A burned village… Illuminated by the bright sunlight of the dawn, something unusual suddenly happened to the hardworking villagers. A fire rose. Ashes fell from the sky like snow.
"They say… that the gods bled once. And what dripped from their veins still walks among us."
There was a lone boy with grey-white hair and pure red eyes like apples- lying unconscious beneath a tree at the time of the accident. His face was covered by streams of blood, his sword tightly clutched in his hand.
He suddenly woke up. But then horrifying, sharp flashes of the incident tore through his mind.
Harmless villagers were screaming. Everything was painted crimson by the fire. And in his hands…
A sword.
And not just any sword, but a blade enveloped by burning dark flames.
After awakening from his subconsciousness, several villagers had gathered around him, looking at him with fear. They were stunned, captured by the intensity of his aura. He was confused. Why were they afraid of him?
He looked at his hand, puzzled as to why and how the sword was burning in his palm, yet he was unharmed.
The sword looked ancient, and there was something mysterious about it. On its hilt, a name was engraved in a foreign language no one understood.
Suddenly, a mysterious voice whispered in his mind:
'You shouldn't have woken up… not now.'
That evening, a warrior appeared but not just any warrior. He was a member of one of the Six Ronin Clans.
He was a member of the Ashen Fang.
He was massive like a wild mustang, tall as an Umibōzu, his armor weathered from the numerous battles. Numerous scars covered his arms and body, memories from past battles.
The warrior roared furiously:
"Venshiro! I'll kill you bastard!"
With fury burning in his eyes, he charged at Venshiro with a speed abnormally fast for one of his size.
His blows were heavy, fierce, relentless but not enough to bring Venshiro down.
Venshiro fought defensively, each of his moves were calculated and precise. But the flaming sword he wielded pulsed with energy he did not understand.
Suddenly, he was engulfed in a dark, burning malevolent aura which he couldn't control.
While struggling to master the darkness within, he staggered. He was struck hard, which made blood to splash onto the burning sword.
From the overwhelming energy emerging from the ancient blade, huge power piled up in him, crimson veins appeared on the blade and extended to his forearm.
During their clash, when Venshiro was cornered, a strange ability awakened within him. His eyes flickered dark red, with dark flames dancing furiously within them. The sword pulsed. The warrior's blade shattered not because of brute force, but because Venshiro predicted the move before it happened.
Then, turning into a blur, he appeared in front of the warrior and his hand, covered in those crimson, glowing veins, wrapped around the warrior's throat.
It wasn't Venshiro controlling his body at that point.
It was the sword.
The mysterious voice appeared again in his mind:
'Let me finish what you started'
Startled from what had transpired, Venshiro suddenly came to his senses and fought back.
And in that moment of struggle, the veins retreated leaving his hand trembling, still around the warrior's neck.
He was in control of his body again.
But it was too late, the warrior was long dead.
Silence fell. Absolute silence.
Only Venshiro's ragged and hoarse breathing could be heard. He looked at his weapon with a mix of fear and dread in his eyes.
'I don't know who i am, but the blade awakened something inside of me'
Far off, a black and mystical figure watched the carnage. Its face was invisible, but 2 eyes shone like twin suns.
"The heir has been reborn. The clans will act. The bloody war is upon us"