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| - Calling out, "Young man, you, with the black coat! I have the best and freshest fish, for the best price!" The man clad in black didn't ignore him, instead gave him a flashing, most sincere smile. "Oh? What are these prices," a playful tone intertwined with the late teens youthful voice. The local never expected to hear the voice of the owner, who had caught his attention with the melody of the whistling. But he could have never answered, as the local salesman began to hyperventilate out of fear upon witnessing the change in the outsider's crimson eyes; they were a curse. Something that reminded him of the history: the Bloody Mist. "Hm, no answer? Heellooo," the boy waved his hand in front of the salesman frantically. It seemed as if he cared less about his surrounding, as if his absurd behaviour wouldn't be judged. "Oh well," the bearer of the curse leaned away from the man, "I guess… I'll relinquish you, and every pathy person, from their worthless lives." After all, wherever he would go, none would remember he existed. There would only be a trail of destruction, yet he remained a ghost of the past. The whistling continued as the late teen clad in black casually walked through the streets of the fishertown. Burning, flickering flames awaited to consume the homes of the citizen, slowly engulfing the poor victims on the street. He couldn't control himself, as mad laughter escaped his throat. "If only worthy in my eyes, I would have spared your lives. Sadly, you were no game at all." He sprawled his arms around, enjoying the disaster he created, "Haha. Just burn," the teen's voice slowly faded away as he was being swallowed by the distorted space, "as you become dust!" Time restored itself for the locals. Screams of terror and suffering were resonating throughout the streets. All the flames set everything abruptly ablaze, as if the teen had prepared a bomb to detonate. But it was too late, he would not allow any survivors. The smell of burned wood and scorched earth coerced with the unforgettable scent of blood. He choked on the carnage steps away from the actual scenery, but remained unfazed physically. Dǎiyì sighed, remembering performing similar works against the forces of evil. Regardless if the charred corpse is a rapist or child, murder is murder...And we'll all have to pay Dǎiyì reminded himself. Only a wicked soul could commit a massecre so easily. The Head Ninja told Dǎiyì that there were no survivors, and expressed a desire to investigate this strange occurence. Devestation on this level often caused a scene large enough for Kirigakure officials to notice. And the catastrophe often produced survivors capable of relaying valuable information. However, this mysterious case of arson lacked any retainable evidence or valuable witnesses. Our report came a day late after a passing merchant stumbled upon the burned town. Which means no one survived the accident long enough to retrieve immediate help... Dǎiyì sighed while picking up a plank of wood. He examined it's damage deeply. The fire burned itself out and remained uncontrolled. He noticed a woman's corpse resting before what was her kitchen and a child found a considerable distance away. The corpses aren't bundled together, which means the bastard responsible was able to bring destruction without warning. No signs of struggle or retreat...And not enough time to gather their loved one. The shinobi was clad in his signature black clothing. He wore a shitagi covered with a sleeveless uwagi tied at the waist using a dark purple sash. And matched his top with hakama style pants secured at the ankles by footwear consisted of ankle-high boots. A black mask covered the lower poriton of Dǎiyì's face. He also kept a headband, devoid of a symbol, tightly tied around his head. Dǎiyì's lavender eyes, surrounded by dark rings, pierced through the mist as he scanned for crucial pieces of evidence. Nuibari hung tightly to his left hip, prepared to be drawn with it's metal wire tied to his finger. Bathed in the blood of his victims, the late teen wandered casually through the forest, humming carelessly a melody he likened. His hands rested on the back of his neck, as he made a stop for a moment to watch the clear sky. It captives him. Only this made him remember the massacre he caused to a small town not too long ago. He pondered: "When was that again?" Showing how much he cared about the numbers he made, all to cease his boredom. Some would call him a sick person. To him, it was only to purge the world. The crimson eyed boy stopped his humming abruptly, "Man. It seemed as if it has been forever." But he smiled gracefully, continued his casual pace towards a pretty familiar place he had recently visited. Arriving, his eyes brightened up as if he was a child fascinated by observing his work. His abilities improved tremendously, the late teener noted for himself. After all, before he had to use pills to confine an entire village of a size such as this in his trap. He couldn't keep his posture, almost buckling over as he enjoyed the catastrophe he had caused. His laughter almost sounding sinner, coming out in chorckles, as he wiped away the tears that dared to leak from his eyes. Perhaps, in others sight, it appeared as if he was a victim that had snapped into delusion, one who was suffering an enormous trauma. Of course, it was neither for him. His laughing stopped, realising he was not alone. Had he made a mistake? Did one survive his perfection? His teeth grinded for a split second, until he realised that it was perfect. Maybe, just maybe, he could make them regret their mistake of surviving the flames. And so, the predator changed his role. His stained hand, reeking of blood, clamped around his other arm. Pretending to be in pain, as he struggled to walk forward, stumbling in an effort to make his victimisation appear to be real. He raised his arm forward, as if reaching out to the individual, "H-help," he hoarsely called out. The imaginative pain got to him, his legs unable to support his weight any longer, falling towards the ground. Dǎiyì had started on his way towards Kirigakure in hopes of reporting his nonexistent findings. Nothing, Dǎiyì thought. Tears bursted against the back of his eyes as a lump formed in his throat. Another day without progress and lives lost without reason. The Land suffered for various internal and external reasons. And while he lacked the power to quell the external factors, Dǎiyì promised to sacrifice his soul to destroy the internal strife. But carnage filled scenery, similar to the destroyed town, shook the pillars supporting his ambition. The flames seemingly burned the hope he possessed and faith instilled in himself. When devils outnumbered benevolent spirits, how could one hope to win a war? Dǎiyì bent over a river and washed his tired eyes. "Shit." The reflection twisted until Dǎiyì stared into Yuriko's visage. "I miss you, Yuriko-chan." He chuckled. "You're right. I can't give up yet, I've barely started trying." Dǎiyì smiled, concealed under his mask, and returned to the burned buildings. "I can feel it inside of me...I'm missing something. This massacre is so perfect it's impossible to accomplish withot leaving behind a clue." Dǎiyì contemplated the various pieces of evidence he located. He created connections between the buildings, corpses and possessions scattered throughout the town. If there is a random stranger travelling between towns, causing devestation...We have to stop him before the next town is reached. A horrid realization suddenly struck the Hunter-nin. The children are untouched, left to perish alongside their parents. I doubt the major crime syndicates have a hand in this violence. But if they recieved word of someone possessing this kind of power, or if it's a group targeting another organization...This could escalate into an even larger explosion. Suddenly, Dǎiyì heard a distant voice slowly approaching him and screaming for assistance. He seemingly vanished into nothingness, reappearing instantly behind the wounded teenager. He looks close to my age, I doubt he can be any trouble. But I have to remain vigilant, especially considering the timing of his appearance. Dǎiyì shimmered once more, reappearing behind the stranger. "Move and I'll kill you." He accompanied the threat by drawing Nuibari while preparing to draw the wired blade. "What's your name and what can you tell me about what happened here?" "H-Hisao," the stranger stammered out, his voice sounding very weak. There was not a minor detail missing on his act, aside of the injuries he was playing at. As such, the late teen hugged his stomach closely with his blood-stained hand, while the other supported him from falling flat-face against the dirt. "Genin... Konoha, send to escort a businessman. The-then," he couldn't comprehend the thoughts of thinking what happened to his imaginative friends, choked in his words as he gathered his courage, "My sensei, nakama. T-they all died. I-I'm sorry, so, so sorry." "A shinobi from Konohagakure?" Dǎiyí pondered the response and carefully analyzed the mysterious boy. Questions washed over his consciousness as the boy weaved an impressive story. If he survived, why did he wait until now to reveal himself? Why didn't he reqest help immediately? Dǎiyí tilted his head and sighed. Regardless of the danger, Dǎiyí had to investigate it further. Something the distance he kept made it difficult to do. Shit. If he does anything to make him suspicious, I'll end him. Dǎiyí approached the boy from behind before kneeling to assist him. "Hisao," Dǎiyí began. "where are you wounded?" Hisao, as the boy called himself, hiked in his breath. Hauled over, the hand against the wound became more bloodied. The smell of fresh copper hung tightly in the air, as he groaned in pain. "My, my stomach... Sir, I-I don't know what to do!" Hisao cried out, pain evident in his voice. "It, it doesn't stop bleeding." While the other man couldn't see his eyes, the boy's eyes widened a fraction in realisation, "I'm scared Sir." If the man were to remove the boy's clutch, shielding his wound, he would witness a gruesome, open wound. One that should be treated quickly by a specialist. Hisao was losing too much blood, it was surprising that he was still conscious. Perhaps that had been the reason for the late search for help: the boy had been unconscious. He continued to speak, "I'm not going to make it, right?" Hisao's laugh was a painful one, shocking his injured body. Dǎiyì examined the wound deeply. Hm. I'm not quite familiar with Medical Ninjutsu, but I can stop the bleeding until we find proper help. Dǎiyì thought, completely unaware of the immediate threat. He ignored the child's plead for survival, focusing moreso on possible treatments. They were quite a distance from Kirigakure and Dǎiyì lacked necessary methods of retrieving help. If I immediately leave, I could return with proper help. But I doubt he'll survive the night if something occurs. Dǎiyì attempted to slightly lay Hisao down on his back to further analyze the wound. "I'll stop the bleeding. Tell me what happened while I do so." There was nothing that could be done to help him. He had bled too much, nothing could save him anymore. His pounding heart, if the Kiri-nin could hear it, would have slowed down; beating slower and slower. "It, it's cold." Hisao mumbled almost inaudible, shivering from the coldness that he felt. No longer could his body produce any warmth, his skin began to turn paler every passing second in the eyes of his saviour. He wanted to clutch the man by his uwagi, but he did not possess the strength, instead he forced it out with his voice: "Leave. Y-you shouldn't stay." He gulped, the end of Hisao was near, but the fury was evident in his voice, "They might still be here. Those bastards." "They?" Dǎiyì pondered. He nursed Hisao's wounds, wrapping them completely attempting to save the boys life. But he sensed the warmth leaving his body. Shit Dǎiyì spat as he stood up and surveyed the area. If the enemy outnumbers me, I'm not hundred percent sure I can escape unharmed without the proper preparations. I'll have to surprise them before they can reach me. He quickly turned to Hisao, hoping to gather enough information before the boy died. "Do you know where they went?" Those coal orbs that were determined to avenge his comrades, slowly begun to lose their vibrantness. His shaky breath came out in small puffs of smoke. The coldness embracing him in a thin layer, making it seem as if he lost his battle, as his skin had gradually turned paler. For whatever reason, the temperature had dropped increasingly, specifically, after the fatally wounded boy had mentioned it. And so, with his last strength, Hisao found himself staring weakly at the Kiri nin. He wished he could raise his hand, forming his hand into a fist to bump the male, encouraging him to avenge the people of this town. But he did not. Hisao met the back of the man. "Nowhere," is what the boy muttered in his last breath. His voice echoed weakly through the bank of mist, separating him from the shinobi. Had the Kiri nin fallen for a trap made by the evildoers? It would remain a mystery, as the secrets that the Konoha genin knew would never be recovered. He never existed. It was all but an imaginative fragmentation in Dǎiyì's mind; about an injured child that never existed. But the scent of blood never disappeared, something that clung onto his hands. He could still smell the ashes, everything from the town: it all pointed to death. While the mist had thickened increasingly, it significantly became thinner around the Kiri nin that allowed him to witness the brutality done within a vicinity. This allowed him to see the countless of innocent victims around him. But there was no Hisao behind him. Malevolence begun to intertwine itself sickeningly with the air, revolting the mist to absorb the blood to still the thirst of the caster. A taunting, foul laughter echoed in the massacred town, misplacing the location of the evildoer. "Why, oh, why, would one ever trust a stranger?" His grin could not be seen, but he chuckled darkly behind his illusion. Dǎiyì recognized the cold shivers traveling from the base of his spine as well as the increase in his heart rate. The life of a heartless murderer meant existing alongside monsters whose sole existence revolved around death. Their enjoyment often materialized into an icy touch slowly caressing the Phantom's spine. Dǎiyì understood the feeling intimately for it was a sensation he often absorbed pleasure from. The difference being his ability to suppress, hide, and monitor it. However, feeling the stranger's bloodlust seemingly sparked his own. Although the monster hinted at having an influence in the incident, Dǎiyì remained rather calm. In fact, he stared deeply into the faces of the victims, seemingly unfazed by their tortured visages. "Using mist to obscure your movements from a shinobi of Kirigakure? Original." Dǎiyì only laughed at the strangers sudden vanishing act. The Phantom of the Hidden Mist vanished from his current location, attempting to utilize the empty houses as cover.
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