Naruto: Crisis: Shinobi Fate


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刃の女王の怒り || Wrath of the Queen of Blades WIP

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Aburame Mitsuha

Posts : 3
Join date : 2016-03-10

刃の女王の怒り || Wrath of the Queen of Blades WIP

Post by Aburame Mitsuha on Fri Mar 11, 2016 4:16 pm

A warm breeze wafted through the open windows of Mitsuha’s bedchamber, brushing against the delicate china wind chime hanging from the red lacquered frame of her ornate circular window. The distant hum of cicadas, and the delicate chime of the wind filled the girl’s ears. Her ink brush glided across a rice-paper scroll, rolled out in front of her, spanning the width of her fine wooden desk, its tip dancing to the waltz of the summer afternoon. She kneeled on a raised dais of tatami mats, set in the centre of a room larger than most dwellings in the central rings of the village. Surrounding her on all sides was a shallow pond - what was the main room of her sprawling villa-complex appeared more akin to a botanical garden, complete with gentle stone waterfalls, and delicate arched bridges. It was the perfect breeding ground for her brood, the insect servants that marked her status among the Aburame.

A lone cricket-like creature fluttered down before her, shifting its antennae in her direction.

Mitsuha glanced down at it, watching as it hopped across her desk and pausing directly in front of her. She recognized it as one belonging to her Sensei, Aburame Shiori. “Go ahead.” Her crisp voice rang through her garden-chamber.

The cricket-like insect twitched its head to the side, and rubbed its legs together, singing a tune it had been given. The high pitched chirping shifted, weaving sounds together to form a near-perfect recreation of Shiori’s voice. “The scouts have returned, My Lady. They bring word from across the sea. Our suspicions were correct. The targets are on the move.”

The creature’s song faded away and the chamber fell silent once more.

Mitsuha had been tracking her prey for months now. There was no corner of the world they could run to, no rock they could hide under that her eyes would not find them. The world was her hunting grounds, and there was nothing that failed to reach her eyes and ears. Her broods covered the country, her servants spread far and wide. Her army knew no limits, her servants more than any daimyo.

She lay her ink brush back on its pedestal and shifted to stand. She brushed off her long pink skirt and turned to the large circular exit. “Tell your master that I’m on my way.”

At her command, the insect beat its wings and darted from the room.

Mitsuha clenched her fist. The time was upon her. As she walked across the carefully curated stepping stones, her clothing shifted and warped, changing texture, changing colour and reforming itself to her body. Her simple skirt and blouse morphed into her skin-tight pink combat-suit, its living cloth adhering to her whim.

She emerged from her chamber, ready for battle. She had been waiting so many years for this moment, and this time, nothing would get in the way of her vengeance.

[May 3rd, 1123. Deep beneath the Volcano]

A single dim light, hanging from a long frayed cord flickered intermittently, casting shadows across the dank puddles and eerie grime of the windowless concrete room. A man sat slumped over, tied roughly to a wooden chair, a coarse sack draped over his head. He lay unmoving, save for the slow heave of his chest, and the movements of the sack as he drew one ragged breath after another. Leaning against the opposite wall, were two masked figures. One standing, armed crossed, back to the wall. Her curved figure and long violet hair betrayed her sex, while the other, broad shouldered, crouched by her side.

“How long before he starts talking?” The crouched man muttered, his voice graveled after years of smoking.

The standing woman remained silent, her expression hidden behind the simple animal mask denoting her status as an ANBU member.

“Should I wake him?” The man looked up at the woman for her approval.

She jutted her chin towards the man, silent but giving her consent.

She could see the man’s smile from behind his mask. He pushed himself to his feet, swarms of tiny winged insects fluttering out of his long billowing sleeves.

“Finally, we get to have some fun…” He grinned.

The slow rhythmic drip of water falling from the rusted pipes overhead were drowned out by screams of agony echoing through the room.

They had been there for well over seventy-two hours. They would be there for many more after that.

    Current date/time is Mon Sep 25, 2017 4:44 am