A/N
I'm sure you've never wondered, but here's the answer! This is seriously what I do all day at school- write random fanfiction -_- Most of it's random crap I'd never dare publisize *hides face in embarassment at thought*, but, tokidoki it comes out decent. This'd be one of those in-school projects. I've been taking my Blood+: Yakoujoushi to school for the past month, novelizing it in a spiral notebook. This's just the first chapter... And, as you'll see, I managed to improve vastly the further I got, so forgive the suckishness in the first half ^^'
Anyways, the very knowledge that the story's based in Hong Kong made it so I translated what speech I could into Chinese, thus, the Zhōngwén spotted throughout this whole thing. I'm pretty sure I translated everything...
So... Enjoy!
EDIT: 4/6/11
I've gone through and fixed some annoying typos, as well as updating my changing punctuation style. Actually, the thing most annoying me was "chang-shan", 'cause I couldn't remember the correct name for the outfit at the time... It's "cheongsam", by the way. And I changed every last "Douryon" to "Do Leong"
Xuè Jiā: Huá Chéng Zhī Yè
Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to...
Yī Wǎn (One Night)
A deep night, still with dread. No stars shone despite the sky's smoggy clarity while empty structures creaked a lonesome howl, liquid dripping from rusted pipes. Loose wires swayed in a sudden breeze, unnatural in the stillness, as a creature took off, a black blemish upon the moon's silver disk. Below; far, far below; droplets of a dark liquid plipped unto the gray stone, a splash of color in this dismal, grayscale realm. Black locks ruffled slightly at the creature's departure, skin dry and wrinkled despite the young woman's true age. She lay still as death, pale as the disk beaming dimly above, hand open beside her as though trying to reach for that moon; for that light.
…
Xiānggǎng, 1993 Nián 2 Yuè (Hong Kong, February 1993)
"Xīxuѐguī (Vampire)?"
An ancient foe spoken of in this modern city, skyscrapers towering pyres of the current society against the dirty blue backdrop of a fine February day.
"Don't tell me you're going!"
Two young men stood out amongst the throngs of this overpopulated metropolis: one blonde, garbed in a loose bamboo print blouse like a wannabe-gangster; the other with spiky black locks swishing with his steps alongside loosely nondescript apparel. The younger of the two, the blonde, chased after his firm-aired companion desperately, frantic with worry at his ignored pleas.
"Although the newspapers have said that the cause of this fatal blood loss is unknown, as seen from the crime scene, there isn't a single trace of blood left on the corpse. That is definitely the work of a Xīxuѐguī, Sai-āníjī (Vampire, Sai-aniki)!"
'Sai' clenched his teeth, biting back a scoff.
"Báichī (Idiot)!" he snapped without pause. "It's not like in the movies; how could those things exist in reality!" His sharp eyes turned to give the blonde a pointed look, demanding his full attention. "We have our hands full with human criminals already. You are still an informant. No matter if you're a good or bad one, at least give me some useful information to investigate on."
Still, the blonde pestered. "Ah, yes, it's already three victims for this week, right? All of the victims looked like they had their blood sucked out, and, when discovered, the bodies looked very dry. The location is an abandoned area in Jiǔlóng Zhài Chéng (Kowloon Walled City) where nobody stays!" the blonde desperately pleaded. "…..The situation here is somehow abnormal."
At this, Sai halted, determination prevalent in his voice. "Abnormal or not, it doesn't matter. I definitely want to capture the criminal, and doing that is good enough for me."
The blonde wasn't yet ready to give in, though. "Even though it's like this, what are we going to do if they really are Xīxuѐguī (Vampire[s])! Going in there will definitely get you killed! Aren't you afraid at all, Sai-ā ní jī (Sai-aniki)?"
"I can't be a cop," Sai replied passionately, instinctively clutching at his jacket above the heart," if I'm afraid of a mad killer. I don't know what the killer's motives are, but he seems to kill so easily."
"…" The blonde looked away, guilt radiating in heavy waves to which Sai feigned ignorance.
"Say… Rather than you worrying about other people, why don't you worry about yourself, Do Leong?"
That caught the blonde's attention.
"Didn't I tell you, my name is Tony Lin! Tony Lin!"
"What's the problem with calling you by your original name? And I'm not Sai, but Nishi."
Playful banter aside, 'Nishi' moved to a more serious topic.
"I think you shouldn't be an informant. There're some very unsavory rumors about the company that you are hanging out with."
"…What can I do? I have to make a living."
"If you get caught again, next time I can't back you up!" Nishi hollered.
With a "hmph!" Do Leong spun on his heel to leave. "I know that! I'll be more careful next time."
"Man…" Nishi scoffed, reaching into his jacket. " Xīxuѐguī (Vampires)…"
Time seemed to stand still, Xiānggǎng de (Hong Kong's) noisy streets immobilizing, as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his wallet. Grasping a báisè hé zōngsè (white and brown) between his teeth, Nishi couldn't resist.
A photograph slipped from between the leather folds. Black hair, sharp against his tan jarhead uniform, Bible clutched tight. His unit stood and sat around him, expressions firm, frames rigid. So out of place…
'Gēgē (Brother)…'
Nishi couldn't dam the nostalgic memory nor prevent his forlorn expression at the reflection of his gēgē de (Brother's) words.
"I have become military priest. I'm going off to sea soon. So, if…. I meet any mishap…"
From underneath the first photo, Nishi pulled out another: he and his gēgē, together, laughing, ignorant to the blood spattered across the once-sheen surface.
"I hope you will accept that fact."
"…There is no such thing as Xīxuѐguī (Vampires)."
Desperate to rid himself of this guilt, this loss, Nishi sought to distract himself. To beget this 'lie' and reclaim reality.
"No matter how, it is always humans themselves killing their own kind." He snapped the wallet closed, only wishing he could do the same with these sanity-consuming emotions tearing at his soul. "If it is not them… then who else is to blame…?"
A portentous breeze teased his onyx locks, twining a curl of smoke from his cigarette.
Nishi may have stood in a crowded, over populated Xiānggǎng (Hong Kong), but he was so alone, his only company his own shadow and a hollow psyche echoing of bloodied memoirs.
It came on the wind; so soft and smooth it could even be mistaken as pure fancy, a recollection echoing the refinery of Victoria, the reverence of implied inferiority, a seclusion akin to no other being upon this earth.
Freshly rosined horsehair thrumming a tune in pianissimo, unlamented grief; vibrato, tears never to be shed; a twist of the wrist, the depthless fall into despair.
'This timber is… shénme (what)?'
Did no one else notice? Did no one else hear? This melody which struck such a melancholy chord, which seemed to be steeped in ever prevalent emotions one thought were too beyond despair to attain. How could they not chase after it, seeking the source? These lilting notes drifting as a cool breeze, soles stepping in beat, tapping out the rhythm of grief.
'This peaceful sound absolutely doesn't fit this noisy city. Not only that. Somehow, it sounds kind of lonely…'
He didn't know when he'd moved from that spot, for only moment ago, Nishi had seemed rooted there.
Shadow lagging behind, the throngs finally thinned from their nebulous gape.
The cellist may have sat in a crowded, overpopulated Xiānggǎng, but he was so alone, his only companion his own shadow and a hollow psyche echoing of bloodied memoirs.
Perched atop a brick retaining wall, there he sat—the source of this addolorato (music term meaning "sorrowful") tune.
Onyx locks twining in the breeze, the cellist sensed his onlooker, heavy lids rising to gaze upon this mortal who dare impede on his solitude. The face of a dead man, pale as his ghost, composer to a tune only the soul can conjure.
'…He looks like….'
A photograph branded beneath Nishi's eyelids with those onyx locks waving loosely in his eyes, hand tightly clutching a Bible, which could be so synonymously overlaid. Instead of worn strings, yellowed pages; a minor haircut; lighten the expression a bit to curve those pale lips in a plaintive grin.
His breathe was stolen with that one look—from those eyes empty as space, grayscaled with hardship.
So alike, a ghost as tepid as the cigarette which lie lost some time back, probably trampled by the ever late city-goers.
The high pitched pi~! of a cell phone pierced the stillness, shattering the illusion.
"…..!"
Out of nothing other than habit, Nishi whipped around, flipping out his phone.
"Is this Nishi? It's me," a voice on the other end of the line crackled.
"Chief?" What could the Chief want?
"Where are you now? Hurry and come back to headquarters."
"Is there any progress in the case‽"
For some reason, this was the first conclusion that popped into Nishi's head. An echo of lonesome cello notes drifted through his mind alongside blood-spattered photographs, but it was a fleeting thought which he quickly dismissed as frivolous whimsy.
"…No. The bureau chief has something to talk to you about regarding the case. Just be back soon."
The Chief didn't await an answer, hanging up right then and there.
A scooter zoomed by, and it was then Nishi realized he was once more a citizen of this overpopulated metropolis, people surrounding him every which way he dared glance.
Had all that really occurred in the span of but a few seconds? Could've been an eternity for all he knew—time had seemed to stand still.
"….?"
That cellist!
"…Gone." Without a trace, at that.
Had he not been there but seconds ago, or had the whole thing been but a fleeting whimsy, as well?
…
Hazy sky, striped with formless white-brown puffs dotting the smoggy-blue backdrop.
Nishi clomped up the steps of his district station, mind adrift.
'Why in the world… All of a sudden?'
As he ascended the peak, voices echoing down the corridor caught his attention, along with an unfamiliar face: blonde hair slicked back professionally; thin framed glasses which gave off a sharp, cold aura; a severe black suit, tie perfectly centered, each button with a polished sheen like his shoes.
"And, so, I'm leaving."
The sharply suited blonde left, a suspicious case in hand.
Something was most definitely off…
'Nà shì shuí (Who is that)?'
No use worrying about it now; the guy had already left. Yet Nishi couldn't shake off this lingering premonition.
"It's Nishi. Duìbùqǐ (Excuse me)," he announced with a light knock.
At the swing of the door, Nishi was welcomed to the sight of the bureau chief. The aging man stood before the window, hands clasped behind his back. He had obviously been awaiting Nishi's arrival.
"—Ah, Nishi-kūn. Sorry for suddenly calling you here."
The bureau chief's behavior seemed a bit suspicious. A slight twist to glance at Nishi was his only acknowledgement as he remained facing the window.
"It's nothing. …But, why is even the bureau chief here…?"
The Chief stood stiff beside Nishi, teeth and fists clenched as he worked not to look his subordinate in the eye.
Something was definitely off…
"Ah, it's nothing big. It's just that, the case you're investigating—"
Nishi felt his gut clench.
"—where the victims died from blood loss…"
A small smile seemed to twitch at the bureau chief's vile lips.
"It's been decided that we'll cease any further investigations."
The source of this unsettlement, that pervasive unease he's been afflicted with since that cryptic phone call. This was it. This was all it.
Rage seethed.
"Shénme (What)…‽"
The bureau chief continued as though Nishi hadn't spoken a word: "From now on, a group of specialists from an international organization will take hold of the investigation. I hope that you will convey this message to everyone as the person in charge for this case."
Tell the other officers‽ This was real, this was happening. His case was being stolen, and that murderer would be free to kill again with no consequence for their actions. That woman would forever remain without justice.
All Nishi could do was protest, even though he knew it was futile. "You can't do this! This is certainly not a joke—up 'til now we have put all kinds of effort in it!"
"Nishi…" the Chief called softly to his subordinate, hoping to quell the fury he knew all too well to be raging under Nishi's skin by explaining the bureau chief's reasoning. "We have already been busy since before the Independence Day. There is no need to waste any more time on unnecessary staff. Cease the investigation immediately."
And the innocent would suffer as a result?
"But…"
A hand on his shoulder brought Nishi's rebuttal to a halt. A solid expression donned the Chief's face. Withheld grievances of his own held his lips tight and his voice came out gruff. "It's useless, Nishi. The decision has been made." Now it was rage tugging his mouth down in a begrudged sneer. "Just now, they have already taken away all the data about this case."
Blonde hair and a prim black suit came to mind. '…It's that guy!'
"When this territory is returned to Zhōngguó Nèidì de (Mainland China's) rule, we're going to need a lot of resources." The bureau chief's voice was slicked green. "You better learn to adapt to the new way of things, or it will be hard for you to continue living." A chuckle could almost be discerned, every word mustard gas tainting the atmosphere.
"…How unfortunate. I'm not too good with things like that."
Disregarding the proper rules of etiquette towards his superiors, Nishi spun around on his heal, stalking out of the office with the Chief's echoing cries: "Hey… Sai!"
…
Nishi burst through the station doors with a bang!, pissed beyond belief.
'That greedy, old hag! So easily bribed…!'
His teeth ground together, fists clenched so tight it felt blood could almost be drawn. All he could see was hóngsè hé hēisè (red and black).
Red like the fire burning in his veins. Red like blood spilt and to be further drained. Red like the dark liquid spattering his memoirs, his gēgē de (brother's) memory.
Black like night, deep and still. Black like an innocent woman's locks whose blood was so mercilessly spilt; like his gēgē de (brother's). Black like the blonde man who stole his case file, with his pale white skin and prissy suitcase climbing into his Mercedes Benz.
'Gāi (Over there)!'
Before the delegate could climb in, Nishi snapped a rough, "Hey, hold it right there!"
Surprised at the brazen call, the man turned to face the enraged cop. "Shénme (What)?" He turned to face Nishi, scorn pulling his eyebrows and lips down into a condescending glare.
Now—finally faced with the one to blame, the one who dared steal his case and prevent justice from being wrought, the one who so promptly pulled the rug out from under his dignity—Nishi realized what he was doing. This man in his prim black suit, finely tailored without a stitch out of place, stood before him, daunting with his rank and power. He whom had so easily bought out the bureau chief's loyalty and walked with such swagger and confidence, shoulders firm with withheld strength. The man was undoubtedly intimidating. It felt like he was looking down on Nishi with just that one glance and sneering "Shénme (What)?"
It was too late to turn back, though.
"It's you! You're the guy that took over the case of the victims with the blood loss!" He stalked forward, anger simmering as he struggled to keep from punching the bastard. "I don't care what international organization you are from. Snatching away another person's case—how unreasonable of you!"
His every action only served to piss Nishi off more. From how he looked away with a slight frown, as though the officer's very presence gave him a headache, to how he pushed his thin-framed glasses up into place with such grace and ease, so smooth and dripping with poise. And then how he addressed Nishi's rage, as though the latter were a bug squabbling on the sidewalk beneath his feet. So lowly, so inferior, so pointless were his protests and grievances. Like just speaking to him was annoying and a waste of his breath.
"Ah… So you're the person in charge whom the bureau chief mentioned before? I forgot to introduce myself, Nishi Xiānshēng (Mister Nishi). My name is Isaac. From now on, we shall take over all rights to the investigation of this case. This has nothing to do with you guys."
"…!"
That bastard spoke so prim and polite. It felt like he was speaking to a child, humoring their fleeting distress which was of absolutely no depth or value; just a couple crocodile tears and some empty pleas to indulge because they knew no better.
It made Nishi's blood boil over. Caution thrown to the wind, temper reigning free, he cried with vehement indignation, "'Nothing to do with us'! There's already a person who's dead in the district we are in charge of! How can it be none of our business!" It wasn't even a question.
Not even a chip at Isaac's cold exterior. Just a prudish glance and empty words: "I'm sorry, but this case is not one that you guys can deal with. —So far, you guys have not even gotten as much as a strand of evidence, right?"
"…!" To throw something like that right in his face—The audacity! And the implications undertoning his words—"Are you telling us to just pretend that nothing had happened‽?" Such an inconceivable command. It happened, and that woman's corpse lay in the morgue beneath the station true as day. It happened, and there was a mad killer on the loose with three lives under his belt.
"That is what is called being sensible," Isaac replied without missing a beat, "if you don't want to end up dead."
Why did this prissy, black suited young man's words strike such a chord in Nishi's boiling blood which seemed to make it run cold? He spoke was such seriousness, as though it was something too deadly to be doubted, too obvious to have even been spoken of.
"There are certain things in this world that are best left unknown. This is a fact."
Nishi glared loathingly after Isaac's Mercedes Benz, its departure kicking up a miniature storm of wind and grit to muss his hair.
"…"
Yet, all he could do was stare after that luxury automobile with fists and teeth clenched, a cold sweat still tainting his skin, confusion radiating in livid waves.
…
On the outskirts of Xiānggǎng laid a collection of ancient structures, extrinsic, yet so intrinsic with the modern metropolis. The black-gabled roofs sprawled across the valuable tract, walls towering and fine, embellished with jade, and gold dragons. Pasted on one ancient column was a script written of archaic charms to ward off demons, curses, ill-will, and bad luck. An ancient, sprawling mini-city adjacent to the epitome of modern society so entwined with the dead regime of emperors and folklore, to which one particular door creaked open. A shaggy blonde head peeked through, unbefitting this location of onyx-locked finesse.
"…"
Do Leong stepped through the doorway nervously, attempting to remain silent and sneak into the compound unnoticed. To no avail.
"Ní hǎo, Gēgē (Hi, Brother)," a voice called cheerfully from within, steps graceful and still as a cat's. A sly grin donned the Chinese man's face, firm-faced bodyguards manning him on either side. His silk cheongsam swayed with a light swish as he came to a halt before a frightened Do Leong. "How are… the police doing?" That smile, so deceptively bright, hid the young man's true thoughts as he grinned at the blonde.
With a nervous sweat and thoughtful pause in which he anxiously cleared his throat, Do Leong gave a drawn out, "…Ah, yes." With another deep breath, he gathered his wits about him, returning with a wary but less timid elaboration of, "Seems that they haven't figured it out…" No matter how much he'd warned them.
An eerie wind swept through the compound, sliding orchid leaves across the path.
"Really, it must be exhausting for you to do this." Such a dark undertone crept into the cheongsam-garbed young man's voice, echoing a frightening premonition. His words were sympathetic, but the man's very aura seemed to say otherwise. "From now on, I'm counting on you." He grasped Do Leong's chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye, despite his fright. "So, the plan is still on. We can't afford to fail in the next step."
A sly smile, emanating a foul mustard gas, tugged at the young man's lips, his eyes glowing a feverish madness.
…
Jiǔlóng (Kowloon)
The "Lawless" Jiǔlóng, as some called it, with rust trailing in cascades of hóngsè hé zōngsè (red and brown) down its walls like dried blood, and sickly green and white exterior walls. Wires strung across loosely, as though it were them holding the massive collection of structures, which so seemed to be a single unit, together, useless antennas specking the multi-storied rooftops; the metal jungle of the slums. Slated for demolition, this ghetto which once housed tens of thousands, wrought with drug abuse and gang wars, this hovel of prostitution and ill-fortune which had seen so much bloodshed and pervaded even though its squalid residents have since moved on to a new home of ill-repute, was not yet prepared to die, clinging to life by claiming that of others, just like in its glory days.
Footsteps echoed down its halls, a shadow creeping along the walls, oddly reminiscent of when children would scamper through the tightly packed corridors, claustrophobic through and through, littered with trash and needles, with previously live wires hanging freely from the pipes and leaking insulation. The sound was quiet, and yet so loud. Now the epitome of a ghost town—a massive, modern era ghost town which stood like a concrete mountain, a metal forest, technologically booming Xiānggǎng (Hong Kong) in plain view were one to stand atop the tallest structure in the bunch—Nishi's footsteps were but a pinprick to the ever pervasive white noise which had once plagued the walled city; but in the stillness, the utter silence, it was too loud and echoed so perversely off the concrete and metal. He came upon his target, after much winding through the labyrinth of corridors and stairwells: a stone courtyard which appeared so odd, boxed in by apartment buildings packed so tightly together no gap could be discerned between their façades, where a single rectangle of pollution-distorted sky could be seen, framed by the rooftops like a window to a world entirely unattainable.
How anyone had ever stood living here, Nishi would never understand. Absolute desperation, inevitable despondency must've been the Black Death which drove these people to collect in such fierce concentration in such a hopeless entrapment. Had that woman been here for that reason, caught in a tsunami of desolation?
He now stood over a chalk outline, bloodstains still visible, spattered across in a gruesome array. His shadow was dark against the white chalk; so similar to the dried blood.
"How can I give up… so easily…?" he asked himself, self-loathing tangible.
If he gave up, that woman and the other two victims would never receive the respite of justice. They'd just be another cold case added to this slum's already bulging file. How many murders had there been here? Dozens?—no, no, far more than that. Hundreds, perhaps? Such a daunting number. It felt… wrong to leave this place with another death to its name. Wasn't it Nishi's duty to send this place off without another breath in its stifling grip? Solve the case, return what had been spiritually lost, allow—if only—these last three spirits to rest in peace, their murderer brought to justice in a court of law to suffer for his sins in a penitentiary with all the other sickos.
The click of his flashlight was another harsh sound in the stillness of night. The dead of night, no stars visible, only a silver disk to alight the walled city in a surreal glow.
"If only there is at least some evidence…"
Sifting some broken slabs of concrete jutting from the once smooth surface, a crimson glow caught the officer's eye. "Huh? …This is… as dark red as blood….?"
So absorbed was he in this oddly colored crystal which looked so much like a blood-red ruby and was yet far too feeble, feeling as though it would crumble to dust should one squeeze too hard, that Nishi was entirely unaware of the shadow creeping up on him with demonic horns and a goblin grin. All too late did he give notice to the hairs standing on the back of his neck.
At the monster's strike, blood flew in a crystalline arc through the air, black in the night like Nishi's onyx locks. He was thrown back, skidding across the rough stone, but still recovering quick enough to gaze through the stinging in his left arm at his demon-assassin.
"Shénme (What)!"
There it stood, the epitome of inhuman. Claws a foot long curled in loose fists as it rose so tall in the open corridor, pale moonlight a backlight to silhouette the monster's gruesome frame. Not even an idiot could mistake this goblin for a mortal, for a human, as its eyes glowed a fetid red—red as the blood which dripped from its claws, from Nishi's arm, which had dried black on the cracked slabs. The creature raised a claw to its horse-like head, tongue flicking from between brazenly carnivorous canines to lick off the officer's sweet, sweet blood—still warm on its freezing leathery flesh. A scent so sweet, metallic with life and fervor. Life it wished nothing more than to steal as its own, forever bound to this slum's consuming ways.
Abhorred, it finally clicked in Nishi's brain that this was happening and that this goblin fully intended to kill him. It was blatantly clear in those orbs of bloodlust, insanity swirling. Ignoring the pain splicing up his arm, he drew his weapon.
Five instantaneous shots rang out, a small spiral of smoke swirling from each bullet wound on the monster's leathery hide. One by one, the bullets slipped from singed flesh to drop to the ground with a metallic ring. Metallic—like the sweet scent of his blood flowing from warm flesh to cold concrete. Such a waste… It licked its lips, saliva dripping with crushed metal in eerie plips.
'Shénme (What)…. What the hell is this thing?'
Nishi simply couldn't believe his eyes. Four shots to the heart, one to the forehead. His accuracy was deadly, yet the creature was entirely undeterred. If anything, all he'd accomplished was further pissing it off. An unshakable, instinctive fear gripped his body stiff like Death's boney fingers. So cold, even as sweat dripped off his chin.
Quiet footsteps, almost indiscernible through the heavy thumping in the officer's ears. Black-clad, like an Angel of Death, a shadow crept across the concrete. With a shriek, the goblin slowly turned its monstrous head to sight its latest opponent. No, this was not an opponent. The fear coursing through its veins said as much, every instinct screaming at it to run, to escape. It shivered in terror, eyes fading to a golden hue as bloodlust faded from its conscious mind. To survive, it knew it needed that rich red liquid so enticing plipping on the ground by that human, but a more immediate knowledge pushed it to act otherwise.
"…KA…KIIIIIIIII~!"
With a flap and a gust, it took off. To escape.
To no avail.
In hot pursuit, the source of its fear took a leap, pinballing off the crumbling walls, high above Nishi and the chalk outline. White wings against silhouetted black. They were framed by the moon's pale silver disk, a lurid red staining the grayscale scene. The source of the goblin's fear: a young man in black, white trench coat flapping like wings of his own, with wavy onyx locks held back in a blue ribbon, who so effortlessly sliced the monster with his bare hands, a great shriek echoing through the still night; the man's face was empty, even as he gazed unblinkingly into the dying creature's panicked golden eyes, blood pouring from the gaping wound bisecting its left wing as flaps of skin webbed loosely between, like the wires holding Jiǔlóng together—to no avail, for it was slated for demotion, just like this goblin of death.
It was all Nishi could do to stare in amazement at the scene.
Letting out a great cry, booming and deep like thunder, they swooped out of sight, a trail of crystalline red arcing beneath to splatter grotesquely atop the already blood-spattered stone.
Holding his arm tight to staunch the bleeding, Nishi promptly chased after.
His path, however, was time-consuming, no matter how quick his feet carried him. Breath short, he exited the ghost town, a mountain of blood and darkness behind him, to spot the man standing alone in an empty lot, tattered chain link fence his proverbial cage.
Blood dripped from his clenched knuckles as Nishi faced the mysterious being which had so easily slain that goblin.
"…That was… …"
On a breeze, the metallic scent drifted to the man, making him turn.
"Who the heck… are you…"
The man turned to face Nishi fully. His eyes were heavy, the crimson glow inciting an unsettled fear to settle deep in Nishi's belly. Countenance so empty, so cold, eyes fiery with bloodlust of his own. The crimson was such a stark contrast to the man's pale skin and onyx locks—it stood out, lurid on a grayscale background.
Just as quickly as the moment had begun, however, it ended, as the man collapsed to his knees with a heavy thump! in the grass.
Bewildered, Nishi held him in his arms. "…Eh… Wait…"
The young man uttered the most confusing thing that could've possible escaped his pale lips—" I'm hungry…"—before promptly falling into a deep slumber.
'What in the world… just happened?'
A/N
Thoughts? Comments? Confusion? Oh, come on *smiles sweetly*. Review, please~!