Shades of Red and Black

A One-shot by Rissi-Sama

Far away the rhythmic and ferocious drums sounded meet and gentle, like a therapeutic rain falling from crisp clouds. This, however, was no consolation. I was no longer a citizen of the day; I had become a night dweller. I felt invigorated by the steady, red flow of living blood from a dying man and relished in the power of seeing my opponent in agony, writhing beneath me until their expiration.

This so enthralled me that the guilt of the action never surfaced, it had not the time to appear. Kill after kill, the spraying of blood energized me like a drug and I could not stop. By the end, my addiction became a crutch. I needed to kill, to take human life without reservation or conscious thought. The joys in life, once gentle and warming, became dark as the red dreams in my head. I do not think I could have stopped, even if my heart had desired cessation.

Conscience and morality aside, I saw what I was capable of with foreign, possessed eyes. It never hit me that those eyes were foreign. As readily as the terrible habit was initiated, it began a withdrawal, leave my soul to face the consequences.

In a moment a life can alter, thoughts may change, and the eyes may be aware of what the mind and body is doing. It was near midnight and I had begun my prowl. Moving within the shadows and dust I stood at Hell's first gate, passing into the first level of Hades with a glee-like emotion. My heart raced with an unnatural anticipation.

In front of me and behind Hell's first gate a small rice paper and sandalwood house stood. It was supposedly the home of a traitor; I cannot recall his name or whether he was even guilty. Back then such questions did not register. At that point, I happened upon Hell's second gate. My humanity, the small fragment that remained from my ravaged soul, hesitated and before that doubt could surface I killed it with my blade. Only one stab had rivaled that deadly strike, yet for all its loudness it had no potency and only delayed what had been a long time coming.

That's when I strolled freely in the second level of desolation. The rice paper ripped cleanly and without a noticeable sound. I was fully immersed in the darkness; this seemed like strength at the time. I heard every mousey skittering and my own soundless footfalls on the rice mat flooring .I had not bothered to remove the sandals on my feet, assassinations were not polite. It only took a moment to discern the victims even and steady breaths as he slept in peace, oh what thoughts invaded my mind then! What dark and cruel phrases, twisted and morphed to what had remained untainted in my mind. Hell's third gate passed without notice, I was an automaton to a faithless cause.

I saw through yellowed eyes the traitor in question. His arm was draped across the pregnant form of his wife. Had my soul remained I would have perhaps left the room before her husband's eyes fluttered open Why I did not kill him swiftly I do not know.

For upon seeing his eyes dawn with realization as I loomed above, as the cultured steel of the blade gleamed in the fires of Hell. I stood aloof at my untimely hesitation, watching him wake his drowsy wife, it was imperative to strike.

In an instant remembered as if played in slow motion, the man had stirred from his bed and in a picture to quick to capture the red blood sprayed and fell upon the trembling body of his wife. With sword strokes Hell's fifth gate was passed and his limp body was strewn over his wife protectively. Her voice sounded shrill as she screamed. Looking into my face did not console her fears, she attempted to run. Her steps were clumsy, bearing the weight of her unborn child.

You would not have the experience to know this, but an attack of hysterics can immobilize an assassin as easily as a defiant stare. The woman continued to scream when she vainly attempted to escape my deadly blade. She would not, however, escape the room; I soon caught up and clamped a calloused and bloody hand over her mouth. In a continued struggle she tried to escape from the snare of my arm.

Her muffled cries could still be heard, but a moment alter she fell limp against me. I had snapped her neck though the damage had already been done. The household had awoken what had been an assassination turned into a massacre. I ran carelessly into the hall and an older servant greeted me to die only seconds later. His blood stained the rice mat a deep burgundy. The lantern in his hand was hurled into the rice paper wall and started a conflagration of blood, sweat, and tears!

I had truly become a fallen man, the demon inside smiled at the cries of pain, but it was the wife's interference that brought the humanity amid the flames of the despair. In a free-fall to Hell's seventh level, my stride to escape matched the beating of my heart. How many innocents had died? The fire was spreading, and I'm sure the devil could be seen from within me as it gave fuel to the fire.

A question, once inane caused my fleeing feet to falter and my body tumbled to the ground and my sight blurred and my senses were dulling. I had woken from the trance. Looking around it was all blood; the darkness of my clothes could conceal the florid coloring, but not the wet, damp feeling.

Red rivers filling slowly by dripping waterfalls of death, I discovered was no hallucination. My forehead was damp with a red sweat that stung my eyes and I was soon awash in sheen of red blood. I stood wearily and walked to a nearby drain and hurled that cursed, tainted sword in it, with all the repulsion I was feeling. Finally my legs and consciousness gave out and I passed into a new light to await redemption.

Rissi's recourse:

This is me writing out the darkness…nothing else…