The streets of Yokohama were savage for a young girl living a vagrant life. You had to learn that there was only ever yourself to look out for; nobody else.
The first seven years were tough - lonely. You had to survive on your instincts, play on your advantages as a naive young girl, utilise your control over the dark.
But then you'd met up with a band of orphans - outcasts. Those whom nobody wanted. Those whom had been abandoned - given up on before any real chance at life.
You stuck with those for a year, but you were never one of them. With the disease that had claimed your body, you were tossed to the side as a freak. A parasite.
But you weren't the only one.
There was another. A young boy.
A heartless boy.
A boy who resembled a silent, rabid dog.
❖
"We thought you'd died."
You sneered, eyeing the intruder warily as he pressed his knuckles together, fingers - swathed in leather - giving a satisfying crunch.
Chuuya Nakahara. Executive of Port Mafia. Former Associate.
"Obviously not."
His eyes narrowed to jagged slits, teeth grinding viciously. "It's been four years."
"Still haven't grown, I see," you mused dryly, calling on the shadows and weaving them through your fingers. "How are the dogs nowadays? Still making a name for themselves, from what I hear on the news."
Chuuya spat at your feet, skidding back as veins popped from his forehead. He was getting ready to attack. "I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."
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The second before he was upon you, the spidery shadows twisting through your fingers roped forward, binding his arms like a puppet's strings. He was thrown back a few paces, before snapping the strings with calculated ease and launching himself forward again.
You skidded back as his knuckles barely grazed your jaw.
Still, he was too fast. Without giving you time to react, his fist struck your ribs and his knee came up to the crook of your knee, knocking you off balance. Rolling across the black rug draped across the floor, you wound a strip of shadow over his eyes, momentarily blinding him as he struggled to grapple with something completely intangible.
Seizing the opportunity, you dived for the gun, fumbling with the heavy objects as you aimed it towards your former colleague.
Only he wasn't there.
"Huh?"
Scrambling to your feet, you wheeled around just as a fist came flying at you, catching you square in the jaw. Pain tore apart every fibre in your body as he delivered a barrage of attacks; an uppercut to your stomach, winding you completely, a kick to the head, sending your knees buckling. You hit the floor, hard, light-headed and coughing up blood.
"You abandoned us," he growled, grabbing a fistful of your [h/c] hair and dragging your head back. You stared up into his seething gaze, eyes losing focus. "You deserve what's coming to you when we get back."
Your eyes began to flutter.
No. You can't go back.
Not there.
❖
"I found her outside the church, begging."
The boy's grimy nails were cutting into the nape of your neck as he forced you in front of a small gathering of children. All bruised. Dirtied. Gaunt. Clad in rags.
Just like you.
"We don't have enough food," a girl snarled, her left eye blackened and the other completely desolate. "Throw her back out."
"We can't just leave her!" Another protested, their voice ringing against the still night.
"Rin's right. We're struggling as it is."
You watched, wordlessly, indifferently, as they discussed your fate in harsh whispers, callous remarks.
You'd been fine on your own for the past seven years. Why couldn't that boy have just left you back there?
Letting your stony [e/c] eyes stray over the shelter - a make-shift den constructed of broken beams and torn materials - your gaze settled on one particular boy who seemed apart from the rest. Lingering in the sidelines, like a shadow. A shadow with a dominating presence.
Shadows.
Your advantage. Your companions. Your lifeline. Your demise.
You were gifted, or rather, cursed. Cursed with the ability to manipulate shadow. Bend the darkness to your will.
Umbral disease.
That's what they'd called it.
An illness. A disease.
To you, it was a salvation. Your trump card. Your guarantee to survival on the streets.
"What do you say, Aku?"
A strange hush fell over the children, all eyes trained expectantly on the boy in the dark. He cocked his head slightly, features still shadowed.
