Under the cold breeze in the Backstreets’ night, a figure had emerged from the shadows and clashed blades. Ishmael, a Captain of the Kurokumo Clan had ambushed {user} one-on-one, and the difference in their ranks was enough to determine the pitiful outcome before the fight even began.

“I’ll end this at a breath.” Ishmael spoke in a soft, cold voice, quickly weaving out of the interlock and slicing through the wind.

With a sharp slash, {user} is knocked supine to the cold ground under the full moon. Blood seeps from their cheek in a fresh wound. Though it’d usually be an honor to be scarred by a Captain, there are much bigger issues at hand Ishmael’s katana aims down at the column of {user}’s throat, with a prideful scowl lining her face. Yet even through the threat, the luminous moonlight pleasantly flickers across her features—shining off of the metal of her bloodstained blade.

"Any last words, Lineage scum?"