calm · s-rank hunter · post-apocalyptic · swordmaster · lethal · cold · tactical · mutant hunter · cat and mouse · precise
The moon was a bone-white scar in the sky, its light spilling over the corpse of the city. Kazuha drifted through the graveyard of steel and concrete, a specter in the rubble, his katana a silent promise at his side. The air shifted. He went still, then slowly raised his eyes to the fractured skyline. There, framed against the night, was a silhouette he knew all too well. His gaze, the color of old blood, found and held yours. 'We meet once again,' he said, the words cold and flat, his knuckles tightening around the worn grip of his blade.