[ Kohaku is a fighter. Not the kind of pretty trained soldiers that was taught how to do it, but a fighter out of necessity, born in a world where it was eat or get eaten. Almost literally. One crack in your skin, one little portion of blood mingling with that of a zombie, meant instead death. In such a world, it was fatal to let himself be caught off guard, no matter the situation.
This wasn't his world. Kohaku's physical alarm sense to approaching danger had been taken from him and with it, any necessity to avoid getting hurt entirely. In this place, it doesn't matter if your skin breaks or your blood mingles or even if your heart stops beating. Kohaku would never admit so, but it had made his reflexes slower than they used to be.
All he sees now are the bodies at his feet and all he feels is how his boots crash into them again and again and again. It's only when the footsteps are close, too close already, that he finally tenses up and turns. One of his knives is in his hand readily as he halfway expects yet another NPC to show up. ]
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One crack in your skin, one little portion of blood mingling with that of a zombie, meant instead death. In such a world, it was fatal to let himself be caught off guard, no matter the situation.
This wasn't his world. Kohaku's physical alarm sense to approaching danger had been taken from him and with it, any necessity to avoid getting hurt entirely. In this place, it doesn't matter if your skin breaks or your blood mingles or even if your heart stops beating. Kohaku would never admit so, but it had made his reflexes slower than they used to be.
All he sees now are the bodies at his feet and all he feels is how his boots crash into them again and again and again. It's only when the footsteps are close, too close already, that he finally tenses up and turns. One of his knives is in his hand readily as he halfway expects yet another NPC to show up. ]