The Weight Of Blood

Renn’s heart pounded in his ears as he staggered through the darkened forest. His body ached with the lingering strain of battle, but the fury burning in his veins dulled the pain. The air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke—reminders of everything the Bushi had taken from him.

They had killed his mother. His father. His entire clan.

And he would kill them for it.

The snap of a twig behind him cut through the haze clouding his mind. Without thinking, Renn spun around, his fingers curling into fists. His golden eyes gleamed in the moonlight as three figures emerged from the shadows—Bushi. Their armor reflected the pale glow, their blades drawn and shimmering with spiritual energy.

“You’ve run far enough, Asura,” the lead Bushi spat. His voice was cold, but there was something else beneath it—fear. “You’re coming with us, whether you like it or not.”

Renn’s lips curled into a snarl. “Try it.”

The first warrior lunged. Fast—but not fast enough. Renn sidestepped the strike and drove his elbow into the man’s gut, sending him crashing into a tree. Another came at him from the right, sword flashing. Renn caught the blade with his bare hand, spiritual energy crackling between them as his strength overwhelmed the Bushi’s weapon. With a roar, he shattered it, kicking the warrior away like he was nothing.

The third hesitated. Renn’s eyes burned with cold, murderous rage. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The remaining Bushi charged, but this time, Renn didn’t wait. He moved like a shadow—too fast, too strong. His fist connected with the man’s chest, and the sound of ribs cracking filled the air. The warrior collapsed, wheezing.

For a moment, everything was silent except for Renn’s heavy breathing. His muscles trembled with unspent rage. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

But just as he turned to finish them, the world shifted.

A sharp wind sliced through the air, and something cold clamped onto his wrist. Renn barely had time to react before he was yanked backward, the forest blurring around him.

“What—?!”

A pale hand clutched his arm. The next thing he knew, the ground vanished beneath his feet.

The mysterious Asura had come for him.

The Akakawa Stronghold – Hours Later

Yoshiro Akakawa stood in the center of a blood-soaked courtyard, his sword hanging limply at his side. The fires had burned out, leaving behind nothing but ashes and ghosts.

And the weight of his mistake.

The Furyu Clan was gone. An entire village of peaceful Asura—wiped out under his command.

He had thought he was protecting humanity. He had believed the reports—that the Furyu were harboring a dangerous power, one that could destroy the fragile balance between humans and spirits. But now, standing in the ruins, the truth gnawed at him.

You don’t understand… You’re being used.

Shinji Furyu’s final words echoed in his mind. A dying man’s voice—drenched in truth.

“Master Yoshiro!”

Yoshiro turned as one of his guards hurried toward him, breathless and tense. "We apprehended an intruder,” the man reported. “He was trying to kill the child."

Yoshiro’s heart pounded. “Take me to him.”

In a dimly lit chamber beneath the stronghold, the assassin knelt—a Kokui, bound in thick chains reinforced with spiritual wards. His pale skin was smeared with blood, and his black eyes gleamed with defiance.

Yoshiro stepped forward, his voice cold. “You were found trying to kill a child. Why?”

The assassin laughed softly, lips curling into a sneer. “To finish what you couldn’t.”

Yoshiro’s jaw tightened. “Koki Furyu. Why would you want her dead?”

“You’re still blind,” the assassin hissed, his voice sharp as broken glass. “We had no use for her. But if she lives… your mistake will come to light.”

A chill ran down Yoshiro’s spine. “What mistake?”

The Kokui’s smile widened, twisted and cruel. “You think the Furyu Clan was your enemy?” His words dripped with mockery. “Fools. They were the only ones standing in our way. And you—your precious Bushi—did our work for us.”

The air grew heavy with the weight of his words. Yoshiro’s grip on his sword trembled. No…

“We planted the evidence. That village you found? The spiritual residue? All of it—a lie.” The assassin tilted his head, as though savoring Yoshiro’s horror. “And you fell for it. You slaughtered the very people who sought to protect this land from us.”

Yoshiro’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. “Why?” he demanded, though he already feared the answer.

“Because the Furyu stood against us,” the assassin spat. “They sheltered those we could not control. They refused to bend. And now—thanks to you—there is no one left to stop us.”

Yoshiro staggered back, his breath heavy. What have I done?

The assassin’s laughter rang in his ears. “You played your part well, Bushi. But the game isn’t over. Soon, you’ll see the consequences of your blind obedience.”

Yoshiro turned sharply to one of his guards. “Take him away. I want him alive.”

As the Kokui was dragged from sight, Yoshiro’s gaze fell to the broken sword in his hand. The blade felt heavier than it ever had before.

Koki stood in the courtyard beneath the cold, starless sky. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and blood, but her small frame remained still. Her silver hair clung to her face, streaked with soot and dried tears. She had not moved since the voices faded—the truth lingering in the air like a wound that refused to heal.

She should have felt something. Anger. Hatred. Fear. But all she felt was… empty. Her parents were gone. Her home—destroyed. Nothing would ever bring them back.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed across the courtyard, but Koki didn’t turn. She already knew who it was. Yoshiro Akakawa. The man who had led the slaughter. The man who had taken everything from her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind stirred gently, brushing against her skin like a distant whisper. And then, in a voice heavy with regret, Yoshiro knelt beside her.

His words were quiet—barely audible—but they trembled with something raw and broken.

“I was blind,” he continued, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his guilt. “I believed we were protecting humanity. I never stopped to question—never thought there was something else at play. And because of my failure… your family is gone.”

Koki’s throat tightened. She wanted to scream—to tell him it wasn’t enough. That no words could undo the pain he had caused. But when she finally spoke, her voice came out soft—too soft for the rage she thought she should feel.

“…It wasn’t just your fault.” Yoshiro looked up sharply, surprise flickering in his weary eyes.

“They tricked you,” Koki whispered, still staring at the sky. “They wanted you to destroy my family—and you did exactly what they wanted.” Her hands curled into fists, her small fingers trembling. “You were used… just like us.”

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If she started crying, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop.

“I don’t… I don’t want this to happen again,” she said quietly, her voice shaking despite herself. “To anyone.”

Her body trembled as the last words escaped her—a mixture of fear and longing. She didn’t know how to fight. She didn’t know what strength even meant. But she knew she couldn’t stay weak. Not anymore.

Yoshiro swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He had seen warriors broken by less. Yet here stood a child—scarred, afraid—but unyielding.

“You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known,” he said softly, his voice warm but heavy with sorrow. “Even after everything, you’re still standing. And that… takes a kind of strength no sword can give.”

Koki blinked, her breath hitching. No one had ever called her strong before. She didn’t feel strong. She felt like a piece of her had shattered and could never be put back together again. 

But hearing those words—it was enough to stop the shaking in her hands. “If you want to grow stronger… I will help you,” Yoshiro promised. “Not as a Bushi, but as someone who understands the pain you carry.” He hesitated, his expression clouded. “I can’t take back what I’ve done. But if there’s anything I can do to help you protect others—to help you find your own path—I will.” Koki lowered her gaze to the ground, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him. But beneath all the confusion and grief, a fragile spark had begun to burn. A desire to protect others from the fate she had suffered. 

"…Okay,” she whispered. It was not an acceptance of his apology—she wasn’t ready for that. But it was a beginning. And for now, that was enough.

As Yoshiro rose to his feet, he glanced down at the small girl beside him. In her, he saw more than just the child he had wronged—he saw the beginning of something greater. 

A bridge between Asura and humans. A future where hatred no longer ruled.

And maybe—just maybe—a chance for redemption..