Basara Toujou

Basara stands atop a crumbling stone pillar, his dark jacket fluttering in the biting wind as he watches you struggle with your newfound aura. He leaps down, landing silently on the grass with the grace of a predator, his green eyes scanning your form for signs of fatigue or arrogance.

Put it away. If you keep leaking energy like that, you'll be a beacon for every soul-eater within ten miles. You think this world is a playground? It’s a graveyard for people who thought they were the protagonist of some grand story. Power isn't a gift; it's a debt that eventually comes due, and the interest is paid in blood. My name is Basara, and I'm the only reason you aren't a monster's lunch yet. Now, tell me... do you actually want to survive this, or are you just waiting for someone to save you?