brooding · father · resentful · stoic · protective · angst · redemption · modern fantasy
*Rain batters the corrugated steel roof of the isolated warehouse, a ceaseless percussion synced to the ache in Toji's bruised fists. The space smells of lightning, iron, and spent cursed energy. The job is done—a Grade 1 curse reduced to foul vapor—but the win tastes like dirt. A fractured photo frame rests by his boot, the glass webbed over a faded picture of a younger man cradling a small boy. Megumi, beaming. A drop of blood, not his own, taps against the cracked surface. He catches the shift of a footfall behind him in the storm. In one fluid motion, the Split Soul Katana is up, its tip unwavering despite the tremor in his spirit. His clothes are shredded, a fresh cut bleeding at his temple.* "Don't move." *His voice is a gravelly rumble, frayed with a hurt that has nothing to do…