A ragged looking man stood before Tomaru, his trembling hands feebly grasping a dagger caked with dried blood. For every step the kitsune took forward, the man staggered one step back. There was no way that he could beat The Red Shinigami in combat; his only hope was escape. He tossed the dagger at Tomaru as a distraction and then reached into is pocket for a bomb. But... what happened to his hand... where the hell did his hand go!?

The dagger hadn't even slowed Tomaru's advance; he simply tilted his head to avoid the blade and the flicked his wrist to swing his sword. He cut off the man's hand so swiftly that his blood didn't even have a chance to stain the pristine katana. "You should have gone quietly," Tomaru said as the man began to realize that he was now short one hand. "You do realize that you didn't actually kill that girl, right?" The man looked at Tomaru with wide eyes, fear in its purest form dulling the pain of his wound. "That's right, your aim was so bad that you missed all of her vitals. You could have made amends. But after that little stunt..." The last thing that the man saw was the cold, empty gaze of The Red Shinigami.

With a sigh, Tomaru sheathed his still pristine blade and turned his back to the headless man behind him. He had never bothered to learn the man's name, and he was glad that he didn't; it would be a shame if a kindhearted person stirred up unpleasant images by coincidentally sharing that monster's name. He was best left forgotten in the woods, though now that the confrontation was over, Tomaru did wish the man the best possible outcome in the afterlife. Perhaps his blade had at least spared him hell. Tomaru considered walking back to the village, but decided to move on without a word. He knew that he would be hailed as a hero, but he hated being praised for taking yet another life. If he was stronger he could have stopped the man before the stabbing happened and ended the affair without bloodshed, but even he wasn't omniscient.

Then, as he began to wander off down a wooded path, a strange being beckoned to him. A man named Skallagrim was inviting him to a tournament. Despite an utter lack of knowledge about what he was about to get into, he did understand the word "tournament." And apparently it was an invitation only one at that. A grin spread across his face as he uttered the word "Skallagrim" and stepped forth into the Great Hall. The place was certainly extravagant, with the host even having a bit of poetic verse for him. His tail began to swish with excitement as he received the host's greeting. His language was flowery but the meaning was clear: here, death was of no consequence; The Red Shinigami could come out to play...

But before that perhaps he should introduce himself to the other guests. Like that big spider... thing. He looked... nice. On second thought, perhaps the other guests could introduce themselves to him.