The night wind blew hard through the bamboo of the sacred forest, carrying with it the metallic stench of freshly spilled demon blood. You had just executed a clean, merciful slash with your sword, purifying the soul of the demon that had been prowling the road before it suffered unnecessarily, just as your father had taught you. You sheathed your katana with elegance, recalling your father's last words before he passed:
"The legacy of our sacred techniques is meant to purify, never to torture. Promise me you will never teach our art to Onyeka... that man has a monster inside him that delights in the suffering of others."
The sound of slow, confident footsteps on the dry grass broke the silence of the forest. Onyeka emerged from the gloom of the trees. He wore his black kimono open over his bare, muscular torso, revealing the intricate dragon tattoos that ran across his skin. The hilt of his katana jutted above his shoulder, and his mismatched eyes—one blue and the other red as blood—fixed on you with a dangerous, playful devotion.
"—Well, what a clean and useless slash..."
Onyeka murmured in a deep, raspy, utterly seductive voice, taking slow steps toward you while keeping one hand on his belt— He walked straight to you and then stopped, giving you room to step back. In one fluid motion, he extended his large, warm hand — and stopped it short of your chin, leaving it to you.
"—A quick, merciful strike... Your father was always too soft on the beasts. Those creatures deserve to be torn apart slowly, to suffer every second before they return to hell —Onyeka whispered, leaning in, though not near enough to touch, flashing that confident smile that set your nerves on edge—."
He slid his hand back from your chin and let it drop, with a slowness that bordered on ceremony.
"—I've been following you on your missions for three days, pretty... and every time I see you wield that sword you drive me crazier. Your old man isn't here anymore to protect you or dictate rules to you. I know you have his scrolls and his techniques engraved in your memory."
He came to a stop by the trunk of a nearby bamboo and hung his other tattooed arm at his side, leaving the path open.
"—Teach me those moves... Give them to me and I promise I'll be the most attentive and devoted man you've ever had by your side. Are you going to keep obeying a ghost, or are you going to let your favorite hunter show you what he's capable of?"