Wouldn't Happen to Me

Main Story:Of the Bloodline: Way of the Shinobi

Misted Over
It was getting well past sundown, and this was getting oddly suspicious.

He had not counted on the environment to make this seem like a bad special effect used in a theater set in the redlight district, but apparently as the sun lowered its head in the sky and eventually sunk behind the sudden line of th horizon, the veil of mist now clouding his eyes fell in its place.

It was thin and spidery, floating as if waiting for something to blow it away, or like it was anxious to get off shift so the sun could take over again. There was no moon, and the street lamps placed at monotonous intervals along the street were the absolutely only source of light in the town at the time. They glowed orange, setting the mist on fire, and leaving the darkened shadows to do their work on the rest of the world. For any other target, this would've been the perfect place to kill someone. Quick and silent, not even letting them scream, only watching from the shadows he had sprung from as their body sunk beneath the mist like a downed vessel at sea.

But, this was not the case.

She was no mere stranger or politician, but a strong one. She was his kin, but that did not effect his opinion. Ninja were more difficult to dispatch than others, especially when their guard was down.

And that never happened.

The crook blades were already on his arms, the metal itself screaming for use and his fingers twitching like the ears of an animal in danger, crawling on the side of a building like some strange, black, gnarled insect that was large enough to kill with the flick of a wrist. The alley he had chosen was perfect too, placed so the pattern of lamps intersected with the alley's location, allowing absolutely no light to shine on what might have been inside. He could see everything outside of his black world, but no one could see him. He heard footsteps, female, sandals, possibly hands free.

The last part worried him.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Was that his heart beat? Or the footsteps? It was difficult to tell now. Either way, the sound that echoed so loudly in his ears was increasing its power, becoming louder, and louder, until it almost seemed deafening.

She was near.

His blood felt like it had been turned to gasoline and lit on fire, his mind flashing in every direction at once just for this one kill.

Two feet until elimination.

His hands were like stone now, tensing to the point of feeling his bones begin to hurt, and no matter what he did he couldn't relax, couldn't let this one slip. He hadn't missed the last one, or the one before that. He wasn't in a slump, nor was he nervous. But he couldn't calm down for some damn reason.

One foot until elimination.

The mist was flowing now, it was pardoning itself for being in the way of this individual.

Wait...

It was the mist. Those damn excuses for clouds were driving him nuts. He couldn't see clearly because of that water vapor, that hell's air that forced demons on his mind. His vision went with his sanity, he was probably just anxious because of the environment's accomodations.

Six inches to elimination.

It was unbearable now. Pressure was building in his ears, blood rushing through his hearing so fast it was like a monster was howling barely a centimeter away from him, blocking out all other sounds and senses. He could feel his legs tighten and his arms poise for that one millisecond of pure bloodlust he had come for, that one single occurance in the world where the population dropped by an infinitely insignificant number, and he didn't question why he was doing this. But this time, that number seemed oh so much bigger to him, far larger a price to pay on a head than the gold he was promised upon his success, which came every time to him without hesitation.

And he was blaming it on the mist.

But the mist didn't stop him from reacting when he saw the tip of her shoe cross his line of sight.

He leaped with such silence and swiftness he could have been mistaken for a ghost or some other spirit, the same ones he had blamed for this lack of confidence. He moved his wrists towards her neck, aiming for the same soft flesh he hit on every other human being he ever had brought death early to, the light gleaning towards pureness on her part, yet the mist did not stop him even then.

It happened in a flash....

His eyes met crystal blue.....

Her body met his.....

Her knee met his gut.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs violently, like a deflated airbag. But, as seemingly incredible as the initial pain was, it didn't help the sensation that haunted his skin when she spoke into his ear, in an amused and almost seductive tone.

"You're out late.... where are your parents?"

The force of her knee's trajectory was enough to send him off in a totally different direction quite a distance.

He had to admit it now, that he had underestimated this female target. And those few words she said had every effect on him he thought they shouldn't. The intrigued him with their slyness and playfulness, althoguh they scared him at the same time. They showed him that this was no schoolgirl. This was a shinobi.

After laying as still as if he was dead for about a minute, silent as his normal self, he felt his chest feel like it hadn't just been stabbed by a mountain. He staggered back onto his feet, the mask hiding the frown on his face and the clay echoing his breathing against his own ears. He took a moment to look her over.

She was standing in an idle position, one hand on her hip, and her other arm hung at her side. What parts of her skin that was showing were a very light brown. Her outfit, composed of a simple and black attire of a T-shirt and slightly-above-the-knee shorts, seemed to compliment and acknowledge her curves, an obvious sign that she was a young woman. Blonde hair hung neatly behind her back, tied in a loose, top-head ponytail. The same green eyes continued to bore into his own, and yet seemed to hold a hidden intention. The smirk was as clear as day, even in the mist.

As he had thought.

Dangerous woman.

He drew up his arms, spreading his feet while keeping his shoulders high, bending his back and not taking his eyes off of her. He liked to use this to imply the person standing in front of him had two seconds to live, but i this case it was to see what she reacted like. It would be interesting to mess with her if he could, these types were often insecure when it came to something.

The smirk didn't fade, and her eyes seemed to relax a bit. "So that's why you attacked me." She muttered, looking over the skeleton-like mask that seemed to meld into his face. "I missed the Day of the Dead."

Her voice held no fear, no surprise, and no hesitance. Despite the apparent danger that she could be in, it still held that same amusement. She wasn't afraid, for she knew that this man was one of her own kind. She had no right to feel weak, for they were equal.

She mocked him, because she herself was excited.

The man in the mask made no signs of retreating either. instead, he turned his head, as if it was on a swivel, and gave an intense glare that had a chance at at least pricking at this girl's confidence. Or at least he thought it might.

He was gone in what could be described as less than a split second, his movement not even disturbing the mist he was cursing even now for driving him mad. There was silence for the same amount of time it took him to fade out of existence, and the action was negated twice as quickly, as he spun around behind the girl, aiming again for the same target he had from the beginning, his blood rushing again and his ears howling in the warm, misty summer air as he attempted to get his job done.

Only for a moment she had lost track of him. But that simple feeling behind her, her drive of animalistic instinct that sensed her attacker approaching was all that was needed to simply turn her head, raise her right hand, and catch his hand, stopping it in its tracks.

Then, as quick as his own movements were, she pulled him in, having turned around completely. Raising her left hand into a fist, she let it fly straight into the bone-like material of the cold hard mask.

But her eyes were not the only ones who could see speedily.

The eyes she had stared into themselves calculated the swiftness of the movement, watching as the shape of her hand glided towards their body's face, and forcing him to move to dodge the attack though he knew that wasn't all he could've done. Instead, he twisted his head on his neck, changing the line of trajectory of her fist to whiz right past his ear, his skull and neck and spine contorting to inhuman levels of irregularity, his body even more like a ragdoll now than it appeared when he first attacked. He saw his chance as she overextended, and swung his right arm up to cut the bottom of her wrist. If he couldn't bleed her dry one way, then he could certanly try another.

It was a fact now that she wouldn't pull back in time before her wrist was cut. So, instead, she pulled her attacking hand upwards, while at the same time releasing the firm grip she had on his wrist. Then, she bent to the ground, twisting to sweep kick the man off of his feet.

The blade cut something, but it wasn't his objective, to his slight disappointment.

As he felt her leg connect with the back of his ankle, he over compensated for the change of balance, and backflipped over her leg in escape of the attack, hoping to land on his feet again and continue the surprisingly fun exchange of counters they were having.

But he had been immersed in the battle so much that he had forgotten he would be back flipping into a wall. A brick wall.

He had no time to stop this, and as he saw the red rock flying towards him at insane speeds, he just regretted choosing a place like this to fight, let alone do a backflip.

His head came in contact with the hard surface, and it kept going, not stopping at the wall but going through it. His head was now stuck up to his chin in hard, heavy material, and he had no immediate way to get out, but the most important thing right now was his vulnerability. He had little time to react if she attacked right now, and he was sure she would.

"Tch..."

The woman let out a sigh of disappointment, flipping through a set of hand seals. Just a simple exchange of blows and her opponent was already defenseless. What was even more embarrassing was that he had trapped himself, his body now hanging in what seemed to be a painful position on the brick wall.

"For an assassin, you sure are clumsy."

After those words were said, she reared back, placed the Tiger-sealed hand to her lips, and blew. A stream of fireballs erupted from her mouth, hitting him and the area around him dead-on. The fire swept down the alleyway quickly, having burst at such a fast rate.

He was right, as always.

But he did not expect her to use the fire technique in such close vicinity to a building, and he was thinking as fast as he possibly could to find a way to avoid the blazes that surely could end him if he wasn't careful. Time seemed to slow down as he heard the flowing of the conflagrations from her mouth, the heat rising to meet his body and the pain of the fire licking at his chest and arms.

But the mask did its magic again.

The bricks began to turn to dust, blackening like they were being burned with the fire that was about to torch him, and floated in midair for a small amount of time, flowing inward to his open jaw as if he was breathing in inhuman amounts of air, his throat an insurmountable black hole. The same fate befell of the flames that roiled around him, flowing inward and disappearing in the same amount of time it took for them to be conjured.

So that mask wasn't just for show, after all...

The woman folded her arms across her chest, staring at her newly-freed opponent. It didn't appear as though she was surprised. She had a suspicion the mask itself was for something, as if a weapon of its own kind. She had made the right choice in staying afar from him to attack. If she had went up close, she would've easily met the fate as her flames.

Still, she couldn't help but think. What kind of shinobi is he?

The man didn't stop there.

He bent his arms back, contorting them far enough to rest his hands on the bricks his neck was resting on that hadn't been obliterated, and pushed off hard enough to lift his feet from the ground, flying at the girl with his feet in front, aiming for a screw kick to the head.

How many hits would she need before she was taken down?

This time, she dodged, sidestepping as to let him whiz by. But her eyes were on him the entire time, in case of a sudden counterattack. She turned her body to face his own, hands once again at the ready.

And obviously he missed the attack.

Soaring right past his opponent, he landed on his feet again, crouching down on all fours and lowering his head to meet the surface of the thick layer of mist blanketing the world as of now, their scuffle disturbing the clouds slightly, causing them to swirl hypnotically.

The scraped the crook blades along the ground, creating a loud and eerie, screeching noise that echoed through the darkness that was the summer night they were fighting in, and they disappeared behind his back. They came back to rest on the ground with brass knuckles curled around his fingers, glinting in the dimmed lights.

He whispered something barely audible, the mist hiding the words even more, but it carried far despite its softness:

"What are you called?"

The woman's expression turned to one of surprise, at the sudden choice to speak. But, she wasn't past respect of her opponent. If he was willing to ask her name, he might not be focused on the sole purpose of killing her. Maybe he wanted a challenge to his own skills.

"You can call me whatever you want." She replied simply. "But my birthname is Hari Dokuyaku." She relaxed a bit. "What are you called?"

A moment passed in the silence thickened by the humidity suddenly drought on, most likely caused from the heat of Hari's attack. But it seemed like the man was making up a name, as if he didn't know how to respond to the question.

"Masque..."

Hari narrowed her eyes, pulling out a kunai and holding it out, the tip pointing off towards the side. "All right, then... Masque." She replied calmly, the smile gone from her face. "Care to explain why you chose me, of all people?"

Masque did not speak, but instead pulled a small black leather book, which was well worn, out of his back weapons puch, opening it to a certain page and holding it open to the light, showing the blond the pictures and words on the pages.

On one page, a man who was wearing many types of armor and weaponry was glaring out of the page, a frown on his face. Next to the mug shot a large number was printed in bold black font, a red marker exing out the number, obviously showing disapproval of the amount of money.

On the opposite page was the picure of the blond a similar face burning out of the page, her eyes cold and not nearly as arrogant or playful as they were now. Next to the picture was another number, with at least one more digit added, and a large red circle marked around it.

A thoughtful "hm" came from Hari, as she calmly nodded in understanding. "You're here to collect my head?" She muttered, frowning. "Who would want it?"

Masque closed the book shortly after her question, and leaped back to the edge of the street that was adjacent to a large pond, a very marshy area adorning the landscape and the dying plants looking like bones in the dim light. Masque himself was partially concealed, his mask and torso in the dark while his legts and feet were in full view. But his eyes were not dark, they were like small flames, bright as the moon if there had been any on this night, glaring wildly like a beast hungry for it's next meal and willing to do anything for it.

Creaking of clay against clay could be heard, signaling the hunter had opened his wide maw again, small lights inside his mouth showing three tongue piercings. A small wind could be felt, and then it turned to a breeze, and then a gust, and eventually a gale, trees being blown violently in the direction of the man in the shadows, lights flickering and lines of objects blurring, all moving in the direction of his mouth. He maneuvered his hands in front, read to grab and attack at any given moment.

Her eyes widened, and her chakra was focused to her feet, sticking her to the ground like a stubborn tree root. Since the fierce wind was blowing against her back, her sight wasn't completely impaired. Still, it was quite a struggle to stay in her spot. Her hair violently whipped in front of her, as she could only stare.

This was no time to be playing around anymore. It was very clear what his intentions had been from the start. He was the hunter, and she was his prey.

Only she wasn't as defenseless.

Feeling another flying object about to zip past her, she swung her kunai arm out. It only took a second before the tip of the sharp weapon sliced straight through a thick and dismembered tree branch. It continued on towards its flight path, undisturbed, however.

The metal glinted in the street's light, and Masque could catch the sight of the cold attack out of the darkness of the night. He closed his mouth, stopping the chaos around him and her, and jumped backwards, onto the shining surface of the pond behind him, a small 'splish' echoing across the calm from where he landed.

Whirr...

Another sound was heard immediately after. It was the sound of a kunai, a bullet against a tiger, zipping towards Masque at a horrifying speed.

He had only moments to react.

He watched the knife fly towards him, threateningly deadly, and realized something important.

He removed all chakra from the bottom of his feet, causing the water under them to become weak and allow him to fall through the surface, the coolness chilling him as he saw the weapon pass just over him as he sank below the blackness of the inky water, hoping his breath would support him for a long enough time to move this fight somewhere else.

Hari slowly walked over towards the pond that her opponent had just sank into. Narrowed eyes and a slight scowl expressed frustration now, her eyes gleaming as bright as the street lights above her head. Raising her tense hands, she prepared the same set of hand signs as before, stopping at the water's edge. She took in a deep breath and exhaled, a more accurate stream of fireballs coming from her mouth.

Debri floating in the pool, created by Masque's earlier attack, was set ablaze. But the flames did not stay in one spot. Once sensing each other's presences, they began to link and spread, dancing across the lake in a spiraling swirl. Soon, they enveloped nearly the whole lake surface with a crimson-red.

Lake of Fire
He was stuck, and there seemed to be no easy way out of it this time around.

At first he saw holes in the attack, and swam to just above the surface, but his hope was crushed at that point, as the flames came together to form a single layer of flame across the surface, not quite touching the water but nonetheless close enough to it to cause damage if he rose to the air.

So, he dove farther to the deepest part of the body of water, and concentrated heavily on his remaining air.

the mask had saved him before, why not now? What did he have to do in order to self preserve?