Forget. That word, what is it to you? Perhaps it's a blessing that can clear the consciousness of trauma inducing memories, or maybe it's something that prevents one from completing goals that would require such memories. One could say amnesia is a cure to a life lived in hell, or a fear of being forgotten by someone you once loved. But what I believe it to be is a rebirth, a thing that allows one to be released from the confines of the past and embrace the future with a new identity. And perhaps these words I've written here are nothing more than symbols for you to forget once they're read and done. After all they hold no meaning to you in the real world. I mean, I'm just a narrator to a story presented to you through this page. But I digress as you're not here for me to rant on about words that hold no true meaning to you. You're here for a story, for entertainment that fills your whiles while you drift off into the depths of its world. So shall we begin the story you're so interested in?
Dripping waters fell from busted pipes soaking the cold, cracked concrete floor. Towering grey walls, sullen and patched, as if these walls have history greater than themselves. Water trickled on the concrete floor slowly delving into a deep crimson color and before it, a pile of trash and discarded waste. Atop it all lay a figure, a large gash in their abdomen, blood soaking into their clothing and their organs partially spilling out, cascading onto the bags of waste and trash beneath them. The figure seemed to be looking up, into the cloudy grey sky, the light of the moon was blocked out from view. They seemed to be collected and almost calm, as if this was the norm. Their face was blank, barely even a blink. They'd turned their head slightly, their eyes quickly finding a looming shadow casting over one off-putting corner of the alley, there was a subtle dark presence emanating off of it.
"Come out."
The wounded person spoke, their voice held no pain or hurt despite their state. They seemed to not care at all for the large deathly gash in his side.
A boy crawled out from the shadow of the alley, he was wearing patchy tattered rags and his skin was rugged and dirtied with mud. He seemed young and fearful of what was before his deep yellow eyes, but a part of him seemed strangely pleasured by it.
The wounded individual spoke again but with a slight tremble in his voice.
"Ah, you again"
"Me again?"
The boy said slowly, taking steps toward the person. The child seemed intrigued that the figure knew him.
"I've never seen you before."
The wounded person gestured with a finger for the child to come closer.
"That doesn't matter now."
The boy took a few steps more toward the being. And within a mere moment the individual's hand was gripping the face of the boy. Their strength still there in full, despite their injured state. Their fingers dug into the tissue of the boy's skin, blood began to trickle down the boy's face. The boy was awestruck, words could not escape his lips, all he could manage was a scream of echoing agony. The figure's hand grew tighter. From it a pitch black liquid poured out from their skin. This liquid began to move in an unnatural way, floating up and pouring itself into the boy forcing its way into his body. Slowly the boy's veins began to bulge in purple light, followed by another fearsome scream. His eyes shot open as his body floated up, free of the individual's grip. Before him was a vision and words he couldn't yet understand. And just as he felt as he'd figured it out, the information flowing into him began to take its toll on his mind, his eyes rolled back. Forcing the boy into unconsciousness. The figure watched as the boy's body hit the floor.
"You'll do well to remember, boy."
With this the figure had stated their last words, their body falling limp.
Time passed, the exact amount uncertain. What was clear though, was the transformation within the unconscious boy's body. The buds of horns were just barely poking out of his forehead, and there was more of a definition to his formerly non-existent musculature. Once the transformation seemed to stop, a stirring in the boy's mind began to awaken him.
"Get up.." a soft whisper spoke out.
"Wake up, N-..."
A guttural breath of life awoke the boy. His eyes opening to the same alley he had fallen unconscious in. But what was more to note was that the figure's body was gone, as if it was never there, no blood, or even an indentation within the trash their body was laid in. He began to examine the ally a bit further, finally getting up to look more thoroughly. When he realized there was truly nothing to find, he resigned and decided to leave the alleyway. Walking through the rancid alleyway path, light began to shine into view. He stepped into the street, displeasure washing over him as the sight before him unveiled itself. Broken glass from discarded bottles of booze and windows. Trash littering the disgusting excrement filled street, leaving a wretched unbearable scent. Run down buildings towering above, their windows broken and blown out, stricken with graffiti along their walls. But the worst part, the people, unsavory poor and broken faces, dressed in dirty rags, many sleeping on the revolting pavement, a few sipping on dirty liquor bottles, likely what they had dug out from the trash they had scavenged in. But even that was nothing compared to the people with needles in their hands and veins. The boy must've thought that the dirty alley he had just come from was better than this. He placed his hand over his mouth and nose, walking down the street he was now forced to be on. Soon enough he began to feel eyes on him, ones of malice and rage. The people of this shit stained street began to whisper.
"Ugh, a demon child."
"What's a bastard from the demon realm doing here?"
There were only a few to begin with, but more mocking and slurs began to form at this boy and mobs of people started to form. People began to rise up against this "demon child" throwing trash and even feces his way. A hand reached the boy, gripping the back of his head forcing his face to the shit stained street. It was a larger man, his gut was spilling out from his dirty tattered shirt, his breath reeked of boose and his eyes were bloodshot red. He spoke, his voice deep and vengeful.
"Lick."
"What?"
"I said lick floor, demon basterd!"
The boy struggled to free himself from the man's disgusting hands. The man forced the boy's head down harder to the floor, drawing a bit of blood from his forehead. The man further pinned the rest of the boy's body down, further restraining the boy to the revolting street floor. From the confines of his pants the man pulled out what seemed to be a handmade glass knife, placing it to the boy's neck.
"Lick the floor or die, you damn demon!"
The boy looked up at the man, gritting his teeth so hard blood was drawn from his gums. His eyes flared with rage and helplessness, tears began to form in his eyes as he unlocked his jaw and stuck his tongue out to lick the floor.
"Stop!"
A voice from afar had called out. The boy had stopped just short of licking the ground to look up. It was a girl probably only a few years older than him. She was dressed in far cleaner clothing than everyone on this street and her skin was clear and clean. She had dark brown hair and brown eyes. Though she was young it looked like she could handle herself.
"Release that boy right now!"
At her simple command the mob of people began to disburse, many with malice in their gaze toward her but as she looked their way they would flinch and glance away before walking in the opposite direction. The man holding the boy stood up and began to walk away with a disdainful scowl on his face that had turned into a subtle click of the tongue. The girl walked up to the boy and held out a hand to help him up.
"Are you hurt?"
The boy took her hand and stood up, and shook his head despite blood being on his head and lip.
"Oh, you poor thing."
The girl pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the blood from his face. The boy flinched before accepting the touch.
"My name is Runa, what's yours?"
The boy thought for a moment, his mind recoiling at his realization.
"What is my name…?"
In his attempt to recall his name he was led to a discovery he didn't realize he had. His memories, what were they? Why couldn't he remember who he was or why he was here? Runa's eyes widened slightly at the boy's realization, her voice trembled in shock.
"You… don't remember…?"
The boy shook his head. His memory, blank, gone, forgotten. Runa, in a burst of optimism, spoke.
"Then… Lets give you one?"
The boy's eyes widened with excitement and skepticism.
"You'd really do that…?"
"Of course!"
Runa thought for a moment, a finger on her lip.
"Hmm… what about.. Nanashi?"
"Nanashi..?"
"Yeah! I don't really remember where I heard it, but I think it means nameless. So it's perfect for you."
The boy's eyes lit up.
"Nanashi.. Yeah!"
Nanashi smiled widely, but just as he did a feeling of something familiar hit him.
"Wait havent you-"
Just as he started he was cut off by Runa's excitement.
"Well Nanashi, let's get you cleaned up."
Before Nanashi could respond Runa took his hand once again and began to run off with him. After a short walk they arrived at a rather large black tent. It seemed secluded, as if no one wanted to be there. Runa and Nanashi entered the tent. It was dimly lit with candle light, it seemed rather clean compared to the street that they were on, but the candle lights shadow left an ominous presence.
"Welcome to my home Nanashi, from now on it's your home too!"
Runa smiled widely, lifting a curtain that separated the tent from the entrance welcoming Nanashi further inside. Nanashi returned her kindness with a smile as he stepped further into the tent. That smile slowly faded as he stepped deeper into the tent. Within the shadows that the tent had kept were cages, and within them, people bound by chains and collars.
"What is this-"
Before Nanashi could finish his sentence a force hit him, knocking him out cold. When he finally arose there was a collar on his neck, cuffs on his wrists, and a cage he was trapped in. and before him was Runa, a wicked smile on her face.
"Oni demons sell well as slaves. I'm glad I found you today, Nanashi. You'll make me a fortune."
Nanashi looked up, his gaze confused and disoriented. He stared awestruck at Runa's unrecognizable face, it was telling, she was not his friend. She was a slave trader, and he was her newest toy.