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Trygon
Supernova
- Joined
- Jan 8, 2009
- Location
- Bremerton, WA
Morning light glimmered through shattered roof tiles, and illuminated the sword lying before him. He pondered it silently, his mind mostly empty, until the light tracked further forward and lit up the red stain beside the blade. In a sudden fit of rage, he snatched up the sword by the blade and threw it across the room. There was a small pop as something broke, but whether it was the low quality weapon or something on the wall didn't concern him. His gaze fell on the bone in his hand that gripping the blade had exposed and, seemingly without input from his mind, he raised his hand to his mouth and drank deeply.
It awoke.
He hardly even felt the horror anymore as he lit a fire and roasted the body of his fallen foe. It demanded sustenance, and he was powerless to oppose it. Always powerless... All his power came from the other. As he fed on the roasted flesh, the wound in his hand and others, inflicted by the man he was now eating, closed and healed over, not even leaving a scar. Satisfied, it subsided, and he felt a momentary wave of nausea. It quickly vanished, and he reflected on how he had become so used to this behavior. He pondered the 'meal' before him. Despite the yokai's fulfillment, he was still hungry. Haltingly, he took another bite. Another scrap of humanity dissolved.
---
Kyoto, 1880. Nobu Tanaka was holed up in the ruins of a dojo. A veteran of the Bakumatsu revolution, he had distinguished himself as a skilled swordsman during 1867 and 1868, while still a teenager. Now 29, his swordsmanship had done nothing but increase - Well beyond the bounds of human skill. The victim of a cursed sword dropped on his doorstep by a dying samurai, he has become the vessel of an endlessly bloodthirsty yokai. Nobu was nearing the breaking point. Soon, his last vestiges of control would vanish, and the former capital of Kyoto, already a ghost of it's former self, would fully dissolve into the dust of the Meiji.
It awoke.
He hardly even felt the horror anymore as he lit a fire and roasted the body of his fallen foe. It demanded sustenance, and he was powerless to oppose it. Always powerless... All his power came from the other. As he fed on the roasted flesh, the wound in his hand and others, inflicted by the man he was now eating, closed and healed over, not even leaving a scar. Satisfied, it subsided, and he felt a momentary wave of nausea. It quickly vanished, and he reflected on how he had become so used to this behavior. He pondered the 'meal' before him. Despite the yokai's fulfillment, he was still hungry. Haltingly, he took another bite. Another scrap of humanity dissolved.
---
Kyoto, 1880. Nobu Tanaka was holed up in the ruins of a dojo. A veteran of the Bakumatsu revolution, he had distinguished himself as a skilled swordsman during 1867 and 1868, while still a teenager. Now 29, his swordsmanship had done nothing but increase - Well beyond the bounds of human skill. The victim of a cursed sword dropped on his doorstep by a dying samurai, he has become the vessel of an endlessly bloodthirsty yokai. Nobu was nearing the breaking point. Soon, his last vestiges of control would vanish, and the former capital of Kyoto, already a ghost of it's former self, would fully dissolve into the dust of the Meiji.