“Co on, six Cont for that man?” A croaking voice calls from an alley to my right. The words are distant, but I hear them clear as day.
My feet falter. For a mont, I want to keep walking, to ignore the voice and pretend I didn’t hear anything. But sothing within —so force I can’t explain—compels to stop. I can’t just walk away. It’s like a wave crashing through , an urge I don’t understand.
My finger twitches.
My blood boils.
I feel the heat of it—hotter than the sun itself, hotter than my skin can stand. It burns through my veins, coursing in my blood. I feel it in my brows, in my eyes. Every inch of itches, as though my very body is rebelling against the stillness, against the calm I’ve been trying to maintain.
I feel the change.
It’s like sothing snaps inside of . The world around warps, and everything turns red. Crimson. The sa color as my blood. The asphalt beneath my boots becos a purplish hue, and the two people I see ahead of —they glow. Their bodies, their insides, everything. I see their offal, their organs, glowing in blue. I can see their vessels, their bloodlines pulsing beneath their skin, glowing blue in the mist. It’s an odd sensation, a terrifying one. But not the most terrifying.
No. There’s sothing else.
The third person in the alley—a man who doesn’t look like the others. He doesn’t glow blue. Instead, his blood, his very body, glows red.
He is one of mine.
One of my kind.
I can feel the heat inside of continue to boil, to pulse with an urgency I can’t control. He’s mine. My blood calls to him, a part of I thought was lost, a part of that is still alive.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
The feeling is... cool. A strange sense of possession. But the anger toward the blues, the monsters who made this way—that is what makes my blood burn even more.
“Man, I can’t go any further down.” The other voice echoes, tinged with annoyance. Their words are weak, fragile, like the statues they are. “Look, I paid Five Cont and eight Celi. If I went even one Celi lower, hell, why would I even bother with these deals?”
I crouch, concealed in the thick mist, my presence veiled from their eyes. They continue bickering about the human—my kind—tied up before them, branded with the sa mark that I bear. My knees are wet, soaked through by the mist. It feels as though the cold wind cuts at my skin, refreshing against my burning cheeks.
“Alright, I’ll go one Celi dow––”
I silence him, my fist crashing into the skull of the blue who dared to sell my kind. The sound of bone eting flesh fills the alleyway. I watch in a mont of disbelief as his body slams to the ground. His partner stares at , confused at first, but I don’t hesitate. My next step is instinctive, a surge of power that drives forward. I charge. Fists raised, I land blow after blow, sending my punches into their faces.
It feels... good.
The satisfaction of delivering punishnt to those who’ve wronged my kind fills , though a part of can’t quite understand it. Why do I feel this way? Why does it feel so right to break their skulls, to watch their blood spill and feel the weight of their lives slipping away under my hands?
I don’t have the answers. I don’t need them.
The world outside this alley may as well be an illusion. These blues—these creatures who enslave my people, kill without a second thought—have no place in this world. No right to exist in this space, beneath the sa sky I walk under.
I kneel over the one I just struck down, straddling his limp body. He’s gasping, barely able to breathe. But it’s too late for him. There’s nothing left for him but a quick death. His final monts will be spent choking on the air I’ve stolen from him.
I twist his throat.
The life drains from his eyes as he lets out one final gasp, clutching at his throat in vain. But I’m already moving on, charging toward the next. He recoils, trying to pull back, but I dodge his fist with a simple flick of my wrist. The strike is swift, my elbow crashing into his temple with a sickening crack. He stumbles backward, his knees buckling as he gasps for air. But there’s no ti left for him.
I don’t stop.
The words of the world around blur, turning to noise, to aningless babble. All that matters is this—the beating, the death. The satisfaction of their last mories being the sight of , the Red who has co to reclaim what was taken from us.
I don’t know why I’m this strong. I don’t know why I have this overwhelming urge to destroy them. But I do it because they deserve it.
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