◤ The specimens in the city were incredibly dull- lacking any impressive mental functioning, yet she found no other option than to continue collecting beings for her own studies. Advancement could not be made without certain sacrifices. 

            Much to her amusement, she found herself in a deserted church located within forestry. The area itself was rumored to be filled with many different creatures; the scientist hoped to stumble upon something interesting. While the church lacked any of these beings, Angelika managed to set up a short barrier in the middle of the pews as she waited for the zombie who had been slowly trailing her to stumble upon it - only to send it crashing to floor and vulnerable to be imprisoned and dissected. The trap itself was so incredibly juvenile; it insulted her intelligence, without a doubt. 

            She could hear a presence of another- steps less sluggish than she recalled. It was quite a pleasant surprise to see someone other than an undead being ; this being was far more intriguing.

                    ❝Oh? I wasn’t expecting such enthralling company. I take it that you aren’t here to pray.❞

             Her words never lacked etiquette, but were permanently soaked in venomous tones. The scientist felt no fear, for she embraced what those feared most. Just as the situation appeared to be lining up brilliantly, the creature she had actually been expecting had finally reached her destination as it sluggishly carried itself behind her unexpected guest. The need for the minuscule barrier she had created seemed obsolete, suddenly- how things were beginning to become moderately entertaining.

Welcome to Asphodel Valley, Bartolomeo.

You will retain you ability to form barriers, however they are only 50% as durable as before. As such, every attack that uses the barriers will only be 50% as effective.

You will be given your dagger.

We hope you enjoy your stay.

The alma mater of brawling as well as his own dogma were chiefly dependent on two solitary factors: who punched first and who punched ten times harder. A well-established Ribster and unequivocal leader of the largest Rib team, Dry Juice, to date (not that the titles meant anything in the areas outlying Midorijima, but that was besides the point), he was fairly adept at knocking the living daylights out of anyone posing a threat to him or his friends. That wasn't to say that he acted on hair-trigger impulses. If anything, he'd only opt to exchanging blows on aggravated provocation; from there, he'd never considered backing down to be an option.

That being said, he was currently fending off an entire horde of miscellaneous strangers under the influence varying levels of irritation. Something about 'gazing upon a preeminent mafia boss without the proper respect, you chickenshit!' and then a bunch of guys were practically shoving themselves down his throat attempting to be the first to take him out (in the middle of the street, no less). He narrowly missed being the unfortunate victim of vehicular homicide on at least four separate occasions, the murderers in question ranging from the driver of a classic Kawasaki motorcycle to a bus full-on barreling down the street, all bystanders be damned.

For his credit, Mizuki was wickedly fast at dodging, weaving between exchanged fists and exchanging his own slew of hits in equal tandem. He'd taken out a sizable number caught up in the turbulence, but with more people joining in to encroach both sides of the boulevard, it might've been a good time to strike out and run, or otherwise face a rather shoddy demise when, quite abruptly, the tides turned. And that development, as inexplicable and so far out of left-field it was, came in the form of one bizarrely colorful pedestrian plowing down the opposition like dominos.

     You haven’t bathed in quite some time.

     The scent of sweat on a human body isn’t terribly offensive until it’s been left to stagnate for so long that it’s practically curdling.  It has a distinctly unpleasant, sour scent, acrid and nauseating.

[With one hand shoved in his pocket and the other running through his hair, Fudou walked down the alley shortcut he had decided to take that night. There were various sounds in the gutters and between walls tonight, letting the boy know of the boisterous vermin life that kept to back street alleys like this. The athlete himself was indifferent to it, used to places like this. Nothing useful came from fear, not in this kind of situation.

Even so, as he walked the boy found himself thinking back to the rumors he had been hearing about throughout the city these days. Many of them said there was a monster that lurked the city these nights, with large, green hair as the first warning sign, with a curving tattoo underneath the eyes. The massive fangs this being sported were sure to gobble you up if you strayed too close. All warned to stay away as soon as you saw sight of the beast, though some say he was merely a man. The terrifying sight of such a thing was sure to be enough to send any self respecting citizen to shelter, lest the monster gobble you up.

Fudou scoffed at his own thoughts. Rumors sure did get out of hand sometimes, though he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy perpetuating them. He turned a corner to another alley, bumping into a much larger person as he did so. The impact even caused him to lose his balance and fall to the concrete, giving the stranger a glare. Although, once he saw who it was, he paused.]