NOTE: Any information written in this story is completely fictional in nature, and should be taken with a pinch of salt.
27th July, 1919- Tokyo, Japan.
Blood! Blood everywhere! No matter wherever you turned, wherever you ran, or wherever you hid. The crimson splatters of blood littered every inch of the no-man's land in Tokyo. Recently, there had been a brawl among the native Japanese Samurai and the white-skins in the village of Hinohara, about the recent world conflict. The White men started it, the Japanese said, had they not entered our land and bribed our Emperor with a crooked treaty of theirs, our peaceful country would not be going down to the dogs!
The brawl was initially a small rock-throwing battle, but eventually escalated into a battle of armed conflict. The Japanese picked up any knife, sword, or spear they could find, and the red-coats used their cut-edge ammunition technology to absolutely decimate the naturally docile but prideful Japanese population. It was their crimson blood which was spilt so generously over the streets of the previously prim and proper village.
A young man could be seen gathering some of the blood-splattered sand in a small urn, and running swiftly back to an old shack which had been bombed during the war. In the shack were thousands of lit candles gathered around in concentric circles, which lit up the dull, dreary night. In the centre of all those fiery circles was another circle- this time, drawn with the blood of a man. This young man scuttled over to the centre of the circle and dumped all of the bloody sand in the centre of the circle.
He then walked over to the edge of the largest candle-lit circle, sat down, cut opened a small vein on his hand using a jagged piece of glass, and dropped the spilling blood onto the area of the circle.
"Ohh hear me, spirits, demons, vengeful ghosts!" The man began chanting in a hoarse voice. "Give me the strength I need to chase this evil that has befallen our land. I give you the blood of our vengeful comrades to feast on, so you could satiate your voracious hunger"
The man continued to chant "give me your strength", each progressive chant appearing with a higher volume, until the end, where he yells at the top of his lungs.
At that instant, the entire earth pulsated, as though the spirits from the underworld were breaking through. The urn at the centre tipped over, the redness suddenly vanishing. Suddenly, a small, red cloud emerged from the urn. A cloud whose shade darkened in colour as it grew in magnitude. The cloud was suddenly so large it touched the roof of the shack, and it was so dark that it was almost black. The man keenly observed the proceedings. The spirits have answered my plea!
He suddenly got up, and began laughing. It was a horrible laugh. Screechy, unpleasant, but one with power, with sheer happiness for succeeding in a ritual he thought would have failed.
"Now come, oh spirits. Come and devour my body, and refurbish me with strength. I sacrifice my humanity for this great boon you will bestow upon me!" He spread his hands out wide, as though prompting the cloud to embrace him.
The cloud slammed into the man with incredible velocity, taking out the man's human soul with the process. The man's body writhed in agony, as he shrieked in immense pain. Smoke protruded from every hole in his body- his mouth, his ears, his nostrils. Then suddenly, he stopped moving. Then his eyes fluttered open: they were dark red, almost the colour of blood, with small slits for pupils in an even darker shade of red.
The man got up slowly, stretched lavishly in his new body, and observed his limbs.
"Weak, pathetic," he said in a low, gravelly voice. "This is not going to serve me for my purpose."
The man shakily got up and walked towards the shack's opening. Luckily, it was still midnight, and the stars were shining in the sky.
"I must meet him the boy with the red, fiery hair and the hanafuda earrings," he said to himself. "He must pay dearly for what he did to me!"
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