The dark streets and alleyways of Kerning City were crowded with the usual medley of local businesspeople, gangs of hoodlums, and occasional travelers from the other towns. The streetlights, crooked from repeated beatings, hung ominously over the streets. Dim electric lighting emanated from the many pubs, nightclubs, and sleazy restaurants in the roads. Vendors jabbered in a multitude of languages, including Korean and Zipanguan. Thieves hollered at each other through the streets, where loud bangings of metal against metal echoed loudly. The setting sun to the west cast the city in a bath of bloodred light. Clouds, tinted the colors of the sunset, loomed over the tall buildings.
A little girl, clad in a red jacket, was drawing pictures on the pavement. She munched at a stick of fried baby octopus legs as she traced patterns on the ground with multicolored chalk. Her amethyst eyes were narrowed, focused intently on her current activity. Her black hair was brushed into two pigtails near the sides of her head.
The noisy barbershop stood behind her. Her father yelled at the customers, and the customers yelled back. Hair of all colors was strewn over the steps leading up to the shop, along with slimy shampoo, conditioner, hair dyes, and other garbage. Despite its deplorable condition, the barbershop was actually quite well off compared to some of the poorer shops of the city. The patrons of the shop, although noisy and bad-mouthed, paid her father well.
To her disappointment, Nella dropped the stick of octopus legs onto the chalk-covered ground. Her eyes began to water, but she struggled not to cry. "Daddy says not to waste food..." she whispered nervously to herself. Her father flew into rages over wasted food, but her mother... Her mother said that it was because they struggled so hard to make a living in this city that he has to let his stress out sometimes.
"Daijoubu da yo, kore o taberu, ore wa," declared a voice behind her.
Jumping up, Nella turned to see who it was. It was that Natsuka boy again, the skinny one who wore rags and spoke in her mother's language. His rags seemed worse than usual; threads dangled loosely from the strange outfit. The boy snatched the stick from the ground, looking apprehensively at her.
"Hoshii desu ka?"
Nella shook her head. Natsuka's dark eyes widened. He immediately began wolfing down the food, muttering a hasty thanks to the girl. A strange feeling tugged at Nella's heart, as she looked upon the boy. He looked cadaverous; his thin bones looked like barely enough to support his weak, child's body. His dark eyes looked sad and lonely, despite his confident voice.
"Chotto matte, Natsuka-kun" she called at him. She ran into the barbershop, leaving her chalk drawings behind. The boy looked very confused, but he waited patiently.
"Here you go," she puffed as she ran back. She offered the fried chicken to the boy. The boy looked confused, until Nella repeated the statement in Zipanguan.
Now the boy looked visibly surprised. The girl had given him scraps before, but never a real, untouched meal. His shaking hands moved slowly to the food when suddenly, a loud voice barked angrily at him.
"You! Get away from here you! Nothing better than a stray dog, stealing our food," shouted Andre as he stumbled out of the shop. He nearly tripped on the slick locks of hair littering the front steps.
Nigero!" he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill. He sincerely hoped to drive the boy away.
Natsuka was sprinting as fast as he could down Xihan Street. His short legs couldn't carry him very far; he knew that all too well. The rags covering his body were already drenched with sweat. His black hair was also plastered to his pale skin. In the dimming sunlight, it shone like a raven's wing.
Blood pounded in his veins, and fear nearly paralyzed his mind with terror. He mindlessly threw his weakening body forward. A gang behind him took notice, and they began taunting and jeering. Natsuka finally collapsed on the asphalt, out of exhaustion. His lungs and legs burned painfully, as did his scratched face and arms. He struggled to his feet and leaned against the alley wall, panting heavily. He slipped and fell to the ground
He would probably die here. It did not make much difference to him; he had been starving for food for almost as far back as he could remember. Occasionally he received a kindness or two from the young girl, Nella, who snuck food to him under her father's nose. Maybe that was his reason for living, just to see the kind smile on the small girl's face, her amethyst eyes looking concerned for him.
"There you are, you little shit," snarled a gruff voice behind him. Natsuka froze. He did not even dare to breathe.
A rough hand seized his shirt and pulled him off the ground. A few of the gang members retreated as the leader glared at Natsuka. His putrid breath was warm against the boy's ear. They were all teenagers, of a wide variety of hairstyles, skin colors, and heights. However, their menacing grins and dark eyes sent cold chills down Natsuka's spine.
The leader had the scariest look of all; he was the one who had dragged Natsuka off of the ground. His deep brown hair was slicked into spikes like a porcupine. Beneath his greasy hair, his icy blue eyes seemed to bore a hold into Natsuka's waning confidence.
"So you shit, what you do to us, you remember, ne?" he asked pointedly.
"Don't know! Sorry, sorry!" shouted Natsuka, answering back in the street slang. He tensed his body, expecting a hard blow.
The leader leered dangerously. "Steals us one of our foods, you do that. Geddit?"
Natsuka felt a desperate urge tug at his heart. He had to live through this; there must be some way he could escape. In frustration, he kicked upwards sharply. Although he missed his intended target, his foot collided hard just above, into the teen's stomach. He felt brief satisfaction, watching the leader clutch his dirtied white undershirt in pain. Natsuka's happiness, however, was short-lived; two other thugs stepped up to restrain him. Kicking wildly, Natsuka glared into the eyes of the furious leader. If his was the end, he might as well make a suicidal attempt.
"Let go of him," said a solemn voice above them. The gang froze, uncertain of what to do. The leader looked about wildly.
Two steel throwing knives sailed through the air. Red ribbons, tied to their hilts, waved behind them as they embedded themselves at the sides of the two thugs holding Natsuka. They missed them by a hairsbreadth. Their breathing immediately quickened, and their grips loosened. Natsuka struggled violently, pulling themselves out of their grasp.
Their leader was about to protest, when a steel knife caught him in the throat. It was thrown with so much force that the weapon pinned him to the wall. Coughing and spluttering violently, his eyes rolled back into his skull. Then, all was silence. The rest of the gang, screaming, scattered, scared silly by what had just happened.
A tall figure leapt to the ground, like a spider. Natsuka hastily got to his feet and looked at him defiantly.
He could not have been older than twenty. Although he looked thin, he seemed to possess the agility and fierceness of a cat. Much of the lower half of his face was covered by a black scarf. His hazel eyes looked wary but tired. His straw blonde hair jutted out in messy bands around his head. A gleaming claw, made of leather and orange admantium, covered his entire right arm. His other arm was bare, save for a leather glove. He wore the high-level gear of an experienced assassin, the Red Moon set of black cloth accented with read.
Remembering what little he knew of manners, Natsuka bowed deeply. "A-a-arigato," he stuttered in Zipanguan. "Oh- I mean- thank you," he corrected himself nervously, now in the common tongue. The sounds felt awkward coming out of his mouth, but he deeply wished to convey his gratitude.
The hint of a smile seemed to play across the man's face. Natsuka wondered if this was a trick of the waning sunlight, as he saw it disappear. The man looked around distractedly, as if he were looking for something. Then, nodding politely at Natsuka, he turned to leave.
"Wait!" cried Natsuka. "I... I need to learn fight. How to fight," he said desperately. "I'm always, always afraid, hungry, weak. Teach me how to fight."
The man paused, contemplating. Natsuka tensed; he wondered if he had overstepped the boundaries between them. An experienced fighter like that man usually had nothing to do with the lowly street urchins here...
"Alright," the man said with deliberation. His voice, surprisingly strong and clear, cut through the darkness. "You'll have to see the Dark Lord- I can't help you as of now..." he broke off. Stepping forward, his intense gaze met Natsuka's. The boy wanted to look away; he could feel himself squirming inside. Despite this, he boldly stared into the assassin's eyes.
"Nevermind that- I'll escort you to him. Come, and try to keep up as best as you can..." he said, disappearing into the dark streets.
He walked with long, purposeful strides. His feel barely made any sound against the pavement. Natsuka jogged along, in order to keep up. The night was dark, but the city lights glowed dimly overhead. The occasional star could be seen in the sea of black sky, twinkling weakly. Natsuka would normally have felt exhausted by now, but, today, he was moved by a new sense of purpose and urgency.