Year 0 Winter Crimson Rain
Rain fell like needles.The city was quiet, streets gleaming under the dim red hue of flickering neon signs.Ketsuraku ran through the alley, clutching his side where the knife had cut deep.Behind him, a man screamed — and two terrified girls bolted into the open light.
He'd done it.He'd stopped the killer.He'd saved them.
But his blood wouldn't stop. It poured between his fingers, warm against the cold pavement.He staggered, collapsing against a rusted wall.
"Guess… that's it," he whispered. "Not a bad way to go."
He smiled faintly, watching the two girls disappear into safety.The world grew distant — the sound of rain, the smell of metal, everything fading into black.
Then, all sound stopped.
The rain hung motionless in the air.Every drop froze, shimmering crimson in midair like rubies.The neon lights twisted, colors bleeding across the walls until everything turned red — too red.
And from the reflection of a puddle beside him, a man stepped out.
He was tall, dressed in a black-and-red carnival coat stitched with silver threads.A wide hat shadowed his face, though two red eyes glowed beneath it, bright and calm like dying suns.In one hand he held a black cane topped with a silver skull.
The city was gone.All around them, crimson ribbons floated through the air.Music drifted softly — faint laughter, the echo of a carnival that didn't exist.
"Well now," the stranger said, voice light and theatrical. "What a fine ending. Tragic. Noble. Deliciously ironic."
Ketsuraku tried to speak, but his voice failed.The stranger crouched, tapping the cane on the ground beside him.Each tap sent a pulse of red light through the air — the world cracked with every sound.
"You were supposed to die forgotten," the stranger said, smiling. "But something in you refused. You clung to meaning when the script already ended."
"Who... are you?" Ketsuraku managed to ask.
The man tilted his hat lower.
"A fool. A jester. A reflection in the void. Names don't mean much where I come from."
He twirled the cane once — it stretched and bent until it became a scythe, its edge glowing faintly like molten glass.
"You may call me Ix," he said softly. "And I am very fond of broken things that refuse to vanish."
He placed the blade's tip against the ground, carving a circle that bled red light.
"You've earned an encore, little mortal. Let's see what your soul does when given a stage."
The red light surged upward, forming symbols that hung in the air like living code.The walls peeled away, replaced by an endless expanse of crimson fog and floating masks — laughing, crying, screaming, all at once.
Ketsuraku tried to move, but his body was weightless now, his heartbeat echoing louder than thunder.
"Where… is this?"
"Behind the curtain," Ix whispered. "Beyond the lie mortals call reality."
He lifted the scythe, its reflection splitting into a thousand mirrored blades that shimmered across the void.
"The wall between life and death. The Red Code. My favorite playground."
Ix smiled, though his grin carried no warmth — only curiosity.
"Don't thank me yet. You won't like what comes next."
He flicked his wrist.The scythe cut through the air — reality itself tore open like silk.
A rift of red light spiraled outward, dragging Ketsuraku toward its heart.He reached out instinctively, but Ix only watched, tapping the cane against his shoulder as if to a silent tune.
"Don't worry, little echo," he said. "When you wake, you'll remember the river. Blood always remembers."
The world shattered.The music stopped.And Ketsuraku fell once more — not through air, but through a sea of red light that whispered his name like a forgotten lullaby.
The last thing he saw was Ix standing upside down above him, hat tipped, red eyes glowing like stars.
"Try not to disappoint me," he said. "The show has only begun."
The scythe gleamed one last time — and everything turned to blood and silence.