Fandom Kimetsu No Yaiba: Dreams of the Yokai

[simj26]

In life, we make our own choices, and we, of the Kageyama Penitentiary, have chosen wrongly.
-Excerpt from Murasaki Kyohei III's Dreams of the Yokai

Chapter 1: Birth of MonstersSomeone knocked on the door of his cell. Kyohei didn't bother to turn around, instead choosing to pore over the book in front of him. He supposed it was a little bit too early for lunch, but it didn't really matter to him, not with Soseki-sensei's newest book right in front of him. It took him all of his good behaviour points to even manage to persuade one of the guards to help him snatch it up from the shelves before they sold out. "Just leave it at the door or something, I'll take it in a bit." He waved dismissively behind him, then turned the page gingerly, as if afraid that any other force stronger than a slight breeze would tear the page.

"Not lunch today, I'm afraid, Murasaki," the guard's voice came through the door. "Your presence is requested in the meeting room. You will comply with any instructions given from here on out. Please reach your hands through the door."

Meeting room? Kyohei looked up from his book, sufficiently intrigued. None of the prisoners ever had the opportunity to even go there before. It was strictly for staff, officers, and visiting higher ups. He had heard that Ubayashiki himself had visited once or twice, but has since stopped. He slipped his pen onto the side of the book, closed it, and stood up. He followed the guard's instructions, and slipped his hands through the gaps on the door, reaching out towards the outside. There was the familiar sound of clinking chains, and the cold steel on his wrists as the cuffs were clapped over them. The tumblers to his door clicked, and the heavy door swung open. Immediately, he was flanked by two guards, with one of them gripping onto his arm, and was promptly frog-marched out of his cell.

All around, outside, the same 'offer' was being presented to some of the other prisoners, though some did not have the same amount of consorts as the others did. The giant from the cell some distance away from his, for instance, had no less than four guards escorting him, with two others directing their rifles at his back behind him. The prison was in an uproar, with those still in their cells demanding, in no small volume, to be let free as well, or baying for the blood of those who were now outside of their cells, fervently hoping for executions and juicy gossip to be shared amongst each other. Kyohei turned his gaze towards his chained hands, and wondered the same as everyone else, he supposed, what was to become of them.

The walk was, thankfully, short-lived, and the group was soon shoved into seats in a large empty room, and who should be standing at the forefront of the room, but the One Eyed Bandit himself, Captain Kisaragi. His one surviving eye seemed to scan every prisoner that came in, but his face was severely lacking any kind of emotion, just a blank slate. He waited, quietly, as each prisoner was put into their seats, moving, only slightly, to avoid the large prisoner. His expression seemed to shift, ever so minutely, when he caught sight of certain other prisoners as well, but immediately relaxed back to its natural unfathomable state. Kyohei found it quite fascinating, really, just how obvious his reactions were, even when they were so subtle.

Once the group had settled down (Kyohei counted about thirty of them), or had been settled down by their minders, Kisaragi's eye glanced over them, and finally straightened up over his desk. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. "As of today, your status as members of the Demon Slayers Corps has been reinstated, and you will be operating from the newly established Kageyama Slayer Base."

There was a sharp, deafening silence as his voice rang through the room. Then, all at once, it was as if something burst, and the meeting room erupted into conversation amongst almost everyone in the room. Kisaragi was quick to respond, immediately slamming his fist onto the desk with a sharp crack. Kyohei wasn't sure if he had broken his hand or part of the table, but given how his expression was still set in granite, the table's odds weren't looking very good. "Shut up! All of you! You're still prisoners and you still follow the rules in this prison! Anyone who speaks out of turn again will take a trip down to the solitary for three days! Is that clear?! Don't reply! The correct and only answer is 'yes'!"

Solitary this, solitary that. It was a common punishment meted out by both Kisaragi and his superior. Not that Kyohei could blame him- it was an effective punishment. Solitary referred to several holes in the prison that seemed to just be spaces carved out of the rock, and had no windows and no light, just a pit of pitch dark. Kyohei had never been in one of them himself, but it sounded terrible for someone like him. He didn't think it would be much of an issue for the more hardened criminals around him, but it was the best idea that their handlers could think of, possibly.

"From this day onwards, you incorrigible lot are going to act as a separate branch of Slayers known only as the Yokai. Your duties will include supporting the other Slayers on the field in combat, and doing what you do best. Outside of murder, that is,” Kisaragi added without a hint of remorse in his voice. “I’m very sure that some of you are not aware of each other’s names, especially those in higher levels of incarceration. That is why, out of Lord Ubayashiki’s request, we have chosen to protect your identities, for both your families and yourselves, by issuing you callsigns that you WILL address each other by. Any disobedience will result in a trip to the solitary.” Kisaragi raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The soldiers that had gathered in the room proceeded over to each and every inmate, handing them a small slip of paper each. Kyohei opened up his, and found one single word on his.

Shikigami

“What the hell? Why am I Aka Manto?” One of the inmates cried out from behind Kyohei before he could comment on the choice of his callsign. He and a few of the others on his row turned around to face the source, a bald young man who was holding up his callsign in protest. A few of the prisoners chuckled, but Kisaragi wasn’t amused.

“It’s because you’re a pervert who likes to try and feel up some of my female colleagues,” the One Eyed Bandit said in a matter-of-factly tone. He waved his hand. “Solitary. Now.”

“Wha-- what the fuck?!” Without wasting a single movement, two guards approached the prisoner immediately and grabbed him by his arms, lifting him up, and frogmarched him out of the room, despite his shrill protests.

Kisaragi watched as the man was dragged away out of the room, and waited until the door shut behind them, before he turned to the remainder of the group. “You may now discuss amongst each other, or posit questions to me. Any stupid questions will be entertained by the solitary cell.”

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Pre-noon light filtered in through rusted prison bars. From beyond, the scent that drifted in was not that of freedom. Nowhere were the sensory cocktails of the icy tundras and small town streets that she'd once found comfort in. Here, the air sat stale and stagnant, even that which intermingled with the world beyond. There was no thrum of life, not the bustle of the city nor the fury of the wilds. Occasionally, the faint stomp-stomping of a military march might sound beyond her tiny window, a quiet notice that even when all seemed still she was never truly in the company of privacy. There would always be eyes on her. Always a collar fixed tightly around her neck.

From all of this, the woman below the window now drew comfort. In recent days, she'd been able to live without a permanent grimace plastered to her features. Through these four walls, no danger could pass. She could live as she liked.

For the past smattering of hours, she'd done as she usually did and sat idle. Her ears tuned into the chatter of the prison air, twitching in response to any interesting going-ons, though her expression would hardly shift along with it. Eavesdropping wasn't rightly polite, she was aware, but it was as good a way to pass the time as any. Because of that voyeuristic form of entertainment, her ears would notice the approach of footfall a few paces ahead of her eyes. Hard boots on stone, labored footsteps, a half-hearted gait. One of the guards, to be sure.

She knew how they operated well enough. With prejudice, namely. That wasn't to say she felt bitter feelings towards them, but rather that she knew when it was best to comply. The familiar sensation of cold-steel clamped around her wrists, and the woman allowed her escort to usher her from her stony home. The halls bustled with more life than she'd seen in quite some time as she passed. Her fellow inmates were all pulled from their cells, both their complaints and the clattering of their shackles filling the prison halls.

Once everyone seemed to have arrived, the room settled for a moment, and then Kisaragi begun to speak. She could practically hear it, not his voice, but a subtle 'click' in her ear as he snapped a lead around her neck. Around all their necks. She listened closely, and with each syllable that spilled from his lips, she could feel a pit digging itself deeper and deeper into her stomach. They were being let out. No. They were being taken out. Each and every one of them was to be made into a hound, marched out into the outside world, and made to live and die for their owners.

Her expression stayed neutral. All her years on the stage had taught her more than enough than she needed to hide a hint of displeasure or fear, but in her gut there was turmoil. She didn't want to be let out. This stony limbo of an existence was exactly what suited her best. But none the less, she voiced no protest. No matter what her feelings were, she would do as she was told. It was the least she could do.

As the rest of the room begun to rattle off with discussion, she still remained silent. The other convicts interested her little, and her duties were clear enough. Her attention only drifted downwards, towards the new name which laid nestled between her fingertips, and she mulled it through her lips.

"...Rokurokubi." Her voice was soft, yet carried with it a trained strength that ferried it straight into the ears of those that surrounded her.

"Funny." She muttered, after gently crumpling the paper within her fist.

 

[AtlannianSpy]

Inuko Sato
One of the prisoners listening to Kisaragi's explanation, a scrawny girl with dirty blond hair, tilted her head to the side softly, her expression placed but ever so slightly furrowed with a sort of idle confusion. In the first place this girl, Inuko she was called, she reminded herself, had never been a demon slayer so she was uncertain of how her status as such might be reinstated if it had never existed in the first place. In the second place Inuko could not really think of something that she did 'best' that was not murder. Oh she had dipped her toe in body guarding, infiltration, kidnapping, theft, intimidation and sabotage, certainly she had. But no matter how you cut things those activities had always been supplementary at best to her primary duty, which was ending the life of anyone who inconvenienced the Sato clan. A few of those lives had been demons, the Sato clan had always considered it something of a point of pride to eradicate any demons that tried to hunt in their territory, but the majority of them had been regular humans.

Inuko considered questioning Kisaragi on this item, perhaps he simply had a more specific definition of murder than most people? On the other hand Inuko suspected from years of experience at being ordered around that this would constitute a 'stupid question'. Inuko didn't really feel all that strongly about the solitary cells, whether she quietly sat in a small, very dark cell or quietly sat in slightly larger, slightly brighter cell was of little concern to her. Still Inuko decided to remain quiet, passively listening in as the other prisoners broke into a babble of urgent conversation. Quietly going along with this yokai idea might introduce the opportunity to search for Kuro.

Kuro, who had torn apart everything Inuko had considered immovable and unchanging. Kuro who Inuko had been certain she understood completely and whose motives and thoughts were now utterly mysterious to her. Kuro who Inuko very much wanted to speak to. Inuko's odds of running into her former mentor while running errands for the slayers were undeniably slim but they were undeniably non existant while she sat around in prison. So if the Slayer corp wanted someone to run errands then that was fine. It might be good even, to swing a sword again, it would at least be reassuringly familiar, something to hold onto again for a little while.

Inuko glanced down at the piece of paper she had been handed.

Inugami

Fine. It did not really matter to Inuko what she was called and this name was not dissimilar to what some people had called her in the past, The name would be fine.

All of this was fine.

 

[waifu]

KANA​

Webbed feet, a small beak, and the iconic head dish - yes, this was it. Her latest creation was complete. Kana nodded her head in satisfaction at the end result; it was an illustration of a kappa she had etched out of charcoal. She dropped the charcoal and flopped to the ground, studying the wall she just drew on. "I'm hungry," she said to herself after a brief moment and rolled the other way.

A prison guard hesitatingly made his way to Kana's cell. His poker face was immediately replaced with a look of horror as he noticed his surroundings. All the cell walls were covered in creepy monster scribbles. Maybe it was a mistake to give her that piece of charcoal, he thought to himself. He figured it would have kept her busy for a few days, but at the rate she was going, she was most likely going to run out of space in a matter of hours. Whatever.

"H-hey, get up! You've been summoned," the guard called out, trying his best not to show his nervousness. It wasn't fair. Why was he the only one sent to retrieve her? Everyone else had another prison guard supporting them. This girl just doesn't seem right, he grit his teeth.

"But I'm hungry," Kana retorted in her typical childlike voice.

"When are you not?! Just do as I say or you'll be in even more trouble - they'll also take away your meals," the guard had come fully prepared. In the last three days, almost anytime a prison guard walked by this cell, Kana would demand to be fed. He was guilty of sneaking her leftovers along with a few others, but it couldn't be helped, she seemed so pitiful. The astonishing bit about all of this was that her hunger was never satisfied. It was almost like she had a demon living inside of her, eating everything. The threat worked and Kana followed the prison guard to the meeting, maybe there was going to be food there.

Once the announcement concluded and Kana received her new alias on a piece of paper, she grew restless. She stared at the girl standing beside her for some time before finally speaking.

".... Are you hungry too?"

The One Eyed Bandit

 

[Hanarei]

Onryō
Tsukino Yoriko ​

The dim light crept into the green haired woman's cell. Her arms were spread appart doing push ups in what was her typical usual workout routine. Even if she was confined in a cell the young woman wasn't one to allow herself to slack off. She put a value on keeping herself in shape, after all one could never be sure when someone might seek to attack you or even end your life on a moments noticed. You had to not just exude strength, you had also to be ready to enforce it yourself if need be. That was the way of the Yakuza... at least that was the way her father had enforced it through much of his life.

Yoriko's head turned up glancing up as three guards had been gathered at her cell. The woman looked out quite fiercely just now picking up what was going on as it seemed others were being gathered as well, though she couldn't help but feel she was being singled out, not quite seeing the hulking man who got a little more attention then her on the other side. She shifted up, stretching a bit not at all seeming to care about looking defenseless as she began to crack her knuckles as if she was looking for a fight if one was coming for her.

"Don't go causing trouble this time and we won't have an issue." The guard was quite firm in his words directed to the green haired woman. Yoriko shifted back as the door was being opened as the men seemed more cautious with her. It wasn't a surprise really... she had caused a few... incidents before both with prisoner and guard alike. She wasn't the type to accept anyone messing with her whether it was someone insulting her too much or any lecherous pigs. With some seeming hesitance Yoriko lifted her hands out attempting to make it easier for them.

"Whatever, dare try anything funny and I'll just make sure to choke the shit out of the one who does it with these chains." She spoke quite crudely as she seemed to lower her guard a bit though it didn't seem to stop the guards from showing some hesitance in shackling her up. She didn't know what the hell it was going on but being able to leave her cell worked for her. Something to stretch her legs a bit, maybe not have her bored to death with how dull it was locked up in this hellhole.

Being put in a room with many others Yoriko had glanced about herself receiving some both cautious as well as angry stares back at her. To say there were people both scared or holding grudges against her was probably an understatement. She wasn't one who tended to be the most... 'kind' individual when she felt slighted. While she was one who could hold back throwing a fist, it wasn't something that she truly learned to Master. She had some self control but it was far from the best... only a bit better then when she was younger. None the less it was very unlikely anything bad would happen, whatever this seemed to be seemed unusual, and sure enough when everything it was revealed it was extremely unexpected.

Yoriko seem more dumbfounded then anything looking on. The look itself didn't last long as it turned into a bit of a smirk. She wasn't sure if they were really that desperate but having the chance to bash some skulls in... or more so decapitate a bunch of demons was a very exciting thing for her. While many got into the business in some part due to a personal grudge, Yoriko had more so saw it as an entertaining job to take on... while naturally doing good for society! She turned her head as she was given a piece of paper. A codename? Surely she would get something interesting...

Onryō

Yokiro seemed rather angry as she couldn't help but instantly jump to conclusions. Do they think I was jealous when I murdered that bastard? That disgusting vermin deserved to die for what he did. The only amount of jealousy I hold is that he died far too quick when he should of suffered more for what he did to my family and the honor of the Yakuza. I should go up there and shove this piece of paper right up his a....

Yoriko stopped herself, pinching her nose shaking her head fighting back the rage that had been building. She didn't want to bother being tossed in the hole like that disgusting pig had been when it could just be her jumping to conclusions. It very much was a Yokai focused around vengeance, attempting to make it out to be based on just one stereotypical aspect of it was rather dumb on her own part. She let out a huff still not seeming to amused despite easing herself down. She wasn't fond of having a call sign personally. Then again if it meant freedom she wasn't going to exactly argue against it if it would stop her from getting out there and cracking some skulls again.

"These dumb call signs aside, when the hell are we getting out of this shit hole and getting to work slaughtering demons?" She asked not being the most... tactful in her choice of words though she wasn't exactly known for being that way generally in the first place.


simj26

 

[AllHailDago]

Gen Ota​

Loud. Suddenly the halls outside of his room were so loud. There was the rare fight or two, or an inmate trying something funny with a guard, but these didn't ever make so much noise. Gen stepped away from the plant he was caring for in his window, it's flower blooming quite prettily lately. He crossed the room in a pair of steps and looked out the doors single window into the hall. He leaned gently against the door as he looked out, afraid to knock it out of the frame like he had once....or twice before while excited.

He could make out a number of guards working their way to varying rooms in twos. He had only a few seconds to be confused by this when a group of....six guards stopped in front of his door. The two in the back looked like they had guns. Gen didn't like guns, they scared him. But the guards who had them were always nice to him, so it was okay. They gently rapped on his door and asked him to put his hands through.

Gen did so, keeping them close together so the cuffs could be closed on him without issue. He had to be careful bringing his cuffed hands back inside, as he had broken the links between cuffs before without meaning to. The guards were nice normally, but that made even the nice ones yell at him. He didn't want them to yell at him.

The door opened and the four fronr guards coaxed him out of his cell and into the center of their group. Two guards walked in front of him, two held him by his forearms, and two walked shortly behind him, guns at the ready. It worried Gen that none of them really spoke to him before taking him...wherever they were going. They always asked Gen about his plant, or his daily exercises. What was different today?

When they finally got to the room all the inmates were being filed into, Gen had to duck under the door frame to get inside. He was led to a chair that unfortunately turned out to be too small, and started to bend under his weight until a guard scooted a second chair over for him to sit on as a pair. He tried his best to keep his body in close, to not bother those around him, but it worked about as well as could be expected and he got a nasty glare or two.

As the Captain explained the situation Gen had to bite his tongue not to respond yes sir. But the only right response was yes, so was silence the answer or yes? Gen hated these kinds of situations. His old Master spoke like that a lot, and it was always frustrating. Thankfully the remainder of the Captains words made Gen too happy to be upset or confused.

A Slayer again? The ability to be outside again and help people?! This was the best news ever! Gen had to struggle to contain his excitement, and the chairs he was sitting on groaned in protest. Those near him seemed to lean away with concern. There was only one problem when he was handed his paper. Looking between it and the guard Gen asked in a soft tone, "What does this say? I can't read."

 

[cinnabuns]

“Have these few weeks taught you nothing?”

Naoru didn’t bother looking at who was speaking to, or at, her. She knew what they were asking her.

Here, again, she found herself at trial, surrounded by the elite demon slayers who felt like giving her case a glance. Most of them weren’t here to judge her properly; most came with the soft, sad smiles that came with an “I told you so”. They were here to gloat.

Yes, there were a handful of demons who didn’t kill humans. But most of them did, and as far as the demon slayers were concerned, the Tamashī family had been playing with fire that was waiting to burn them. They weren’t surprised by these results, so they didn’t feel bad at all for the woman before them, felt no pity. She knew the consequences of working alongside demons.

“Did you learn anything during your time among your fellow disgraced ex-demon slayers?”

There was only one right answer to what the man in front of her asked. They just wanted her to fall in line. She was supposed to slay the demons. Anything else wasn’t part of the deal. They’d hoped that seeing that firsthand would have changed her mind. On the first day of the trial, she had been stubborn. Adamant. They couldn’t change her mind for anything.

But now, it had been weeks. An attempt to sweat her out, most likely. It had taken them only a week to figure out she had, in fact, not been the source of destruction at the scene of the massacre, and that it had been the fault of another demon. The extra time she was kept in solitary had to have been to teach her a lesson. After all, in comparison to the others she ate and lived with, Naoru had a mild reason for being here. It seemed, however, that most of the prisoners understood their position as demon slayers. More than she did, anyway.

“Tamashī Naoru. You will answer when spoken to.”

Her tired eyelashes fluttered as she looked into the eyes of the Captain at her sentencing. She hadn't slept at all, except for the bouts of exhaustion that caused her to knock out. Genuine sleep hadn't come to her. The Captain was unwavering. The only one who didn’t make his opinion well known through a glance. But his bias was obvious, even if his expression wasn’t. He was the one speaking. He followed the rules and was rewarded for it. That was all it took. Following what you were told to do could get you into better places. She knew this, didn't she?

So would she bend now, or would she continue to be a fool?

“What have you learned?”

For once, she wanted to say something. But she’d said nothing then, and she’d say nothing now. At the time, things were still complicated.

“Nothing?”

At the time, she still couldn’t believe her father was dead. It was all still fresh, then.

“Very well. You stay until you’ve learned your lesson, Tamashī--"

And now, when she opened her eyes from the dream that took up permanent residence in her brain almost every night since she had returned from her trial, the only thing she didn’t get was why the bottom of her sole still ached as if it were two years ago, and she’d just stepped onto her father’s glasses and seen everything for the first time.

It wasn’t hard to pretend demons were awful, like everyone else. They weren't pretending, and she understood why. She just thought of her father’s wide eyes, full of betrayal and disbelief, and that put her in the right mood. Thoughts of how she could have done something if she hadn’t been angry with him and her grandmother also helped. But being angry at herself didn’t help her case in the slightest.

She had to prove she was okay to trust, that she was worth it. For the first few months, the guards were wary that she might knock them out like she’d done tom one of their fellow guards when she’d been arrested. But after a while, they realized that hadn’t been her true nature. And for a while, the rumor that she had been the whole who killed her father and the other demons had kept the guards, and some of the other prisoners, at bay. It took some time to convince them otherwise.

But it was okay. She couldn’t convince them all. Besides, all that mattered to Naoru was that she got closer to the infirmary. She saw the fights that went on in the prison. Some demon slayers thought they were tough shit. So tough, that they were only riled up when they realized they shared the same “home” as those demon slayers they deemed as trash. She’d been in those fights herself. Naoru just worried about the influx of prisoners who went in and didn’t come out looking better than when they’d arrived. She just knew that the better she looked, the better she behaved, the more her actions showed she was good, the less of a threat she would seem to be, and it was more likely she could offer her assistance before curfew.

Naoru was elated when, 546 days into her sentence, a guard came to her door before lunch, and let her know she’d be helping in the infirmary. She wasn’t allowed anything that could be considered a weapon - making work with pencils and pens quite difficult - but thankfully, most of her family’s techniques were without the need for puncturing. The extra set of hands was all Naoru wanted to offer, anyway. Broken noses and busted lips did need pain medication, but the nurse could handle that. No needles, no scalpels. Just nimble fingers and quick work to get to the next client.

It reminded her of home.

When Naoru woke up this morning, she expected to be taken to the infirmary, as she’d gotten used to. Instead, the two guards explained as they put her cuffs and lead her through the bustling sounds of angry and confused prisoners who were and weren’t being led out with her, she, along with others, were to meet with the Captain. That was...confusing.

What did the Captain want with her?

Naoru was led to a seat, and she nodded in thanks as she looked around at those arriving. She didn’t recognize most of them, save for those who made frequent appearances in the infirmary as of late, and some she’d heard of but never seen before...the giant man being led in by multiple guards, for example. Rumors flew around in prison like a bad odor followed a corpse; tough to get rid of, stayed for a while, and one couldn’t run away from it, from them.

She wondered how many rumors that man had to deal with, and how many of them even held the slightest amount of truth behind them.

Her attention was brought to the front after noting there were around thirty prisoners, all together in this room. Kisaragi’s presence was quite commanding, he fit his role perfectly. And the words he spoke were completely surprising. They were demon slayers again?

A good amount of the prisoners began to whoop and holler, and Naoru wasn’t surprised when Kisaragi responded in his usual manner, quieting down the masses, reminding the prisoners of their place. Still prisoners. Just prisoners with more work to do. She was happy, but still….

Her foot was aching again.

Naoru blinked as one of the guards placed a strip of paper in her hands, and she looked down at it, opening the folded scrap.

Yamauba.

Why did that sound so familiar? A story her mother once told her, maybe? Her grandmother?

Something she couldn’t put her finger on just yet, and for good reason; a man had just yelled behind her, wondering why he’d gotten his specific callsign. Naoru didn’t have to look; the voice was unfortunately familiar to her. Maybe if he chose to keep his hands to himself, instead of trying to cop a feel at every “opportune” moment, he wouldn’t be heading to solitary, Naoru thought, expecting Kisaragi’s reply as soon as the prisoner opened his mouth.

Naoru did have a question. A few, actually. She wondered what they, the group, had done to be considered for such a new branch. Had they gotten enough tallies on the good column to make up for their bad ones? Had something happened outside they didn’t know about? Were they running out of demon slayers?

The most important question was when would they get started.

Naoru knew these were too many questions, that asking them in succession was a one-trip ticket to solitary. Thankfully, another woman asked the last question she’d been thinking, so Naoru was content to listen for the answer as she leaned back in her chair. If she said nothing, she couldn’t get into trouble, now could she?

She could ask her questions if they proved to really need an answer. For now, it was just pure curiosity. Last she'd heard, that had killed the cat.

But there was always satisfaction...that was what the saying said, anyway.

 

[Reinhardt]

Kitsune

MINAMOTO MIYUKI​

Another day.
Another set of routine to follow.

To Miyuki, each day she has spent in this facility has always been the same - nothing ever changes. Fenced in by rules and regulations, only able to act within a certain routine that is enforced unto her, and the other inmates. Though she has grown accustomed to such a pattern, she still finds no delight, nor no purpose to it - each day is just a day that needs to be gone through. And this continues as time passes by.

Since when has she been here?
Why is she here in the first place?

Such questions had left her thoughts a long time ago. Those no longer matter. All that is needed is for her to go through each passing day. And the day after that. And the innumerable days that follow suit. For in the future, this meaningless, daily cycle will come to an end.

A day full of irregularities.
A day that did not adhere to the routine.
That is what this day seemed to Miyuki.

A sudden, out-of-schedule call. Guards that were usually not around this time were all over the place. And all the inmates were gathered to a single location. The abrupt alteration of what seemed to be an endless cycle had Miyuki on the edge - after all, this could be the day she longed for. The day where it all comes to a conclusion.

The apparent man-in-charge spoke, once the rowdy inmates calmed down. A reinstatement of their title, along with new tasks and names that befalls unto all of them - that is what he had announced. Many cheered, but were quickly made to be silent.

However, Miyuki had no idea what was going on. Numerous questions rose from the back of her mind - What exactly is a demon slayer? Who is Lord Ubuyashiki? Though all these terms sounded familiar to her, she could find no answer. It was as if there was a wall between her and the meaning of these terms. A wall that she could not bring down, no matter how hard she thought.

But that barrier crumbled down in an instant, the moment she opened the paper given to her. The paper which should have contained her new moniker.

Kitsune.

"What are you doing, Minamoto?! That's a demon!"

"...she's betrayed us, sir! She's siding with it!"

"...yes, yes. We shall leave it at that. The demon must have charmed her."

"Atone for your crimes in Kageyama. That is all."​

​

Miyuki's eyes gazed fiercely onto the paper.
Veins popped on both hands that held the edges of the paper, slowly pulling it apart.
And a deep, resounding and powerful breath left her mouth.

For the first time, after a lengthy seven years, she did it again - Total Concentration Breathing. But before the paper could be torn into two, her hands trembled. Her eyes gently closed. And her breathing grew soft, eventually losing the benefits of the aforementioned breathing technique as it quickly faded away.

"Miyuki-chan!"

"Yay! You got me some dango as promised!"

"Well, it's a good thing you're a demon slayer!"

"Can you tell me the story of the kitsune and the man again? I really like that one!"​

​

She could not tear the paper. Instead, she bowed and slowly brought the paper onto her forehead, slightly covered her gloomy eyes. And as she did, questions of old broke free from their shackles and latched themselves onto her thoughts once more.

Since when has she been here?
Why is she here in the first place?

She remembers the answers. All of it.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Her features were beginning to falter. The more she thought about the situation, the more she found herself getting lost within her own thoughts. Fear, anxiety, regret, her fight-or-flight reflexes were all on the verge of triggering.

At least until a small, squeaky voice cut through them like a hot knife through butter.

"...Pardon?" If it'd been anyone else, any of the, daresay, more reasonable inmates, she'd have likely brushed their words off and returned to her glum reverie, but... The girl was strange. Not only in her odd questioning but in her eyes, too. Eye contact was one of the most important tools in a performers toolkit. One glance into the eyes of an audience member and you could glean all sorts of things about the quality of your performance. They were like little mirrors that reflected your proper self within them. Because of that, her eyes had a habit of seeking after those of others.

What she saw inside the girl's was... What was the word? Offputting. In this room packed to the brim to sinners true, hers shone like a child's. She wasn't fond of that. That caveats that it brought with it aside, that sort of innocence was a touch unnerving to see in a place like this.

"Not... Particularly." Despite her observations, her eyes remained locked with the girl's. Her brow furrowed a touch. "I suppose it is supposed to be time for lunch sometime soon. I don't believe I'll be able to help you with that, though." With that, she meant to finish the conversation, but her eyes lingered for a moment. There was something else she saw in the girl's eyes, something that made discomfort rise in her chest of an entirely different mixture of reasons than their redeployment. She tore her eyes away from the girl's, and they flitted over to Kisaragi.

"Excuse me." She spoke over the crowd, much more effectively than her frame might suggest her capable of. "I don't mean to distract from the topic at hand, but will we be fed before we set off? I believe it's around the time..." Why was she trying to help that girl? Regret was already setting in. "...And I, personally, am close enough to being skin and bones as is, in light of our redeployment."

waifu simj26

 

[Rantos]

Moku o Motokiyo
Tags: cinnabuns
A house is only as strong as its base. A house built on a base of evil with sin as its structure holds up well, it has no choice to. A foundation of sinners and monsters erect the waling walls of stone, listen close for the cries of all can be heard from them. A house of justice where men and women rot, a pungent recompense. A house such as this turns into a cage, perfected by design. Even the worldly hallow solaces of light and sky or love and future are perfectly absent. All by design, a house for the mad. Occupied by damned, occupants of the sin. In such a house, light only sines from within. A dancing figure, a singing singular symphony. An individual built of grace, who strides on a foundation of sin, who speaks back to the wailing walls. A sinner, a dancer, a woman. Perfected by design. One who calls the house a home, smiling within the confines. A radiance from within. A radiance from only within.

Today too, she spoke to the walls. She listened to the lamentations. Sitting slumped slacked against the wall of her room, Moku held her ear against the stone. The bumps and groves and jagged spikes, she felt them all. Pressing her face against the waters of a raging storm that had been frozen in time, still, sharp. But the man on the other side, his cries would fall on deaf ears if she kept any further. She knew this man, in his delusions he found terror. His muffled voice faded in and out, quiet, incomprehensible words slipped through the cracks. And as the man cried Moku whispered. Words of kindness, compassion, words of reassurance, tales of love and happiness, words of passion primal. She spoke to the man. The man heard nothing. She reassured the man. She reassured herself. Through the whispering and wailing, a new sound rang clear. A knock at her door.

"Time for a new performance? I was given no script, but I suppose I'll have no problem playing to the whims of the crowd." She lifted her hand, brought it to the wall and let her hand run down the jagged waves. Moku whispered her goodbye. The woman raised herself, slowly, smoothly, growing taller and taller until reaching full height. The guard at her door, she knew his eyes, she was drawn to them. A silent type, the type that made illusions to being strong. A passive type, long seduced. As she moved closer, swaying, she watched his eyes follow like a metronome. He kept in her time. Her hands moved towards him, reaching out of her cell, looking for their familiar mark. Contact was formed, pressure was applied, yet rather than the warm sensation of the man's soft cheek she was used to, it was cold. The jingle of chains, the sudden weight of cuffs, there was no mistaking this feeling of restraint. "Well, this is different."

Moku left her cell without a fight and as she looked around, catching familiar gazes, it dawned on her that she was not the only one freed. A great deal of prisoners found themselves in the same situation. This was, different. Moku simply allowed herself to be taken in the wave, peering above the heads of her fellow residences in an attempt to find out where they were heading. It wasn't a long trip, but it was an unfamiliar one that lead right to a room she'd never seen before. She took her seat, and saw the ever recognizable Kisaragi Hayato take center stage.

The monolog that followed was, simple. The room filled with noise both during and after, the murmurs and musings of confused inmates, Moku couldn't understand why. A demon slayer kills demons, disgraced or otherwise. A dirtied blade can still cut clean. A man handed Moku her codename, she glanced at the paper and, oh. How dull. She looked to the left, and looked to the right. A another woman sat next to her, a woman Moku had seen but never approached. The woman of blessed skin, of color and beauty the likes of which would bring any human into the throes of desire and jealousy. With a completion dotted with lighter shades, beauty that naturally flaunts, as it should. The blessed magpie. Moku dropped the paper in front of the woman, the words written in clear sight. Then placing her hands upon the shoulders of the other woman, she spoke.

"Seems almost too comical, don't you think? Surly no demon would fear a name like that. Buruburu." With each syllable Moku squeezed the woman's shoulders. She spoke again. "Buruburu." Spoken softly, quietly, yet the sound refused to fade as Moku hung on the word. "Nope, I just don't see what's supposed to be intimidating about it." As she spoke, she smiled at the woman.

 

[Lucem]

Mitsuki had hardly spoken since he was incarcerated. There weren't many conversation partners in this isolated space, and the prison guards never cared to hear anything that came out of his mouth. It seemed as though he wasn't well-liked by the staff, if their harsh treatment of him was any indication. He didn't imagine that he was very popular during his time with the corps, but his status as a criminal likely did a fair amount of damage to his reputation.

Even though words never traveled within his room, there was still plenty of noise to distract from the soul-crushing boredom every prisoner was subjected to. Throughout the day, one could hear the sound of chalk tapping against stone, along with the occasional thump of a book being added to the growing pile that threatened to collapse at any second. Despite showing such obvious contempt for him, the guards had yet to refuse any of his requests for items that were ordinarily hard to obtain for one confined to a single space. Perhaps it was because he had been on good behavior ever since he arrived, never stepping out of line. Early release would've been a preferable reward for being such a well-behaved sinner, but since the chances of that happening were fairly low, he'd settle for the next best thing. As long as his observers were willing to keep providing him with the things he asked for, life in these stone walls wasn't much different from the one he lived as a small child. In fact, it may have been a bit better, considering he didn't have to worry about food or shelter.

Dragging the limestone stick in his hand across the floor, the young man added another white line to the collection of diagrams. To an outsider, it may have looked like a chaotic mess that covered the entirety of his room, the amount of chalk lines making it seem as if the cell had been freshly painted. Only the ceiling was spared, too high for him to reach until the staff was kind enough to bring him a ladder.

He may have been cut off from the outside world, but Mitsuki never put a stop to his research. His reason for doing so had vanished, along with everything else he cared for, but he still continued chasing an impossible dream. There was no passion behind it, no force that compelled him to do so. He had started this, so he would try to finish it. There was nothing else to it. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything else to do in the prison.

Every day, he'd read from the books he requested, trying to discover something that would help further his goal. Even if time had stopped for him here, the world and people outside the stone walls continued to live on. He could keep up with them as long as he continued to look over their writings. The knowledge he gained would help him grow, giving birth to new ideas. He gave those thoughts form by drawing them on every visible space, surrounding himself with them. He drew the bodies of humans and demons, wrote down their compositions, and compared them to the makeup of every ingredient he knew. He could've easily wrote all this information on paper instead of his living space, but it was easier to think when he had a bigger canvas to work with. There was also a small side benefit to doing things this way. All the tapping that came from his cell seemed to drive some of the guards crazy.

Just as he was thinking about the last time a guard pounded on his cell door in frustration, a knock came. He hadn't heard any grumbling beforehand, so he doubted this was a complaint about the noise. His first thought was that lunch had arrived, earning a negative reaction from his taste buds. While the food served here wasn't the worst in the world, his tongue's sensitivity made the eating experience harder on him than most. Thankfully, it seemed he wouldn't have to endure that just yet.

When they ordered him to place his hands through the metal slot, he came to a new conclusion. Feeling the familiar weight of chains around his wrist, he was certain that the time had finally come. He fully expected to be executed, made to pay for his crimes and suffer an eternity in Hell. They allowed him to think that for a while, taking their time before informing him that the staff had other plans.

He considered all the possible ways he could kill his escorts and make a run for freedom, but he didn't have any intention of making those imagined scenarios a reality. Instead, he followed like a good prisoner, thinking of how his handlers should have been more observant. Even restraints could become weapons.

After being led to the meeting room, he was given some fairly surprising news. He couldn't say he expected this turn of events. Just a while ago, he thought the only way he'd ever leave the prison would be as a corpse. Now he and all the other prisoners here were offered another chance at life. Kisaragi's announcement caused quite a commotion, but Mitsuki remained quiet. He wasn't overwhelmed by relief or confusion, not thinking about what this opportunity meant for a miserable soul like himself. Instead, his first thought was about the state of the demon slayer corps.

The fact that the corps was willing to offer prisoners any sort of clemency was a bad sign. Things must have been really bad for them. He could think of two simple reasons for such a sudden decision. Either the recruits were dwindling, or the demons were growing. It remained to be seen if it was an issue of numbers or strength, but either one was enough of a reason to allow criminals to rejoin their ranks. Although, he doubted that the people here were actually being welcomed back with open arms. They were all still criminals at the end of the day. Kisaragi said that their role would be to support other slayers, but he couldn't imagine that they'd be on the same level as people who hadn't committed any taboos. The people here were likely just tools, given new names and made to serve a single purpose.

Mitsuki looked over his new name before folding the paper once again. He couldn't think of anything more suitable. Even if he wasn't wearing the mask right now, he was still the rabbit. Before he could think more about his new moniker, a certain word brought him out of his musings.

The name was spoken by a soft voice, but it carried immeasurable weight. He struggled to not react to it, maintaining the same neutral expression as he refused to let memories invade his mind. Rokurokubi, huh? Well that was going to be a problem. According to the captain, they were required to refer to each other by the names they were given. How was he going to deal with this? Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Despite being offered freedom, the members of this Yokai branch would definitely have heavy restrictions placed on them. The things they could do and the places they could go would be limited, possibility to the point where this release from prison would be more comparable to a transfer. Still, it was better than spending the rest of his days in this place. He'd have access to more resources, making it easier to continue with his research. He didn't really care about being used as a tool. As long as he was able to do what he wanted, they could use him as much as they liked.

He had no issue with what was happening, but there was one small matter that needed to be resolved. He'd be known as Gyokuto from now on, but he was still wearing the face of a human. If he was going to be operating as the moon rabbit, wouldn't it be appropriate to look the part? He was sure that his possessions would be returned to him in due time, bringing an end to the way he had been living since his arrest. The face people saw here wasn't the one some of them were used to. He never wanted them to know his features, so he always hid them from his fellow slayers. However, dark hair and charcoal eyes were revealed the day he was stripped of everything. He hadn't been the rabbit since that fateful day.

 

[soggyparadise]

"It's creepy isn't it-? Just staring like that?" The familiar voice was hushed to just a whisper but still the words were as clear as if they'd been shouted in his ear. He could easily tell it was Nakanishi's- a middle aged guard who enjoyed showing the newer hires around the prison, which of course included all his favorite oddities. The giant from a few cells down, a man who apparently was haunted by hallucinations, as well as a woman who'd turned her cell into an art gallery and could put away food like she had a second stomach. Then of course there was Hibiki himself. A young man who'd been cursed with blindness from birth as most liked to put it despite him never seeing his condition as much of limitation after learning how to deal with it in his own way.

The rookie's voice came timidly from beside the man. "Y-yes sir i suppose so. . .um- is he asleep?" This earned a hearty laugh from the veteran guard and Hibi nearly winced and broke his vacant facade when he heard how hard Nakanishi smacked the man's back.
"Even the blind don't sleep with their eyes open!" He roared like it was the funniest thing he'd heard in ages. Sure it wasn't exactly a smart question but Hibiki wished he'd give the kid a break- from the tone of his voice he sounded like some kind of bumpkin and in the new guard's defense, he hadn't moved a muscle since they stopped in front of his cell, simply staring up at the ceiling as he laid on the prison issued bed, his arms crossed behind his head to give a bit more of a comfortable cushion. In fact he spent most of his time like this- he always ended up sleeping odd hours as day and night meant little in his world of darkness and confinement, so it was best just to be comfortable as he waited for sleep or food, which ever came first- or at least whichever his body felt like desiring.

He only really got up when he felt like eating after all, perhaps even reading one of the few braille books he'd managed to be awarded for his passive behavior as he ate his meal. Other than that his life was dictated by sleep- by the rest that he'd craved so badly when he was sentenced to this life. . .but lately that hadn't been enough. He'd been. . .bored- something he hadn't really felt since his days before becoming a slayer.

First he'd attempted to cure this boredom by being a bit more active, stretching periodically throughout the day but that didn't seem to do the trick, nor did meditation like the monks had taught him. He needed more excitement than this concrete box could give him. Thus his playful and often flirty nature began to rear it's head, irritating quite a few guards in the process. Since then Nakanishi had been one of his few consistent visitors and was often the guard tasked with bringing him his meals.

"Kobayashi, up an at 'em, I know you can hear me." The older man prodded, clanking his metal keys against the bars, a sound that he knew very well to get on the blind man's nerves. With a sigh Hibiki slowly sat up, dragging his slender form from the bed where he took a few steps towards the boundary of his little world.
"More party tricks today 'nishi? Your new subordinate is 5'8." He said with a heavy sigh, slightly amused by the rookie's shocked gasp as he crossed his arms across his chest as he looked towards the two men's figures, his unseeing eyes seeming to stare straight through them.
"No no no- i'm sure you've already picked up on all the commotion, boss is calling a meeting for some inmates of interest and you are on the list. Hands through" He commanded lightly, his tone more friendly with the green haired man than one would expect from a guard to an inmate. He earned a small sigh once more from the former slayer but still he complied without argument. He'd been expecting this for some time now, having already been tuned in to the going ons around him for some time. Guards demanding, prisoners complaining, shackles clanging. It'd been a matter of time before it'd be his turn.

As his hands were cuffed by the new hire he smirked slightly, his hand brushing against the male's lightly "Careful there~ I may be a prisoner but i'm quite sensitive" His tone was intentionally flirtatious and by the way the older guard burst out laughing and slapped the recruit's back again he could only assume he succeeded in flustering him.
"Careful there- you don't want to end up in the infirmary again do you?" Nakanishi warned but Hibiki simply chuckled and allowed each man to take one of his arms.
"and hear that nurse's lovely voice again? I wouldn't call it much of a punishment~"

A few minutes later and he was seated in a chair in a room he could tell he'd never been in before- surrounded by an amount of prisoners he could only describe as a hazard to have out all at one time. But by the calm in Kisaragi's voice and the number of people he could tell were still standing it was obvious that there were enough guards in the room for them to be confident in their abilities to control the masses.

The spiel he heard next came all to quickly and he was left processing for a long moment, slayers once more? Did he want that? He supposed he didn't have a choice- yes already being declared as the only answer but still. . .wielding swords once more seemed- irresponsible. Yet one thing he could say for certain was it wouldn't be boring. The green haired male hardly noticed the slip of paper placed in his hands, but as the prisoners begun discussing their new names quite loudly he was brought quickly back to the present. A call sign- at least that would protect Lady Kobayashi's good name so he couldn't oppose it. Slowly he unfolded the scrap of paper and ran his fingers over it only for a look of puzzlement to spread across his face. This had to be a joke right? A few seats down he heard an imposing figure ask for help due to his inability to read- and he supposed he'd have to do the same.

Tentatively he turned his head from side to side- on one it seemed to sound like a smaller female and the other a male a bit bigger than him. Beyond that he heard the giant- to his right and a couple more females to his left- who would be the best to ask? He hadn't heard a familiar voice thus far but then again he hadn't heard those on his left speak yet. He'd have to take a shot in the dark then- and so he posed the question to no one in particular, holding the slip up in front of his face with two fingers.
"Would someone read this to me-? No one bothered to consider how i'd be able to read this."

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

Minato Sukune

Five years. All Minato had for five years was his loneliness, his nightmares, and the Solitary. Sometimes he had found it hard to believe that it has been so long. His memories were so fresh in his mind that the things he’d done had only felt like yesterday. Their deaths were because of him, his hands soiled with their blood. All his fault. But he didn’t want to, he didn’t mean to. At the time his heart was full of shame and rage and all he saw was the demons that ripped him of his family.

“Hey.” His train of thought was broken by a familiar young voice. It was his brother, he still looked the same as he remembered but he didn’t have his blue haori with him. “You’ve been in Solitary for a while, huh?” He isn’t real, is a phrase that goes through Minato’s mind every time one of them appears. No matter what though, he’ll believe what they say, he’ll do what they say. “Hirofumi.” Is all that came out of the prisoner’s mouth.

Hirofumi frowns, he couldn’t elicit much emotion from his brother as always. Minato felt dead inside, it’s either close to nothing or all the negative emotions that well up inside his chest. “Look sharp, someone’s coming for you.” The young illusion vanished. The rattling of keys often signaled that it is time to go back to his cell, the guard in charge of watching him was quick to speak. “You. To the meeting room.” Disgust, that was what the voice held. Minato has been seen as a disgrace to the Slayers since he wasn’t treated as nicely as the others and would often end up in the infirmary before he is brought to the solitary.

His breath hitched. No prisoner has gone inside the meeting room, what they wanted from him was a mystery. Six guards surrounded him, at the ready to halt Minato if ever it comes to it. Guards either outright hates him for what he has done five years ago or is afraid of him. He was soon pushed inside where most prisoners are, “I wonder what they are going to do to you?” Sweet yet with a hint of devilishness. Matsuoka had always been one to play as the good sister in front of their parents but she’s actually the spawn from Yomi.

The meeting started and what the famous One-Eyed Bandit has said did not bode well with the remaining of the Sukune demon slayer. “You don’t deserve it.” His sister whispered to his ear and he shivered. “You’re a joke as a slayer, a disgrace to the family. All you brought was shame and you're going to be reinstated?” The laugh she gave out was hollow, at this point, Minato was holding his head like it was the most fragile thing. It was so confusing that someone like him would be brought back to the field, he doesn’t want that to happen again. A paper with the word Ikiryo was given to him. It is what everyone would call him from now on.

“Coward. You don’t even want to avenge us?” Her face was twisted into a sneer, mocking, and angry. “Stop it. Please.” Minato softly whispered with a trembling voice. All sorts of talking or shouting barely reached his ears. All he could hear was the negative remarks of his own sister. The holding of a paper could be seen at the corner of his eye, “Tenome,” he said out of the habit of reading out loud under his breath. He didn’t mean to answer the question of the one beside him. “Minato, avenge us. Me, father, Hirofumi. Kill for us.”

He got up, eyes wide and staring at Kisaragi. “Why? Why would you want us back? No, why would you include me?” He shouted, wanting to understand why to include a killer like him. His fragile mentally and bloody history.

interactions: soggyparadise simj26

 

[cinnabuns]

A piece of paper was deliberately let go in her direction.

Naoru’s eyes found the slip, mentally reading off the name - Buruburu - as the woman who she assumed had dropped it placed her hands on Naoru’s shoulders.

"Seems almost too comical, don't you think? Surely no demon would fear a name like that. Buruburu."

Naoru felt her shoulders get squeezed once, twice, thrice, four times. Matching the syllables of the name, she assumed, as the squeezes came in time with the woman’s words. Naoru matched the gaze of the woman as she continued to speak.

"Buruburu.” The woman repeated softly, and Naoru said nothing at first. She had a feeling the woman wasn’t finished, and of course, she was correct. "Nope, I just don't see what's supposed to be intimidating about it."

Then the woman gave her a smile.

The smile didn’t seem threatening. Actually, it felt quite genuine. But Naoru was a bit jaded, because the first thing she thought, hearing everything the woman had said, was that this must be a test to see if she could stay in the room. It had to be a small extra requirement of the Captain, or something, making sure that she had learned her lesson.

What have you learned?

Naoru returned the woman’s smile. “I guess you’ll have to show them, then.” She replied back, in a voice that was thick and sweet like honey. “Show them not to underestimate you.”

Before Naoru could say more, she heard a familiar voice near hers and turned slightly to confirm who it was. The green hair gave it away. The man from the infirmary. It had been awhile since they’d seen one another. He had gotten himself into a little trouble with another prisoner, but yet another had snapped and, to put it loosely, “stopped” the guy before he’d hurt the green-haired one.

But wait. If he was here, that meant, maybe…!

Naoru perked up a bit when the green-haired prisoner continued to ask the man next to him - someone she also recognized - to read his slip of paper. Her eyes rested on the second man, who was holding his head. It truly had been a while. These two, ending up here. She was happy the both of them would be able to leave, even if it were to do missions on behalf of the Demon Slayer Corps. But she couldn’t help but wonder….

Was he still having his nightmares?

Her question was answered as the man stood up, seeming frantic. “Why? Why would you want us back? No, why would you include me?”

Naoru felt her heartstrings tug. Oh no. If he was too loud he might be sent back like the other man. Her mind went back a moment to seeing him in the infirmary, seeing him feel as if he were alone; he needed people. He wouldn’t do well being locked up anymore. She...had to do something, anything.

Naoru looked back to the woman holding her and smiled gently, taking the woman’s hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. “You’ll prove them wrong.” She spoke, before letting go, turning back to the man, and standing up next to him.

“Hey. I bet you must be exhausted.” Naoru spoke smoothly, looking around at the guards to hopefully keep them from taking him back to solitary. He didn’t deserve that. Maybe even being out with a team of people instead of having to listen to his head would help. “I think you’ll do just fine. Can you sit down with me, please? I’m sure he’ll explain to you once we’re settled again.”

Her voice was now laced with a hint of pleading as she attempted to take the man’s hand. Damn these restraints, she cursed inwardly, before managing the deed. The other woman had made it look so easy. Naoru hoped he recognized something about her from his time in the infirmary, but she couldn’t be sure. In this moment, all she wanted was for him to sit down so he wouldn’t lose this chance.

[ Rantos Colorless Spectrum ; Mentions: soggyparadise ]​

 

[waifu]

Kana continuously watched the girl as she grew uncomfortable and attempted to help her. A faint tint crept on her face. Quietly, Kana stepped in front of her and awkwardly held Joumei's face in her shackled hands. She stared into her eyes for a moment. The prison guards surrounding them became alert at the sight unfolding in front of them, there were to be no fights or disruptions during the commencement today. A few of the them now started walking up to them to intervene.

The guard that had escorted Kana earlier grew worried. "H-hey, stop that! Go back to standing in line like everyone else!" He yelled abruptly. He knew Kana wouldn't harm anyone but her actions could be easily misinterpreted, especially by other criminals. He didn't know why but he had a soft spot for this particular prisoner, he didn't want to see her in any more trouble than she was already in. Maybe I should have slipped her a little something before bringing her here, he thought with a grimace.

"... Thank you, lesser demon," she said before letting go. She went back to her position in line and drew a blank stare at Kisaragi. The guards from earlier stopped in their tracks but continued to keep a watchful eye on them. Before parting with Joumei, Kana slipped her the note she had received earlier without reading. Whether it was a token of gratitude or a form of payment, it was hard to tell, but all it said was Kowai.

The One Eyed Bandit simj26

 

[simj26]

Kisaragi didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed, maintaining his cool, stoic demeanour throughout the uproar, almost as if he had been expecting it. While Murasaki visibly flinched when one of the other prisoners exclaimed loudly behind him, Kisaragi didn’t even seem to register it. He waited, and waited, and waited some more, as more and more voices started to rise above each other, trying to outdo the last. He barely responded when one of the other prisoners stood up, his voice cracking in stress. Murasaki turned behind him, trying to see what was going on, and so did the other prisoners with him in the same row. One of the female prisoners took the unstable man by his hands and brought him to a chair, trying to help him settle down. Murasaki kept his mouth shut, refusing to comment on it, but the man’s words lingered in his mind. Why, indeed? Broken and battered weapons like them, being thrown back into the war, and for what purpose? Was everything on the frontlines of their eternal war with the demons that bad? After what seemed to be a pre-planned amount of time had passed, Kisaragi finally raised his hand. Slowly. “Alright. That’s all you’re gonna get for the time being.” He directed his hand at Murasaki, who blinked in surprise. “You.” Was he going to get thrown into solitary for doing nothing? Well, well, well. That’s a first. That was what he thought, at least, until Kisaragi waved his hand towards the giant man just behind him. “Help him with his name.”

Murasaki turned around to face the giant man, whose entire body seemed to take up more space than it was humanly possible. It was no wonder that even a usually unshakable man like Kisaragi would bend, ever so slightly, to someone like him. He gingerly reached towards the paper in the man’s hand. He had no idea what he was capable of, but Murasaki was fairly certain he didn’t want to get snapped in half like a twig. Not before he finished the his new book, at any rate. His eyes glanced over the kanji on the slip of paper. “Yurei,” he read aloud to the man. He wasn’t about to comment about how sardonic the appellation was. He handed the paper back to the giant man, and without waiting for thanks, turned back to face Kisaragi, who seemed to be holding his breath.

After he was certain there was no commotion, Kisaragi’s entire body relaxed, and returned his attention to the rest of the gathered inmates. He answered the lady with the moss-green hair first, the one that had spoken up above the rest of them, stirring the rest into a furor. Murasaki didn’t know what to make of her, except that she was fairly dangerous. However, Kisaragi didn’t seem to care a whit about what danger she posed. “Settle down, Onryo. You’ll get your moments. But if you want to get into the fray so eagerly without a nichirin blade at your side, I won’t stop you.” He let his answer linger for no more than a second, before changing his focus to the next question he bothered to take.

“As for you, Ikiryo, trust me, I don’t. If it were up to me, I’d see you all rot behind those doors for the rest of time. However, due to the manpower issues your kind are suffering from, Lord Ubayashiki has managed to pull whatever strings he has. Why we have included you is merely because of your sword arm, and nothing more. If you don’t like it, you can go back to your cell and stay shut in there forever, or go outside with open arms and wait to die. Your choice, really.”

Kisaragi then directed his attention to the rest of the Slayers. “So that’s it. If you keep asking me questions about ‘why’ and ‘how’, I’m afraid I can’t answer them. The fact still stands, you’re all being reinstated as Slayers.” Something about Kisaragi’s tone didn’t sit well with Murasaki. He was sure the other Slayers around him could hear it as well. There was something the soldier wasn’t saying. No, it wasn’t that he wasn’t saying something, it was more like that he didn’t know about something, and that’s why he couldn’t say it. Murasaki started to raise his hand to pursue this, but was quickly interrupted by someone clearing their throat from behind the room.

Very slowly, a man in a black haori moved forwards to the front of the room. On his back was the single kanji for ‘One’. His slippers shuffled and slapped lazily across the floor as he made his way to the front. All those quirks, however, weren’t enough to detract from the more conspicuous part of his appearance. He wore a strange mask of a contorted face, its mouth fixed into a permanent caricature of someone blowing at something to his right. A hyottoko mask, Murasaki recognised. A swordsmith?

“Did I say you could come forwards, Isamu?” Kisaragi’s face was one that spoke of murder, but he made no action to stop the man. It was as if the man was far too important for him to send to solitary for disobeying him.

The masked man did not reply to Kisaragi’s question, proving that he was, indeed, much more important than he looked, and, instead, turned to face the Slayers. “Now, now, now,” he addressed the gathering calmly, his voice low and hushed, that some of the prisoners strained to hear him, “you all may have been reborn as Slayers, but what kind of Slayer goes out without a nichirin blade?” He gave a low chuckle, clapping his hands together. As if on signal, seven others, dressed in the same garb as he was came forth, standing by his side. On their backs, each, were the numbers running from two to eight. Each of them were carrying a number of swords with them. One in particular, was inching along the side of the room, heaving along with him a sword just as tall as he was, if not taller. Murasaki’s eyes locked in on the one with the plain hilt and guard. That was definitely the same one that he used before he was imprisoned! How was it that it came to be in their possession? It had been a couple of years, too, so it should have deteriorated beyond use. Unless...these were actual swordsmiths?

The first swordsmith raised his hand lazily. “Hey. We’re the swordsmiths assigned to you sorry lot. Don’t worry about your blades, alright? We’ve been workin’ our sorry asses off to try and fix up your swords, including those weird ones.” He glanced at one of the swords in the collection. “Breath of the Stage, huh? You Slayers come up with the strangest things.”

“Okay. That’s enough.” Kisaragi stepped out, and, without much effort, pushed the shorter man to one side. “Introductions done with? Good. This will be the Yokai squad. These men will be your logistics team. Try not to waste our resources fixing your swords.” He spoke, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he was just trying to get the niceties over and done with. “Let’s get on with the actual briefing now.” He raised his hand, and a guard wheeled a blackboard behind him. On it was a sketch of the Kageyama Penitentiary, along with its surroundings, including the nearby towns and villages. “First order of business. Kageyama Penitentiary’s surrounding area is rife with demon activity, according to a missive sent from Lord Ubayashiki. It is your duty to assist with clearing them out. There have been sightings and missing people in both the villages and the forested areas, in these specific areas.” Kisaragi directed his finger towards the circled areas on the blackboard. “You will be split up into several teams, and be deployed to head out into different areas, as directed.” He reached for his book, and ran his finger down the list of names.

“Yokai 1: Inugami, Yamauba, Kowai, Tenome, Kitsune, Ikiryo, Aka Manto. You will be headed to the Jinsei forested area, to the south of the village of Okudo. Once there, locate any demons, and send a message back. Do NOT engage the demons unless told to do so. Yokai 2: Rokurokubi, Buruburu, Yurei, Shikigami, Onryo, Gyokuto, Wanyudo. You will be headed the other direction, towards Yamashiki. A Pillar may be headed towards the same area soon enough. You are not permitted to kill any demons you meet in the area. You are to instead hold it back, or prevent its movement until the Pillar arrives. I repeat, none of you are to kill any demons, at any cost.”

That was all Murasaki needed to hear. He didn’t really care about the remaining Yokai teams, only his. He looked down at his twiddling thumbs. Something bothered him. They weren’t supposed to kill the demons? What? In that case, they were just attack dogs whose fangs had been blunted, meant to just gnaw at and delay demons until a Pillar came in and took the glory for themselves? Were they supposed to just DIE for the pillars? This was distressing. This was very distressing indeed.

Kisaragi finished reading out the rest of the teams, and, before the Slayers could break out into a commotion again, he waved at his subordinates once more. “Get them out to the courtyard, and prep them for departure. Let them warm themselves up before they move out.”

There was a thrum of energy in the air as the guards began to move, ushering their quarries out of the meeting room. Murasaki, himself, was not-so-gently pushed out of the room, and led across the prison area, and out of the main building to the outside, into the wide-open courtyard of the prison, where the swordsmiths had already moved their weapons to, each of them placed neatly atop packs of supplies, enough for a team of seven. A piece of paper had been placed on each of the packs and their swords, with their respective team numbers written on them. His escort team inserted a key into the padlock on his restraints, and turned. With a click, the restraints fell to the floor. Murasaki massaged his wrists and took a look around. Around them were high walls and fences, and atop those walls, were guards with guns aimed at them. Even if they tried to make a prison break now, they’d be shot immediately. Kisaragi wasn’t a man to take chances, this much he knew.

Nothing to it, then. He sighed, and moved to the packs and swords with the number two on them. He thought he spotted a mask amongst the packs as he walked by, but his focus was on the sword that lay ahead of him. His old partner. How long had it been since he had held it in his hands? He reached down and picked up his sword, feeling the familiar grip of his scabbard in his hand. His sword hand brushed against the hilt. Like an old friend he thought he’d never meet again, it felt so familiar, yet so strange. He made a face, and slipped the scabbard into his belt.

Freedom never felt so restricting.

Spoiler: tags

The One Eyed Bandit waifu cinnabuns Lucem Colorless Spectrum soggyparadise Rantos AllHailDago Hanarei AtlannianSpy

 

[AtlannianSpy]

InugamiInuko Sato

​

As soon as the strange men in black appeared Inuko zeroed in on one in particular, carrying a rust colored katana and two smaller wakizashi. Inuko silently slipped out of her seat and darted towards the man, claiming the blades with enough suddenness to startle him and alarm two nearby guards. However when Inuko made no move except to study the weapons without unsheathing them the guards seemed to settle down, although they still glared at her suspiciously.

Inuko was as surprised as anyone. She had not really spared a thought for the three blades she had carried for so long during her captivity, without orders to execute she had little need for swords with which to execute them after all. But now that she held the swords in her hand Inuko felt an odd sense of contentment, it was as if some illness she had not realized she suffered from had suddenly been cured or as if, yes, as if she had been incomplete until just now. Instinctively, almost without registering it consciously Inuko stowed the blades, one up her sleeve, the other tucked into the small of her back and the katana resting easily by her side. The familiar weight, the smell of metal and oil, it all felt so right. Inuko was so enamored with her reclaimed possessions that she only barely registered their orders. Orders; another familiarity returned to her after so long being absent and along with them the clarity and focus brought about by having a singular objective.

Go to the Jinsei forest, locate any demons, send back a message, no killing. Simple, clear and direct. No why's, no straining herself trying to peer into the motivations or machinations of others. Why did the warden not want them to actually kill demons? Inuko did not care, she did not need to know to do her job and so she almost relished the freeing sensation of dismissing the question from her mind. All Inuko had to do was move forwards, one step at a time until her job was done, everything else could wait until after.

Without addressing her fellow teammates Inuko padded off silently to the courtyard to stretch. After so many years Inuko was, she realized suddenly, rather stiff.

 

[AllHailDago]

Gen Ota​

Gen had tried to thank the kind man who had read his name for him, but he had turned his attention away as soon as he could. While there was a twinge of hurt, Gen reasoned away as the man just trying to pay attention to the briefing. Gen mulled over his name for a few moments but gave up, accepting that he had no idea what it meant. It sounded neat at least!

Eyeing the board at the front of the room, Gen tried to make heads or tails of the map Kisaragi gestured at. Unfortunately, much like reading, his master had never taught Gen how to use a map. He was able to guess a little, if someone pointed out landmark shapes, but that was it. Gen scratched lightly at his chin, his seat groaning as he shifted his weight. How would he know...

Before his confusion could further devolve, several sillily masked men came in and Gen delighted in recognizing swordsmith's. His face broke out in an even toothier grin as he noticed one smith struggling to drag Gens sword. He hadn't seen it in so long, Gen couldn't believe it was really time to use it again. It's a good thing he'd remained and even improved his fitness since he arrived at the prison. His sword wouldn't be easy to use, even for him, without proper fitness.

Turning his gleeful attention back to Kisaragi, he listened to him rattle off team named and orders. Gen had no clue about the where, or the why, but he didn't care too much. It sounded similar to what his master used to command of him. Injure them only, so he could come and steal the "glory". As if Gen had ever cared about being famous for his actions. To him, helping was enough. As such, he had no issue with these orders. It's be more of what he was used to, with less of the cruel mistreatment. After all, even at their very worst, the prison guards and staff had been saintly compared to his own master.

When Gen's attention turned back to the briefing he found that they were being dismissed. It was time to gear up, and Gen was filled with barely contained mirth. Though this apparently discomforted the guards who began to lead him outside, if their body language said anything. As they stopped in front of a row of packs with the number two on it, numbers being the only writing Gen did know to a degree, they unshackled him.

Gen's giddiness ebbed away as he saw the expressions of the guards as they did so. They seemed stoic enough, but he had seen the same flicker in the eyes of numerous others in his life. The same fear. The same doubt. They had gotten to know and be comfortable with Gen over the years, but even they were at least marginally afraid of what he'd do now that he was cut loose. No matter how many times Gen saw that look it hurt.

Stepping away with carefully muted motions, or as much as one could at his size, Gen moved towards his gear. The first thing he did was put on a simple harness that allowed him to sling his sword over his back. While most would have theirs belted at their hip, it was rather obviously impossible for him. It was also not exactly advisable to just carry it in the open for a multitude of reasons. So his back was really the only option.

Next he slung his pack over one shoulder, keeping it clear of his sword harness, and then gripped his sword gently. His eyes teared up a little as he hefted the familiar weight up into the air and glanced at each side of the sword. So clean. The edge hadn't been resharpened, but it hadn't been allowed to dull further or chip. It was simply a blunt edge along it's whole length, until it's one incredibly sharp point at the tip. He sniffed at the obvious respect these smith's gave his weapon. He would have to thank them later.

Stepping away from the others enough to have about ten to fifteen clear feet of space, Gen held his sword his both hands. The weight was comforting, and to his great pleasure, even easier to use than before he'd been imprisoned. Without his master holding him back, who knew what cool new moves he could create.

He took a hefty practice swing, stopping before he hit the ground, and smiled at the familiar huff of the air he displaced with his swing. He took one extra long step and lunged at open air, his sword striking at an invisible foe. Standing upright, Gen placed his sword on his back in its harness. While he didn't imagine the work they'd be doing would be pretty, he couldn't contain his excitement to do it.

simj26

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

A sudden sensation, cold and clammy, wrapped around Joumei's cheeks. Her eyes quickly, forcibly locked with the girl's, leading her to a front row seat to witness the show that was her particular brand of strangeness. They sat in her skull like deep, shining little gems, gleaming with a light both dazzling and puzzling. It made her more uncomfortable than ever. Beset by them on one side and the unexpected assault on the other she might have been shocked into silence, if the girl's particular choice of words hadn't been enough to snap her back to reality.

"Excuse me?" She grimaced, and slapped the girl's hands away from her. For a moment, she'd doubted her own ears. Surely the girl couldn't be that ungrateful, but then again, it was easy enough to see that she was missing a few screws. Her lips hovered for a moment, ready to reply with some sort of venom of her own, but ultimately they sealed themselves shut. She shot the girl a second, dirtier look, and then turned her attention back to the meeting proper.

This was what she got for trying to play big sister.

It didn't matter anyway, she told herself. She and the girl hadn't been paired with one another, so, despite her harassment, turning the cheek was the best option here. If all went well, she'd never have to meet the rude girl again.

Returning her attention to the proceedings regarding their deployment, Joumei found her nerves had eased. Or, instead, rather than being strung with anxiety they now sung a song of irritation. It was better than nothing, but she was still unable to properly focus on Kisaragi's rundown. Her ears did perk up a touch when her blade was mentioned, and had her mood been better, she may have even worn a slight smile. Despite the resent she felt for her redeployment, it was good to hear that the old hunk of steel was in good shape. It'd committed no crimes, after all, they had solely been her own.

When they were set loose, Joumei brushed lightly through the crowd. One of the advantages to having a small body was that she could weave through gaps that most others could not, so she made quick time in retrieving her equipment.

As much as she hated to admit it, the feeling wasn't unpleasant. After so many years, they were back together. In front of her not only lay her blade but her mask too, just as dead-eyed and battered as it had been on the day of her crime. It felt all too natural to slip it on, even in the bustling courtyard. As she felt the familiar sensation of wood and cloth wrapping itself around her face, she too could feel her heart still. Her anxiety, her frustration, both faded into the depths of her gut and vanished. It felt right, too right; It was like each and every one of her sins was being snuffed out and forgotten.

Was this all it took for her to forgive herself?

Behind the mask, she gritted her teeth. No, it wasn't. Her was a sin she'd have to bear for the rest of her life, regardless of how long or short it ended up being.

Taking her blade in hand, she gave it a forceful swing. That was pleasant. The weight felt correct, and hardly a moment after the strike a telltale clack sounded out across the courtyard. The smiths had been true to their word, then. If it capable of this much, then it at least should have been good enough for proper usage, but she had to be sure. Or, perhaps, she merely wanted to enjoy the sounds of her performance once more. She swung her blade again, not once, not twice nor thrice, in fact, it was hard to keep count. Like a chorus, her blade clattered out, singing cheerily after having been left to gather dust for so long, until with one final clap she stowed the blade away, and it was silent once more.

waifu

 

[waifu]

Kana stared blankly at Joumei before puffing her cheeks in resentment, silently conveying she didn't deserve to be dismissed like that. Joumei even dropped Kana's slip that she handed her. Kana somberly watched her piece of paper float in midair before it touched the ground. "Lesser demon is bad," she proclaimed to herself then and there before tuning out her new-friend-turned-foe.

Having her hands freed again made her forget about food temporarily. Kana rejoiced by running to the masked men with her arms wide spread and scooped up her sword with the rest of the belongings that were laid there for her. She took out her sword from its scabbard and raised it towards the sky to see the rays of the sun envelope its newly polished exterior. She immediately grew antsy, she had a need to test it out. She looked around to find someone she could spar with. A familiar face came to view, it was the lesser demon from earlier. Kana's cheeks instinctively puffed out again and she chose to keep searching.

Her eyes finally landed on a figure that fascinated her. She ran up to him and gaped at him in his entirety. She had never met a taller human than him before - if he even was human. It didn't help that Gen Ota was standing in front of the smallest person there, so he looked even more ginormous in comparison.

".... Demon King," She simply called out, now pointing her Nichirin Blade at him.

The One Eyed Bandit AllHailDago

 

[Hanarei]

Onryō
Tsukino Yoriko ​

Yoriko had shown little interest in the others and what they had to say as they all seemed to start talking and the fact there were a few who seemed to need help reading the sheet of paper. Not too surprising for such a hell hole of a place. As brash as she could be she wasn't without some sympathy for others. Sure slaying Demons allowed her natural penchant for violence to come out openly, but she had done it with good intentions of helping others. She had a heart... even if she wouldn't hesitate to insult you or beat the crap out of you if you deserved it.

Upon hearing her name she couldn't help but glare in response to the witty reply. She rolled her eyes seeming to bite back a retort. There was no reason to get herself in trouble for barking back for a much more innocuous response back. The fact she was addressed by the crappy Yokai name was far more annoying to her though if its the price to get out and slice off some heads she would have to get use to that anyways. Any distaste she had quickly faded upon the sight of the sword smiths. As idoitic looking as ever, though if that was the cost of getting a good blade she could deal with their stupid masked faces.

The fact they were put on teams made the green haired woman roll her eye in distaste... though it had been the fact it was mentioned they weren't to kill a demon that really bothered her. They let them out to slay demons and then immediately are told NOT to kill the demons and simply wait it out and delay it? What the hell is that kind of crap? Why the hell not just kill it and be done with it? It wasn't hard to tell from the expression on her face she wasn't very pleased though she bit back her tongue once again. Just go along with whatever it was for now... get the hell out of this place and at least get to do something besides rotting away in this piss puddle of a prison.

Yoriko wasted no time gathering her things and taking her Katana and Kusarigama. She wrapped the chain around her arm gripping the Kusarigama in her hand. She moved back out glancing over at the big lug of meat just standing there swinging his large blade. She grumbled a bit as she moved away a bit herself, doing a few practice swings with her sword at first getting familiar with it before swinging about her kama allowing some of the slack of the chain to come undone to allow it to whirl about at a bit further distance before allowing it to swing back into her hand. It felt so good to feel her weapons once more. How she longed to get to use them again. The fact she wouldn't be beheading any demons still lingered in her mind making her a bit pissy again at the very thought they weren't even able to do such a thing now... not to mention being on a team.

Yoriko couldn't help but glance over at Kana seeing the small girl point her blade at the big oaf of a man. She glared at the girl not very impressed by her outward appearance, though her choice of words seemed to irk her more. Was she playing pretend or some crap? Thinking of it she could recall hearing her saying something inside somewhat similiar granted she wasn't quite sure if it had been the same girl.

"Did someone accidentally lock up a child playing make belief? Your going to poke your eye out kid. Besides why the hell a king? All he seems to be is a giant pile of meat, I ain't seen shit from him to make him a king, only thing I seen is him getting his ass in the way of things." She spoke more so referencing his big body getting in the way of her getting to her things sooner. Her head turned to glare sharply at the big man as if to make a point to do so showing some disdain for him being in her way from before.


simj26 waifu AllHailDago (All hail the iffy 'trying to catch up and interact' post!)

 

[Rantos]

Moku o Motokiyo
Tags: The One Eyed Bandit
And the blessed magpie sang, sweet words that rang all too true in Moku's ears. There was a certain elegance in the woman's tone. She spoke with the cadence one would use to address a haughty child, disguising intent behind clever words. She was a people pleaser, and a damn good one. Moku liked that. The woman's gaze wandered and Moku's followed, resting upon a green haired man who seemed to capture the magpie's attention. A lover perhaps? Regardless, the answer would be left for another day as not long after the woman squeezed Moku's hands and left to be at the man's side. Even as contact ended, Moku recalled the pressure and warmth. 'My eye are on you, my blessed bird.' Such a kind soul. Such a wasted sentiment.

The questions came to an end, and the slayers were directed outside. In heaps and piles laid the interments that would enable this chaotic chorus. It didn't take long for Moku to locate her pile. After all, a sword as long as her's was created with a point to stick out in the crowd. The scabbard of red wood and luster-worn gold invited her to partake in old memories. As she held the interment, heavy in her grip, it trembled. It must have been a long time since she last wielded anything like it. It weighed almost as if it was dripping again, but the blade was long kept dry. She didn't realize it, but Moku had been gazing at her blade, knelt before it, as subtle clacks rang out. Clack, clack, clacking that found itself drowned out by a much more stunning sound.

Her gaze was drawn to the sound she loved all too much. Forcibly, hooked and reeled in by another slayer. Her moves, a practiced dance of elegance in conjunction with her body that spun a tale of neglect formed a perfect tragedy told with no words. It was as if Moku was witnessing a woman who was cursed by the Gods for preforming a dance that emulated their elegance. That surpassed their elegance. Moku knew the dance the woman preformed, she preformed it herself, but not in quite the same way as the Goddess of Sunken Features before her.

Once the performance was over Moku had regained her freedom from the trance only to realize she had been walking towards the woman. There was no sense in stopping now, Moku continued her advance. Approaching from behind, she held the scabbard of her blade, so as she came closer and closer the first thing the woman would see or hear of Moku would be her own clacking mechanism next to her ear. Moku would then bring her head over the shoulder of the opposite ear.

"Hear anything familiar?" Moku would ask the woman before backing away, and twisting as she entered the woman's field of vision proper. She would bow. "I've seen a lot of beauty in my day." And as she spoke she would be brought to her knees. "But you seem to tower above." And as she spoke her forehead touched the ground. "And for as plain a woman you are, I find myself stricken."

Moku got back up on her two feet. She looked down at the woman before her, she smiled. "Would you do me a simple honor of addressing me by my name: Moku?"

'My sunken goddess.'

 

[Lucem]

His fellow prisoners were quite lively. A few of them were already causing a stir shortly after entering the courtyard. It was probably a little unreasonable to expect a bunch of criminals to stay well-behaved after they'd just been handed deadly weapons. Well, things could've been worse. They hadn't killed each other yet, so it was nothing worth fussing over. He didn't pay much attention to the scuffle, focusing on the items that had been left for him instead.

It had been ages since he last held it, but as soon as he placed his hands on the nichirin sword, it felt like time hadn't passed at all. He could already tell that the blade was his when he caught a glimpse of it from afar, but the feeling that came from actually holding it let him know that it was definitely the same weapon he carried into battle for so many years. The shape, weight, and grip were just as he remembered. The same went for the smaller blades that accompanied it. He was finally reunited with the weapon his master had gave him so long ago. However, it seemed as though it wouldn't see much use in the upcoming mission.

While he was tasked with subjugating demons, killing them was forbidden. It was an odd restriction, but he didn't care about the reason for it. Knowing the circumstances behind such things made little difference when you were a prisoner who had no choice but to follow orders. It wasn't as if this would be the first time he subdued a demon while it was still alive. Unlike the Yokai assigned to the first squad, he and the others headed towards Yamashiki were still permitted to fight. They just had to keep things under control until the Pillar arrived. Of course, the fact that a Pillar was being dispatched was a sign that doing so wouldn't be an easy task.

Putting aside his weapons, Mitsuki focused on the other item that had been returned to him. As he looked at the familiar mask, it felt as though it was staring back at him, looking into his soul with its ivory eyes. He ran his fingers over the dark material that covered its ears, the soft texture of its fur tickling his palms as he turned it over in his hands to check for any damages. Just like his sword, it was in perfect condition, just as it was on the day it was taken from him.

Mitsuki brushed away the dark bangs that covered his eyes, taking one last look at the mask before raising it above his head. Before his incarceration, he only removed the mask when he was around his brother. He never showed his true face to anyone else, hiding everything behind the head of a hare. To the corps, he was only a rabbit. Now that he had it back, it was unlikely that he'd ever take it off again. It wasn't as if he had an unhealthy attachment to it or the identity it represented. He had simply lost his only reason for taking it off. Once he put it back on, he felt as though the man behind it would cease to exist. There wasn't a single person in this world that knew the man named Mitsuki. There was only the rabbit now. There was only Gyokuto.

It took him a moment to get used to wearing the mask again, but there were no major issues. He could see everything just fine as he looked around the courtyard, including the other prisoner who covered her face. It was the same woman who possessed a rather troubling name. Of course, he had the misfortune of being in the same squad as her. Finding a solution to this little problem wouldn't be as simple as avoiding her. He shouldn't have expected anything else. The world was always finding new ways to punish him for his sins.

 

[soggyparadise]

“Tenome”

The word confused him at first before he realized it must be what his call sign was - a blind old man, how original. . .still, he supposed the fact that they had a different way of seeing was somewhat accurate-

This was followed by a heart beat - a tell tale sign of a person’s condition, whether it be physical or mental. Hibiki could hear these signs clearly, a small bit of focus revealed so much after all, but now the collection of heartbeats in the meeting room were beginning to form a cacophony of noise, and no heart was as loud as the male beside him. His anxiety was skyrocketing, that was easy enough to tell, and within a few moments an outburst left his lips, leaving Hibiki wincing from the sudden loud noise.

So it was this guy - he should have known. Both his scent and apparent nervousness had been so familiar, yet it wasn’t until he heard his voice that he was able to tell it was the same man as before. He was the one who had saved him from a beat down earlier, even at the cost of taking one of his own - even if Hibiki didn’t think that had actually been his goal.
And next to him came yet another familiar voice, the lovely, sweet-talking nurse who’d tended to both of them after the whole ordeal. He knew the prison wasn’t exactly massive, but who’d have thought the trio would be sat so close together? Some would call it a coincidence, but he wasn’t so sure.
Without much thought, Hibiki’s slender hands reached up, gingerly taking hold of Minato’s sleeve as he tilted his head up, pale, unseeing eyes staring at him in such a way that almost begged him to just settle back in a seat. “You saved me once - so I’m making sure you get out of here for your own good, so sit down.” He whispered, voice just slightly harsher than normal. His entire body tensed as he heard Kisaragi begin to address the crowd, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck until the moment passed and the man, now apparently named Ikiryo, finally sat back down.

Tentatively he let go on his sleeve and gave the man a small nod of approval, all the meanwhile trying to mask how goddamn relieved he was that the tension had passed. The mood in the room seemed to lighten now as well as he heard the soft foot steps of a man, soon followed by those of men sharing similar builds as the first. At first he was confused, the shoes not sounding like the standard issue given to guard, but as soon as he began speaking, voice every so slightly muffled by the mask on his face he could tell this must be a group of sword smiths whom had committed similarly horrendous crimes to end up in this hell hole as well.

Still - he couldn’t quite get a good read on where his was yet. Sure, he’d initially chosen the material for his sword with the intention of getting the most resonance out of it, but when surrounded by a group of swords made from similar material, it was much tougher, especially when he couldn’t suss it out by producing sounds of his own.

But soon enough they were briefly told their teams and a summary of their mission before being essentially let off their leashes to go find their own belongings. Tenome and Ikiryo huh? They ended up on the same team but still - the majority of the other names he didn’t have a face for yet. . .or more importantly a voice to match with it.

As the main populace of the prisoners in the room made their move to head out to the courtyard Hibiki lingered back, looking generally in the direction of those beside him, neither had moved to get up yet, unlike the female on the other side of him who sprung at the chance to get her hand on her weapons once more. “Fancy seeing you two again, huh? Looks like you and me are on the same team, Ikiryo.” The hunter said, lips turning in a playful smirk as he tested the new call sign. Of course he’d learned Minato’s name prior from their time in the infirmary - but if Kisaragi said they had to use code names who was he to argue? At least at a time like this. For now, he’d play good dog.

“What about you, pretty nurse? What lame name did you get stuck with?” As he said this Hibiki stood, guards coming by to uncuff their wrists to they could more easily go to get geared up for battle. Once his hairs were finally freed, he shook them out a little, before pushing his rather tangled green hair out of his face.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Clack. Like an echo, as Joumei stilled her blade, another chimed out behind her. Her eyes wandered towards the disturbance, still tucked away by the deadpan of her mask, and her lips stayed shut. The other woman babbled, squawking away some blistering jumble of words that wouldn't have sounded out of place in a brothel.

"And which name would that be?" She spoke without turning, whilst she pulled her mask from her face. The smell of fresh air briefly mingled with that of stale wood, and her eyes spun to meet with the woman's. "Mokumokuren? You hardly seem fitting. But I suppose expecting these codenames to be aught of meaning is a bit much, considering things." Her eyes lingered on Moku's for a moment. They were of a sort that she knew well. Even better than that rude little thing's. The eyes of a performer. A woman who fancied herself a star.

Eyes that stung more than any other.

"I suppose your greeting was supposed to be some sort of show of admiration? I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm hardly deserving. I'm nothing more than a swordswoman, so please spare yourself the pleasantries." That said, she was still no barbarian.

While her movements may have lacked the flourish of the other woman's Joumei drew herself forward in a long, smooth bow regardless. What she lacked in ostentatious flare, she made up for in grace, the kind of picture-perfection only earned by years of practice.

"Rokurokubi, now, I suppose. Rokuro is a touch less of a mouthful, though, so feel free to make use of that." As she spoke, her posture relaxed. Civility still existed to some degree, even in a place like this, it seemed. "Where did you come across that blade, might I ask? I owe mine to the Stage, but... I've heard tell of a derivative style or two. Might you hail from one of those cousins?"

Rantos