The stink of fear drifted into his nose. He watched them, the villagers that weren't the same he had grown to know, but yet were similar.

Recalling typical face lines, the curve of an eyebrow and the particular length of a nose, he recognized features of their ancestors within the faces that were shaded with light and shadows cast by the lantern nearby. And yet, in the obscurity of his millionth night, he did not recognize anyone. Was the butcher's family still the best fed? Did the current sewer sell his flimsy and thin clothes for horrendous prizes, too?

With eyes of the past he let his gaze run over the fire-lit, narrow streets. His hands were buried in the pockets of his long black coat, even though they never ran cold. It was a habit from when he was alive, just like the scarf and the high collar protecting his neck.

The village had changed since the times he had grown up. A lot of the wooden houses had been replaced with stone, but he could see himself as a small boy stumbling down the main street, hunger claiming his consciousness. He could see himself eagerly picking up an apple that had dropped of a cart.

Centuries ago he had been nothing but an orphan trying to survive. Now he had returned to Narukami to fulfill the promise that was made. Yet, the shadow of the young boy had followed him through time and space.

"Shimon," the voice of his brother startled him. The scene of the past dissolved in front of his eyes, leaving only the present behind. The hungry boy was no more.

Turning around, he took in the irritated look of Keiji. His brother stood in front of their brethren, all of whom had chosen to follow them, when they had faced the choice between a lost life or an infinite death.

"Is it one of them?" Keiji asked, nodding his head towards the villagers.

Once more Shimon skipped his eyes to the wooden cage in the village center, not far from the fountain. While ignoring the nasty smell of fear, which burned his nostrils, he mustered the fear-ridden faces. He doubted that the last of the Amawaka lineage was hidden within a bunch of sobbing mortals trying to hide in the shadows of the lantern's fire. None of them seemed courageous enough to be the one who was fated to stop him. Nobody dared to counter his gaze; nobody – except one.

Blinking, Shimon walked towards the cage, holding the eye contact. It was a boy, a young man with strands of unruly brown hair falling in his face, similar in age to the one Shimon died at. He didn't seem special. His clothes looked cheap, brittle suspenders holding dirty trousers above a yellowed shirt. His eyes though, his hazelnut colored eyes were almost red, as if they were filled with blood and flickering fire.

Interesting.

Shimon tilted his head to the side and approached the boy. Going to his knees to see eye to eye with him in the low cage, Shimon asked, "What is your name, boy?"

"Why would I tell you?" the boy barked back, making some of his comrades gasp and shriek. Either he was overly courageous or outright stupid to respond like this in his situation. That did not smolder Shimon's interest though. He could be the one, the other one, his counterpart of the legend.

All of a sudden a loud, childish giggle pierced through the arisen commotion, silencing the prisoners altogether. It would have made his blood turn cold, too, if it hadn't stopped flooding so long ago. Many things had changed since back then. Her giggle now was a sharp contrast to the kind laughter and sweet smile she had given him, when they both had been breathing.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he looked at his little sister and straightened his legs. "I thought the mayor's mansion was already prepared for you."

Grinning at him, Sayo set her pointed teeth on full display. Like the child she was, she replied, "Yup, but I got bored."

As it was his fate, she was frozen in time. Only, she was trapped in the small body of a twelve year old, which merely reached up to his chest. Forever caught in the transition of a child to a lady.

"You shouldn't be here," he told his sister with a frown.

She ignored his reprimand and looked towards the cage. Her large, icy blue eyes were tainted with mirth, when she pointed at the brown-haired boy and chirped, "I like this one. Can I keep him to play?"

Never able to deny a wish to his sister, Shimon nodded. It was fine to him. He needed to inspect the boy further anyway. He couldn't leave her without a warning though, knowing too well how her games got out off hand from time to time. "Make sure you don't kill him."

"Alrighty," she replied with a cheerful grin.

Shimon nodded. His sight shifted towards his entourage, a dozen of men and women he and his siblings had turned, and a hand full of men who had bought their lives in exchange for their loyalty to him; his henchmen working in the shadows of the day. The whole lot of his companions waited for his orders like it had been taught to them.

Rising his voice, Shimon commanded, "Bring the boy to my sister's room. The rest of the prisoners will be our banquet at the ball. You can have fun with them beforehand but make sure to carry out the preparations and be ready to join the festivities."

Some of his followers cheered, while others simply nodded. After waiting a few moments to make sure nobody needed further instructions, he turned around, towards the narrow roads leading away from the center, and followed reminiscent traits of his past.

Tonight they would celebrate his arrival, his homecoming. If the boy wasn't the last Amawaka, he needed to lure the real one out of his hiding. And then the legend would finally come true.

His gaze caught sight of a nailed plank covering the hole of a wooden storage, which he and his siblings had used to grab some wheat to grind and bake a bite of bread from. Sharply Shimon turned his head away.

Refusing to let the past interfere, he walked further ahead. All the while his part of the legend echoed in his head for the millionth time in ages:

He, who had played with a god, has his own path to follow.
He will come to naught or spread further sorrow.

He, who had died once and lived twice, can free his soul,
paying the price by pouring the blood of his fated foe.

In blood born, in blood it ends.

------------------------------

Darkness had spread over the lands as the sun sunk.

Usually, they weren't allowed to travel from the orphanage to the village at night, for the path was dangerous even if it was lit by the moon. Usually, Mayura followed the rules and reminded the other children to stick to them. Usually, Mayura was not rebellious.

Today she made an exception.

As the pitch-black silhouettes of the village came into sight, she wondered if today was the day, the legend would become true. The words of the old legend resounded in her head while she hurried to the village in long strides:

When the past and future become one,
when branches of fate, bow towards each other;
Then the monster will be undone.

Only they who are the last Amawaka can fulfill the deed.
Only they who are the last of their blood will complete their ancestors' lead.

Born in blood, it ends in blood.

Even after everything that occurred, she had never been able to fathom her being the one of the legend. This tale had been told for centuries and she thought she would be just one of the ancestors of the last. To her it had always been a tale of the future.

Today she had to admit that she had been wrong once again. The future was now. It was only waiting, a few feet ahead in the village of Narukami, for her to become a part of it.

A twist of fate, for it reminded her of the last day she'd seen her father.

Growing up Mayura had a hard time in believing the legend was true at all. For decades nobody had seen one of the blood drinking creatures called bloodgorgers. They had been just part of myths and tales.

That had been until the day her father died. The day she turned twelve, still insecure and clumsy with a sword, he'd followed a plead that lead him into village at night. By the time the sun rose, there had been no trace left; none of the bloodsuckers, nor one of her father. Rumors about a gruesome fight was all that she had left of him, except for a leather band she tied her hair with, which he'd given to her when her hair had grown too long.

Mayura took a deep breath as the memories called forth tears, blurring her sight. This had happened more than six years ago. She had spent enough time grieving. Right now, she had more urgent matters to deal with.

The worst right now was that her best friend's life was in danger, because he had been taken captive by the monster and its breed.

One moment she had been thinking about Rokuro and wished to throw pebbles in the lake with him, competing to see which one of them drew bigger circles, like they used to, growing up. In the next, Yuki came running to the orphanage, telling her and Jinya that the brown-haired boy had jumped in front of Yuki to give her a chance to flee, by risking his own life.

And so Mayura was on her way as soon as she heard from his abduction, despite Jinya's vivid protests.

She hoped Rokuro was fine and prayed to the gods for his safety.

Finally she reached the trenches surrounding the village. Although it was dark outside, it was too quiet in the village. A few fires were lit in the buildings but Mayura could see nobody inside while passing them. This was strange.

Suddenly high pitched scream tore through the gruesome silence. Shocked Mayura jumped away from the window she looked into. Goosebumps rose on her skin. The source of the scream could not be too far from her. She gulped on the terror rushing through her and turned to the direction of the sound.

Quickly she rounded the building, walking on the heels of her high boots to keep the sound of her steps low. When she reached the corner, she carefully leaned her head forward to see around it.

Beneath the shine of a lantern she saw two figures standing close to each other. Looking closer Mayura noticed the smaller figure sway from one side to another, and she was able to hear a desperate whimper. It would have given her the impression of a passionate lover's embrace, if it hadn't been for the scream from earlier.

Grabbing the handle of her sword, which was fastened to her belt, she advanced. Upon coming closer she made out the slim figure of a girl in a dress being held by a broad-shouldered person dressed in white. Mayura shuddered, when she heard slurping and sucking sounds coming from the latter.

Pulling her sword out of its sheath and pointing it towards the taller figure, she exclaimed, "You- You there. Stop what you are doing."

The figure stopped the assault on the girl's neck and pulled away, before it turned its head.

Mayura gasped at the sight. A blackened eye with a pupil red as blood and the other white but with a golden pupil stared back at her. A despicable scar ran over the face down over its mouth, from which blood was tripping, to the chin. Holy gods –

Mayura jumped back. The sword in her hand quivered.

It was one of them! The creatures turned into blood drinking beasts, the bloodgorgers. She had never known how they looked exactly. She had learned about them from stories, but never had been able to picture them.

Now she knew. They were grotesque and despicable, as ugly on the outside as on the inside.

"What are you doing here with a sword, miss?" The thing asked her in a surprisingly human voice, giving her the creeps.

"Ste- Step back," Mayura uttered. Her arm shook in contrast to her warning.

The thing let go of the woman who fell to the ground with a sigh. It turned to face Mayura fully. Despite the horrendous face it looked like a man.

Mayura was shaken with fear. How was she supposed to fight an enemy like this? How was she supposed to destroy a creature which looked like a man and nothing alike at the same time? She'd never fought one of them.

As if he read her thoughts, her opponent confirmed her reservations by saying, "Don't you think you shouldn't be here?"

Her sight wavered, her eyes rushed from the man who was no man to the ground, to the girl, to him again. The sight of his white uniform was a sharp contrast to the blood pouring from his mouth. She heard her own harsh breathing and the beat of her heart like the whistling of wind and rain slapping against wood.

Indeed. What was she doing here?

From the corner of her eyes she noticed him drawing out a handkerchief. He used it to dab his mouth. His other hand was crossed behind his back in a posture of discipline. "Do you want to run away now?"

Yes. Yes, she wanted to run away. To never look back, to leave this burden, which had been passed onto her shoulders, far behind. To shake it off. Yet...

Her fingers tightened around the handle of the sword. She swallowed heavily on the knot of doubt.

Yet, she could not leave Rokuro behind and she could not ignore what was happening here. Whether she was the last of Amawaka or not, she would help those in need. Especially if they were stupid fools attracting danger, like her best friend was. Especially if they were innocent girls, younger and weaker than her.

She would protect them!

Taking in a deep breath, Mayura straightened her postures. Her blade became an extension of her arm, which she pointed at the gorger.

Determination seeped through her veins as she stated, "I won't run away. Prepare yourself!"

With that she rushed to the blood drinking creature, her blade pointed towards his heart, lying calm in her hands.

--------------------------------------------------------

At the corner of a house, hidden in the shadows, Shimon watched the newly arrived young woman with interest.

When he had stumbled upon Higano relishing his hors d'oeuvre, Shimon had meant to simply walk past without interrupting; but then a blonde, dressed in beige trousers and a fitting vest above a white blouse, had entered the scene. Swiftly he had stepped back to watch.

Surprised, he observed her, how she retrieved a sword and held it towards his subordinate. Asking himself who this woman was, this sword-swinging woman in men's clothing, tailored to fit her shape. He felt some rush of emotion that he had not felt in a long time – excitement.

His excitation, however, was blown in the moment a sniff of her fear filled his nose. The sword in her hand was shaking like a leaf while she talked to Higano. This was just a girl playing hero, he thought, unusually disappointed.

She surprised him again.

The scent slowly dissolved. An aura of might surrounded her. Her soft voice, which had been fragile as clay, turned into iron. It was iron that was acute like a fang, but righteous and straight like her sword. She told Higano to prepare himself. Without waiting a second she plunged the sword deeply into Shimon's subordinate's chest. In the next moment his unlucky comrade turned into body of ash, which fell apart and flew off with the wind.

Shimon watched her, intrigued. Her movements were trained, the thrust of her sword held deadly intent. She knew how to kill one of his kind and did it without breaking into sweat.

What were the chances that he had now found two candidates for being the one to stop him? A courageous brown haired boy and a blonde woman, both at the age he'd been at when his heart had stopped beating.

When it was over, she stood as if in trance. Her sword was a gray line drawn in the space between them, unmoved from the spot where it had stuck in Higano's body.

Moments spilled by until the arm holding the sword fell to her side. She tilted her head down and returned the weapon to its sheath.

It was time for him to leave the scene, but his feet seemed to be frozen to their spot, unwilling to move. Something was different about her. Although he had seen lots of different creatures and many human girls, she did not match any of the mental pictures he'd collected over time.

He stared as she bowed down to the female form on the ground and shook her awake. From where he was standing, he could only hear the word orphanage coming from a gentle and soothing voice.

Orphanage... The word did something to him. It was almost as if his heart soared in a long forgotten melody.

Orphanage... Back when he was living in Narukami there was no such thing here. He and his siblings had been the only orphans in town, having nobody to look after them but themselves, which they had managed, until he and his brother had turned into men and his sister –

Irritated he jerked his head away from the scene and the memory it bore. It was odd indeed, this – emotion, like an old friend estranged through time. How did it come to that? What happened, that he was feeling like this right now?

"Hello?" The gentle voice, louder than before, startled him out of his thoughts and he remained motionless. She was addressing him, now. When did she spot him?

"Excuse me, sir. Are you a merchant?"

Shimon frowned, confused about the display of her naivety. He faced her. She stood a few feet away, fleshed out by the light of a lantern nearby. Her eyes bewitched him like no enchantress had ever been able to, as deep as the seas he'd crossed and even more blue.

Catching himself, he replied, "Who wants to know?"

"I'm sorry to bother you. Do you know what happened in this village? I'm searching for someone." The big blue eyes were filled with so much worry that he could almost taste it.

His eyes ran over her heart-shaped face, which was framed by blonde hair fading off into a light green, and held back by a tie. His eyes dropped to the high collar and the red bow fastening it around her neck. Thunderstruck, his eyes were glued to the red tie and he needed to tear his eyes away up to her eyes again. He had no idea what was going on but he did not like it at all.

With a controlled voice her answered her question, "The village was besieged, the villagers taken captive."

The clear blue of her eyes darkened as they mustered his face in return now. Her eyebrows crunched down a bit. His senses made notice of a sudden tension in her limbs.

This time her voice sounded less soft, when she inquired, "How come you aren't one of them?"

Finally she showed suspicion. He wondered if she would draw her sword and play out fate right here and now, or if she would follow his invitation to the stage he'd like to set first. "They released the prisoners to have fun with them before the ball."

"The ball?" Her eyebrows rose to her forehead.

Feeling much more in control now, Shimon told her.

"To celebrate the arrival of the monster. If you are searching for somebody, you will certainly find them there. It starts an hour before the clock strikes midnight in the mayor's mansion."

Her eyes dropped to the ground and she mumbled, "I don't know how I could get in there."

It was odd how she transformed from a focused fighter to – this. Shimon couldn't help but scowl, as he offered her another piece of his invitation. "They have humans in their ranks. You might as well get in through the main entrance."

With eyes still glued to the ground she slowly nodded. He was not prepared for the sting in his chest when she lifted her eyes and met his.

"Thank you, Mr. –?"

"Shimon Ikaruga," he replied quickly.

"Thank you, Mr. Ikaruga," she said in tender tones. The corners of her lips lifted into a soft smile that was as dangerous as it was sweet.

He must have missed a few seconds, trying to recall when was the last time somebody had called him like this, if ever, for when he focused on her again, she had turned into the direction she had come from. Without thinking he blurted out, "Miss?"

Later, he would need to think about his actions. They were confusing him right now. Perhaps it was a sign, the sign that she was the one he had been searching for, after all.

Stopping, she looked over her shoulder with raised eyebrows, "Hn?"

"You haven't told me your name."

"My name is Mayura Otomi," she let him know with just a hint of another sweet smile before she walked towards the girl she'd just saved.

Mayura Otomi, the name resounded in his head as he watched her support the other girl's weight onto her shoulder.

In a short time he would see her again and learn if she was indeed the last of the Amawaka lineage.

Shimon turned around, walking through the shades of the night and towards the mayor's mansion, with a small smile and a strange, unknown appetite.

He had arrangements to make and a ball to prepare for.