Deep within the Land of Waterfalls, nestled between rugged mountains, a dense forest, and a gently flowing river, lay a quiet and secluded village. The air was calm, and the distant sound of rushing water echoed like whispers of forgotten legends. Along the narrow dirt paths and wooden bridges of this hidden village, fifteen shinobi in standard Waterfall uniforms patrolled the streets with sharp eyes and steady steps. Peace seemed to reign, but peace is often the perfect disguise for something darker.
Suddenly, movement stirred in the treetops.
A second group of ninja—ten in number—moved swiftly through the forest canopy, leaping silently from branch to branch. They were fast, coordinated, and bore the same Waterfall insignia. Within moments, they landed at the edge of the village.
"You there," said the team's captain, his voice firm and direct as he addressed a patrol unit. "Where is your leader?"
One of the patrolling ninjas turned slowly, his face expressionless. In a quiet, eerie tone, he raised a hand and pointed toward a group of buildings near the central well.
"He's right there," he murmured.
The newly arrived team advanced cautiously in the direction he indicated. As they approached, a tall figure stepped forward from the shadows—a man with sharp features, calm demeanor, and a chilling presence.
"You," said the team captain. "Are you the leader of these men?"
"Yes," came the answer, his voice just as calm and empty. "I am."
"We received a distress message from your unit," the captain continued. "You claimed to have encountered enemy forces and required immediate assistance."
"Ah… yes," the man replied, his tone still devoid of any urgency or emotion. "That was true. But now… everything is fine."
The captain narrowed his eyes, suspicion rising like a storm cloud. Something was off. Too quiet. Too calm.
"We'll be searching the area," he said, his voice laced with mistrust. "I'm sure… you won't mind."
The so-called leader gave no reply.
At the captain's signal, the scouting team dispersed, fanning out to investigate the village. None of the patrol ninja objected. It was almost as if they didn't care—or weren't capable of caring.
One of the chunin scouts, clearly exhausted, stumbled toward a nearby well, hoping for a quick moment of rest. He leaned over it, placing his palm on the mossy stone rim, and exhaled.
But as he looked down into the depths, his eyes widened in horror.
There, piled at the bottom of the well, were the broken, lifeless bodies of the real villagers—men, women, children… all slaughtered.
"What the hell—"
He never finished his sentence. A silent figure appeared behind him and slashed his throat with a kunai, killing him instantly.
The ambush had begun.
Like shadows peeling off walls, the patrolling ninjas turned on the new arrivals with terrifying speed and precision. Blades flashed. Blood sprayed. The air, once peaceful, filled with screams and the clash of steel.
The Waterfall team had no time to react. Caught completely off-guard, they were cut down one by one.
The team captain fought furiously, eyes burning with fury, until he was finally cornered by the enemy leader.
"You… you betrayed the Land of Waterfalls," he spat. "You'll regret this treason."
But his words were cut short as a kunai pressed against his throat. The enemy leader gave a slow, humorless smile.
"I won't tell you anything," growled the Jonin. "So you'd better kill me now."
Just then, a new presence entered the scene.
A tall man in dark robes, his entire body covered by a long black cloak and hood, approached from the forest's edge. His mask concealed his face completely, giving no hint of emotion.
"Greetings, Jonin of the Hidden Waterfall," the stranger said softly. "I'm pleased to see you've survived. Someone of your strength will be… very useful to me."
"So you're the true leader," the Jonin said bitterly. "Don't be mistaken. I will never work for you."
"Ah yes, of course," the masked figure replied with a chilling laugh. "That's only natural. But don't worry… or rather, I have nothing to worry about."
The figure raised his hand.
"Sōmei no Jutsu… Life Control Technique."
Dark chakra threads emerged from his fingertips, writhing like serpents. They shot forward, piercing the Jonin's skull and burrowing into his mind.
The Jonin screamed—a raw, soul-ripping sound—as the jutsu took hold.
The stranger wasn't killing him. No, this was far worse.
He was erasing him.
Memories collapsed. Willpower shattered. Piece by piece, the Jonin's identity was consumed, until what remained was an empty husk—strong, skilled, and utterly loyal to his new master.
A puppet.
Just then, another masked figure landed beside the stranger.
"Leader," he said. "We must go. This place isn't safe. Reinforcements could arrive at any moment."
The leader nodded, his gaze never leaving the corpse-littered village.
"Yes. But capturing a Jonin… that was a risk well worth taking."
"Yes, Leader," said the masked man. "He will serve the Hand well."
The stranger turned away, walking calmly through the blood-stained village.
"Come, Hand Number Two. We've finished here. It's time to return to our base."
Point of View: Hand Leader
I, who was abandoned by fate… I, who had nothing… will take everything.
Through pain, I found power. Through forbidden jutsu—techniques hidden and feared by the Great Villages—I rose. They sealed these arts away out of cowardice, while I mastered them in the shadows.
Fight, Great Nations. Kill one another. Destroy yourselves in the name of peace, in the name of strength.
And when your false peace crumbles… when your blades grow dull and your hearts hollow…
I will rise.
There will be no more Hidden Villages. No more Kage. No more borders.
Only me.
My law. My rule.
But for now… I will wait. I will remain in the darkness.
And when the time is right… I will take it all.