I am Xion [Xeol]. 

I have done everything [the Hokage] asked of me. I gave him everything he wanted. Everything he needed in that moment. But this is a [bargain]. I am going to do so much more than that. [The Hokage] and his ilk will not understand for some time. Though I will allow him to see the signs. What I will carve into these walls themselves. A strong [City] is what he wants. Well. This will be a strong [City].

But not a safe [City].

I’d never made a bargain with [the Hokage]. I would like to try it. So I agree to do what he [wishes]. As long as he [wishes]. I hold my breath, ready for the savoury [taste] of his [desire]. He sends me away. I make an ugly sound with my face. I cannot help myself. I find this scenario quite mirthful. Quite [sapid].

Reality is the finest [flesh], afterall. I will ask him what he is driving towards. Could it be glory? Territory? Or might it be simpler than that? Everyone wants more than they have. A key element of all [bargains]. Those who make [bargains] must be prepared to lose them. O’coveter mine.



Under this mask, he is Xeol now. He remembered Kumogakure. The scars it bore from the Leaf’s passage. Scorched outpost. Abandoned fortresses reeking of decay. Littered with flesh bone and broken armour. Shattered chassis of radios turned to ribbons. A place of death. Death and war, a war that tilts on the fulcrum of the Land of Fire. The hungry desire to take. A heavy cloak, an enigmatic man, a cold heartless blade. It was time to bargain. To put his appetite to the test.

Xion spoke to himself as he moved. Questioning whether or not he should reconsider. “We could--die.” 

His Otherself spoke. ‘He [the Hokage] is beholden to no one. Idle strings just waiting to be taken up. And do challenges not [entice] you?’

His Otherself released vibrant, unrestrained bursts of laughter. Xion did not. And he abdicated his mind to his Darker nature. The long shadows of the evening dissolved into the gathering darkness of the nighttime. The air cooled and the crickets sang. Nighttime stretched ahead as long as the streets he would travel in the daylight hours, now charcoal hued and cold. The birds were silenced, no-one was particularly out and about, the only serenade being the ever present thrash of the leaves that gave this village it’s monker, crumbling to the ground in dusty, dark fragments.

From his vantage he sat still and silent. As innocuous as a bird on any wire. Call it a hunch, but he had a feeling he’d see him tonight.