[i]"Some warriors begin their tale with love. Some begin with hate. Some are just too edgy to have time for love and hate." -Bloodedge Bible, Excerpt 69[/i]

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[center][h1][color=ed1c24]Deathedge[/color][/h1][/center]

What did the name, Deathedge, hold onto? No one was sure of it. Some predicted him to hold a dark past due to his rumored criminal background. Others thought of him to be a murderer who lurked in the dark, waiting to empower himself by feasting upon the blood of others. No matter how outrageous he was thought to be, all sorts of rumors were considered to be possibilities.

What they [i]did[/i] know was that Deathedge had the power to obliterate a truck flying towards him at two-hundred miles per hour. All he needed was a single swipe of his hand, and he would somehow send the truck werving away. No matter how one looked at it, it was as if God himself was born within a man.

Did he have a heart? Did he hold mercy? Did he believe in honor? Who was Deathedge? What was he, and how did he become what he was now? Though a trail of dark rumors followed his name, his actions spoke brightly. For when he struck the truck, he had done so to smash it away from a little girl. When he had to slam his head against a soda machine, he did so because the soda did not come out of the machine. When he had to do his homework, he had to do so with great frivolity so that he could watch the television news for the sake of his family.

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[i][color=ed1c24]Well,[/color][/i] Deathedge thought as he sat on a bench, [color=ed1c24][i]bullsh%# is bullsh%#. I still can't believe some idiot was allowed to write up a newspaper article like that.[/i][/color]

The man known as Deathedge sat on a bench within a certain academy he was brought into. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets, and his attitude was outright pessimistic right at the moment. "Why," one may ask.

The truth was that Deathedge was neither a freakish serial killer nor some suicidal vigilante. In fact, Sangue Rana wanted to live a normal life. He had no idea on how the heck he could actually achieve a normal life if everyone consistently hailed him as some sort of death god. In fact, he wished for someone to talk back at whatever mean words he had to say.

Street punks disappointed him the most. He once told a group of hoodlums robbing a young lady to "scram," and they acted like they were facing divine retribution and ran away. Deathedge, however, did manage to catch them by using his secret ability: calling the cops.

[color=ed1c24]"Soon, Deathedge,"[/color] he muttered to himself as he slouched a little on the bench he sat on. [color=ed1c24]"Soon, you'll get that life you want... Hopefully.[/color]

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As Deathedge enjoyed the moment of peace by himself, he felt a certain emptiness in his stomach catch his attention.

Should he go get a snack?

...That was probably a good idea. Perhaps he should go to the cafeteria and get some grub.