Warning: Blood and gore—extreme blood and gore. You have been warned. Oh, yes, and man-love later on.
Disclaimer: We do not own Bleach or its characters. Nada. Zilch. We're just playing around in the playground of this interesting creation—that's fanfiction for you.
Chapter written by: ChiharuSato22
Collaborated by: Dior Crystal
Edited by: Dior Crystal & ChiharuSato22
Prologue
Shadows were moving in and about him. Shifting forms could be seen. Everything was dark and blurry. His vision was muddied. But, he still continued on his trek, stumbling slightly in his steps. Without a doubt, though, he was moving forward.
The look of fear reverberated from the other's eyes, sprawled out weakly on the ground. There was also a questioning look of disbelief and betrayal. A soft whimper could be heard from him, orange hair plastered tiredly over his face, covered in sweat and still perspiring.
He moved forward, without hesitation—the unfamiliar, hostile red glint never leaving his eyes.
"What...?" the other choked out in his confusion, scuttling backwards hastily. "W-What are you doing?" he stuttered, backing away steadily.
The other continued to advance, not yielding at the words.
Looking like cornered prey, he continued to shift away, his eyes widened and pupils dilated in fear, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, glancing back and forth in panic.
The predator continued to advance, a savage grin resting smugly on his face—satisfaction glistening in his eyes. Then, without even the slightest warning, he attacked.
There was a cry of fear as the other dodged the form that had just launched at him.
Hunched over and growling, he prepared himself to try again, readying his legs and pouncing again. This time, he caught the other.
A shriek bypassed his lips.
He bared his fangs, biting into his prey's neck. When he removed his teeth, blood sprayed. He licked his lips, returning to the bite, effectively draining the victim of his blood.
He fell limp in the other's arms, clearly looking hurt. The victim clutched at his attacker's sleeve weakly, trying to bring the man back to his senses.
"Please… Stop it…" the young man choked. "Why are you doing this…?" Warm, brown eyes were filled with so much confusion and pain that it was unbearable to look at.
Still, there was more to come. The predator paid no heed to the man's words. Nothing else mattered now. When he saw crimson, all thought flew out of his mind, sending him into a frenzy. He tore at the body, ripping it apart limb from limb and tearing at the torso wildly with his hands, a pool of red steadily forming on the floor.
Blood is life.
It runs in your veins; take it away and there is only death. Therefore, crimson is the colour of life.
It made him feel so alive, so real.
The rich, salty taste filled his mouth, filling his senses.
He was addicted to it.
He was no longer man, no longer capable of thinking; he was controlled by the sight, by the taste, by the salty smell of blood.
And he wanted more.
He dug his clawed fingers into the man's stomach, his whole arm stained a bright red, digging so deep that he reached the spine, damaging, ripping apart and pulling out organs.
There was one last scream of terror. Then, it all went quiet except for the disgusting sound of muscles being torn from bones and a body being disemboweled—the sickening crunch of bones cracking and flesh tearing. He knew that it was over when the light left his victim's eyes and when blood trickled out of his mouth, his clutch on his sleeve loosening until the hand fell to its owner's side limply.
The body was thrown haphazardly in a corner—or, rather, the remains of the body. It was in a completely unrecognizable state of being.
The predator, with some semblance of sanity—or perhaps, insanity was the correct term, took the blood remaining on his fingers and marked the victim, drawing a crucifix above the remnants of the corpse in a gruesome display of disrespect for human life.
Then, he left, leaving behind bloody flesh and a crucifix marked in blood.
Thus, this was the beginning of one of the worst and most unexplainable serial murders in the history of serial murders that was marked since Edward Theodore Gein.
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DC: It'll be my turn to write the next chapter. So… Don't expect too much. Haha. _ This is my 2nd time working together with a friend on a fic.
CS: Haha. That was...interesting. It's my first time writing something like this and it just makes it all the more exciting to be writing it with a friend, Mel. So, this is what it's going to be about. If this scared you, I do not recommend reading it. It's only going to get worse from here—it's all downhill from here on out, right? So, if you read this and still want to continue, I commend you for your bravery. Italics (aside from these) represent the themes of this whole fic. Good luck!