Kasha, the killer, looked with passionate intensity upon the figure of his latest victim. A human man half sat, half sprawled up against the far wall of his palace chamber with an "X" shaped pair of crimson slashes bleeding down across his torso. The oozing blood was now the only part of his young, perfect body that moved. The nightclothes that he wore consisted of nothing more than a loose robe, which now clung to his moonlight soft skin in tatters, its silk fibers mingling with his straight, sheet-like black hair, both now soaking in blood. The blood of the only prince of this grand house.
But Kasha hadn't murdered this man solely for violence's own sake. A special power had enabled him to learn that this seemingly kind and noble prince had paid for the assassination of many of his kin solely to claim a future title of daimyo for himself. When his sister had discovered his wrongdoings and threatened to expose him, he locked her in a hidden chamber of the castle's basement and let her starve to death. He had even ordered a peasant man killed for coughing in his presence.
But normally Kasha would never have dreamed of invading a well-guarded palace merely to satisfy a lust for murder that could, quite frankly, be satisfied with the murder of an evildoer that didn't control a virtual army of guards. The reason for these new ambitions was simple: he had new power now. He had so much power that, even as a human, he had handily slaughtered every resident of the palace. In fact, this would most likely be his last human victim. He was quite eager to test this new blessing of strength against the local demons. And one in particular…
Kasha raised a small bowl from its place beside him on the floor. It was filled with the prince's lukewarm blood, which shined a dull red in the surrounding candlelight. Carefully he took a vial of ink from a pouch on his belt and slowly drained a portion of its contents into the bowl. When the substances appeared to be properly intermingled, the man ran his finger over the surface of the fluid. The mix was perfect, but he expected that of himself after so much practice over the many decades of his murderous career. His long-fingered hands now eagerly unraveled a small scroll of blank parchment. Then he pulled a small brush from his pouch and began to depict yet another beautiful scene: the one directly in front of him. And with each graceful, meticulously tentative stroke, Kasha captured more of his dead victim's tainted soul.
