Share your thoughts and memories; share your flesh and bones, the divine blood flowing through your veins, for it once again to entwine into one soul…

It hurts.

You were chosen to write the story of this world…

It fucking hurts.

And fate has been sealed long before you or anybody, even I myself, could think.

My eyes flicker open. The voice—mine, yet not mine—fades like smoke. Everything burns scarlet, shifting in waves of color, like a fever dream I've woken into, not out of.

"Indeed, you're a special one," says a voice, familiar and sharp, marked by that clipped accent.

I gasp, heart battering at my ribs; my temples throb, as though something drills into bone.

"Easy going, Redhead."

The old Blue stands before me, his frame long and wiry. Those dark-blue eyes track me without blinking.

"You've got blood worth an arm circling in your body," he mutters.

"What?" I try to sit up but stop short, restraints biting into my wrists and ankles.

Pain lashes through me. My chest, my bones, my head—like I've been slammed by a truck.

He moves closer, one hairy hand brushing over my arm; goosebumps scatter across my skin. The voice from before, distorted yet, if my own whispers vanish completely. I grit my teeth, and close my eyes against the waves of pain.

"W—what happened?"

"Don't know. You tell me." His tone is clipped and harsh, and his short grey hair makes me dislike him more.

"You've been screaming over and over…" He grips my wrist, his long finger pressing at veins, and mutters names that make my blood freeze: Mia… Mother. Father.

His lips twist into laughter. He inspects me like a butcher with a slab of meat, fingers pressing into muscles as if testing their strength.

"You Reds are weak," he says, whistling under his breath, "but bloody strong in taking blood."

My stomach lurches as his cold fingers probe my arms, my thighs. "A whole chunk you've drained—green, orange, yellow—all in just a few days. A whole arm's worth of blood."

His gaze burns into mine, a cold-blue fire. He coughs and continues working, tracing veins and prodding bones. I say nothing, and my throat closes. Then I vomit, bile spattering to my side.

The old Blue—fifties, maybe sixties—snaps back, curling his lips in disgust.

"Keep it easy, Red. Don't want to tell Mother Serena her slave's blood turned to waste."

I glare up through burning eyes, brows too thin to stop the sweat.

"What have you done to me?!" My voice rasps, weak but edged.

He frowns. His hands ease on my calves. Then he slaps the chair I'm bound to, wood echoing sharply. "I've answered it already. Now shut your mouth and let me work."

A tear carves down my cheek. I clench the armrest until my knuckles pale. "Where are they?"

He freezes. For a moment, his hands stop their work. His jaw flexes.

"Where's my family?" I ask again.

His eyes narrow, fury smoldering behind the wrinkles. His mouth opens, his voice ready to lash—

The door slams open. A shadow fills the frame. A woman.

The old Blue jerks back, his hands trembling near my thighs as if he's been caught. He half-turns to her, nearly pleading.

"Mother Serena, why are you here already? I thought you'd welcome this Red once he was… ready. Once he'd taken more colors."

The woman steps forward, the air tightening around her.

"About that," she says, a current of power running through every syllable. "Yes. But I wanted to check on him myself before going into battle."

"Going already? I thought the Ravens cleared this week's fight—"

Her eyes cut him short.

She towers above me. Over two meters, maybe close to three. Her skin pale as bone, her body wrapped in loose black cloth that hides nothing of her power. Bare feet touch the floor, but it's the markings that hold me: black serpents curling over her arms, her thighs, ink twisting like they're alive.

Her face is carved from stone. Stoic. Her lips dark as coal. My heart pounds, and trying to bring my arms before my head, I'm restricted by bonds. A pang, then the fear of my head flying, as her gaze drops to me. To the mess at my side, where I've vomited. She merely sighs.

"Volgas Raven was taken by the Golden Highstorm. Now we replace the Ravens for the Cinder Veil."

Bile rising again, I lean right, retching toward her, though most of it goes over my shoulder.

The Blue coughs. "Pardon him, Mother. He's drained nearly one arm of lesser blood these past days. Even Sebastian—the Golden Reaper—struggled with such a feat."

Her lips twitch. Not quite disdain, not quite pity.

"Very well. I'll return for his first duel on the Crimson Veil. Two weeks after the moon shifts Red."

She turns. Her back is broad, her shoulders scarred, but it's her wings that make the breath catch in my throat, if not the puke. Long, bat-like, folding close as she steps. She raises her hands, and shadows coil around her neck, slowly cascading all over her back, black armor sealing over her skin and wings.

Then she vanishes. The door closes. A long silence.

The old Blue lets out a shaky sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as though his own heart might break. His face, for the first time, is stripped of sarcasm, stripped of cruelty.

"Three days left," he says, eyes fixing on mine. "Three days, until you have to empty the first blood storage."

-----A/N-----

Make sure to add me on Discord: sera3036 to read the Manhwa version of Origins of Blood!

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.