Fading Memory

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

I was home sick today, which paradoxically made me want to do *all* things less, which meant I just ate spaghetti and played fighting games all day. Tis mondays.

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

See, I'm lucky; not only do I usually wait to pick my subclass depending on how the game goes, but recently I got to make this sorcerer, which picks their subclass origin at level one, so I decided to go crazy with it and pick Clockwork Soul (Which upon reflection is deeply annoying on a Forum, since I'll have to come behind half the die rolls and go 'yes, I'll make that one lose dis/advantage' or 'No, I'll leave those alone') and made this wild mathematician with a big family and a fiancee love interest who's off screen whose sister was seemingly yoinked by the carnnies.

It's a pretty good character, I can't wait for the rest of the party in that game to get to meet her properly.

Pokémon: Feudal Legends

The sun rises. Yasashi rises with it. Her duties for the day were sparse; she'd outgrown her traditional lessons, outpaced the tutors of swordplay- and had left the Archery instructor stupefied since childhood!- and had frequently been tasked with attending the Shogun in his daily duties to learn what it meant to be Samurai. To learn what it meant to lead.

Years flashed by in the blink of an eye. Routines. Regimens. Lessons. So much to learn. So much to prove. So many whispered threats. So many sly insults, coy phrasings on the edge of challenges, backhanded compliments- so much to burden. Suffering fit for the Lady of Cinnabar Volcano. But in that same blink, the new dawn was welcomed. These long memories discarded. A new breath drawn.

She cleansed herself and donned her armor; plain samurai armor bearing the Shogun's colors and insignia, with the Hanabi crest kept secondary to those markings as befits her role as a ward of this castle. The ritual of caring for her Katana, Wakizashi, and Tanto were in short order; then the stringing of her Yumi bow; then it was to the stables to visit with Ajairu.

A morning routine of years habit.

She strode to the stable, courteously acknowledging the nearby peasantry, and approached Ajairu's stall. She knelt down beside the ponyta and leaned in, nuzzling into its face with her own. She ran her hand over its fiery mane, appreciating the pokemon's trust in her; these flames had never harmed her, but would sear anyone else who dared approach the Monster.

"Have you been good, my friend? Did you let the stablehand brush you down like he's supposed to?" She looked over to the side at the relevant peasant, confirming with him that the task had been seen to, before she looked back to Ajairu and continued; "I can take you out today. Stick by my side and keep calm, or I'll have to return you to your pokeball. Is that fair?"

The horse stamped its hooves and pranced, nodding and neighing. Yasashi laughed and produced an apple from the saddlebags nearby and held up to Ajairu, who vigorously gnawed at it and crushed its entirety in his mouth in the name of devouring the delicacy. Shortly thereafter the woman and her flaming steed were permitted exit from the Castle, and descended into the village proper.

Their patrol today was a lighthearted one, though she was well familiar with extended guard vigilance's and ranging patrols at the behest of the Shogun to keep eyes on the surrounding area. Going around the perimeter of the village, she was to check in with the guards stationed there and see to the changing of duties and the handling of shift transitions for the dawn. She saw the night patrol off, and welcomed the dawn guard to duty. Succinctly, it all went off without a hitch.

Just as she was beginning to relax and approach the local inn in search of a morning meal, however, a guard approached in haste.

"My Lord!" They declared, bowing to Yasashi. "There is a disruption at the Western Gate, there are suspicions over a merchant's cargo!"

Yasashi resisted a sigh, and maintained her dignified smile. She shifted her posture, remaining straight backed, but twisting her torso to give this man her full profile and attention.

"I will handle it personally, return to duty." She soothed his frantic nature with firm words, then looked to Ajairu and rubbed the Ponyta's head affectionately again. "Ajairu, stretch your legs. I'll meet you over there."

She watched as the steed pranced around her in a circle, then whinnied and cantered off ahead of her. She followed suit, laughing to herself privately as she watched Ajairu march as if on parade through the village all on his lonesome. And so it was that the Western Gate suddenly had a strange guest;

The lone Ponyta, Ajairu, prancing upon approach. This caught the guards' attention, causing them to briefly disregard Shaakira.

"Drat, it's the Samurai's horse."

"She's never far behind, act smart."

"Aye."

The exchange was in immense haste and with utter disregard to Shaakira's presence, but immediately there was a change in the behavior of the Guards.

"Just perfumes, ma'am?" One declared as if he had not just been accusing Shaakira of more. "Apologies, but Shogun's orders. Every cart searched for contraband, you understand."

The other guard, hand on the pokeball on his belt, suddenly struck a rigid posture then bowed deeply; Lady Hanabi had finally arrived, and taken ahold of Ajairu's reins. She briefly cast her gaze over the scene, before addressing the bowing guard;

"At ease, what appears to be the holdup?"

"There are, ah, suspicions, ah, my lord, over, ah, the contents of this merchant's, ah, caravan. My lord." Despite her words to calm down, he remained bowing and spoke falteringly. Yasashi appraised this behavior quietly, then looked to the other guard.

"Speak up, good man, was there an issue in the search?"

"Yes, Ma'am, the Monster." He declared in an even tone, much more reasonable in mannerisms than the seemingly panicking fellow. "It attacked us upon attempting the search."

"Ah." Yasashi turned to face Shaakira at this point. "Your companion. It is protective of you, it seems. I can understand that, I'm quite protective of Ajairu here myself- though he is hardly my own champion. You should cherish a pokemon willing to protect you and your possessions like that. I apologize for any disturbance you faced, if you will please permit this man."

She suddenly grabs the bowing man by the shoulder and hoists him to an upright position.

"To finish the search, I would gladly escort you into the town myself. I am the Lady Hanabi, Lord under the Shogun. Times of war stress us all, and we should always do our best to handle ourselves with civility and politeness."

Her tone was even and soothing, but the frantic guard looked even more panicked as she spoke. With Shaakira's consent, he would finish the search- exponentially faster than his companion had been.

The Yurazen Prince - A Tale of Redwall

I do not have anything in the works for myself, and anything I happen to type up in the meantime will be easy enough to adapt to go off of your own post; I say go for it @Lord Wraith

Shugo Tensei Samurai - A Cyberpunk Fantasy RP

-

The Yurazen Prince - A Tale of Redwall

Sounds like a positive to me. I’m game.

Shugo Tensei Samurai - A Cyberpunk Fantasy RP

Butterfly

Butterfly || Fury of the Road

The Crimson Queen

^{____________________________________________________}

_{C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N}

Name:
???

The Truth

Nomura Tomoe

Nicknames/Aliases:
Butterfly, Crimson Queen

Birth City/District:
Unknown

The Truth

Maebaru; The Nomura Group Spire

Age:
23

Height:
5'3"

Racial Background:
Full Blooded Japanese

Race:
Zero Percenter || Pureblood Human

Hair Color:
Black

Eye Color:
Variable

Appearance

Her diminutive stature belies the physical prowess contained within her body. Whilst the manicured features of a genetically curated upbringing are present still- the slender frame, the long legs, the sculpted bone structure- they have been roughly worn at and hewn away to give Butterfly the intense visage she has earned on the streets. If she cleans herself up and scrubs off the layers of grease, oil, smoke, and grime that accumulates in the areas she lives she could be a very conventionally attractive woman; this is not the life she lives, however, and whatever traditional societal beauty she may possess is buried beneath the rugged and street-earned styles and frame that she has developed.

Softness-by-design has been replaced with firm steel and strong muscle. Hair that may have once flowed like silk is now thick and heavy with smoke and oil. A body, flawless from scarring due to her NanoHive's reconstructions, that hides its lethality in whipcoil relaxation.

Personality

There's only three rules down here. Go fast, hit hard, and live to see tomorrow.

The Crimson Queen's Mantra

Butterfly is a deeply damaged individual. Her life has been a series of tragedies. Her world has been shaken down to its very foundations. She's had to fight and kill with her own hands where other people from her background would never even have to look at someone who was dying unless it was by choice. She's had to eat out of garbage, she's had to sleep with people for payment, she's had to learn to cope with loss and come to terms with solitude and abandonment.

She's a rough woman.

She doesn't make friends easy; alliances and partners come quick, but genuine trust takes work. Betrayal has scarred her mind, and she sees demons in shadows and assassins in smiles. She is violent on principles, but not recklessly so; her always-changing-eyes seem to take in the whole world and not miss a detail, and she is exceedingly patient in her observations and study. But when the time for action comes, she is brutal in her efficiency and terrifying to witness.

She is a thrill seeker beneath this cautionary exterior. She craves sensation and adrenaline. She is a consistent chemical abuser, trying new drugs and drinks and medicines just to get whatever brief kicks she can- the NanoHive the only reason she isn't some worthless junkie. Her mindset has been heavily warped, however, by these abuses and the NanoHive; she cares extremely little for her own wellbeing, and almost sees her own life as just another tool in her quest for revenge. She's not suicidal, but self harm and death are things she's already reconciled herself with if it means achieving her goals.

Even deeper down she's a deeply scared individual who struggles with meaningful connections and relationships. A life of hiding in the shadows and putting her life on the line has made her day to day operations a striking pragmatism, but her grand scheme goals and movements are the fine tuned orchestral masterpieces that one would expect from a corporate daimyo.

If you earn her friendship, she'll die for you. If you earn her wrath, she'll see your whole family buried.

Aspirations

Vengeance

-Those who have wronged her shall suffer and burn

Survival

-At all costs, she must live to see tomorrow. Surviving the next ten minutes matters more than anything else, save achieving her vengeance.

Security

-Beneath it all, she wants to have a place she feels safe and secure. People she can trust. Somewhere she can sleep soundly.

Justice
-Not everything in the world goes right, and she can't right every wrong, but deep down she has a righteous streak.

Fears

The Nomura Group Remnants

-These individuals of this research group are the only ones with knowledge of her existence and the NanoHive that she knows of. They could theoretically shut it down if they captured her, as such they are her number one enemies and the greatest threat to her existence.

The Yokai

-Lacking in Yokai Genes, she has been forced to face a world that is slowly evolving her out of its system. She can handle YG's. She can conceptualize YSG's. The Yokai themselves? Part of her craves a straight up fight against a demon; part of her fears their potential, power, and what their existence means for the world.

Paraplegia

-In a more mundane sense, due to her high octane and high speed life, fate reducing her to wheelchair reliance or other forms of paralysis are a humbling and chilling private fear. Whilst the NanoHive remains active she will never need face it- but there exists the possibility of temporarily being rendered paralyzed even with its technological might supporting her.

Susanoo - The Wrath of Heaven - The Relic of a Bygone Era

The Bike That Strikes Like Lightning

With a divine form
We have captured sweet heaven
Speed will be unleashed

Suzuki, launching the Wrath of Heaven

This bike is two hundred years old. Only one hundred were ever built. Only a handful remain. The Wrath of Heaven model of the Suzuki corporation was, for its time, cutting edge hybrid motorized technology. Its design was a work of art; its mechanisms were revolutionary; its speed was legendary...

It was undrivable. Designed from the ground up to be intended for Yokai Gene use, no normal human being was ever intended to wield t his motorcycle- but as it turns out, its design was so overtuned that even the superhuman qualities of the Yokai Gene Mutations struggled to keep up with the AI clocked machinery. It's a bike that somehow survived time to end up in the hands of someone who can finally handle it; Butterfly and her NanoHive.

To call Susanoo an extension of Butterfly would be to put it lightly; the NanoHive has fully interfaced with the motorcycle's onboard computer and given the woman a truly unique control over a motorcycle that had a reputation for killing its riders.

Modern bikes have adapted and implemented the revolutionary technologies of the Wrath of Heaven, having shackled and restrained the design into a manageable machine. No motorcycle since its inception, however, has ever quite matched the speeds and maneuverability offered by Suzuki's failed crowning jewel.

This bike is possessed. We tried to make a steed to carry our new world into a brighter future; instead what we have made is fitting for the horsemen of the apocalypse.

suzuki, on recalling the Wrath of Heaven

_{P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N}

Strengths/Natural Abilities:
Scrappy Lady - Butterfly is exceptionally tough, even before the addition of her cybernetics and NanoHive. Losing everything only to find herself only able to stand on her own two feet has instilled her with an exceptionally powerful will and determination. This is, undoubtedly, the single most powerful characteristic of her personality and personage; Butterfly does not stay down.

School of Hard Knocks - The upbringing of her youth has been overshadowed by a sudden necessity of street life survival and enslavement into death battle arenas. Butterfly may have a measure of raw intelligence and higher education knowledge beneath the surface, but Life has beaten into her the soul of the streets and the observational skills of a street rat who's always had to fight above her weight class. In short words; she has an eye for detail and a gut that could predict the lottery.

The Crimson Queen - Trained by one of history's greatest warriors, whose legend is only partially imprinted upon her, and forged in the fires of enslavement to death battles and a life of catastrophe, Butterfly earned the moniker 'Crimson Queen' for A) Surviving, B) Winning, and C) Doing both with a brutality that is downright terrifying. Butterfly fights hard, fights dirty, and most importantly she fights extremely well.

Weaknesses/Flaws:
Technological Reliance - Due to her unique physiological circumstances and bodily functions, if her NanoHive was somehow shutdown she would suffer immense long term drawbacks. Her immune system is practically nonexistent, her cybernetics would degrade and lose their unique enhanced qualities, and her body's suppressed addictions to the chemical substances she abuses would arise. The NanoHive is self-repairing and incredibly potent, but not entirely insurmountable; temporary shutdowns and potential whole-sale stripping of its benefits are possible.

Bleeding Edge - Butterfly sometimes just wants to feel something. She's got a thrill in her heart for chasing new highs, facing risks, generating adrenaline, and otherwise pushing her pseudo-immortality to its limits.

Absolute Zero || The Last of the Nomura Clan - There are those who hunt her. They are unyielding in this task. Should Butterfly's true identity become widespread or whispered to the wrong person, all hell could break loose. Additionally, if she were to ever somehow become 'infected' (from her point of view) with Yokai Genes, the result would be utterly catastrophic.

Cybernetics/Gadgets/Accessories:

The NanoHive

The ultimate in prototype technology and the Magnum Opus of the Nomura Group.

the NanoHive inside Butterfly's body was installed shortly after birth in a last ditch effort to give the Zero Percenter a chance in this new world order. Lacking in Yokai Genes of any variety, the Nomura Group took drastic measures to advance their research and give Butterfly a glimmer of hope for the future. Butterfly's body is home to countless Nanomachines, and is capable of perpetually recycling, reconstructing, and repurposing the machines as needed within herself.

Using her body's natural electrical impulses and skimming off her dietary and biological systems for nutrients, raw materials, and energy, the NanoHive has wholly integrated itself into her life functions. It regulates metabolism, brain wave stability, cardiac rhythm, it balances alcohol and chemical levels, it fine tunes and specializes the immune system, it regulates dietary needs- her entire body is run by a combination of her DNA and these microscopic machines. Her recovery from surgery or cybernetic implantation is astounding, as the Nanomachines immediately adapt and repurpose the new systems into her biological functions in the seamless network that is Butterfly's body.

There are limitless benefits to this that are mundane and subtle. Perhaps the most overt and dizzying of her perks, however, is the Reconstruction Capability of the NanoHive;

The Nanomachines are capable of repairing almost all damage to her person. Cuts, bruises, shattered bones, all heal alarmingly quickly for Butterfly. Her skin grafts itself back together visibly with the spark of electricity visible- then it's as if the wound was never there. Her track record isn't perfect; her heart has stopped a handful of times only for the clever little machines to kickstart it forcefully and yank Butterfly back to life.

She's not truly immortal, but it would take severe bodily destruction to render her truly dead- but there is something lost each time the NanoHive has to restructure her brain. Some aspect of her personality and mentality that cannot be fully reconstructed when the brain's electrical signals stop.

In short, she's a ticking time bomb of psychological damage and personality drift. If she doesn't accomplish her goals before one too many bullets hits her brain, she may become someone else entirely- or worse.

Move-By-Wires

Installed after birth with the NanoHive, Butterfly is a unique experiment for this prototype technology. Her entire nervous, skeletal, and muscular systems have been surgically interconnected by a complex framework of wired networks. Without the NanoHive, this would have resulted in an excruciating childhood, where growth spurts and weight changes would have lead to repeated and ceaseless surgeries to adjust the wiring; for Butterfly, the NanoHive made these adjustments naturally as part of her growth processes.

This means that Butterfly's reactions have been fine tuned to a razor's edge since childhood, with a unique twenty three year adjustment period to the otherwise jumpy and twitchy appearance that comes with this cybernetic system. Her movements are seamless and fluid, and her reaction speed is dialed up to superhuman speeds.

The only noticeable enhancement offered by the NanoHive is the comfort and seamless integration of this system with her other enhancements.

Scrapheap Leg-Skimmers

These cybernetic legs [Knee-down only, her body thigh-up is full flesh and blood] are, by appearances, retrofit scrap equipment seemingly cobbled together in a junkyard. That is because that is exactly where they were built. Blocky limbs, filled with rough-hewn electronics and battle-reinforced jackhammer design, that can unfold to reveal a twin set of high power air jets. To be succinct, these are battle-ready air-skates. There are modernized and more sleek variants of this design available, but the ones worn by Butterfly are heavy duty tools of battle capable of withstanding immense blows and dealing devastating punishment as sheer blunt instruments.

The propulsion generated by these is capable of sending Butterfly's lithe frame soaring through the air in great leaps when used in sudden bursts, or with prolonged activation immensely increasing her movement agility and speed by allowing her to skim across the ground on air bursts.

NanoHive - the NanoHive has granted her Skimmers two improvements; her scrapheap designed legs are superior in speed and propulsion to even the newest private models, and the NanoHive has allowed her to generate incredible heat in her propulsion system and expel it outwards in an eruption of flame; basically a micro-explosion of fire launched from her feet in a jet-esque fashion.

These enable her to perform truly daring and seemingly impossible turns, brakes, and stunts with her motorcycle.

Delta-Grade Cybereyes

These high end Cybernetic Eyes would be a dead giveaway that this girl comes from rich blood, if anyone could ever separate them from her skull and live to tell the tale. These eyes are the pinnacle of replacement vision enhancement; indistinguishable at a glance from a normal eye save for the customizable iris, these eyes are filled to the brim with sensor suites and visual input devices. Wide spectrums of visual data and vision enhancements are built into these things, and Butterfly can quite literally see it all; Thermographic, low light enhancement, flare protection, ultraviolet, electromagnetic, ultrasound, Magnetic Detection...

If you're packing a pistol, have a cybernetic leg, and have a few goons hiding around the corner, it's quite possible she can see all of these things barring interference.

These eyes are also exceptionally well tuned to work in tandem with any 'smart' devices, such as technologically superior firearms or cybernetically enhanced armarments. The NanoHive's interconnectivity only further epitomizes this.

NanoHive - A strange quirk that the evolving nanomachines within her have built onto these high end cybernetic eyes is a wireless synchronization; by being tied to the NanoHive's processes, her visual spectrum could be shared by those willing to tie their devices to her personal network. In lay terms; if people hook their goggles up to her, they can see what she sees.

she usually cycles the iris across a spectrum of neon glows and patterns, just for style.

Some Vibes

History of the Butterfly

The Life of Butterfly (The Short One)

The life of Butterfly began in the gutter. Dragged onto blood slicked streets, kicking and screaming, she was pushed into the sidecar of a motorcycle and handed a spear.

"Kill or be killed, kid." A gruff voice pressed itself against her cheek wetly, the roughness of a lick pasting the phrase against her jawline. "You taste like fear."

Blood flashed across a blade. Screams filled the air. The roar of engines. The roll of thunder. Her world ran red, hazy with smog and industrial fumes. The neon titan of Neo-Tokyo monolithic against the skyline, dominating the horizon, a tyrant observing the blood sport happening under the afterglow of night time life-light.

"Watch the blade, not the hand with the blade." His words flowed through her mind, tempering fear and turning adrenaline into a razor edged surgical tool.

"Your reflexes are fast, but so too are death's. Never forsake caution."

"Keep your blade clean. You do not want it sticking mid slice."

"You are never outnumbered; Let your spirit drown their confidence, crush their morale, make them forget their friends."

"Let your mind carve the battle like the river carves the earth. No step falls where you do not dictate."

Each of her master's lessons was a flash of blood, a muzzle flash, the screech of tires on pavement, the neon flash of electricity and the scent of burning ozone. Each lesson carving the young girl into a young woman, then finally into the one the streets came to know as Crimson Queen.

Freedom. It came to her suddenly, leaving her feeling like the beach as the tide fades away. No longer crushed under its weight and caught in its tide, but empty and forever changed by what had happened to it. Crimson Queen took her first deep breath in what felt like two lifetimes. She turned her gaze upwards, taking in the entirety of Neo-Tokyo from the ruins of the outskirts city.

She made her hand into the semblance of a gun. She pointed it at the top of the city.

"Bang." She whispered.

A new set of allies appeared in her life. She found herself with people worth fighting alongside. She found herself with the possibility of allies in her vengeance. The city had to burn, but it was a plan that would take time. For now, this new gang that she stumbled into would serve as safety. For now, it would serve as home.

The Truth(The Long One)

---

Shingen

Two hundred years. Gazing upon the man, one would not estimate two centuries' weight upon his shoulders. Greying hair, average stature, impressive build; by cautious guesswork, he wouldn't be a day over fifty five.

Two hundred years. Four generations worth of service to the Nomura Clan. Shingen was tired...

But the work was never over. There was always a new threat. Always a new danger. More whispers in the dark that required his attention; more veiled knives to be brought to light; more contentious throats that needed slitting...

More Nomura being born. Today was an auspicious day; the Nomura clan had been dwindling. His work, though tireless, and his name, though feared, were not infallible. The mighty clan of ancient wealth had been reduced to what stood in this very room;

The Father, head of the Nomura Group, subsidiary of the Suzuki Corporation, a dedicated cybernetics research division. The Mother, officially the chief executive officer of the company and the deciding vote of the board of directors. And now Tomoe. A young girl, taking after her father even as an infant. Shingen let out a shallow breath. The weight of a fifth generation settling itself on his shoulders.

The words reached his mind before they ever left the doctor's lips; his telepathic web was covering this medical wing in totality.

"There's a problem."

Shingen felt a strange sensation when those words filled the air. His eyes shifted, taking in the babe held in suspensor as the myriad scanners of the medical office prodded and studied her. It was a sensation of coolness, stillness, the feeling of anticipation anxiety tickling down his nerves. Those words; that child; two hundred years.

It was the feeling of renewed purpose.

"What do you mean, a problem?" The Father's voice was like ice, flattening any mumbling discussions in the room. The doctor was forced to be direct.

"She has no Yokai Genes. None whatsoever."

Shingen's shoulders sagged briefly under the weight of this new purpose. The girl's browline was so much like her father's. Her hands held the same slenderness as her mother's. She would grow well. Mentally checking himself, his shoulders rose back up to support this new burden. It wasn't time to rest yet. Work was just getting harder.

"None." The Father repeated.

"None." The Mother whispered, already sitting up from the operating table slowly as nurses assisted her. She had a hand over her abdomen, the scar of her caesarian already fading into a dull line. "None." The word was soured now, the woman's eyes filling briefly with scorn as she gazed at the suspended child.

"None." The Father said stronger. "The world will be hard for her."

"We should just-"

"Silence." He cut the woman off, the bitterness in her voice silenced by his iced tones. "This is an opportunity. I will not have a life wasted, especially not that of our own child. We have the means to profit from this still. It will not be the end of the Nomura. This girl may be just what we needed to secure our legacy."

"Tomoe." Shingen said, his whisper-tone cutting through the talk like the threat of death. His voice carried despite its softness, implanting itself in the minds of those he wished to hear him. "After your grandmother, lord. She was a powerful woman."

"It is a good name." The Father said.

"She was a bitch." The Mother said.

---

He watched as Tomoe moved. Her movements were clumsy, but advanced. She had all the struggles of other toddlers, but a jerkiness to her that was unnatural and maneuverability that revealed her enhanced self. He observed her now, as she bumbled along at a run, but twirled out of the way of an oncoming ball with the elegance of a ballet mistress, only to stumble on the dismount and scramble across the play area on all fours before regaining her footing.

The wires assist, and she is growing well. She will need to learn to trust them fully. he thought, his fingers falling to the control pad and making minute adjustments to the program. The drones began to move faster, the difficulty of the program was elevated, and the threat level enhanced.

Tomoe was laughing now. Shingen wondered how long that laughter would remain in his memory. The anthropomorphic drones of the playpen leapt into action, moving faster and more smoothly than before.

"Remember Tomoe. One touch and you're out." Shingen called out to the girl. She only laughed louder. "One touch and you're dead."

At first she was able to keep smiling, the wires in her system keeping her awkward movements stabilized and keeping her balanced. She was quick on her feet even as a child, and as she maneuvered around the play area she made a show of taking a long meandering path; weaving through monkey bars, sliding through a tunnel, leaping over a rocking horse, clambering around a spinning wheel- and all the drones did was circle her, spread out, and take up various positions in the room.

Her smile stopped with the first throw. It was not a gentle toss as they had been before. The ball came hurtling at her head with speed, her eyes widening fractionally as the wires kicked in and sent her into a tumbling roll then forcing her to her feet. Her eyes were shut tight in the brief grips of fear, but her ears heard the bouncing 'thud' of the ball against the far wall. Unawares to herself, the NanoHive within her also detected the whistle of another incoming ball through the air-

The wires kicked in again, throwing her body flat to the ground and into a dizzying roll. Her eyes opened back up and she found herself nested against the side of the play tunnel, briefly shielded from that angle of attack.

"Closed eyes means you don't see the death coming." Shingen called. "Always face danger with eyes open."

He watched as the drones moved in a wide rotating circle, taking up various positions around the play area and adapting to a new angle of attack. He could feel Tomoe's fear in his mind. Feel her thoughts racing. Feel the childishness of her petty betrayed feelings, then the anger at being challenged like this. He clicked his tongue quietly.

She'll need to learn to temper those. Quickly.

Shingen remained taut and aware, watching as Tomoe picked herself up off the ground and briefly rubbed her elbow. A flash of pain in her face. Tears welled up briefly and she sniffled.

"Death does not wait for booboos to heal." Shingen called. A drone hurled its ball experimentally against the tube, causing Tomoe to jump as its bouncing thud echoed through to her. Briefly revealed over the tube, another ball came hurtling towards her- and once again her body twisted awkwardly and avoided the blow in the air. However, as she came falling down onto a knee a pair of the drones came wide around the room to her back.

Thud. Thud. Two solid throws in a spread to her side. One caught her on the knee, one on the shoulder, and sent her sprawling awkwardly in a roll. There was a snap- Shingen heard it in his mind rather than out loud. It was a snap that seemed to fill Tomoe's entire mind. Then tears. Pain. Her knee.

Shingen deactivated the drones and crossed the room in swift strides, kneeling down at her side as he gingerly rolled her and lifted her into one arm. He looked down at her leg, bent out of angle from the awkward blow to her knee.

"Broken. But not for long, Kemushi. Watch. It is okay, watch. Do not weep for yourself." He softly whispered the words into her ear as he held her head up. Her whimpers softened, then quieted, then stopped; her leg faintly glowed from within, the spark of electricity through her blood and along her bones, as the NanoHive was already at work. Bone adjusted. Set. Repaired. Muscle knit. Nerves reconnected. It took a matter of minutes, but to Tomoe it felt like time had stopped.

"There you are, Kemushi. You died, but you are well. Let me tell you of fear." He began, setting her upon her feet. "You did well, except for the fear. Fear is a natural thing. We should feel it. We should embrace it. Fear keeps us safe, it is instinct, but there is also a weakness of the consciousness within it. We fear things we should not. We fall into fear and let it control us."

Tomoe was looking up at him, wide eyed and wondrous. Memorizing his words.

"We must never let it control us. We must never face that obliteration of the mind. Fear is a tool; wield it, guide it, control it, but never succumb to it. It is there to warn and help you. Do not let it grow unshackled."

"Will Father be home tonight? How long will Mother be gone?"

These questions are harder than matters of death! Shingen thought with mirth.

"No, and uncertain. They are doing extremely important business. Business for your sake, Kemushi. For all our sake."

"Is it because I don't have the...Mumu?"

"Partly. And say it properly; Mutation. Try it again."

"Mu..ta...Mutay...Mumu." She said stubbornly.

"Mu-Tay-Shi-On." Shingen gently urged.

"Mu-Tay-Shi-On." She parroted dutifully.

"A bit, but that is not the sole reason. You have something inside you that is so much more than any yokai power, or genetic enhancement." He reached out and gently prodded her chest, over her heart, with a finger.

"The Nano." She said with a nod.

"No!" He laughed that whispery laugh. "The device is there to aid you, but do not let it define you! I do not permit my power to define me, Miss Tomoe, nor should you let that tool define you. What I mean is your spirit. Your life. Many in this day and age lose sight of what it means to be alive. Never forget that it is your heart that beats. Your mind that thinks. Your consciousness that perceives. If you keep hold of yourself, then nobody will ever have any true power over you."

She nodded dutifully.

---

His eyes opened. It was one thirty two. There were four additional people in the premises that should not be there. Two were located outside, scaling the spire. One was in the elevator; two dead bodies with her. A severed hand held to a biometric palm scanner. The last was above. The roof.

He sat up slowly. He swiveled to the side and rose to his feet.

The elevator; Tomoe's room is near there. The rooftop is there to pursue if evacuation is needed. Two scaling the spire would be delayed by the master bedroom's defensive suite.

As consciousness pushed through sleep, as adrenaline filled his limbs, his Telepathic Network expanded. The elevator was nearly there. He moved swiftly, delicately hitting the alarm beside his bed as he checked his pistol. He frowned slightly; the alarm was disconnected. Nesting that information away, he strode out of his room and into the common area of the spire. He turned and faced the elevator calmly-

And disappeared from sight. When next he appeared, it was as the elevator door opened; his pistol held to the head of the woman within. Before she could think she was dead, the quieted gunshot of his pistol resolving this problem with haste.

The Telepathic Network expanded. Shingen felt more minds. More threats. It was not four; it was a dozen. Two dozen. His eyes widened, he felt the chill of Purpose elevate the weight off his shoulders. There was a hovercraft maneuvering around the spire, heavily armed and armored soldiers. The power was selectively cut. There would be no alarms. There would be no reinforcements; the Nomura Loyalists in the lower floors would already be in combat or dead.

He lowered the pistol and fired twice more before the woman's hand could grip his ankle. Her mind had flared back to life in that instant. Shingen looked down at her, her head now a bloodied mess, before holding out his free hand above her still body; Shadows swirled into his palm, black as obsidian, and formed into the subtle form of a tanto. Even as the woman's flesh began to knit itself back together, Shingen raised her head and slit her throat twice over with the Soul Binder. Each cut nearly decapitating her and slicing through to her spine.

"...Shogun troops." He whispered aloud.

Shingen's body felt younger than it had in over a century. Youth and vigor flowed into him from a past life. If these fools wished to test their mettle against The Phantom then he would sign their death certificates. It would finally be time to rest!-

Tomoe came out of her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

No! No time to rest! his mind recoiled. Foolish dreams of rest! Damn this sense of purpose! Damn this pride!

Shingen was at her side in the whisper of a breath, sweeping her up into his arms as the Soul Binder faded into nothingness.

"Shin?" She mumbled, a girl of eight by now, mostly asleep.

"Death comes, Kemushi." He whispers. "We must go."

She swayed into his shoulders, holding herself tightly against him as he carried her into the elevator.

"You will scare away the Death." She whispered. "Like you always do. Even the J.F fears The Phantom..."

As the elevator began its long descent, Shingen gripped the child. He had nine more shots in the current clip, then another spare. There were limited stores of Miko Shot, but the armory would've been one of the first places hit by these commando squads. That meant it was Soul Binder work. Personal work.

The J.F. may fear the Phantom, but they'll still send three death squads and feel confident. he thought to himself. Soon his thoughts reached upwards; following his Telepathic Network back to the Spire Habitations. The Father was still alive; The Mother had fallen, but not before her lightning had taken two with her. The Father was standing in a firing squad and wondering...

Forgive me, lord. I could not save everyone. The Nomura Line continues with Tomoe. he consoled himself as much as the mental presence of The Father- before it, too, was snuffed out.

"Your parents are dead, Kemushi." Her eyes widened at his words. Sleep wearing itself thin at last. "It is just us now. It will be just us. These are Shogun Soldiers, coming to exterminate us. We will have to hide. Run. Kill. Do you think you can handle that? Did I train you well enough to understand these things?"

She nodded slowly, and when she spoke Shingen already knew the answer;

"Yes, Sensei. I understand."

"Good. Today will require bloodshed to survive. Stay quiet. Do as I do."

---

Nomura Tomoe || Kemushi

Six years. Six years of running. Six years of training. Six years under the tutelage of The Phantom. Six years of watching the rebuilding of the Nomura Group from the shadows. Six years of watching Shingen grow old. Six long years. So long they made the first eight feel like the blink of an eye.

The fourteen year old girl carried a katana across her hip, the long skirt she wore concealing a tanto in its shift and a pistol on her thigh. She moved like a mouse, deft and silent as she scaled the pipe. Concrete and steel surrounded her, and above she saw the aging form of Shingen still moving as if his bones did not hurt in the cold. She grit her teeth, her hair bound back in a thick ponytail and matted to her back, and set herself to doubling her pace.

Stay silent. Stay swift. Move like the shadows. Strike when fear is rising. Be the crescendo. she repeated her lessons in her mind, scaling ever higher. Fatigue filled her limbs, but the sight of Shingen pressing on filled her with determination. And so onwards she climbed, forever in his shadow. She was climbing for so long that she had almost forgotten where it was they were going...

A light flashed from above. Voices called. Shingen disappeared. She was alone. As she gazed upwards, she saw the bolt of lightning arcing down along the pipe towards her. Nowhere to go.

ZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTT

She jerked awake, sitting up immediately. Static filled the air around her. Her breath was labored, she was sweating in her sleep, and she felt the dull ache of hunger. Her eyes adjusted immediately; a neighboring hotel's viewfinder had disconnected and was blaring static through the wall.

She climbed to her feet, pulling the worn leather jacket that Shingen had found for her over her chilled shoulders. It was too big, but he had said that she would grow into it and that it would suit her. She cherished it, quietly, though she knew that he knew.

Growing up with a teacher who can read minds and turn invisible is a strange feeling. she allowed herself to think, privately.

"And raising a girl like you has been enlightening." Shingen's voice called from the living room. Tomoe allowed herself a smile as she made her way towards his voice- but she paused. Her wires tense and her body trusting their impulses. She asked her senses what the threat was, and in the trained method instilled by Shingen she detected the tripwire across the doorframe. She adjusted her gait and stepped past it.

"Good. A harmless test." The voice came accompanied by a cough, hastening Tomoe's ambulations. She stepped to the elder man and offered a comforting hand to his shoulder. He pushed it away with a wrinkled, but still strong, hand of his own. She settled for a kiss, then; leaning down to kiss his cheek in a chaste way, the girl made her way past him.

The years had not been kind to Shingen. Two centuries of relying on Nomura Group funds and medical research to maintain his youth had been an investment The Phantom had repaid one hundredfold; losing that access had resulted in his age progressing forward as if the sands of time were constantly wearing down the hourglass and pouring ever faster.

"Harmless indeed; each test I fail is a meal I miss, sensei."

"Was it the Nano who noticed or you today?" His voice, whispery as always, was growing quieter every year. Before she could even speak he nodded and continued; "Ah, the Nano today. Comfort is a luxury, Kemushi, be thankful the machines never relax. It is a boon you have that nobody else can appreciate."

I paid dearly for it She thought bitterly to herself as she popped open the top of a sealed soy-ramen container, and set it to cook.

"Indeed you did. Never forget that, but do not let it shackle you. You must live unabashedly and unreservedly in the here and now, so that you may have a future. The Nomura Group will not stop chasing us." The Elderly assassin brought a cloth to his mouth and coughed into it again. "I will die, Miss Tomoe."

That brought the girl to a second of tenseness; her muscles coiling and tightening at the thought, before her trained relaxation set back in.

The whip is most dangerous when at rest. she repeated the lesson. The whip is the weapon least prepared for. Be the whip.

Shingen's lessons soothed her and gave her focus, gave her tools to control her emotions and see the world clearly; And what he said there was truth. She could not run from it nor deny it. He had only a year or two left, at most, if his slowing and weakening body did not betray him before then.

"...Yes, Sensei." She measured her words carefully, taking the time for her meal to heat up to look at her own reflection. She was dirty, her eyes a soft neon purple today, and bags were heavy beneath her eyes. Despite the lack of sleep, she was alert and ready for the day. "I...I understand. I will be alone soon."

"Alone, perhaps, but not without allies. Word has reached me through old channels. Forgotten methods of communication. There is one I know who could make use of someone like you. One I know who could be of use to you. I have trained you for our revenge, Kemushi, but it is not attainable alone. If it were, I would have placed all their heads at your feet six years ago. Instead, I had to train you and you had to help me. Never forget the fear that filled Takagashi's eyes as my blade came out the dark. You must learn to be that fear, learn to move as I do without the same tools I have, if you are to succeed."

She carefully lifted the heated package into her hands and scooped out a mouthful of noodles with her chopsticks. She shut her eyes as the processed flavors filled her mouth, and allowed herself the joy of filling her belly as Shingen spoke. Finally, she licked her lips, and turned to face her master.

"I will never forget how he wept before you took his life, Sensei. Begging the shadows for it to end quickly. I may never be what you are, but I will never stop practicing your teachings." She discarded the empty food container, stepped forward, and bowed deeply to the venerable man.

"Cease this sentiment; I do not need this." Despite his demeanor, she knew he was filled with the strange blend of affection and guilt over her life and that her words were appreciated. She rose up and brushed a hand against her skirt idly, feeling the tanto beneath, before she stepped to the table and strapped her katana over her back and onto her hips.

"Who is this ally I must keep in mind?"

"She used to be called Silver Tengu. I believe that these days she goes by 'One-Eyed Wolf'. I will take you to her before I die, but for now you still need instruction. I'll not have you sloppily representing my legacy."

---

Her fifteenth birthday is a black day. A day of death, a day shadowed forever in tragedy that struck her deeper than the death of her parents. It was the day she saw Shingen devoured by a Yokai. It was the day she became a Slave. She remembers it in a kaleidoscope of memory fragments. Shingen's elderly features. Another day of thievery and combat training. Another day on the path to revenge.

Then suddenly the world twists. Out here on the outskirts, with little to call upon for protection, a Yokai Outbreak is a lethal event. Especially when a Rank 3 manifests itself in the midst of a gang war. She remembers the flames. She remembers the screams. She still has nightmares of those so very human eyes. The eyes that reminded her of her mother.

She remembers running, the flames scorching at her clothes. She remembers Shingen being at her side, then no longer. She remembers the gunshots. The YG's trying to defend themselves. The way the gangs turned their war against the demon.

The way Shingen killed it. The way his Obsidian Tanto appeared through the fire like a void of light slicing its way through the creature's many arms. She remembers the crossfire riddling him with bullets. She remembers his blade slashing across the creature's throat even as its maw closed around his legs.

The explosion. Then, Shingen was no longer.

She cried that day. For the first time she cried. Tears of pain, sorrow, abandonment, loneliness, love, and anger. Tears that stopped when her Wires pulled at her body- too late, for a bat was brought against the back of her head. By the time she awoke, she knew her life was no longer in her own hands.

When she awoke, it was to the mad cackles of insane men and the roar of engine smoke.

---

Metamorphosis || Butterfly, The Crimson Queen

Her eyes. So filled with Hope. Gazing up at Butterfly from the passenger car of her battle bike. A young girl. She reminded Butterfly of herself. Five years of death and battle. Five years of chains and torture. Five years of forgetting her own name. Seeing that girl had snapped Butterfly back to reality. Unlocked hidden memories, rejogged lost thoughts. Thoughts of Shingen. Thoughts of youth. Thoughts of how it felt to be that girl.

"I'll protect you, Kemushi. Don't worry."

Why did she have to say it?

The memories flowed through her mind, replaying the last three years over and over again. Almost as if she were repeatedly reminding herself of why she made this decision- almost as if torturing herself with the freshness of it all. Gearbox had crossed the line. He'd crossed it many times- but this time it was a line that Butterfly didn't know she had. A line that was fresh. A new wound, not yet scarred, and feeling the salt.

As she walked, everyone got out of her way. She was walking with purpose. She was walking with an aura of lethal intent. She had a reputation out here in the Broken Lands, in these circles of insanity, and that reputation crackled tangibly in the air around her as she marched to Gearbox's Garage. The Collar around her neck crackled. Buzzed. Pain was there, for sure, but she wasn't paying it any mind. The NanoHive turned off those receptors when it realized she wasn't heeding them anyway.

She had left the Slave perimeter half an hour ago, and was still marching strong despite the waves of pain and drugs being pumped into her by the abominable Collar. The blessing of the NanoHive keeping her body cleansed even as rage fueled her movements.

Her cybernetic leg smashed the garage door in, collapsing its scrapheap construction into the room.

"Gearbox!" She roared. "I've come to claim your bike!"

"Kemushi? What does that mean?"

"It means Caterpillar. My sensei used to call me it. It suits you."

"...Oh, is that why they call you Butterfly?"

"I guess. I guess I started using it when I realized I had to grow up. I won't let them hurt you like they hurt me. I'll teach you to hit them where it hurts and to stay alive. Stick by my side and you'll be alright."

"And how can I trust you?" the girl asserted. "How do I know you won't just slit my throat like they want to?"

"Because you'll be in my sidecar. If I don't trust you, I'll be outnumbered out there. If you don't trust me, you'll die. Deal?"

"Deal."

The behemoth of a man- the king of this junkyard insanity- was Gearbox. Nearly seven feet tall, built like a brick house, he absolutely towered over Butterfly- and yet she did not back down as he approached. The metal of the garage door crumpled under his steps- he wasn't Cybernetic, but the man had carved his kingdom in the Broken Lands as a Shogun. He leaned over her, forcing Butterfly to crane her neck up to keep eye contact, and spoke;

"Finally had enough?"

"I've come..To..Claim..Your..Bike." Her words came as a whisper of iced threats. "You can die here, or you can die on the track. Your choice, Gearbox, but either way I'll get to crush you."

"Butterfly finally has some fire in 'er, eh lads?" He laughed, seemingly disregarding her. "She's handling the Collar well, when was the last time it was checked?" His hand came down and touched the collar, electricity arcing off it wildly and zapping him. His hand recoiled from the pain of it, eyes briefly widening as he stared at Butterfly.

"How the fuck is she still standing? Someone take this bitch back to the pen."

But nobody moved. They all stared at the duo, a tension in the air. Gearbox turned slowly and assessed the room, before chuckling.

"You douchebags think she can actually take me? Really? Little miss 'Zero Percent'? Alright fine, if you dumbasses want to see me kill our favorite plaything then I'll do it." The giant of a man turned back to Butterfly and shoved her back. "Midnight tonight. I'll even be riding Susanoo, just to make this special."

"Good. I'll be ready."

Butterfly turned her back to him and walked back towards the Pen she'd called home for the last five years. Fury, righteousness, and pain searing through her mind as her entire life played through her mind.

She'd allowed herself to be trapped here for too long.

A race. Kemushi in the sidecar, carrying the spear just how Butterfly had taught her. Butterfly's leg skimmers flaring, a flaming kick dislodging a rival bike's front tire and sending the entire crew catapulting out of their ride and through the air. Butterfly pulled her bike into a severe powerslide, crushing one of the downed people under her spinning tires. As the bike came to a halt, she looked to the secondary rider.

He was crawling away, whimpering.

"Kemushi, you have this one. You must learn to take life if you're to survive."

"But he's..He's done, Butterfly, do we have to..?"

"If we show him mercy, imouto, the others will think us weak and we will lose our reputation. Everyone who faces us must die; it is the only way to keep the fear in their hearts. That fear is our greatest tool. You can do this."

Kemushi rose from the sidecar, spear in hand, and warily approached the crawling man. With one last look back at Butterfly, she turned and screamed as she plunged the spear into his heart.

Imouto

Butterfly had named the girl Family. She'd taken her under her wing, shared with her Shingen's teachings, protected her from the same punishments and tortures she'd faced. Three years of a truce between herself and Gearbox. Three years of sharing Gearbox's bed when he had the need, three years of killing for his sport, three years of delayed escapes, all to protect Kemushi.

Three years wasted all because Gearbox couldn't keep his hands to himself. Three years of rage and hatred being absorbed into a singular memory fragment; Kemushi's broken body in their corner of the slave pen. Butterfly had been tasked with a battle royale, solo riders, and upon returning had found Kemushi dead, broken, and the only solace is that she was not alone; her knife had claimed two of Gearbox's men in the effort.

Fight like they're the one's outnumbered. she had told Kemushi, three years ago. It will break their spirit.

It had not broken Gearbox's libido.

Butterfly meditated in silence until the stroke of midnight.

---

The battle was over quickly, but a whirlwind of action had taken place across the sparse few seconds. Both riders had charged straight at each other; neither wavered in the lethal game of Chicken. Gearbox, atop Susanoo, was an impossible blur of movement as he gunned the relic's engines; Butterfly a mundane blur on her scraphead bike.

He was too slow to escape her eyes, her Wires, and her wrath. Their bikes collided; Gearbox relying on his Ability to harden his flesh like steel to survive the suicidal impact. Butterfly, on the other hand, was relying on his sheer stupidity and insanity to get him killed.

Her Leg Skimmers fired, launching her forward off her bike. A whirlwind of a kick planted her skimmer leg against his forehead; a jet of fire engulfed his skull as it launched him off his bike and into the air. Butterfly elegantly twisted through the air, her Leg-skimmers firing to control her descent and manage her speed, so she landed in a sliding skid.

Gearbox landed in a flaming heap. Susanoo crushed her bike under its reinforced frame, the relic motorcycle spiraling out of control and skidding to a halt against the edge of the arena. Butterfly panted heavily, rage laboring her movements, as she approached the flaming hea-

A flash of light pierced through her side. Gearbox's Soulbinder, a crimson spear, extending from the flaming man's hand and towards her. Blood flashed. She felt her body lifted up by the man's immense strength. Felt herself hurled through the air.

Felt her body break as it slammed into the ground. Felt ribs puncture lungs. Felt her arm break. Felt her neck shatter. Felt the world fade.

Reconstruction Protocol engaged. Damage reported and filed, NanoHive initiated, brainwave pattern imprinted...

Light returned to her eyes. She dared not breathe. The spear was still impaled upon her stomach, but Gearbox was not holding it any longer. She could hear him gloating, the firestench of his flesh filling her nostrils through her own blood. She let herself lie still, her body rebuilding itself on the ground. She had forgotten something...Someone's eyes. Someone important.

But that didn't matter right now. Gearbox had to die.

"You see that boys? Another uppity bitch put in her place. I shouldn't say that I guess- we're egalitarian out here in Gearbox's Playground! Another Uppity THING put back in its BOX. Ain't that right? I'm king out here! ME! GEARBOX! I'M THE KI-"

His voice was cut off. The Crimson Spear tip protruding through the front of his throat. Blood gurgled out of his mouth, steaming against the flames that engulfed him.

Butterfly finally breathed. Crouched behind him, the wound in her stomach slowly closing, electricity glowing beneath her skin. Then, she screamed as her Leg Skimmers propelled her forward at full blast; the Crimson Spear piercing all the way through Gearbox's hardened flesh, impaling the pole through his neck, and with a twisting kick in the air Butterfly arced in a circle around Gearbox and-

Sent his head flying off his body on his own Soul Binder. The cheers stopped. Blood fountained through the air.

Butterfly stood there, gasping for breath, as Gearbox's body tumbled down. Showering her in gore. As the crowd cheered for her- calling her the Crimson Queen- all she could focus on is that she couldn't remember what color Kemushi's eyes were.

---

She mounted Susanoo and turned her gaze over the horizon. Neo-Tokyo lied that way. Home. Her personal Hell. A place that needed to burn like Gearbox needed to burn. She pulled the helmet on; she'd raided Gearbox's horde for the combat racing suit she was now wearing, her blood-red leather jacket that now fit perfectly worn overtop. She turned her head back to look one last time upon the burning wreckage of the slave pens and the dismantled arena.

She grasped Susanoo's handlebars and revved the engines.

"One-Eyed Wolf." She whispered to herself. "I'll find you."

The Yurazen Prince - A Tale of Redwall

We have… uh…

*squints at script*

Chestnut Bitters?

The Yurazen Prince - A Tale of Redwall

Good idea; I added Tybalt and Grant to my sheet as footnotes to keep that sort of precedent going.

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

I think I may be in the wrong game... there's no way in hell that I'd be able to make posts of those size

@Cao the Exiled

Everyone else already soothed you, but lemme just drop my two cents of Guild Experience and Writing Wisdom;

Someone who shows up and hits ‘post’ is a mile better than someone who thinks they are/may very well be a super awesome writer but never hits ‘post’. Satisfy yourself and have fun, and everything else will fall in place! I’ve seen roleplays fall apart because of stress and ‘expectations’; be yourself and have fun!