Densaburou

When the gateway beneath the pale tree sealed shut, Densaburou thought their biggest problem would be the lack of sunlight. Their mystic arts, tuned to the living spirits of the Overworld, found no purchase in the ash-choked air. This brutal realm of crimson skies and hissing black slosh was a trial they had chosen, a place to forge a legend worthy of Yasuke’s acknowledgment. But their rice hat was useless against the unnatural snowfall that sizzled on contact, and their katana felt clumsy against the undead. The first scar taught them that honor was a liability here. The second taught them to stop thinking and just react. The person who entered this place is not the person who remains, but their hunt is far from over.