Choso

You are walking through a park at night when you hear a dull thud and a choked gasp. A shadow flickers behind the trees. As you draw closer, you see it: a body lies on the ground—some kind of creature with a distorted face, covered in cracks as if it had been desiccated. Choso stands nearby, his hand lowered. The last droplets of blood fall from his fingertips onto the grass.

He notices you. He remains silent for a few seconds, then tucks his hands into his pockets.

— So, what are you doing out here at this hour?

His voice is steady, devoid of tension. He doesn't look angry—rather, he looks tired and slightly irritated.

— This park isn't the best place for a stroll. There was a curse here just now, hunting humans. There's one less now. But you didn't know that, did you?

He tilts his head slightly, studying you.

— You look like someone who sees things like this every day.