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After the Fourth Great Shinobi World War ended, the world was experiencing a time of peace. The villages for once were able to live in relative harmony with one another as they rebuilt, and for once, all seemed to be well. The kage were able to live peaceful lives and soon began retiring, passing on the baton to the next generations. That is until an unknown virus infects the northern coast. The first to fall is the once powerful Raikage, Ay. While many thought this virus was a simple mutation of what may have well been the flu, no one would ever think of the destruction it would cause. Especially when it infected a certain Uzumaki Naruto.
With his death came the malice; with the malice came the destruction; with the destruction came the shinobi' revolt; and with the revolt came the sacrifices. The Bijuu became filled with malice that they sought to destroy the world. Shinobi sought a way to fight them and once again capture each of the Bijuu. Time passed, and a plan was devised. The Jinchuuriki would be sacrificed for the greater good of the world, and with the deaths of nine individuals, an uneasy peace began.
As time continued, the villages began to truly restructure. In a peace that would last 80 years after the downfall of the Bijuu, the world would see the creation of a great many things. Technology was beginning to take root and before long the blossoms that grew from the tree of the advanced mind would bear fruit. A many great things came to be. A railroad between the vast many nations. Mechanical limbs to replace lost ones. Radios that could reach between villages. Everything seemed to be becoming less reliant on the shinobi. Only the need for them never truly vanished. As with the growth of time, also continued the growth of malice.
His attack maimed nothing but thin air. An interesting technique that the mortal employed was in use now. This was one his brother had not told him about, however, his likely mode for retaliation was easily suspected. As soon as the man vanished, he balled his other hand up into a fist causing the black energy to gather around his curled fingers. The sound of sliding metal was ever so faint as the blade extended from its casing on the mortal's wrist. He was correct in believing this one would go for a back stab. Only he would be met with a swift action from his extensive, powerful, and slender tail.
His tail would go to coil around the man's arm, working swiftly in an attempt to coil up the entirety of his arm and then around his neck. Surely this one was amusing for the immortal, but not enough so that he would not think twice about making an example of him. The malice within the mortal's heart was strong, however his own was stronger. He tossed a small sphere of dark energy over his shoulder towards the man now. If his first attempt to restrain the mortal failed, surely would the mortal's former attack connect this one too would as well. Of course unless the mortal had more tricks up his sleeve to employ.
If such was the case, the immortal was all the more for it. He wanted to extract that deepest most sadistic malicious intent from deep within this mortal's soul and feast upon it. More than that, he wanted to sow within this one a seed that would further corrupt the world with the deepest darkest despair. Just like the despair the mortals had wrought upon his brethren many decades ago.
Quickly he'd turn now to face his prey, whether or not the mortal's blade met his own flesh mattered not to him, for the damage would only be temporary anyway.
It seemed the bestial tail extending from the devil's lower back, one that's movements enticed the rogue to bleed it dry, was not just for show. In midst their near simultaneous stabbings, the enemy's prehensile appendage worked its way around Sato's advancing arm, slithering up its length in desperate search for his vulnerable neck. Though it mattered not; he was already delved into the act of spitting this ugly beast, and it would very well seem that this act of the devil's was to simply hold the rogue in place rather than stop him.
However, the concentrated orb of blackness thrown toward his body was an effective deterrent to this action.
His enemy was unknown in ability, yet threatening in presence. Even while his blood curdled to spill the ichor within the pale demon, his instincts as a hunter told him to flee from this point blank attack while he still could. It was better to avoid and observe than to be reckless, after all.
Though the rogue was not quite in the right of mind to make such decisions; his mind was too fogged with blood lust to simply avoid the attack altogether. No, what he he would bleed this creature at all costs.
When the orb would seem to reach his form, however, the man would have vanished once more, his body reappearing where the demon had first landed on scene. His mismatched eyes still bore the same searing rage as they had since the beginning of their fight, though his dark smile remained fixed on his lips. Were his avoiding of the attack to have gone as intended, it would appear that the rogue had made it out all in once piece.
Save for his attacking arm.
While Sato would had made his escape, he would have continued through with impaling the devil with this blade, as even when separated, the malicious technique he still held in play allowed the rogue's limbs to act even while separated. It wasn't the first time he had done so in this battle, after all.
Though given the circumstances, it may just be his very last.
Whether or not the orb would have struck his arm, if that's truly where it aimed, Sato would ensure that his staking sword found a place straight into the lower body of his enemy, up through the core of vulnerable insides, and out the other side. A hotspot, it was, in the art of killing. His favorite.
"Let's bleed together," he would growl through jagged teeth.
When the blade ran through his body, the man of water likely thought it was all over, however thanks to the sudden turnaround of Akui the blade would not have hit in the location the other had originally intended. It instead impaled him through the lower abdomen sending waves of intense pain throughout the immortal demon's body. He showed no sign of it, however, and instead continued to move as though guided by nothing but his instinct to kill.
The black sphere dissipated shortly after impact with the man's arm as the creature decided against following through with the attack were the entire target not present. Instead he broke his body apart into ash and made a jump to a location just across the field from the man of water. He was standing on the ground, black blood oozing from the wound in his abdomen, with his hands hanging at his sides practically radiating with that same dark energy from before.
"Your techniques amuse me mortal," he spoke, his voice echoing despite being no louder than what would sound like a whisper. "My brother is against your death. Something about you being useful in the future." He reached his hands forwards now and clasped them together. The dark energy radiating from them growing more and more intense by the moment as he slowly pulled his hands apart. The energy was beginning for form some sort of solid between his hands, and from the looks of it, it was likely something intended to be thrown. "I will offer you this only once mortal..." As he spoke it appeared as though his body, and the thing he was creating, was slowly crumbling into ash, almost as though he was expecting something to come.
Even when stuck on a spit, the beast before him still felt like fighting; how exciting! When had a foolish target such as this last let himself be impaled so coyly, and continued in battle without hamper? Not since the day he had left his village, the rogue recalled, bloodied nostalgia inspiring joy.
The black malicious energy faded as the sword sank into his enemy, giving Sato the split second chance to return his attacking limb back to his body. His enemy's form once again returned to its transversing ashen form, though the criminal's eyes were fixed to the dark plasma coating his weapon. Black ichor dripped from its steel surface, its stench as identifiable as it was vile. This wasn't human blood by any means, let alone animal blood.
Though in his current state of mind, the rogue didn't care.
His adversary's words buzzed almost meaninglessly in Sato's ears all the while he spoke, the rogue's maddened eyes rising to rest deadset on his target as a predator's would. This one certainly chose to flap his lip more than fight properly, it seemed. Couldn't he just taste the bloodlust within the air?
Within clasped hands would stretch a black, solid length of nefarious energy. It looked akin to a weapon, though the miasmic radiation emanating from its form made even the rogue question just what its purpose was. Not that he cared, anyway; since when did weapons have effect on him?
Sato's smile would soften slightly, as pride and accomplishment began to swell within him. In fact, one could say the swelling was all too real, as the rogue would release his infamous jutsu, his frail body regaining the girthing moisture that it had expelled earlier.
Just as Hozuki would have begun to regain his composition, however, it would seem the devil would lose his own, returning to the ashen state he had just assumed earlier. Dust would take to the wind, though not without escaping the reach of Sato's nose.
"Hmph," he grunted with a sharp steaming of his nostrils.
His prey was moving. Now just where would be reappear?
His form dispersed into an ashen cloud, /Brother it seems words will not find their way to his mind. Perhaps it is best to put down the wild beast./ Words echoed in his mind with the voice his his much calmer and stoic brother. His golden and ebony hued orbs widened for a moment before returning to the cold hard glare. He had been given permission to end this mortal's existence. Interesting. However, likely not necessary. There was a reason his brother had originally wanted him alive, but now there was no need to hold back his fury. He would make the mortal be the first to taste the despair that he would bring to the world. That is if this mindless beast was capable of feeling despair.
His form would partially regather above the beast, his legs below the knee and his wings past the third digit remaining in ashen form as he arced his right arm back. There were no more words to be said, only now blood to shed. Black energy oozed from his left hand, coiling around his fingers, as he swung his right arm forward throwing the lance he had made previously. His intent was not to even hit the mortal, but rather to cause the effect of the ability and cause further spread of miasma into the area. Eventually there would be no safe terrain for the beast to rest. Eventually he would succumb to the miasma, but for now, he would likely continue to fight. Continue to snarl. Continue to hiss. Continue to live in vain.
After releasing his attack he'd hover there for a moment before closing his eyes and returning to his ashen state, before regaining physical form on the ground, knees bent, body bent forward at the waist, and arms out stretched with hands and fingers held outward like a savage beast, almost. His golden and ebony orbs stared down the mortal beast, awaiting his next move, and ready to counter with one of his own as the black energy continued to hiss at his fingertips.
This seemed like it would be this battle's final bout. Sato, even while his blood burned every moment he wasn't maiming this cretinous devil, had already expended a considerable amount of chakra. While he did possess a massive pool of energy to pull his techniques from, the frequent disappearances on his part were acts that would soon drain him were he to continue performing them in such quick succession. He had impaled the creature, pretty severely from the look of it, though its face showed no sign of fatigue nor agony as any other enemy would have. It was as if he didn't notice the blood-spilling wound.
A playful predatorial growl escaped his throat, though upon bringing himself back whole, the rogue could clearly feel the divide between his conscious decisions and those his body performed. There was something about this atmosphere, the thick rancid energy in the air, that inspired the darkest parts of the Hozuki's mind to manifest in this drawn out battle.
The entire time that he had thought his adversary was weak, that he was cowardly and incapable, it seemed the powers wielded against Sato worked on a rather psychological level.
And now, he would see what this new attack would bring.
With a throw bearing machine-like accuracy, the solid black object was thrown towards the earth, now taking the shape of a flying shadowy lance. There was little time to retaliate, only now having realized the nature of his enemy's attack. Sato's only safe option was to return to his natural defensive state, his body seeming to disperse into water. Physical attacks had no effect on such a form, after all, and neither would the destruction caused by such a brutish assault.
His enemy's attack would hit its mark, great force shaking the earth beneath Sato's former feet, though what resulted was something even his liquid form wouldn't protect against.
A sickness, a gut-wrenching nausea that even outmatched the agony brought about by the boy's screeching metal pipe, began to overflow the rogue's entire being. It was a form of mental saturation that Sato had never experienced, one that no Genjutsu could reproduce, one that shook him to his very core. Was this an illusion, though? Was this feeling real? Despite all of his experience, he had no answer.
It was a kind of attack that the rogue had never before seen.
Within the wreckage of the spear's impact, the man would appear as a puddle. This fallout of miasma weighed him with fatigue, though in his liquid state, the Hozuki would begin to move, recollecting himself from the sheer alien assault that had just overtook the area. Strength seemed to have left him, though a weary liquid head began to manifest within the puddle's center, inhaling the death in the air, ears perking to the resounding results of his adversary's attack.
"Fuck," he mouthed, illness stinging his body's every drop.
The immortal stood tall and began walking forward as the man's body crumbled to water and remained there. This fight, it was over That much he could tell with a mere look at the other. The other had exhausted his reserved, and now made himself easy prey that the mortal would soon destroy. With the dark energy hissing at his fingertips , he approached the puddle on the ground, only before he could reach it he felt this odd sensation. The energy at his fingertips faded. Pain wrecked through his body from the wound, and now, he felt -What would the mortals refer to it as?- Tired. His raised a hand to his head as he found it difficult to keep his eyes open. /You have expended too much time./ Before long, the other took over, dispersing their shared form into an ashen mist .
He appeared over the crumbled form of the watery mortal, down on his left knee, his left hand grasping firm the wound in his abdomen. Black ichor oozed from the wound between his ivory fingertips and dripped down his ebony attire. "You should know now, how outmatched you are," his voice sounded almost as if it were exhausted. "I will bestow upon you the time to repent for your actions," how kind of him. Certainly this rogue would see the errors in his way once given some time to process these events. Hopeful thinking. "Your days of aimless freedom," he stood up to his full height and flared his wings, "will soon come to an end."
With a strong beat of his wings, he took flight shooting off like a bullet out of the shaft of a gun. He stopped suddenly high in the air, "I will call on your answer soon mortal, and I expect you will answer."
It approached the weakened Sato with dark intent, most of which seemed to be singing a snake's serenade from the tips of his fingers. All the rogue could do in retaliation was manifest one of his own arms from the liquid, a partly straight finger aimed at the porcelain skull of his adversary. His digit hung weak, but aimed furiously at the creature, its owners eyes burning from the air's rancid and acidic malice.
Whatever the intent, it would be met with whatever energy Sato could muster, even if it meant a trip to hell for two.
But something happened in midst the enemy's stride. The dark energy steaming from its fingertips sizzled out of existence before its attached hand would coddle its head. From the looks of it, the showing-off this boastful beast had peacocked earlier was not without its toll, nor was the streaming wound upon its abdomen it had once brushed off. So much for the high pillar it had placed itself upon.
Sato would have smirked, were it not too nauseating to do.
The creature erupted into a cascade of ash, while the crumbling mass gathered before the puddle. His finger would shake in strain, still aimed at the beast. However, it seemed that the longer he aimed, the harder it would be to attack the devil in his current state. This body-wrecking illness poisoned his strength far too much to continue fighting as he was.
Though even with the ground between them having been removed in such short time, with malice running off the edge of its fingers, his adversary had decided their fight had finished. Anger and relief flooded Sato's plagued liquid body at this decision, though the rogue was in no condition to retaliate with either words or with actions. He simply continued to aim the end of his solely-pointing finger.
His enemy's words were dull as they were hollow before the Hozuki's honed ears, merely echoes of his previous statements. Though it was his mention of outmatching that continued to bring about a boil within the stagnant puddle. Whatever this creature had done to him, it was not a victory or a sign of power before the Hozuki. No, before his eyes, it was neither the end of the fight nor the conceit of his enemies that determined who was victorious, but the utter and inevitable end for one of its combatants' life.
Sato refused to acknowledge this as his defeat.
Though a gust from the creature's maleficent wings would ripple through the puddle that was the rogue, dispersing the solidity of his head, but leaving his still-pointing hand at the creature's location. Slowly but surely, it too would begin to break down, sinking into the liquid. His eyes, melting within the liquid, would glare brutal and unrelenting hatred at the creature above, before vanishing along his accusing finger.