A casual day in Kirigakure. Mist clung to the ground as was usually the case, the people walking in the streets without a care. It wasn't a particularly crowded day, but the daily routine had to be done. In between those people walked a young girl, about fifteen years old. Her black hairband adorned the long, white hair that draped over her cloak. The black cloak in turn covered the blue sleeveless sweater pulled over her white shirt, and the black skirt under it. A school girl, at first glance, but something was definitely off. People avoided her, the distress of her monstrous aura apparent in their eyes as they went out of their way to walk around her. The apathy in her red amber eyes told them everything. She didn't care how they felt.

The spider was out and about for a couple of things. As always, 'humanity' was a concept to her which was always in need of new lessons. Gallivanting through the streets was but one of them. Checking the shops' display windows to see what currently made the hearts of Mankind tick was a necessary analysis if she wanted to make sure her looks blended in fine with society. After all, she was a spider by nature, not a human. The same was true for the smithies and armourers showing off their craft. The 'claws of Man' as Sero had called them were produced in mass quantity and with a versatility equal to that of the people walking the streets. Haka found weapons to be the disgrace of Human kind as they revealed to her how much Man was in need of tools to sustain its own power. Unlike the Unmei, who relied on their own natural weapons and talents. But there were a few that had proven she would be foolish to underestimate those select few that knew how to wield weapons properly. Haka had been forced to accept it was better to learn about weapons rather than to disregard them. Just one of the many lessons about humankind.

But there was also Kirigakure's history as the Bloody Mist that piqued her interest. Even if that period had long been shut down, there was no sun chasing away the lingering misty wisps of its existence. The Bloody Academy and the Bloody Cemetery were two remaining proofs of that ideology. A physical reminder of what used to be. The rumours and hushed whispers continued their tales. For this reason exactly, Haka decided to visit the graveyard of old. It was said that visiting people eventually showed up dead here. Though Haka cared little for the dead, she wanted to know if the rumours were true. Was visiting this grave a death sentence? Did it invoke ghosts and murderers alike? There was only one way to figure it out.

Feet following the step stones that laid to the grave, she would eventually stand on the dark and dirty soil which formed the cemetery. The grave stones that riddled the area all had a name etched in it, some even having a small statue perched over it. An angel, a gargoyle, a rose. Decoration for those who would never speak again. To think Haka's name came from these very same resting places. It was almost amusing were it not that her predatory instinct honoured it quite well. The wolf spider hunted, killed. She was the very tomb of the prey she devoured for sustenance.

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580

Shhck

Plop.

The soft sounds of the earth being pried apart, and the gentle sounds of it being thrown would fill the air.

Shhck

Plop.

The sounds were repeatedly rhythmically, a speed that never faltered or slowed. It was almost soothing in its own strange way to the man who worked nearby. A spade in hand, he worked tirelessly at digging into the earth below him, moving it from beneath his feet and adding it to the growing pile nearby. A quiet hum escaped his lips as he worked tirelessly, his work almost completely engrossing him.

After some time, the male would stop her work and leap her way out of the grave that he had dug. With a small grin, the male would drive the shovel he held into the ground and lean upon it, admiring the fruits of his work. Even in the dying light, he could see the hole he had made clearly. There wasn't much to it, unlike most graves, this one only reached several feet into the ground. It would have to do for the moment.

Hands would reach and pat himself down, shaking the excess dirt and grime from his bandaged body. Not that he was actually injured – it was a funny story that went with his body being covered from head to toe in the bandages. Something about his clan, it was. But as it was, the bandages left little to the imagination when it came to the shape and sizes of his various body parts. When the male felt that he had 'adequately' cleaned himself off, he would reach over to a nearby tombstone and remove the tattered and bloodstained jumpsuit that was slung over it whilst also trading the shovel he held for the scythe that lay against it as well.. Placing the clothing on and tugging up the hood, the male would smile at his handiwork before turning and setting off in a direction, unknowingly heading in the direction of the female spider... From between his bandaged lips would come a quiet song, slow and haunting.


Despite the reputation of this place, this 'Bloody Cemetery', the male had no fear of what might be lurking out there. As far as he was concerned, despite his age, he was one of the most terrifying creatures to walk this earth. A few thieving men would not deter him from doing what he needed to do out there -- that is, digging graves for the people that needed to be buried. It was a dirty, and thankless job, but it was something that needed to be done. Besides, it kept him busy, and out of trouble. Not that there was much trouble that someone of his status could get into.

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489

A lone presence was working the earth of the cemetery, his shovel rising and dipping into the uncaring earth as he dug a grave. That was it. No ghosts, no haunts, no bandits. Just a grave digger doing his job. Finishing the job as slowly walked through the graves, reading names as if she cared, he covered most of the bandages around his body with a jumpsuit and traded the shovel for a scythe. Curious. For a moment Haka halted, red amber eyes fixated on the gravedigger. The weapon he wielded was much like one Sero had in his armoury, a large clumsy tool generally used by peasants. This one, however, was quite different in appearance as the crescent head differed greatly from the mass-produced versions the land workers wielded. She tilted her head. Sero would probably approve of such a nice looking weapon.

As he inched closer, going about his own way, the natural scent of decay lingered subtly around him. To the untrained nose it would make sense. He was a grave digger working the earth where the dead slept, but to the huntress' nose the scent was deeper. Inherent to himself. A dead man walking? That already got him off the hook as an appetiser for the spider, but what would Sero think of it? Having humans in the mansion was one thing. If they didn't pay attention they'd end up as a meal for the spiders of the island, but walking dead people were a different story. The sorts she had seen were mindless ravagers. This one sported the flame of intellect in his eyes. What would Sero think of such an appearance? Of a dead man wielding weapons?

"Why does this grave digger wield a scythe?", she would ask him as he was about to pass her, her voice cold and soft as the mists itself. Her stoic expression would betray no emotions, a contradiction to the monstrous aura breathing down his neck in which he would find himself in. The aura of a predator that was judging its potential prey. Haka's mind was yet set on a different course of thought as logic concluded in various ways that he could not be similar to the people walking the streets. Silver and gold eyes, made vibrant by an unknown source. The smell of the dead. The ease with which he handled a scythe clearly not meant for menial work. The bandages denoting a severely wounded state, a stark contradiction with his lithe way of moving. So many tell-tale features easily overlooked by civilians, or simply pushed back into some acceptable reasoning as their weak minds tried to cope with the anomaly this grave digger was. Before she had any inclination to invite him to the manor, to bring him and his unusual scythe before Sero, she wanted to know what he was about.

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483
Total: 1063

As the male walked on, the song in his mind and on his lips would continue, reaching out to the ears of the approaching female. Though, even through the song, he could hear her clearly when she spoke to him as he was about to pass her, clear as day from roughly a meter away.

"Why does this grave digger wield a scythe?"

He would turn towards the fear, those gold and silver orbs locking onto her body, her living form, her flesh and that savory scent that washed off her. A small grin crept onto the male’s face, his movements seamlessly moving from that of the dead to that of a predator himself; while the creature before him fed on flesh, the male himself fed on the lifeforce of those around him, chakra. For him, there was no difference between the chakra of of a persona or that of an animal, but this one, this female before him… hers was certainly different. Her aura contained something decidedly spicy about it, something that a living persona would feel fear from. However, given the male’s state of unlife, his body did not respond to stimuli in the same way that others would. There was one thing in particular that would trigger a fear response in the male, and a peculiar aura was not it.

But even so, the male would watch the female for a long moment before responding to her. His voice was calm, albeit amused at the question, responding in a dry rasp.

“I carry a scythe because I fill the graves I dig, pretty girlie.”

Not particularly a lie, though much more true for while the male was alive. In life, the male was indeed a grave digger as well by trade, moving piles of earth to allow the deceased the six feet they deserved. At play, however, the male was something much worse; he filled the very graved he dug with fresh corpses, stealing men, women, and children in the dead of night to fulfill his need to kill, to maim, to dismember. A murderer for his own cause.

But this woman did not know that. Nor did she need to. That was his personal history, an infamous tale in the Iwa slums that need not be shared at this moment.

He would shift his weight, the scythe becoming animated in his nimble hands; a spin above his frame only to be brought down to drive the shaft into the earth between them. That bandaged visage would split into a even wider grin, that gold eye seeming to shine a bit brighter as his gaze would meet the apathetic one of the woman.

“Does that answer satisfy you, or would you prefer to hear something else, girlie?”

It was not a threat per se, but rather a statement of his intentions; he could make up any lie that he wished to give, and all of it would mean the same, because she would never know the truth of whom she was talking to.


He would wait for an answer from her, curious as to what she would say to his response. He was not directly threatening her, but it was still interesting to see how she would respond to his choice of words.

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580 | 1069

He carried a scythe to fill the grave he dug. Haka would glance at the fresh grave, her mind running through the rumours. Did this make the rumours true? No, but it made them likely. It even made sense that a fresh grave required a body, sooner or later, or it would have been a waste of time to dig it in the first place. Her eyes would shift back to the man, wondering. What sort of things did he hunt? Humans? Did he fill them with criminals, civilians, or just anything that pleased him? A hunter with a cause? A murderer for fun? There were plenty of questions she could ask the few that were hunters by nature.

He would proceed to swing his scythe and drive it into the earth between them. Taunting her? She'd narrow her eyes slightly, cautious but equally analysing his moves. He wielded his weapon with ease. He was trained. But also horribly slow in its execution. Was this because a scythe was such an inefficient tool to work with? It weighed down on peasants despite them using it on a regular base. Or was he simply holding back in his little game to try her out? It mattered little as he didn't attack her, so there was no need for her to strike back. She knew some humans had the strange urge to make themselves 'known'. Perhaps this was just the same thing.

"It does.", she would reply, pragmatic and apathetic. A simple answer to his simple question. Did she want to hear something different? Yes. There were questions he could answer for her. A grave digger filling up his own graves meant he had to be a hunter of sorts. What sort of hunter would he be?

"What prey do you hunt to fill the graves?"

She could respect a good hunter. Unfortunately, most confused hunting with mass murdering, disregarding proper reasons for a thrilling chase in favour of growing drunk on their own power. These same people failed to maintain a healthy understanding between a prey marked for death and prey worthy to be killed as last. The first one being mere sustenance, the second prey being worth more alive than death as they amused the hunter. Forced them to evolve into something greater still.

This undead being before her, sporting a spark of humane intelligence, was it an evolving hunter, or a drunk hunter? He certainly was atypical compared to humans, seemingly amused in his attempt to scare others. Little did he know she was used to live in a world of terror. Her Creator, Spider Island, Hansha. Such places numbed most of the weak senses, fear only leading to death there. This numbing of the senses counted double for a natural born spider who grew up in such a dark world, a progeny of the sinister being ruling over his nightmarish domain. But it seemed she was not the only one knowing a world that numbed the sense of fear. Her monstrous aura didn't affect him as it generally did with humans. What world did he come from that he would not tremble in discomfort?

"You lack the fear of humans. Why?"

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536
Total: 1599