Cordite fills the air. So thick it's suffocating. So thick it drowns even the scent of blood, and rest assured is plenty of blood.
A body lies slumped against a wall, freshly repainted with the contents of their skull. Another lies face down, a hole blasted through their sternum and out other side. There are ten others like them. Ten other corpses broken and ruptured, their wounds alight, aflame, burning. Burning with heatless flames; burning with pale smoke. Gunsmoke.
Amidst all this a man sits alone at the head of someone else's table. He had hoped to look presentable but that seems to have been a lost cause; try as he might he couldn't quite rid the bloodstains from his hands, nor could he quite keep his suit from getting so moth-eaten. But as he thought it over Shichiro Tsukuda couldn't help but think that perhaps it was better this way. His life had never quite gone according to plan, it never quite felt like he was fully in control, it was never not this messy turbulent thing, so why should his death be any neater? Exhaling, he watches the smoke billow from his mouth and with it his last shreds of life.
* * *The bar's exterior walls are comprised of glass and offer little resistance as Noriko crashes straight through. Her eyes scan the room, the smoke thick but not to the point of obscuring her gaze. Half-eaten meals rest on empty tables, plates lie shattered on the floor, a child's toy is left abandoned. There were more than twelve people here. At least one child too. But there are only twelve corpses, all adult men, well-dressed, not staff either. This wasn't some random massacre, this was a targeted attack.
Emily is right behind her, not flying but not too far from it either looking to all the world like the heroine of a wuxia film, if they made wuxia films about American biker gangs. In the next moment Mizuki is at her side, blade at the ready.
The culprit it would appear is a middle-aged man, broad shouldered with a powerful build beginning show the ravages of time. You imagine his suit has seen better days too, not least of all courtesy of the bullet hole punched through it.
There is no wound behind it. He's sitting at a table smoking a cigarette, his eyes alert but not tense as they scan over y'all. They narrow imperceptibly, almost quizzically as they reach Emily though ultimately no comment is passed.
Looking at the pack on the table, Emily, you'd recognize the cigarettes he's smoking as being absolute bottom shelf stuff, you'd sooner try smoking your own lighter than one of those.
Mizuki, you'd notice that a couple of corpses are missing part of their pinkies. And that man? He's wearing a pin on his suit. You don't recognize the clan, but it speaks volumes regardless. They don't wear those anymore. And there's three reasons you can think of why someone would be wearing one to a crime scene like this. One - some sort of false flag, unlikely. Two - they simply don't care, not impossible. Three - it simply doesn't matter anymore, the clan doesn't exist anymore, something like that. If you had to guess, this would be case three.
He takes another drag, and at last he speaks, with the voice of a man clearly well-acquainted with nicotine.
"I don't have much time." he nods at his cigarette
"When this goes out, it will take my body."He looks y'all in the eye.
"Please if you would, kill me."A Covenant is in essence a contract between an Aramitama and a host. The host gains the Aramitama's power for the purpose of fulfilling some service. In exchange upon fulfilling their side of the contract, the Aramitama will devour their host's soul* and claim their body, gaining a considerable boost in power in the process.
As the Covenant functions as a ritual, the Aramitama gains substantially more power from consuming hosts compared to other souls.
Aramitama can form Covenants with non-Awakened beings such as mundane humans, with such hosts becoming capable of seeing through the perceptual filter like any other Awakened.
*A soul is essentially an important thing living beings need to continue living. It does not however contain their existence/consciousness/etc. so death by soul loss is not going to be inherently worse than death through any other given method.
The man is seated, a large table situated between y'all and him. Along your righthand sides are the panes of glass that form the exterior walls of the bar, the one immediately to your right having been shattered by your squad's entrance. To your left would be the way to the kitchen.
Acacius, you would know that if that man is what you think he is (that is to say, an Aramitama's host), then he's a dead man walking and you all might as well kill him while he's all nice and cooperative. There's no way to save him.
You've tried before. It's only natural. An Aramitama will take everything. Body. Soul. You meanwhile have far more generous terms, it was only natural to try and steal from your competition. Shame it's not feasible.