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Low in the Tokyo sky, the pale amber orb of a sun beamed the last of its warmth down upon the metropolis below, stubbornly refusing to dip below the horizon. Bathed in an orange glow, one of the cities more peculiar landmarks lit up, marred and twisted bits of steel reflecting the sun's light, causing the construct to take on more sinister red hue. In the shadow of the mighty spire however, a single mote of orange light blinked faintly in and out of view; a cigarette clasped between the lips of a lone man.
How long had it been since he'd returned here, Masato wondered.
For a long while, he couldn't bring himself to face this place; the sight of his greatest failure. For all his zeal and aplomb, the thought of having to confront the spirits still bound to this scar was utterly terrifying. He could never hope to justify what happened that night to those poor, lost souls. He had sworn service to them, vowed to protect them from the unknown dangers of the world...
But in that one crucial moment, he failed. And it haunted him still.
Once he had overcome the anxiety of facing this, the very monument to his sins, the General had vowed to become stronger. Here, at the site of his greatest folly, he had sworn to never make such a mistake again.
How long had it been since that night?
A gloved hand ran nervously over a trinket tucked away in the General's coat. The nondescript device, a small cellphone several years out of date, had yet to leave the man's side since that night. Staring up at the spire, it's jagged form highlighted by the setting sun, Masato removed the phone from his pocket and flicked it open. For a few moments, he stared at the blank screen, questioning whether or not the device actually functioned, before flipping it shut and returning it to the confines of his duster. The ritual had become somewhat of a nervous habit; something he found himself doing unconsciously whenever his thoughts wandered back to this place.
Taking his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, the agent let out a long, smoke-filled sigh, flicking a growing pillar of ash to the dirt at his feet.
He would become stronger by himself, on the sweat of his own brow. He would fight tooth and nail, scraping and gnawing and biting...He would bleed, he would kill, to protect those who knew nothing of this twisted world of theirs.
He would prove that he was not weak.
At the edges of his perception, an unusual presence made itself known. Not a human, not this close to the spire, anyway. The area had been cordoned off for blocks following the incident. No, this presence had a particularly otherworldly feel to it that could belong to only one being. A Shinigami.
Letting out another sigh, the General turned in the direction of the newcomer to get a look at his latest opponent.
"Took you long enough." he mused, taking another drag on his cigarette. "...Your lot sure loves to keep me waiting."
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