Recent Posts

-----------------------------------------

My nin-sandals shifted in the sand, wading along, and finally my back was turned to the waves. They wouldn’t turn from me, of course. No, their swaying and colliding would continue on forever—until the ends of time. Or, perhaps not. In all likelihood, this wanderers claims were as empty as the will-withering deserts he supposedly ventured from—as empty as the island we currently stood on. But, there was always a chance. Even if it were so slim a chance as to probably not be worth mentioning, let alone imagining, the chance did nonetheless technically exist. And the power to control the tides was quite the monumental wager. What did I have to lose, investigating such a claim? How often did one come across such outlandish and wild, yet readily testable propositions? I never had, I didn't think. I had never seen so much as the slightest human commotion, on this particular route. But, here I was. To simply allow the opportunity to pass would have been too easy. And besides, I could tell from his posture that, for whatever reason, his dignity had risen significantly as time had moved along—one of us would likely have to kill the other if neither soon compromised. Though, as I had already declared before our congregation of flesh and sand and wave: I was willing. I looked to him as we stood side by side, the entirety of the island before us. My expression was one of collected amusement as I addressed his rather raucous question.

             “A turning wind, I suppose.”

                          I gave a shrug, eyeing him for a moment as my gaze turned slightly more serious.

                                          “Do you have any coordinates? Any plan, at all?”

                                                           “The island is vast.”

I looked again. There was dense jungle ahead. It sloped upward, forming a multitude of moderately-sized mountains. I knew that it was a relatively large island, but I hadn't read much else about this region. There wasn't much of a need to—it was an island to the far north-east of the country, out of the sight and reach of any commercial ship. Simply, there was nothing out here. This wasn't an island that one randomly passed; this was an island that had to be sought out. There was something eerie about it, I would notice, as I continued to stare. The leaves on the trees didn’t move, there were no birds flying in the canopies above, and now that I reflected on it, I hadn’t remembered hearing any of the sounds typical of wildlife emanating from the wooded region in all of my time spent standing in the area. Where was I? What was this place that I had somehow fallen into on my ordinarily unassuming patrol post? And for that matter, who was this white-haired foreigner standing next to me? There were mysteries upon mysteries. They were thick here, and one could guess that they would only thicken, becoming more murky and encumbering the further along we traveled. Nevertheless, I was my own being. I could have left at any time. I could have sailed away and never returned. Yet, something lured me. There was something enticing about this land, something that pulled me in by body and mind the more I continued to contemplate and stare.

A wonder awaited. The Shiomitsu-tama, or something far more sinister? Death would tell us, if time didn't.

virtue; an order of angels.

-----------------------------------------

There was a light sound. Not a noise, but a sound. It played gently on the ears, like a sweeping, cloudy whisper. And it could be felt more than heard, and its intensity expressed itself further to the eyes. Village humming: a chorus of closed mouths and moving bodies. My own body was yet still, though, and thus, silent. My gaze trailed their moving, yet still I felt more than their moving, as the air turned to wind and back again—gentle like the sound. If eyes could make sound and not noise, I would have joined the moving choir. Yet mine could do neither, though silently more. More noiselessly, but more yet still. They moved forward and around, and around and around, in a way that one could find more relaxing than less relaxing. Their eyes were like my own, in a way, with their calm and their quiet. This was the quaint town of Okinoka, 'fluttering light', and my respite. There was a popular story that it had been named as such for a species of insect that would glow en masse, high above the village for all to see. It only happened on certain nights, during certain times of the year—or so the story went. I personally had never seen them, nor did I care to. The simple folk, with their simple attire and simple ways, were enough to take me away. I had always wondered how they could live in such a way, with everything around them in shambles as it invariably was. Was it a testament to their ignorance? Pacifism? Perhaps, fear?

This was when it all slipped away from me. Everything halted. A sudden disquiet. There was a noise to disrupt the calm. I heard something. A noise that made itself known as noise, not sound. Yes, certainly a noise not sound—I felt it, even. It was the noise that I thought to escape from, if only momentarily. Yet still, it had somehow found me. It always found me. And it was coming toward me. And then I was more than still. I was steel, as whispering clouds turned to falling rain.

My gaze locked with the maker of noise, and it appeared for a moment that my eyes were more than silent, as a distressed look appeared on his face. A lack of pupils occasionally did that. A familiarity with Kirigakure lore did that, too. Or perhaps it was the death instrument pointed directly at him? I wouldn’t get the chance to discern such matters for myself, as another noise made itself known behind me. I felt this one, too. Felt more than heard, actually, as a pocket of wind crashed into my neck. It was the wind of sudden movement. An incoming movement. My reflexes took control, when it was felt more than heard, and an outward pivot of my left foot and jerking of my body would bring into view a wooden club sliding past its mark. Another movement-induced wind blew over me as it flew by. The calm had dulled my awareness, it seemed. I was almost punished for it. Now he would be punished for it. Doubly so—probably more. A flick of my wrist, and his was no more. The club fell with it. His eyes, still baffled from his previous unexpected miscalculation, suddenly expanded in agony—my own look was of the death. It came swift, now. Up and through, in and out, another flick as blood escaped my blade, and our exchange had concluded. I didn’t wait to look. Well, maybe I did. But in moments I was off. The other had disappeared somewhere—yet, another crashing sound and I had his scent. His fears would be manifest before long.

-----------------------------------------

The scene was picturesque. Blood, muck, and mire clung to every surface. Mutilated and half-hanging bodies strew themselves across blood-stained oak tables and sprawled themselves along indifferent floors. They made themselves known impaled along walls, and flailing headless around unsuspecting corners. Decapitated heads hoarsely screamed in their final breaths. Women covered children who covered their fear-racked hearts, and yet none were saved.

For they had sinned an unforgivable sin.

When the world cried in agony and yelled in torture, desperate to be heard by all, they heard nothing. When the world’s laws made themselves plain before our eyes, theirs were barred shut. And when it took us by our hands and led us to its wintry truth, they crossed theirs behind their backs. They hid beneath shelters of straw, of grief and anxiety and prayer, as blood rained outside. As our blood poured itself out for all to see, they hid and weren’t to be found. Yet in a fiery storm we swept through and, finding their make-shift shelters wanting, we gave the rain of blood and the world’s truth what they so fervently sought. We let them inside. Let them inside so that the deserving may finally be drenched and covered. Retribution had come. Death, their greatest fear, would make their final resting place their fear-shelters. They were nothing more than grief-ridden bodies that had remained docile all their lives. Never venturing beyond, no attempts to leave home. Their devil: the unknown. And they would leave this world exactly where they had began.

There was squelching as I dug my blade through the heart of one, his single remaining arm held out in the most pathetic way. I would sever it from his body once I was finished. I simultaneously studied my two co-arbiters. They remained somewhat of an enigma to me, the older one probably more-so, though I felt a certain camaraderie between them, as we had each witnessed our gate’s crumbling, those domineering howls, and were now here. There was a fieriness in the kunoichi’s eyes that I admired—she seemed utterly ferocious. And that dark-haired perplexity... well, he was something. I was certain that he was something. But what, exactly? There was no answer. Just a dark cloud. Perhaps it was best not to know, for now. His showcase with the baby would add chaotic strikes to the blurry painting that had become of him. It was all covered in mist. I would avert my attention as oil began to spill, coating the floor as if by divine plan. An identical urn, not far from the first, would be noted before I’d move to avoid the slowly advancing liquid.

A tone that was unfamiliar fled from the dark-haired one. And he knew my full name. The painting was blurred evermore. I searched at his behest, noting the scrambling bodies that still clung to the silly hope that they might leave this place alive. It was beyond humorous.

“There are six, three dressed differently than the others—the High Shepherds, I presume.”

And then there was a sobered command, a gravity that spoke of his rank. The girl—Hanafubuki, it seemed—was gone in an instant. There was a momentary silence within as events proceeded rapidly outside. I observed her disappear from the church and up its outer wall, before launching herself onto the roof. There were swift movements, a stabbing, and a peculiar kind of chakra that emanated from her figure, as from it another ivory blade was produced. I was faintly familiar with this kind by now, having lived in Kirigakure long enough to have witnessed it once before—the chakra signature of the Kaguya clan. It was still interesting to see, nonetheless, and I was impressed by the directness of her movements, as she would accomplish more than could have been predicted beforehand, effectively locking the priests within the building. It was intriguing to watch them squirm, attempting to catch the body of their fallen brother, before buckling under the distress of their predicament and falling themselves. A thud would sound. They were pathetic, truly pathetic. I wanted them gone. Gone, forever. Gone, gone, gone. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Words were addressed to me once more—in the form of a question, this time. He danced as if caught on fire, and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, somewhat intrigued by his comical manner. Amusement notwithstanding, there were moments of thinking, and fewer moments of looking, before it would dawn on me. Fire. A church in flames. It would be poetic.

                                                        “No more boom.”

                              “We will watch them burn. Slowly, yes? We will savor it.”

There was a glint in my eyes as I said it. I would point to the oil urn, and then the hole in the wall.

       “I’ll lead a trail outside—”

                                           “—then, you will use your fire on it—”

                                                                                                “—and then, we wait. Yes?”

-----------------------------------------

His final, hovering words culminated all that had come to pass. It was done; a moment whose consequences would be significant and far-reaching had, in an inferno of chaos, transpired before us. My gaze turned slowly to the others, the somber atmosphere enveloping the vicinity reflecting with exactitude the gravity of today’s events. Of course, however, today’s events had only just begun. The extirpation of inhabitants no longer welcome in this revived land lay like scorched cadavers ahead of us. It wasn’t long before the obscenity of their existences would finally be punished. One final act. With trouble I looked once more at the carnage. I looked with eyes of a malevolent hue, and the fire of loathing burned at my core. I wanted them to burn as well. I wanted to see them scream in agony for what they had wrought upon this land. I wanted to feel their fears directed at me. To maim and devour. The crushing of outreached hands and the stomping of unlocked teeth. It would all soon be mine.

— Exit.