Our Journey

Chapter XI Prologue

The stench of blood.

It choked the night air, chilled, frigid, enough to freeze one right down to their core.

Silence filled the surrounding, dusty air, worn down, wooden buildings stood still all around. Not even a single breeze swept in through the dirt laden roads, twining through a minuscule, little village.

The world itself seemed to be holding it’s breath.

A large shadow sat still across the dirt, the scent of death rising from a thick, scaled body. Blood red eyes glistened under the moonlight, clouded over, transparent, like glass beads. They mindlessly looked up, devoid of life. The creature had long since taken it’s last breath as another stood before it.

White, then red. White...And red. The colors mixed together, emerald eyes, looking on vacantly as they glinted in the night.

In a way, those eyes were not unlike those of the dead Demon, glazed, and empty.

He felt nothing, as though blind to the scene displayed before him.

He didn’t want to see it.

Even so, the choking smell of blood and death was vividly familiar to him. Like a companion he neither desired, nor valued, but knew so very well.

Slowly, the sight of the corpse before him sank into his own, dull vision.

Warmth dripped down from his hands, his arms, stained with an intertwined combination of deep crimson, and vivid black. The lingering sensation of tearing through flesh and bones reverberated at his fingertips, making them feel numb. His thoughts and emotions were barren, giving him a feeling that could have either been taken as relief, or resignation. He didn’t know which, but that hardly mattered to him.

He was utterly desensitized to the scene around him, sensing a presence nearby.

“That’s enough. It’s dead already.” A man’s voice reached his ears, making them twitch slightly before he turned his gaze to see brown eyes looking at him in unease and fear.

He wondered how much time had passed now? He felt as though he were growing accustomed to this arrangement.

Each time he was sent out to dispose of a Demon problem, he was assigned a watchdog like this, or Alacard himself would oversee him...The light sensation of restriction around his neck was a silent reminder of what would happen if he stepped out of line.

Hanging his head down, he didn’t bother to hide his disgustingly vile arms, nor did he wipe away the blood. He let it sink into his blackened skin, hoping that it might stain him, scar him, even...So that he might not forget what he had done. The atrocities he committed.

Without a word, he turned his back, following after his watchdog obediently.

And thus, leaving the multitude of Demonic corpses littering the ground behind him.