A storm was raging.

But there was no rain.

The sky outside the Yatsukami estate burned in an unnatural red, thick with swirling black clouds that churned like a living beast. The air was heavy—wrong. A deep pressure crushed the lungs of those standing outside the grand birthing chamber, their backs soaked with sweat, their faces pale.

Inside the dimly lit room, Sayori Yatsukami lay on a futon, her body drenched in sweat. Her lips were cracked, her nails dug deep into the sheets. Around her, midwives worked in silent terror, their hands trembling as they tried to aid her.

Then, suddenly—

The candles flickered.

A freezing wind howled through the sealed room.

And then—

Sayori's mind was ripped away.

She wasn't here anymore.

She stood in a world of carnage.

A blood-red sky loomed above, choked with writhing black clouds. From them, thick drops of blood rained down endlessly, staining the earth below—a vast ocean of corpses.

The dead were piled high, their bodies bloated and rotten, their mouths frozen in eternal screams. The ground was slick, shifting beneath her feet as if the corpses were alive, writhing beneath her weight. In the distance, blackened trees with skeletal branches rose from the blood-soaked earth, their twisted limbs creaking.

And then she saw them.

The thousands of dead.

Their skin was decayed, their eyes hollow. Yet they moved. They held something.

A child.

A being of pure darkness.

Its body was pitch-black, its skin smooth and featureless except for the red veins that pulsed beneath the surface. It had no face. No eyes. No mouth. And yet, Sayori could feel its gaze burrowing into her.

"Hold him high… hold him high…"

The corpses chanted.

And so they did.

The child was lifted above the ocean of blood.

And then—

The world shifted.

She saw him.

A teenager now.

Dark blue hair. A straight posture. A quiet, composed figure.

But his eyes were closed.

Sayori's breath trembled.

And then—

His eyes opened.

They were not cruel.

They were not empty.

They were filled with sorrow.

The sorrow of a man who had killed thousands.

The sorrow of a man who had killed the ones he loved.

Her throat clenched.

And then—

A blade swept through the air.

Sayori's vision spun.

Her head fell.

She saw her own decapitated body standing there—

And then—

She woke up.

Gasping, she was back in the chamber. The attendants were shouting, trying to keep her conscious.

And in the arms of the midwife—

A child.

Her son.

Sayori's lips parted in horror.

The newborn had no eyes.

No skin.

No left arm.

And his hair was red.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream—

She blinked.

And the child was… normal.

His skin was smooth. His arms were intact. His dark blue hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. His black eyes were barely open, peering into the world with a gaze far too deep for a newborn.

Sayori's breath shuddered.

This child…

He was wrong.

And yet—

He was hers.

Ren Yatsukami had been born.

He started crying again & all the midwives fell down

The were killed by Ren's aura

Because of this & his aura he got a special name.

"Kyouran"

The name 'Kyouran' (狂乱) was not a normal name given to a Yatsukami heir.

狂 (Kyou) – Madness, Frenzy.

乱 (Ran) – Chaos, Turmoil.

A storm had arrived.

---

Five Years Later – The War of the Xayo Clan

The battlefield was an endless sea of carnage.

Limbs. Heads. Eyes. Lips.

The ground was layered with mutilated corpses—some crushed beyond recognition, others twisted into grotesque shapes. Pools of blood formed rivers, soaking the soil until the earth itself seemed to breathe in agony.

Among the corpses were children and women—their lifeless bodies discarded like trash. Some bore signs of torture. Others had been used for pleasure before being slaughtered.

The Xayo Clan had dared to rebel against the Yatsukami.

Now, they were being erased.

Ren stood in the middle of it all.

His small hands trembled. His young mind struggled to comprehend the horror before him.

Beside him, Raizen Yatsukami stood tall, his crimson robes untouched by the filth of war. His expression was one of absolute authority.

Raizen: "Ren, look." His voice was deep, commanding. "There is no need to show mercy to slaves. Pride is everything. And in war, this… this is what must be done."

Ren: His throat was dry. "…But father…" His voice was weak, hesitant.

Raizen: His eyes narrowed, irritation flickering. "What?"

Ren: He looked at the battlefield—at the women, the children. "Their children… their wives… what did they do? It's a war between men, isn't it?"

Raizen: "War is war!" His voice thundered, making nearby soldiers flinch. "It is not a battle between men. It is a battle between clans. And all of them are a part of it."

Raizen took a step forward, his presence crushing. His voice dripped with disgust.

Raizen: "They dared to start a war against us. And in return, this is what they deserve."

Ren's breathing grew unsteady.

Raizen: "They are lowly ants who tried to poke the superior."

He gestured at the corpses.

Raizen: "They deserved to be crushed." His tone turned colder. "Not just the men. Every single one of them."

A dead silence.

Then, Raizen kicked the corpse of a child. The body rolled lifelessly, stopping at the feet of a woman's mutilated corpse—his mother, perhaps.

Ren flinched.

Raizen's veins bulged as he turned back to his son. His voice was cold. Merciless.

Raizen: "Even the strongest clans fall when they oppose us."

His voice was like steel.

Raizen: "The mighty Allfring Clan thought themselves invincible."

A smirk tugged at his lips.

Raizen: "And now, they no longer exist."

The wind howled through the blood-soaked land.

Ren looked at his father. His mind spun with thoughts he couldn't voice.

His heart felt heavy.

But then—he exhaled.

Slowly, his expression hardened.

He lowered his gaze, looking at the corpses one last time.

Ren: "…I see, Father."

Raizen observed him, waiting.

Ren:"They are lowly ants. They don't deserve to live a life like us.

His voice was calm. emotionless.

Raizen studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Good."

That was all. No praise. No warmth. Just a confirmation.

He turned away, already forgetting the conversation

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

The massacre continued.

Ren stood there, staring at the blood. He should feel nothing.

But his fingers twitched. His heart pounded against his ribs, a faint echo of something—fear? Disgust? No… something deeper. Something he didn't have words for yet.

The corpses stared back at him, accusing. The smell of rot clung to his skin.

Then, his father's voice cut through the noise, sharp as a blade.

"They deserved to be crushed."

Ren exhaled slowly. His hands stilled. The voices faded.

He understood now.