༄ؘ| CHAPTER ONE: FRIEND OR FOE . ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━ warning : cursing and violence.
IT WAS A GOOD DAY TO DIE, Uzui Tengen thought begrudgingly.
* .˚ · .
ON this extremely rare occasion, he wasn't quite talking about himself. Though, had the Sound Hashira had the chance to find a better, hopefully cleaner place to kill a person in, he would've spent his entire fortune down to the very last piece of gold to get there ( without so much as a speck of hesitation. )
Instead, the fickle fingers of fate threw him into this shithole instead, where he currently sat a front row seat to, in his not-so-humble opinion, the most vile debacle of debauchery he had ever seen.
By day, the mining district of Ōmidani seemed earnest enough. Mountains that stabbed through sky and cloud dwarfed the rusted copper roofs and winding rocky paths below, thick with glittering fog at sunrise and catchers of golden light at sunset. By day, the citizens of Ōmidani seemed earnest enough. A bustling, hard-working community that toiled into the earth from morning to high noon, calloused hands unearthing precious ore that a single pound, in the Taisho period, resulted to a fortnight's worth of meals for the family.
Unfortunately, hearts of the people outside of the mining district were not as rich as its mountains. Not only was Ōmidani the most succesful mining town, it was the most overexploited one. The impoverished, starving and desperate citizens let themselves be swallowed by the earth in hopes of digging up a certain future, only to crawl out even poorer and the foreigners. . .even richer.
And the result; a town that unearthed gleaming riches was deprived of its own natural glow. Slums upon slums of the poor and homeless, finding refuge in bottles of sake and cursing the gods. Bone-thin children wailing and even skinnier parents breaking skin and bone for over a dozen pounds of precious metal, and only a day's worth of payment for the week. The streets were flooded with filth, teeming with thieves and murderers desperate for riches.
By day, the mining district of Ōmidani was earnest enough. But by night, where the more civilized were dead asleep to any sound of sin, monsters roamed the streets. And they were not so different than monsters the warriors—who clothed themselves with black uniforms and wielded blades of nichirin—were so accustomed to hunting.
The sun had long descended into the serrated horizon, painting the sky ( and the streets ) a more scandalous shade of night time. This were supposed to be the finer hours of a flamboyant man like Tengen's life, where an evening of scandalous thrill awaiting him.
