Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke. Fujimaki Tadatoshi-sensei owns it. The only thing I own is this story.
I do not own the cover photo either. (Just my lame editing skills lol)
Warning: Grammatical errors, limited vocabulary, unbetaed. :3
First Part
Achromatic
A certain winter night.
Dead silent was the hour of darkness. The air was cold, crisp, prickling the skin. The ground was soggy from the moist brought about by the fog. The surrounding was shrouded with a dreadful mist––mysterious, minacious.
The chilling wind of wintertide howled like the ghastly whisper of a creature of the night. The distant flapping of fabric carried by the billowing air swept in tune with the wind, breaking the otherworldly quietude.
A ghostly scene rolled behind the thick fog.
A male of youthful age stood in the middle of a clearing, shivering with each blow of the wind, dressed in a pure white robe so thin and wispy that it didn't appear to give him any protection from the gelid season at all. The cloth was as white as snow, and the poor boy's skin being pallid created an eerie semblance to that of a porcelain doll's––one so fragile, nobody would risk touching.
The boy's teal hair accentuated the mystic atmosphere surrounding him as each strand fluidly swayed with every breath of the wind. All it did was stress his frangibility.
His frail hands were bound with thick ropes so tight that it gnawed through his skin. His fingers were tightly clasped together as if in prayer. The ropes tautly secured his wrist, bruising with each knot, marring his once smooth forearm with multiple cuts and burns.
His eyes were blindfolded with a black fabric with golden writings of what seemed to be some sort of ancient scriptures––a dead language spoken only by the gods.
Shallow puffs of breath slipped past the young boy's purple lips as he trembled. The coldness of the night made his entire body quiver.
Left.
Abandoned.
Forsaken.
He wanted to cry, but that would only anger the gods. Or so, that was what the elders from the village taught––brainwashed, rather––him with.
"You were born to become a sacrifice. Nothing else." The tormenting voice spoke in the back of his mind. The only reason he lived this long was because of this––he was a sacrifice to the gods, so his village could prosper. If it were what it would take for him to be free, then he would gladly play the role.
But it was cruel.
He wanted to scream, to let out series of curses, but even that was out of option, since his mouth was gagged with fabric similar to the one covering his eyes. It was tied just enough behind his head to make sure that he was still capable of breathing––capable of breathing until the end of the ritual, for after the ceremony, he would be nothing more but a soul case deprived of life. He swallowed the bile that formed in his throat at the thought.
Terrifyingly, the sound of the bells chimed. His heart stopped. It was the horrifying signal; the beginning of the ritual.
The fog gradually lifted as small flickers, one by one, materialized. Flames flickered, enclosing the tealette boy in a circling glow. The minute luster from the candles revealed a number of hooded figures around the boy. They were all wearing velvet black robes, contrasting the white one the boy was wearing. The robes reached the ground, and shadows were cast upon the hooded figures, because of the candles' flames.
Murmurs swallowed whole the sound of the howling wind. Low voices overpowered the breaths weaved by the season, quietly, quietly, until the soft whispers transformed into thundering chants. The incantations pressed on like an elegy, then, slowly, light crept upon the teal-headed boy's form.
The boy violently gasped, causing his tongue to push the gag further into his throat. He made a choking sound and fell down on his knees as his body sharply trembled.
"A… Ah… Hah…Hh…" His hands became even more tightly clasped as if they were being pushed together, his fingernails creating moons at the back of his hands. He wanted to hold his hand out for someone, for something, for anything to bring him to safety, but couldn't do so with his hands tied. The useless thought almost made him laugh. Safety? It was a word so far from his reach.
The black muffle became wet with his saliva, and droplets of his drool dribbled down the corner of his dry lips. Desperately, he fought for air as the unfamiliar pain continued to shake his body. Behind the blindfold, his eyes were wide with shock as the stinging sensation endlessly invaded his body.
Never once did the chanting stop and, with it, the agonizing pain continued, driving his already weak body and his already broken mind to their limits––tormenting him until it turned him mad, until it turned him empty like a doll.
He felt a warm viscous droplet of liquid trickle down from his nose. Staining his lips was a vicious red. The liquid mixed with his saliva, and he tasted iron.
Blood.
The ritual was draining him of his own blood.
It burns It hurts I can't breathe Air I can't Someone Anyone Please make it stop I beg you Please Please Stop Stop It hurts Please Please Please Please Please Please Save me!
He repeatedly pleaded in his mind as he relentlessly held his drifting consciousness together. The passing seconds felt like hours of torture. His mind teetered over the edges of sanity and insanity––the verge of reason and madness.
He knew that the pain meant that his life was slowly being eaten away.
He knew that this was what his grandfather meant by being chosen as an oblation.
He knew that soon enough, his suffering would end and he would become unable to feel anything.
He knew that he would die anon.
He would die. He had been prepared to die, but his mind still questioned: Why did it have to be him?
.
.
.
.
.
"To think that you, lowly mortals, would turn yourselves against your kin just to save your own faces. I shouldn't have expected anything from your pathetic selves," a voice suddenly erupted from above, so cold that it almost mocked the season. A strong gust of wind blew, instantly killing the flames from the candles off.
The chanting finally stopped, so did the pain wrecking the tealette boy's body.
Panting, the tealette weakly shivered from the feeling's aftereffect. Then, he weakly fell forward, not a single fragment of strength left in his body. It felt like he had been repeatedly run over by carriages. His head pounded in tune with his heartbeat. He felt the ground shake as he quietly laid there, completely exhausted.
"L-Lord Akashi–!" The boy heard someone from a distance blurt out in surprise, and from the sound of the voice, he knew it was his grandfather––the person who offered him as a ritual sacrifice to the gods.
A young man of almost similar build to the tealette appeared from the shadows. His hair was a fiery red, contrasting that of the exhausted boy which was a shade of a calming blue. His transcendental figure appeared to be glowing. Every step he took made a trail of light on the dim path. His eyes, which bore a dangerous glint in them, were heterochromatic––the right iris as red as blood, the other a lustrous gold.
"Never once did it cross my mind that you would stoop this low, Kuroko Tetsurou. Resorting to a human sacrifice, eh? What is more, your own grandson?" The unknown voice replied and, despite the tealette boy's hearing failing him because of the torment he had just gone through, he noted the iciness of the timbre. It was commanding, furious, condescending, and yet, oddly it faintly held warmth.
"Desperate times called for desperate measures, my lord. We have no other choice, but to do what is necessary," Kuroko Tetsurou answered, his voice as steely as ever.
"Necessary?" The stranger echoed. "You think I would be satisfied by being offered a measly sacrifice?" An amused chuckle rolled past his lips.
"I–"
"Silence!" The stranger roared. "Only you yourself have deemed that this is the rightful thing to do. You have turned your back against your own flesh and blood." With a supercilious look, he continued. "You have turned your back against life," came the cold reply. "I have lost interest in your actions. You don't entertain me anymore." He sent Kuroko Tetsurou a look similar to that of disgust and apathy.
"L-Lord Akashi, p-please liste–"
"Shintarou," Akashi flatly called. A few seconds later, a tall greenette man appeared from behind him. "Kill them," he indifferently ordered.
"…" The greenette man gave no reply as if he had just heard something inconceivable and was trying to process the information a second time.
Akashi didn't waste his time to retract his order. "I don't want to dirty my hands for someone as unworthy as them." He shrugged, then turned to the young boy sprawled on the ground. He narrowed his eyes at the boy's pitiful condition, then added, "It is odious." His voice sounded so repulsive that the night creatures fled away from the place and back into the forest.
The one called "Shintarou" just sighed. "Understood."
The tealette boy's breath hitched as he heard blood-curdling screams all sound him. He was confined once again, but, this time, the pleas weren't coming from him. Not being able to see anything frightened him more. He struggled to free his wrists from his binds. He wriggled his forearms and bit the ropes, even though he knew that it was definitely a futile attempt.
For the very first time that evening, he felt himself cry. He was afraid, horrified by the sounds. Tears flowed out of his eyes, but they never trickled down because of the blindfold. He coughed as the gag got pushed even deeper in his mouth, soaking it more with his saliva. If he didn't do anything soon, he would choke to his death. He almost mocked himself at how uneventful his death would be if that were to happen.
What felt like hours passed, until the cries finally ceased. The surrounding became filled with a terrifying silence and a strong stench which the boy became familiar with just a few moments ago.
Sickening, foul, nauseating––the smell of blood.
Still muffled, he gasped as he heard footsteps make their way towards him. He jolted up into a sitting position and immediately shuffled backwards despite still feeling flimsy. The moist earth smudging his pure white robe, as he scampered away.
No! P-Please, no… S-Someone––
He felt someone's presence right in front of him. His heart stopped for a second time that night. What he discerned to be someone's touch slipped at the back of his head, and, for all he knew, at that very moment, he was praying to all gods he could think of.
The person in front of him chuckled. "Oh, look at what we have here."
He abruptly closed his eyes, before slowly opening it, blinking carefully to adjust his vision. A soft shade of blue was revealed. His eyes were of the same color as his hair. His breath hitched when he met the mesmerizing gaze of the person before him. He felt himself drown into those pools of mismatched orbs. He still felt weak and lightheaded, and all he could do was stare back and tremble like a prey before its predator.
"That's an interesting analogy," the man said. He was wearing a very elegant kimono––the top was blood red similar to the color of his hair, and the bottom as black as the eventide was embroidered with a red dragon and scattered white camellias.
The bluenette boy blinked in wonder. Did the man just read his mind? This person must be who his grandfather had called "Akashi," if he could correctly recall the voice earlier. That name sounded familiar to him. If the gods were listening to him, please, please, enlighten hi––
Akashi smirked, making the tealette's heart skip a beat. "What's this? You're praying to me, even though I'm right in front of you?"
Eh? The tealette inwardly pondered the meaning behind the other's words. "W-What do you mea––?" Before he could continue, Akashi brought his lips next to his ear. He breathed softly and whispered a few words he couldn't make out. His body shivered as the redhead did so.
Akashi pulled back, then narrowed his eyes at the bluenette. A gentle smile formed on his lips. "It appears receiving you as a present may not be as bad as I originally thought…"
"E-Eh?" The tealette's eyes briefly drooped close, but he immediately opened it when he realized what he had just done. The feeling never left him though. He felt a wave of languor blanket him, causing him to nod off. His body, sedated, weakly fell forward. The redhead caught him in his arms. He tiredly sighed, his eyes finally fluttering close. The thought of having a stranger embrace him didn't matter to him at that moment. All he could think of was having a good night's sleep after the frightening incident which almost took his life. But, what if he didn't wake up at all? Maybe, even that didn't seem so bad if he could remain in this comforting warmth forever.
No… That definitely won't be good... His mind countered.
"Sleep well, Tetsuya," Tetsuya heard Akashi say. His voice was so enticing that it was almost enough to lull Tetsuya to sleep.
Tetsuya heaved one last sigh, before he let the calm completely take over his consciousness…
.
.
.
…and the both of them disappeared into the shadows of the mist.
It was the 20th night of the tenth month.
It was the very first time Kuroko Tetsuya felt genuine fear, terror, hopelessness… and maybe, maybe something akin to…
Author's note:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AKASHI SEIJUUROU! May you have another year full of love with your husband, Kuroko Tetsuya! We don't need to give Kuroko to you as a gift anymore because he's already yours. /KYAAAAAHH
(I was supposed to write a birthday fic for Akashi-sama. How did it turn out like this? Not that I regret it tho.)