The Toraono Dojo, once a place of learning and comfort for Shin, had always been alive with the sound of students and acolytes practicing their jutsu. Wooden floors creaked beneath their sparring feet, voices barked commands over the crack of training weapons, and the air carried the sweat and resolve of the upcoming generation of Sunagakure's Shinobi Forces. This was where Shin first felt like he belonged. All of those years ago, at the young age of eight years old taking his ninja classes with his sensei, Senju Kazuki.
Tonight, there was nothing.
The great sliding doors groaned as Shin pushed them open, their echoing scream rolled down the empty corridors like a warning. The soft light of photonically charged carmots, that should have kept the dojo softly illuminated, were extinguished which left the soft blue haze of the village's circadian rhythmic carmots which cracked through the paper walls. Tatami mats lay in disarray, ripped and torn with razor like cuts that no ordinary academic sparring match would have left behind.
The silence could be felt in the air. It was quiet, and in the night it was too silent. Even the usual hum of the technological tracks which slowly moved the village could not be heard. The dojo was sickeningly still, as if the very life of this historic landmark was holding its breath as Shin entered. Perhaps it remembered the last time Shin was here, he didn't.
Perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of fear, as Shin entered the dojo he could feel his hand gravitate towards the sword that rested on his hip. Something was gnawing at the anxiety which grew in his mind. This wave of nausea and lethargy crept over him, and there was an inkling of a feeling that made him sick. That was when he realized what was wrong with this hallway. It wasn't what he saw, it was what he heard.
A soft chuckle, dark and twisted, filled with bloodlust and fury slipped, not from his lips, into the air that cut through the silence. It was his voice but it came from just over his shoulder.
Turning quickly and lifting his blade Shin began to weave his natural spiritual and physical energies with that of nature, entering the early stages of his Sage Mode which caused him to radiate a spiritual pressure of his own.
"Who's there! Show yourself. Your cheap parlor tricks won't work on me."
As he made the decree he didn't hear a response. He didn't hear movement.
A flash of pain shot through his mind as he dropped to his knees. His hands instinctively pulled to his face, but the firmly pressed black sleeves of his button down dripped with the blood that filled his hands.
Then the blood was gone and the hungry sensation to plunge his blade into flesh took over. A searing pain shot through his mind as he began to blend reality with memory. A memory of a time when he wasn't himself and the control over his own body and soul weren't his own.
A time when he didn't deserve to be called Kazekage.
Tonight, there was nothing.
The great sliding doors groaned as Shin pushed them open, their echoing scream rolled down the empty corridors like a warning. The soft light of photonically charged carmots, that should have kept the dojo softly illuminated, were extinguished which left the soft blue haze of the village's circadian rhythmic carmots which cracked through the paper walls. Tatami mats lay in disarray, ripped and torn with razor like cuts that no ordinary academic sparring match would have left behind.
The silence could be felt in the air. It was quiet, and in the night it was too silent. Even the usual hum of the technological tracks which slowly moved the village could not be heard. The dojo was sickeningly still, as if the very life of this historic landmark was holding its breath as Shin entered. Perhaps it remembered the last time Shin was here, he didn't.
Perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of fear, as Shin entered the dojo he could feel his hand gravitate towards the sword that rested on his hip. Something was gnawing at the anxiety which grew in his mind. This wave of nausea and lethargy crept over him, and there was an inkling of a feeling that made him sick. That was when he realized what was wrong with this hallway. It wasn't what he saw, it was what he heard.
A soft chuckle, dark and twisted, filled with bloodlust and fury slipped, not from his lips, into the air that cut through the silence. It was his voice but it came from just over his shoulder.
Turning quickly and lifting his blade Shin began to weave his natural spiritual and physical energies with that of nature, entering the early stages of his Sage Mode which caused him to radiate a spiritual pressure of his own.
"Who's there! Show yourself. Your cheap parlor tricks won't work on me."
As he made the decree he didn't hear a response. He didn't hear movement.
A flash of pain shot through his mind as he dropped to his knees. His hands instinctively pulled to his face, but the firmly pressed black sleeves of his button down dripped with the blood that filled his hands.
Then the blood was gone and the hungry sensation to plunge his blade into flesh took over. A searing pain shot through his mind as he began to blend reality with memory. A memory of a time when he wasn't himself and the control over his own body and soul weren't his own.
A time when he didn't deserve to be called Kazekage.