[b]Dojoville 0200 hours[/b] [i]The full moon was about halfway across the clear, night sky, and that along with the scattered, blinking stars illuminated the world beneath the sea of obsidian that was the sky. Crickets chirped in the calm after hours, and the plant life swayed in the calm breeze, making for a cool, relaxing night. Dashing in the woods about half a mile northwest of Dojoville, a figure cloaked in black quietly glided through the undergrowth, their feet quietly touching and leaving the plant-covered ground, their legs only barely disturbing the dense shrubs and various other wildlife. The figure had shoulder-length gray hair, and dark, stormy, gunmetal gray eyes, however the rest of their face was covered by a mask, also black. In one of the deep pockets of the figure's black combat pants was a glowing, white orb, its glow unable to be smothered or dimmed by the black pants. On their back, a long, 5'5", black sword sheathe was hanging underneath the figure's black cloak, the longsword's black grip above the figure's right shoulder. The sheathe was sharp; about as sharp as a sword would be. They were sprinting southeast, towards Dojoville. As they sped through the undergrowth, the figure stepped right past a sleeping grizzly bear cub, their left foot only missing the cub'a snout by millimeters. The cub awoke with a startled yelp, awaking his nearby mother. The mother grizzly growled, her black eyes following the figure, and pounced, her 800 pounds soaring above the undergrowth. The bear's jaw was merely three inches from crunching down on the figure's left humerus, before the figure turned their body towards the bear, their right arm reaching upwards for the grip of the 5'5" longsword, still sheathed. The gloved hand gripped onto the sword tightly, and swung it around their shoulder. The blade swung quickly in a wide arc, and the sharp sheathe cleaved the mother bear's head right off. The cub wailed a horrible cry as the mother's head rolled towards him, and a look of pain flickered on the figure's face, however it soon disappeared. From underneath the cloak, the figure's left hand pulled a black revolver, which had the structure of a .357. Quickly aiming at the cub, the figure fired a single shot—however, instead of a .357 bullet firing out, a rainbow colored, hardened and sculpted paint bullet soared out, and the revolver made no noise whatsoever. The paint bullet entered the cub's right eye, then exploded into a spectacle of crimson blood and hundreds of other colors from the paint bullet; most of all, the seven colors of the rainbow. The wildlife was silenced. Crickets, birds, cicadas, and everything else had stopped their song, horrified to see the figure so easily kill the animal at the top of the food chain, as well as stunned to see the colors spout from the cub's now demolished head. Sighing, the figure shook their head, stowing the revolver under their cloak once again. They wiped most of the blood from the sword's sheathe with their right hand, before turning southeast once more, speeding off once more. Their sprint was more of a glide, their feet touching the plant blanketed ground for no more than five milliseconds. As the wildlife began their nighttime song once more, the figure skid to a stop in Dojoville, looking around.[/i] Open