[bg=b0b0b0][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, padding: 15px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; -moz-border-radius: 15px 15px 15px 15px;][atrb=width,480,true] If it's kind words that you want I'll give them all to you generously Even with a love song so charming That it makes your heart quiver Like a butterfly that is struggling confusedly in a spider's web By the time you realize it You can no longer break away Putting on a dress of anguish Cry and scream into The dark night sky Even though it hurts to make a wish I received the courage to fight from you burn my D R E A D CALL ME: Zetsumei Ashihara (葦原 絶命) ALTERNATIVELY: Nothing in particular. Kira's nearly smothered him with pet names, though. He tolerates most nicknames- after all, his given name isn't exactly a charming or happy one. I HAVE LIVED: 25, 11/20 (♏) DEEP DOWN, I AM: Male ...MY PREFERENCE? Heterosexual I WORK AS: A concert violinist, though after certain... lifestyle changes he's drifting further and further from his career. More actively works as a butcher, the occupation his family had groomed him towards in the first place. YOU'LL SEE ME WITH: DEAD PEOPLE Individual Persona-users once he gets his watch. I won't forget your kind smile Or your eyes hidden with sorrow the path is O P E N HEIGHT: 5'10" WEIGHT: 160 lbs HAIR: A distinctive blue color, and rather well-kept. Looks uncomfortably similar to some other guy around here with blue hair, really... EYES: The same shade of blue as his hair. Okay, okay, now he's really starting to sound like somebody else around here. GENERAL STYLE: For growing up in a rural town, Zetsumei doesn't dress like it. With a preference for formal attire- suits, ties, and the like- he often dresses rather lavishly unless he's going out to 'meet new people', in which case he'll wear much more inconspicuous clothing. He's almost always wearing long scarves, though- just another quirk of his. Zetsumei tends to wear distinctive colors, with blue being a personal favorite, though as long as he's dressed to impress, color isn't really a concern. When he's just traveling around town- shopping and the like- he'll wear unremarkable clothing. The only two articles that Zetsumei distinctively wears almost all the time are a long blue scarf he keeps snugly wrapped around his neck, and a long white coat with blue trim. EXTRAS: Not visible, but Zetsumei speaks a very obvious Kobe-ben dialect. Physically, his hands give away the more brutal of his two occupations- his fingers in particular have been calloused and scarred after years of slip-ups and close calls from when he was younger and inexperienced with cleavers. His left little finger is more severely mutilated, making it very obvious even after all these years that it was sewn back on. He's regained enough function to use it, but this doesn't mean it's not extremely painful to do so. In fact, his entire left hand is carved with large, slash-like scars, some more faded than others. At the last moment their souls sing Along haunting voices of lone shadows deep breath deep B R E A T H POSITIVES: - Intelligent - Determined - Confident - Extremely calm and level-headed - Rather charming and alluring when he wants to be... whether it's genuine or a trap is entirely situational. NEGATIVES: - Sadomasochistic (With a heavy leaning towards sadism) - Manipulative - Misanthropic - Extremely hedonistic about his crimes (A thrill killer) - Aloof OVERALL PERSONALITY: Zetsumei Ashihara's double life- balancing his work and social life with the fact he's a cold-blooded killer- has caused an obvious influence on the thoughts that circulate throughout his mind at every moment. Often acting completely two-faced, there seem to be three sides that he shows off to different people- one reserved for Kira, one reserved for casual social instances... and one reserved for those he's about to slaughter. What most people see is a carefully-crafted facade, and Zetsumei'd prefer to keep it that way. The more people know about who he really is, the more precarious maintaining his double life becomes- and any threat is bound to be quietly eliminated. Zetsumei's background has had a significant impact on his work ethic, however. Believing that fortune can only be attained by working for it- that luck is a non-existent factor in most cases, and loathing those who rely on it to gain riches. After all, the same 'luck of the draw' such people rely upon is the same luck as the random victims Zetsumei hunts down and slaughters... so is it really a wise thing to rely on? His dialect isn't the only thing that carried over from Kobe- value is entirely self-made, as far as Zetsumei's concerned. For this reason, he's not exactly generous or loose with his money- he spoils Kira, but chances are he won't open his wallet up at all for anybody else. Zetsumei's often seen as stingy and a bit of a hard-ass by his acquaintances for this reason, and the fact he'd rather kill most people than so much as strike up a conversation with them means he stays away from most social situations entirely. Aside from going out to bars with Kira and working with the orchestra- and dealing with customers in the butcher shop- he'd rather stay away from people almost entirely unless he's hunting them down, or thinks they'd be a viable target in the future. He'll engage in conversation only for his benefit- after all... if you make somebody your friend, they'll be caught all the more off guard when you come up to them and drive a knife in their throat. He'll be a bit more lenient if Kira associates with somebody- after all, he cares more about her happiness than avoiding a conversation or two, and if he needs to go along with it... so be it. He's academically intelligent- it was basically a requirement for medical school, after all- but ever since his childhood, the stigma of Zetsumei's name has either pushed people away from him or polarized them, making his social wits a bit less keen. After meeting Kira, however- after embracing the monstrosity within his mind rather than shunning it and listening to his peers- it changed. Three years of practice, three years of casual conversation... Zetsumei's learned to lead on people with a smile and a kind favor quite well. Why drag somebody to a back alley with rope when you can gain their trust enough to have them follow you there? He sees people as an expendable source of his thrills, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to talk to them. He can smooth-talk his way out of almost every situation, but there's still always going to be that vague aura of foreboding that Zetsumei can't seem to shake off- he never has been able to, after all. The man's almost completely unshakable- which isn't really surprising considering his life and his 'hobby'. Fear isn't a word he can even really identify with a feeling- it's just... never been there. Loathing, yes, hatred, yes... but never fear. When he saw the butchering of cattle, there was only fascination- and the first time his victims fought back with knives, pipes, and then guns- he only felt a disturbed rush of adrenaline, a high of energy and excitement. The risk only made the experience better. Even if somebody went after Zetsumei, seeking revenge- there would be no 'fear'. Only the anticipation for the thrill of the kill. Of course, there is a much more violent side to Zetsumei than the cold, stoic demeanor that he usually gives off- save around Kira- that can emerge when he isn't attacking. If something goes wrong- if a plan gets foiled, if he's found out, if somebody manages to say one of the very few things that will provoke him, the man's sent into a crazed frenzy. There's absolutely no restraint- he spends his sense of restraint every waking second trying not to cut the throat and cut apart the first random person he sees. His killings are either cold, calm, and calculated- a good majority of them, after all, since the slightest mistake or forgetting the smallest trace of evidence could lead to a lifetime rotting in a cell... or heated, spontaneous, and berserk. There is no middle ground- Zetsumei either has a firm grasp on his sanity and composure, or he has no grasp at all. Years of getting away with his crimes have led to him having a healthy ego- to the point of arrogance at some times- and years of slip-ups and close calls (and his relationship with Kira) have led to his sadistic streak turning into a sadomasochistic one. Pain is still a distressing thing- there's still stinging and agony- but Zetsumei gets a rush out of it. He's blocked out such petty emotions as sympathy, chivalry, and kindness, and replaced them with bloodlust, cruelty, and killing any sense of remorse or guilt he may have had at some point for his thoughts or his actions. Any positive emotion has been saved for one person- the one person he truly views as a human being and not a potential victim. Zetsumei has a good idea of being polite, being considerate, and helping people out on their daily routine because of how he was raised- holding doors, giving directions, and so forth, but Kira's the only woman- or human being, for that matter- who he'll truly go out of his way for. Her grudges become his- the people she wants gone quickly disappear. One would almost accuse Zetsumei of being subservient, but as far as he's concerned, it's simply how true love works- do anything for the one you care for... and they'll do anything for you. This can lead to him being violently jealous, however, provoking one of his few moments of absolute rage. He has yet to kill a man solely for looking at Kira the wrong way- he'd find a few other excuses to justify why he should put forth the effort it'd take to dismember the body into little, unidentifiable pieces- but it's not like it'd exactly be a hard thing to do. He's become an expert at psychological warfare thanks to this jealousy- knowing how to make his future victims beg for their lives days before he acts, how to make sure every bump in the night jolts them awake. Whether it's a bloody hand print on their window or a much gorier display outside their door, he'll find a way to get his point across- a fair warning of sorts. Zetsumei respects himself, respects his needs, wishes and his desires... it's just fortunate that almost all of them coincide with Kira's. He never worries about other men actually engaging in a relationship with Kira because his trust in her is complete- after three years of constant murder together, he'd have no reason to suspect her now. Really, the apathetic, uncaring shell that Zetsumei wears in public is probably the best one to see- being ignored or brushed aside as another simple civilian means he won't go after whoever he sees, and being imagined as the antisocial butcher who has the common decency to help somebody out- even if he's eerily quiet and almost grudging during the process- is more convenient and helpful to casting suspicion off of him than letting his psychotic tendencies be seen. Zetsumei's terrifyingly unpredictable- though the randomness of his crimes is comforting in a sickening sort of way. He's just as likely to attack you as he is the person next to you- just as likely to slaughter your neighbor. He's an enemy to all and friend to nearly none... but for the very, very few who can consider Zetsumei an ally, he'll be an ally until the very end- and he won't waver at all. CHARACTER TIME PERIOD: Present~ HISTORY: Zetsumei Ashihara was born on a perfectly normal day in an exceedingly normal, quaint town, a scattered settlement just far away enough from Kobe to be viable for consistent agriculture. He was judged to be an exceedingly healthy child... though the first thing that seemed off about the young boy was his name. Zetsumei. There was disapproval and scorn- if the family really only planned to have one son to carry on their name, why give him a name that was so inherently foul? Zetsumei never understood the reasons behind his name. He asked his quiet mother, questioned his father- and in their individual ways, they made it quite clear that they would never answer his question. Years later- decades later- they would refuse to answer him. He was but a young boy when he first confronted his father about the meaning behind the word, and the man knelt down and stared at him. "A man's name is not what matters, Zetsumei. What matters in a man's life is what he builds with his own hands- not the burden his name carries for him. Those who rely on their names crumble when they must prove themselves by their deeds alone." His father would rest his torn, worn hands on his son's shoulders with an overbearing strength- and, assuming that he had made the point quite clear, he never brought up the subject of Zetsumei's name again, even if his son was really less than satisfied with this answer. Was his father trying to cripple him? Trying to make a roadblock in his life? Certainly, other boys were named for strength, for wisdom, for visions of a hopeful future- every time Zetsumei stared at his name, he was staring at a reminder that he would one day die. Zetsumei eventually tossed these concerns aside and instead focused on the things his father drilled into his mind- a strong work ethic, frugality, and independence. His father made it quite clear, in fact, even when the boy was young- once Zetsumei could head off to college, his home would be closed. The minute he left was the minute he would be forced to rely on himself from there-on out. Until that day, his father assured, he would make sure he taught his son everything about life that he could... and there was only so much to learn in their isolated community, with his family's focus on raising cattle. Their family lived a fairly humble life on a relatively small piece of land- not conducive to large herds- and so his father made the best use of this by raising Tajima bulls, slaughtering them himself, and making more than enough per head of cattle to justify continuing this business. He insisted Zetsumei follow in his footsteps and carry on the business that had been in the family for several generations. Really, this was more demanded than asked, but Zetsumei cared little either way- he knew no life outside their community, so why resist something that his father would inevitably make him do anyway? This was the man who was supporting his future- it would be wise to stay on his good side. And so Zetsumei, after walking back home from school every day, settled into a normal routine. At first he did mundane things- fetching things his father requested, doing head counts of their exceedingly small group to ensure that none of the bulls had gotten loose... tame things that required no effort, numbing, repetitive tasks that drove his training to be as much of a daily ritual as schoolwork. He anticipated a typical life in the Japanese workforce, and he accepted his fate quietly- and then his father slowly trained him to be more involved. Then he insisted Zetsumei observe the slaughter of the cattle when the boy was only ten. That was where the dark, downward spiral began. He watched not the techniques or the method, not the practiced art or the swift death- no. He found himself focusing only on the crimson pools, on the ungodly stench, on the foul, organic pile of gore left before the cattle would be cleaned, and his father would turn the desirable parts into marketable cuts. His mind was ingrained with that sight- the variety of flesh, the cornucopia of insides that seemed so neatly hidden within the body of what was once a very average bull. A sick, disgusting voice in his mind began to chant a mantra in his ear, as he marveled at the clotting chunks of blood and the discarded piles of organs, each one ever-so-slightly different from the next. He wanted to see more. Not just cattle. More than that. If mere cattle were that interesting, what would the insides of a human reveal? What would a person look like, if they were torn open, if they were splayed apart to have all of their guts spill out upon the ground in their naked glory, unobstructed by such distractions as flesh? It was a twisted, dark beast dancing about in the recesses of his young mind, an uncharacteristically intense desire waiting for an excuse to show itself. He changed after that first trip to the slaughterhouse- Zetsumei became more obsessive, more defensive if inquired about anything, all while formulating the darkest of human thoughts. He would put on a normal face, continue to perform well in school, and appear to be a completely normal boy- promising, really. It only got worse when his father began to train him in cutting- in chopping muscle, splitting spines, and cutting through bone in one decisive movement. His mother had been quiet, but observant, a pillar of powerful protest who cleverly pushed Zetsumei away from the slaughterhouse, the butcher shop and the blade. She saw that taint in his eyes- and, in later years, she would prove to be the one whose suspicions were correct, not his father's. Zetsumei's mother had heard the whispers of hysteria, the paranoia that had been sweeping the country about cattle being tainted with mad cow disease- a paranoia that would soon cripple the business permanently. Zetsumei's mother had an incredible ability, it seemed, to predict what would happen in the future, and in retrospect, it's obvious that she was trying to steer her son away from what he became. Only a few months after Zetsumei's first trip to the slaughter house, his mother quietly pulled him aside and offered him a violin. Baffled by this sudden gift, Zetsumei inquired why his mother was encouraging him to take up the instrument. After all, at the time, he was twelve- the people who truly knew how to play the violin, the ones who could weave a story with a bow and strings... they grew up with the instrument. They learned to walk as they learned to pick out notes, learned their alphabet as they learned to read sheet music, learning how to speak with both words and instrumental sound. Wasn't it a bit late- in his opinion, at least- to start playing an instrument and hope to catch up to other children his age who had been raised with a violin so closely it was almost their sibling? It was pointless, futile, a waste of effort... His mother quickly shot down his protests by telling him that a well-rounded man was one who would attract women- after all, butchers were traditionally looked down upon- even if he did carry on the family business, who would he have to carry on the family name? A well-rounded boy was a healthy one, and so, despite her son's baffled response, he obliged, replacing trips to the slaughterhouse with days of staying home and practicing. Little did he know just how observant his mother was- the cruel beast she saw in her son's eyes, the wicked urge waiting to tear apart every last shred of innocence. The more he was around that brutal job- the more he was around the guts, the knives, the blood- the more soulless he seemed to become. Perhaps by replacing the brutality of the cleaver with the finesse of the bow and strings, she could cage the beast before it got loose. She would at least try. Zetsumei's father saw nothing wrong with what he was exposing his son to, assuring his wife that Zetsumei was perfectly stable. Why was she so concerned- more importantly, why did she seem so set on sabotaging him? He was going to become a butcher. He was going to take up the family trade. He had no time to distract himself with this musical foolishness, so why did she insist on it? He was doing fine in school- why burden him? He refused to entertain the idea that perhaps taking his son to the slaughterhouse that day had a negative impact- he was just toughening his son up. ...After all, no good butcher vomited at the sight of an animal being cut apart, right? At fourteen, Zetsumei noticed the tension between his parents, his father's bullheaded stubbornness clouding the fact that something was wrong. Perhaps he was a bit of a morbid boy, but that only made him more cut out for the job later on, his father insisted. A bit of dark humor or odd interests didn't mean he was going to start running around town killing cats and stabbing people in the ankles. His mother relented, but only out of frustration- she knew something was going to happen. Some day, Zetsumei was going to do something, and nobody was listening to her. He quietly took the heavy, rustic keys that belonged to the old padlock on the back door of the butcher shop- where the knives were, where Zetsumei, under his father's supervision, had begun to learn the tricks of the trade. There was no stifling guardian now- no dissenting voice to tell him what to do or not do. Now he needed to listen only to his instincts- to himself- to that monstrous, addictive impulse. Watching the bulls die didn't appease it. Watching them be torn apart didn't appease it. No, not even driving the knives into their flesh and guts himself appeased it. It was no voice, but an omnipresence- it asked him nothing. It commanded. It was a hungry abomination tearing at his mind, screaming for something that would finally satisfy it- and Zetsumei stared at the cleaver that he was now tightly clutching in his right hand. He slowly placed his left hand on the cutting board, extending his little finger while keeping the rest of his hand in a tightly balled fist. The presence wanted bloodshed, did it not? Human bloodshed, correct? If he could end these impulses once and for all, perhaps all he had to do was mutilate himself. He wouldn't miss a single, small finger- it was useful while playing the violin, but the thought didn't cross his mind as he stared at the small digit resting where so many pieces of animals had been torn apart in the past. It would be no big loss, and perhaps he could stop these urges that had plagued him for so long. He raised the cleaver decisively, letting it hover in the air. What did a human's insides look like? What did the inside of a finger look like? What was the bone like if shattered into bits by a strike? And then, as decisively as he would have cut apart a slice of beef, with such precision and determination that his father would have been proud of his skill... Slam.

[/b]

His hand felt warm. There was no pain- no agonizing reaction, no sign that anything had happened at all. He lifted the cleaver to see the blood splattered on the blade, the slightest traces of sinew, muscle, and skin that had escaped the sharpened cleaver's decimation surrounding his hand in a field of scattered flesh. He looked down at his left hand- at the bony knob of his knuckle where the finger had once been- and then over at the finger, several inches away, still oozing blood. Zetsumei cared little for the digit, however- what he found himself staring at was the concentrated jet of blood that decided to escape from the stump.

It was dark. It wasn't bright enough. There wasn't enough bone- enough muscle- there wasn't enough to stare at. With his hand contorting in violent spasms, he forced it back onto the cutting board, ignoring the fact that the board was already painted crimson from the sanguine mess that continued to spurt from the wound that he'd inflicted upon himself. He needed to cut his hand off- needed to cut the whole thing off- that was the only way to get enough blood. His brain had still failed to register what he had done- what he had done to himself- but it would react soon enough... and violently.

The nerves fired off, as the twitching spasms became full-blown convulsions, Zetsumei immediately dropping the cleaver that he had still been tightly gripping- no. He had to finish this. He had to get rid of the whole hand. The urges were still whispering in his ear, pulling at his mind. More blood, more blood, more. Without even thinking, his left hand- now dyed a sick, foul shade of red- felt for the blade, but with his hand slicked with blood, his grip on the blade failed- and tore the skin from his hand in the process. There was so much fire, so much pain- Zetsumei didn't realize he couldn't pick the cleaver up, that every attempt just resulted in him mutilating his hand more- he had to get the blade and finish the job.

His memory of the hours afterwards was a blur of sirens and voices, of the burning smell of disinfectant and sterility. The first moment he could actually recall was him staring at his hand, heavily wrapped as if it was mummified. A doctor was staring at him, telling him he was lucky he was young, or that there would've been no point in re-attaching the finger at all- telling him that he was lucky he didn't permanently damage the rest of his hand when he slipped up with the cleaver and carved more wounds into himself. If it was an accident- it was certainly the most clean-cut accident he'd ever seen, with the finger almost perfectly intact save for its absence from Zetsumei's hand.

His father went along with the 'accident' explanation, for one reason, and one reason only. Their town was small- if they heard about his son going insane and lopping his own finger off... that would only hurt the business more than it was already suffering from the mad cow disease scare. Zetsumei just wanted to practice- no doubt with some meat- and slipped. That was the end of it, as far as he was concerned. He didn't try to find explanations for the eerily clean cut, the fact that Zetsumei had obviously tried to pick up the cleaver after dropping it judging by the wounds littering his left hand... none of it. His father wouldn't speak a word about the 'accident' from that day forward.

Zetsumei's mother knew better. The day he came back from that sterile land of white and clean, his pinkie still grossly swollen and deformed by the stitches that bound it back to his hand, she sat him down at the kitchen and interrogated him- perhaps the calmest, most civil interrogation possible. Unlike her husband, she wasn't going to listen to any folly about 'accidents'. Nobody just accidentally cut off one of their fingers perfectly down to the knuckle of their hand.

"...Why did you do it, Zetsumei?"

A passive stare. A calm blink. A false, forged look of appearing hurt or baffled that his mother would dare assume he had such a violent streak as to wound himself like this.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mother. Isn't it obvious? It was a freak accident."

He got up from the table, excusing himself, setting aside his dishes and heading back to his room. He'd asked if he could purchase a left-handed violin after the unfortunate circumstances, but she steadfastly refused. It only took a single statement to embed a permanent grudge into Zetsumei's heart- albeit, not one as large as the one he had for his father, or as intense.

"You have to adapt and compensate for the mistakes you make, Zetsumei. The world won't stop for you- if you want to keep up your skill with the instrument, you'll either use that finger, or you'll learn to play just as well without it."

There had been arguments between Zetsumei's parents- his mother pushing to make him go see a psychologist, a psychiatrist, anybody who was willing to listen to the fourteen-year-old. Again, his father knew the family name was at line, and if this mental professional let one word slip... the rumor could spread like wildfire. Again, his mother gave up out of frustration, another action she'd come to regret. Maybe if Zetsumei had truly been probed with biting questions, with interrogations as to his motive, he would've been caught before his spree even started. ...Perhaps before he even had the first sting of warm human blood splattering around him, with a victim still screaming.

The incident seemed to fade as the years passed by, and Zetsumei- through constant physical therapy and delicate practice- regained a respectable amount of control in his finger. Save for the raw scars marking his hand and the reattached finger, it was as if nothing had happened. The day of Zetsumei's eighteenth birthday came- and, as promised, he was sent off. His mother had arranged for him to head to Tokyo and study there, wherever he chose, in whatever he saw fit. His father expected him to come home and pick up the family business once he had received an education, despite the fact that it would never truly recover from the initial wave of paranoia about beef. His mother wanted him away from it all- away from the knives, away from the cattle, away from the bloodshed. The more she could do to stop something catastrophic from happening, the better, in her eyes.

That urge had never stopped. Every day, every week, every month, every year, it kept demanding more. The finger wasn't enough. The pool of blood that came forth from it wasn't enough. He hated it, hated its insistence and drive, the fact that it had been with him for eight years and still refused to so much as quiet itself. Zetsumei had an idea, however- perhaps whatever it was, whatever fucked-up part of his mind demanded this... it just needed an outlet. If it wanted blood, he could find blood. If it wanted the ripping open of human corpses, he could find those, too. It was all a matter of boarding the train to Tokyo, getting far away from Kobe, and applying to Tokyo Medical University. He got in- fortunately- and Zetsumei was certain he'd found the right path.

A doctor, maybe. A surgeon, perhaps- he could satisfy his sick urge, get enough money to comfortably live and send back to his parents, and command respect all at the same time. There was no visible downside he could see, and so Zetsumei studied diligently, assuring he maintained his position near the top of the class, forsaking any sort of social interaction to ensure his academic success. For four years, Zetsumei studied, working through every class as he got closer and closer to finally being able to call himself a doctor. He kept up his practice of the violin in his free time, but something in his mind always protested. His hands wanted to feel not the bow, but the handle of a heavy knife, the sensation of lifting it and slamming it down on some hunk of flesh, some hunk of screaming, human flesh.

When he cut cadavers, there was no thrill. There was no satisfaction for that violent monster prowling about in his mind, and no relief from its demands. There was nothing to marvel about veins and arteries injected with preservative, shriveled and dried, organs long since deprived of function and life. The skin was cold, the struggle non-existent- a scalpel's cuts were too clean. The air of ceremony, dignity and near-ritual was suffocating and too orderly. He wanted to tear people apart, yes- by now he knew that urge, and knew exactly what it demanded... but he wanted more action. More thrills. More excitement. More screams and hoarse voices begging for their lives before being cut off by a knife to the windpipe. That... that[/b] was what he really wanted, after all these years. He knew the beast's name- knew what it demanded- but he still didn't know how to pacify it.

He loathed it, but at the same time... Zetsumei began to loathe those around him. Back in his small hometown, the stigma of his name was quickly smothered. Here, in Tokyo, the very heart of the country, he'd get odd stares, questioning looks, people inquiring why his parents thought it was a good idea. The more superstitious among his colleagues and classmates always seemed to wash their hands raw after shaking his, as if evil and misfortune emanated from his very fingertips and threatened to infiltrate theirs. He hated such ignorance, such sheepish behavior, such clinging to foolish preconceptions... he despised the beast. But at the same time... he despised people.

It was now a question of whether to follow the societal norms set out around him... or follow his instinct. Killing was taboo- butchering was taboo- his name was taboo. Was he a walking affront to society? If he was to be branded as such a thing... he would have to make sure he was the most powerful affront he could be. No longer would he satisfy himself with cattle, with corpses of people long-since deceased. He would find his prey live. He grabbed a scarf, bought a butcher knife, stuffed it in his coat pocket, and left the campus to prowl the streets.

That night, Zetsumei at last gave in to the primal, horrific desires that had plagued him for so many years- that animalistic urge to see the insides of a human being, to tear them open and see their fresh organs, not some stiff, preserved hunk of flesh that the life had long since seeped out of. He wanted to hunt down another human being, carve them open, and witness the glory for himself- like opening a clock and looking at every gear, carefully put together to make the whole thing work. He wanted to brutally deconstruct it- tear it out bit by bit, destroying what was considered a masterpiece with his own, bare hands. Human beings weren't fascinating- weren't special. But the unique contour of each body, the slightest differences between still-beating hearts... that was what he wanted to see.

He paced down the dark Tokyo streets with a predatory glint in his eye, feeling the weight of the butcher knife in his coat pocket as he looked for the perfect prey, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. ...And then he found it. He found a woman- alone, he noticed- walking down the opposite side of the street. That was when Zetsumei singled her out- she would be the first victim of his repressed urges, the first work of art exposed to the world. She was beautiful, angelic in his eyes... he was both infatuated with her and disgusted with her for existing, but something about the way she moved- the way she carried herself- ...it was intoxicating.[/b]

No more restraint- no more conforming to society's idea of justice. He would spill her blood, and he would revel in the disgusting, gory act. She headed down a darker path- an alleyway- and it took only a split second before Zetsumei bolted after her, murder and desire flaring in his mind as he pinned her to the wall. He had his prey- this was the beginning of a new era. No longer a butcher's son, no longer a medical student- now he would be a terror upon the people of Tokyo.

He expected something out of a stereotypical horror movie as he pulled out the butcher knife- but instead she laughed at him. Zetsumei wasn't even sure if it was mockery- was it enjoyment? Was it anxiety? Who the hell was this woman who was faced with her demise and just chuckled as if it was the most hysterical thing she had seen? He was enraged- and yet, at the same time...

"Going to kill me, then, tough guy? Come on. Do it."

He was baffled- should he just slit her throat and get to work? He hadn't mentally prepared himself for this- for screaming, fighting back, physical attacking... he'd prepared himself for all of that. This? This was something he hadn't expected at all, and his words were uncharacteristically strained and mumbled as he responded. The way she brushed off his initial attack, the way she seemed excited about all of this... his desire to murder was being overshadowed by something else.

"...Who the hell are you?"

He kept the knife hovering mere inches from her throat, kept her pinned against the wall- but he was genuinely confused as to how this woman could just laugh at the idea of some man stalking her, murdering her, and then tearing her apart. He got no real response- he just felt the strange woman grab his scarf tightly, reel him in- and kiss him fiercely. The last spark of murderous intent in his mind dwindled into nothing, the next several minutes consumed by a passion Zetsumei never knew he could feel for anything... let alone anybody.

It was a shady hotel room- the first one they could find. Lust. The beast had taken on a new desire, and he was going to satisfy it. The two knew every curve and contour of each other's bodies- the deepest physical intimacy possible- before they had heard a whisper of each other's names. And when they finally spoke, not as attacker and victim, but as new-found lovers... Zetsumei's heart had found its equal. Kira. Kira Tachiyama. That was a name he would gladly whisper in the throes of passion, a name he would hold close to his heart until he died. It mattered not how they met- as far as Zetsumei was concerned, true love at first sight began at that moment.

This woman wasn't just a woman- no, Zetsumei saw Kira as an absolute equal, as a soulmate, and so he shared with her everything he could think of... including his desires. Including the foul, fucked-up thoughts in the back of his head. She didn't leave him- she didn't call him insane- no. What Kira did was take Zetsumei on a little 'road trip' back to her home. It could be said that Zetsumei... met her father. He met the man, all right- and offered him a friendly knife to the jugular for good measure.

That was the first taste of blood. There was no going back after that bloody murder, after Zetsumei officially stained his hands with blood that belonged not to an animal or himself, but another (formerly) living human being. He was a killer. A monster. A feared enigma. And it was one of the best feelings he ever had. Kira would find targets and encourage Zetsumei to go after them, and the two would slip from town to town, city to city... once the trails went cold on the murders, they would move again. Zetsumei finally had use for his talent at the violin, joining an orchestra- which was both a source of extra money and a good excuse to justify why he seemed to be moving around so much.

But, in the off-season- whenever he wasn't needed- Zetsumei took up the family trade. He couldn't get out of practice, after all- now every cow spine split was another human one, every shredded bit of meat a mutilated organ... if murder was his drug, Kira was his dealer, and he became an addict quickly and eagerly. Three years- three years of random killing, three years with Kira... three years of death. Iwatodai looked like a good place to 'settle down' for a while... and with the influx of undocumented new residents, who would ever notice a few disappearing?

Now he knew why his father gave him his name. Now he knew why his mother feared him during his teenage years. To those he hunted down, he was a demon. He was the reaper, the final thing they would see, the controller of their very lives... yes. It all made sense in the end.

He was 'zetsumei'. He was death.[/b]
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The nightly dance of bleeding swords

Reminds me that I still live

mass D E S T R U C T I O N

ORIENTATION:

Magic

WEAPON OF CHOICE:

Cleavers are his weapon of choice. He's very skilled with a variety of knives due to his occupation, whether they're boning, skinning, or carving, but if he has a choice, he'll always go for a cleaver. (Slash)

BATTLE STATS:

FP: 20
SP: 50

ARCANA:

Devil

PERSONA:

Initial-
BELIAL: A King of Hell and the 68th spirit of the Ars Goetia, Belial is a powerful demon who gives those who summon him great prestige and standing... in exchange for heavy sacrifices and gifts. Belial will answer every question with absolute truth when summoned, but only for one hour and after receiving sufficient offerings- after that, he will revert to complete lies. Belial can manipulate the emotions of the summoner's friends and foes as the summoner wishes. He commands fifty legions of spirits.

Ultimate-
AMON: A Marquis of Hell, and the 9th spirit in the Ars Goetia, Amon is a terrifyingly powerful spirit among demons who appears to the summoner in a hideously monstrous form, spewing flame, unless commanded to change by the conjurer. He knows everything that has ever happened and everything that will ever happen in the future, and he manipulates the emotions of any human to the conjurer's favor, ending conflicts and forging friendships instantaneously. Amon is the cardinal prince and demonic embodiment of ira- the sin of wrath and anger- and commands forty legions of spirits.

SUMMONING:

Watch

HIGH AFFINITY:

Fire, Water, Dark

LOW AFFINITY:

Electric, Earth, Light

SKILLS:

Agi, Maragi, Mudo, Backstab

Every man's gotta fight the fear

I'm the first to admit it

want to be C L O S E

FAMILY:

Zetsumei was an only child- he still contacts his parents occasionally to let them know how he's doing, but with his recent endeavors he's refrained from calling them as much.

ACQUAINTANCES/FRIENDS:

None that he's associated enough with- Zetsumei's always lived a bit of a solitary lifestyle, and those he's worked with as a violinist are little more than strangers who know how to play music to him.

RIVALS/ENEMIES:

Generally quite wary of those involved with the authorities to be safe. He has no particular rivals or enemies, however- every victim he preys upon is cruelly random. Now, if somebody comes after him looking for revenge or some detective tries to solve the serial killings...

ROMANTIC INTEREST:

Kira- she's the only woman he's truly fallen in love with, and a bit of close observation makes this obvious.

OTHER:

Owns a young black cat he jokingly named Toro. (He's the only thing other than Kira that Zetsumei appears to truly be fond of.) Now that Kira's moved in, she also brought her reticulated python with her.

The light of the morning shines again

All over my sight, on this world

memories of Y O U

HANDLE:

¯\(°_o)/¯

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Atsuro, Kaido. Mamoru and Loki might show up this weekend, Akihiko after those two, and then expect to see Maya after I replay P2.

HOW'D YOU FIND US?

I've been here since before the beginning.

CONTACT INFO:

Pretty much everybody has it by now. Bother me if you don't.

NOTES:

MINATO ARE WE RELATED? Come and get me, Kira.

...THIS PROFILE'S HISTORY ATE YOUR PET DOG

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FACE CLAIM:

KAITO, Vocaloid

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TEMPLATE MADE BY SAGI FOR BRAND NEW DAYS

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