The silence in the emptied prison block pressed in after the usual roar and screaming. Everyone had gone to the 'blood carnival'.
But it was easier to breathe. Like a boulder had slid off my chest. I sat in the dark corner of my cell, muttering plans under my breath, listening to the echo carry my voice through the stone coffins of the corridors.
Now was the perfect time.
'If you're going to run, you can't haul extra baggage,' the thought flashed as I looked at my forearms, where uneven shapes of iron showed under the skin.
Pain? Pain was an old acquaintance by now.
I drove my sharp, deliberately untrimmed nails into the skin of my left forearm. The familiar burn, then the dull tear of tissue. Warm, sticky blood spilled in a stream, staining the sleeve.
Tears welled, but I clenched my teeth, felt under the muscle for the cold, hated rod. A jerk, and a small cylindrical piece of iron, clotted with bloody scraps, was in my hand. With a heavy breath, I tossed it onto the stone floor. The sound was loud, ugly, rolling through the emptiness before dying somewhere far away.
Music of freedom.
Then the right arm. Left leg. Right leg. Stomach.
I worked fast, almost mechanically, ripping skin and muscle with sharp, precise motions. The pain was sharp, but… background. Like the hum of ventilation. From each fresh wound I pulled another piece of that hateful iron, the same bars that had once been part of the grate. They thudded onto the floor, building a bloody pile of junk.
'There it is, my bloody power of youth.'
I stood and waited for the wounds to close, staring at the heap of metal slick with my own blood. Something flickered in my head… a craving for pain? Madness?
'If you weren't so damn inconvenient to carry, I wouldn't leave you behind,' I muttered at the scraps of iron.
But dragging extra kilos on myself? Suicide. Speed was my shield and sword right now.
I waited a couple of seconds. The shallow cuts were already tightening, itching, leaving pink streaks and scabbed crust. I stood up. My muscles answered with an unfamiliar, almost frightening lightness. I bounced on my feet, light as a feather. I clenched my fists; the crack of joints sounded louder than usual. A wild grin spread across my face.
'Real strength. No shackles.'
I shoved off the ground hard enough that the stone under my bare feet seemed to crumble. I shot through a large hole in the side wall, masked with rags, the product of my 'boring' evenings.
I landed in the neighbouring empty cell softly, like a cat, kicking up a small cloud of dust. I bent my arm and felt the strength pulsing in my muscles, clean, no longer held back by metal. My smile widened. A wolf cub's snarl.
'Now I'd handle Yuto easily,' I thought with cold certainty.
I'd watched them for half a year. Learned their strengths and weaknesses. I knew how bones broke under a precise strike, how breath vanished after a hit to the solar plexus. I'd practised on the rare bastards who ended up in the neighbouring cells.
A surprise blow, and one genin is dead. Then the next. Chunin? In a fair fight, my odds are bad. But with my speed now, getting out of this place should be simple. The main thing is not to let them gather, and not to take a serious jutsu head-on.
Time. While they butcher people for their bloody idol.
I pulled the key from the pocket of my battered trousers. The one from Yuto's belt. The metal was warm, almost alive. I started trying it on the doors of the neighbouring cells. The third door, heavy, banded in iron, yielded. The lock gave with a satisfying click. Wild, triumphant joy flared inside me.
The path was open.
And then, from the depths of an unlit corridor, a calm, mocking voice drifted out.
"Planning to run, runt?"
Adrenaline slammed into my temples. I snapped my head up. A figure peeled away from the shadows.
Syuka. A sly bastard, the 'old man in the coat's' errand boy. Helped during the 'procedures'.
Now that scum looked at me with a cold, appraising stare. His eyes slid from the key in my hand to my face. He held out his palm with a smirk.
"Give me the key. Enough games. A lab rat belongs in a cage."
The ritual. He's here. So it's already started… or it's about to. This is my chance. And this idiot is ruining it.
My brain ran at full speed. Distance. Position. Exits. Tactics shifted instantly.
Pretend.
My face twisted into a frightened mask. My hand shook, perfect acting. I obediently held out the key and dropped it into his palm. Then I jerked my gaze past his shoulder, into the darkness behind him. My eyes widened in reverent terror.
"G-good evening, Divine Messenger, sir!" I blurted loudly, snapping straight and bowing so low my forehead nearly hit the floor.
And it worked.
Reflex. Sacred fear of Hayashi. Syuka twitched like a puppet. Panicked, he spun round to check if the boss was standing behind him.
His back. Open. Helpless.
Time slowed.
I wasn't a scared little boy any more. I was a compressed spring.
A lightning step forward. The edge of my hand, all my weight, all the rage I'd been stacking for six months, crashed down with a sick crack right between the vertebrae.
Syuka's body jerked and went limp. His eyes widened with pain and shock. He started to fall. And a mocking, almost cheerful chuckle burst from my chest.
"Didn't your teacher ever tell you not to turn your back on an enemy?"
He hit the floor face-down, helpless as a sack of shit. He managed only to turn his head, staring at me with hatred, pain, and disbelief.
"Wh… why?" he breathed, barely moving his lips. "Why run? Why be…tray us? How… dare you? We… gave you… immortality!"
"How dare you?"
I smirked down at the pathetic sight.
And something in me snapped.
Wild, hysterical laughter tore out of my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, but tears and snot poured anyway, mixing with grime. My whole body shook. I laughed at their stupidity, at my 'blessing', at this insane clown show they called a 'cult'.
Until it hurt to breathe.
I wiped my face with my sleeve. When my eyes fell on Syuka again, there was no laughter left. No pity. Only ice.
"Why?" I repeated softly, almost a whisper. "In six months you bastards stabbed me with knives, needles, scalpels 34,551 times. I counted. Burned me alive 13 times. To the bone. Hit me with lightning 5 times. And after every time I howled from hunger like an animal. Starved me for two months and four days, I chewed stone just to drown out the pain. Poured six bottles of poison down my throat, the kind that, as you laughed, kills on contact. And that's only what I remember. And yet," my voice broke into a venomous whisper, "I forgave you. In my 'divine' little heart. Because I'm your 'incarnation of mercy', right?"
I leaned closer to his face, breathing in blood and fear.
"Jashin? Heh…" I spat beside his ear. "Let your god come save you now, bastard."
Contempt. Pure and icy, for their faith, for the whole hellish circus.
Syuka's face went purple. Veins bulged in his neck, and his eyes flooded red.
"SHUT UP!" he rasped, spraying spit. "Cursed freak! How dare you… blaspheme?! You… you're a mistake of nature!"
Like a cornered animal, he jerked violently, trying to clamp his teeth into my leg. Like a wolf in a trap that doesn't hope to live, but still wants to take a chunk of flesh with it.
"Monster! Wait! I… myself! With my teeth! I'll tear you apart! Jashin-sama… will see my devotion!"
I stepped back, staying out of reach. Not a flicker of emotion.
"I'll wait. Just not here." With a sharp motion I tore the shinobi pouch off his belt. I weighed it in my hand. Light… but it could hold anything: food, water, weapons, seals… "I've got more important things to do."
I slung the loot over my shoulder and straightened. My gaze fixed into the dark corridor, towards the exit.
"Sorry, Syuka-san. I've got an important meeting…" My voice trembled. Then something flared in my chest that I hadn't known in six months. Real. Clean. Joy. Hope. "With my beloved… Freedom."
His screams, curses, prayers to Jashin, all of it faded into background noise. I turned and stepped into the thick darkness of the corridors.