"Centaurs and chimeras are outside my realm." Natsu shook his head, the silky black hair, like a cobweb trapping snowflakes that didn't melt in its charcoal net, becoming wild for a moment. He was starting to become upset with this boy's naivety, but his face remained like a blank canvas, perfect and emotionless, even then. "I am a being of the Aether. A Spirit Hunter." He was far more than a human. Not a god, but not a mortal. "I am what becomes of a soul of a man, fallen by the hands of a corrupt spirit, if undevoured.. Lack a mortal body of flesh and bone. What you see is merely a shell to bear my true form. It obeys the same rules as a human body would, but bears the strength, speed and agility of a pure spirit, only lessened a little."<br/><br/>Another sharp turn. He stopped talking for a while, instead savoring the stark white landscape with his eyes. "Dark spirits are vile, tortured beings, souls that have been devoured fully. Those are the ones that further wish to consume, and the ones me and my kin fight. But not only them... Anything ready for death or unnatural in this world is at the hands of spirits. You have heard of us. They call me and my kind the Grim Reaper. Shinigami. Dullahan. Thanatos. Hel. Netherworld Emissary. Mortals have as many names for us as there is. Normally, we reside in the Aether, away from this world, but we have our duties. This is my district, Dimitri. This piece of Earth is under my protection for the next seven years just as it was for the preceding three."<br/><br/>He drew a sharp breath in, straightening his back in the carseat. Humans usually found it shocking when he revealed what he was - and how old he was - but once he was over with it, they'd cope.<br/><br/>"My name is Ishimaru Natsu. I was born and became a Spirit hunter during the Edo period." he introduced himself plainly, as if being a few centuries old was completely normal. Or being incorporeal by nature... "I was born in year 1643 in Kyoto, and died in year 1671. For more than three centuries, I have been a Spirit-hunter. This, what you see now, is not my real form, just a container made to withhold my soul in a body reminiscent of the human ones. It is unharmed by the weather, but it has a beating heart and compressing lungs. That is how we exist in this world, but don't mistake us for ordinary humans. We are beings of the Aether. And this," he put his hand down onto the black-and-white tsuka of the katana by his side, resting between the carseat and the cupboards, "is Shiroisakura. Mortals know weapons like it as the Death God's scythe."