Bleach Hereafter RPG

Long flights and cloud-dulled English weather had done little to improve Itsuki's mood but thankfully less to dampen his driven curiosity. As stiflingly silent as the scattered grey veil drifting across the sky, an emotionally unavailable father had made for a strange travel companion over the last sixteen hour stretch. Speaking of, the young man couldn't help but groan in delight as all manner of joints popped and strained at the fit toe-to-tip stretch he had managed the luxury of in a day. Predictably, once their luggage had been collected his dear patriarch had deigned to away ahead to their hotel, already chattering away on his phone about this business or that.

Changing quickly into his regular almost-formal wear he'd become accustomed to in a Heathrow bathroom, the brown-eyed man affixed a mild, pleasant smile as he plucked up his old black leather satchel from his days as a student and departed. Convenience favoured him, at least, the trains bound out towards his former-university suffering no delay or line maintenance. Escaping along the tube line to his change at Reading reeked of nostalgic memories pursuing nightlife and half-asleep morning commutes from his time living out way of Merton. Nostalgia, he concluded, was something far too overdosed upon as of late. After all, he had come here for answers.

Before long the solo tourist of sorts had finally traipsed beyond the final yellow-striped step of Oxford Station and breathed a sigh of relief. Eyes scanned the recently familiar streets of two years prior, staving off another bout of mirthy reminiscence with a small smile renewed in earnest to make for the Olive Branch. How his heart yearned for coffee.

Seated beneath the canopy outside, taking up a mercifully empty table and his bag the solitary other chair, Itsuki gazed down into the open University of Oxford branded ring binder he'd prior stuffed into the satchel. The culmination of his master's degree in the Study of Religions, it contained all the amassed notes he found even vaguely relevant. This particular section of the folder was crammed with anything even vaguely related to the various afterlifes and their machinations, a vain hope to determine what those bone-faced things had been.

Buzz-bzz, went the alarm in his pocket, snapping him out of his barely-formed concentration. Peeling himself free of the article and eyeing the arterial streets of the square for anything of intrigue, he plied himself with a tab of ivabradine and a swig of warm, just-mediocre-enough black coffee to wash it down. Perhaps it would be best if he went right back to the university library after all.

Cole left his old row house, logically, he had expected this. It had been over two years since he died, and the area was in high demand. But it was still emotionally jarring; his study, a nursery, his collection of texts, replaced with a shelf of board games he had never heard of.

There had been a good decade of research in that house, and he had died young enough that he had never even considered writing a will. Kind of ironic, he supposed, given his field of research. His zanpakuto had been remarkably silent as he walked through his old house, which was a change. It was nice to be alone with his thoughts on occasion.

He was sure the same situation would be in his office on campus, and the most likely place his research would have ended up would be some binder in the stacks. Finding that might be…somewhat difficult, given the massiveness of the library and his inability to access a mortal computer system.

If it wasn’t there, it was possible his parents would have taken possession of them, but that seemed fairly unlikely; he hoped not, it was difficult enough to get permission to come to the University. The idea that the Gotei 13 would let him get anywhere close to his still-living parents seemed incredibly unlikely. Although, it could have been the organization that funded his research; he had tried to track it down once, but they operated through dozens of shell corporations. It was easier to let funding keep coming and not ask that particular series of questions.

The Shinigami considered this problem as he walked the path he had taken many times during his lifetime. His zanpakuto once again began muttering wordless nonsense in the back of his head, and, as usual, he did his best to ignore it as he looked to see how the town had changed. Not much, of course, new faces, maybe one or two new storefronts, but the town had been around longer than most Shinigami, and resisted change with the same force as the old guard of the spiritual world.

In short order though, he made his way into the library, and just stood in the lobby for a moment. He loved the smell of this place, of the old books, the history, the knowledge stored here. For a moment, he let himself forget the Shinigami uniform, the wordless chatter of the long katana slung across his back, and just let himself pretend he was still alive, and everything was normal.

Attentiveness turning along the pages crept amongst their columns, sneaking amongst titles and dates for any shred of delectable information he could divine. Alas, the most Itsuki could dredge up in these early pages were some remark about the similarity of effigy and practice regarding Día de los Muertos and some depictions of Cernunnos in older religions. Squinting down against a page littered in notes rough hewn between his two languages the foreigner found a hazy sense of unease. If he couldn't learn more through his own notes then it would be prudent to at least seek out the professor from whence this material derived itself. Tracing his way up to the corner of the page he found an answer to that mild tension formed in his feelings. Professor Alexander. A mild stress coping habit arose, a weighty sigh gilded in agitation pouring out of him whilst he attended an absent itch along his jawline. When the professor had passed away visiting Itsuki's home country the news had come as a shock to everyone.

Shoving the binder away from himself with an exasperated tut the traveller slouched back against the black steel of the chair beneath the canopy. Asking him at the time was already a clearly prudent option and for the sake of anticipation, yes, he'd taken the liberty of looking up Professor Alexander's residence. Still, it made the notion no easier. What would he say, hello, my condolences and I really hope you don't mind but I really need to rifle through your dead husband's leftover notes because I think I may have seen something supernatural when my friend was mauled to death? No. A thought pressed up through him in some mock amusement to cope with the sticky situation. At least in another month or two he could just find that spirit and ask him ghost-to-ghost. Stemming the last of his irritability, he thumbed the binder shut.

Gazing once more against the roads and open square he supposed it would be too much to drudge up the old spirit. Of all the non-corporeal sorts he ran into it never did seem to be someone of any use to him. Perhaps, yes, the library was the place to start. Somewhere to find any papers that Professor had left behind.

Someone caught his eye, an usual sight at least to greet him and draw his mind away from the lamentable position of harassing a widow. Funny, really. They looked like they were strolling around in some strangely traditional form of clothing from his own far flung corner of the world. A cosplayer, perhaps, an extra for some local production or a movie? Hell, they had even furnished this fanciful ensemble with the embellishment of a blade. Squinting, they seemed familiar somehow. Oddly, the more he tried to look and divine who they were, the more it seemed the sun was shining clean through them.

It took a further minute or two for realisation to dawn upon dear Itsuki, caught so off-guard. The sepctral figure had since disappeared towards the unviersity. Bolting upright from his seat with some wordless exclamation his heart thundered. Hurriedly he stuffed the folder back into his satchel, snatching it up and scattering probably twice the cost of the coffee across the table. Quickly! He admonished and urged himself, making steady haste of a light jog after the familiar figure. With the university so close there was no time to waste.

Ah, the awkward situations he found himself in. How do you let on to a dead person in public without being treated by the surrounding crowd who can't see them like you're a raving lunatic? Ever elegant in his impatience, Itsuki opted to fish up his phone and press it to his ear, marching up behind the halter spectre.
"Professor." He said, voice steadying from the nerves and shock driven adrenaline. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here or anywhere else. Not since your... extended holiday." Trailed the careful remark. It was probably rude to be staring straight at the back of his head and yet, he could hardly bring himself to move from that spot while he sorted through feelings and thoughts.

The stacks, and a bit of luck, then. Hopefully the massive movable bookcases would be positioned in a useful way. He hadn’t tested moving through walls all that much, but trying to find a book when literally being inside of another one didn’t seem particularly feasible. The time he had been allotted for this trip was not particularly lengthy, and he might have to return empty-handed.

Cole was considering his options when he sensed the man behind him; elevated reiatsu levels, at the very least the individual could see spirits. The living person probably didn’t even know about the signature he was putting off. And, of course, the man had stopped moving right behind him and was almost certainly speaking to him. Probably even recognized him.

Cole turned slowly, doing his best to not look threatening; which, being a tall man in black robes with a long blade on his back, was probably of limited success. He looked at the boy, mentally subtracting a few years as he rifling through memories of his students. Ah yes, the son of a shrine maiden, if he recalled correctly; a deeply spiritual and curious, though somewhat troubled young man.  Smiling slightly, he nodded at his old student, ”Mister Hasegawa, I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed. The whole time I was lecturing on esotericism and religious beliefs, and you could see into the afterlife?”

The ex-professor laughed, as warm and friendly as when he had been alive, ”Surely it wouldn’t have killed you to point some of my research in the right direction. Follow me, we can talk where people won't think you're insane.”

There was a brief flicker as man vanished from sight, appearing on one of the second floor balconies and waving for Itsuki to follow him into the stacks.

Initiative: UoGfpHi91d100
1d100

Unhurried though it may have been the slow-shifting spectre before him pressed adrenaline levels and excitement higher. Gentle-handed as it may have been a myriad of b-movies and hammer horror flickered with their bright reds projected across the viewscreen of his mind. It wasn't unlike the unveiling of some of those powder-painted faces and some distant memories of decaying CG depictions of video game distractions before the turn of the century. Sharp, fuzzy noise filled the ex-student's thoughts against the precipice crossed. Those answers felt so close, at last. Lips pursed slightly against the confirmation he had been heard, creasing and crumpling his somewhat meek smile. The warmth of expression and tone offered up in their playful way at least somewhat steadied his quaking innards. Mouth ajar, brain fizzing away trying to find something to say, the laughter more fully disarmed him. Smile ironed back into an inverted arc and brows aloft in gentle surprise, his teeth shone through. Some muted anxious sound emerged, slamming into the back of his teeth at the flat vanishing of the senior of the pair, jolting his spine enough to send Itsuki jumping near out of his skin. Alright, apparently ghosts vanishing and reappearing was real enough.

Habit pressed forward, shoving the phone away with all of that nervous energy and a forced, stiff breath outwards. Replacing it in his palm, squeezed for dear life with a thumb caressing the worn, faded silk was the omamori he refused to let leave his person. As it was discreetly in his right pants pocket today, it was at least somewhat more casually-presenting and subtle to those unattuned to matters of the spirit watching him trudge his way up the more mundane stairwells two floors upwards.

An itch burned in his collarbone as the mind tasted and turned possible answers for Professor Alexander's appearance. Black robes, a blade, a spiritual being. Had he been buried that way? He didn't recall the professor being of a background you'd expect that to come from. The possibility of a yokai passed through his awareness as he crested the first floor, turning to trudge up the next set of stairs in reserved haste. He wasn't bald but the robes were right, could he have become a black monk after all? The poor professor, dining on sleeping breath. It wouldn't explain the sword though. Adrenaline continued to pump and scripture cycled through his mind, a great scroll of reassurance winding about the shifting mass of disquieting questions shifting about behind his eyes. Whatever the professor had become it was unlike any other fading or fanciful spirit he'd happened across.

Pensiveness proved distraction enough, eyes fixed forwards upon the image of a man not-so-long dead before him in this quiet corner of the stacks failing to notice the faint orange glow 'neath his own neck. Somewhere between conscious apprehension and unconscious manifestation the blessed material in his pocket had begun to flake away. Molten orange fragments blew out through the fabric of his pocket as if sparks from the forge with all the weight of leaves upon the wind, fading swiftly in their turns about in the air. Wayward pieces of reiatsu that they were, those fading sparks seemed to reappear and coalesce about what was exposed of the mid-left of his collarbone through that loosely buttoned white shirt. Three liquefied, bubbling globules formed, no more than a thumbnail in size, occasionally spilling over to drip down in burning orange lines that swiftly faded away.

"Professor." Spoke the unblinking one. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. In truth, I don't know much about what I've seen beyond what scripture has taught me. I'm sad to say that the reality and what has been written down doesn't exactly seem to line up." Itsuki's voice was more rigid, firmer than usual. Typical laid-back tones were absent in favour of the more serious tension marring vocal chords. Chances were his professor had seen this before, the reality of him at the start of that second year after his fellow exchange student and then-lover, Mizuki Sato had passed away. He lingered a moment, swallowing against the dryness of his throat and snatched up a question, any question. "I have to know about those bone-faced monsters."


Initiative: NK8|4RLh1d100 1d100

Cole offered a small shrug, ”Think nothing of it; there are reasons these things are hidden to the living.” There was something happening under the man’s clothing, and he was seemingly unaware of it. Was he here to see a mortal awakening to their power for the first time? That was potentially dangerous, and there were too many valuable books to risk a release of power in the building. He had to get the young man out of the stacks.

The shinigami began moving towards the stairwell, clearly expecting the young man to follow him, ”But the monsters…you’re asking about some dangerous information.  It wouldn’t be right to just hurl you into the deep end without first seeing if you can swim."

As he entered the stairwell, he immediately began taking the steps a flight at a time heading to the rooftop. He was sure that Itsuki’s curiosity and desire for more information would practically him to follow. So he set up a trap for the man when he came up, a simple test; if Cole was overestimating him, it would still hurt a bit, but it wouldn’t severely injure him. And, of course, it might give more credence to any warning he would give the young man about avoiding hollows.

Granted, Cole now had two years of combat training under his belt, and his old student seemed to be unfamiliar with his gifts. The Shinigami tried to dampen the power of his strange reiatsu, not that this young man would know his reiatsu was particularly strange, given the limited experience he clearly had. But he didn’t want to risk hurting Itsuki.

Odds are the mortal would have to climb the stairs himself, so Cole had a few seconds to quickly scribe a circle in chalk and add a few quick markings as a focus for a very directed offensive spell. Then he moved to the other side of the roof from the top of the stairwell and waited for his past and once again student.

COMBAT TRACKER





1d100·2d9·1d100·2d9·1d100+25·2d9·1d100+25·2d9

Reasons? Heavens forfend, Itsuki was practically a monk. By all rights he had dedicated his life to understanding things beyond the pale of the meagre living gaze. Damn it, he was practically performing a balancing act between the two, firsthand! The thought of scripture being censored, clipped and concealed set him at unease. If the truth was absent, how much of it had been lies? Before thoughts and feelings could meander overlong the mysterious professor verbally weaved around his request and stamped it with his own ominous requirement. Ponderings were offered little time to grow as the robe-clad of the pair began to bound away like some accursedly taunting jackrabbit, higher and higher.

"What the fuck...?" Muttered the holy man's quiet exclamation through exasperation at the extraordinary example of otherworldly exercise. Alright, a rogue spirit running off with the first lead he had come across that seemed to actually mean something in years. Human restrictions applied but now it was time to put years of rituals and experimentation to use. He'd paused for barely a handful of dumbfounded seconds before sprinting up after him, heart thundering with each crash blowing bellows into the growing heat of the fading thing clasped tight in his palm, every plume of sparks locked in time with his pulse growing the small, sputtering mass atop that uppermost rafter of his chest. He couldn't rely on his eyes anymore, that was a given. Fortune would have it that there were certain arts passed down that supposedly helped in these situations.

By the time he had clasped the cold steel handrail of the stairwell the old ways had risen up. Half-entranced in articulate emulation of his mother's methods, a steady, controlled exhalation through pursed lips betwixt his own surging steps began to push his senses outward. Memories of stimuli washed over him, drawing part of his mind into the expanding darkness. Cold water shocking skin, the sting of salt in the air, fresh blood shed before his eyes, melodic ululations and rhythmic drumbeats. Being the sole male heir to his mother made matters complicated, he had never imbodied a kami. Some adrenaline-sizzling part of his brain remarked bitterly that if the scripture could be wrong once, it could again. The mind emptied as his time as a student of both martial arts and as a monk melded, leaving feelings a distant sensation driving his body on while that sort of second skin expanded invisibly outwards. Burning wicks without candles brushed against his ethereal third eye, clumsy and unfocused as it rolled in proverbial socket. Immaterial muscles unused ever before strained with effort and difficulty against the vague feeling. Alas, this extrasensory perception had been opened a little too late to witness the dimming of the fire above.

Lashing about the last corner with a firm grip to anchor himself the younger closed in the confident half-tranced pursuit across the last stretch. Straight into the vector of that trap. Gaze fixed forward, half-lidded stare beneath a brow knitted into furrowed, unblinking concentration, his third eye spasmed away from the glistening blue before him to fix on the nova exploding from the unseen chalk scratching. Searing, crackling crash of the first bolt spewed forth like some wild, half-frenzied raiju proved simple enough to turn about, hobbling his sprint but saving his skin. Lucidity of supernatural sense adjusted, focusing on the second shaft of blistering white in time for the amateur hour on display to narrowly twist into an escape. Regrettably judging by the smouldering streak painted up along his torso where fabric had burned away the call had been far closer than anyone would like.

Rising up from skinned knees, his faculties staggered. Broken record playback of that day in Okinawa filled his trance. It was the only time he had seen that exact phenomena. A sea of static, bursting thoughts and feelings broke against the trance, quaking his 'tranquility'. Somehow a piece had at last fallen into place. Eyes wide open, a smile ignited with wildfire passions as the wind began to warp and wail. Cleansed, at last, shaky purpose ridden slouch gave way to a roll of shoulders drawn back into standing properly upright, a foot drawn slight back with heel raised to spring into action at a moment. Newborn third eye spasmed into sharp focus as the talisman burst as if a firework in hand, sparks skittering and bouncing in the breeze. Those three frothing beads smoothed into miniature shining suns set into the horizon of his clavicle, spiralling out into forge-fresh nails. A genesis of power, the forging of his fullbring cried out, the fullest extent of his meagre reiatsu flexed out into the world. Doorframe buckled and windows yielded, tiles and grout gouged free. Ah, how those who didn't realise their own comparative weakness blustered.

So enamoured was he with this opportunity, the man with molten flames from beyond the veil pooling at his feet wed himself to this potential in the fullest. It was already decided he would give his all and earn every last bit he could from this man. Besides, whatever else had been said, at the moment his candlelight burned brighter. Reaching down deep into memory as the tail end of his trance faded away he plucked up the resplendent beacon amidst his trauma, seizing it to reproduce in this moment. Fervent, unspoken prayers offered up trailed along, beseeching Raijin himself to give him what he needed. Dramatic in his measure, posture maintained, arm and finger both extended. A nail melted away, fresh black fire combusting into a flat tomoe rendered in the air before his gesture as the sound of a taiko being struck pattered out, a virgin peal of thunder crackled free, aimed for the throat of his ex-professor turned sensei. An errant white bolt coiled and snaked along his arm as he felt power surge, a depth to this thing in the back of his soul. Full hand opened, the hissing, sparking slither of electricity lashed to strike back whence it came, another pristine discharge booming across the distance betwixt them. No sooner was the second commence did the third harpoon through it's sibling, shedding the cascading rings of what remained to fade into the air.


Combat Tracker

16,000 RL
0 Armour
50/50 HP
132/150 Reishi (150 Base - 18 (Byakurai x3)
d6 DMG
25 ACC (10 Fighting + 5 Sense + 10 Edge)
65DEF (50 base + 5 Reflexes + 10 Edge)

1d100+20·2d6+2·1d100+20·2d6+2·1d100+20·2d6+2

”Interesting…you have the blood of a miko, but your fullbring takes the form of a trio of nails. Assuming you retained anything from my classes, I’m sure you recognize the symbolism.”

Cole dodged the first two blasts with practiced movements, ducking smoothly under the first and turning to the side to let the second harmlessly pass him. He held up his hand, and a sparkling barrier of rainbow light took most of the force of the last shot, blowing through it and inflicting a thin gouge on his arm.

”Well, at least it looks like you can take care of yourself. Good bit of offense and defense in your capabilities, if unrefined. But directly isn’t the only way beings of the spirit world attack.”

The shinigami slid a foot backwards, dropping into a low stance as he began to speak in an odd cadence, ”The creatures you seek feast on the soul, you won’t get far without more control.” As he spoke, he held out his hand and a strangely glowing green ball appeared in his hand, ”Parasite.”

The small green ball immediately launched towards Itsuki, disappearing into his body. He’d feel something inside him, strange and writhing and cold; it would settle somewhere in his hakusui and he would feel it try to start sapping his energy, both physical and spiritual.

COMBAT TRACKER




1d100·1d100

Sweat glistened across his brow. All this excitement was doing wonders for his feckless cardio system. Itsuki flexed his hand in test.
"Don't worry, Professor, I'm not going to crucify you. You can just call me a servant of the axis mundi." He watched the motion of the man's feet carefully, the third eye shut at least temporarily against the visceral winds of this conflict. Fascinating, it seemed when not weighed down by such things as flesh and bone a whole new way of moving was possible. Brash smile broadened into a chuckle as the first hit landed and praise came. Just like being back in the dojo again. With that his mind slipped back into a more empty demeanour, reaching deep for faded muscle memory and clutching at the subconscious veins of holy writ pumping through the walls of the mindscape.

All that bravado turned to shock as the ghostly green globule splashed through fabric and skin. Mouth agape, he ran a hand over his solar plexus plagued by something crawling, frozen and ominous within. Bastard, targeting a terminally ill man's withered organ of choice. That blighted parasite drew his lungs heavy, clogged with flinching pain enough to softly crease Itsuki's self-assured stance for a smattering of moments as he adjusted. He could feel the thing osmosing away at him like a wretched little vampire. Greek fire, copper poisoning? No, he had said the word parasite amidst his incantation.

That in itself drew up a snarl of sorts for but a flash of a moment. "Incantations used to poison? What is the world coming to..." He groaned out, righting himself back to a visage of approximate strength. Fine, if he wanted an incantation he would get one. A flicker in his mind made him aware it was fortune and mercy affording him these opportunities, something he hoped to capitalise upon.

Pulling again upon that internal thread found earlier, he tested his luck. "おん あぼきゃ べいろしゃのう まかぼだら まに はんどま じんばら はらばりたや うん"*, trailed the hypnotic cadence of a prayer. With the brief verse his opponent had laid out he had to assume he would be afforded the same courtesy. Plucking free what medium he had available, a spectral nail unfurled as it was thrown, seeking out Cole's saketsu. Thread of black fire woven into blazing shimanawa roared to life in the air, forming a circle around each of them before severing and snaking together, a weightless, intangible binding between the two. In the instant before it faded the defiled ward synchronised the lovely gift nestled in his soul.

Odd, really, standing here at range pelting each other with magic missiles. Perhaps it was safer than challenging a sword and at least the best way down to ground level was behind him and not on the other side of this practical exam. Drawing up the tomoe in the air again he opted to project another lance of white lightning while he snatched the final nail in his arsenal with a mind to test his scrounged up idea. Spirit salts were close enough, right? Casting it out the symbol shattering into a scattering cloud of glowing, molten salts destined to soak into any soul it touched, condemning them to the crushing cold of misogi. "Let's find out how pure your spirit is, Professor." Teased the student.


Combat Tracker

16,000 RL
0 Armour
45/50 HP
107/150 Reishi (132 + 3 (Attuned) - 28 (Bakudo #52 x1, Bakudo #22 x1, Hado #4 x1, Enemy Reiryoku Absorbtion x1, Enemy Rebuke x1, Frosbite))
d6 DMG
20 ACC (10 Fighting + 10 Edge)
65DEF (50 base + 5 Reflexes + 10 Edge)



*1d100·3d6+2·1d100+20·2d6+2

Cole gave a wolfish grin at the man’s response, and spoke in a conversational tone, ”I wasn’t too worried about that, to be frank. But for future reference, we just call this world of the living in the afterlife. Many of the beings in the afterlife measure their lifespans in centuries and millennia, the comparatively modern philosophical terms haven’t caught on.”

The shinigami watched the man say the traditional incantation with interest; since he had died, his continued research into spiritual magic made him believe that many of the traditions of mysticism started much like this. A mortal with faith and more than a dollop of spiritual energy, focusing will and reishi into form. Even as the nail slammed into him and mirrored some of the effects of his parasitic spell, Cole laughed. Probably not the reaction that Itsuki was looking for, but getting confirmation on hypothesis was always nice.

Kidō was just Shinigami tradition; a way of focusing energy that had been practiced by the ancient beings that resided in Soul Society. As he thought, there was absolutely no reason the other traditions wouldn’t work. Granted, his experiments had already proven the effectiveness of other mystic traditions, and even the force multiplying effect of combining several.

The salt bounced harmlessly off an invisible wall in front of him, ”I mean, it’s pretty pure, I assume. I wouldn’t be a Shinigami if it wasn’t, right?” He reached over his shoulder and drew out the over-long katana, ”This blade, a zanpakuto, purifies the souls of the enemies I defeat, letting them pass onto… Well, I’ll be honest, it’s not quite heaven; it’s just kinda…feudal Japan? I’ll be frank, it threw me for a loop.”

He bounced the blade in his hand, focusing some more energy into his last spell as he did, ”I’ll be honest, I don’t know what happens if I hit you with it, and since I’m not actually trying to hurt you, I probably shouldn’t risk it.” The voices of his blade wordlessly echoed in the back of his head, as he resheathed it.

COMBAT TRACKER



1d100

Attentive expression adorned the junior, nodding along as careful mental notes printed. "I would imagine some 110 billion or more dead are quite a handful." Came his sole comment. A small pang of disappoinment at the air's very rejection of the purifying salt conjured a tut from the onlooker, blazing orange spikes sprouting in reformation in his bones. Laughter had done less to dampen his mood, instead playing the next string of his memory to compose oneself in acts of both combat and spiritual pursuits as a mark of respect. Purely coincidental with the realisation he had barely marked this wayward spirit, of course.

Shinigami, he called himself. The old writings spoke of such instances, possessions and other occasions beckoning to living to death. Itsuki's brow furrowed as connections sparked and a blade was brandished. Playing with a naked soul purifying blade mentioning he doesn't wish to hurt him, the afterlife is simply feudal japan? Folklore did say it made speech difficult save for lies. There were two possibilities, it had possessed his professor and come to lead him to his death or his professor had become one and sought to coax him to his death. The stern stoicism of the devout pressed up through his posture despite the bubbling cold roiling within him and carved his expression with disdain.

No wonder this thing had rejected the salts. "Clean soul indeed." He spoke aloud. That once friendly, pleasant tone had shifted to a smooth, formal business matter. This matter would have to be attended immediately, onusa or no onusa. A moment's contemplation drifted over him regarding the matter of how to protect himself, to purify all at once. Ah, perhaps...

Plucking the three nails betwixt four fingers, he willed their malleability. As his mind composed the ghostly form of what was once his omamori those three marks upon his collarbone where the nails once lay frothed and bubbled with that same black fire.

"南無妙法蓮華経!"* Intoned the son of a miko.

The accoutrement in his mind took form, an unseen suzu ringing out. The solid forms in his hand became as liquid, running slow down his hand, swiftly flattened against the other in offered prayer. Vexation cut away, only a clarity not known to be false remained. From the ground beneath his feet roared a tempest of daybreak toned energy, lashing up amongst the wind to consume him. Unblinking, unerring his gaze remained affixed. Onyx flames bled free into the whorl of light, flecking it with impurities. Muttering some norito or another, some second shockwave mightier than the birth of his tool came, further abusing the roof about him and blowing away the sparkling show. Amidst his hands still clapsed in prayer flowed a pair of floating beads, bleeding droplets and filaments of reiatsu free, floating up into the air before disappating. They were rendered of that same molten iron disposition as the nails, threaded in the accursed black fire flowing as if the air were water.

Satisfaction momentarily disturbed the still water of his concentration. It was time to proceed with the ritual. No words were spoken, a bead slipping free of the thread to elongate out into a spectral simulacrum of his omamori fastened neat through where one of the nails had lain. Protection was in place, he reaffirmed to himself. "I apologise for not having noticed sooner, Professor. I promise I will purify this spirit standing before me." Came a sombre declaration, teetering against the edge of professionalism. He was breathing heavier against that pain in his chest.

Amidst his chanting droning on, praying in rapid syllable succession to purify and cleanse the tomoe once more rendered itself apparent, drum beat thundering as lightning burst free. Efforts to do what he must came to fruition, the beads burning brighter and brighter. "If the scripture is misinterpreted here too, please show me a shinigami is more than simply beckoning to death." Trickled mercy and hope as one from his lips. Suzu rang again, beads bursting free in screaming streams of lavalike fury tracing arcing lines of orange in their dozens, raining down from all angles all about the shinigami. Those pinholes turned exhaust ports in his clavicle gushed that blazing black, cost paid in blood for the detonate-on-impact conflagration scoring through the air. With defences like his it wasn't as if the professor needed to dodge. What was another nail in either coffin? Threads about his hands writhed against another purifying bolt's blowback dispersing yet another tomoe into nothingness.

Combat Tracker

32,000 RL (16,000 x 2 (1st Release))
0 Armour
20/50 HP (45 - 5 (Poison) + 5 (1st Release) - 25 (FUJUN'NA IKARI))
84/150 Reishi (107 + 3 (Attuned) - 5 (Frostbite) - 4 (1st Release) - 5 (BAKUDO #16) - 6 (Enhanced HADO #4) - 6 (HADO#4))
d7 DMG (+5 Focus (1st Release))
35 ACC (10 Fighting + 20 Edge + 5 Sense)
80DEF (50 base + 5 Reflexes + 20 Edge + 5 Sense)



*1d100+35·2d7+6·1d100+35·2d7+6·1d100+35·5d7+6

”Not even close to 110 billion. It’s probably about equal to earth’s population, give or take. The whole thing operates on a cycle. For most, the afterlife is basically just a second life, eventually they pass and are reborn in the realm of the living. Folks that have a good chunk of spiritual energy, like you, usually get recruited to join the ranks of the Shinigami after they enter the next life.”

He got the distinct impression that his former student wasn’t listening, and was stuck in his own thoughts. He was doing something else no-okay…well, that wasn’t what he was expecting or hoping for. The kid was convinced he was an evil spirit trying to mess with him. Not only that, he was clearly burning his own life force to try and fight him. Acknowledged in pretty much every mystical tradition, life force as fuel, the sacrifice represented by lifeblood; or, put simply, blood magic. Cole may have not wanted to hurt his old student, but the kid clearly had no compunctions about hurting himself.

The shinigami let the attack connect with his shield, and used the flash of brilliant light to disappear and dodge the other attacks, reappearing behind the young man and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, ”It’s not about interpretation; it’s just…okay; you gotta chill the fuck out if you want me to explain anything.  This ain't something to die over.”

Energy flowed out of Cole’s hand, and a weight would try to settle itself around Itsuki, ”The whole reason I decided to test you is because if I tell you what those masked creatures are you’re gonna try and do something about them. And getting eaten by a Hollow is far worse than dying.”

COMBAT TRACKER




1d12·1d100

Itsuki's head was spinning by the time his teacher was talking after his attempt to assail him. It took him a few seconds to properly process that the voice had come from behind him along with that reassuring clasp, light as it may have been. Hazy, empty thoughts spun their wheels as sharp pain inside reared its head. His heart was going out of control. Something connecting again in his brain, at last in a way more in touch with the reality being presented to him. Veils of confusion and misunderstanding began to part and lift from before his eyes. Hands clasped in prayer faltered and fell with a clatter of beads against his side. The rest of Cole's words drifted across his ears, brushing just hard enough against his self-haggerd consciousness to register.

"...I must apologise." Words came at last with more thought behind them than his frightened lashing out. His chest heaved, twitching fingers beneath those beads aching for something to satiate what he had spent. The spectral necklace faded away, tall three of the nails he had been wielding reforming. His heart felt lighter knowing the man wasn't some spooky figure from ghost stories as a child. "I shouldn't have doubted you, clearly I've been holding onto things a little tightly." Soft warmth seemed to somewhat steady his insides, flowing down from his trio of orange spikes beneath his skin. It did nothing for the pain and yet he felt somewhat reinvigorated all the same. Perhaps it was this invisible weighted blanket of sorts that brought him such comfort? No, that might be a little too peculiar to assume.

Turning his head to meet Cole's gaze as much as he could, Itsuki's expression had settle into the very picture of regret gilded in troubling news. Something about those last words must have plucked a deep chord. "I have to admit that somehow I was hoping that might be the opposite of what you could tell me about that specific part."

Combat Tracker

16,000 RL
0 Armour
20/50 HP
104/150 Reishi (84 + 3 (Attuned) - 2 (Rebuke) - 6 (Reiryoku Absorption) + 25 (Invigorate))
d6 DMG
20 ACC (10 Fighting + 10 Edge)
65DEF (50 base + 5 Reflexes + 10 Edge)