Merc With A Scythe

If my encounter with that Genin team taught me anything, it’s that I rely too much on surprising people with my immortality. If that Jounin had known I was immortal he very well might have cut me to pieces rather than just stab me; I may not be able to die but that doesn’t mean I can’t be incapacitate or captured. I’ve been lucky so far that no one is aware I can’t just be killed, but relying on luck is how you wind up burned to ashes and shot into space.

However, right now gathering supplies took priority over actively training. First things first; a change of wardrobe is in order! It was surprisingly easy to find a store tailored to ninjas considering this isn’t a ninja village; though I suppose some enterprising asshole saw the constant influx of bounty hunters and decided to take advantage. I’m more surprised said bounty hunters didn’t kill him for potentially revealing one of their bases of operation to the world; most bounty hunters are missing-nin and they tend not to be so open about their movements.

Even more surprising than their being a ninja supply store was their being several; each catering to different needs ninjas (and more specifically: bounty hunters) have. Finding one that sold clothing was fairly easy, and it was conveniently located right next to one that sold weapons! Now all I need is a place that sells storage and explosive seals (much as I would like to just make them myself, I have no Jashin damned idea how).

My customary smirk afixed to my face, I pushed open the door to the clothing store, grimacing slightly at the small bell that chimed as I did. The storekeeper was an elderly man, dull brown eyes under gray hair on a wrinkled face. Even as worn down by time as he was he bore himself with an air of good humour, a small smile beneath glittering eyes. I hated him immediately.

I returned his smile with one of my own, “Do you, perchance, have combat boots?” Always pays to be polite (unless it’s time to drop facades and false faces). Besides, I’m more likely to get out of here (and away from that monstrous display of faux-happiness) quickly if I’m (relatively) polite rather than combative. Even though my pocketed hands are twitching to pull a kunai and slit him up; make him show how he really feels.

That disgusting twinkle hiding a wellspring of misery seemed to grow brighter at my words, “Combat boots you say? Why, I haven’t had someone ask for those in…” He trailed off, staring at a spot to the left of me with dimmed eyes; that damnable twinkle momentarily faded, loss and sorrow shining through.

He shook his head, smiling to cover his slip, “Sorry, son; sometimes this old brain o’ mine slips into old memories.” He shook his head ruefully, “Combat boots, was it? Bit of an odd choice there, boyo. Most ninjas don’t like ‘em, say they get in the way of channeling chakra or some such.”

I could feel my polite smile twitching minutely as the man rambled; my desire to shove his severed cock down his throat had lessened with that brief glimpse of the despair behind his smile but if he starts fucking lecturing me I’mma strangle him with his own fucking guts. “I’m aware,” I really wasn’t, but I can’t say I particularly care. “Even so, I know what I want.” One smart remark and I’m burning this place down.

He simply gave a shrug and a genial smile, “To each their own, I suppose.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing vaguely towards a section of what appeared to be footwear. “There’s a few in the corner back there; some civilians like to wear ‘em to look hard…” Something in his expression changed, a hardness that hadn’t been there before. “No, you’re the real deal ain’t cha?” His eyes were evaluating and cold, looking me over and seeing a threat rather than a customer. “Not like those flashy morons who tromp around and spout jutsu like they’re goin’ outta style; you know what it’s like to feel a man’s life bleed out all over your hands, to watch the light leave a little girl’s eyes because she thought she had what it takes to be a ninja.” With a start I realized this man may well have been a retired ninja, possibly even from the Warring Clans Era considering his age (and my lack of knowledge of where I am in the timeline; knowing Kakuzu is active tells me little more than the fact that ninja villages exist, he was ninety Jashin damned years olds in Shippuden).

His suddenly dim eyes looked me over for a moment, seeing something I can’t. “Why exactly, do you want combat boots?” He finally questioned after a long moment of silence.

I pointedly didn’t smirk, “They’re better for kicking with and protect you from the elements more than sandals.” Simple and true. Somehow I felt honesty was warranted here.

He smirked darkly, eyes flickering to the dark stains on my shoes and pant legs (I’m just glad Hidan doesn’t wear a shirt or I’d have to replace it after that asshole stabbed me). “And because they’re better for crushing skulls, hm?”

I shrug, “Isn’t that implied? I did say they were better for kicking.” A smirk to match the man I was coming to realize I rather liked spread across my face; it seems more than misery hid behind that vapid smile.

He laughed, “Aye, boyo; I suppose so.” He reached beneath the counter and tossed something at me.

Catching it on instinct I saw it was a key, “The good stuff is in the way back; pick out whatever you want and we’ll negotiate a price.”

I smiled, giving him a nod as I subtly checked the key for poisons and explosive seals (not that either would really matter, though getting blown up would be annoying). Based on the approving look on the shopkeeper’s face I wasn’t as subtle as I could have hoped.

Finding nothing, I made my way to the back of the store, glancing at the wares on display as I passed; they all look pretty decent to me. While he hadn’t exactly indicated where this “back” he spoke of was located, I figured a door partially concealed behind a rack of cloaks was a safe bet.

Fitting the key into the lock I found my guess to have been correct. The door opened soundlessly into a pitch black room that had my danger senses blaring like crazy. Even with the GTFO sirens screaming I decided to step into the room, groping the side wall for a light switch. Eventually my questing hand found what I was seeking and the room lit up.

...For about two seconds before a burlap sack was pulled over my head and a syringe stabbed into my neck. Those two seconds were long enough for me to catch a glimpse of bloodstained cages and a pristine operating table.

I laughed, my left arm thrusting up to grasp my assailants elbow; continuing on to snap it in two. I roughly twisted the broken appendage, forcing the idiot to the ground with one hand while the other reached up to pull the sack from my face.

With the obstruction removed I could see who had been fool enough to try to drug me; a child, maybe seven or eight years old stared up at me from the ground with terrified pink eyes framed by a messy mop of blue hair. I shifted my grasp to close my hand around the boy’s throat; silencing the scream I could see building on his lips. He struggled and choked; unable to draw breath past my powerful grip.

Idly pulling the (mostly) empty syringe from my throat I picked the boy-child up, closing the door behind me (and wondering why the old man hadn’t come running when the kid screamed). A dark smile spread across my face as I approached the surgical table. I slammed the kid onto the table and calmly set about strangling him; loosening my grasp just long enough to let him catch a breath in increasingly long intervals. I watched his expression with interest as he desperately clawed at my arm and hand; trying futilely to pry open my grasp with steadily weakening fingers. I watched and felt as the tears flowing from his eyes poured over my hand; honestly, what kind of idiot attacks someone without being prepared to be attacked in return? Never start a fight you’re not prepared to finish.

Before he could pass out I placed the syringe he stabbed me with over his left eye, allowing him to breath for a moment so he can properly process what’s about to happen. I wait until I see his eyes widen before plunging the syringe into his orbital, pushing down until the needle was fully immersed in his eye.

My face remained oddly blank as I depressed the plunger, blowing air and the remains of whatever drug the kid had intended to sedate me with into his eyeball before pulling it back and sucking out blood and the internals of his eye into the tube. I drove the needle in further and twisted it from side to side; insuring the eye was thoroughly ruined (and increasing the pain inflicted). The boy's single functioning eye was spinning rapidly in its socket; blood pouring from the mutilated one as I pulled the syringe out.

I smirk faintly as I push the needle into his right lung, injecting the contents straight into the empty organ. I chuckle quietly as he begins spasming harder at the liquid intrusion where only air should go. I repeat the process six times before growing bored and jamming the needle all the way into his chest; shattering it (and some bones) with a single sharp punch to the chest.

Even with my tight grasp around his throat, blood was burrbling out between his lips; joining his tears in dirtying my hand. I glanced away from the kid, looking over the array of surgical tools available to me, smiling when I spotted my prize; a gleaming, serrated bone saw. My long fingers wrapped around the handle, holding the blade upside down.

Grinning, I held the blade before the futility gasping boy’s single eye; once more waiting for him to see it and comprehend before acting. I slowly slid the blade between his legs, making sure he could feel it crawling towards him by dragging it along his legs. Eventually the serrated edge met his crotch, pressing into his tiny testicals through the (noticeably filthy and ragged) blue shorts he wore. I looked him straight in his single eye and gave him the gentlest smile I could fake… before slowly sawing upwards.

He writhed and spasmed, the jerking movements only making the saw bite all the deeper as his body desperately tried to move away from it. Blood poured like a river from the open wound and I knew I didn’t have much time before he bled out. I sped up my sawing when I hit the base of his spine; while the destruction of such an important part of him meant that he lost feeling below each destroyed segment, it also caused unbelievable pain throughout his entire body. If only I knew how to form lightning chakra, then I could really fuck with his system.

I was about halfway up his torso when the door behind me opened, though by that point the boy was long dead (weather from blood loss or shock I don’t know or particularly care). I turned my neck in a deliberately awkward manner to see the same old man who sent me back here watching me with the same cold eyes he had when he sent me back here. His gaze flickers to what little of the boy is visible past me (mostly just blood, but I suppose that says enough) before returning back to my face. “Hmph, good help is so hard to find. Better you kill the brat than make me waste my time doing it myself.”

I raised an eyebrow, “I kinda expected you to be more angry.”

He laughed, a cold, dark, and dusty sound like wind blowing through a tomb. “Angry? Why should I cry over such a useless subordinate like him?”

I turned to fully face him, leaving the bone saw in the boy's guts. Crossing my arms and leaning against the surgical table I look the man over more closely. I have no idea what he had planned for me but I could only presume it was nothing good; the fact he didn’t seem bothered by his plan being interrupted only unsettled me more.

I kept the scowl from my face with some effort as he looked me up and down. “Have you ever considered mercenary work, boyo?”

I blinked at the non-sequitur, before letting a grin spread across my face. “I have. Why do you ask?” I have a pretty good guess where this is going, but I want to hear it from his own mouth.

He smirked, “Well, I suddenly find myself in need of someone to procure… goods for me.” He waved extravagantly towards the foul smelling cages lining the walls, “You see, I am no mere slaver; I sell… specialized goods; slaves that have been modified to suit the buyer’s tastes. I use a variety of seals and medical procedures to take your average schlock and turn them into something wonderful.” There was a less than sane gleam in his eyes as he discussed his work but I didn’t mind; man has pride in what he does, who am I to say he shouldn’t? It honestly sounds rather impressive and the thought of modifying people to suit preferences set some ideas rolling around my head.

I wave my right arm to forestall the rant I could see coming, “Alright, I’m guessing you want me to nabb some plebs of the streets so you can work your magic on ‘em, eh?” I raise my hand, three fingers extended, “Three conditions. Number one: If who ever I snatch has a bounty, you need to offer a higher price than their bounty or I’ll just turn them in.”

He flicked his wrist, as if brushing aside the idea, “If I require someone who has a bounty on their head you will be compensated appropriately of course; though I doubt I ever will require such specific materials.”

I nodded, lowering one finger. “Number two: How much am I being paid?”

He smirked, “Fifteen thousand for men, twenty for women, twenty five for male children, thirty for female children, and fifty for people with bloodlines or rare traits.”

“Number three: you said you use seals and medical procedures, right? Teach me what you know and I’ll let you take the cost of the lessons out of my bill. If you’re concerned that I may go into business in competition with you; you needn’t worry, I want the knowledge for personal reasons.” Honestly, I don’t much need the money but knowledge has a power all on its own.

Had I been a lesser (better) man, the look he gave me would have filled me with disgust, “Oh, looking to get yourself some custom lovers, eh?” Suddenly the perverted gleam left his eyes, “I’m no true expert with seals; I barely count as a journeyman and I’ve been studying for forty years.” He broke off in muttered expletives apparently aimed towards “that damn lucky brat Jiraiya”.

I raised an eyebrow, he may not know it (in fact, I highly doubt he does) but that bit of cursing out Jiraiya told me more about the setting than anything else (Minato and Itachi’s absence from the Bingo Book only told me they hadn’t committed their respective massacres yet; which only tells me where I’m not, not where I am); I now know that Jiraiya is a well known name and currently a seal master of some renown. Knowing that Jiraiya is famous, Itachi hasn’t massacred his clan, and Minato hasn’t earned his moniker gives me a rough estimate of where I am in the timeline; somewhere between the end of the Second Shinobi World War and the Third. Of course, there’s always the possibility that my Bingo Book is simply out of date; but I doubt it considering how much its original owner cared about his bounty.

“Journeyman is still more than I know. Besides, you know some seals someone like Jiraiya most certainly knows nothing about.” Might as well inflate his ego, he'll be more likely to agree with his head in the clouds.

Judging by the massive smirk on his face, comparing him positively to Jiraiya worked like a charm. “You’re right! I’m better than that brat, and that whore Tsunade would never even think of using some of the medical jutsu I’ve invented!” I decided not to mention that she likely could, but simply wouldn’t because she has one of those pesky moral codes.

I nod agreeable, “And every master needs an apprentice to carry on their works, their legacy. If no one knows of your techniques, no one will ever be able to appreciate your genius.” I may be laying it on a bit thick, but I really do want to learn what he knows; not just for the sexual avenues they open up. The techniques used by a slaver like him could (probably) easily be modified for combat and subterfuge… and I could use them to get a bitchin’ harem.

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No way am I gonna be one o’ them misery guts immortals who spend their time whining about how awful it is to live forever! Seriously, if you can't see the positives of eternal life you are one boring motherfucker.

The “doctor” laughed, “Haha… you think I don’t see what you’re doing?” He glared at me, a maniacal gleam in his dark eyes visible behind the cold edge as his face went blank… before an even bigger grin spread across it. “Doesn’t make you wrong though. Yes, yes, I think I will teach you what I know…” He trailed off, “I am getting on in years.” I don’t think I was meant to hear that last part. His drifting gaze locks back on my amused eyes, “Alright, bring me three subjects and we’ll start your first lesson.”

I smirk, pushing off the table and walking towards the door. “Alright then; any preferences on who I snatch?”

He shakes his head, making sure to stay outside the perceived range of my scythe as I pass. “I don’t particularly care. Though I do have one caveat; do not take anyone from this village.” I Turn to look at him from the door, raising an eyebrow to emphasise the unasked question. “He chuckles quietly, “Whilst I have no particular care for them, plebeian fools that they are; it wouldn’t be good to attract attention to our business. Even some so called ninja seem to get hung up over petty things like “basic human dignity” and “rights”; utter nonsense, of course. As if the very villages they serve haven’t violated those imagined rules daily since their inception.” He shakes his head in disgust, pulling a scroll from the inside pocket of his brown cardigan and tossing it to me. I didn’t bother telling him that it was actually more suspicious for no one to be taken from an area than for it to be just as preyed upon; why should I care if his poor planning ends up killing him? So long as I get what I want before he bites it I’m fine. “On that note; that is a transport scroll of my own design. They’re not exactly good for the mental health of the transported; but that’s not really a concern, now is it?”

I catch the scroll easily, examining it for a moment before slipping it into my pocket with a nod. I opened the door (which I now saw was actually metal painted to look like wood on the outside). I paused at the door, leaning back in to see the doctor setting about cleaning up the surgical table I so rudely made a mess of, “Hey can I still grab some clothes, or…”

He sighed, waving a hand vaguely in my direction as he sprayed a suspicious liquid over the table (having already thrown the body into one of the cages), “Yes yes, take whatever you want. As your employer and sensei I can't have you tromping about in rags; it would ruin my image if you were to represent me looking like some common street rat.” I smirked and quietly closed the door behind me, grinning at the racks of clothing before me; time to get some better gear.

I left the shop decked out in brand spanking new clothes; dark (almost black) purple pants, an equally dark red hoodie with a shitload of pockets worn unzipped to reveal a black t-shirt (that I drew a symbol of Jashin on with blood (given that literally no one knew about Jashinism to the point that Konoha thought Hidan may have entirely fabricated the religion, I figured it was safe enough to have a symbol of my allegiance on display (Jashin seemed very pleased with my display of loyalty, purring discordantly in my head)), and, perhaps most importantly, a pair of sturdy black combat boots.

Smirking, I wandered out of the front for organized slavery; twirling my scythe and placing it on my back as I headed out in search of unfortunates to sell into a life of unending misery and despair (taking a quick and uneventful stop at the store next door to buy some weapons and storage seals). I shadowed my eyes with a hand as I looked in random directions; trying to decide which way to go. I have absolutely no idea where I am (even if I did know the village’s name, I don’t exactly have a map to make use of the reference) and thusly couldn’t figure out what was nearby.

Shrugging my shoulders I decided to just follow the path outside the main entrance to the village; with any luck it would lead me to another village. I have no idea what the maximum occupancy of the scroll the doctor (who’s name I really should have asked for) gave me, but I intend to fill the fucker up; always better to overperform than underperform, after all… well usually anyway.

Luckily for me the village was only a three day walk (without breaks) from another little hamlet in the middle of fucking nowhere. Now, considering my express purpose in coming here was to enslave the populous, I decided it would be best to scope the place out before rushing in. A few days hiding in a tree told me that this wasn’t a ninja village (though Jashin already told me that before I even arrived; interestingly, the town did contain a serial killer, but no true ninjas) and more importantly, where people went at different times. By figuring out people’s general schedule I could find the best time to strike to maximize captures while minimising risk and casualties (dead bodies are of little use to a slaver).

One week after my arrival I attacked at three in the morning; using the cover of night to veil my approach and trusting in my observations that most would be asleep. The first building I approached was a little home on the edge of town just big enough for a family of three (perhaps four if you stretch it) to live comfortably. A quick check told me the door was locked but fortunately (for me, not so much for them) they didn’t lock their windows.

Crawling through a window I found myself in what was clearly a child’s bedroom; this fact was exemplified by the sleeping child. I smirked, pulling the human transport scroll out of one of the numerous pockets in my hoodie and silently moving to stand over the peacefully sleeping little girl. While I could have some fun with her and her mother, logic tells me she’ll be worth more unspoiled so I simply place the scroll seal first on her chest and pulse my chakra into it; smirking as the child vanishes in a poof of smoke.

I slipped from her room as quiet as my muscle memory would allow (surprisingly decent, really; though relying on skills I really don’t have is still annoying) and searched the place; making sure to swipe any valuables I could find (thank Jashin for storage seals!) on my way to the parents room. Unfortunately my instinctive stealth wasn’t as good as one could hope and the father, a grizzled looking man with an eyepatch over his left eye, confronted me as I left the kitchen (not much to steal considering my lack of nutritional needs, but fine cookware could go for something and if worst comes to worse I can always use a kitchen knife as a weapon). By “confronted” I mean “attempted to stab me in the throat from behind with a tanto”. Of course, with Jashin’s warning his attempt failed miserably.

I whirled as soon as the man attacked, grabbing his wrist with one hand and his throat with the other (having placed my scrolls in my pockets upon hearing Jashin’s warning that someone was approaching with intent to harm). He stared at me with hatred in his gaze, his dark eyes flicking to the symbol emblazoned proudly on my shirt before returning to my own amused eyes. Oddly, it seemed the man recognised the symbol if the way his hatred doubled upon spotting it was anything to go by.

I smirked at him, squeezing his wrist until he dropped the blade, “Oh, recognise that symbol do ya? What, cha have a run in with a Jashinist in the past?” While I directed my mocking words to him I sent a question to Jashin herself, “He’s not a Jashinist is he? I wouldn’t want to sell one of your cultists into slavery; not very champion like of me.”

“He is no follower of mine, nor of any who oppose me. His recognition of my symbol is odd; most of my worshippers do not leave survivors.” I frowned internally, making sure my smirk remained on the outside. She’s right, Jashinists are so secretive that even the vast resources of one of the five great nations could find nothing about them; some bumblefuck farmer in the middle of assfuck nowhere recognising the symbol on sight was more than a touch odd.

Wait, opposition? Guess it makes sense for a god like Jashin to have rivals. “Not rivals, they have nowhere near the strength to oppose me directly, they merely attempt to harry my disciples and hinder my efforts. Usually to no avail.” Huh, some do-gooder dickbags might be coming my way because of my connection to Jashin; good to know I guess. Still, the farmer’s recognition of my symbol is first and foremost of my problems right now.

Well, I have one way of getting answers; loosening my grip I let him draw enough breath to speak. He sputters, spitting a glob of saliva into my face, barely missing my eye; said eye narrows, the only warning he gets before I slam my fist into his gut. I nearly laughed at his choked expression of shock and pain as my fist drove what little air I had allowed from his lungs; only the crushing grip on his throat kept him from vomiting, though his body sure did try. I smirked, “How about we try that again, hmm?” I wiped my face of on his shirt sleeve, regaining my grip on the hand I had released to punish his impunity. “I want to know how you recognise my symbol; your going to tell me or I’ll cut off your cock and choke your wife to death with it while I rape her in front of you, okay?” I smiled pleasantly at the man, looking as if I hadn’t just issued a fairly heinous threat; though it hardly mattered considering his probable fate once I handed him over to the doctor.

He sputtered and choked, desperately drawing air through a more than slightly constricted throat. After sputtering for several minutes (during which I got more and more agitated; I’m on a schedule, Jashin Damn it!) he finally started talking, “You… fucking scum... proudly wearing the symbol of that monster!”

I blinked, of all the ways of describing a god of evil, monster seems a rather benign choice. I raised an eyebrow, “And what monster would that be, hmm?” I wanted confirmation; it was fully possible he was associating my symbol with someone else (in which case I should probably kill them; can’t have some pretender ruining my image) and actually knew nothing about Jashin or her cultists.

Hatred burned in his eye like little campfires; of course, that only made my smirk grow minutely. “The Endbringer, The Dawneater, The Unbeing, The Dar- Gurk!” He was cut off when a knife plunged into his back, courtesy of the wife I had forgotten about.

I scowled, snapping his neck and tossing aside his body (no way I’m letting this cunt steal my kill, damn it!), glaring at the woman the whole time. “I was using that. You know, it’s rude to damage other people’s property; honestly, are manners just dead?” My sarcastic response to her blatantly killing her own husband seemed to throw her off a bit.

She was short (even by this world’s admittedly poor standards) with pale skin, blonde hair,and dull, mint green eyes. She wiped the surprise from her face and her eyes flickered to my symbol (what is with this fucking town and recognising the symbol of Jashin?) before her expression shifted to a glare. “You have no right to bare his mark.”

Her tone was flat, but her eyes did nothing to hide her hate and disdain. I simply kept smirking, “Oh, who is this he you speak of? I must say, this is certainly not his mark; perhaps I should have patented it, hmm?” My flippant response seemed to anger her more. While most people would be less willing to aggravate a woman who just cold bloodedly killed her husband; I am not most people! There was nothing she could do to kill me if all she has is a knife (not that she’d be any more successful with any other tool).

She scowled, “My Lord will be displeased to hear an unbeliever bore his mark as if it were their own.”

I raised an eyebrow; that didn't answer fucking anything! Well, I suppose it did tell me this mysterious he is likely the leader of some sort of cult… “Is she one of your followers?” I kept a close eye on her, expecting her to attack me at any moment.

A long moment passed before Jashin replied, seeming almost hesitant. “No… she isn't. She has not given herself to me. Whomever has stolen my sigil must pay for his insolence... sacrifice her to me; I will break her, and she will tell me where her leader lays.”

I blinked. Holy shit! I’m closer to Mercer than I thought! I can learn what people know by killing them?! Admittedly, it’s not quite the same; Jashin needs to torture them for information rather than me just ripping it from their minds but that only makes it marginally less useful.

A knife plunging into my neck reminds me of where I am. Apparently my momentary conversation with Jashin (and the stunned revelation afterward) was enough of a distraction for this bitch to try something. I gave her a blood stained smirk, reaching up to grab the offending appendage. She attempted to pull her hand free, likely thinking a dying man’s grip wouldn’t be all that strong; she couldn’t have been more wrong. Shock spread over her face as she failed to pull her hand from my grasp; the fear in her eyes only increasing the amusement in mine.

I slowly pulled the knife from my neck (laughing as the wet sucking noise it produced drew a disgusted expression from the woman) before slamming it into the wall next to me. “Well, aren’t you a rude one.” My hand shot forth, long fingers wrapping around her pale (though not as pale as me) throat, “I think I’ll have to punish you for that…” I trailed off sinisterly, enjoying the fear in here eyes; she knew exactly what I had in mind when I said that. Unfortunately, I was on a tight schedule here and probably didn’t have time to properly rape her...

I thought about it for a moment; what’s more important: enslaving the populous and getting back to the doctor promptly, or having fun… A dark grin spread across my face; meh, fuck punctuality, what’s the point of living if you don’t indulge yourself, hmm? Besides; I don’t exactly have to worry about damaged goods anymore with her.

I tore her pajamas free, squeezing tighter around her throat to silence her screams (don’t want to wake the neighbors before I can capture them). I didn't particularly care if I strangled her to death (I was going to kill her for Jashin regardless), but I would prefer if she didn’t die before I finished fucking her; while she wouldn’t cool quick enough to really ruin it (or rot quick enough to be distasteful), a lot of the fun is taken out if there's no mind to break.

I roughly groped her with the hand that wasn’t choking her while I thrusted into her; grinning at the way every squeeze and thrust drew a wince. My grin faded slightly when her expression blanked; apparently she had some sort of training to resist torture; though, judging by the tears in her eyes it wasn’t as effective as she might like.

A quick punch to the gut broke her self-induced fugue. While it was satisfying to see her sputter around my slightly loosened hand; I was getting kinda bored at this point (it’s kinda dull to torture something that doesn’t scream and cry properly). Unfortunately for her, the visceral satisfaction of beating her was far more interesting at this point than relatively harmless rape. So I kept doing it; punching randomly with one hand and strangling with the other, all while continuing to thrust into her pussy.

Every time my fist met her flesh her muscles involuntarily clenched, unintentionally squeezing my cock. The added stimuli of her random clenching alongside the sadistic thrill of physically beating someone to death brought me off rather quick; I timed my ejaculation to perfectly match a solid punch right to her solar plexus.

Apparently, feeling my semen enter her womb managed to break her composure better than strangulation, blunt force trauma, and rape combined as she finally broke down crying, begging her lord to save her. As I stood up (dragging her with me, and pulling my pants up with one hand) I once more wondered why someone would worry about pregnancy when death is so much more likely.

Discarding the thought I pulled the kitchen knife from the wall, holding it in a reverse grip as I held the woman aloft before me (making sure not to let any of the cum dripping from her cunt get on my brand new pants or shoes). I knew that as Jashin’s champion all of my kills count as sacrifices, but I figured I may as well be a little more formal with this one.

I slowly pushed the blade into her chest just deep enough to scrape her lungs, staring her in her wide, terrified eyes as I carved the symbol on my chest into her’s. Blood flowed down her chest and into her lungs, turning her breaths from choked to drowning as I pulled the blade free once more. Watching the blood bubble from her lips, I couldn't help but smile; god I'm fucked up… but I love it.

My smile grew, resembling my scythe in both curve and cruelty; if she's so worried about pregnancy, perhaps I should alleviate her fears? I plunged the eight inch blade into her womb, twisting the blade before pulling it out and stabbing her groin over and over again. Blood (and semen) gushed free, splattering up all over my arm (Jashin damn it; there goes my new coat!) as I viciously mutilated her.

I must have stabbed her fifty times before I got bored and just disemboweled her. I released my grip on her throat (she had too much blood in her lungs to scream anyway) and tossed my impromptu implement of sharp and pointy death aside, reaching down to pull out her guts. My bright eyes glittered as I wrapped her intestines around her throat (always wanted to do that!) and dragged her into the kitchen.

I hooked my foot on the stove handle, pulling it open with a grunt (being only mildly surprised that my barely struggling victim didn't try to capitalize on me literally standing on one leg). Smiling cheerfully, I shoved the bitch inside; slamming the door shut and cranking the heat all the way up.

I stepped back, smirking sadistically. If she's lucky she'll bleed out or drown before the oven heats up; I hope she's not particularly lucky (running into me kinda tells me she's not). My smirk twisted down as she pushed the door open, feebly attempting to crawl free as her flesh began to bubble and burn.

Scowling, I kicked her in the face, slamming her back into oven. Two more swift kicks had the cover back in place and bent to be difficult to open (especially with melting hands). My smirk returned as I heard her futility banging on the door; my natural inclination was to start humming a fitting tune of merry malevolence, but I figured making excess noise was not a good idea when trying to kidnap an entire village (getting all of them would be significantly more difficult when they start running and screaming (mostly the running part)).

(Un)Fortunately the rest of the village was nowhere near as interesting as the first family; most of them weren’t even awake and those that were had no situational awareness and never saw me coming (even the serial killer was boring; all he had was a basement full of vivisected children). By the time the sun rose I was boisterously singing as I strolled out of the now empty town, ignoring the spreading flames (apparently leaving the stove on is rather dangerous) slowly consuming the village. Hopefully the fire would hide any evidence of my involvement (though I doubt anyone would even be aware I was active to connect me to this); I don’t exactly want to get hunted twenty-four-seven by Hunter-nin (yet; it’s not like I can really avoid it in the long run).

It wasn’t until I was halfway back to the “clothes” store that Jashin spoke up; “The woman has broken. Her lord is a man by the name of Brion Relks who claims to be a god. He is using his knowledge of chakra to convince an isolated community of his divinity, using jutsu to validate it. While she didn’t know how he was doing it, it seems he has some method of making people trust and like him.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Brion Relks? Odd name for this land; doesn’t even sound vaguely Japanese…” My eyes widen as the latter half of her words hit me, “Wait, he has some sort of mind control technique?” A familiar grin spreads across my face, “I can think of so many delicious uses for a technique like that.” Slave harem, here I come!

I could hear the smirk in her voice, “Indeed. He and his cult lay thirty miles to the north and east. I do not like this false god belittling my symbol; his continued existence is an insult. End him.”

A dark smirk spread across my face, “Oh, I will. I’ll kill his whole damn congregation; for your honor and my ambition, none can be allowed to live.” Cruel humor dripped like oil from my smile as I turned in the indicated direction, dark chuckles following me. Looks like the doctor will just have to wait, hmm?

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The front line barely had time to scream before the lunatic was upon them, his pilfered blade piercing a rookie officer’s throat. The boy’s scream turned to a gurgling wail as the mad man moved on. His hand was a blur, slashing throats and tendons, carving up veins and arteries; always aiming to maximise suffering and blood loss. With no bullets in their guns and no time to reload, over a dozen fell to the over large scalpel-like blade in moments.

Those closest to the carnage started drawing their own knives and nightsticks, futilely attempting to combat the degenerate in close combat while those more distant from the fighting reloaded. Unfortunately for those standing within reach of the living blender the man had become, those who did have the wherewithal to reload were unwilling to fire for fear of hitting their comrades… at least at first.

Ten, perhaps twenty, men were cut to bloody chunks before those who had reloaded began to fire; uncaring for the friends and allies they gunned down in their desperate (and otiose) attempt to stave off the grisly end that was fast approaching. Of the hundreds of rounds sent at the laughing psychopath, most missed horribly and only added to the carnage by killing other cops; what few hit the loon inflicted grevious wounds... that did absolutely nothing to even slow him down.

The captain and his assistant hunkered down behind their car, staring in mute shock as one man butchered the entire precinct. Within twenty minutes a force over a hundred strong was reduced to so much slime; looking more like chunky salsa than a police force.

Admittedly, their attacker looked like nothing less than a humanoid pile of hamburger meat; but he was still standing nonetheless, his horrid wounds visibly healing before the sickened eyes of the only survivors.

The captain slowly raised his gun, before pausing as his secretary physically stopped him. He turned his head to look at him with eyes too stunned to hold a question. The reedy man was holding out the captain’s phone, the number for his military contact already pulled up. He was only ever meant to use that contact in an extreme emergency; but if this doesn’t count as an emergency, he doesn’t know what does.

He took the phone with shaking hands, pressing the call button with fingers so coated in sweat and rain it looked like he had been swimming. A few moments passed as the phone rang and the two men grew more and more afraid that no one would answer… then the screen changed with a click. “Oi, the fuck you want?” A gruff voice questioned irritably.

The captain ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair (where had his cap gone?), “Th-this is Captain Fredick Nitche, identification number, 32987.” He hated the way his voice shook, the weakness the warbling impied. “W-we have a serious emergency; the entire precinct has been wiped out by a knife wielding lunat- Gurk!” His words were cut off when a pale hand grasped his hair, pulling him over the hood of the car.

A demented laugh once more tore the air as a chipped combat knife (apparently he lost his amputation knife in the melee) plunged into the captain’s groin. The phone fell from his grasp as the lunatic in question dragged the blade upwards, exposing the officer’s innards to the the unceasing rainfall.