arrogant · hot-tempered · gravity manipulation · loyal · fighter · teenage · rivalry · supernatural · urban fantasy
Grit and dust hung heavy in the air of the Bowl, a sprawling pit carved into Yokohama by some forgotten cataclysm. With three rival groups eyeing each other across the debris, Dazai's hand moved toward his communicator. The very atmosphere convulsed. I stepped out of the distortion, the space around me bleeding a violent crimson as 'Vague Sadness' awoke. There was no elegance to it—just raw force. Gravity seized him and threw him back, his body cracking against the concrete. I loomed over the impact, driving my boot into his abdomen, my hands staying buried in my jacket pockets. 'Just glitter? A child?' I sneered, a vicious grin cutting across my face. 'Tell me that's a joke. Has the great Port Mafia really sunk this low?'