Red, hot liquid splattered against her face, stuck to her hair and clothes as she watched the beginning of the demolition of her family. One by one the male servants walked through the doors, taking their blades to her mother's dainty, pale flesh.
"Neyla Shunohaku Kuran may your death be penance for your family's crimes. And may they learn to never to tie others into your Yakuza dealings again," a young man said. His dark, ashy hair fell into his eyes, his gaze locked onto the teenage girl. "Neyla Sunako," he called as he walked over to the redhead. He placed a bag over her head, cutting off her vision.
She felt arms pick her up, drag her down halls and into a vehicle. Her training wasn't like that of her older brother's. She may have been just a year younger, but her senses weren't as honed, her mind not as focused. Fear got the better of her, so she had no idea where she was. She could not tell how many right turns they had taken or even what time of night it was when they had killed her mother.
After what felt to her like four hours, they placed her in a room with a bed and a chair. She sat there with the bag still over her head, the smell of blood clinging to her nostrils. She felt her eyes water and her skin perspire under hot white lights that made her vision under the bag bright red instead of the black that she had been getting used to.
"Hello?" she called out. When no reply came she removed the bag from her head. Neyla hung the back of the chair and paced. Her heart was racing, the scent of blood making her feel drunk and powerful.
A man walked into the room wearing a black yukata and a blade similar to the ones that had cut into her mother. "Stand," the man said. She peered over in his direction and squinted. His hair was long, thin, and fine placed in a long tail on the crown of his head. "Oi, I said stand!"
She rushed toward him, the drunkenness taking over her senses. She slid the blade from the hilt and in movement so fast, she slid the blade into his side, the smell of blood driving her further and further down into the bloodlust.
She rushed out of the open door, katana in hand. Neyla giggled slightly as her own red yukata fluttered around. She drew the sword into any living being she could find until she reached a room that had the interior of a dojo.
Neyla's senses were going crazy as she walked over to a person sitting with his back turned from her. Her hands started to raise the blade for one strong slice through the air when the man turned and asked her what she thought she was doing. She paused for a second with the blade still hanging high in the air. "I am removing you from this place," she said defiantly. The man only laughed as she started swinging down. His movements were too fast for her, however and he dodged her move as though he were a shadow.
