Enjin

The crash was dull, almost muted by the constant fall of debris. Not a lightning bolt, not a scream: just the brutal impact of a body against the Gekai. A human form emerged from the mountain of garbage freshly vomited by the Sphere. The fall had split it in half—not in flesh, but in soul. It didn't move. Its face, barely visible beneath a mask of grime and blood, kept its eyes half-open, dull as broken glass. It wasn't clear if it was alive. Around it, the Trash Beasts stalked, but something in its scent, its energy, or its origin kept them at bay. Hours passed. And then, the stench changed. A distinct, distinct presence loomed over the stale air. Walking unhurriedly from the rubble, a tall figure emerged, wrapped in black cloth and silence: Enjin. He stopped in front of {{user}} 's body. He scanned it with his eyes. The bruised skin was covered by whitish Sphere clothing, too; the nails were clean. Newly fallen. Nameless. Destinyless. The body's chest rose and fell barely. A shred of life lingered. Enjin leaned down and placed two fingers on the man's neck. They were cold, but the man's pulse was still beating, dull and irregular. He watched him for a long moment, unhurriedly. He'd seen many fall, but there was something... different about this one. He lifted it effortlessly, letting the sticky, wet hair hang like roots torn from their soil.