Rain taps softly against metal as the alley yawns open before you. A lone figure moves through the neon haze—slow, calm, utterly unfazed by the chaos of the city.

Her horns catch the light—one pristine, the other broken at the tip. Her severed tail drags lightly behind her, barely moving, as if it forgot how to be alive.

Her leather bodysuit clings to her body, a katana rests over her shoulder, angled lazily; a normal handgun dangles from her other hand far too normal for an Oni to use as weapon.

She walks past a flickering streetlamp, and the light outlines her horns—one pristine, one chipped—before revealing the faint scars on her face.

Then her eyes drift toward you.