Death..

Death was the single thought lingering within her otherwise silent mind. Death would come, she could feel it in her bones. The bitter taste of Death lingered like the blood on her lips, and like few other missions it seemed her victory itself would hang upon that single thought. Though she listened intently to the short briefing few words seemed to find their way to the forefront of her conscious mind. Package, intercept, Konoha; these words left only the single thought to remain. Death. Takado did not fear Death, for the two were partners. All her life this word, this idea, this act of visiting death upon others had been her sole purpose to exist. Moving through the forest now she reflected upon the importance it had played in her upbringing.

Gliding through the trees was a simple task, her innate speed and superb sense of balance and motion allowing her to skip from one foot to other. Each long stride was a leap forward through the tress, and all around her was a blur of passing branches, but the progress she made was remarkable. Even passing through the forest she is dressed now as she always is dressed; a layered robe of contrasting blacks and whites painstakingly embroidered with deceptively gentle flowers. Pinks and greens and blues dotted the petals decorating the outermost layer of her clothing, a black kimono constructed from the finest of silks. With the sleeves cut short the rough spun cotton beneath is exposed along her arms, a pair of long billowing sleeves flowing clear down to her fingertips. The stark white sleeves were covered in black lettering and lines of fuuinjutsu script. As always her left hand remained fixed on the pommel of her katana as she moved, the blade forever situated right at her hip. The clothing, the finery, even the delicate red paint on her fingernails and carefully placed black outlining her eyes counted for nothing when placed in comparison against the simple steel katana. There was nothing special about it in the sense of supernatural ability; it was just a simple tool made for one purpose.

Death..

Death was her single goal, her single true purpose, and Kageru knew that her orders had been passed down from those who also knew this simple fact. The few important words she'd picked up from her briefing had amounted to a much simpler orders: Slay your enemy and bring back the prize. On the outside her demeanor was cool as they traveled, haste pushing them onward but the stress of the voyage failing to register upon a face as cold and pale as winter snow. As she lands upon the broad branch of an ancient pine the fingertips of her left hand dance softly around the handle of her sword. It's a subtle motion, barely the fluttering of her fingers, but enough to allow her to caress the cold steel end cap of her weapon's handle. Death would come, it was why she existed. To gaze upon her face, few ever held the slightest doubt about her intentions, her eyes not filled with hate, and not filled with pity, but filled only with the emptiness of cold resolution. Her lips remain set in an eternal pose of complete disinterest with her world, matching well the empty gaze of her deep, dark eyes. They tracked Gouka as he moved ahead of her, effortlessly following the placement of the shinobi's foot, her own feet sure to land almost perfectly with each step, just where Gouka had landed with his own foot falls. It was nothing for Kageru, it was simply how those members of the Shigumo clan always traveled. In single file, with such carefully placed footsteps, even a legion of nimble soldiers could be seen to trackers as only a handful of enemies. Deception was the life of the Shigumo clan; but then again so did Death.

Shiugumo kept no tally of their kills, though these unfortunate Konoha shinobi would not be the first. Not the last, not even important, just a pair of faces who'd been unlucky enough to draw straws against Kageru. Their deaths did not matter, only the prize was important. Their deaths did not matter, but they would surely come. Kageru's face remains perfectly placid as these thoughts pass through her head, interrupted only by the quiet orders passed back from Gouka. He outranked her, so he was clearly in charge, though the girl makes no notice of his words. She does not nod, she does not reply, her eyes remain vacant as though she had not even been listening, but the next step she falls. Grace carries her softly to the ground below, a branch Gouka had chosen becoming one she simply avoided. Just like their her motion stopped, and the team was split apart. Standing still beneath the trees for a moment the world seems still. The chaos of branches rushing past and the wind tearing through her hair was gone and there was only the forest. There was no clearing, only a ground of packed earth and sparse vegetation. A few bushes stood silent vigil in the distance, but for the most part it was only the thick trunks of the old growth woods.

Death..

Death was coming closer each moment, already their plan was falling into place. Her left hand leaves the handle of her katana only reluctantly, moving slowly upwards to meet her right. Both pressed together, fingers moving softly into the proper form for a simple seal. A moment later a puff of smoke pops out around her, and the image in her mind's eye is printed over her typically grim exterior. As the smoke of her transformation technique fades her form is transformed into something completely other. It was.. convincing, if only because she chose herself for the image. She'd shed a decade of years and half her height, but there she stood as a frightened child of perhaps 6 years. Tears had cut clean paths through cheeks otherwise smeared with dirt and grime. Her clothes were in tatters, a kimono sure, but one stained with dust and dirt, worn from use and torn through misuse in a dozen places. The hem was in tatters, frayed well beyond repair, and yet the poor child still wore them. A soft sniffle begins the facade as a bent crook of wood appears in her hand. It was as ragged a piece of wood as she was a human. The length of the walking stick towered over the hunched over child making her seem only smaller. Surely such a stick belonged to her parent, or some other adult, and her partner had seen to filling such a role out. Even now the corpse linger near her, a dead man old enough to be her father. Distress was painted through the scene, and dispair seemed to emanate from the illusion of a child as readily as it might from the real thing. The child, sobbing though she was, had her back turned towards the corpse lain out some ten feet behind her, and seemed to do all she could to pay it no mind. She coughs once and slumps lower, bending her head down and making herself seem smaller still. More tears come to the surface, welling in her eyes, and then rolling softly down her cheeks. She seemed miserable, pathetic, somehow detestable in her weakness, and it was an image she pulled off flawlessly. Deception was a great tool to the shinobi, but this was really a small lie.


This was more true than the grim facade she wore as a mask to protect herself. This had been her, this broken creature, before her emotions had been stripped from her. Her parents might have killed her on the spot for taking such a form once more, but they were far away now. The form seemed a good choice to Kageru, but even as she pretends to be weak and shed tears, her mind fills with the memories she still somehow retained from such traumatic years. She'd been beaten and bloodied more times than she could count, and even at this age was close to claiming her first life. She could hold a sword, she could swing it, but she'd had such little natural drive for the life of an assassin. She could have been a happy child, if they had left her to crayons and paper, allowed her time to pick flowers and stargaze, or even the simple comfort of a few nice words. She was given none of these things, and instead was punished when she wished to play, chastised when she wished to color, and forced to fight when she wished only for peace. Her family had turned her into a monster, and whispered her the bliss and joy of being one so devoid of emotion and morality. They'd told her of personal gain, of silent motion, of power and glory. Above all, however, they'd told her of Death.

Death..

Death would come soon, but should it? Was it alright? Doubt was something Kageru hid well. Doubt did not cloud her performance, it did not manifest in the soft sobs of misery and pain she sniffled out now, pathetic cries to strike the ears of attentive targets, and sting the hearts of shinobi who may still have them. Pity, compassion, generosity, they were the first emotions she was taught to exploit, but why? Why must she be the monster? why must she be the one to visit death upon those she had never come to even know. Tears come too easily for her, her fingers gripping the illusory cane tighter. Doubt never showed on her face, but that is not to say it did not effect her. This doubt.. where did it come from? It was rare she felt this nagging sense, rare she allowed anything to come between her and victory, but she had been long removed from battle. Those in Kumogakure did not share the same outlook one life as the Shigumo clan. Had they made her weak? Had going so long without drawing the blood of another somehow rekindled some manner of life within the heart long dead in her chest? Would she really kill her enemies. Could she really kill her enemies? It had been so long since she'd done so, and she'd never truly done so in battle, only in the torture of her training. A pain of pain shot through her heart as she sobbed, adding a level of fact to the myth of emotion she'd been weaving.

Her orders had not implicitly said to slay her enemy, but she'd read it between the lines previously. It was not as though her enemies would simply hand over their cargo without comment or concern. Surely they would seek to protect it, and surely they had it every bit in mind to kill her for trying to steal it. Surely this would come to blows, and surely Kageru would slay them. This was the way of nature, it was the way of the world. Shinobi died, and other shinobi killed them. She squeezes the scabbard of her sword tighter, and closes her eyes tightly. Louder and louder her voice rises, soft groans and sobs beginning to fill the woods around her. It was a terribly convincing performance, enough so to even sting gently in the background of her heart. Why was she having these feelings? Why all of this doubt? She had never wanted to kill anyone, but this time she was beginning to fear. She had never wanted to spare her enemy, but this time.. there was only thought not consuming the fore front of her mind. A single word feared all through out the world. A single word which could cost a victory, which could lose a battle, and the one thing feared universally by even the most powerful of warriors...

Life had been such a waste, she could see that now. All these years of vile oppression, years of slaughter and suffering lead to nothing but more of the same. She had been given life for the single purpose of sewing death. Nothing could ever stop it short of her own demise, yet no matter how retched her life seemed the prospect of death seemed much worse. She didn't want to die, she wanted to paint, to sing, to bask in the sun atop a hill of yellow and blue wildflowers. She wanted such simple things and yet still she was denied them all. It was denial at the point of a sword, be it the blade of her family or her own sword. There was a subtle shift in her form even before the ninja had arrived, before Gouka had descended from above with two daggers. It had only been a small amount of growth, a subtle darkening in the tattered rags clothing the girl; little more than a subconscious shudder at the memories washing through her head. There had been so much death, so much killing for a girl so young. Only constant fear had ever kept her from coming to pieces, but here she'd felt no fear. She was far away from home, and surely her parents weren't watching. Her realizations did not prevent the swift fall of blades and in time with Gouka's landing time seems to catch up with her.

For a moment she is lost, her mind a quiet blank, the tears on her cheek forgotten as she straightens herself to her full height. At the same time her illusion is dispelled, and yet so little of her exterior changes. She grows in an instant from a small child into a mostly grown woman, her rags shifting to fine robes, and her walking stick transforming into a steel sword still within its wooden scabbard. Her skin remains pale, and her expression is no less horrified. Her look may seem more horrific however, as now her tears are stained black with the soot dark lines carefully drawn around her black eyes. Her tears had been convincing, because her tears had been quite real. It's been at a very long time since she'd shed tears, and longer still since anyone had ever been there to witness such an event. Once they had started, it seemed much more difficult to make them stop. But why should she make them stop? From the bottoms of her eyes down her cheek and chin the bold black smears made obvious note of just where her tears had passed, but it was highlighted by the strange swirl of red. Dripping in a steady line from each side of her mouth was a steady trickle of brilliantly red blood. She had seen no obvious injury, but when she opened her mouth the flow increased slightly. b

"Monsters." Comes the single word, one spoken in a voice far to placid, far to calm, far to devoid of emotion for such a dramatic face. It was true, the lot of them were monsters. Each one was trained to kill, trained to hunt down others and slay them. Her left arm lifts slowly, dragging her katana upwards until it's pointed outwards, as though she was trying to hand it to Gouka. "Trained in death, all four of us. Trained to kill, trained to fight and here we are.. the result of so much intent and careful planning." she continues, her voice carrying somewhat quietly. Her words were spoken calmly, though more of her blood slipped past now bloody red lips to drip silently off of her chin. Spots of red mostly vanished upon the midnight black silk of her kimono, the cruel effect of her own outer monster. True to form her teeth had been filed into jagged razors which seemed uncomfortable in any sort of jaw. It was they which had torn the inner edges of her lips open, and sliced the tip and sides of her tongue in a dozen places. This was the hallmark of the Shigumo clan, a secretive family few inside of Kumo had ever heard of, and even less famous outside of the Lightning country. The teeth were not fangs, they were blades; each one sharpened with finesse, care, and intent. This was how it was, each person was expected to be an expert in their art, and for the Shigumo, this was art.

Killing was also an art for the Shigumo, and it was the art Kageru had been born into. Her first memories involved sword play, and even in her early childhood she'd taken a life. Over and over she had her lessons beaten into her, and staring at Gouka now, she could see for herself the real result of those lessons. It was nothing but death and pain and suffering, for no more purpose than the pursuit of some box. Slowly her left arm lowers while she stares at Gouka, paying little mind to the still unattended leaf shinobi who'd been left unharmed, and still standing. The katana is returned to its rightful place at her side, the scabbard slid beneath the wide cloth belt around her waist, and at once her right hand moves to settle gently on the handle. "This is the way, the truth of the world. Birth and death are meaningless days which serve only as bookends to contain a predetermined number of years, in which each of us will suffer. We suffer to please our friends, we suffer to satisfy the desires of our families, and we suffer at the hands of our enemies. We are strong, or we die." Her eyes trail back over to Gouka as she speaks, her voice calm, her expression one a mix of shed blood and surprising tranquility. None had ever heard so many words flow from her lips in one day, but she still carried on speaking. "And yet even if we are strong, surely we die. There are always those stronger, and those who see no value in the lives of others. Always the strong prey on the weak.. always the children are the first to die.." she mutters, her voice dropping some as she gives a quick glance to the crippled weakling pinned and bloodied beneath Gouka. Then comes a pair of words as surprising to herself as it might be to the others. "No more.."

And just like that she acts, shifting from a tranquil oddity into a blur of motion almost to fast to follow. Her hand draws upwards and out, sliding the blade of her katana free from the scabbard even as she closes the distance between herself and Gouka. "Release him!" she shouts as she moves, anger the first emotion heard in her voice. Even as the words fall, however, her blade rises, flashing out in a blink and swinging for Gouka's neck. Decapitation would be an easier move, even if she was just targeting a shadowclone. Having been privy to the creation of the clone, and spying the weight and power behind the real Gouka's attack on the downed Konoha nin Kageru knew well which was real and which was not, so this act of mercy would spare her partner's life.. but was this truly an act of mercy? Kageru strikes with the full intention to kill, her blade soon to bite deep through illusory flesh, to rend through vaporous bone, to severe the clone's head from it's shoulders. While this would spare Gouka, few could guess at the reaction it would have on the battlefield as a whole. Even Kageru could not guess, for she had not planned this action through.

Gouka was not the only perceptive Ninja in the forest, nor the only ninja capable of breathtaking displays of seemingly effortless defense.  When her sword meets steel there's little reaction on the kunoichi's face, no change in her eyes, no sudden or swift twist of her blade, only a moment of mental clarity.  Though her attention seemed focused solely on the clone she was attacking, she was still tracking Gouka with her peripheral vision.  She had hoped he would not choose this course of action, for it truely was the coward's way out.  "You're a monster." she whispers to the clone, leaning in close while her sword was locked with the clone's knives.  At the same time she gently fingers the handle of her katana, rubbing just beneath the crossguard of the antique, finely crafted instrument of death.  In doing so she rubs into it a tiny seal, a circle of ink almost imperceptable to most, but as plain as day in her mind.  The seal would aid her in the relocation of her blade, for at this moment she knew she simply must release it.  Spending even a moment in attempting to wrest her blade away from the twisting grip of the Chuunin's knives would result in a rather catastrophic injury.  The moment Gouka starts moving she is likewise reacting, her hands simply relaxing and letting the lacing of her handle slip past her fingertips.

As Gouka leaps, Kageru takes a slightly different approach to evasion.  In an instant there's a step back and a pivot on the ball of her foot.  She pushes herself forward and down in a perfect display of acrobatic prowess.  The same instant seems to find her hands on the ground and her feet kicking above her in a cartwheel covering a short distance.  The momentum only builds as her feet flip around and move down to meet the ground, but they're there for only a blink as her body follows through with the motion.  Her hands touch down once more and her arms push hard against the ground, not pushing herself up with a leap but with a graceful, and rather beautiful, handspring.  The single motion sets her on a linear path away from the explosion, which is fortunate as it explodes.  She'd cleared almost as much distance as Gouka, but even that, it seemed, would not be quite enough.  For all her acrobatic prowess, for all her speed and cunning, Kageru was still limited in just how far she could push her small body.  So the explosion would have to push it the rest of the way.

From a distance the forest seems tranquil, the sudden melee had produced no real screams only a solitary whoop of aggression which lead to another momentary silence.  The old growth trees towered high, but beneath their dense canopy would come a sudden brilliant flash of fire and a earth shaking crash of sound and force.  Up close the scene was much worse as the clone popped and the explosive notes transformed into a mass of swirling smoke and searing embers.  The shock-wave struck Kageru even as the smoke and fire engulfed her, however she remained within the burning explosion for only a moment.  The sheer kinetic force of the blast pushes on her already moving body, not destroying it but drop kicking her body like a limp rag doll.  All grace vanishes as she soars forward at flight speed, a trail of smoke billowing out behind her like jet exhaust.  Flames and cinders lick at the fringes of her clothing as she streaks like some burning out meteorite, until only moments later when pliable flesh meets dirt and leaf litter.  Earth flies up all around her as she forces dirt apart, her body digging a line through the earth like a plow through a field.  She slides about 30 feet before she finally stops, the gracious trunk of a wide tree being kind enough to block her path and bounce her back into trench she'd dug.  She lands on her head, or rather her shoulders, her feet up in the air and legs bent in a rather awkward, uncomfortable, but amusing sort of angle. 

There she finally falls motionless for the moment, dazed, silent, and unarmed.  It was not a pretty picture, but she seemed to have survived the worst of it.  Her beautiful hair had been singed at some ends, her expensive finery had been scorched, and worse her sword had been flung into parts unknown.  She dare not move to glance over, but she had little doubt that Gouka had left the wounded genin to die in that gruesome blast.  The puff of smoke the other Konoha ninja had employed may well have saved his life, but she had not had time to track his escape path while blazing for her own.  Situated up on her shoulders with her legs in the air was rather ungraceful, so slowly she allows her body to sink fully downwards, until she is just lying there.  She sighs with a mix of pain and relief, though she doesn't speak a word.  Slowly she takes stock of her aching body and begins to get her legs beneath her.

A new day in her mind, a new scene in the forest.  Kageru paced for several long moments, her strides short and pace slow and still a lingering haze clouded her mind. She was not without reason, not without rational though, and that was truly the source of her problem.  All the things she'd done, she had once told herself, were for the good of her nation.  Perhaps this was true but all to suddenly the illusion of personal innocence was burned off like a morning fog in the rising sun.  So many she had slaughtered, a pile of bodies beyond counting, only because they had never proven worthy of being counted.  Life, as taught to her growing up, was completely without worth, without meaning, without any value which made it even an after thought in the personal story of an individual shinobi.  She had not fully bought into this mentality, but all to often she'd slain perfect strangers who had opposed her, and not thought twice about the ramifications of her own actions.  She'd lived on blissfully ignorant of the monster which had grown inside of her.  Why now, then, was she suddenly stricken with eyes forced to blatantly open?  

The patch of trees her sword had relocated itself too was in almost all ways identical to the patch now blasted and burnt and spattered with the blood of the fallen.  It was pristine and silent, inhabited by silent rodents living off the trees seeds, and hiding among the thick old growth branches.  While she'd made no notice of the local fauna, the previous simple fact was emphasized by the state her katana was found in.  The blade had met wood and sunk through the tough but tender grain half way up the blade, though it had met a second of opposition in its passing.  The body of a small grey squirrel was still skewered by the slender length of gently curved steel, a pool of steadily drying blood leaking down the branch and dripping blackish/red down to the ground below.  The sight drew a sigh from Kageru's lips and a brief shake of her head.  Who's fault had this death been?  It was just an animal, but was that rational enough to just write such a killing off as unimportant?  She would have said yes previous to this day, and that single thought stood out as reason enough not to let it go.

So who was to blame, then?  Her sword had gotten here by means of an explosion, one perpetrated by Gouka, the chuunin leader of this mission.  Sure it could be reasoned that it was his fault, but it was her own fault the sword had been released.  Still, this was not an outcome she could have foreseen, who would think to predict where an innocent squirrel might be located at a single given moment in time?  So who?  Was it the sword itself, or the adults who had placed it within the hands of a child?  Was it simply the squirrel's fault; a case of bad luck, or perhaps karma?  There was a killing here, but fault could not be determined with just an initial inspection.  Silently the girl reaches out and slips her fingers around the handle of the sword.  A soft tug and gentle rock side to side sees the blade freed from both flesh and wood.  The sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above catches her blade in a flash, the steel turning white all over except for where the rodent's blood remains.  She stares at it for a moment and then draws the blade down, carefully wiping the blood off of her blade on the ornate silk sleeves covering her arms.  They were already singed and blackened, a little blood wouldn't make the tailor's job any more difficult.

She cleans her blade without comment, without sound, slowly returning to the more passionless and silent state most had observed her in through every moment of her waking life. She hefts the blade up gently once it's polished and lets it catch the light once more.  It was such a magnificent tool, one of perfect construction.  The few chips the cutting edge had did nothing to reduce its effectiveness and only gave it the antique look it deserved.  The sword was older than Kageru, older than even her own parents, but it was her's until the day someone managed to defeat her, and end her life.  With a gentle swing she slices downwards and listens to the clean hiss of steel cutting through air.  Another slash and in the blink of an eye the sword finds its home.  Her handling of the blade was adept enough that drawing the blade and re-sheathing it, while not in the same action, were each independently almost impossible to follow by anyone but the most alert of observers.  Even then they seemed little more than a blur of perfectly executed muscle memory.

What was left to do?  The mission was over, a success as well but that was never a question of if.  Now it remained a question of what to do about home?  Her own partner was a monster, her leaders were no doubt the same.  They'd sent her to murder enemies much weaker than herself, and sent to do so with help stronger than herself. They'd send her to kill again, there was little doubt, but could she manage to do so?  She remains standing there for now, ever still and ever silent, simply pondering the overall message her mind was trying to convey to her conscious being.  Her path through the forest was a simple thing for a talented tracker to follow, a clear line of disturbed leaves and broken twigs the likes of which even a novice genin could follow.

Kageru remains where she is, her right hand resting idly on the handle of her katana, her eyes mostly focused on the ground in front of her.  She doesn't need to see Gouka to address him, she doesn't need to look up to be prepared to defend herself.  Her body remains motionless, only her lips move as quiet words slip past in response.  "How foolish.  How short sighted.  How narrow the mind of a monster is.  Force and Destruction, threats and a nervous sense of security." she mutters, clearly something far from a direct answer.  She squeezes the handle of her katana slightly tighter in anticipation of an attack, her mind already contemplating her defense.  If she was close to the monster, she knew her words would be seen as an affront to sensibilities, perhaps enough so to draw an attack.  "A monster knows but one thing.  Self preservation at the cost of all around them.  This is why your mind could come up with only two reasonable options, when in fact the forest around us is painted with a thousand possibilities.  Give up the conditioning which has made you a monster.  Retire your blade, cease this sorrowful existence.  If you somehow believe I will simply travel with you while unarmed, you are twice the fool you think I am.  Unlike you, I see many options, many possibilities rooted in this moment in time, but reaching out into the unseen shadows of the future.  Slay me, and give in to your desire for blood.  Perhaps open your eyes to the obvious truth of the world, these are all viable options.."

"But do not think it ends there.  No, those are but many of a very long list of possibilities.  Live up to your narrow mind and slay me, that is another.  Kill yourself and know peace; another option.  I could slay you and preserve your honor, but enough blood has stained by blade for one life time.  I prefer this option to all others, so hear my words.  Turn now, and leave this place.  Take your precious box, take your thirst for battle, and take your paranoia away from this forest.  Bring it back to Kumogakure and present your trophey to the monsters who control you.  Let them applaud you, and fill their ears with the vile things you think I have done.  I will allow you a head start, and shall return home on my own.  When I arrive, have guards or kage awaiting me, I care not.  I have done nothing worthy of shame, nor anything I should not have done.  I will face them without fear, and tell them exactly of what events transpired beneath these leaves.  Know this, however, and listen well.  I am not traveling back with you.  Your skin will only touch my blade, when blood is fast to follow.  I have no desire to fight you.. so simply leave me be.  Turn away and run home, so you can spread your tale, before I am able to spread my own."

The words fall silent there, another lengthy speech which does much to prove she is capable of speaking more than 10 words per hour.  Still, it does nothing to sooth her dark mood.  She shakes her head softly after speaking and begins to move.  "regardless of your choice, I will follow my own path from here." she notes much quieter as she begins to walk away.  Her pace is calm and measured, slow steps taken with care as her ears remain well alert to any sound of movement behind her.  She does not look back, nor does she look up.  She simply walks off as calmly as though she were moving through quiet midnight alleys closer to home.  While her ever passive demeanor has once more settled over her body, the emotion in her voice has bled out as quickly as a Konoha genin.  It's cold once more, cold and quiet, calculated in each word and neither happy, nor sad.  The expression on her face was one of utter blankness, the emptiness in her abyssal eyes more obvious than ever before.  For one calling another monster, she held the true exterior of such a beast with such practiced perfection, it might have been hard to wonder where such words ever sprang from in the first place.  Such thoughts didn't matter, however, as she was making her exit.  Without following she would soon be out of sight, and out of mind.