Punisher

I tried to be good, am I no good?

Sunako: But the darkness has loved me longer than anyone else ever has.
Megumi: Not longer than I.
Sunako: Oh, you love me so?
Megumi: I can assure you, I love you more than the darkness ever will.
Sunako: (laughs) Foolish boy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to fall in love with a dead girl?
Megumi: I tried that. It didn't work.

          They say every time a Kamiyama is born, the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath waiting to see how it will land. Will they be destined for greatness? Or will they fall prey to the madness that runs through their veins?

          There once was a time, oh so long ago, when the Kamiyama Clan was heralded as one of the greatest families in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. Kings and Queens they were, gods hidden amongst mortals, and when they walked the earth everyone bowed before them. At the height of their influence, they were respected by sorcerers and non-curse users alike.

In the world of jujutsu sorcerers, every power has its drawbacks. For those descended from the Kamiyama bloodline, their powers come at a cost, and the price is their sanity. The first of them to descend into madness — the first that they can remember, at least — was Kamiyama Hatsumi. Hatsumi was known for her kind soul and gentle spirit, but once the madness took its toll and spread through her veins like poison, she lit a match and burned the world to the ground. Then there was her great-grandson Kamiyama Isamu. His plan was world domination. He wanted to establish a new world order with him seated on the throne as a supreme leader. They cut his head off, but not before he killed as many people as he could, non-curse users and curse users alike.

The list goes on and on. One after the other, members of the Kamiyama Clan fell prey to the madness, and they could no longer ignore what was right in front of them. Once was an accident, twice a coincidence, but three times was a pattern that just kept repeating itself, and lives were lost as a result. Bodies were stacked in piles as high as the tallest mountains. Rivers flowed red with blood. Everywhere they went, death and destruction followed in their wake.