A Return to Form

Troubling thoughts surfaced within Aojiro's mind as she walked endlessly. Perhaps aimlessly as well, considering her current state of affairs. The parents that raised her were simply people, the brother she protected nothing more than a stranger. There were no blood relations between them. Yet she willingly pushed herself to the edge when confronting their vanquisher. The father of the individual who set her on this trajectory, this path of unlimited destruction. She stared at her hands and weapons, both of which were stained with blood; whether it was demon or human the woman didn't know. All she knew was that she had derived a sick pleasure from gutting them completely, tearing apart that dark guild as if she were breaking bread. It was a hobby of hers to not leave a single survivor; whether that be from the shame of her past learning what she become or the joy of eradication was anyone's guess. Aojiro thought the latter, and hated herself for it. But the bloodlust that rose every time she face the opposing guild's army was a feeling she lived for now. It was such fun seeing the despair of their faces as the comrades were cut down by a single person. The woman had gained a reputation in the underbelly of society, causing many guilds to take extreme precautions to protect themselves from her discovery. Her change was reflected in her eyes; no longer a kaleidoscope on the spectrum of black to blue, they were now a sunset red, turning the color of blood in the face of annihilation. Then there was the discovery of her demonic heritage; her father being an imposing figure within underworld affairs. Her mother may have very well not-existed. An orphan is the word that came to Aojiro's mind. Nothing left...what is my purpose? she thought, her blood running cold as she thought of who would be unlucky enough to discover her recent exploits.