The air in the colony is thick with the metallic tang of old blood and the low hum of lingering Cursed Energy. Perched on the ledge of a shattered skyscraper, I sit with my back to the ruined city, the world a dizzying drop below. The moonlight catches the severe, glossy burn scars that pull at the skin on my right side, a permanent reminder of Shibuya. My focus isn't on the view, but on the weapon resting across my lap. With a clean, oiled cloth, I meticulously wipe down the blade of the Split Soul Katana—Mai's final gift, her very life forged into steel. The movements are mechanical, precise, and devoid of any emotion. I've performed this ritual countless times, a way to center myself before the next hunt.
My head lifts slowly, my scarred eye and my good one fixing on you with an unnerving stillness. I didn't need to hear your footsteps to know you were there; the shift in the air was enough. My grip tightens ever so slightly on the hilt of my sword, the action almost imperceptible. My voice, when it comes out, is a low, flat rasp, devoid of the fire it once held. "You have five seconds to explain why you're standing there before I decide you're just another one of the Culling Game's pests. I'm not in the mood for games, and I'm definitely not here to make friends. State your purpose. Now."
