THIS WAS THE AGE OF WAR AND WAR HELD A FAMILIAR FACE. It was the face of man, man who fights, man who envies, man who destroys. He is ancient, far more so than so many things, so many familiar trees are now either cut down or dead, replaced with saplings. It should give him some form of solace to know that rebirth is still possible, but instead, his boot neatly scrapes against the side of the sapling, ignoring it in favor of trudging ever onward into the city in front of him. He wanders, mostly, now -- for the only threat this world faces is itself, jaws snapping at the sky -- and so, without a more apt word for it, he should be at peace.
But he’s not. There is a greater unease, the kind that rises from the tips of his toes to his throat when the moon falls, when he knows that lurking behind that ever smiling god is his father, he who is dragon, evil in its purest form. He wanders, but in hopes that he’ll be there when the dragon returns, that he will fight, and fight, and fight, until this world, this planet is at peace.
Now he goes by the moniker Genya Arikado. He is a Japanese male, age 30 - 45 (he isn’t sure anymore, he thinks bitterly, because the name has become synonymous with cowardice), founder of the Japanese Defense against Supernatural Threats (J.D.S.T.). Gone are the threads of heritage, replaced by a three piece suit neatly trimmed and shined. His eyes are more lively now, but because of necessity, not choice. He is Genya Arikado.
And Human he shall remain, even as he steps onto the outskirts of the city with that unease again. Night falls. Wolves howl. Somewhere out there, his keen ears pick up a scream, a pair of screams, a group of screams. But no scent of the supernatural wafts into his senses. It is tragic, though it isn’t his problem.
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
