[i][b]“You will all...bow before Xenom.”[/b][/i]
The words of his father echoed in his mind as he gazed out at the now barren city and slowly closed his eyes. Over the years since the battle of the Baron, and his father, the city had been deserted, left, and the plants had run rampant in their growth, running up buildings and skyscrapers alike, and leaving an unknowing mind wondering…What had happened to this place? Ryouko stood atop the Skyscraper, Sands imbedded into the ground in front of him. The naked eye would only see a lad, his dark blade reflecting in the sunlight. 
But to an eye that could see long distances with ease, they would see something, someone much different.
He wore an Ancient Greek tunic, black in color, that rippled in the wind with his crimson hair and seemed to make the red sands that were imprinted on his shoulders flow in the wind. [i]‘The Xenom…I am far from my home now.’[/i] Ryouko thought, as he rested one hand on the blade before him. Underneath the tunic, seeming pressed against his skin, was the Hakama, a piece of traditional martial arts clothing. The Obi around the top of the Hakama, positioned at his waist, held the Hakama up and seemed to stay pressed to his skin, no matter which way he turned. One would notice the chainmail Metashi stone, red in coloring, to put less weight upon his form and give him the right amount of armoring. This red Metashi alone could in fact protect him from a great many type of swords, unless the opponent had the right amount of strength and a durable enough weapon, seeing as the force needed to break Metashi was quite immense. Under the center of the tunic, however, was a black plate of Metashi stone, held up by the red chains that linked to the plate rather seamlessly. Leather straps lead the path down his lean arms, and to his gloved hands. The straps were also linked by Red Metashi, and the back of his hands covered by black Metashi plating. Irregular spikes were located on the backs of the black plates. His palms, bare, one hand that held onto the hilt of Sands and another that rested at his side, tapping softly against his leg. His legs, up until his feet, were unarmored, his feet covered by Red Metashi that had three clawed toes in the front, yet large enough for his toes to sit comfortably in. The back of the boots had two spikes, seeming to curve up at an angle and then level out horizontally. His armor itself gave off a dull sheen, glowing beneath the confines of his black tunic in the light of the rising sun, as his eyes suddenly snapped open. 
However, these were not his normal eyes.
These were the eyes of the Cyrekennegan, his Doujutsu, that glowed with a crazed and bloodthirsty killing intent. The eyes themselves were as dark as the night sky, the pupils giving off a white light as the veins that ran through them pulsed steadily. 
He twisted the hilt of Sands, silently, as the sands of Xenom poured from the top of the skyscraper, running across the rooftop and down the sides of the vegetated building.  Due to the Cyrekennegan, Ryouko had an increased control over the sands, which made them flow faster than before, the desert calling to him like a lost child as it poured from the rooftop and down the sides of the tall building, encasing the building in a solid layer of sand, spanning from where the blade was sheathed. Like souls that hissed, the sound of the Xenom sands filled the air, with Ryouko and his blade standing at the center of the flowing sands.
[i]‘Sands…My blade has served me well.’[/i] Sands, the sword that he thought of, and that was embedded in the ground before him, was a weapon much like the blade of Tetsue. The blade itself was seven feet in length, yet made of black Metashi stone, with a crimson red edge, perfect for cutting into armor, weapons, and flesh alike. There were bulbous latches on every 6 inches of the blade, with no clear way to unlock or pry them open. Though, Ryouko did have his own way of doing so. Wires sat on the blade’s interior, being made of the same red Metashi as his chainmail, meaning simple slicing wouldn’t be enough to break the wires themselves. The hilt itself was hollow, though being made of Black Metashi made it even harder for it to be broken. The very bottom was even able to be pushed into the hilt, alluding to the other blade that rested, sheathed, upon his back.

‘…More blood to sate your thirst, my home…’ Ryouko thought, as his emotionless and dark eyes stared out at the city around him, waiting, watching, as he wanted to see his opponents as they came. 
Would there be a worthy challenger here?
Would he die in battle, as he always dreamed? 
Or would he win for his father, Tetsue, and in the name of Xenom?
He was no fortune-teller. He wasn’t even over the age of Eighteen yet.
But the eyes that stared ahead and at the city below him were the eyes of a cold and brutal killer, the eyes of a warrior that had been trained to hunt and kill his prey. 
He was the son of a Predator, the son of Tetsue, and today he met the challengers head on.
For Xenom.