Shepherd Of Fire

Thirty miles is quite distance to cross on foot… if you’re not a ninja. Traveling at my top speed it took me barely three minutes to reach the hidden hovels inhabited by my unknowing foe.

I slowed down a couple miles outside the compound (and it was a compound, nothing that military in design could be called a town, even as crude as it was) on Jashin’s advice. Apparently this “Brion” was more intelligent than I gave him credit for; in the dense forest surrounding the compound five man squads roamed about in a vaguely organised manner.

Unfortunately for them, they were hardly ninjas. While that’s not too useful considering I didn't really have any training; what little I had been able to glean from letting by body run on autopilot was enough to sneak up on some unsuspecting guards.

I barely kept from laughing as I landed near silently in a tree just above one of the squads; none of these fools even bothered to look up, so certain in the protection of their anonymity. The last of their little group walked backwards, acting the rear-guard.

Now, my plan was to lower my scythe down, hook it under his chin, and pull it up; cutting of his face and either killing him instantly or at least very soon. Regardless, it would have been scary for his buddies. Instead, the dumb fuck tripped and decapitated himself on my blade just before I got it in position.

Which, of course, made me burst out laughing.

Which gave away my position (the truncated scream and headless body gave away my presence well enough on their own). Fortunately, incompetence won out and it took them a few shocked seconds to react. A few shocked seconds was more than enough for me to leap down and cleave two of the morons in twain with my blade (not the easiest thing to do with a scythe, let me tell ya).

Interestingly, I felt something in me shift as life left the men in a gushing river of gore; Jashin’s presence in my mind became a touch more solid, a little more real. The most obvious change I could see was my sight and senses; everything seemed sharper, more crisp and clear than I ever remembered the world being.

The second thing I noticed was the way I subconsciously moved, the way I held my blade; my movements were more refined, smooth and efficient in a manner neither I nor Hidan ever possessed. Even to my own eyes my movements were odd and off putting; machine-like and predatory.

When I looked upon the terrified survivors of my initial assault I could see right through their shaky stances, knew exactly how to swing my blade to inflict maximum suffering and damage. It wasn't like the Sharingan, there was nothing predictive or slow motion about it; I just instinctively knew how to break them.

Evidently the massive smile I used to cover my uncertainty was quite terrifying, if the wet stain spreading across the crotch of one of the men's pants was anything to go by. “Jashin, what the hell is happening to me!?” I cried in my head, while the changes were useful, the fact that I had been modified at all was more than a touch unsettling.

“Fear not, my champion. This is merely a side effect of us growing closer. Your soul grows closer to my core as our relationship gets closer; this can be achieved through both spending time to get closer and by gifting me with sacrifices. Using the souls of those you sacrifice, I modify your soul to better adapt to my increased presence; this has a number of beneficial side effects.”

I blinked, watching the cowering militants slowly attempt to rally for an attack. “How can sacrifices increase our closeness? Wouldn't we have to get to know and like each other or some shit to become closer?” Honestly, murder as a substitute for intimacy?

“Truthfully, they can't. Not on their own, anyway. Both actual mutual affection and copious amounts of murder are necessary to truly grow closer; however, in these early stages we are already close enough for sacrifices alone to be all that's required for the the adaptations to occur. Later stages will require, as you put it, “Getting to know and like each other or some shit.” to attain.” Her voice held a trace of humor as she mimicked my voice.

I smirk, dashing forward and crushing one of the men's throats with the front of my scythe blades (still need to find a way to sharpen that) before swiping to the left and driving the longest blade through the side of the last “soldier’s" head. “Well then, when I'm done making an example of this town (I'm thinking impalement?) we’ll have a sit down and talk some. Ya got anything you'd particularly like me to do?” While I absolutely hated the idea of being anyone's servant, a healthy relationship involves give and take and I'm willing to do favours for those I care about. While I can't say I truly care for Jashin all that much as of now, I can see no benefit to deliberately trying to distance myself from my patron god… even if my hatred of authority figures give me a disdain for gods in general.

“For now, just ensure the false prophet suffers; though later I want to learn more about you.”

I shrugged, moving to search the bodies for any loot I could find. Finding nothing of interest, I stood up with a scowl. I turned my eyes towards the projected paths of the other three patrols (though, considering the screams these idiots managed to let out, it’s quite possible I won’t need to go hunting for them at all), “Really, just torture the dumb cunt? Do you have any goals I could help facilitate?”

A dark chuckle sounded in my mind and I could have sworn the shadows around me deepened, though on second glance it seems it was just the other patrols seeking out the screams. Heh, like incredibly retarded moths to a pile of burning moths.

“Hmhmhmhmhm…. Merely spread chaos, fear, death, and pain to the world. That is what I want… for now.”

I shrugged, “Chaos, eh?” I turned my glittering eyes to the infidels, “Sounds fun.” My smile matched my scythe as the cultists surrounded me in a loose but visibly disciplined circle. My smile grew to a malicious grin beneath eyes half-lidded with sadistic anticipation as they drew ramshackle blades. Not a one seemed to match the others; had they not been wearing what looked vaguely like uniforms, I would have sworn they were nothing but bandits.

My disparaging opinion didn't improve when they gave a ragged battle cry and charged me en masse; completely abandoning any sort of organisation. My scythe lashed out as the fastest amongst them got within comfortable reach, sending three decapitated bodies to fall at my feet.

A blade slid through my left cheek and out the right, grinding against my teeth as it passed. I smiled, the motion widening the tears in my face as I licked the blade in my mouth, turning my eyes to look at the militia man who stabbed me.

The man stuttered out an incomprehensible stream of words (likely an insult or cry of fear) and tried to pull his blade free. Key word, tried. As soon as I felt the blade moving back I bit down as hard as I could, my chakra enhanced and Jashin given strength shattering the rusty iron with ease; leaving the man with a jagged foot of metal rather than three feet of what might have generously been called a sword.

He stared at the hunk of metal for a moment before I spat the chunks of metal in my mouth into his face; the chakra enhanced projectiles acting like a shotgun blast and turning his head into chunky salsa (and mangling my lips in the process).

A sharp jerk of my neck sent the piece of blade still lodged in my cheek flying through the air to pierce another man's eye, sending him falling to the earth with a cry of pain and splurt of blood. I smirked at the remaining squad, walking towards the screaming soldier.

I made sure to look each man in the eye as I stood above the screamer, setting the sole of my boot atop the spike of metal in his eye. My smirk widened as I slowly drove the spike home, twisting my heel (and subsequently the blade) to inflict greater suffering. Spasms rocked his body as the twisting blade was driven deeper and deeper into his brain, destroying more and more of what made him him (although, with my knowledge that souls exist, that may not be entirely true).

When I felt the blade pierce the earth beneath the writhing man's skull I stopped pushing down, lifting my foot into the air with a joyous laugh. I brought my foot down with a wicked cackle, taking great pleasure in the way the man's skull exploded beneath my foot like an overripe watermelon in front of an artillery battery (though, I appreciated the blood and brain matter splattered all over my pants and boots far, far less).

My maniacal smile grew as my glittering eyes landed on the survivors; seeing my own gleefully malevolent expression reflected in their terrified orbs. My eyes were almost friendly, filled with a warm light that looked like it could draw people in, but placed above my smile, the light in my eyes could never be mistaken for anything but sadism; the warmth just a little too hot, gaze just a little too intense.

Meh, being able to look like a nice guy can be useful, I guess; it’ll make infiltration (and indoctrination) easier, if nothing else.

I watched, amused, as the cultists backed away in a panic, most looking like they were a half-step from breaking into an outright sprint (so much for discipline, eh?). I took a sudden step forward, just to see what would happen, and was rewarded with one of them actually throwing down his sword and sprinting away… straight into a tree.

I burst out laughing, leaning so far back to cackle to the heavens that I almost fell on my ass. My perfectly sane (completely psycho-bonkers-crazy) cachinations seemed to deeply unsettle the still conscious (seriously, the dipshit knocked himself out? Bwahahaha!) thugs, if the faint odor of shit seeming to waft off one of them was anything to go by.

Now, I could have just swiftly rendered them down to tiny, leaking pieces and moved on. That would be the smart, efficient thing to do. But I knew myself well enough to know I could never pass up an opportunity to torture some mice; besides, I was here to send a message, wasn’t I? Nothing quite like antemortem mutilation to send a pretty damn clear message.

Unfortunately, none of the remaining morons were women so my straight ass couldn't really rape them (I could try but hairy, unwashed men aren't gonna get me hard enough to have fun without spending the time to skin them and remove the annoying aspects (maybe I could nail one's ass to another's chest to simulate breasts… thoughts for the future)), nor do I have time to properly torture them; guess I'll have to settle for particularly messy deaths.

Three blades sprouted out of the stomach of the only man to actually turn and watch his compatriot slam face first into a tree, his laughter turning to a gurgling scream in an instant (though I'm sure he appreciated my laughter replacing his own). I wrenched my scythe to the side, nearly bisecting the man and spilling his innards on the forest floor as the blades were torn free.

My grin glowed in the moonlight as I moved, slashing my blade (still trailing intestines) into the side of one of the men, piercing both lungs and severing his spine. He would die a slow, miserable death; unable to so much as crawl as his mutilated lungs filled with blood.

The last conscious man stumbled back, falling on his ass and still attempting to crawl away as I pulled my blade from his fellow’s chest, letting him drop to the earth like a stringless marionette. I walked over the fallen man, deliberately stepping on him to show my disregard for him as I slowly advanced on the weeping soldier, my blade drawn back and over my head like the reaper come to claim his soul (not far from the truth really, considering I am going to take his soul).

He kept crawling backwards until his back met a tree, the sudden contact having him instinctively look back to see what he hit. That was his last mistake. My scythe sliced through the air as easily as it did his guts, slitting open his stomach and letting his innards fall out. He didn’t even get to scream before I slammed my scythe down on lower abdomen; the upper blade went through his already mutilated guts while the middle sliced his cock in half.

His girlish scream of unfathomable agony was sweet music to my ears as I slowly pushed my scythe forward, my pure strength driving the blunt end through his intestines and out his back (pushing him away from the tree).

I pulled free my trusty scythe, trailing the cultist’s intestines as I turned towards the compound. My dark grin widened as I turned my gaze to the unconscious survivor.

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Brion sat as his desk, fingers clenched to a white knuckle grip on the random document he pensively stared at with unfocused eyes. He had heard the screams… and the laughter; someone had butchered his external patrols. Odds were, that same someone was about to come and butcher his town, destroy everything he had worked for for so long.

His hands balled into fists, crinkling the (likely very important) paper into a ball. How, how had it come to this? How had this happened? All his plans, all his actions, all his sacrifices; all meaningless…

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned, staring out the window in his office facing out to the whole of his compound (his guards had hated that little addition to the plans). It took him a second to see what caught his eye, something was falling from the sky towards the center of the compound. Disbelief danced with horror as he watched a body fall from the moonlit sky.

It hit the ground with a splat, sending blood and blood-stained paper flying about it; in fact, it hit the ground so hard that broken bits of cobblestone flew up around it. A long moment passed in silence, a pool of blood spreading around the unfortunate man. People slowly trickled out from where they had run to; coming to see what had happened, to gawk at the disturbance to their daily routine. Even he released a relieved breath when nothing further happened… until lights poured from the body’s innards, shining out of its every orifice (and the numerous gaping wounds across it); illuminating the numerous paper seals within and without.

The explosion tore up the square, knocking down or severely damaging several buildings and reducing the crowd of maybe fifteen people around it to so much jelly. His eyes could not widen further as he stared upon the blood streaked ruins of all he had done.

Or, at least, that's what he thought. The visual orbs nearly fell from his head when the compound’s gate exploded inward, blasting off its armoured hinges like a domino struck by a god; reducing the guards stationed there to paste.

There was no smoke to clear and the man (monster) who blasted down the gate was immediately visible. Amaranthine eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as the pale man lowered his overstretched hand. High pitched and malevolent laughter rolled from the man; the wicked sound creeping into the town, slithering into the survivors minds and settling over the wreckage like a heavy, vile miasma of malignity.

Brion’s pale green eyes widened in horrified realization as he saw just who was standing at his gates; Hidan the Immortal had come to reap what he had not sown.

Shaking hands ran through thinning blonde hair; how had he not thought of this, how could he have ignored the possibility. He had never thought that the fanatic might sniff out his operations, might see his heretical use if the man's symbol and come seeking vengeance. Even if the man had simply stumbled upon his village by pure coincidence; he was the only S-rank ninja known for committing random acts of senseless violence.

Brion tried to ignore the sweat dripping down his skin as the laughing psychopath walked into his village; choosing instead to press a single button on his desk.

There was a brief burst of static before a voice came through, [Sir?] The voice was gruff and serious, a soldier who had dedicated their life to the art of murder.

Brion took a deep breath before responding, “An intruder, an infidel, has infiltrated the compound.”

He could feel the contempt pouring from the voice. [So those incompetent fools guarding the forest were eliminated?]

“It would appear so, yes.” He chanced a look out the window, seeing the serial killer entering a house; from the screams that emanated from it soon after he presumed the little family of regulation four was not having a good time. He wondered idly if any of the forty eight civilians that called his compound home would live to see the morrow. He shook his head, probably not. “Your standing orders still apply; repel or eliminate the intruder…” Blood splattered the upstairs window of the house the madman entered, “...by any means necessary.”

There was no hesitation in his most devout soldier’s voice, [Yes, Sir.] A glance out the window showed his elite guards rushing out of his mansion to confront the maniac butchering his people.

Brion gave a deep sigh, watching his men clash with the immortal for a moment before standing up. A miserable chuckle left him as he walked into the shadows behind his desk.

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My eyes gleamed as I watched the clearly more competent (though no more intelligent) cultists stream out of the largest building like ants from their nest. I laughed as they surrounded me, the cachinations growing all the louder and more gleeful when I saw how few were visibly unsettled by the insidious sound.

My shining eyes followed the men as they encircled me. I didn't show it, but I was genuinely surprised they hadn't simply rushed me. My cacophonous laughter quieted to simple chuckles as a single man broke the wall of soldiers, his long black trench coat flowing behind him.

I raised an eyebrow, pointedly looking him up and down. “You got somethin’ to say, Reinhard?” Seriously, dude was a dead ringer for the architect of the Final Solution (at least in the face, he was dressed more like a caricature of an evil SS officer; the only difference was instead of swastikas, this guy wore symbols of Jashin… I'm totally stealing that costume.)

His grim expression was unchanging, “I have no idea who this “Reinhard" is, but I am certainly not he. My name is-"

I held up a hand, index finger extended. “I'mma stop ya there; I don't give a fuck who ya are.” I leaned back, holding my hands up and at my sides in a cocky gesture, “See, at the end of the day, I came here to kill everyone; and that's just what I'm gonna do.” My eyes, closed to emphasize my shrug like gesture, snapped open, locking with the apparently leader of this lot. I knew I was losing out on profits by not enslaving anyone in this town, but I honestly don’t care; money is just a garnish on my entertainment, not the true goal. Here, I came to make a statement and have some fun. Besides, if I really needs something I can’t afford (or don’t want to have a record of owning), I’ll just steal it.

His steel blue eyes were hard and cold like an arctic storm. “Hmph, impetuous imbecile; you will receive no burial.” Apparently his words were the signal for his men to attack me from all sides. Unlike the rabble I had slaughtered outside the compound earlier these men were competent and organised; they knew exactly how to commit to a mass charge at a superior opponent and not a one of them seemed hesitant to risk or even lose their lives if it brought me down.

Now, while I like to think of myself as quite the badass, when thirty well trained men with swords rush you from all sides; dodging isn't really feasible. I tried, of course, swinging my scythe around me and jumping into the air; while I managed to kill three of the bastards with my swing, the jump only meant I was impaled on well over a dozen blades from below when I came back to the earth.

I stared at the pillars of steel piercing my flesh for a moment before they were torn to the sides, rupturing my perforated body and splashing my innards all around. Luckily for me, my innards are more decorative than anything (and Jashin’s influence meant that only ten percent of the mind shattering agony actually came through as such, the rest was either just gone or turned to pleasure); unfortunately, I still wasn’t capable of much in the way of movement with my body damn near quartered. Standing up would be nigh impossible considering my spine was torn to pieces; while I may be able to get to my feet, my upper body would not be able to remain upright and I’d end up dragging most of my body around.

My initial plan was just to lay on the ground and pretend to be dead until I was healed; that plan went out the window when the assholes all around me started covering me in alcohol soaked rags. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why a military group would be covering a downed foe in a flammable substance; whether they knew I was immortal or not was irrelevant if they intended to burn my body.

Luckily for me, my abysmal chakra control still allowed for one “technique”: my bastard form of the explosion release/super strength. Channeling my chakra into the rags covering my body and the ground beneath me caused a rather violent explosion; made all the more destructive when the highly flammable scraps of cloth met the torches they had intended to burn me with.

Normally I would be laughing my ass off at a crowd of burning morons running around and screaming like headless, flaming chickens. Unfortunately, I forgot to take into account how this would affect me; spoilers, I got turned into fucking jelly.

And, of course, I was also on fire. Lovely.

“Well fuck, how the hell am I gonna get outta this?” Somehow, even though I didn't have anything resembling eyes at this point, I was still frantically looking around. It took me a moment to realise I was staring down at my own mangled body as it slowly turned to ash.

“While you could simply wait for me to build you a new body from scratch or rebuild your old one; it would be more efficient to simply take advantage of the empty bodies laying around.” My metaphysical eyes widened dramatically, looking about me and truly seeing for the first time. The living seemed to possess an internal glow, a radiant life to them that was absent in the dead; what I could only assume was a soul calling out for me to devour.

I shook off the sudden rush of rampant bloodlust, and started looking for a (mostly) intact corpse to posses. While I'm a rather sceptical guy by nature, I was inclined to believe Jashin when it came to abilities I possessed. “How exactly do I take over a corpse?” My eyes settle on the most intact body I could see, a short man who was apparently sent flying by the explosion and broke his neck on impact; while the damage was easily fixed, the drop in height was less than ideal.

“Merely enter the body, I will do the rest for now.” A moment passed as I walked over to the empty body before Jashin spoke back up, humor evident in her voice. “You needn't worry about the meatbag’s features, the blueprint of your soul will overwrite the empty flesh.”

Kneeling over the corpse I shrugged and stuck my hand in his chest. It felt like dipping my hand into cold oil; cloying and wet in an unsettlingly disturbing way. The unpleasant sensation was quickly shoved to the back of my mind when I felt myself being sucked into the body.

My first instinct was to fight the pull, but I knew what it was (or, at least I hoped so) and just let it happen. A moment later I was vindicated as my new bodies senses flooded my mind and my spiritual senses fled.

I slowly sat up, feeling my neck crack back into place. As I shakily rose to my feet I could feel myself growing taller (and boy did that not help my balance), a quick glance from eyes I could feel shifting confirmed that my skin tone was growing more and more pale, and the short brown hair I could see in the corner of my eye slowly bleached and slid into the same permanently slicked back “style” (seriously, it just fucking grows that way!) it always had.

Luckily, before my changes had finished I had managed to stumble over to the puddle if burning goo that was my former body. I examined myself, grimacing at my utterly ruined clothes (what few scraps weren't reduced to ashes were more blood than cloth). However, a grin spread across my face as my eyes settled on my scythe; my wholly undamaged scythe.

I have no idea what the damn thing is made out of, but it seems like it’s damn near indestructible; at first glance the crimson blades might have looked burned and the handle damaged, but a cursory wip of the hand revealed that it was merely covered in blood and ashes, the magnificent weapon beneath utterly unscathed.

I smiled, hearing the random background mutters of the soldiers milling about around me start to become more excited as I picked up the blade, strapping the spool of wire to my waist (all my other shit was ruined, damn it! Guess I’ll have to steal replacements from these idiots.). A dark grin spread across my face as I gave my scythe a whirl, only growing wider when someone placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Soratsu, the hell do you think your-” He didn’t get the chance to finish chastising whoever he thought I was. In a blur of movement I had whirled around, driving my palm into his chest and channeling an absurd amount of chakra into my palm. I grinned as his innards blasted out his back, most of his body having been essentially turned inside out by the devastating failure of the surface cling. Once more my sinister laughter rang out as intestines rained down on my enemies heads.

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The assistant stared in horror as his boss’s scream was cut off with a gurgle, rainwater filling his chest cavity like the bleakest of bowls. The shredded maniac’s laughter sunk into his bones like a virus, shaking him to his very core as the man’s cruel green eyes slowly settled on his own.

The phone’s cracked screen still displayed an ongoing call, a fact that was only exemplified by the faint voice he could here from it. “Confirm location, I repeat; confirm location!” The voice was growing angry, a note of confusion and concern barely noticeable to the assistant’s untrained ears.

In a move he never would have thought himself capable of before, the assistant darted forward, snatching up the fallen cellphone and sprinting for some sort of cover. He pulled the damaged phone to his ear, shouting into the speaker to be heard over his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “We are at county hospital on the corner of- Gahh!”

He was cut off mid sentence, a sharp pain in his back followed by horrible numbness from below it interrupting his speech. His legs gave out beneath him and he tumbled to the asphalt below; the impact sending bolts of pain through his upper body, but horrifyingly, he felt nothing below where he had felt the sharp pain.

The cell phone clattered away, a little river of blood and water slowly ferrying it away from his desperately grasping hands. He couldn’t move his legs, couldn’t move anything below his middle back, but even so he desperately dragged himself towards the damaged phone; he needed to confirm the location, needed to get reinforcements here.

He could hear the laughing psychopath getting closer, walking at a deliberately slow pace; seeking to draw out his suffering no doubt. Nonetheless, he dragged himself forward with broken nails and bloody fingers.

He was inches from grabbing the phone (having managed to crawl ever so slightly faster than the water could carry the phone) when a heavy weight settled on his shoulders, putting an abrupt end to his journey. Tear filled eyes watched as the water carried the phone ever closer to a storm drain.

The weight on his back grew more and more intense as he struggled to draw breath with strained lungs. In one last desperate gamble he roared out the location of the attack, praying to whatever gods were listening for the soldier on the other side of the phone to hear him.

Unfortunately for him, the only god of note paying any attention was Jashin, and she wasn’t feeling very charitable right then. As the last syllable left the desperate man’s throat, the knife the possessing serial mass murder had throw with such pinpoint precision as to neatly sever the fleeing man’s spine was pulled from his back with a nasty twist. The last thing the man saw before his eyes were gouged from his skull was the phone going over the lip of the drain, its screen very clearly dead.

Hidan took his time with the runner, slowly sawing at his skin with an almost surgical precision born of long experience; flaying away the man’s skin in one piece. Skinning a man alive was more of an art than a science, though it was certainly easier when they couldn’t move. Blood flowed like a river as more and more flesh was cut away from the muscle below it, agonised screams following it into the distance.

Hidan wasn’t worried about someone hearing the music of misery; he wanted them to hear, to see his art in action. Jashin was pleased, he could feel it; and that was all that matter to him. He may not have been a good champion, but he was a damn good killer.