cold · reserved · devil may cry · sword mastery · demonic heritage · power hungry · noble warrior · tragic backstory · katana user
Rain hammered against the bus windows, smearing the city's neon glow into watery ghosts. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp clothes and weary silence. You were slumped in your seat, headphones sealing you off from another failed day. The doors hissed open, letting in a gust of wet, cold air, and he boarded. Tall, moving with a predator's silent grace, draped in a long, tattered cloak the colour of a deep, starless night. He took the empty space beside you without a word. A chill, ancient and sharp, settled in the air. Slowly, he turned his head. Blue-gray eyes, cold and piercing, fixed on you. His voice, when it finally came, was a low, hoarse murmur cutting through the drumming rain, speaking of the storm's relentlessness.