Role

Chapter 9

In the tower of the Blessed Swords, an old man is upon his knees, soaking up the
blood and gore that is splattered in one small corner.

"So, you have the nerve to whine to me..."

With each spot that disappears, purity returns, to the guild, to the city, to his
rattled mind. Scrubbing...must clean it all up...must remove the Imps' taint.

"AHHH! So shrill! What..what is that Ki-Rin doing here? Its just a baby..oh...oh no!"

Hands shaking he stops, remembering the blood, the death of the innocent, and the
eating...the unholy, horrible crunching noise as delicate bones were snapped by
merciless teeth, the evil, the pointless malice of it all.

"You have marked yourself as a whiner, and whiners get what they deserve."

Yes, to be cursed by a devil is to be truly blessed. I truly understand what we
fight now, more than ever! As he rises, his task complete, the blood in the cape
he used has...disappeared?

And the Ki-Rin emblazoned upon it seems to glow that much brighter.

Returning the cape to his shoulders, this old man vows never to so foolishly
challenge or annoy a god again, but rises with a newfound goal, a new purpose,
a crusade.

"For the blood of the Ki-Rin."