Blood in Flame and Water

Prologue: Awakening

It was snowing. A lot.

Nothing good comes when it snows. People say it's beautiful, but pretty things are almost always the most dangerous. Snow was cold, it covered the ground in an ironic blanket of frozen water, when a blanket was supposed to keep you warm instead. People take for granted how lucky they are; to have warmth, or a blanket. They don't see the wonders right in front of them. The snow covers the ground in a white sheet, and it's nearly impossible to find anything if it falls in the white void.

There was a new color now. It was deep, rich crimson, and the faint smell of iron stuck up the sharp cold air. It burned. As it hit the snow the red bled through the white and slowly made it turn pink. It littered the snowy carpeted ground in sections, some darker than others. It was dark, so dark, deep and black. He couldn't see anything besides white, watery red, and black. The falling snow stung his eyes and the freezing air scraped his lungs like daggers. Skin blistered and scarred with freezer burn and open wounds dragged him further down, and there was no light on the other side for him to see. It was only snow.

A soft thump echoed through the vast mountain scape. The howling wind carried the sound and deafened it all the same. A body laid prown in the snow, the snow becoming a watery grave. Ragged breathing came from the shallow grave. White snow slowly turned red and pink as its pristine white color became tarnished with coppery red blood. One hand stuck through the fallen snow that was as pale as the ground around it.

Fingertips changing a bloodless white, pearls of blood slid down nailless fingers and into the pink snow. A slight twitch from the thumb was the only indication of life still beating in the body of the prown figure. But the life flowing through the living corpse was slowing down and coating the ground in red.

A wordless whimper floated up from the crater. The hand numbly moved from its place buried in the snow to press flatly against the ground, leaving an imprint underneath a bloody palm. Heaving itself up from the ground, clumps of snow slid off a blood and torn haori and stuck to frozen hair. Onyx black hair sprawled around the snow, blood red tips blended in with the corrupted pristine snow while the black showed starkly.

The tarnished material of the haori grew dark and damp from the snow melting into the fabric. It no longer provided any sense of warmth to the figure wearing it, but it was a layer keeping in what little body heat remained nonetheless. Shivers wracking the being belonging to the haori grew harsh. Its body tried valiantly to warm itself up, but it was all useless in the end, as its core temperature slowly cooled due to the loss of blood and harsh weather.

Getting to their shaky knees, the figure pushes itself up only to buckle and collapse face first into the snow. Coughing weakly, blood sprayed and spattered the snow. Clenched fists shook weakly as they once again pressed into the snow. Blood traveled down beaten biceps with thick gashes and covered the fisted hands. Slipping, the body fell with another thud and a second round of wet coughing followed soon after.

Once the coughing stopped and the figure's breathing became too weak, the determination that once fueled the being to keep fighting slowly slipped away along with its precious blood into the snow. The rise and fall of the figure's chest became shallow and slow, strained. Waves of black hair fanned around the body's head and covered the neck and shoulders.

The pain once felt by the being slowly eased away to numbness. The wounds made up of gashes, scrapes, punctures, and burns were now irrelevant to them. Frayed and cut nerve endings no longer sent signals to the brain, warning about wounds and the concerning loss of blood. Nausea ate at the figure's stomach, but there was nothing to bring up except the blood pooling in the back of their mouth. Losing themselves to the cold numbness, the limp body grew ever colder.

A slight crunch caught the attention of the living corpse. The sound is so similar to snow pressed under the weight of a snowshoe. Shakingly, the being that lay in the snow looked up, and hazy ombré eyes met the gaze of six unrelenting blood red and hamlin eyes. The blood loss must have made their vision fuzzy, the dying figure guessed. Yet the weighing pressure from the aura surrounding the figure standing above them was none that of a human's.

A crispy, deep voice was growled out of the person above the prown body, " How pitiful, " the voice was definitely that of a man's, "had I not smelled your blood from a mile's distance, I would not have seen you here. Left alone to die a bloody and dishonorable death in the cold. "

The man knelt down, closer to the body's level. The oppressing aura grew closer, and the figure in the snow heaved at the weight pressing down on them at all sides. Not a single breath could escape or be pulled into the figure's lungs, for they had shriveled in the wake of man towering above. Reaching out, a cold hand grasped the bruised throat of the vulnerable body and lifted them from the snow with ease.

Blood choked the lifted body, and trails of the coppery red liquid slithered onto the hand of the person who held them from the mouth and lips. Choking, a stuttered cough was attempted, only to stain the arm attached to the hand that ceased the figure's air supply. Clumps of suggy red snow fell from the body as they were lifted from the ground, feet airborne and not touching the snow below foot.

The voice spoke up once more, "Even though you lasted this long within these harsh conditions of the mountains in your state, you must be strong in your own regard. "
Upon closer inspection, the man could tell multiple things about the corpse he found while wandering in the mountainous terrain. They had onyx black hair, almost as dark as the clouded over sky above them that ended in red tips the same color as the blood coating their pale skin. Defiant dark amber eyes stared back at him through the haziness that their blood loss brought upon them. He was thoroughly intrigued.

The figure choked on blood in response. Huffing in contempt, the man dropped the corpse and watched as they hit the ground with a muffled thud. Kneeling once more to their level, the tall male watched them for a moment before reaching out. Fingertips amidst talons stroked the pale skin of the breathing corpse's cheek. The touch of the man's thumb stroked pleasantly over the freezing cold skin, mapping out shapes that were not there.

Humming to himself in a clear indication of agreement to the unvoiced thoughts of his own, the hand halted any further stroking. Instead, six eyes of blood and gold found a peculiar gash along the side of the dying human's arm. Reaching for it, without a moment's hesitation, dug his thumb into the shredded open wound.

A piercing scream flooded the mountain tops. One that came from an animal in agony begging for death or release. It shattered any peace the mountain had known only moments before. It broke into sobs and hiccups before reaching new levels an octave higher. The limp body now knew levels of strength it did not know before, like it had been unlocked in its time of great pain. Writhing and shaking with ragged gasps for air, shaky yet desperate hands grabbed and clawed at the wrist belonging to the man currently creating the person's pain.

Yet the perpetrator inflicting the pain paid no mind to the futile attempts at dislodging his hand. Instead, he drew the shapes he had created earlier upon the body's skin in their own blood. Tears fell down the body's cheeks, yet they did not reach the new markings as the monster above him refused to let the salty liquid disturb the new shapes.

Once done, the figure reached up to their palm and cut a slice through their own skin, watching as their blood beaded through the cut. With their mouth open to increase the amount of air taken in in the wake of the sudden onslaught of pain, the being pressed their bleeding palm to the dried tongue of the human below him. Choked off cries of protest followed, but the dark creeping edges of black in their vision and the sudden wave of exhaustion halted their desperate escape attempts.

"You will thank me when you are reborn. You will be stronger, faster, and under the tutelage of my Master, you will become unstoppable, " The figure above the human proclaimed.
Just as they were about to succumb to the black edges of unconsciousness, the human's vision cleared and their roasted honey eyes met those of blood and gold. The everclear kanji for One stared back at them.

"Your name is no longer relevant, as you will never be what it represents again. Instead, you will become something better. Your name must be better, for that name will be cried out in tears and blood.
" You will now be known as Yasha Akuma. Demon of the third moon, and painter of roads in red. " 
With one final breath, the figure closed their eyes and black welcomed them with open arms. This was warmth, and he will forever bask in the heat of his shadowy blanket.

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