Judgment upon the masses. (Ask via here or discord)

*Trigger Warning: Suicide/self harm.* If these concepts are something you have trouble with, please do not continue*





A being in the body of a man stood atop a building in downtown Jump. It was not the tallest building. Far from it, in fact. Nor was it the shortest. This building had been chosen specifically for both its location and its height relative to the city and buildings around it. Aza'zel the First looked down at the hundreds of people below, all going about their evening. He was a picture of serene beauty, as all of his kind once were. A cloak of vibrant crimson fluttered gently in the breeze, revealing simple grey and black robes beneath. Clothes very much out of place in the modern age. His platinum blond hair flowed around a noble face like a golden halo, and he gripped an ornate spear in one hand like someone might hold a staff of office. His serenity was marred somewhat by the look of utter contempt upon his face as he gazed down at the people below him. He wasn't looking at their bodies, nor what they were doing. No, he looked upon their very souls. More specifically, he looked upon the black corruption that stained each and every mote of otherwise pure light. His stomach twisted and his grip on his spear tightened. He felt something wet upon his cheek and for a fraction of a second his expression softened as he realized what it was. A tear, shed for the utter tragedy before him. For endless sacrifice, all in vain. As swiftly as it had softened, his expression hardened more than before, a sneer of disgust writhing across his features as he wiped away the tear. He had wept enough already. What was to be done now was his duty. His purpose. His mercy. He strode back to the center of the rooftop and gripped his spear before him in two hands. He planted the butt on the ground before him and tightened his grip. He closed his eyes and focused, removing the first few layers of his internal restraints and channeling more of his true self into this stolen body. He had to be careful. He was still getting used to this body and this world, and too much power would burn out his host. It was infuriating. In his own body he'd have been able to wipe this corruption free of the world without having to resort to such effort, but it would not matter. This was just a minor setback. Even in this weakened state, he would accomplish his new purpose. Humanity. It was supposed to be pure. But it was wicked. Corrupt. Vile. Anger flowed through the being on the rooftop and he flexed his back, his cloak fluttering aside as a pair of splendid wings of pure white feathers shot out from beneath it. They arced out behind him, stretching out the soreness of being hidden against his back. Aza'zel opened his eyes and spoke aloud, addressing the city around him in a resonant baritone that dripped like golden honey. His words were barely above normal speaking volume, and so he did not expect anyone to actually hear him. Yet the speech felt right. It felt necessary. "I do this as a mercy. You are corrupt, broken beyond redemption. Feel the weight of your sins upon you and become your own judge, jury, and executioner." Aza'zel flexed, feeling his power flowing through his body. He closed his eyes as he focused on the souls around him. In the corruption they all housed. On drawing it out. "Crushing Guilt!" Golden light flared briefly from his body, radiating out from his core and vanishing at his wings as quickly as it had come. But the wave around him continued to expand, it was merely now impossible to see. But it was not meant to be seen. It was meant to be felt. Like the gently wafting flakes within a snowglobe, feathers of softly glowing light began to appear just above his head in a circle all around him and drifted slowly down to vanish at his feet. This endless cycle of appearing and vanishing feathers cast a soft glow of golden warm light around him. It wasn't exactly a beacon, but it also wasn't stealthy. Aza'zel had not yet tested this ability on humanity, but he had nothing to fear from the insects even without it. He allowed a semblance of a smile to touch his face as he heard the first scream.

Frank looked up from his meal. Something was wrong. Of course, something had been wrong all night. Luke had shown him absolute proof that Jen was cheating on him, and yet Frank had let her talk him into taking her out anyway. He had been miserable the whole date so far, looking for a way to bring up her infidelity and never finding an opportunity. He'd been about to give up, ready to admit that his friend was right, that he was spineless, when he'd felt it. Pain. Not of the body, but of the soul. He felt guilt. Like never before. Luke was right, always looking after him. Yet he'd ignored his friend time and time again. A small part of his mind wondered why he was focused so much on this while he should be focused on confronting Jen. Jen. Why was she in the middle of the street? Why was she kneeling? He rose from their curbside table and shouted her name. She turned her head to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hugged her body. "Frank… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm a monster. I deserve to die! I deserve to di-" The truck blared it's horn and the driver slammed on the brakes, but it was far too little, too late. Frank was too numb with shock to feel the red mist splatter his clothes and face. The truck came to a stop, but no one got out. Instead, it accelerated after a moment. But rather than drive off around the street corner and away from the scene it plowed into the side of a building, propelling the driver through the window and into the crumpled brick wall. He didn't get up. Frank barely registered this, nor did he register the sounds of screaming around him, or people begging for forgiveness, of cars slamming themselves into each other or walls, of bodies hitting the pavement as people lept from windows. He could only focus on the voice in his head. Why didn't I save her? I could have saved her. I SHOULD have saved her. He looked down at his shaking hands, at the red misting them. Her blood was on his hands. Literally. Another thought pounded in his head, like a hammer blow in time to his quickening pulse. "This is my fault." He sobbed. He shook his head. No, no it wasn't. What could he have done? He looked up at the darkening sky as the sun set and noticed a strange golden glow from a rooftop across the street. What was that? The longer he stood and stared at it, the more his thoughts turned to Jen. Jen was dead. And it was his fault. He let her walk into the street. No. He shook his hand again, pressing his hands to his ears. He gasped, out of breath. How long had he been screaming, trying to drown out the horrible thoughts in his head? If he hadn't let her talk him into coming here, she'd still be alive. If he'd just listened to Luke, Jen would still be alive. He was a terrible boyfriend. A terrible friend. A spineless coward. Each revelation was a jackhammer against his soul. Another thought entered his mind, strangely calm against the onslaught of guilt and despair. End it. Yes. It was such an easy solution. His resistance drained from him as he accepted what he had to do. He didn't deserve to live. He saw another car coming down the street toward him. Tears ran down his face as he laid down on the road before it. He turned his head, sobbing at this last act of cowardice.

Aza'zel listened to the sounds of chaos around him. Humans were dying. But not enough. He was too weak in this body. He needed more power, more energy. He dropped to one knee and the sounds of mayhem around him faded into the background as he focused all of his efforts and energy into expanding his radius without burning out his host. He smiled ever so slightly as he felt his aura increase in range. Of course, he was defenseless like this, but it was no matter. It wasn't like some pathetic human could reach him. They were weak creatures and would succomb to their guilt before getting anywhere near him even if they saw the glow his ability was putting off and came to investigate. He composed himself, his face serene. The only sign of the collosal effort he was exerting was the white knuckled grip on his spear. Internally, he scolded himself. 2000 cubits. That was as far as he could reach in any direction, and the effort of doing so rendered him defenseless. In his own body it would have taken a measure of effort just to reduce his range to something so pathetic. But it would do. His mission would simply take more time to accomplish. He would succeed. He would save them all.

Meanwhile, prior to the Crushing Guilt enveloping the area- a small group would be hastily working to "clean up" a sting gone wrong. Not an uncommon occurence but even the brightest city cast the darkest shadows- shadows which unsavory elements not only hid within, but also flourished. In this case, a local gang had arranged to buy some weapons with an out of town supplier, word of which had somehow reached the police who had made preparations to catch both the buyers and dealers. Likewise, someone had tipped off the other party that there would be a sting and forced additional "security." The end result was a blood bath with both sides suffering casualities, only for the ones still standing to be picked off by a thir party.

Ninjas. As cliche or cheesy as that may have sounded to anyone else, these were not simply men dressed in simple black clothing. They moved abnormally fast, covering ground using the shadows themselves to effortlessly glide from place to place grabbing whatever they could; weapons or money mostly. Watching from above were a pair of figures, another of the Ninja whose form seemed more imposing and solid compared to the others, and a shorter, hannya-styled masked girl in combat gear and a hoodie. Neither said anything, both on high alert for police backup or worse- one of the local superheroes or vigilantes. It was only when the wave of guilt emanating from Aza'zel that the Hannya girl's eyes changed expression, followed by a rush of thoughts and emotion that she hadn't felt until now.

She had been the one to tip off the gang and dealers, she had been the one to allow the police's inside man to find out about the deal, and now here she was picking at the remains like a vulture. Her reaction normally would be very internallized, not one to show much emotion outwardly. But she was here alone with her servants so for the first time this kind of guard fell. Why did she suddenly care? She never gave it a second thought in the moments leading up to this. She saw a way to gain resources and profit for later and acted on it. Who cared if people got hurt or worse, killed? Nobody would miss the criminals, they were beneath society's considerations. And there would always be someone else to take a fallen officer's place, or the criminal's.

Her mind tried to rationalize everything, fighting some unknown... force that seemed to be trying to gnaw away at her. She was no different from them, she had already admitted to herself that this entire scenario was her doing. That was what she had planned when the opportunity presented itself. Her mind went even further as a similar scene unfolded before her. Only this one was far more personal yet still fresh in her mind. Her father, leader of the time of The Yakuza- an inhuman monster that no one would miss just like every other criminal- like her. No, she was not like EVERY other criminal. She did not kill without reason, especially not directly. HE deserved to die for what he did to her and her mother. Her mind continued to try and rationalize her actions, guilt being pushed back by an old feeling that she thought she had suppressed. Rage.

But the guilt was not letting up, she should not be feeling any guilt. She did what she had to and did not regret any of it. So why did this guilt not go away? She noticed for what felt like an eternity, that she had been gripping the side of the roof so hard that her fingers had gone numb with pain. The ninja at her side (who seemed unaware of what was going on) was watching her with what could have been described as concern. The rage was the only thing giving her any clarity against the force that seemed to be trying to control her, growing stronger and stronger in response. Who or WHAT dared bend her to it's will? She swore after what her father did that she would not be anybody's object for abuse. Wordlessly she commanded her servants to disperse and go hunting. She had a new goal now, find whatever was trying to control her and put an end to it.

The Ninja at her side sank into the roof, it's form becoming like a shadow as it and it's lesser cohorts went on the move to scour the nearby area for the source of their master's distress. She likewise melded into her own shadow, feeling alittle relief at the shadows' embrace as she followed her servants and waited. It would be a short time later when the "light show" became easier to spot, and Aza'zel would have company as several of the lesser ninja started to climb onto the roof.

Aza'zel let out a long sigh. He wasn't sure how long he'd been focused, pushing his efforts into balancing his divine power. Too much and the pathetic host body he inhabited would burn into nothing from the inside out. Too little, and his aura wouldn't have even the little range he was able to coax out of it now. He flexed his back, trying to force the kinks out. He stretched his wings, pushing the aches from them. This was something else he wasn't used to. This body was so weak. It grew tired. It ached. It needed to be fed. Was this what the humans tolerated every day? He shook his head. It was time to inspect the fruits of his labors.

He slowly relaxed and let his aura recede. He didn't drop it altogether, not yet anyway. He wanted to confirm that the immediate area around him was now devoid of sin. He stood and listened for a moment, marveling in the absence of din around him. Sure, he could hear it farther away - the ceaseless prattle of a race so far fallen. But in the immediate area, silence. No, that wasn't quite right. The sounds of humanity itself were mostly gone - no screams, no yelling, no ceaseless prattle or innumerable footsteps. But there was still sound aplenty. He could hear the spray of water from somewhere and the endlessly repeated blaring of one of those great machines the humans rode around in. He could hear the flapping of wings and the coos of birds. He'd begun to smile when another sound caught his attention. It was a scrabbling, like flesh upon stone. But it was quiet, and only there for a moment. As if whoever had made it was normally much quieter and made a mistake. His smile faded as he opened his eyes. Whoever had made the sound was indeed usually much quieter, as the rooftop around him was now littered with humanoid figures in strange black garb that Aza'zel did not recognize.

Someone who couldn't see souls might mistake these things for some strange breed of human, though they moved too fluidly for that. Far too fluidly, Aza'zel thought. As if they weren't solid. But while he noted that little detail in the back of his mind, he wasn't focused on their bodies. He was focused on their souls. Or more accurately, what passed for them. It was strange - like they were somehow compressed or otherwise localized to one specific part of the torso, and each being was slightly different in exactly where it's soul was located. And what's more, they had shape to them. A shape more complex than the usual hazy ball like one. It was like each soul had been molded into the shape of a man. Aza'zel had never seen anything like it. He was momentarily transfixed, and the interruption in his concentration dropped his aura. No more golden feathers appeared over his head, and the ones that were already there gently wafted to the ground to vanish like the others had. Within about ten seconds, they would all be gone and Crushing Guilt would have faded with them. Aza'zel scowled. This was no time to be distracted. While he regained his focus before the aura had completely faded, he didn't bother reactivating it. At this point, he'd have to refocus his efforts and channel his power again, and they'd be on him by then. Of course that was even assuming his aura worked on these things, which it hadn't. That told him that they had no concept of emotion. What's more, he could see something else in their souls, now that the bizarre appearance of them no longer held his attention. He could see twinge of demonic taint. Whatever these were, it was his duty to see them unmade. He spread his wings, ready to propel himself aloft, and spoke. "What sort of depravity spawned the lot of you?" His voice boomed, his face a mask of contempt. "No matter. Come then. Show me what passes for hatred amongst your misbegotten kind."

People assume the worst of the darkness, for the dangers it offered sancturary to. More "educated" people would dismiss such notions as mostly superstitious, comforted in their knoweledge that darkness was simply the absence of a source of light for the human eye to see clearly. For this dark dweller, it was a slice of tranquility and safety outside the maelstrom that was the material world. For her it was an intricate webway of tunnels and pathways of all shapes and size, branching out in seemingly sporadic and illogical splits. A higher power looking at it from a broader range would liken it more to a spider's web- which was normal for the spider, and chaos for the fly.

Despite this, she could still feel the outside influence of SOMETHING constantly trying to gnaw away at her... guilt? She had little of that. Whatever this was, it was trying to coerce her and she didn't like it. And then as suddenly as this strange force came, it receded. Her servants had located the source, she was only partially aware of this realization from her current hiding place. She was normally not an overtly aggressive or violent person, despite her lineage but whoever was behind this emotional distress had genuinely pissed her off, and she wanted some payback. She'd make her way through the intricate webway of shadows between the various buildings, emerging and gliding her way along the surface much like her servants.


Meanwhile back on the rooftop of Aza'zel and company, the entities made no response, simply watching him like machines as he tried to goad them into attacking. Once their master gave them the go, their bodies would stiffen as a couple stretched their arms out into a pair of gleaming blade-like constructs. Then with the efficiency of a hivemind, they all split off. The blade armed ones keeping a couple feet apart and going in first with a quick slash from both arms before withdrawing. Two of their comrades suddenly slithering up and leaping up with bladed kicks. Their master's "right hand" would then arrive on the opposite end, not yet taking hostile action as they simply moved toward one side of the roof.