Her dirty blonde hair, partially covering her face, clings to her skin from the damp mist around them. She clutches a small boy in her arms, his tiny body shaking as he buries his face in her shoulder, confused and frightened. His short blonde hair brushes against her cheek as she holds him tightly, protectively, her body a shield between him and the threat before them.
"Please," she pleads, her voice cracking, eyes wide with fear. Tears stream down her face, but her grip on the child remains firm. "Please, don't hurt him! He's just a child!"
"I'll do anything," she continues, her voice raw and desperate. "Just don't touch him."
The figure before her remains silent, their presence oppressive, looming with intent unknown. The wind rustles through the trees of the forest surrounding them, but the woman can hear nothing but her own heart pounding in her chest. Each beat feels like a countdown to the moment she dreads.
She lowers herself to the ground, kneeling with the child still pressed tightly to her chest, her eyes never leaving the figure's. Her voice trembles as she begs one last time, "Please... spare him."
Just as the woman kneels, her voice trembling with desperation, the shadows shift behind her. A swift movement slices through the thick silence, and before the threatening shinobi can respond, a figure bursts out of the trees. The child's father, his face twisted with fury, launches himself forward, his hand gripping a kunai with deadly intent.
"Get away from them!" he roars, his voice a mix of rage and fear. His eyes, hardened by years of battle, flash with determination. The veins in his arm bulge as he swings the kunai at the cloaked shinobi, aiming for the enemy's throat with unrelenting fury.
The mother gasps, her wide eyes shifting between her husband and the figure towering over them. The child whimpers louder, sensing the tension in the air as his father charges at their attacker.
But the shinobi moves faster than the eye can follow. In a single fluid motion, the cloaked figure sidesteps the attack, the father's kunai missing its mark by mere inches. Before he can recover, a powerful strike from the shinobi's open palm slams into the father's chest, sending him crashing into the nearby tree with a sickening thud.
He groans, pain radiating through his body as he struggles to stand, his hand still clutching the kunai. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth as he forces himself to his feet, shaky but determined.
The shinobi turns toward the father, who is already preparing to lunge again, his breath ragged, his eyes burning with the need to protect his family. But the attacker doesn't move, merely watching him as if daring him to try again.
"I'll kill you!" the father growls, charging once more, even as his legs threaten to give out beneath him.
In an instant, the shinobi's hand grips the father's wrist, twisting it with inhuman strength, forcing him to drop the kunai. The weapon clatters to the ground, and the father gasps in pain, but he doesn't stop struggling.
With a cold, unfeeling gaze, the shinobi tightens their grip on the father's wrist, a brief flicker of recognition passing through their eyes before it fades. In one swift, deliberate motion, the shinobi's free hand reaches for the kunai sheathed at their side. The father's eyes widen, and he struggles, thrashing against the iron grip holding him in place. But it's too late.
With ruthless precision, the shinobi drives the kunai into the father's throat. The sharp blade pierces flesh and muscle, a sickening squelch filling the air as it sinks deep. The father gasps, his body freezing in place as blood begins to pour from the wound, dark red spilling over his chest and staining the ground beneath him.
The father chokes, his hand weakly reaching for the blade in his throat, but it's no use. His strength fades, his knees buckle, and his body crumples to the ground in front of his family. Blood pools around him as his chest heaves for one last breath before going still.
The small boy, no older than six or seven, had lifted his head at the sound of his mother's scream, his tear-streaked face peering out from her embrace. His innocent, wide eyes locked onto the scene before him, confused but aware that something terrible had just happened. He stared in horror as his father's body crumpled to the ground, the pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him, dark and ominous.
The boy's trembling lips parted, but no sound came. His hands gripped his mother's clothing, knuckles white, as his heart raced faster and faster. His breath hitched, and the world around him seemed to blur and distort. The horrifying image of his father lying still, unmoving, burned into his young mind, the blood, the violence, all too real.
Suddenly, he felt something warm trickling down his cheeks—not tears, but something thicker, something darker. His mother gasped when she saw it, her voice barely a whisper. "No... no... not him..."
Blood began to seep from the boy's eyes, crimson tears sliding down his pale face. His vision swam, and his eyes burned, but not from crying. He blinked rapidly, confused, as his pupils began to shift, slowly darkening and twisting. His once innocent gaze turned sharp, intense, the whites of his eyes becoming suffused with deep red, while his violet pupils shifted into a horizontal shining line.
The air around them grew heavy as the child's crimson eyes flared brighter. His small hands trembled, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps, but his gaze remained locked on the shinobi. The anger, the pain, the loss—it all surged through him, too powerful for someone so young to contain.
Without understanding how, the boy reached out with his mind, focusing on the pool of blood beneath his father's still body. His fingers twitched as if pulling invisible strings, and the blood responded. Slowly at first, then faster, the thick crimson liquid began to ripple and lift off the ground, twisting and swirling in the air. The shinobi's eyes widened, finally realizing the danger.
The blood, driven by the boy's fury, formed into thick, dark chains, writhing like serpents before surging toward the shinobi. The enemy ninja moved to react, but the chains of blood were faster. With a violent crack, they wrapped around the shinobi's body—first the arms, then the torso, then the legs. Each chain tightened with unnatural strength, binding the attacker in place.
The shinobi struggled, their body jerking against the crimson restraints, but the boy's power had already taken hold. The chains, born from his father's spilled blood, tightened with every second, coiling tighter around the shinobi's limbs, making it impossible to move. The blood glistened in the dim light, its dark red hue reflecting the horror of the scene.
The blood chains, pulsing with the boy's raw emotion, grew tighter and tighter around the shinobi. The once smooth, liquid-like surface of the blood began to harden, sharpening into jagged edges. The shinobi gasped, eyes wide with panic, struggling against the tightening bonds, but every movement only caused the chains to dig deeper into their flesh.
The boy, consumed by grief and rage, squeezed his small fists even tighter, and the chains responded viciously. They constricted further, the jagged edges slicing into the shinobi's clothing and skin. Blood began to flow, a sickening crimson merging with the blood that already coated the battlefield.
With a sudden surge of power, the chains lashed out violently. The blood-formed blades cut deeper, carving into the shinobi's body with brutal precision. Flesh tore, and muscle shredded under the relentless force, as if the chains were alive, driven by the boy's anguish and fury. The sound of tearing flesh and the wet splatter of blood filled the air, echoing in the otherwise silent forest.
The shinobi let out a strangled cry, their body convulsing as the chains pulled tighter still, ripping deeper into their flesh. Limbs were forced apart as the chains wrapped around them, shredding skin and bone, reducing the once formidable enemy to nothing more than torn remnants.
With one final, agonizing pull, the chains twisted violently, severing the shinobi's body into pieces. Blood sprayed into the air, painting the ground in a deep red mist as the enemy was reduced to a bloody heap. The remnants of the chains hung in the air for a moment, dripping with the remains of the shinobi, before collapsing into a pool of blood at the boy's feet.
The boy stood there, his small frame trembling as the last of the chains dissolved, his eyes still glowing fiercely. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the intensity of the moment crashing down around him.
The heavy silence that followed the violent shredding of the shinobi hung over the clearing like a dark cloud. Blood stained the ground, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of death. The boy stood amidst the carnage, the red of his eyes reflecting the blood-soaked scene around him.
His mother, still kneeling, watched him with wide eyes. Her tears had stopped, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. She knew that shinobi like this one did not travel alone, more would come and they wouldn't hesitate to finish what this one had started.
She wiped her eyes quickly and stood on shaky legs, her hand reaching out to her son. "Sweetheart," she whispered, her voice trembling but urgent. "You have to go." The boy didn't respond, his eyes still locked on the blood pooling at his feet, his mind spinning. His body was frozen in place, gripped by the horror of what had just unfolded before him.
Her heart broke seeing him like this—so young, so lost. She quickly pulled her scarf from around her neck, a deep red fabric that had once belonged to her own mother. She wrapped it gently around the boy's shoulders, pulling it snug. "I need you to run, do you understand? You need to live. You need to survive." Her voice cracked as she fought to stay calm. "I'll distract them. I'll keep them busy, but you need to go now."
The boy shook his head, tears brimming in his blood-red eyes. "But—Mama—"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her expression was firm, resolute. "No, baby, listen. I'll always be with you." She touched the scarf gently, her fingers trembling. "This will keep me close to you, no matter where you go. Do you understand?"
The boy's lip quivered, but he nodded, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of the scarf. He didn't want to leave her, but some part of him understood. He could hear rustling in the distance now—footsteps, swift and determined, closing in fast. The shinobi's allies were coming.
His mother stood, her own fear pushed aside as she faced the oncoming threat. Her eyes blazed with a fierce, protective determination, one final glance at her son telling him everything she couldn't say aloud. "Run," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Tears finally spilled from the boy's eyes, but this time they weren't made of blood. He clutched the scarf tighter and turned, his small legs stumbling at first before he took off into the dense forest. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his mother's sacrifice and his father's death bearing down on him with every step.
Behind him, his mother stood tall, wiping away her tears as the shinobi appeared, their figures darting through the trees like dark shadows. She glanced at them briefly, but her gaze quickly shifted back to where her son had disappeared into the forest. Her expression softened for just a moment as she whispered to the wind, "I love you."
And then, she turned to face the enemy. Her hands tightened into fists, the little chakra she had flaring as she prepared to buy her son the time he needed to escape, knowing this was a battle she would not survive.
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As the boy ran, his small frame weaving through the dense forest, his thoughts were consumed by the images of the violence he had just witnessed. The burning image of the shinobi's headband, a symbol of the enemy who had taken everything from him, was seared into his mind. He muttered through clenched teeth, his voice fierce despite his young age. "I'll make them pay. I swear... I'll get my revenge."