speech instead. Listening to his story from home and the point he was making pinned onto the tail end of it. There wasn't much else to do but listen since the man didn't give an inch in a conversation it seemed, but once he was done he dropped a package of additional questions onto Tony's lap.

Tony stood there for a moment in total silence, trying to formulate something coherent. He blinked a few times, then rubbed his head. "Uh..." He continued to smile at the Hashira, chuckling a bit. "...Sorry, can you repeat that please? That was a lot to take in!" He said with another awkward laugh, before pausing and looking at the Hashira. His face looked stern, maybe somewhat annoyed upon being asked to start over. Tony was too honest however and was unable to keep up the act, but it was a good way to cut through the tension with a well placed practical joke. "Hey now I'm only kidding! Only kidding!" He did his best to make it clear to the Hashira that he wasn't serious, but once he was confident that they could proceed, he did.

Clearing his throat into his own fist, Tony got serious again, crossing his arms and thinking about what to answer first. "Well, let's see." All Tony could think about were the question he wanted to ask Didier. He didn't even know him as Didier, just that he was apparently a Hashira. How did he know Dolton Ray? What were his consequences if he gave him an answer he didn't like? What was even the point of this conversation? Tony simply didn't know what to make of it all. "What to answer first. I'll start with your first question about Suzan." He lowered his arms to the side, a confident smile on his face. "I let her live because... She was my best friend. When our village was attacked by demons, she and I were the only children to survive. We immigrated to America together. So it should be clear that our bond was strong." The man looked deep into the sky thoughtfully as he reimagined her in his mind. "When she became a demon I was not yet a slayer you see, it wasn't really my duty at the time. Perhaps I was just a naive kid too." A somberness appeared in his eyes behind the faint smile he had left.

He turned back to look at his fellow Demon Slayer, the sadness in his eyes fleeting. "Hmm. As a Demon Slayer it is my sworn duty to eradicate the world of demons. It's a tall order but someone's gotta do it. Though I can hardly bare the idea that every demon I've come across were once human. That's what drives me to be strong, so I can make death that much more painless." He let his words simmer for a moment, taking a breath as he addressed the rest of Didier's questioning. It took him by surprise in truth when Didier first asked. Tony had no idea he'd be under the microscope.

"If you should acknowledge me or not, that's entirely up to you. I didn't become a Demon Slayer for that, and if I'm being completely honest, I'd rather not be seen as the pupil of the man who killed my friend." He glanced down at his headstone, the 'DOLTON RAY' carved into it, a neutral expression on his face. "And a person of worth? Kind of an ambiguous question. It's for you to decide." Tony then rested his wrist on the Nichirin katana at his hip, now ready to leave. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask, mystery Hashira?"
White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

The Hospital - New Genetics:
Injury Ward

​

Unnamed Kakushi
'Nnngh...'

'What...'

'What...'

'What happened..?'

Waking up groggy and disoriented, as if prodded by a ghost, the lone Kakushi awakened from their slumber after the auditory blow. Thinking back hard to the past few seconds, the Kakushi groaned as they felt a lump form, seemingly from a brutal blow to their head. Blinking gingerly, they tried to make sense of the chaotic scene before them.

'Oh...'

'Yeah...'

'That's right...'

Their fellow Kakushi lay unconscious beside them, eyes rolled back and foaming at the mouth, a clear victim of Hilda's uncontrollable roar. The nurse, too, had succumbed to the unexpected shock and was sprawled in a heap, defenseless and barely breathing. Hilda's condition, the very reason they were here, seemed to have spiraled out of control.

"Morphine...stat..."

"...twenty CCs..."

"...hashira exam..."

"...sleepfighting back..."​

Eh? Come again??

The nurse's delirious mumble caught the Kakushi's attention, referring to Hilda's situation as "Sleepfighting."

"You have got to be kidding."

The term sent a shiver down their spine. It was growing increasingly clear that Hilda was battling something within the depths of her mind, and they had no idea how to help her.

Frantically assessing the options available, the Kakushi considered seizing Hilda's axe, which was within reach by her bedside. It was a tempting thought, though they knew it was a risky move. Boreas, her loyal wolf, was a formidable guardian, and any attempt to grab the weapon could provoke a violent response. Switching to another idea, they contemplated picking up and running out of the room with their partner and the nurse, but the outcome for that didn't bode too well either. Hilda's current state was unpredictable, and attempting to move the others might make them an instant target, causing them a swift and permanent death.

Calling for help was something else they could try, but the Kakushi hesitated. Screaming and interrupting Hilda's mental examination could have dire consequences, not just for her, but potentially for them as well. Who knew if she'd become a vegetable after a failed exam? Or turned into a deranged monster that the slayers here would eventually have to put down. There were too many variables and too many unknowns above their pay grade that they'd need to consider.

With limited choices, the Kakushi's training as a former demon slayer kicked in. They knew some basic techniques and understood the idea of how to defend themselves, but also realized the odds were stacked heavily against them. Still, the decision was clear: they had to protect the unconscious nurse and their fellow Kakushi until Hilda woke up.

"Dear God. You know this is exactly why I didn't want to become a demon slayer. I value my life. And I'm not willing to throw it away to kill demons. No matter what. Please help me this once and help us get out of this situation alive."

In the dimly lit room, the Kakushi squared up and took a defensive stance, prepared for whatever might come next. They prayed silently for Hilda to pass her mental exam and regain control of her faculties. The Kakushi's hope literally rested on her strength, both in her dreams and reality.

Dream World
Hildaganger
As Hilda's roar echoed through the blackened expanse, a powerful surge of energy emanated from her. Hildaganger, taken aback by this dominating display of strength, staggered backward, her eyes wide with fear. Numerous shadow wolves appeared in response to the call and from the darkness of the city, they closed in. Panic gripped the children's faces as the wolves encircled them, forcing them to back themselves into the center. Uncontrollably they trembled, and as fear overcame them, the bloodied children made a desperate, ill-fated decision. Driven by terror, they charged at the shadow wolves, and in a gruesome spectacle, they were torn to shreds by the lupine phantoms. With Hildaganger petrified, the streets were filled with anguished cries and spectral howls as the shadows devoured the children's ghastly forms.

Sinking to the floor, Hildaganger's bravado crumbled, and she begged for Hilda to call off her companions. Just inches away from her, the slayer could smell the fresh blood stained on their ethereal breath. Covering her face, it seemed as if Hilda had the upper hand, but all of a sudden, the demeanor of her double abruptly changed.

"Just kidding," she sneered, peeking through her fingers with a smile and rising to her feet. "Wolf Breathing..." she started to respire, backhanding a heedless wolf with the flat of her non-dominant hand. "Seventh Form: Crescent Moon Swing."

Her axe moved in a swift, precise 180-degree arc, cleaving the shadows that were once wolves into nothingness. An adroit spin and a twirl of her hair, the demon slaying body double transitioned to her 8th form.

"Full Moon Swing."

Spinning a full 360 degrees as the remaining wolves lunged at her, they were annihilated viciously in a whirlwind of strikes.

"Kill me?" She cackled, turning to face the woman. Hildaganger was tickled and her giggles rang out maniacally through the land as she taunted Hilda, questioning her dependence on external forces.

"When are you going to rely on yourself, hm?" she derided. " As a child, you ran to your daddy for protection, and now as an adult, you hide behind your wolf companions. You're a coward, a demon who can't handle her own battles."

Sighing still and deep, Hildaganger activated yet something else.

"Wolf Breathing - Third Form: Canine Cartwheel."

Slamming her axe through the ground, she pulled it to kick up a swirl of dust and send rocks hurtling towards the other woman. Obscuring Hilda's vision and using the debris as cover, the demon slayer charged forward with speed, determined to close the distance. Her voice slid through the chaos.

"When will you change, Hilda?" She questioned. "When will you become competent enough to fight on your own, hm? I will say it one more time: I've come to kill a demon and the demon...is you."

Conditional Victory This is getting freaky. Hilda, this sequence will not be cleared until a certain event happens. Until it does, you will be locked into this dream-like state. What needs to happen you ask? Well, it's easy. There have been many hints throughout the story when talking about the Hashira exam. Review them and see if you can take the right shot. Good luck!​

QuirkyAngel​

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

​

Ana Moreau

The grandeur of the Eastern Pinkerton Estate, known as the Grand Mansion, hung heavy and stained in the air. Its ornate architecture and larger-than-life presence bore witness to a history soaked in the sweat and blood of demon slayers. Ana, a once resolute member of this very order, had seen her fair share of battles after being dispatched from these hallowed halls, but today's turmoil was unlike any other. The lobby, with its opulent decor and golden chandeliers, had become a battlefield. Wolves, monstrous and cunning, had breached its once-secure walls, and chaos reigned supreme. Yet amid the madness, Ana's attention was drawn to Lawrence, a limber slayer, who moved with unmatched grace even while handcuffed.

After an abnormal howl, a pack of savage wolves had broken through the grand entrance, their snarls echoing like a malevolent symphony. The sheer incomprehensibility of their presence stunned the minds of those within, but Ana had a feeling it had to do with the Wolf Hashira. Or- Hashira-in training. She was likely taking the entrance exam at the hospital and something went wrong. If that were the case, it was unfortunate for Hilda, but there were things Ana had to do. Ana voted for her, and the woman seemed strong enough. If she didn't have the power to handle herself, then it wouldn't be just that she had the right to live anyway.

Eyes still on Lawrence despite the chaos, she watched the colossal wolf, the cunning predator with eyes like fiery embers, setting its sights on the young slayer. The wolf circled him with quiet determination, its massive form baiting the slayer to a decision. Suddenly it lunged forward, forcing Lawrence to bob and weave, with agility his only defense. He danced in and out of the wolf's traps and strikes with an unrelenting skill. Demon slayers rushed to aid him, but the colossal wolf was relentless. It headbutted and swatted them aside, driving them away with strong jaws and brute force. Still, despite his cuffs, Lawrence continued to hold his own, evading the beast's deadly teeth and razor-sharp claws.

Ana watched with bated breath, her heart pounding as she saw the frustration growing in Lawrence's eyes. She could almost feel his desire for freedom, for the release of his hands or the comforting weight of his weapon. With his accouterment in hand, he could possibly turn the tide of this battle. But his restraints held him back, preventing him from delivering a counterattack. Ana shared in his frustration, knowing that this agile slayer possessed buried and untrained skill. Something inside her yearned to see him unleash his full power. And then came a heart-stopping moment. The colossal wolf cornered Lawrence, closing in for the killing bite. With a flash of desperation, Lawrence dropped to the floor, sliding beneath the wolf's monstrous body. The wolf's jaws snapped shut just inches from his head as he rolled to safety, narrowly escaping death's embrace.

As Lawrence emerged from beneath the wolf's belly, he laughed, thinking he had eluded the beast's grasp. But in that very instant, Ana, now a moving figure with long, flowing white hair, materialized behind him. In each hand, she held two gleaming red sabers, and with a swift spin on one foot, she inhaled.

"Tornado Breathing: First Form - Enhanced Fujita Zero."

She executed a mesmerizing maneuver known in Tornado Breathing as its first stance. Her dual sabers ripping through his neck, the body of Lawrence crumpled to the floor, the slayer now dead. Grinning down at his prone form, Ana thought that it was better this way. Though promising, if he were truly strong, he would have ducked her and survived. The colossal wolf, though growling slightly, acknowledged Ana's dominance and crept away, its massive form moving like a shadow across the grand lobby as it sought out a new target. Flicking the blood from her blades, Moreau scanned the chaos around her looking for Roger. Distracted by the demon woman with strange markings that ran through the lobby and up the stairs, she had lost sight of Pinkerton's number 1.

A slayer who had caught her murder Lawrence in cold-blood stood frozen, not sure if they should be raising their blade at her or not. Sighing, she paid them no mind. They wouldn't understand. Almost nobody would. Only those who worked with her. Only they understood what had to change and that began with the death of Roger Pinkerton. Eyes scanning the rafters, Ana's gaze would fall on a man with glasses and blonde hair. He was who Roger called out to see the Regional Director.

"The Regional Director," she whispered.

Not a bad thought.

However, first, she was going to see if this Perry O' Donovan saw where the good Mr. Pinkerton went.

GasMaskie
Lucem
IG42
QuirkyAngel
Life.

 

[QuirkyAngel]

The Hospital: New Genetics: Injury WardHilda Von RowenburgDream World

Fingers finally curled around the handle of her Nichirin Axe, Hilda weapon pulsated, binds ripping apart just as Hildaganger charged, rocks hurling at Hilda’s direction. A whip of her weapon split the rocks as Hilda breathed, eyes closed. Ninth Form: Inner Wolf.

Hearing heightened, smell heightened, Hilda could feel her enemy’s approach even with her vision obscured by debris. Echoing steps. Laboring breaths. The goal of wolf-breathing was, in essence, to be one with a wolf, her father’s words echoing in her mind just as Hildaganger’s taunts did.

And so Hilda raised her weapon with both hands.

Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!Clang!

Steel met steel as Hilda countered every attack with one of her own, relying only on the senses of her inner wolf. Perhaps it was because she was fighting her doppelganger, but every assault felt predictable. Like she was fighting a mirror. Could the demon hear her thoughts? Did it know how she would strike next?

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record,”

Breathing evened, Hilda let out a breath as she cooled her body, seemingly vanishing from sight. Without a wolf companion, the fifth form was incomplete, but it was enough to disrupt the flow of battle as the enemy’s axe cut through air.

Another howl pierced the night and more wolves manifested from the shadowy recesses of her mind. Heeding the command of their King, even the fallen ones rose again to do battle, limbs reforming from the shadows. They weren't real, after all, being mere figments of her mind, but even so, her breath matched theirs.

“So what if I fight alongside my wolf companions? The very basis of Wolf Breathing is to fight in a pack!”

Wolves gathered in great numbers to hold Hildaganger down as Hilda dropped from the sky, accompanied by a powerful, downward swing.

“Try and kill me if you can! First Form: Fang!!!”

Debris whirled in the air.

White Masquerade

 

[Lucem]

Grand Mansion
Colt Curtis
If the circumstances were any less dire, Colt may have found himself commenting on how the mansion being attacked by wolves on the night of Hilda's nomination was in poor taste. However, as blood stained the extravagant decor, less of his usual personality shined through his uncharacteristically neutral expression. With sharp eyes, he surveyed the battlefield, the nearby sounds of metal and pained cries flicking the heavy switch in his brain.

As he took in the situation, he ended up catching a golden gaze aimed in his direction. Even though she didn't say anything, the woman's unspoken words were carried by laughter and the intent behind her look. He'd seen that look more times than he could possibly count. It was the thing that prevented him from living the life he wanted to. It was also the last look demons usually gave him before their lives ended.

Colt felt no fear in that moment. His usual cheer and easygoing attitude were no longer around to disguise the intense, unflinching aura of a true veteran. Had he kept his focus solely on that woman, he likely would've given chase, bounding after her with the trademark speed of his style. However, something else kept him from doing so.

Roger Pinkerton was currently bleeding out near the mansion's entrance. A Kakushi had even sought his help before running out to provide medical attention. There were also several other slayers currently struggling with their own battles. They were people he'd been shooting the breeze with just a few moments ago. There were several paths available to him, but he could only have one choice.

It didn't take any time for him to decide.

In an instant, Colt jumped through a broken window, landing near the wounded alliance leader. Even though he wished he could help everyone, that wasn't feasible. He didn't value any one life more than another, but he recognized that Roger's death could lead to far more losses. And even though he didn't have a grand ambition or a vendetta fueling him, he knew what the man's vision meant to a lot of people.

Unholstering his guns, Colt took aim at any wolves that dared to get too close. As he continued to fire, he called out to the Kakushi treating Roger. "Just get 'im good enough to move. He's a goner if he stays out here too long. We'll get goin' once ya finish."

Once Roger was in good hands, he'd see about trying to help the others. He also still had some concerns about the demon woman, but he felt like he wouldn't have to look too hard if he had time to track her down later. With that look she gave him, she'd stop by looking for snack at some point. For better or worse, he was irresistible.

White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Lake Wisteria:
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds

​

Didier Oyahe
The moment was so awkward, he hadn't realized how serious he had been. Letting his opinions overtake him, it registered that Didier hadn't even given the man his name. His face continued to feign annoyance at Tony's attempt at a joke, but inside, the man was being shamed.

'How could I have been so rude!?' He admonished himself.

'I know I wanted to see who he was, but I was raised better than that! I could have given him more respect. I should have given him more respect. What is wrong with me? Truly, sometimes I do let my emotions get out of control. For that Tony, I apologize.'

It was humbling. The very same man he wanted to question on whether they were worthy of being trained by Dolton, already seemed to have a better character than he did. The Hashira had been talking for what felt like ages. He had come here to meet this other pupil, Tony Rogers, and instead found himself delivering a lecture on the importance of duty and responsibility. It honestly wasn't how he had envisioned this meeting going at all. But he couldn't help himself; the weight of his own past, Dolton's legacy, and the expectations of his role as a Hashira had driven him to be forthright, perhaps even overly so. Yet acknowledging his mistake, even if it was to himself, Didier made it a point to listen intently as Tony. spoke.

Suzan, the childhood friend who had become a demon, and Tony's decision to let her live due to their deep bond—it was a story that showed both tragedy and compassion. Didier couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Tony. As he didn't start out as one when they met, it cleared things up for Didier.

'So then...the bond was already formed. I see.'

Then, in that case, it made sense. He could understand how the ties of his former life could fail to intersect with the duties of his new. It was a common story- another page in the book of the difficult choices Demon Slayers had to make every day. And when Tony spoke about his duty as a Demon Slayer and the weight of knowing that demons were once human, Didier nodded in understanding. Another bind that Tony and he shared. Though he partially took the other side. Whether loved ones or not, demons were demons, and who they were in the past was all far gone. From what he knew, there was no way to turn a demon back into a human and once they switched, there was no going back. The process took from minutes to days, but the results were always the same: the monster that they'd end up, always craved human blood. If Tony were going to show compassion to these creatures, he'd be best careful lest he turns and becomes one himself.

But it was Tony's response to the question of acknowledgment that intrigued Didier the most. The mention of not wanting to be seen as the pupil of the man who had killed his friend struck a chord; yet not one in the same tune as the Hashira. it almost seemed as if Tony...hated Dolton. It was unusual. Didier had the utmost respect for the man, but this other...didn't. How could that be possible? Didn't Dolton teach him everything he knew? Was he really going to put the thought of this Suzan, over the guidance of the man who probably saved that young slayer's life? The man who inspired him to create Impact Breathing; the same style that Didier created a superior version of himself. Inconceivable! This Tony Rogers couldn't be that ungrateful. This Tony Rogers couldn't be that soft.

"Y-"

And about to question the fact, a heavy howl echoed through the cemetery air. It was then the senses of Didier immediately went on high alert. That wasn't a normal sound. And before he could further react, another howl, more demonic in nature, pierced the tranquility of the burial grounds. Standing completely still and thinking on the noises, a terrible feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. It was in the air. Something seemed terribly wrong. It originated from the New Genetics Hospital's direction, but the second came from the courtyard of the Grand Mansion. He didn't know what could have triggered such a disturbance, but he couldn't ignore it.

"Tony," Didier said urgently, his voice low and serious. "We don't have time for more questions. Something is happening and it's best we don't ignore it. Follow me, and be ready for anything."

Without waiting for Tony's response, Didier turned and began to sprint back towards the main parts of the Eastern Estate, his Hashira robes billowing behind him. His mind raced with possibilities, but one thing was certain: their meeting had been cut short by a threat, and he had a duty to investigate.

ZackStop .
QuirkyAngel

 

[White Masquerade]

Pertmore Academy

​

Wayra Catwanee
"The match between Samantha and her 26th begins!"

"You go, Russel! I know you can do it! I'm rooting for you!" Screaming at the top of her lungs, Wayra was alone in cheering for the man who faced the Hashira now. Honestly, it got on her nerves. In a sea of reticent Kakushi and skeptical demon slayers watching Samantha's next match, not one cared for Russel's name.

"Oh boy. This one is going to end up quick. The guy doesn't even look like he wants to fight."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," another one said behind her back. "It seems like a waste of a pick. She could have gone with someone else."

Turning to glare at the two, the Indian's emotions shone. So what if he was big, quiet, and distant? That was no reason to count him out. A demon slayer was a demon slayer, and if no one else believed in him, then she would!

"That's Russel up there," she informed them, short. "And you better remember his name because he's going to win!"

Nodding emphatically and turning back to the match, the woman knew Russel probably would not, but you never knew. This blonde was undoubtedly formidable, she could see it in the way she fought and felt it in her bones, but she could also feel that exact same energy from Russel himself. Not graceful and flowing, but powerful and swift. If she could put her money on any outcome, she'd put it on the one where this match wouldn't turn out as easy as those gathered would expect.

The Hashira Acts
Samantha Waller
Excellent.

The man had accepted the match, and right on the money, his weapon of choice was indeed a gun. Crouching down and firing, he was fast.

But not fast enough.

Stepping forward and twirling, the Hashira winded up her sword like a bat and with a pin-point slam, deflected the bullet over her head, admiring the smoke exiting the muzzle from which it blast.

"Good shot my friend," the Hashira encouraged. "But you're going to need more than that to defeat me. You'll need to breathe."

Russel Gibbons
Russel's swift action tightened the bolt on his rifle, his eyes remaining dim, but a subtle shift furrowing his brow as he intensified his focus. He understood that if she required him to breathe, he would.

In that moment, the world unfurled before him like the pages of a book: the rugged terrain, the voices encouraging him forward, Wayra's empathic pleas, and the rhythmic breathing of the fallen combatants—all meticulously revealed as Rus elevated his rifle.

"Third form..." Rus murmured. "Tears of the Cosmos."

An incandescent brilliance erupted from the rifle's barrel, blinding to the naked eye, accompanied by an earth-shaking detonation. The bullet’s shape transformed into a comet, encircled by a faint azure halo and trailing a shimmering tail.

Ascending swiftly to a height of ten meters, the comet collapsed inward, scattering dozens of airborne fragments toward Samantha. Despite their impressive velocity and appearance, these rubber bullets would disintegrate long before reaching the ground, inflicting nothing more than a minor singe upon impact. In essence, it was a tactical bluff.

The onlookers formed a perimeter around his makeshift attack, the falling fragments arranging themselves into a hexagonal pattern, effectively cutting off Samantha's horizontal escape route. She was left with no choice but to advance, retreat, or expend her energy deflecting the fragments—any of which would provide Rus with an opportunity for a follow-up strike.

His fingers discreetly coiled around the revolver nestled in his belt; he knew he would likely have only a fraction of a second to react to her next move, and he was ready.

The Battle Advances
It was exhilarating. Samantha Waller had sparred with countless warriors, seen countless forms of combat, and felt countless waves of energy. Yet, as she watched Russel Gibbons prepare himself for their confrontation, something within her stirred. It wasn't often that she saw someone respond so earnestly to her brazen challenges. His earlier move to her request to breathe had been telling – this man clearly had no qualms about trying to push himself to the limit. And then he spoke those magic words that ignited a flame of anticipation in her widening eyes.

"Third form: Tears of the Cosmos."

Hearing it, the Hashira couldn't help but smile. 'What an intriguing name for a move in a breathing style.'

Samantha wondered, for just a moment, where his stance had originated. It didn't match any of the traditional ones she had encountered, from Water Breathing to Stone Breathing, nor any of the other more esoteric forms she had the chance to fight around. Russel was a mystery, and she loved a good challenge.

However her musings were cut short as a deafening boom filled the sparring grounds, and blinding light erupted from the barrel of Russel's rifle. Samantha's instincts kicked in, and she gripped the base of her wooden sword tightly, slamming her right foot hard into the ground. She watched in awe as the bullet transformed into a comet, ascending toward the ceiling and then burst into beautiful, glinting fragments that dropped toward her, quick.

Laughing, genuine excitement bubbled up from her innards. "That's good!" Samantha confided, her voice carrying throughout the arena. "Haha! I like that my friend. That was a great move."

Yet, with a swift motion, she sliced her wooden sword through the air, creating a wave of air pressure that sailed through space and blew the falling fragments harmlessly away.

"Tell me. What else do you know? What else can you do?"

Standing like a statue, her sword still held high, Samantha fluidly transitioned into a twirl, eyes burning bright. In one seamless motion, she swung her wooden sword once more, sending another wave of air pressure hurtling toward Russel. This was shaping up to be a thrilling battle, and Samantha couldn't have been happier.

...Swoosh...

...Shkrnn...​

Narrowly missing his head by just a few inches, Samantha looked down at the shaft of her sword and wondered what happened.

'Hnn..? Did I miss or did he dodge? No...I couldn't have. This guy dodged.'

"Oi," she called aloud to the man. "Tell me your name. And I want to see some more of that secret style."

Looking From The Outside In
Wayra Catawnee, the only supporter of Russel Gibbons, watched the spar closely, her heart also starting to pound with excitement. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Russel, the quiet and gloomy guy she got acquainted with earlier that day, was moving and reacting surprisingly well to the master slayer's attacks.

"I don't believe it. She still hasn't won yet?"

With onlookers expressing surprise that Samantha still had yet to beat her friend, Wayra couldn't help but see that there was more to it. She knew how he had acted before, but right now, Russel was a different man, and it showed in his every move. There was a burgeoning fire in his eyes, a resoluteness that she hadn't seen before.

With chatter beginning to spread all around, someone else in the crowd commented on the implausibility of it all. "That's crazy. This is the furthest anyone has made it with Samantha yet. They couldn't even keep up with her. But this guy can?" And nodding as if this was something she already knew, Wayra's eyes locked on the battle unfolding. She had no idea that Russel could be this engaged.

"It's actually kind of cool," another watcher chimed in. "I like how he's holding his own. It's boring watching a one-sided fight. It's no fun watching someone weak get beat on." And the sentiment seemed to be spreading throughout the crowd. People were starting to appreciate Russel's tenacity.

Still, another voice from an older, more experienced fighter near Wayra afforded, "I hope he pushes himself. She seems to enjoy fighting him. Samantha's starting to get into it. I want to see how far this thing can go. I hope this Russel guy lasts."

Wayra couldn't agree more. It was dull and a little disheartening watching someone weak go up against someone strong. But much to her surprise, this wasn't it. She was actually starting to believe that truly, Russel just might have a chance. His confidence was inspiring and as the wave of air pressure came blowing past, she wondered if she'd ever be able to stand up to someone and do something like that herself.

'Come on, Russel. You've got this. Prove to her that you...and that we...can.'

The Monster Awakens
Russell's teeth ground together audibly as he watched her effortlessly deflect his attack. Despite the frustration boiling within him, he remained steadfast. The growing distance between them allowed Russell precious moments to anticipate her next move. She had entirely called his bluff, stirring an unprecedented rage within the previously composed man.

"You cocky bastard," he muttered under his breath.

The force behind her attacks seemed chaotic, yet they adhered to a discernible pattern. Russell's eyes meticulously tracked her blade, scrutinizing its angles, collapses, and the way she wielded its dulled edge. Every detail was a clue to the nature of her impending assault.

The air pressure surged toward Russell, whipping up dirt as it hurtled in his direction. Horizontally evading the attack seemed impossible, but if he could just reduce his height slightly, the gust might narrowly miss. He had only one option, and his aging body protested loudly. Muscles and bones cracked as Russell executed a split, the attack narrowly clipping the tip of his hair and sending strands cascading over his eyes.

Seizing the moment as she spoke, Russell drew a breath and aimed his rifle directly at her eyes. A true demon wouldn't be granted the luxury of delivering a monologue.

"Second form," his voice trembled with competitive rage, "Echoes of the Big Bang."

With his rifle bolted, a bullet-sized flash of light raced toward Samantha. Russell clenched his eyes shut as the bullet transformed into a blinding burst of brilliance upon nearing her. Had she not swiftly anticipated the need to close her eyes within fractions of a second, even the most prestigious demons would have been left temporarily blinded.

Russell gasped hoarsely, dropping his rifle to the ground as he secured the revolver in his hands. There was one final trick hidden up his sleeve.

"Fifth form, Solar Flare!"

The revolver recoiled with such force that it threatened to slip from Russell's grasp. The bullet retained its shimmering azure halo, but instead of fragmenting into multiple pieces, it began to grow, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Expanding to the size of an average pumpkin, it acquired a gravitational pull, stirring up dust and debris as it surged toward Samantha.

'Try deflecting this one, bitch,' Russell thought with brutal satisfaction, a smile forming on his face.

Castello
White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Purgatory:
Cell 6

​

Spoiler: Old School

​

August
"Hehehehehe! Hahahahaha!"

Amidst the shadowy, damp cell, August's maniacal laughter reverberated like a chilling dirge in a forgotten tomb. It was a symphony of madness that echoed through the stone walls, sending cackling tones bouncing across Kincaid's flesh. Each "hehehe" and "hahaha" seemed to draw August deeper into a fit of joy. His eyes, illuminated with manic fervor, gleamed with an evil insanity that was beyond human measure.

The sweat on August's forehead shimmered in the dim light as he grappled with the fighter. He couldn't believe that this feeble-looking human almost got the drop on him. A low and filthy human being. Her trembling fingers clung to the hilt of her axe, which was now buried in the demon's neck. Her breaths came in ragged determination, a chaotic symphony of frustration and disbelief conducting a horrifying overture in her mind.

August reveled in the challenge he posed. His smile, a wicked, shark-toothed crescent, grew wider with every "hahaha."

"HAHAHA! You weakling!" he jeered, his voice dripping with venom. Blood oozed from his neck's gaping wound, staining his chest and the floor beneath him.

"You thought a silly human could defeat me?!"

He strained against her grip, feeling strength return to his frame. "Even as you hold me down, I can feel my strength return. The medicine your kind injected in me to keep me docile is wearing off. Ahaha! I can definitely feel myself getting stronger!"

With a sudden, jerking motion, he broke free from Kincaid's grasp, landing on his knees but defiantly staring at her from the other side of the cell. His voice carried acrimony. "Stupid woman," he spat, his eyes radiating anger and shame. "Next time come with the resolve necessary before you try to confront a demon. For your insolence, I should kill you... but I shan't."

Turning toward the front wall of the cell, he spoke with cold determination. "As promised, I'd rather deal with the nurse who injects me with this concoction instead. Then, I will disappear."

Smirking at Kincaid, he continued, his words laced with cruelty. "Unlike you, I stand behind what I do. Farewell, human," he concluded, his tone carrying a finality that the woman would have died if he targeted her instead. "For your sake, I hope we never meet again."

With a bone-rattling impact, August slammed into the cell's stone wall with his shoulder, finally breaking free. It felt like an eternity since he had been imprisoned within the wisteria-lined confines, but now, with the paralyzing drug losing its grip, he tore apart the Nichirin chains that bound his arms and legs. Inside cell 6, Monty vanished from under Kincaid's foot, called back into the source of August's lower back.

Bounding up the spiral staircase, August's ears caught the faint sound of approaching footsteps. It was about the time the nurse who administered his daily injections made her rounds. With newfound strength and an air of arrogance, he ascended the steps with his chest puffed out, moving deliberately, each step echoing with menace. His sharp, predatory teeth gleamed in the dim light.

However, as the owner of the footsteps finally came into view, August came face-to-face with a Demon Slayer, an imposing figure named Daniel Ortega, the Time Hashira. August's confidence wavered, and he instinctively took a step back, realizing that he was facing a Slayer of an entirely different caliber. For what felt like an eternity, the two locked eyes, their minds locked in a silent battle before their bodies even moved. It was Daniel who broke the silence, his deep breathing and following voice resonating with power and authority.

"Time Breathing - Second Form: Slow Death."

August instinctively jumped back, readying himself to retaliate, but something inexplicable happened.

“Blood Demon Art: Ven-“

The world around him spun, a dizzying whirlpool of confusion. His vision blurred, and he suddenly found himself no longer facing the Slayer but staring at an empty, void where the Hashira once was.

Panic welled within him as his vision began to fade, and he felt himself spiraling into darkness.

'What...happened..?'

Time To Pay The Price
Daniel Ortega
Sheathing his sword with a practiced fluidity, Daniel Ortega let out a long breath as the demon before him dissolved into a cloud of fine dust. As the Hashira tasked with guarding against the escape of demons from their cells, it was his solemn duty to eliminate any who managed to break free. While such events were rare, he remained vigilant, conducting a meticulous examination of the cells for any flaws or oversights that might have allowed this breach to occur. Especially considering his mastery and control of time, he was well-suited for the task.

'Well, the perception of it anyway.'

Making his way toward the demon's cell, Daniel was met with a sight that defied explanation. A woman with flowing black hair and a blazing red blade stood by herself inside the demon's enclosure. His eyes widened with bewilderment. It was a rare occasion indeed to witness genuine shock on a Hashira's face. There was no doubt that she was a Demon Slayer, her weapon's crimson hue said as much. But the question hung heavy: what brought her into a demon's cell within purgatory? Had someone dispatched her to exterminate the snake demon, or had she ventured here of her own choice?

The protocol was clear—these demons were test subjects, and their survival was integral to the experiments conducted by the staff at New Genetics. While Daniel disagreed with this practice, he had no authority to challenge it. Still, Demon Slayers were, after all, tasked with eliminating demons, and this particular demon fell into that category. It was a paradox that sent waves of discomfort through his thoughts. Hopefully, they would stop this practice soon enough.

Turning to address Kincaid, he spoke in measured tones, "I do not involve myself in the affairs of policing humans. My duty lies solely in dealing with demons, and that is demanding enough. You are free to leave. As you are surely aware, the staircase will take you to the surface. However, exercise caution. I have sensed commotion and what seemed to be a wolf's howl outside. It may not be safe. I am currently on duty patrolling these halls, and I haven't had the opportunity to investigate further. Nevertheless, two other Hashira are on the premises. Should any trouble arise, I am confident they will address it swiftly."

Casting one final gaze upon Kincaid, the cell's slightly melted walls, and the shattered entrance, Daniel turned and walked away. Yet, as he made his departure, a sense of unease gnawed at him. The peculiar disturbances had begun to accumulate—the mysterious tumult outside, the enigmatic presence of the Demon Slayer within the cell, and now an unidentifiable entity, wholly human, lurking in the hallways. Something was amiss, and he yearned for answers.

'Something is up. And I don't like it.'

Daniel wished that someone would enlighten him about these unfolding events, as he was a man and a Hashira who did not like to be taken by surprise.

simj26

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

​

Ana Moreau
With one good leap, Ana Moreau had cleared the space between the lobby's main floor where the battle between man and beast raged, to the mansion's next segment where she met Perry's gaze. Understandably, he wasn't looking right at her, for there were far more pressing things to be engaged in occurring, but soon, he would. As she stalked closer to him, the man's glasses, blonde hair, and stature didn't scream any sense of danger, but still, you couldn't be too cautious.

Wolves continued chewing on the garments of slayers fallen to the ground and those strong enough to resist the onslaught made sure the canines they fought were dead by stabbing them twice. It was strange really, but more so fortuitous, that these wolves came out of nowhere at just the right moment. Ever since the start of the day, she and her comrades were biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to catch Roger off guard, but it was difficult. Back home they had deemed this a suicide mission - going into a room full of demon slayers and killing the leader of them all. Hell, Bobby didn't even want to do it, but to Nuna, it was their best chance to do so. As former demon slayers, it'd be a golden opportunity to fit right in.

Being a wolf in sheep's clothing, she called it. Though, once a demon slayer, was there ever really any going back? They still had the mark that showed their levels on their wrist. They still had closets full of the standard American dress. And while not able to venture to the secret academies to get their blades and weapons repaired or reformed, it'd be a long time until they did. And at that point, they could just trick some wide-eyed newbie to go to a workshop and do it for them. Yey, though they were all at one point in time ex-communicated from the Corps, it was still like being an ordinary part of one big, happy family.

'Tch. Happy my ass.'

Gripping the hilt of one sword a little too tight, an audible crack came from the blade as it cried out for a bit of relief.

"Those damn slayers," she muttered, remembering how she sat in front of a council and was berated for saving her own life. So what if she used humans as bait to escape? The life of one experienced demon slayer was worth more than 1,000 of them. Her mission was to kill that demon they wanted..and she did. Though not ideal, she carried out her duty and did what they asked her to, and now she ended up like this. An outcast. Eyes burning, she found herself glaring at Perry, mentally tearing the hair off his head. Though it was not his fault, this was what you called collateral damage. In the course of their mission to upend this whole corrupt organization, you had to break a few eggs, and those that remained would be better for it. Though the other members of her group had their own reasons for going against the Pinkerton, hers was quite simple. Demon Slayers should prioritize themselves and that to beat demons you had to be strong. And to be strong, you had to survive. That's what she did. And if you couldn't...then you didn't deserve to be alive in the first place.

"Tornado Breathing" she chanted, crouching into her stance. "First Form: Enhanced Fujita Zero."

The Reasons We Give
Perry O' Donovan
It was just a flicker from the side of his eye, but it was enough to elicit a response.

Woosh!
​

The woman came barreling at him at high-speeds but he sidestepped the strike with ease.

'Woah! Wait. Weren't Demon Slayers not supposed to kill each other?? Wasn't all that part of the one, big happy family rule? Then what the hell was this chick doing? Surely it was a mistake! I'm not a wolf!'

"Nice dodge," she muttered, setting down her guard. "Where's Roger Pinkerton, Perry? I saw you in the meeting and he called out your name to see the regional director. Did you see where he went?"

'She almost accidentally kills me, then asks where our leader Roger is...? No way. This has to be some kind of joke.'

"I don't even know your name, miss. At least care to tell me before I rat out where the boss man is?"

A second passed as she stood still then acquiesced, stating her name was Ana Moreau, and judging by the slight accent, she was French. "Okay. Now. I've told you what you wanted to know. You tell me what I want too." Raising one sword at him, she finished, "I don't have time to waste."

"Come now Ana, dear. We just met. Let's get a drink. Get to know each other. Forget about this Roger guy. I'm more sporting than he is yeah?" he grinned, flashing a cheeky smile. "I might be half your age but-"

Cackling high, Ana covered her face with one hand, amused by his ramblings.

"Boy. Hush," she answered. "If we were to do anything, I would break you. I've made men twice your size fall harmlessly down to their knees. Now answer my question and run along to someone more of your mind. I will not ask you again."

"Well now miss, you know I can't do that. I like em' old."

Reaching into his pocket, Perry deftly flicked a small white pill up into the air. Acrobatically, he angled his chin and it landed square in his mouth. His breathing style was quick, even agile, but a quick body was nothing without even quicker eyes and mind. This woman felt like danger and with the way she spoke, it sounded as if she meant to do something to the Pinkerton. He didn't know Roger, and probably wouldn't even like the guy on a normal day, but it didn't seem like a good idea to let this woman near him. There were plenty of wolves around here to fight, but she chose him. In the midst of all this chaos, why was she looking for Roger?

"Nuna doesn't like those," Ana stated. Understanding what that meant next. "Those things fucked up Andrew, and the Slayer Corps threw him to the side. Are you sure want to be messing with pills, boy?" She asked.

"Get sick enough, unable to be of use and they throw you to the side. You may not have known they were, but there are many demon slayers homeless, mindless, and unable to function in our society. Those who you might consider a "bum" in some of our local towns. That have given their everything to protect humans. And this the organization you want to protect?"

Perry had no answer for Ana, as these were issues he'd never given thought to, but to him there was something more pressing. He wanted to find those responsible for killing his family and if this Ana went and disrupted the organization, then it could also disrupt his mission of finding those bastards. And it was that, he could not allow.

"So be it."

Another howl broke again through the Mansion air and the wolves that were once being beaten somehow grew even more ferocious, once more enlivening the battle going on below.

"That Hilda chick. Did you vote for her?"

An odd question to ask an enemy as you came to a point where you did not agree, but the howls made Perry think Hilda being a Hashira-in-training and the following invasion of wolf companions were one-in-the-same. Was she actually working with Ana Moreau to get the Pinkerton? It was awfully convenient Ana came out at the same time these wolves did. No. Roger couldn't be that sloppy.

"..."

Perry heard Ana start to breathe and then burst at him with insane speed.

"I did. What of it?"

And ducking under her swing, he delivered an upward punch to her gut, causing her to wretch as her momentum stalled and she fell to the ground.

"Ana. I don't like hitting women, but you leave me no choice. You sure you don't want to reconsider getting that drink?"

Ana spat what was in her mouth and got up, resolve renewed. It wouldn't be as easy as the guy she killed from before. Perry was quick and his arms were fast. He didn't even use his weapon. It seemed as if the slayer had to scrap her plan for going after the regional director.

"What if you just let me walk away? Pretend this never happened."

"What? Right after we got to know each other?"

"Your funeral."

This was going to take some time.

I'll continue searching when I can..but Bobby, Andrew, and Nuna. For now, I leave things up to you.

IG42
QuirkyAngel

 

[White Masquerade]

Pertmore Academy

​

Samantha Waller
Eyes still blinking and temporarily disoriented, Samantha Waller's excitement grew wholly beyond bounds. It was a while since she fought against an opponent that gave her a thrill. She was a Hashira and a woman all about emotions, and to her, it seemed as if Russel was giving it his all. That's the main thing she was vying for; for a man teetering on the brink of death's door to step back. It was already terrifying being a demon slayer. Going up against monsters that had limitless stamina, endless regeneration, and otherworldly strength. It mentally did something to you. It did something terrible to your mind, and if you didn't fight back against the crushing dejection, you'd die long before your body did. For Samantha, that kind of ennui was a no-go. That kind of ennui was a non-starter. Lest of course, she was using one of her breathing styles.

Refusing to stumble, but instead listening out for movement by the man on the other side, they say that when one sense gives out, the others split the burden and rise. Smirking, the Hashira knew that was completely right. Demons had many powers, some even supernatural, but humans did too. And with the right training, one could master what we naturally do...then push it to the max. Samantha then heard a rifle drop with a light ting, and the crowd gasped.

'So you're doing something special? No, something amazing!'

The emotions of people were a goldmine. You could indirectly get so much information from not a word. The way a person walked. The noises a person made. The look on their face. Samantha used all these things and they created a near-perfect picture of an opponent's body and mind. Working on demons, the Hashira used her childhood skill to even pre-mediate what those monsters might do. See, this was her plan from the start. Russel was a "dead" slayer, whose movements were likely listless and slow, with limbs that were hard to move. Acting without intent, he might have been a bit unpredictable, but his moves would have no power. Emotions were a human's bread and butter. Something powerful, they would be the fuel that'd drive any lasting action we'd do. Anger drove someone to do something about an injustice they suffered or saw. Joy drew a person to enjoy more of what calms down and relieves their soul. Sadness guided a person to figure out what'd cause them the most grief if they ever lost it. Yes. While volatile, if harnessed the right way, they could be the key to the greatest strength.

"Fifth form, Solar Flare!"

The bang was loud and the recoil was strong.

'I have to see this! No matter what! I have to see what's going on!'

Not ready, the Hashira still opened her eyes, pushed over the edge by what she saw. The bullet was shimmering and azure and on its way to her, attracting everything to it. Displaying extreme magnetism, it grew in size while careening towards her. An eye flicking toward the look on Russel's face, it was the first time she saw him smile.

'Though looking into your eyes...I think you mean to kill me.'

Very well. That was good. Hate, love, happiness, sorrow, revenge. Russel could feel anything he wanted towards her. Anything he'd want, as long as he felt something. She wanted to show him the power of emotions. How important they were to the human experience. And by their battle so far, he was already strong, but latching onto a strong emotional purpose would make him that much more so.

'Ambereen.'

It looked to be an experimental bullet. One of the things those people at New Genetics worked on. And they were always doing something. A fusion of two types of Nichirin to produce something strong but unstable as a result. A mix of Amber and Green Nichirin, one could in essence create gravity. Those researchers were absolutely nuts. Even cutting up demons for the sake of science too. If able, the woman was sure they'd choose to research the depths of hell itself. Either way, normal Nichirin or not, the bullet from this Solar Flare was not something she was going to get out of under her normal power. As it neared she could feel the tightening pull of the thread on her clothes.

'Bravo Russel. Truly, I am delighted. Out of all the fighters here today...only you were able to draw out my full power .'

Skooo...​

For the first time that day, Samantha was activating her breathing form.

"Emotions Breathing: First Form - Extreme Excitement."

And then she disappeared.

The Strength of A Hashira
Wayra Catwanee
It was unbelievable. Her heart stopped. The lady just disappeared from plain sight.

'No...way'

The crowd was also stunned. Sharing all the same look, the area was quiet with only the sound of the bullet Russel shot, blowing a hole through the Academy's wall.

'No. No. No.'

There were too many things going on at once. Russel...Russel...he was amazing! A blinding light and then a bullet that grew in size. What was that!? She and the crowd all looked away and then the next moment, there was a loud bang that rocked him back by the sheer force emitted from his gun. What a form. He had the woman on the ropes. Things were getting attracted to the bullet, it was moving so fast, and she swore she saw the arm of the lady's shirt get pulled but then...

'She just disappeared.'

"Samantha! I see Samantha! She's over there!"

'What!?'

Looking across the sparring area, in a far corner where eyes continued to turn, crouched the Hashira, the smile of a maniac on her face. Even the way she breathed was different. More quick and haphazard than a normal person's. It was like she wanted the air; like she couldn't get enough. Standing and leading one step, Samantha disappeared again, this time warping directly in front of Russel. Bending slightly over as he began to hack and gasp for air, she smiled, yet her speech unlike it was before.

Flustered and heaving, she spoke to Russel just loud enough for him to hear. "As the Hashira of Emotions, I use them to my advantage. This is my first form: Excitement. Because it was a thrill and you continued to amaze me, I was able to trigger this form so easily and full. When I'm excited, it powers up my speed at the cost of my endurance. The more excited I am, the faster I am, but the quicker I tire out."

Just then a howl rang throughout the sparring hall with another more demonic one shortly following that. "However, though I'd like to continue, it seems we may need to table this fight."

Turning to Wayra and the crowd, the Hashira spoke once more. "Hear me. This man, this is my Tsuguko. I'm making him my apprentice. You have a problem with him, you have a problem with me. This battle is postponed and you are all dismissed. Take care as you leave this area. I feel something strange is happening on the estate grounds."

Turning back towards Russel, in one motion, she got under him and shifted his weight so that he was being carried by her across the back. "To the New Genetics Hospital we go. One to get you medical attention and two, to investigate the source of that howl. You don't have any objections right, Tsuguko?"

And instantly disappearing, Wayra was left alone with the other slayers at Pertmore, gathering their arms and making way to the academy doors. Honestly, she felt like her head was about to explode. She also heard the howl...and apparently, things were going wrong. Yet where did Samantha go with Russel? How did she move so fast?? It was so crazy and Wayra didn't have all the answers, but there was one thing she knew after watching Russel and Samantha fight.

'I want to be in the same conversation. I want people to talk about me like they talk about them.'

QuirkyAngel
Castello

 

[White Masquerade]

The Hospital New Genetics:
Injury Ward

​

Kakushi
Ho-ly crap, here it comes.

The restraints ripped apart and like a zombie of the undead, Hilda sat straight up in bed. Boreas perched at attention in a mirrored move to its master and a drop of sweat fell from the side of the Kakushi's head. Swallowing hard, the boy readied himself for a blow that never came. Instead, the Hashira-in-training was parrying the air in a scene almost comical. yet it wasn't that funny. Here he was fearing for his life, and his would-be-murderer was seemingly fighting for her own. Incredulous, he almost let out a cheer that whoever opponent was striking within her mind, would win. Step-by-step he moved the nurse and his fellow Kakushi closer to the room door.

Just a few more feet and I'm there!

Though the temporary respite would be short-lived. Another ear-deafening howl threatened to knock him clean out as he teetered backward, hoping against all hope he didn't fall to the floor. The two by his side were already gone. If he were to pass out too, all three of them would be defenseless and would wake up, for all intents and purposes, dead. For a moment, the young boy's eyes turned white,

No! I'm not alone...I must...survive!

Upon realizing he was not just struggling for himself, he willed his mind back to reality again, gritting his teeth and continuing to inch toward the door. Yet the scene that happened next nearly caused him to die from shock. Into the stale, unventilated air, Hilda leaped, gown flowing and apart, exposing her toned belly and arms to the Kakushi below. Too late to move out of the way, the boy held up an arm and braced for death.

'At least these two could live.'

At the last moment, he had pushed apart the nurse and his companion on either side of him, sparing them from an attack they'd never see coming. And as fate would have it, the Kakushi would not as well, because just as the axe plunged inches from his nose...Hilda stopped.

Eh..? I-I'm alive?

Venturing a peek with one eye closed. It was true. There she was. Hilda Von Rowenburg, about to kill him, but frozen like stone.

A Date With Death
Hildaganger
My. My. My. This woman was a relentless one. Digging deep, pulling out all the forms, and using her inner wolf. It almost coaxed a smile from the doppelganger as the original parried her debris and became one with the wolf.

Hmph. Maybe she doesn't need to become a Hashira? The way she battles and the way she refuses me, maybe it's enough for her to face the world as she is. Maybe she can do it on her own.

Hildaganger stepped forward and drove with everything she had while her muse stood firm and matched her every single blow. Which...was to be expected as they were in essence, one and the same. Just at very different stages of their lives. And melting from line of sight, Hilda hid herself in the shadows as Ganger continued to deliberate. Yes. Which one was the right path? That was the crazy thing about freedom. Human autonomy. Human independence and the ability to steel your own mind. Everything she was, Hilda was clinging to it; hard. Her father, the children, the weight of being the next generation of her family's slayer. It all stuck.

And she's even called the wolves I've dispatched back to her side. She is a nuisance. But then again, I should know that.

The swarm returned and this time Hildaganger did not put up a fight. It seemed clear to the copy what the original was looking to do. Not cut ties with her past and evolve, but lean into them and not change at all. For better or for worse, at least it was something Hilda was doing with a unified heart. Well, they were about to see anyway.

"Gack!"

The crash came with a sonic boom, and her body was cleaved in two. Then silence. For a while, all was quiet in the dark mental expanse. The wolves walked back and Hildaganger's body lay prone. That was until the cuts in her physique started to emit a faint blue light. Drumming stronger, Hildaganger's body threaded together by dancing strings of electric blue wisps, and her left arm shot up to grab Hilda by the throat. Squeezing hard, the other kept a lock on the original's axe; keeping it close.

"No. Believe me. You are the broken record. You play the same narrative over and over. Live the same life over and over. Think the same things over and over. Rely on others rather than the power within yourself. You choose to be an equal rather than a leader. That is not what a Hashira's about," she stated matter of fact. Keeping the fingers around Hilda's neck taut, the double would scold on.

"I am you. The future you. Or rather, what you could become. I am the you that survives when you're alone, despondent, and all out of breath. If I'm not there in those moments, and oh, they will come. What will you do then, Hilda? What will you do then? You need me, but I'm starting to see I don't need you. Which means one of us is going to die here, Hilda. Right here. Right now. So you choose! You kill me or I kill you!"

Life Or Death

Spoiler: No Peeking

Who Do You Choose? Bellisimo Quirk! You know what this is! You have received this RP's second, "Second Breath." If you need a refresher, it's a point in the story, where a player is offered a decision between two different courses of life. Whatever is chosen, has the potential to drastically change their circumstance; for better or for worse. As you will see, this one will be a bit harder. Choose wisely~

(1) Hilda, The Equal

Hilda's body double, Hildaganger has woken back up, seemingly for one last time. Her body a mess, but held together by threads shimmering electric blue, she states that you need her. She is you. The familiar hand gripping and crushing your throat, she claims that she is a survivor, a part of you that you can't live without. Or so she says. What say you?

Requirements:

• Refuse and finish Hildaganger off
• Wake up back in the real world with a runny nose and lingering cough

Hildaganger is staring into your eyes. From the beginning, this woman has wanted you dead. She is nothing more than a horrible figment of your darkest parts from the depths of your imagination. You are who you are, and what you can do makes you strong enough. Your likes, your wants, your desires, your past...combine together to make you Hilda; daughter of the Von Rowenburg. And nothing will change that. Ever. Not even yourself.

(2) Hilda, The Leader

Hilda's body double, Hildaganger has woken back up, seemingly for one last time. Her body a mess, but held together by threads shimmering electric blue, she states that you need her. She is you. The familiar hand gripping and crushing your throat, she claims that she is a survivor, a part of you that you can't live without. Or so she says. What say you?

Requirements:

• Succumb and let Hildaganger choke you to death
• Wake up back in the real world with blurred vision and splitting headache

Hildaganger is staring into your eyes. She knows how you are, what you will need, and who you can become. She knows all your techniques, all your tricks, all your strengths, and all your weaknesses. For some odd reason, it feels as if she knows you better than yourself. Change is hard, but it is also one of the only constants in life. It's harsh, but maybe there's something to this. Maybe you should hear her out.

QuirkyAngel

 

[ZackStop]

Lake Wisteria:
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds

Tony Rogers​

Tony waited for a moment that seemed to last much longer than he felt necessary, leading him to believe that this behavior was simply the Hashira's foreign customs. Still, with his hand wresting on the hilt, Tony wondered to himself what this man was about to do. He did sense some hostility in Didier's line of question, not like Tony knew him by name, so he half expecting an attack, but didn't want to appear on guard. All Tony did was simply smile and wait a bit longer.

"What's he planning to do? Looks like he's thinking hard about something." Tony thought to himself, slowly panning his vision up slightly from Didier's face to his rather smooth dome of a head. Tony's mind wandered for just a moment, imaging the head shining brilliantly in the sun, but before he could let out a laugh his eyes quickly shifted back to Didier's eyes. His mouth opened, ready to utter something when he was cut off. The wild sounds of howling echoed across the estate as they made their way to the ears of both Demon Slayers. Tony was not at all startled, more curious as he looked behind him with his eyes tiled up as if he could see the soundwaves.

"What the-?" He said aloud, before turning to Didier's concerned expression. Whatever it was that they just heard, it couldn't have meant anything good, something the Hashira was more perceptive to. Tony was more prepared to make an immature joke about it rather than put on his serious face, but Tony responded to Didier all the same. As soon as the man turned to run off, Tony followed suit with long strides. All the while trying to discern what was happening.

"Sounded like wolves..." The man thought to himself. "...but from where? The trees bounce back the sound. Kinda hard to pinpoint." His immediate thought was the woman he had met briefly, Hilda, and the wolf that accompanied her. "Didn't sound like just one though." He looked forward at Didier to maybe get some insight on where to go, before settling on a direction, heading right for the Hospital.

---

The Hospital:
New Genetics
​

He had only the smallest clue as to where he was going when he saw a building coming up ahead of him. Tony had no idea what the building was supposed to be, but he was almost positive what the were looking for was here. Tony began to alter his breathing, deeply focusing as he ran. As the air whizzed between his lips, his pace quickened while tightly clenching his hand around the nichirin on his belt. With his feet now slamming against the dirt underneath him like a charging ram, a second floor window left open became his target. With a mighty lunge, Tony sprang for the brick wall where the soles of his feet gripped on, propelling him up the wall with a few well placed strides, rolling into the second floor with a thump.

He stood up with the clicking sound of his thumb pushing the blade out of his sheath slightly, before carefully taking some steps down the hallway he found himself in. He cautiously stuck to the walls as he turned a corner. Just then, he could hear a commotion downstairs.

As some time passed for Tony to reach the action, taking some turns to find the way to the first floor, the man really wished he just took the front door! Though if there was a demon, the element of surprise was the better option. Luckily, once he made it into the injury ward there was no sight of a demon, but what he did find was puzzling. Some Kakushi and medical staff left unconscious on the floor, while the to be Hashira stood above them. Tony had zero idea what to make of it, but one very unlucky soul was clinging on for dear life. The Kakushi looked like he was, for lack of a better phrase, ready to soil himself, but for good reason. Tony peered at the axe in Hilda's hands. It looked like she was about to kill the kid, there weren't many more ways to interpret such a scene.

"What's going on here?" Tony asked semi-rhetorically, as he rather easily hoisted up two of the unconscious. One over his shoulder, and the other under his arm. While he didn't know what had caused all this, he was certain of one thing and that was his duty to help others. "You look like you could use some help, kid." He confidently spoke, before looking up at Rowenburg in the strange state she was in.

White Masquerade QuirkyAngel

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion

​

Kakushi
Oh, thank God! Thank you. He was safe. And a cool wave of relief washed over the Kakushi, him finally feeling safe at this moment of time. It was one of the great things about being an attendant to Demon Slayers. The pinnacle of peak physical form, it was like having your own personal protection around you 24/7. If there was something that they could do for you, they would. If there was something that they could protect you from, they would. If you asked them to lay down their life for you, more often than not, especially in the face of demons...they would. Though the wolves were snapping, biting, and tearing apart the lesser-skilled members of the Corps around him, the Kakushi still, oddly felt at peace. Hell, the leader of their whole organization was bleeding out in front of them, yet seeing and hearing Colt give his reassurance made the boy think that all would be alright.

Yeah. And now I remember why I joined the Corps. To serve the people who fought the bad things that I could not. Because they're actually fighting to make the world a better place.

Quickly and nimbly the Kakushi worked with his fingers, continuing to apply pressure while sewing up the wound as best he could. The needlework was ugly and there was no anesthesia to use, but the groans and occasional sniffles from Mr. Pinkerton at the very least showed that he was still alive.

"Thank you sir," said the Kakushi as he began to pull up the injured man. "I will not forget your kindness nor what you did here. And neither will he," the boy would speak, gesturing to the body of the male he held.

Colt popped off another shot at a wolf heading toward their path and Roger gave him a thankful nod as he and the Kakushi finally moved and left. A slow, steady, saunter through the thick of the battle, the vision of the duo began to disappear until all of a sudden, the two stopped. If Colt Curtis were still looking, one turned to the other and stood frozen for a long time, eventually lunging to hug the body of the other, hard. The eerie thing about it was as they let go, the form that was clasped fell limp to the ground. The one still remaining upright shivered for a moment, then followed suit, collapsing to the ground, though on all fours. An anguished cream later, it rose, heaving and making its way back to where Colt stood.

It was the Kakushi. And in a rare display of openness, their face covering was off.

"H-He's dead," they bawled, looking at Colt. Tears ran down their face, and it felt unreal to the porter, as Roger was moving and breathing just a minute ago. They had just left Colt...and now he was dead.

"C-Can you help me carry him?" The boy stammered, still shocked by what had transpired. "May-Maybe someone in New Genetics can help him. He can't be dead...he was alive just a moment ago. I-I-I d-don't understand. I patched him up good and-"

Thwp.​

It was the slightest sound coming from the grass in a nearby spot, but at that moment, the Kakushi also fell over, dead. Knees buckling and body toppling over, the young man lost his life, spilling what was once in his head onto the earth before Colt. The scene was phantasmagorical. Slayers were fighting wolves, swords were allied with bullets, cutting through the flesh of beasts, as the weapons of their opponents did the same. In the middle of the grounds outside, lay the body of the Demon Corps leader to which everyone was blind. Focused on their own battles and clouded by adrenaline-laden thoughts, no one too, noticed the Kakushi fall without being touched. And if not for the eyes of one apprised man, maybe no one would have noticed Colt fall down right along with them.

Turn The Tide
Bobby Lugaud
"WATCH!

YOUR!

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!"

Leaping behind the slayer was an older gentleman wielding two giant, yellow Nichirin dagger blades. One positioned behind the other, he swung at the air, deflecting something metallic as sparks flew from the hit and a soft clang chimed about five feet away from them. Taking a breath and smiling at Curtis, the man was gangly; his full-toothed yet tattered pearls giving his run-down image a run for its money.

"White Nichirin huh?" The man noticed, taking a peek at Colt's sabre and guns. "That's truth and purity If I'm not mistaken, heh. It's not a color I see often," he pondered. "Hard to get, but it's quite beautiful."

The man with the tattoos was seemingly immersed in the alabaster steel adorned to the boy's side but snapped out of it as another slayer fell, evidently killed by something out of thin air.

"Name's Bobby. Can't tell you all the details son, but keep your head down," Bobby whispered, getting close to Colt. "I saw what happened to Roger. Get his body and bring it to the hospital. There may still be a chance for him to live. I'm going to fight and save as many slayers as I can."

Putting a hand into his pocket and fishing out a pill, he popped it into his mouth. Coughing and nodding at Colt he moved away to position himself next to other slayers fighting nearby. And just as quickly as he came and left, moreover was the arrival of the combatants from Pertmore Academy. Armed to the teeth and ready for war, they were arguably the most combat-centric group of the Eastern Estate, spending all their time training to be more. It was they who instantly changed the course of the storm. Wolf, after wolf was torn apart by lead and steel with the once-even engagement, now turned into one-sided slaughter. If there ever was a moment to gather the Pinkerton's dead body, the moment was now.

The Tide Is Turning
Wayra Catawnee
Shooting one animal, two animals, three animals, then four, Samantha was right. Something weird was going on at the Pinkerton Estate and she figured it had something to do with Hilda. Who else could it be but the Wolf Hashira? On the way over, she and her fellow Pertmore cadets heard another howl, and it drew the scant wolves they encountered into a frenzy. Striking them down, it felt just business as usual for the native. For many years of her life, she hunted game in the forests near her home from bears to deer, and wolves were just another addition to her lengthy list. Slayers were dead on the ground, likely new recruits, and the animals that attacked them were now cold and deprived of life. While these beasts may have been sacred to Hilda, to Wayra and her crew they were nothing more than a nuisance to be removed. In this way with the American slayers, she felt in one accord. To them it was duty, to her it was a game of skill, but they both shared a common goal, to rebuff the invaders and restore order to the Eastern Estate.

...

Standing with her bow in her hand, as she surveyed the battlefield, there was something that bothered her. The way that through the fighting, there'd be the random person dropping down to the earth, untouched. It didn't click for Wayra now, but she had seen this before. There was something in her body pushing her to recall the life she's lived, in her mind. There was something familiar, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Think. Think. Think, Wayra.

What could it be?

Lucem

 

[QuirkyAngel]

The Hospital: New Genetics: Injury WardHilda Von RowenburgDream World

Hilda’s hand flew up to try and prevent the vice from choking her. Her other maintained a tight grip on her Nichirin. Electric Blue threads? Who would’ve thought? Did that mean fighting Hildaganger was pointless? Would it regenerate every cut, every laceration, like it was nothing? Like a demon?

Course, the dogs called from her mindscape–being mere figments of her memory–had done the same.

Feet lifted off the ground, Hilda could feel the sheer strength of the monster she struggled against. Its words like a hammer in her skull. Future her? What she could become? Hashira?

Despite her position, Hilda choked out a laugh. “Hah! And what would you know about being a leader?”

Hilda persisted in her struggles, pale eyes piercing. “We were voted into this position, you and I. So what if I’m not strong enough now? I’ll train harder. I’ll get stronger with my wolves; With Boreas by my side. I don’t need cheap tricks to claim a title that would only become hollow if I didn’t do it myself.”

Was it pride that made her want to live and die by her own effort? Probably. But even so, the desire to live and die as a human, to cling onto the past bonds that made her what she is today, was why she continued to struggle. To fight. And, should the time come when she was alone, despondent, and all out of breath, facing her final moments…well…she’d think about it then.

Choose? The choice was obvious.

“I don’t need anything that intends to kill me.”

With one great heave, she wrestled the Nichirin Axe free, though it didn’t remain in her hand for very long.

Thirteenth Form: Fetch!

As the pulsating, red, demon-slaying weapon spun in the air, Hilda adjusted her grip to focus on holding Hildaganger still rather than defense. “Maybe I am a broken record, but apparently I need to be to get this through your thick, demon skull.” Cough! “I. Will. Not. Die. Without. Fight.”

The squeezing that threatened to cut off her air, her breathing, hadn’t stopped, but neither did the blade that circled towards its intended target. Her vision blurred. As she fell, the last thing Hilda saw was the shocked face of her decapitated double.

Real World
Hilda coughed.

Did she win? Lose? Pass the Hashira exam? Fail? She hadn’t a clue. She only knew she gave it her best shot and that everything ached.

Slowly, Hilda opened her eyes to chaos. The New Genetics Hospital ward was a mess. Scratches and blade marks everywhere. She was standing, axe in hand, and dressed in a ripped hospital gown. Why was she standing? Did she do all this?

Dropping her weapon, Hilda’s hand reached for her head, fingers threading through silver locks as she tried to pull up some memories. However, like waking up from a deep slumber, bits and pieces of the dream had already started to fade. She remembered fighting herself. Her demon self. She could still feel the lingering of a phantom hand around her throat…but then what?

Coughing again, Hilda brushed her nose against the back of her sleeve. Her eyes flashed up to the trembling Kakushi and the Slayer who had arrived to help him. She recognized him as the friendly Slaver she’d met briefly at the Grand Lobby of the Pinkerton Estate. The one who’d greeted Boreas.

“Who…what…happened?”

Her words weren't coming out right. She’d meant to ask what caused all the destruction, if it was her, but her mind was as jumbled as her voice. Something soft brushed against her foot. Glancing down, she could see Boreas nudging the Nichirin Axe towards her. Did she still need it? Was her fight not over?

ZackStop White Masquerade

 

[Castello]

Departing Training Grounds

Russel Gibbons
Interactions - Samantha
Mentions - Wayra White Masquerade

Russel felt the primal urge surging through his veins, a relentless desire to hunt. His breaths came in heavy gasps, each one feeling like a leaden weight pressing on his chest. His eyes darted around the surrounding grounds, vigilant for the slightest hint of movement or the faintest whisper of sound that might lead him to his quarry. With vision blurred by the intensity of the moment, he hastily cradled his rifle, almost oblivious to the revolver slipping from his grasp.

Then, she began to speak.

His heart sank as he realized he had briefly lost himself to raw emotion, something that hadn't surfaced in him for a very long time. Swiftly, Russel regained his composure. He dropped to one knee, struggling to regain both his physical posture and his ability to fight.

If Sam were a demon, these might have been his final moments. The rage he had just experienced now smoldered into mere embers. Nevertheless, Russel bowed his head in a form of surrender. She had profoundly humbled him, even if he had been a fierce combatant. He couldn't refuse her offer, nor could he retaliate as she named him her "Tsuguko."

"How humiliating," Russel thought, "she must be my junior."

After taking a few composed breaths, Russel managed to claw his way back to his feet. This would likely become his life, but he preferred it over being fawned over by Wayra. Undoubtedly, it would invite more danger into his world, but it also brought him closer to his ultimate goal; with that buried resolve, he managed to pitch his voice in response.

"You're the boss," Russel responded, mentally preparing himself to follow her lead.

 

[Lucem]

Grand Mansion
Colt Curtis
Before Colt got a chance to properly thank the fella who helped him out, Bobby was already taking his leave. Colt eyed the pill Bobby withdrew from his pocket, squinting a bit. He didn't judge folks who chose to use drugs in this line of work, but it was hard not to feel a certain way after receiving his mother's more traditional training. It was also hard not to remember how many people he'd seen have their careers and lives cut short by the very tools used to extend them. Those "enhancers" could be a nasty piece of work.

Not really being the time or place for a talk about lifestyle choices, Colt simply tipped his hat as Bobby went to join the rest of the reinforcements. It wasn't really his style to go without showing his gratitude to those who deserved it, but every second was precious right now. He'd be sure to buy the man a drink and cook him a nice supper if they met again.

Not wanting to waste the best chance he had at saving the leader of their bunch, Colt said a silent prayer for the kakushi and scooped up Roger's body, slinging it over his shoulder. Holstering one of his revolvers, he put two of his recently freed fingers in his mouth and whistled. Within moments, he heard the trusty trots of his favorite girl. "If we make it outta this alive, a promotion don't sound too bad now, does it?"

As soon as Sugar skidded to a stop in front of him, Colt collected the metal and made sure Roger was nicely secured on his trusty steed. He then hopped on the saddle and drew his sabre, each of his hands now wielding a weapon. His heels nudged Sugar's side twice, giving the signal for his girl to do what she did best.

Sugar took off at full speed, her powerful strides putting any race horse to shame. Each breath was louder than the next, and Colt could feel the rumbling of her body. The intense warmth and rider-rocking force from her exhales were far from a sign of exhaustion, being just the opposite. Her engine was finally getting started now that the mare was free to run without restriction. Colt's pride in his partner may have had a bit to do with it, but he'd claim any day that Sugar could give a Thunder Breather a run for their money.

Clip-clops sounded more like bangs and pops as Colt's girl ran like the wind, the tremors from nichirin horseshoes smacking against the earth making it seem like a fissure could open at any moment if one didn't know what was going on. Knowing he could trust her to get them to where they needed to go, Colt focused on his own job. While Sugar ran, it was up to him to protect.

In contrast to the booming beats of Sugar's heart, Colt's seemed to go silent. The same went for his breaths as the rise and fall of his chest became less frequent. His golden hair waved in the rushing wind, but the rest of his body went shockingly still as he continued to keep a firm grip on his weapons. He was in a state of hyper focus right now, using all of his senses and maybe even a few extra to perceive his surroundings. If a single threat came into the picture and tried to stop them, he'd cut it down.

White Masquerade

 

[ZackStop]

The Hospital: New Genetics: Injury Ward

Tony Rogers
​

Still holding two of the doctors Tony took a few paces forward towards the Kakushi laying flat on the floor. "Cutting it close are we?" The man didn't look like he had a care in the world, giving the youngster a friendly smile. He adjusted the one human under his arm and balanced them on his shoulder. They were like small bags of mulch to him it seemed, a decent weight but hardly unmanageable. Hilda finally dropped the axe that she desperately clung to moments before, giving Tony the room to scoop the Kakushi off the ground and onto their feet.

"Wish the doctors were awake, I don't really have a clue what's happening." He said, looking down at the one clad in black. He then looked at Hilda's milky, lavender eyes and watched where they went. Upon her noticing the deep marks on every given surface, so did Tony, painting a decent picture. A "Hmmm..." escaped his lips as a scenario started coming together in his mind.

"I think I can answer that." He spoke up after Hilda with her confused expression. Clearly things were hazy for her as if she had just woken up. "Yeah it's pretty clear now. A tornado must have formed in the room! Possibly it was an angry spirit come to take their revenge on the living world. Yes, I read about the phenomenon in a book once. Pretty fascinating, right?" The man made a jest, let it sit in the room for a moment before correcting himself.

"Right, just kidding." He cleared his throat. "You must have been sleep walking and tore up the place. or I guess sleep fighting. That is if there isn't a demon who did all this." He looked around, half expecting there to see one pop out at him. "But seeing as how you had an axe to one of our Kakushi, I'd say it's a safe bet. Wouldn't you say?" He finished looking down at said Kakushi, like they were to Watson to Tony's Holmes.

His eyes finally set on the woman again when he got the idea to maybe jog her memory. "What's the last thing you remember, Miss...?" He couldn't recall her name for the life of him, so he just smiled and left it at Miss.

White Masquerade QuirkyAngel

 

[White Masquerade]

Lake Wisteria:
Meditation Grove

​

Nuna Wright
Cocking back the hammer of her sniper rifle, Nuna Wright proceeded to take another shot at the boy with blonde hair next to his horse. With wolves running around the campus, drawing attention from and making their "suicide mission" even more manageable, Nuna had no qualms taking this boy out. Wind settled down through the trees and played about the hillside she was in, busy staring at Colt through the sights. Glancing for a moment down to the headstones of slayers who died in the past, Nuna showed no emotion whilst thinking that Roger and Colt's names would be there next. Gripping the stock of her rifle with hate, the faces of those she lost in the military and Demon Slayer corps due to the use of drugs bubbled to her head. Furious, Nuna sucked her teeth and cursed the people in charge through it all. They were all complicit. They all knew it was wrong. They all knew these things were killing people. Yet they stood by and did nothing. For the sake of the mission, for the sake of the greater good, they turned a blind eye. Let their own brothers and sisters take these poisons then threw them away when their lives served no more good.

"And now look at Bobby. He can't even come off the damn things!"

Rage carried into the nothingness, Nuna took back control of herself and sighed. Breathing in deep, she regained her composure, remembering why they were here. It was to change all that. She was quiet during her time in the service, but she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. In an even greater war than humans versus humans, the war between humans and demons demanded a much bigger adherence to respect. You had to treat those who were working with and for you, with some degree of humanity - like they were more than just pawns moving across a chessboard.

You motherfuckers.

Peeking back once more through the sites, the soldier was certain she shot Roger dead, right through the head, but it seemed as if this boy was trying to save him. Glancing toward Bobby, she smirked and promised they'd get their payback. He was the one of the group that had most problem with this all, but if they wanted to incite change, they had to do it by force. Despite him not seeing it now, what they were doing would change the course of the whole Demon Corps. With management knowing there were slayers who would not take their mistreatment, active or passive, lying down, it'd open the room for more honest discussion. There would be blood on their hands and many might hate them for what they did today, but it was undoubtedly for the greater good.

"So with that, I bid you "adieu", as Ana would say," muttered the woman about Colt. "Bobby might have saved you out of the goodness of his heart, but I'm not like him. You're going to be erased like the corrupt organization you serve. Risking your life to save someone who would not do the same. And now you're going to die. How ironic is that?"

Yet before she had a chance to pull the trigger, an arrow landed a few paces to her right. And moments later, a second, third, and fourth fell to her side. Confused, Nuna looked around her, trying to judge if someone was there.

No. If they were here I would have heard. And if I didn't, I'm sure they would have been on target, hitting me point-blank. It's coming from somewhere else.

Moving her sights away from Colt riding to the hospital on the back of his buck, Nuna decided to let him go, as there was another, potentially more serious threat on the loose. If Roger wasn't dead, he would soon be. Now if someone figured out there was an assassination taking place, the rest of the plan could fall apart. So searching calm, she finally found who it was and readied her next clip to take out the woman with the feathered head.

IGrand Mansion
Wayra Catwanee
Bodies were falling without a sound. In days past, years before, where had she seen this kind of thing occur? Clutching her bow, frustration caused the force of the squeeze to send a splinter of wood jutting into her palm. Wincing, Wayra's eyes were straightaway brought down to her bow. Slowly looking up at the scene around her, then back to her weapon, it all started to make sense. People were dropping without being touched and she herself wielded a weapon that could do that.

So that's why it seems like it's invisible. Because that's the whole point of the method. Somebody out there is killing people, but they're doing it from afar. A way to escape any kind of retaliation.

I see now...a sniper!

One Shot

X

One Kill​

Immediately taking off across the grounds, in the eyes of Samantha, determination glowed.

If I can use my bow to beat them at their own game, I just might be praised like Samantha and Russel!

Taking a cache of arrows, Wayra shot in the direction the ammunition was coming from, wild and off the mark, but that was okay for now. She didn't have to get a hit, just make sure they switched from targeting others to her instead.

"Bait and switch," she purred, as something metallic whizzed past her leg.

What I have to do is lead them through the lawn, taking shots and focusing their attention on me while I figure out where they are.

"Tornado Breathing: Sixth Form - Eye Of The Storm."

Inhaling, Catawnee's vision shifted to one pupil, its double power and constant movement key in helping her pinpoint targets from long.

Now. If they can keep shooting as I run forward and through the people gathered here, I can set them to a cadence that I can control and disrupt at any moment, creating the perfect opportunity for me to make my next move. To smoke out where they are.

Jump over this wolf, duck under this arm. Anything to obscure the pathway I'm taking ahead. A slight change of direction. A slowing down of speed. There's no way they'd be able to predict exactly what I'm going to do next. And soon, the moment to turn the tide will be at hand.

And passing behind a brown-haired, blue-eyed female slayer-

Like now!

Stopping to cut hard towards the hills lining Lake Wisteria's Meditation Grove, the woman before her keeled over, taking a bullet to the neck, a bullet intended for Wayra.

Must

"Tch!"​

Reach

Fully looking out to where she thought the shots were coming from, Wayra taunted with one eye open-


Now!

Look at me, sniper!

You have an open shot!


Shoot me right in the head!​

My

"I see you...slayer," Nuna said coldly, launching a bullet to penetrate Wayra's head.​

New

I will beat the sniper one-on-one!

And in one smooth motion, Wayra dodged the metal as it swooshed past her face, ripping through her hair.​

Self

"She could see my shot!??"​

Beyond

Breathing on one foot into a spin that put her low, the native American reached for an arrow.


Simply locating them isn't enough.


"Tornado Breathing: Third Form-"


I have to go beyond...


"Enhanced Fujita Three."


and reach my new self...


Pulling the string back, she spun the bolt as she let it go, and like a tornado, it pulsed through the air.


in the territory of Samantha and Russel!!


[SWOOOOSH!]​

Samantha And Russel!

Stunned, Nuna looked at the shattered scope of her sniper rifle, with Wayra's spinning arrow tearing a hole straight through its center.


What accuracy...


it only took this woman a split second...


to take my shot...


and counter it!​

Lucem
Castello

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion

​

Bobby Lugaud
Looking up from his mission posting around slayers who might have seen Roger's death, and watching what looked to be a violent tornado soaring through the air, Bobby Lugaud blinked and wondered what the heck that was.

Oi, oi.

Realizing its direction, the crazy thing was that it looked to be heading towards Lake Wisteria. Almost in the exact direction, Nuna was supposed to be holed. Easing up running around, he stopped to gaze across the outer courtyard and started to notice a few things. First, was that the young slayer with the white Nichirin was gone. As Bobby'd hoped, he took the commander's body and was presumably taking him to the New Genetics hospital to be cured. Bobby knew chances of survival were low, but at least the kid had to try. It was purity that drove him and Bobby couldn't fault him for that. A young warrior at an organization's meeting suddenly finds themselves surrounded by wolves and in the next moment, your organization's leader was dead? Boy- the day must have been rough on the kid. And it was because of them. Clicking his tongue and looking down at the ground, Bobby couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. Even he was still undecided with respect to how they decided to go about things.

Assassinating Roger..?

Though he felt it wasn't right, the team needed him to go through with this. So shaking it off, the second thing he noticed was that the wolves were now almost all dead. If their heads weren't already chopped off, then they were not far from it. It was a sigh to see concerning demon slayers. They trained so much to kill demons, that it seemed like cutting off the head was engrained in them. It was the preferred method to off everything. A deranged killer? Cut off his head. Putting to rest a sick horse? Cut off the head. Killing a ravenous wolf...? Guess what? Cut off the head. That signature method of execution was chosen by the group of slayers rushing into the grounds right now and it was a massacre. As soon as they appeared, wolves were falling left and right. Still, Bobby wondered where these animals came from, but he didn't have too long to ponder as he started to notice something else. There were no more bullets whizzing to where he was, and all the slayers around him were still alive. Quickly looking around in a circle, the man turned left, right, backward, and forward searching through the crowds of people wondering what was going on.

A little more frantically he began searching for Ana, who should have been inside the mansion looking for Roger there. Hopefully, she didn't get held up seeing as Nuna was having trouble or worse, out of commission. If that was the case, then they had to go. Roger was dead. That's what they came here to do, so mission accomplished. It was time to go home

It's probably best I head to Andrew at the prison and call him out of there.

Sheathing his blades, Bobby made his way from the mansion grounds and along the path to Purgatory only to be stopped after a few steps. A giant wolf, likely the last on the premises, appeared and bared its fangs in front of him.

"Heh. You're a big, ugly sucker."

Creeping slowly backward, Bobby felt like maybe this was punishment for going through with such a barbarous plan. Even the other slayers around him done with their own battles were wary of lending him help. They stood with their swords at the ready but hesitating as the wolf growled. Slowly sinking a hand into his right pocket, Bobby was gently reminded why he was doing this in the first place. He was addicted. Addicted to the pills the Demon Slayer Corps passed out to them like candy. At first, you loved the proposition. Demons were terrifying with a select few having supernatural powers beyond belief. Cutting two heads on two different bodies at the same time. Having to hold your breath to fight one while their demon art literally sucked the air out of your immediate space...how could you refuse? But that's where it got you. After the initial high, after matching and pummeling that demon to a pulp...you crashed right after. Hard. And once you started being equal with demons, anything less felt out of place. Pretty soon you were popping pills before every mission, slowly losing your sanity and connection to the humanity you swore to protect in the first place. Yet, the leaders didn't care. And that's what the others told him. Because he was hesitating, was why they were dead-set on doing this. Each and every one of them were slighted by the organization and to the others his was the worst of all.

Taking one small step back, he moved to toss the pill in his mouth but paused realizing it was his 6th one today. At this point, taking it wasn't even for the strength, it was to keep the craving of his mind at bay. And honestly, he was sick of it. The corps couldn't help him; just gave him money and told him to get clean before he came back again. Thinking about it now, that was messed up. He didn't do anything about it then, but between the sweat-soaked nights, hallucination-filled evenings, and zombie-like days, there were moments where he was mad. Yeah. How could they throw him away like that?? After all he had done?? All the demons he fought?? He couldn't even go back to the one she loved - they wouldn't take him; not like this.

Yet, thinking of the pure white nichrin of the boy he spoke to earlier, Bobby still felt unease. Yes, in its current form, the Demon Slayer organization needed reform. It was wrong what they did to each and every one of them. Him, Nuna, Ana, Andrew, and many more. But to murder innocents...other slayers, comrades-in-arms...he couldn't stomach it. Even if everyone else would take on the burden of taking a life for him...the thought that he helped make it happen made his blood turn.

Shit. What the fuck am I doing? My life already sucks man. I've literally got nothing else to go back to. I don't even want to kill people. I don't even know what I'm doing here. This ain't me. I'm so messed up man.

And he began to lose heart.

Why don't I just let this thing kill me?

And dropping his blades. Bobby threw his arms out to the side to the dismay of the slayers beside him as the Alpha wolf roared and charged. Enough. It was enough. The tug-of-war between morality and justice was just too much for him. The wolf galloped forward and as its jaws opened, a blur of yellow steel flashed with the wolf instantaneously cut in half. Falling right out sky before his eyes was the Hashira of Impact: Didier Oyahe.

The Beginning Of The End
Didier Oyahe
Rising from his heroic landing into a kneel, a mist of blood rained over Didier's face. Opening his eyes to the red, the man stretched to full height and swung his blade, the blood sliding off it with a light gust. Turning to inspect the two halves of the great wolf, he only looked confused as he surveyed the mansion grounds, trying to piece together what was going on. Turning behind him, he grew even more confused as he stood face-to-face with the one the Demon Slayer Corps ex-communicated.

"Bobby. Bobby Lugaud."

Eyes wide, Bobby smiled and chuckled, moving a hand to scratch the back of his head.

"H-Hey th-"

Schwing!​

In seconds Didier's sword was held under Bobby's throat with murder in his eyes.

"You were kicked out. What are you doing here? And answer wisely."

"H-H-Hold on now my friend," Bobby choked, knowing this was bad. "I-I just wanted to see if I could get back in man. I-I'm t-trying to get clean. I heard ya'll had a meeting and this was my best shot to talk to someone about it. Once a slayer, always a slayer right?"

However, Didier said nothing.

"A-Anyways. I've got something to tell you, man. Roger's dead!"

Bobby felt the blade press further into his neck and he quickly added, "I SWEAR MAN! I'm not lying. It was a kid with blonde hair and white Nichirin! Shot a bullet right through his head! He's taking the body to the hospital right now! If you go you can catch him. I swear on my life man! He probably set the whole wolf thing up too just to get to Roger. You gotta believe me!! I saw it with my own eyes!!"

Breathing hard, Bobby stood centimeters from death, only for the Hashira to back silently away and mutter before departing, "If you are lying Bobby Lugaud, that is your last strike."

And taking off with a monstrous jump, the impact Hashira left the scene on a crash course to see the young man who was transporting Roger's body to New Genetics hospital right now.

Lucem
White Masquerade