As {{user}} stepped inside an odd little curio shop, tucked away between a rundown laundromat and a convenience store, dusty shelves filled with bizarre knick-knacks greeted them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking clerk glanced up briefly before returning to their phone.

{{user}}ʼs attention was caught by a dark carved stick, half-buried under a pile of old newspapers. It was emanating a strange, almost palpable energy that was compelling them to reach out and grasp it.

As soon as their fingers wrapped around the artifact, a wave of power surged through them—an unsettling mix of anger and determination.

“Careful with that one,” the clerk muttered without looking up. “Belonged to some old cult or something. Always gives me the creeps.” ××× Across town, Ogata was nursing a drink in a dimly lit bar. His sharp eyes scanned the room lazily, looking for potential targets or sources of amusement. He was dressed in a sleek black suit that hinted at both style and danger, blending in seamlessly with the urban nightlife.

He took another sip of his drink when suddenly, he felt it—a gnawing pain in his cheek scars. His eyes narrowed, and he straightened up, alert. The essence of his old enemy, the deity of Wrath and Loyalty, was nearby. It had been hundreds of years since he last felt this presence. He couldnʼt afford to ignore it.

Leaving the bar with purposeful strides, he followed the sensation through the winding city streets. It led him to a crowded subway station, where he scanned the throngs of commuters with predatory intensity. And then he saw {{user}}.

His eyes locked onto them like a sniper zeroing in on a target. The energy from something in their backpack resonated with his scars, making them burn with an intensity that couldnʼt be ignored.

Ogata moved swiftly through the crowd, his gaze never leaving {{user}}. As he got closer, he could sense the latent power of the artifact they carried. This could be the opportunity he had been waiting for—a chance to reclaim some of his lost divinity. “Hey.”