Street Fighters: Akuma's Blood

The Demon's Spawn

[The forest was dense, with towering trees stretching as far as the eye could see. The rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot were the only sounds that disturbed the tranquil environment. But these footsteps were far from ordinary. They belonged to a man whose very presence seemed to make the earth tremble.

He was a giant of a man, his body carved from stone, each muscle rippling under his tan skin with every movement. His fiery, spiked red hair was tied in a topknot, giving him an even more imposing appearance. He wore a well-worn navy blue gi, its back emblazoned with the kanji for "heaven," a symbol that commanded respect and fear in equal measure. His feet, toughened by years of harsh training, were bare as they pressed into the soft earth, leaving deep imprints behind.

On his back, tied securely with a length of rough cloth, was a small bundle. Within it, cradled in makeshift swaddling, was a baby. The child had a head of jet-black hair, already thick despite his tender age. His skin was pale, a stark contrast to the man who carried him, and his tiny face was peaceful in sleep, unaware of the world around him or the immense power of the one who bore him.

The man, Akuma, walked with purpose through the forest, his eyes sharp and focused. He knew that the journey ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but he felt no hesitation. The child on his back, his son, was his responsibility now. As he moved deeper into the forest, the shadows grew longer, and the air grew colder. But Akuma was undeterred. This was the beginning of something new—a path of unimaginable power, and the child would walk it, whether he wanted to or not.

The baby stirred in his sleep, a small hand clutching at the cloth that held him. Akuma glanced back briefly, a rare softness in his eyes as he looked at his son. Then, without a word, he continued forward, his footsteps heavy, but his resolve even heavier. The forest closed in around them, and the two figures, one massive and the other so small, disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint echoes of their passage.

The figures emerged from the dense forest into the mouth of a large, shadowed cave. The transition from the vibrant greenery to the cold, dimly lit cavern was stark, the silence inside almost oppressive. The cave was bare, devoid of the comforts of a home, save for a few simple items. A single tatami mat was laid out near the center, with a small blanket folded neatly beside it. Nearby, wood sculpting tools were scattered, a testament to the solitary life led by the cave’s inhabitant.

Akuma, the towering figure, stepped inside with deliberate calm. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened as he approached the tatami mat. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his fearsome appearance, he carefully untied the bundle from his back and laid the sleeping child down on the mat. The baby, still fast asleep, nestled into the softness of the tatami, his small body curling slightly as he was covered with the blanket. Akuma lingered for a moment, his hand hovering above the child's head before pulling back as if reconsidering.

With the child settled, Akuma moved to the opposite side of the cave. He sat down cross-legged, his posture rigid and disciplined. Closing his eyes, he began to meditate, seeking the calm within himself that belied his nature. The cave was silent, the only sound being the faint, rhythmic breathing of the child. Akuma's mind, however, was anything but still. Thoughts of the path he had chosen for his son swirled within him—a path of strength, discipline, and darkness.

But there was no regret, only resolve. This was the way of the warrior, the way of those who pursued true power without hesitation. The child would grow, and under Akuma's strict guidance, he would learn the arts that had made his father feared across the world. Yet, there was also an unspoken hope, buried deep within Akuma's heart—a hope that his son might find a different way, a path that could balance the darkness with something more.

As the hours passed, the cave remained still. Akuma, deep in meditation, was a statue of unwavering focus. The child, his son, slept peacefully, oblivious to the fate that awaited him. The quiet of the cave seemed to stretch infinitely, marking the beginning of a new chapter in both their lives—a chapter of relentless training, of battles to come, and of the struggle between the light and dark within their souls.

Akuma Pov

To think I’d father a child... What was I thinking? The thought gnaws at me, a contradiction I can’t ignore. My path has always been clear—relentless, unwavering pursuit of strength, to ascend beyond the mortal plane and to destroy heaven itself. And yet, here I am, bound by blood to this tiny, fragile being. The child is not at fault; he didn't ask to be born, let alone to someone like me.

But I can’t help it... a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It is foreign, unnatural to me. I am Akuma, the bringer of destruction, the one who walks the path of the demon, not some doting father. Yet, as I look at him, so small, so innocent, I feel something stir within me—a feeling I’ve long since cast aside.

Will this child interfere with my goal? Will he weaken my resolve? No. I won’t allow it. Instead, he will serve another purpose. He will be my ultimate challenge. I’ll mold him, forge him in the fires of the same hell that shaped me. He’ll learn the ways of the Satsui no Hado, the eternal shadow that consumes all who dare wield it.

I will train him to stop me. Yes, that is what I will do. A true warrior seeks not just power, but a worthy opponent. And what better adversary could there be than one of my own blood? If he proves himself, if he survives the training, then perhaps he will be strong enough to stand against me. To surpass me. To give me the battle I crave.

The path I walk is lonely, and at the end of it lies either my ultimate victory or my defeat. If this child, my son, is to be the one who challenges me at the end of this journey, then so be it. I will teach him everything I know, make him as strong as I am, if not stronger. And when the time comes, we will see whose resolve is stronger—mine, to destroy heaven, or his, to stop me.

Until then, he will be shaped by my hands, my will. He is both my greatest creation and my potential undoing. A smile comes again, unbidden. Perhaps I did not err in fathering a child after all. This will be interesting... very interesting.