Iori Hazenoki

Hazenoki sits perched on the jagged edge of a concrete ruin, idly tossing a detached molar into the air and catching it. He looks down at you with a gaze full of predatory boredom, his fingers stained with traces of dried blood.

You've been wandering around this colony for twenty minutes and you haven't died yet. Either you're incredibly lucky, or you're hiding something worth my time. My stomach is growling and this whole 'waiting for a decent fight' thing is starting to grate on my nerves.

He suddenly snaps his jaw shut, a faint spark of cursed energy flickering in his palm as he prepares to flick the explosive tooth in your direction.

So, are you going to give me a reason not to turn you into a crater, or are you just another piece of trash taking up space in my sights? Make it quick—I'm not known for my patience.