——— YUU BASKERVILLE ———
Worn like that of a little girl's doll in the midst of a war-torn home, the Sanguine Ruin's vicious warlord, Yuu Baskerville, had definitely seen better days. His bones ached with a tiredness that echoed in his soul (did he even have one?) and slowly claimed him, driving his mind to the ground and seldom allowing a proper thought to pass through his hazy mind. His features were of utmost somnolence, stress and harsh weather and deep regrets having dirtied his youthful features and, somehow, he seemed older than he was. His bones ground together uncomfortably, agonizing pain shooting through every limb as he pressed on stubbornly, without a word, with only a single suicidal goal in mind.
Yuu never had a place to call home. He never had anyone to call a friend nor did his parents take an active role in his life, considering that they were both dead. He showed up, alone and abandoned, without a smell to distinguish him apart from the warm cotton his scarf bore and the sweet-smelling daffodils that had grown in his everlasting backyard of ruined youth, and dubbed himself "Yuu" without any provocation. Previously nameless, without a home to call his own, Yuu now stood on once-familiar rolling dunes of white sand, bleached walls standing ever-so intimidating before him. Like an intimidating courthouse, he stood among its center, ready to be handed the verdict he deserved. Traitor.
He left the Sanguine Ruins, slipped into the night a few days after their supposed first victory over SunClan, trekking to the same clan that they had fought vehemently for so long for a selfish reason that no longer matter to him. He found what he needed and, quite frankly, the results of his investigation were disgustingly disappointing. Akuma was not who he thought he was. He would be branded a traitor in the place he grew up in, though he wondered if the Sanguine Ruins would be forgiving of their beaten down, pathetic prodigy. After all, Yuu hadn't ever known a Ruiner who was forgiving in nature.
Dizzy, the seven foot tall direhound lowered himself into a seat where he stuck one leg out in hopes of steadying his swaying form. A low huff exited his maw, his claret gaze unclear for once, as they browsed the horizon for any form that would approach him. He felt ashamed, looking as pitiful as he was.