Akarui yawned as he leaned his creaky wooden chair back on two legs. Even as he rested in the shade of the bar porch, the heat of Kaze no Kuni's desert permeated even the contents of his half empty beer glass. Unfortunately for Akarui, his once cool drink had quickly become the hot bath of a half dozen dead flies. The infestation was not limited to the red head's drink, however; the entire porch seemed to be a playground for flying insects. Gnats, flies, hornets, they all buzzed incessantly as though they were all insisting upon the chuunin's attention. With a groan, Akarui brushed a fly off of his face and flickered his eyes open. It was bad enough that the rowdy noise of workmen enjoying themselves in the bar was keeping him awake, but it seemed as though the entire town was doing everything in its power to keep him from relaxing.

To be fair, though, he was not really in a position to be relaxing. As much as he had looked forward to becoming a chuunin in order to do more important missions and bring honor and pride to his family, the first job assigned to him after his promotion was to travel to this dump of a town and do guard duty. For the moment it seemed like the quietest place in Kaze no Kuni. It almost seemed like a waste to send a trained chuunin out here of all places. What could possibly make this town any worse? The worst thing Akarui had seen happen here over the past day was a bar fight, and even that was broken up by the bouncer before the red haired chuunin could even enter the establishment. With a grumble he leaned his chair back onto four legs, brushing off his new flak jacket. It seemed a sad irony that he was wearing this right now. Supposedly it was a symbol of his status as a Sunagakure shinobi, but this was a piece of equipment meant to save his life in battle. Right now it was just making him hot. Speaking of hot, Akarui leaned down to roll up the legs of his pants. Usually he preferred capris in the hot desert weather, but he had somehow convinced himself that wearing the full attire of a shinobi would be proper for his first assignment as a chuunin. He had even worn a long sleeved shirt which he usually hated, but that too was already rolled up past his elbows, bundled against the forehead protector which strained against his bicep.

Bored as he was, his ears soon perked to the sound of horse hooves clacking against the worn, sand covered sandstone path that ran through the village. Looking up now, Akarui could see a small, rickety wagon drawn by an old, tired mare. A blanket covered the back of the wagon, but he assumed it was merely another shipment of beer for the tavern. Honestly, it seemed like this town existed entirely for the bar which stood at the center of it. It was really only five or six buildings on either side of a path, but none of them were nearly as popular as the source of alcohol. As the wagon came to a stop in front of the porch, the tavern owner shuffled out of the tavern. He was a burly man with a handlebar mustache and a shaved head who likely would have been threatening if his wrinkles did not cause him to appear to be older than sixty. The wagon driver and the bar owner exchanged a few words while the older gentleman examined the goods in the back of the cart. Boring to be sure, but it was the most interesting thing Akarui had seen all day. Finally, as even the business transaction started to get boring, the red head decided to intereject.

"Hey, barkeep. What time is it? I'd like to know when I can head back to Sunagakure No Sato." The bartender looked to Akarui as though he were entirely dumb.

"Just look up son," He said with a thick accent, his attempt at louder speech muffled by his thick mustache. Pointing up at the sky above, he continued. "It's high noon."

713

Even as the cart pulled into the small town a dust cloud left in its wake had begun to settle. A sheet of sand and dust seemed to split apart as it fell to reveal one lone dot in the distance. It was drawing closer and closer as the cart finally came to a stop it was close enough to identify it as a person. A lone individual stumbled step by step towards the town. The dark rags that clothed him seemed to be just enough to prevent the sun from leaving burns on his skin. However his silver hair stuck out of the rags wrapped around his head in bits and pieces. Dull yellow eyes poked out of the area not covered on his face and seemed to stare blankly for a moment. It wasn't until he actually entered the town that his eyes actually looked around him. He looked surprised that he had actually found somewhere. A town of all things during his wandering...He didn't have time to worry about his curse affecting the people there. He just needed water. It was a part of him that erased all other thoughts. His eyes darted about until he saw a couple of men talking with a canteen of water next to them.

Without considering the consequences Mure rushed forward through the center of the street to the men. He brushed passed them with barely even a graze on either of them but caught their attention anyway. They turned to look for the offender and had to look down to see Mure as Mure was shorter then them. Still a kid and all. Still they turned just in time to see the kid drinking water by the mouthfuls from their canteen. "The shit?!" The bigger of the two men said and stepped across the side of the table. His big hand reached out and with one swing smacked the kid across the face and sent the canteen flying. Still it was enough to make Mure stumble a little bit. His head turned to look at the man as confused, child like eyes looked at him. However the man was still angry as he raised his fist. "You think you can just take what you want from me boy?! Do you know who you just crossed?" It was in that second that Mures consciousness fell back into his mind.

Mure found himself suddenly in a home....the room was comfortable with a bed there and a book open on the pillow. A window that showed a forest outside was open. Bugs buzzed about him and it took him a moment to realize that he was standing in his old room. The book was his favorite...a depiction of a detective that liked to work for those who couldn't find answers or afford them. His yellow eyes scanned the room as he stood there open mouthed in shorts and a tshirt. It was then that a voice spoke to him. It was soothing and filled the room. A small piece of paper on the wall with a seal on it seemed to be where it came from. Still it was comforting and refreshingly cool. "Don't fret Precious I'm here...step away from the window and sleep...safe from pain...lies and those people...they don't care about you like I do....come now..just pull down this paper...sleep now little Mure...its time for rest." Mure hesitated a moment before he smiled...he just wanted to sleep...he wanted to be home and comfortable...he wanted his family back and for people just to not hate him for once...if all he had to do for that was to pull down that sheet of paper then he would do it. And so he did...he pulled the piece of paper off the wall.

Back in reality the mans punch hit home...right in Mures right cheek...Mure's face pushed to the side but instead of falling he didn't budge. However something odd happened the moment that the strike hit. Every single insect in the whole town went quiet. Utter silence and stillness fell upon the town from the once ever present bugs. The man however merely opened one eye wider then the other in surprise. He shifted to pull his fist back and one pale hand lifted and caught his wrist before he could pull too far away. "The hell?" he said before suddenly Mures head snapped up. The cloth around his head fell back as his mouth opened...and then it happened. Black insects crawled across his eyes and blackened all the white as an animal like roar seemed to echo around the town. As it echoed every insect took off at full speed into the air and away. Every single insect from the wasps to the ants were fleeing the town. Why was about to be made obvious.

As the man tried to pull away the boys grip tightened but to no avail..He screamed out as his wrist cracked but his friend was just standing there shocked. But the boys grip wasn't the real threat. Suddenly his clothes lifted and fluttered as a huge swarm of bugs burst forth. Beetles by the look of them but they swarmed around the area. Some of them lifted and dropped a shadow over the town as their numbers just seemed to increased but a great deal of them just cut off the man and the boy from anyone else. And then the mans screams became less panicked and more like someone in so much pain he couldn't help himself but to scream shamelessly. Fear and agony were all that were in that scream. As the scream faded the bugs around the boy and the man parted and the man stumbled back. His wrist was released but something was wrong. Slowly he turned and as he turned he fell. His friend looked upon him and saw that a huge amount of skin was missing from the man. So the man fell dead before he hit the ground and his blood soaked into the sand there. With that a woman screamed and the town began to run from the source. His friend tried to run but in the second it took him to turn around Mure was on top of him. His right hand grabbed the side of the mans face and slammed him so hard into the wall his skull cracked open and the man sunk down as blood gushed out of his head...a trail of blood dripping down the wall where he hit.

Akarui nearly jumped as the roar bellowed through the town. Without a second thought he drew his katana, body jerking in the direction of the noise. At first all he could see were a few men. He did not even notice the shorter boy in black rags who stood before him until he snapped the wrist of the larger man, his bloodcurdling scream entered Akarui's ears and gave the red haired man a nauseating sense of dread. Soon enough, though, that sense of dread was replaced by horror and a sense almost of awe. Twenty meters away where Mure and the other men were, the swarm of beetles darkened the area. The red haired shinobi merely gulped at first, his eyelids fluttering in intense fear as the cloud of death pulsed powerfully around the foreboding horseman of death who had wandered so casually into the town: unassuming and violent. Akarui felt the strength in his legs flee and he too began to shake just as his eyes ceased to flutter and instead opened wide in horror. His arms, though, took the opposite approach as his biceps tensed and the grip he had over his weapon tensed into a choking death hold which was almost painful for him to bear.

The villagers, on the other hand, seemed to have plenty of energy. The bartender, as fat as he had originally seemed, suddenly appeared to have accessed the energy of his youth, utilizing his muscles and running in the only direction of safety he knew: straight into his own bar. The cart driver on the other hand frantically attempted to get his goods moving again, but the now unfastened alcohol barrels spilled out of the back as the cart lurched forward, several of the casks catching on the back wheels and sending the card crashing to the ground. Cussing some nonsensical profanity, the cart driver jumped from his seat, running off towards one of the buildings just as the rest of the town attempted to do.

Akarui closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to regain his composure. It would not do anyone any good for him to simply stand there, spellbound by the power of this individual. He had some semblance of a duty to uphold; a duty both to the village and to himself, really. He doubted he would be getting out this alive without putting up a fight. As Mure threw his second victim hard against the wall, Akarui winced in empathetic pain. That could be him in a few minutes. That could be his blood if he were not careful. With a huff, Akarui threw himself wholeheartedly into his determination. Beginning his sprint towards Mure, he channeled chakra into his blade, holding it out behind him and releasing a gust of wind, propelling him at 25 meters per second towards the bug man. During this period he similarly channeled chakra along the length of the blade, activating the Flying Swallow technique. In the less than a second it would take him to arrive, Akarui aimed to swing the chakra enhanced blade cleanly across Mure's torso.

520 + 713 = 1233

Chakra: 170/200:

Mure finished with the man as black eyes lifted and turned to look at all the people running. Or to be truthful Mure wasn't present anymore. His alter personality had been let out. Mure was asleep now as Berserk had come forth. Blood dripped off his hand and his head twisted left at first and then jolted right with a popping noise before black eyes settled on the oddity in it all. Most of his prey were simpletons that thought doors and locked windows could save them from him. They were just cornered mice waiting to die. But those black eyes locked on the one individual sticking out from the rest. One young man was approaching him while everyone else ran. To berserk it just made the game that much funner. Someone was willing to stand against him and could pose a challenge. No one else existed in that moment. To berserk all the other people just became meat waiting off to the side. They mattered less then sheep. A wolf had arrived and he needed to show his fangs were bigger. Berserks thin lips split into a sick grin showing teeth as black bugs skittered across his teeth. This was the moment he awakened for. To play.

Suddenly the young man drew a blade and Berserk tilted his head watching him. His arms at his side with palms faced out as one eyebrow raised. A weapon user was even more interesting. Truly this guy had fangs. However the sudden burst of air sent the young man shooting at Berserk and in that instant berserk shot out a couple of hand seals per hand and snarled. The charge and swing would be met with a flood of bugs bursting from Berserk and swirling around him. Insect guts splashed everywhere as the blade came in contact but could not make it through the sheer numbers of insects. The buzzing noise was so loud it seemed to drown out everything when suddenly a pale hand shot out of it as the bugs dispersed that same instant. The sheer speed and distance of the movement hidden by the swarm would be difficult for anyone to track at C-3 reaction time. But the hand reached for the wrist holding the sword to try and grip it. If he succeeded the grip would be like a vice at C-3 strength. His left hand however shot up at the same time and a hole in his palm lined up with Akarui's face. At this point they would be face to face. A single word would be breathed out like a growl before the true pain happened.

"Shi...no...bi"

It sounded exited but the second it was said...almost like he was learning to speak. Berserk let two jutsu fly simultaneously at point blank range. The one in his left hand let a small swarm of bugs straight at Akarui's right eye. The bugs would fly at the eye and tear off tiny pieces of the eye and eat at it. They were easy to deal with and could be crushed like normal bugs but if they made it to the eye it would be incredibly painful. The eye would bleed and if Akarui couldn't handle that pain he would likely do what everyone else does when their eye was injured. Close it to cover and comfort the injured eye. The point of it was not only to hurt him but to cover the far subtler technique. The hand gripping the wrist...assuming it had managed to make contact let a tiny larva crawl from the tip of his right index finger into the boys wrist with no pain. The tiny little itch the only hint. However if that succeeded the larva would begin feeding on minute amounts of chakra. He was feeding his bugs with every piece of this boy.

160/200:

The red haired young man grimaced as he flew through a swarm of bugs. The wind alone on his face usually was enough to make him uncomfortable when using this jutsu, but the swarm was just too much. He had expected to be able to take the cloaked human insect hive by surprise, but it seemed he had taken too much time as his blade came against a wall of insects. Eventually he broke through the defense, but it was too much for his jutsu, and the blue violent chakra which one ripped through the air along its sharp edge sputtered into nothingness. The kinetic energy behind his blow too also faded until he was left before Mure at a far slower speed.

Before he could react, now face to face with the bloody murderer of the sands, a small swarm of bugs rushed towards his eye. With little time to react, Akarui did the only thing he could think to do. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he simply brought his head down, filling the indentation in which his eye rested with his right shoulder, leaving his left arm entirely free. His right arm, however, was not so lucky. Distracted by the bug swarm and with his vision limited to one eye as well as sideways, he had missed Mure's grab for his wrist.


Akarui thought to himself as he initially felt the hand grip him. That light curse, however, was soon replaced by an vulgar cry of pain as Mure's grip tightened mercilessly around his wrist. Teeth gritted, holding his face to his shoulder only by sheer force of will, Akarui began to weave hand signs with his entirely free left arm. First rat, then dog. Half seals of course, which, for the purpose of this jutsu, were all that was required. Violently a stream of air pulled into Akarui's left palm to be sealed. With a grunt of anger and pain, he slammed down his hand as hard as he could on the hand of the other shinobi. If it were successful, a seal would be placed on Mure's hand which Akarui could activate at any time. If it didn't, it would simply be a hard slap to his own wrist and whatever was on it-- Mure's hand or otherwise.

Still somewhat disoriented by the orientation of his head and lack of depth perception due to only using one eye, Akarui decided to make use of a second hit to give himself options. The throbbing pain in his tightly flexed wrist told him he would not be slicing or dicing with his weapon any time soon, but he knew he had to get a hit out somehow. With a highly televised twist of his own body, Akarui put all of his weight onto his right leg, twisting as best he could to land a roundhouse kick with his left leg into the right side of Mure's abdomen.


Akarui's heart beat faster and faster as his hand began to turn white from how tightly he was clutching his weapon beneath the powerful grip of the Aburame. A thousand questions ripped through his mind, nearly as quickly as the blood flowed through his body. Who was this man? What was he doing here? What did he want with the village? These were all things Akarui thought he deserved answers to, but he knew better than to make conversation the enemy while fighting. It was as much a distraction to himself as it was to his opponent. Then again, he though back to what Mure had said. Shinobi. The very thought of it put a chill through Akarui's spine. He had the feeling he would not be getting out of this unscathed.

640 + 1233 = 1873

Chakra: 155/200:

Mures grip only seemed to tighten as the bugs failed to eat at the enemies eyes. It was as if it infuriated him. Still as the young man slapped the seal on Mures wrist black eyes twitched to it and trembled before his lips split and his eyes rolled in opposite directions before drool connected between his bottom row of teeth and his top row trembled as he let out another unholy roar. The sound was not something it seemed like a human could make but out of his open mouth beetles began to pour out and crawl along his face and then take flight. His mouth seemed to be some demonic portal to a layer of hell filled with all manner of things that creep and crawl. Just a mass of them spewed forth and took flight circling them. It was about that point that Akarui shifted in his hand. Berserk didn't have time to stop the attack coming towards his abdomen or even react. Instead Akaruis leg slammed home to the silver haired aburames gut and drove in. Berserk coughed and the bugs stopped spewing out as he doubled over. His grip seemed to stop tightening. Akarui had begun to push back.

Something was wrong though. Akarui might notice that kicking Mure had been extremely similar to slamming his leg into a cement block. It was like he had hit something solid instead of a person. It was then that he would hear it. A little bit of a snicker at first but building. Then Mure leaned back in full on mad laughter. Pain...he had felt pain. It was something new to Berserk. He liked it and he wanted more. A long tongue reached out and licked his lips as black and yellow eyes trembled watching Akarui. It looked like he was beyond excited now. The flow of insects buzzing slowly around them began to build up faster and faster like a small tornado around them flying so fast the buzzing was deafening. Then Mures grip tightened to full strength and he yanked hard on Akaruis wrist. He looked like Mure but Berserk was in full control. Madness was all there was there. As he yanked on Akarui's wrist he brought his forehead forward hard to try and slam into the red haired boys face with enough force to crack bone. Aiming his forehead at the young mans nose. Regardless of how well that went His right hand would slam out to try and catch Akarui under his left arm. Full on throwing the young man bodily through the saloon door a couple of meters away. Assuming Akarui didn't find a way to negate all of that of course.

Mure looked down at the seal left unactivated on his wrist before he growled. His black eyes looking after the shinobi he had just thrown through the door. "More..." he whispered before he grinned and tilted his head. His left hand lifted and reached into the spinning mass of bugs grabbing a single one before shoving chakra into it. The bug twitched and expanded rapidly its legs and wings wiggling in futility before Berserk chucked it full power into the saloon. On impact the bug would swell up to about a basketball with only a second of warning before it exploded. Outside berserk watched as the windows and doors blew outwards from the explosion. The civilians inside would be draped over counters and tables when the debris cleared. Blood dripping from wounds filled with shrapnel and pieces of skin missing. Unlike Akarui they had no chance of surviving the explosion. Still Berserk tried to peer inside from the street as he reached under his cloak with his right hand. When he pulled it out a Yari unfolded. He was now armed. With it in hand the being outside screamed out again. this time two words. He was evolving and growing as they fought.

"More Shinobi!"

Chakra and current jutsu (150/200):

2425

A bloodcurdling scream of pain and terror echoed throughout the small village, muffled only by the overwhelming insistent buzz of insects flying violently around Akarui and Mure. As he began to lose his breath from the yelling, Akarui gritted his teeth forcefully together in a desperate attempt to satisfy the pain which throbbed from his wrist and through his arm to the beat of his heart. His one open eye stared in terror as Mure's face morphed from shape to shape, the insects crawling over it like flies on the husk or carcass of a day old kill. On another occasion Akarui might reflect on how surreal the experience he was going through was. Indeed, it was almost a dreamlike occurrence one might have where a blanket of darkness suffocates the imaginary world into a nightmare, choking out all hope and consciousness in preparation for the imminent death of the dreamer who would be met not with the slow warm embrace of blood but the cold sweat of an early morning and the shocking realization that a mattress was his or her resting place rather than the dirt of a battlefield being their final one.

Akarui's one open eye twitched furiously as the weight of reality overtook him. The buzz of the insects, the sickening expression of this ruthless, bloodthirsty killer before him, the unbearable throbbing which gripped his arm and slowly turned it white. This reality refused to be a dream. This could very well be the date which gifted him the kiss of death, and, if it were, there would be no generous cold sweat or wonderfully annoying morning sandstorm to remind him of his mortality. This would be it. Everything, and then nothing. In a moment all these thoughts went through Akarui's head: in less detail but somehow all the more vibrant and intense in a way only incredible fear can conjure. The reality of his situation solidified in his mind and stiffened through his body as his leg thumped against the torso of odd serial killer. There was no soft landing: no give. Just cold hard reality. It was as though the outcome were set in stone. Whatever hope Akarui had left in his soul sunk into his stomach, left to be digested gruesomely in the mess of gas and acid which now simmered within him, unsatisfied and anxious. What was he to do if hitting this monster of a man, if he could even call him a man, did nothing? More and more as the fight went on Akarui felt helpless. He was meant to be a chuunin of Sunagakure no Sato, and yet he could not even protect this dinky little village out in the sands. It would almost be embarrassing if this were any other situation, but in this one it was simply sad: terrifying and sad.

For the few seconds Mure laughed at Akarui's desperate attack, the red head was frozen: stiff with fear and unsolvable frustration. It was then that he began to shake. It was as though Akarui were slowly losing control of his own body, and even a bit of his mind. As he shivered in terror at the horrible site of Mure's laughter as well as his bone-white hand and now his bruised leg, his head raised up from its previous protective position on his shoulder and the leg he had just used to kick slowly faltered from its position on Mure's side, floating and almost meandering in the air next to him. Akarui's golden eyes twitched furiously as his pupils dilated, the muscles in his arms tensing in frustration even as they refused ever other one of his commands. It was infuriating to him how useless he was. All his training, all his talk of honoring the family name and being a beacon of order in Sunagakure no Sato: all of it was worthless, about to be erased out of memory by this intoxicatingly powerful and bloodthirsty hive of locusts.

"Shut up!" He screamed, his voice powerless against the roaring symphony of wing beats which emanated from the swarm of insects around him. The young chuunin's voice cracked and his eyes watered in frustration as his will was crushed in Mure's grip along with his wrist. He honestly did not know what he would have said if he had time. It was a desperate plea not for his life but for meaning, for some sort of reason or legitimacy to his life so far. The speed at which he perceived his death approaching him was nearly as maddening as the animalistic nature of his executioner. Ever since the day he had begun his training all those years ago in the clan compound, Akarui had resigned himself to the possibility of death in battle for the defense of his family and his village. Somehow, though, he had expected an honorable battle with a worthy opponent: some misguided samurai or a sage seeking balance in the shinobi world. Perhaps he would even have taken down this powerful enemy of his ideals with him in battle. This would, of course, have been when he was a full grown shinobi so skilled in his art that he would have nothing left to contribute: a whole host of pupils senseied by him in his way of the ninja and his advanced fuuinjutsu arts. That was a death he would be content to die: a death he could be proud of.

This, however, was not a death he could accept. So helpless, fighting with such futility, he was useless here. Even now villagers in this god forsaken hamlet which did not even deserve a name were cowering in their homes around Akarui, depending on him for their survival. They were waiting to die. Here he was, Sunagakure's finest, supposedly, trapped halfway between the grip of a nameless vagabond and his own frustration. The sword he depended on so much for his confidence was ironically trapped within his grip, unable to be shaken from its master even by his own volition. His practically new flak jacket denoting him as a chuunin of the village, still unworn from the sands of the desert, hugged his torso. It denoted that he was trusted to defend and protect: to kill so that life might flourish in this barren land. But now it was stained for the first time, not with blood or with steel or even by dust, but by water: the hot bitter tear of a young shinobi betrayed by his own lack of skill and power splashed just above the pocket of the vest, soaking quickly into the fibers of the frustratingly useless piece of armor which only reminded Akarui of how naked and powerless he felt in this fight.

Soon enough, however, Akarui's lack of words or movement was rewarded by Mure. With a violent, ripping pull, the pain in Akarui's right arm reached new and unfamiliar experiences. The formerly static Akarui was suddenly filled with vigor and motion as he hurtled towards the horrifying visage which was once a man but now seemed more a demon. Within a split second Akarui's wide eyes went from wild confusion to a clench of intense pain as his face violently clashed with the skull of Mure in the blink of an eye. The red haired young man had little time to yelp in pain and his cry quickly went from one form to shock to another as he found himself being pulled, or rather hurled, by his opponent and sent flying through the air. Akarui twisted his head as best he could to see where he was going, doing everything in his power to tilt the katana still pressed into his right hand's grasp in a direction which would prevent self impalement. With little time to think, however, Akarui was sent bursting through the door to the local tavern, its wooden structure shattering under the force of his inertia and splinters sent violently inwards. In the violent explosion of energy which commenced from his dynamic entry, as well as the shock from the heavy bruising which now contributed to the wear on Akarui's right arm and buttocks, the blade Akarui had received from the Tsuchikage was finally send spiraling out of his grasp, spinning in a wide arc past its owner before embedding its tip into the wooden floor of the saloon.

Some of the more daring residents who were hiding in the saloon peeked from behind tables as Akarui flew through the air, but most stood from their current positions as the young man's horrible scream of pain echoed through the drafty establishment. Right eye twitching, Akarui looked down past his flak jacket towards his lower body, only to be greeted by a gruesomely large splinter of what he could only assume was once part of the door rising proudly in royal crimson from his right thigh. For a few moments Akarui simply whimpered silently, the tavern's inhabitants slowly gathering around him silently with sullen expressions. Akarui could not bear to look any of them in the eye, and simply stared at the hunk of wood in his leg with his teeth clenched. Soon enough one of the young girls began to cry, and several of the townspeople began to frown, looking down at the ground. Whether this display was out of pity for the shinobi before them or simply the realization that their lives were now forfeit as their sole defender was defeated, Akarui would never know. Within moments a giant beetle soared into the room as though launched by a catapult, and the chuunin had not but the sense to shield his face in reaction to it before the worst happened.

A vicious, furious blast of a sound ripped through the establishment along with the whistling song of thousands of pieces of shrapnel eagerly playing their game of chance to see which could find the most terrible mark. As the dust settled and pieces of glass began to shatter sporadically as they fell to the floor from the blown out windows, Akarui returned his eyes to the scene. A gruesome display of the most macabre variety met his eyes as they readjusted to the light. Blood dripped insistently from the tables and even a lone arm rested on the floor not two meters from Akarui's head. He too had not escaped unscathed: several large pieces of exoskeleton had ripped their way into most of Akarui's left arm. With one deep breath outwards, Akarui shook himself back into reality. Quickly, he dragged himself into a sitting position, wincing as the chunk of door in his leg pulled against his flesh. With bitter tears still salty in his eyes, he grabbed the handle of his katana just a few feet away, shakily pulling himself to his feet despite the consistently drip of blood from his impaled thigh. Once shakily on his feet, Akarui pulled the sheath of his katana from the strap on his lower back, carefully reinserting the sword into its home and preparing to use the combined feature as a makeshift crutch until he could find safety. If he could find safety.

As he limped desperately towards the back entrance of the tavern, something clicked in Akarui's mind. Without a second thought, he formed a quick half-seal in his hand, activating the Pressure Blast Seal he had placed on Mure's hand earlier. Click-clack. Click-clack. Faster and faster now he made his way towards the back door, the stench of corpse slowly starting to fill the establishment, accelerated by the desert heat. An uncontrollable desire to live now captivated the young shinobi, even as shrapnel littered his arm and flak jacket and one of his legs was incapacitated. It was no longer about saving anybody. He wanted to survive. He needed to survive. As he approached the back entrance, he looked suspiciously towards a brazier just to his side. Slices of meat still cooked on iron skewers in the fire. At a second thought, Akarui nudged the flames' container a few times, causing it to spill its coals across the floor, quickly catching the drapery and dry wooden structure alight. Faster now, Akarui pushed through the back door and walked into the desert.

The red haired young man winced as his leg continued to bleed. He would need to stop and tie a tourniquet until he could get professional medical help. But not too soon. Not with that monster so close behind. And yet another wound grew slowly within him. A small insect growing ever larger began to make its way towards Akarui's gut. A nuisance which would soon pose a serious problem.


2135 + 1873 = 4008

153/200 chakra:

Training: