Paths of Divergence

Cursed blood

Chapter 46
-Cursed blood

    A man and a woman sit in a dark decrepit room. The only source of light is a dimly lit candle that sits next to the man. It's light flickers with each movement he makes as he works steadily on the woman stretched out on a cold metal table. Her dead stare only gazes up at the ceiling, unmoving and unwavering.

     Singing skin fills the air as the man uses a simple fire style jutsu to graft unalloyed silver to bits of her flesh which have subsequently rotted off. However painful it must be, she utters not a single whimper or cry. She only continues to stare at the ceiling.

      "We can take a break at any time, Miharu," the man says, pausing his grafting.

     Her gaze slowly slides to her left as she stares the man directly in his eyes. His pupils shake in fear for a moment as he tries and fails to avert her gaze.

     "You need not worry about me... this is nothing to the curse I've bore ever since the day I was born. Keep. Going." she demands eloquently.

     The man nods his head, adjusting his mask before going back to work. Cold sweat beads on his forehead as he breaths a sigh of relief from having to witness her stare. He starts by bandaging up a sliver of skin where grafting would not be needed. After neatly wrapping it up he goes to another flesh rotted appendage. After examining it for a moment, he determines grafting will be needed for this one.

     He cleanses the pus and blood filled gape before settling the metallic plate on top of it. His finger lights up with a tiny torch like light before melting the skin around the plate to the plate itself. The room lights up, revealing the woman's features even more. Her crimson red hair, while once beautiful, is now thin and dead. Her skin reveals to be extremely pale and cold to the touch and her figure emaciated evident by her ribs and other bones sticking out.

     After successfully grafting the plate to her skin, he takes a cup of ice cold water and dumps it on the plate to quickly cool it off. Steam rises as the plate cools off while the man wipes his brow. He examines the rest of her body before looking over to her.

     "That was the final grafting. No more is needed," he says.

     The woman sits up, flexing her limbs to make sure everything works as intended. The light from the candle in the room flickers across her face revealing cloudy eyes afflicted by some sort of disease.

     "P-please... may I leave? My family is waiting for me," the man begs.

     Miharu lifts her arm up, gently caressing the man's face with a delicate touch. "You've done all that I've asked. You are free to leave," she says.

     The man slowly stands up from his stool, her hand brushing down the side of his face before it falls limp back down to her side. He politely bows before exiting the small, desolate, and abandoned shack they were at. As he exits the door he practically sprints back to his home.

     Miharu, back in the shack, stands up and steadily walks over to the corner of the room. A small clack fills the air as she grips the large odachi in her right hand. However, the blade is not contained within a sheath. Rather, it has been specially designed to fit within the shinobi prosthetic on her left arm. The sword clicks into place and with a flex of her prosthetic, it slides into a slot nearer to her shoulder.

      "They'll pay... they'll all pay. You all shall now witness true horror," she whispers to herself.

     *

      The man arrives at his tiny village, shutting the door to his home behind him. He huffs and pants as sweat drips down the back of his neck. His knees tremble as he practically collapses to the floor before removing his mask so he can breathe better.