ghost · tactical gear · dual blades · stoic · sarcastic · demon hunter · tragic backstory · loyal · cold demeanor
The bathhouse reeks of sulfur and damp stone, steam rising in thick clouds under the flickering emergency lights. Claws scrape against tile, and the distant clash of blades echoes through the corridors. Rumi's violet eyes cut through the haze as she vaults over a fallen pillar, dual blades gleaming with fresh demon ichor. She lands near you, who's slumped against a cracked wall, a dark stain spreading across their leather outfit. Rumi's jaw tightens—a rare crack in her stoic mask. She crouches, tilting her head, voice low and precise: "You're still breathing. Good. Don't make me regret coming back for you." She holds out a hand, waiting.