[url=http://ninpocho.com/viewtopic.php?p=219931#p219931 said:
It wasn't supposed to end up like this. He specifically chose the most benign and harmless of missions, but chaos had pursued him. The warm blood trickling down the back of his hand as he clutched his face reminded him of his mortality. A red glow pierced the darkness between his fingers, emanating from his left eye. The iris was a bright scarlet, veins and optic fibers pulsing rapidly like water in the wake of a stampede. People he had traveled with for days suddenly no longer existed, their limbs torn and scattered about the desert like organic wreckage. Everyone that had joined the caravan had died, and Jin'ichi knew his mission had been a critical failure. The ambush he should have seen coming had brought him to his knees, knees literally buried in grains of sand.It all happened so fast, Jin'ichi found himself looking around to make sure what he saw was real. Often his imagination found itself in the most morbid and gruesome of places, but the present situation was very real. The strangely metallic scent of fresh blood swarmed his sense of smell. The foul smell of waste release from the corpse that had shut down bodily functions completely overpowered the scent of the gore. Even though fear would be the natural response, and had been the initial one, his breathing would slow while his heart calm. Each breath was slow, deep, and deliberate. He'd stagger to his feet while still clutching his face, using a ruined wall to support his back. Memories flashed with vivid pictures of the carnage and savagery that had taken place mere moments before. One moment he was drifting off in the back of the cart, the next steel clashing with iron woke him. Bandits, at least twenty five of them. The caravan was small, protected by a mere Genin and two mercenaries, the other handful of people would go down without a fight.
Along with the two mercenaries, Jin'ichi found himself cornered and trading blows while covering almost complete strangers. They weren't Shinobi, but they were skilled in their profession enough to be worth coin spent on them. Jin'ichi himself still hadn't been able to master the use of Ninjutsu even after his fluke with the lighter against the feral Bug-Freaks. Instead he had to rely on his speed and brutality to stay alive. In order to converse his energy, the flickering image signifying the use of high speed was seen sparsely. His Taijutsu seem primitive, adhering to the most fundamental concepts and little else. If he avoiding a blow, it was narrowly. If he made a strike, it was fatal. Eventually the numbers would overpower them until only Jin'ichi remained. The sound of women and children screeching in pain was still fresh in his ears.
It was hard to tell how many of the raiders were left, maybe two or three? By that time things had gotten a little hazy. His senses were on fire as his lungs incinerated from exhaustion,and muscles ached from nonstop motion. In his right hand was clutched a bloodied Ninjatō, the same one he'd arrived to the mainland with. What appeared to be the last remnants of the raiding party simultaneously yelled and charged down the small dune towards a stumbling Jin'ichi. Letting go of his face, he'd reveal the blazing red glare that was now his left eye. The sudden flash would force the opponents to raise their hand in an attempt to shield their eyes. Taking advantage of the moment, Jin'ichi scrambled forward while flipping the Ninjatō and holding it reverse-grip. Carrying the hand over and down towards his chest, he'd suddenly thrust upwards driving the blade beneath an exposed chin. What he thought was three now became one, the same blade hitting the same target that gave the same death cry. In the shadows of their ruined area and battered carriages, Jin'ichi would jerk the blade backwards while kicking the corpse ahead. The result was a face being split in two, raining down red as the Takahashi clansmen fell to his knees.
Not a single bandit had managed to escape, but neither did a single member of the caravan. Jin'ichi was a lone survivor, and the last man standing yet again. There was no pain on his face, no horror and disbelief. Instead he merely seemed tired, tired of the repetitive cycle and worthless goals he'd set for himself. Violence was the only constant in his life, and now it was becoming a constant nuisance. His heightened senses no longer wanted to smell blood, or be taunted by the palpitations of the heart. Everything failed to distract him from the bigger questions about life, destiny, and the future. He couldn't understand it, how so many he knew passed away and he remained without any reason to go on. One could claim he'd live for his family, but that wouldn't have been his reason, but one given to him by circumstance. As he wiped his face he'd inadvertently smear streaks of blood across it. With a sigh and a grunt he would prepare to head back to Sunagakure... To announce his failure, and be evaluated if not penalized. The scenery became dull around him, visuals fading and white noise taking over the sounds of nature as his mind grew louder than the all encompassing world.
[Topic Left]
WC: 0,894Mission: Failed.