Kumade lay on the cold, damp cobblestones, his body wracked with pain. His world had narrowed to a red haze of agony.

He could taste his own blood in his mouth, metallic and bitter. It ran down his throat, choking him.

His vision blurred, the mist-shrouded buildings of Kiri tilting crazily around him like a ship in a storm.

The shadows seemed to reach out to him like grasping fingers.

Every breath was a struggle. His shattered rib cage sent shards of pain through his chest with each inhale.

His left arm, now a charred stump, throbbed with a deep, pulsing agony that felt like it was eating into his bones.

The right side of his face was numb, but he knew the pain would come soon enough.

Zabuza stood over him, his massive sword dripping blood onto the stones.

"You put up a good fight," he said, his voice cold and mocking, but with a hint of admiration, "Most Konoha ninja don't last a minute."

"But in the end, you're just another dead leaf, fallen far from its tree."

Through his one remaining eye, Kumade watched as Zabuza pulled out a scroll and summoned something...

A severed head.

The face was pale and slack in death, but he recognized it instantly. It was the villager who had helped him, who had shared his fears about Kiri.

The man whose name he had never asked.

"Why?" Kumade gasped.

The single word felt like it was tearing his throat apart, tasting of blood.

Zabuza's red, irritated eyes gleamed with cold amusement.

"He was weak, a traitor," he spat, his words venomous. "We can't tolerate disloyalty in our village. Not anymore."

He tossed the head at Kumade's feet, where it landed with a sickening thud that echoed through the misty street.

The lifeless eyes stared up at him, accusing him.

"This is what happens to those who defy Kiri's new order," Zabuza continued, his sword gesturing at the head.

"This is the fate of the weak. As a shinobi, you should know that. This is the world we live in, the reality we face every day."

Rage surged through Kumade, momentarily overriding his pain.

With a massive effort, he struggled to his knees, blood pouring from his ruined shoulders and face.

"He was trying to protect his home!" he shouted.

"Home?" Zabuza scoffed. "There's no place for that in the shinobi world. We are tools, weapons to be used and discarded."

"Sentiment is a luxury we can't afford."

The words hit Kumade like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless.

In that moment, he saw himself reflected in the villager's lifeless eyes - someone fighting to protect what they believed in, no matter the cost.

His own village, Konoha, seemed so far away now.

He realized he wasn't so different from the villager, or even Zabuza.

They were all just pawns in a much bigger game.

The thought crashed over him like a wave: he was going to die here, alone in this misty street. His existence, his work, everything he'd done - it would all be forgotten.

No one would ever know the truth about what was happening in Kiri, about the horrors he'd uncovered.

He'd fade away, just another nameless casualty in the endless conflicts between shinobi villages.

As this thought washed over him, he felt his strength drain away. Why had he wanted to become a shinobi in the first place?

For recognition?

For the thrill of battle?

For the chance to protect his home?

Now, facing death, none of that seemed to matter. The reasons felt hollow, meaningless in the face of the brutal reality before him.

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But then, a primal instinct surged to life within him.

Was this the Will of Fire that the Hokage spoke of?

Or was it just his own raw desire for revenge?

He didn't care.

He didn't care why he was driven to attack, or what fueled his rage.

All he knew was that he wanted to kill the man in front of him, with every last ounce of strength he had.

With a snarl, he lunged forward, biting down on Zabuza's calf with all the force he could muster.

The Mist ninja roared in pain and surprise, his composure cracking for the first time. His free hand grabbed a fistful of Kumade's blood-matted hair.

Suddenly, a figure darted from behind a nearby building - Kumade's clone, the one he'd sent out during the chaos of the earlier fire jutsu.

The clone's hands flashed through seals, chest swelling with chakra.

"Fire Style: Fireball!" the clone shouted, unleashing a massive sphere of flames directly at Zabuza and the real Kumade.

For a split second, it seemed the desperate gambit might work. But then, a piece of debris - a broken crate that had gone unnoticed in the heat of their battle - suddenly transformed.

In its place stood a perfect copy of Zabuza, its hands already forming seals.

"Water Style: Water Wall!" the water clone called out.

A massive barrier of water erupted between Zabuza and the oncoming fireball, easily neutralizing the attack in a hiss of steam.

As the steam cleared, the water clone sprinted towards Kumade's clone with incredible speed.

Before the shadow clone could react, the water clone was upon it.

A swift, brutal series of punches left Kumade's clone battered and broken before it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Zabuza looked down at Kumade, his eyes narrowing. "You think I wouldn't notice a clone sneaking around?" he asked.

"I'm the Demon of the Hidden Mist. I had my own clone in place the moment you created yours."

Seeing the defiance still burning in Kumade's one remaining eye, his lips curved into a cruel smile beneath his bandages.

"Still got some fight in you, huh?" he sneered, a hint of respect in his voice. "I can fix that."

With brutal force, Zabuza slammed Kumade's head against the ground. The impact sent shockwaves of agony through his skull.

Again and again, Zabuza smashed his head down, each blow threatening to send him into oblivion.

By the last impact, his nose and ears were bleeding, and his thoughts growing fuzzy and disjointed.

But he refused to give up, clinging to his duty and his will to live.

Zabuza lifted Kumade's head one last time, his face inches away. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?" he sneered, his hot breath on Kumade's face.

Through swollen lips, tasting blood and defeat, Kumade managed a weak smile.

"It's... the Will of Fire," he gasped, each word a small victory against the darkness closing in.

The Mist ninja grunted in disgust and threw him across the street. Kumade crashed into a pile of crates, wood splintering around him.

As he lay there, barely conscious, he thought of his home, Konoha, and the people he'd sworn to protect.

Had it all been for nothing?

Or was there meaning in the struggle itself, in the willingness to keep fighting against impossible odds?

Zabuza's heavy footsteps approached, each one like a countdown to Kumade's final moment.

Through his one good eye, now swollen nearly shut, he could see the Mist ninja's sandals, stained dark with blood – his blood.

"Any last words?" Zabuza asked, raising his sword. The massive blade promising a quick end.

Kumade's mouth opened, but only blood came out. He thought of the mission he'd failed, the mysteries he'd never solve, and the truths that would die with him.

And he thought of the nameless villager, whose simple kindness had touched him more deeply than he'd realized.

With bitter irony, he realized he'd never even asked the villager's name.

Too focused on the mission, on being the perfect shinobi, he'd overlooked the human element – the very thing he was fighting to protect.

And now he was dying for that same nameless cause, another faceless casualty in an endless cycle of violence.

Zabuza's sword was already falling, its blade mere inches from his neck, when a soft fluttering caught his attention.

A messenger bird native to Kiri, circled overhead.

Zabuza's eyes narrowed. The Mizukage was summoning him.

With a grunt of annoyance, he lowered his sword.

"Looks like it's your lucky day," he said. "You get to live a little longer."

He turned and walked away, his sword slung over his shoulder. "But don't worry," he called back, his tone almost jovial. "I'll be back to finish the job."

Kumade lay on the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps, hardly daring to believe he was still alive.

Through his one remaining eye, he watched Zabuza's retreating form.

Perhaps this was fate.

He struggled to sit up, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his broken body.

But he had to get back to Konoha, had to report what he'd learned.

The Hokage needed to know about the horrors in Kiri.

But just as he managed to get to his knees, he heard Zabuza's footsteps stop.

Slowly, he raised his head.

Zabuza had turned back, a smile spreading across his bandaged face.

"Hope," he said, his voice almost gentle.

"It's a wonderful thing, isn't it? The way it makes you believe, even in the darkest moments, that there's a chance."

He began to walk back towards Kumade, his steps slow and deliberate.

"But that's the thing about hope," he continued. "It's just an illusion, a lie we tell ourselves to make the world bearable."

Kumade felt his hope wither, like a flame in a cold wind. He knew, with a certainty that went beyond thought or reason, that he was going to die here.

That Zabuza had never intended to let him live.

The Mist shinobi stopped before him.

"In the end," he said softly, almost regretfully, "hope is just another weakness. And in this world, the weak don't survive."

The sword rose.

Kumade closed his eye, a strange sense of peace settling over him. He had fought his best, had given everything for his village.

There was no shame in that.

As the blade fell, his final thought was of the old fortuneteller's words, echoing in his mind. He should have listened, should have believed...

The blade cleaved towards his neck, and his world went dark.

Kumade's head rolled across the bloody ground, coming to rest against a fallen kunai.

His remaining eye stared blankly at the misty sky, a faint, peaceful smile etched on his face.

Zabuza stood over the corpse, his gaze fixed on the head. He felt a strange sensation as he took in the peaceful expression.

It was as if Kumade had finally found the peace he'd been searching for.

Zabuza's eyes narrowed.

It had been a good fight, better than he'd expected.

But in the end, the outcome was never in doubt. Such was the way of the shinobi world – kill or be killed, with no room for mercy or hesitation.

He then leaped into the trees, vanishing into the shadows as swiftly as he had appeared.

The corpse of the Konoha ninja lay forgotten in the street, another secret swallowed by Kiri's ever-present mist.

The night's work was done. But for Zabuza, the true test was yet to come.

For when the Mizukage called, only a fool would keep him waiting.