Ghostly Figure

Prologue: The cursed child

The rain pours relentlessly, each drop striking the ground with a deafening intensity, turning the soil into a thick, muddy quagmire. The atmosphere is thick with tension as a trio of ANBU operatives move swiftly and silently through the storm. 

Their footsteps splash through the soaked earth, sending droplets flying into the surrounding vegetation. The storm's fury mirrors the urgency and dread that propels them forward. They are heading toward a village, a place that, not long ago, was a thriving community.

From the distance, the unmistakable sound of anguished screams pierces the night, carried by the wind. The once proud village is now a silhouette of destruction, flames licking at the skeletal remains of homes that once stood tall. The fire consumes everything in its path, the orange glow seeping into the sky, a cruel beacon of the devastation below.

As the rain intensifies, falling harder and faster, the screams begin to wane, their desperate cries fading into the background until they disappear entirely. It's as if the very life of the village has been snuffed out, leaving behind nothing but the crackling of flames and the relentless downpour.

The lead ANBU, his face hidden behind a mask, clutches a roll of bandages tightly in his gloved hand. His sharp eyes strain to pierce through the thick smoke that billows up from the burning village. He needs to be certain they're heading in the right direction. Pushing through the dense underbrush, branches and leaves slap against his armor, but he barely notices.

 All he sees is the growing inferno ahead, its harsh light reflecting off the droplets of rain.

"Clear the surroundings. Search for any survivors," he orders, his voice low but firm. His two teammates nod silently, splitting off to flank the village, their movements quick and precise.

As they disappear into the darkness, the leader advances toward the remains of the village gate. What was once a grand entrance now stands charred and crumbling, the last remnants of the flames sputtering out under the assault of the rain. The gate creaks ominously as he passes beneath it, the weight of the destruction pressing down on him.

"Holy shit..." he mutters, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. Fear claws at his insides as he takes in the scene before him. The ground is littered with charred corpses, some stacked in twisted piles, their final moments captured in gruesome detail. 

A few of them still cling to life, their bodies writhing in agony, but their movements are slow, growing weaker with each passing second.

They arrived too late.

The homes of the villagers are reduced to smoldering ruins, collapsing under the weight of their own destruction. Broken wood and debris litter the ground, the once vibrant village is now nothing more than a graveyard of ash and bone.

He moves cautiously among the bodies, his heart heavy with the sounds of groans and whimpers from those who are too far gone to save. He forces himself to block out their voices, to focus on the task at hand. 

He cannot afford to be distracted by the horrors around him. His grip tightens on the bandages, his mind fixed on one objective: find her, bring her back to Konoha, and ensure that no one ever learns of the horrors that transpired here.

"H-help... m-me..." A weak, broken voice stirs him from his thoughts. He feels something cold and wet wrap around his ankle. Looking down, he sees a woman—what's left of her, anyway. Her entire face and body are melted, her features unrecognizable. Hollow sockets stare up at him where her eyes should have been, her skin stripped away to reveal the bone beneath.

"I'm sorry..." he whispers, the words catching in his throat as he gently pries her hand from his ankle. He steps forward, his heart heavy with guilt as he leaves her behind. He utters a silent prayer for her soul, a small act of mercy in a world that has shown none.