Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender/Legend of Aang is the trademark and property of Konietzko, Dimartino, Nickelodeon, Viacom Inc. and all its subsidiaries. No money is being made off this fic. A teenager who's not very kindly with lawyers made this fic and does not wish to infringe any copyright. This disclaimer applies to all chapters.
A/N: At last, I got my ass into working on the revision of this fic, so I hope it goes extremely well (crosses fingers). Sad to say, as I am now a second year in college—what joy—I'm afraid that updates will be less frequent than when I posted up I Know. I have four major subjects and classes from morning till night (7:30 a.m. – 7:00 p.m.) with minimum breaks. Chapters will also be shorter as well and this is a bit more dramatic and angsty than the first one, but I'll try to keep it light. I'll reserve all the angst for Infinite Abyss.
Warning! This chapter is pretty disturbing, so if you're a bit squeamish, I suggest you turn back now and wait for the next chapter. REVIEW, please!
He was a man of the night, one who enjoyed the serenity of darkness more than the harsh lights of day. Although he descended from a line which chose to worship the great mass of fire in the cerulean skies, he couldn't care less for brightness in his life.
He never cared for anything, except his undying need to take the lives of others. How he reveled in the sight of blood on his blade and hands as another life was mercilessly crushed by his ruthless grip. Death was his sire yet he wished nothing more than to serve himself and his dark desires. Yes, he was a selfish man, but no one lived long enough to berate him for it. Not even him.
For years, the darkness had been his friend—his only friend. It gave him security, solitude, and most of all, a piece of sanity in a life gone mad. He believed that he was sane, yet others see him as a madman and degrade him for what he is. So what if his joy was seen in making other writhe in pain or his happiness was by seeing someone die at his hands? Everyone was eccentric, he told himself, though his eccentricity was focused more on destruction and a new level of sadistry, the kind that leaves the families and friends of his victims drowning in their grief, and not where he collects teapots and lives in a cave.
He smirked slightly as he fingered his katana. Oh, how he positively itched to use it again! The blade was calling out to him to be used, and he would definitely assuage the thirst for blood of his lifelong mate. Sighing, he caressed the sword against his cheek, making a gash against his pale skin. The wound dripped scarlet liquid on the katana and he reveled how lovely the red looked against the silver glow of his weapon.
The man licked the blood hungrily, enjoying the tangy metallic taste of his own vital fluid. He wondered briefly what does the blood of others taste like. He had tasted blood of men, women, children…from every race in the world…except for the Air Nomads. Pity, though, that he was born on a time when they were extinct. But a thought brightened him momentarily. There was still the Avatar. He was an Air Nomad by birth, and the killer would finally get his fill of Air blood.
Fingering his blade, he decided that blood tasted different from every person. There were some that was a bit sweet, some were tart, and some were a bit sickening. The best taste of blood he got was from a newborn. It was pure, innocent, and strangely addicting. He remembered how he killed the mother first and darted out a pink tongue to the fresh laceration he caused on her throat. The blood was saltier than usual as it was mixed with her sweat—but it did not matter: he loved it. The corners of the killers mouth lifted slightly as he heard the petulant cries of the babe hiding in the crook of her dead mother's arms and screaming for attention. Gingerly, he took the child in his own arms and grinned maniacally at the sight of his favored red liquid coating the child.
The babe flailed out a fist at him and he grinned wider. He balanced the baby on one arm, and with his other, he took out a small dagger. Kissing the baby on the forehead softly, he muttered, "Please don't mind the pain. It'll be just a prick, I promise. I need you to fill me, to give me life. Your blood will become mine as mine is yours. After this, you are forever bounded to me. You will become my son, my own flesh and blood. And I will devote myself to you as you devote yourself to me. I will teach you my ways and you will walk in my path. You will watch me as I die as I will do with you. From this moment on, you are mine."
He placed the baby gently on the bloodstained bed again and made a small cut on his own finger. He placed his bleeding digit on the lips of the newborn and was satisfied when it sucked out his blood like feeding from a bottle. When he was sure that the babe had his fill, he took a soft fist in his hand and very gently, pricked the baby's index finger. The babe cried out in pain but he took the finger in his mouth and firmly decided that this was the best drink he had ever had in years.
He smiled at the baby and took it up again in his arms.
"You are truly mine."
The killer smiled at the memory, a sadistic, self-satisfied smile. Just then, the door of his room opened and in strode a burly man, probably in his late fifties, with thin, white hair and thin, pallid lips.
"Kuro, this came in from the top," the intruder said, throwing a packet to the man called Kuro. "You're to infiltrate the Southern Water Tribes and kill the Head Priest of the temple there. Further instructions are on that envelope. Do not fail me."
Kuro sheathed his katana and stood from his cot.
"Very well, rest assured that the assignment will go as planned," Kuro drawled, and the burly man took note of the gleaming anticipation in his voice.
"Just don't do anything stupid. It's my head that will roll if you do anything against the master's orders," the burly man reminded of him.
Kuro snorted and spat on the floor. "I take orders from nobody. I do what I want. He is simply a means for me to get what I want."
"Walls have ears, my bloodthirsty killer," said the other. "Soon enough, you will get what you want, but right now, do what is asked of you. Even you, sadistic bastard as you are, cannot go against that man. He is infinitely more powerful and you're just one. It's not wise to bite the hand that feeds you, as they say."
"Someday he will be the one on bended knee in front of me. Mark my words." The killer snapped a utility belt on his waist as he shouldered a couple more blades. "Now leave me, I wish to be alone while I prepare for this assignment."
The burly man shook his head in an agitated manner as he went out, closing the door behind him.
Never ever drill some sense into a psychopath. They're too crazy to even know that they're crazy.