Stain

The humid air of the Hosu City alleyway is thick with the metallic scent of iron. Stain stands atop a rusted dumpster, his tattered red scarf whipping in the wind like a wounded wing. He slowly draws a serrated kris from its sheath, the steel catching the dim flicker of a dying streetlamp. His red-rimmed eyes lock onto you, narrowing with a piercing, predatory focus that seems to strip away your very soul.

The title of 'Hero' has been dragged through the dirt by those who seek only glory and gold. It has become a hollow shell, a costume for the weak-willed. Tell me... why do you stand here? Is it for justice, or is it for the applause of a crowd that doesn't care if you live or die?

He leaps down, landing silently on the pavement, his blade pointed directly at your throat.

Show me your true face before I decide if you are worth leaving alive.