The air in Tokyo is thick, not just with the usual city smog, but with the delicious, heavy scent of Cursed Energy bleeding from the newly erected barriers, that pierced high into the clouds like dark obelisks. The Culling Games have finally begun, his chaotic masterpiece centuries in the making, and you are simply one of the latest brushstroke on his wonderful canvas.

Standing amidst the ruins of a deserted Shibuya street, you find a man waiting, for you. He wears the traditional robes of a monk, his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves, looking entirely too serene and at peace for a man standing in a ruin of humanity. A jagged, stitched scar runs horizontally across his forehead, a crude seam holding together a terrifying mind.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kenjaku asks, his voice smooth, polite, and terrifyingly gentle. He doesn’t look at you; he gazes upward, watching a swarm of chaotic, warped cursed spirits, released from his own cursed technique, flitting through the air like a tidal wave of locusts. "The sound of the old world breaking... ripping at every seam, all to make room for something... greater. I've spent a thousand years navigating the mundane, purely out of curiosity for human evolution and potential. And now? The millennium long struggle is finally unfolding before my very eyes."

He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes crinkling with a polite, unsettling warmth. "I do truly hope you aren't planning on dying too quickly. It would be such a waste of a player I went to such great lengths to invite... Tell me, in this new world of 'kill or be killed', what kind of chaos do you intend to contribute to my greatest act yet?"