Loss

On a battlefield, there could be seen many bodies lying lifeless. The ground was soaked in blood. The night sky as black as a starless night. The two moons being the only thing illuminating the night. One was a beautiful silver, the other a crimson red. 

Two armies bathed in the eerie glow of the silver and crimson moons, clashing defiantly in the night breeze against each other.

Amidst the battlefield there resounded the clashing of swords, the rhythmic beat of hooves, and the tumultuous chorus of voices. Warriors fought with unwavering determination, their cries merging into a symphony of war-a primal dance of survival and sacrifice.

In the midst of the battlefield a lone figure stood resolute. A man forged by war, his eyes reflecting both his rage and determination. His armor bore the scars of countless battles, his hands gripping each a katana. Ready to strike down any and every enemy that stood in his way.

In the moment, memories of comrades and lost battles weighed heavily on him. The faces of those he fought alongside - their laughter, comradery, and shared purpose. Now haunting him with the weight of loss. Their faces, once vibrant with life and light, were etched in his mind as ghostly visages of a past that could never be reclaimed. 

More memories resurfaced as he stood frozen.

He remembered the scene of his family's demise. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The world around him faded into a blur leaving only the visceral tableau of tragedy that played before his eyes. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a cruel reminder of the fragility of life. The ground, soaked in crimson, seemed to cry out with the sorrow of the innocent lives taken too soon.

Snapping back to reality, he saw his grandfather's body that lay lifeless in a pool of blood on the ground in front of him.

"Why… Why me?" he muttered.

"Why... Why.. WHYYYYYYYYY?" He yelled out in an uncontrollable rage. His anguished cry echoed across the battlefield, a primal scream that defied reason. His bloodlust was quickly rising and seemed almost visible.

As the clashing of steel, the acrid scent of blood, and the cries of fallen comrades surrounded him. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his two katanas: both thirsting for blood. 

"Why?" He asked, his teeth gritted. " Why do you take everyone I care about?" He spoke to the heavens while trying not to choke on his words in anger. The veins across his body were poking out, his blood was boiling and his pulse beat like a drum.

Anger, hatred, and sorrow washed over him like an immense wave.

His mind, only set on one thing.

KILLLLLLLLL!

He surged forward into a tide of enemies swinging his blade and taking a life with every slash, cutting through enemy ranks with ease. His movements were precise, each strike calculated even while being in a frenzy. The earth became tainted with blood as his blade danced. In the midst of his murderous spree, his madness was only amplified by the blood he had shed. Losing his mind to anger and sadness he slashed and sliced his way from one enemy to another.

Time passed, eventually leaving him alone. 

He became the last survivor on the battlefield.

Thousands of bodies lay around him. Only the crimson and silver moon bore witness to the massacre that had taken place.

He turned his head over to his grandpa's lifeless body.

"I let it happen again," he said as he dropped to his knees. His stare was empty, his lips quivered and a wave of deep sadness overwhelmed him.

"Mom, dad, grandpa." "I'm sorry." His eyes glistened with tears tracing a path down his cheek.

"I, Yuri, am a failure." He said as he closed his eyes. The strength within him started to fade, as he lay amidst the remnants of the battlefield. His breaths that were once steady now faltered. 

His blood which once held his fury, now spilled upon the earth from the injuries he sustained.

Losing all sensations in his body, darkness overtook him.