The darkness around Daraku was a veil that protected him from the unforgiving eyes. No one was around, and none of his clansmen were fast enough to catch up and stop him. His heavy breathing left puffs flowing behind him as he moved, since the chill in the air gave his breath an icy blue tone like mist. It was unusual for Sunagakure to be this cold, even during the night, but Daraku didn't pay much attention to it. Goosebumps on his bare arms showed that he was cold but it wasn't going to hold him back. He was on a new kind of rampage where the mind hides in a crevice somewhere off in the distance while the flesh took control and hunted after its prey. The entire situation was more or less of a unconscious blur to him.

Ishido Castle had always been somewhat far from the rest of the village's buildings, having been built on the outskirts of the village purposely when the clan was founded. Daraku had cleared the distance and was fast approaching the Administration Building, which had just come into his direct view. He jumped and reached the roof of that building before jumping off again, assuming a pattern of elongated strides between the surfaces of the roofs and the air at great speed. His eyes scanned the area for the woman and instead caught sight of her residence, or so he remembered it to be. His memory hadn't failed him all that terribly in the past, so he stopped his charging and landed in the sand. The bleeding on his forehead was beginning to obscure his view as droplets formed near his eyelashes, creating a red curtain above his vision. He wiped the area clean with the back of his hand, although not all that effectively, and healed it with a medical technique.

Light shone out from the small home's window, indicating that the woman--or whomever--was home.  Daraku tackled the door open and moved into a spin, unleashing all three of his blades. Each of his hands was occupied with a sword and his mouth carried the third, and he kept them poised around him in his Slaughter Stance. Chakra coursed through him, transferring its energy into pure adrenaline as part of the chosen offensive measure. "Don't even bother hiding, you stupid bitch. I know you're here." It was oddly quiet in the building and after he had received no response after a few moments. "I'll count to five, and if you're not out by the time I'm done, I'll be sure to make this hurt." He began to count slowly, almost jovially in tone. "One...two...three...four--" the sound of glass shattering stopped him. He looked around, unsure of exactly where the noise had come from or whether he should be concerned. All he noticed was that the door behind him was still open, so without turning around, he pushed it shut with his foot. "Five." Without another sound, he continued forward and down the hall.

Daraku found himself in the dark corridor giggling with excitement. The voices in his head were now cheering him on, willing him to go further, to claim the greatest prize there was; another human life. He transferred one of his swords from his right hand to the opposite hand and let the now available one drag across the wall nonchalantly, painting the hall red with the remnants of his own blood on his hand. "Marking his territory", in a more gruesome sense. When he reached the end of the hall, he put the sword back into his right hand and was left at a crossroads. He could go upstairs, or he could go into the kitchen. He listened to his surroundings intently, sensing the slightest shift in the silence. All he needed was a simple murmur, and that would designate his path. His ears straining, he finally caught wind of a cry. It was a quiet, yet shrill sound that reverberated through the area. His victim was already in tears...he remembered the Dusk Moth Sage's beliefs about humans, which by now had rung true to him and become his own perspective as well. Humans were meaningless beings that endlessly searched for purpose, according to the Sage...Daraku, at least, had found his, and there was some degree of peace in that. The rest of his peace was comfort in the art of death.

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Daraku made his way up the wooden steps, his sandals emitting a low clicking noise as he moved. The crying stopped for a moment as he reached a door. "You should've come out before I got to five." he said as he entered the dark room. She gave a trembling shout as she stood, facing Daraku directly. "Who...who are you!? What do you want?!" Daraku was appalled. She didn't even remember him, despite having been torturing his mind, bringing him back to that very day when she called him scum. He wondered if all of them would be so oblivious to the mad destruction that they caused. "I'm the Phantom of the Sand, a spirit of vengeance and justice. You have committed a terrible sin..." he said, his tone reminiscent of a disappointed parent. She tried to reply but her voice strained and she resorted to weeping again. Daraku took this as an opportunity to continue chastising her before butchering her. "You may forget your transgressions as if they are petals in the wind, but they are far too heavy to be taken so lightly. They are weights on your shoulders, trying to drag you down into the very depths of hell as a consequence for your actions, and every passing day, you're sinking lower and lower until finally...I arrive, and I deliver you myself. Are you ready to pass into the afterlife? Are you ready to take that burden with your life? You deserve it, for breaking that boy, that innocent boy whom you were so convicted to call a monster."

Daraku felt a breeze against his shoulder, followed by a chill down his spine. Damn it, I was too loud...! With no time to waste, he forced the sword in his left hand, Nisebi, forward and tried to pierce the woman's heart. His attempt was futile as three indistinguishable figures appeared. The only thing visible between the three of them were their ornate masks, identifying them as ANBU. They had him surrounded and locked in place, unable to move unless he wanted to die. Daraku didn't bother saying a word, as it was far too late for that. The woman ran downstairs, screaming, but the ANBU and Daraku didn't make so much as a sound as they remained in the same position. Just when they began to let their guard down, Daraku activated his kekkei genkai and phased through the ANBU, appearing on the opposite side of them as they stared around in disbelief. He switched from his kekkei genkai back into slaughter stance and smiled. "Chemical Release: Immaculate Onslaught!" The adrenaline coursing throughout him intensified and he blasted through the room at breakneck speed, slicing each of the ANBU in specific points using his swords. They each fell to the ground, unable to use their legs. He did all of this in under a second, before deactivating the jutsu and stopping near the doorway. "You cannot stop me. No one can." he said, tauntingly. He sheathed his swords and focused nature chakra within himself, shifting into Sage Mode. His appearance changed to fit, with his eyes becoming dark and reflective and his hair color reversing, followed by his haori appearing around him. The room was void of light and thus they were not able to see his face or who he was.

The Sage spun silk from his pores, using precise hand movements to weave it into adhesive nets. He wrapped each of the three ANBU until they were completely trapped in it so that they would be rendered useless for a while. They weren't his targets, so his goal wasn't to kill them, but rather to keep them out of his way. He continued back downstairs and found an unexpected guest. The woman he had targeted was against the wall, hyperventilating, but directly in front of him stood Kiyoshi. "I can never trust you to just remain calm, can I?" Daraku sighed. "Why do you always have to show up? I..." he stopped mid-sentence, sensing something different about his uncle's chakra. Sage Mode granted him enhanced sensory perception, and he could feel the minute change in the man's chakra that was just enough to signal that something was off. "I don't know why I didn't notice before. You're not Kiyoshi. I know it." He stepped a bit closer to the mysterious person, who remained in Kiyoshi's form regardless. "I'll fucking kill you. This bitch in the background can be spared and my name will be in the clear, but my bloodlust can be quenched by killing you instead." He said, raising Nisebi to the person's neck. "Now show me who you really are."

The woman still sat against the wall, shaking terribly. The person imitating Kiyoshi finally began to revert, their skin moving as their underlying muscles shifted with it. It was a tall woman with a grim expression and long, silver hair and pink eyes. She laughed at Daraku like it was all a game. "You got me, you got me. You can call me Yashika. Don't you remember me?" There was a certain air of familiarity about her face, her figure. Daraku knew it too well. She was a former lover of his. "I've got a crazed bitch like you after me...? Look, I get I hurt your feelings or whatever, but you're really trying to kill me? Bad move." She glared at him. "Well, it was easy enough killing your uncle, and even easier forcing you into a rampage, so..." Disbelief overcame Daraku, but it made sense. How long had Yashika been mimicking Kiyoshi, desecrating his existence with her presence? Rage boiled within him. "You...you killed him. You killed my uncle. Fuck this, we're done talking. You're dead." Yashika continued laughing as if his words were a series of jokes, before she took on an offensive stance. A kunai was present in her hand.

Daraku didn't hesitate and his skin formed scales which shed at a rapid rate, creating a dark cloud around him. The scales both blinded and irritated Yashika's eyes as he circled around her and jumped into the air. "Sage Art: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!" he spat a rain of massive fireballs down unto her, greatly enhanced by his sage chakra. They hit her and caused the cloud to combust simultaneously leaving her to fall to her knees, defeated. She looked up at him as he landed next to her. "I only wanted to love you, and you broke my heart. I was getting the justice I deserved..." Daraku turned away from her and faced the exit. The cowering woman who he was originally after ran back upstairs and shut the door. Daraku smirked and let out a cold whisper. "I'm incapable of loving; I'm not human. Your justice was pathetic and self-centered, your purpose was void. I've only shown you that by mortally wounding you, and I'll finish the job by leaving you here to die. Goodbye, Yashika. I have to go back and inform my clan that my uncle is dead. One last question, though: where is his body?"

"Back of the courtyard...under the arch, buried beneath the garden..Daraku, I--" her head slumped and she lay there motionless. Another successful kill. Daraku was pleased with himself and he deactivated Sage Mode and healed his wounds before making his way out of the building and toward the Ishido Castle in the distance.

When the man arrived, covered in blood, moth scales, and ashes, he entered the courtyard and dug up the body immediately. Yashika hadn't lied; he found the corpse of his uncle in the exact place that she claimed it to be in. He sighed mournfully and entered the castle, placing the body atop the altar of Akihiro Ishido. Clansmen, despite the late our, were still up and around and they gathered around their fallen leader. Some yelled at Daraku, blaming him; some cried. Daraku spoke in a solemn voice. "I'm sorry to tell you all of this, but there has been a death among us. Kiyoshi Ishido, my uncle and close friend, was killed. I'm not sure how long ago or how, but a woman named Yashika was hunting me and so she infiltrated us and killed him before impersonating him. That man that you saw among you, earlier today, was not him; it was Yashika, the very same impostor. She has been putting me through hallucinations and schizophrenic breakdowns for the last few weeks, using some sort of Genjutsu. She came after me when I left, and attempted to kill me, but I defeated her. She will no longer be a threat to us, nor will I. I am no longer under the influence of the Genjutsu, and I am once again the clan head by default. I will give Kiyoshi a proper burial tomorrow morning, but until then, I will leave him upon the altar as a sign of respect. He was a good man. You're all dismissed." The clansmen were silent now as they dispersed, and Daraku made his way upstairs to his chambers as well. He spent the night in tears, mourning the loss of his uncle. His immediate family, every single one of them, was now gone. His grandmother, his grandfather, his mother, his father, his aunt, his uncle, his cousins. He had no one but a clan to lead, and although he was now free of the voices that plagued him, there was a new problem. Death had always been prevalent in his life, but for the first time, he felt that it wasn't fair. Not all of them had deserved to die, and now that he was the last surviving one, he needed to do all that he could to keep the clan going, to ensure the Ishido clan's prosperity. The generation he knew was over; the remnants of the clan and himself would force it into the new era. He finally calmed down a bit and set a plan to meet with Suzume at some point and discuss the occurences of the night, between Yashika's influence over him and his actions against the ANBU and nearly killing the other woman. Until then, he was left to himself, with nothing to do but think and sleep. He washed the blood and ash from his body before retiring to bed for the night, a different man than the one he had woken up as.

[Exit Thread]

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