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So you're a kid. Maybe you're just a little bit wayward, lacking direction, flying under the radar, and maybe you like to hang around and mess with the mortals a bit too much. It's your duty, right? You float in on your big black clouds, throw around a bit of lightening, give some old guy a cold and bam, the legend goes on.
But eventually the stories just stop being as popular. Every few minutes a baby is born that will never know your legend, know your name, remember the charms to keep you away. The things that keep you strong are being forgotten as the previous generations fade away into obscurity and death. Demons and spirits and gods and goddesses just aren't in vogue anymore, kid.
You're young, you're powerful, you've got your brother at your back and you're both brimming with piss and vinegar. You feel that dumb invincibility of youth (and despite what the numbers say you are still just kids, just stupid rebellious kids), so when you start hearing whispers that the Karas of your land wants to put the bump back in the night you start to think that's a pretty damn good idea.
He's powerful, he's charismatic, he holds the closest thing folks like you are gonna have to a trusted seat of office.
So you sign up. He does something to you--puts things in you--and it hurts, and it's strange, but it's all for a good cause and anyways, didn't you and your bro always wanna try your hands at that whole tangible business?
It isn't until he takes your brother and warps him that you realize just how much he's changed you both. When there isn't much left of your bro besides a huge glowing eye in the middle of a bunch of blood-thirsty tentacles, well. That's when you panic.
You run. As far and as fast as you can, living like a human as much as you can, always watching the news, always looking over your back. Every so often you catch wind of what's going on back in the city, of the deaths and the disappearances, all the talk of demons.
Three years later your conscience and guilt finally catch up with you and you grab the first train heading through Shinjuku, guitar case heavy with firepower and revenge a slow boil in your blood.
Too bad it doesn't end so well.
But eventually the stories just stop being as popular. Every few minutes a baby is born that will never know your legend, know your name, remember the charms to keep you away. The things that keep you strong are being forgotten as the previous generations fade away into obscurity and death. Demons and spirits and gods and goddesses just aren't in vogue anymore, kid.
You're young, you're powerful, you've got your brother at your back and you're both brimming with piss and vinegar. You feel that dumb invincibility of youth (and despite what the numbers say you are still just kids, just stupid rebellious kids), so when you start hearing whispers that the Karas of your land wants to put the bump back in the night you start to think that's a pretty damn good idea.
He's powerful, he's charismatic, he holds the closest thing folks like you are gonna have to a trusted seat of office.
So you sign up. He does something to you--puts things in you--and it hurts, and it's strange, but it's all for a good cause and anyways, didn't you and your bro always wanna try your hands at that whole tangible business?
It isn't until he takes your brother and warps him that you realize just how much he's changed you both. When there isn't much left of your bro besides a huge glowing eye in the middle of a bunch of blood-thirsty tentacles, well. That's when you panic.
You run. As far and as fast as you can, living like a human as much as you can, always watching the news, always looking over your back. Every so often you catch wind of what's going on back in the city, of the deaths and the disappearances, all the talk of demons.
Three years later your conscience and guilt finally catch up with you and you grab the first train heading through Shinjuku, guitar case heavy with firepower and revenge a slow boil in your blood.
Too bad it doesn't end so well.
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