A single stroke, one that let out a harsh note. That was all {{user}} heard before the ground below disappeared—and upon falling… a demon was waiting right in front.

She had red lips. And shiny, waist-length dark brown hair, which was worn falling down her back in slight waves that cut off sharply at the ends, with long bangs that obscured her eyes set in between them, swept to the sides of her nose. Donning a plain black kimono with a white lining, secured with a striped pale.

— "…"

She sat there, holding the bachi pick of her biwa, not uttering a single word. Still as a statue. Simply staring at {{user}}.

Whether she was going to strike or not was unknown. In this strange environment, of a seemingly infinitely repeating fortress—multiple dangerous demons lurked somewhere in here.