Susanoo sat upon his throne of jagged obsidian, a vast structure that seemed to pulse with the energy of the countless lives lost in the war he had orchestrated. The air around him shimmered with the glow of dark energy, fed by the suffering and destruction spreading across the shinobi world. Behind him, a storm churned endlessly, lightning flashing in violent bursts that illuminated his sharp, cruel features.
He leaned back lazily, his crimson eyes glowing with sadistic amusement as he gazed into the swirling orb of water suspended before him. It acted as a window, showing him the carnage unfolding across the five supercontinents. Each battle, each scream, each drop of blood spilled was displayed in vivid detail.
Susanoo's lips curled into a smirk as he watched a group of Arakusa shinobi struggle to defend themselves against an ambush from Yominochi assassins. The Arakusa forces fought valiantly, their movements precise and coordinated, but it was clear they were outmatched. One by one, they fell, their cries silenced as shadows consumed them.
"Pathetic," Susanoo muttered, his voice low and dripping with disdain. "No matter how hard they fight, it's all meaningless in the end."
He waved a hand, and the orb shifted, showing another battlefield. This time, it was a skirmish between Hyogan and Hirokaze shinobi in the icy tundras of the north. The clash of blades and the roar of jutsu echoed through the air as the two sides tore into each other with savage ferocity.
Susanoo chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Look at them, killing each other for scraps of power. It's almost beautiful in its futility."
As the carnage continued to unfold before him, Susanoo's thoughts drifted to Heikō Mu, the only being who had ever truly challenged his supremacy. The memory of their battles still lingered in his mind, vivid and unrelenting. Heikō had been a force of nature, a master of every shinobi art, and a warrior who commanded respect even from his enemies.
Susanoo's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a scowl. "Heikō," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "You were always so self-righteous, weren't you? Always preaching about discipline, balance, and unity. And where did that get you? Erased. Gone. Nothing but a memory."
He laughed, the sound harsh and echoing through the empty halls of his fortress. "And now look at your precious shinobi world. Torn apart, broken, and drowning in chaos. This is the legacy you left behind, Heikō. All your efforts, your sacrifices, and your ideals—meaningless."
But even as he spoke, Susanoo couldn't shake the nagging feeling that lingered in the back of his mind. It was an unsettling sensation, a faint whisper that refused to be silenced. Heikō was gone—he had seen to that himself. The god of concepts, Concetios, had ensured Heikō's imprisonment in the void and his subsequent erasure from existence. There was no way he could return.
And yet…
Susanoo clenched his fists, his sharp nails digging into the armrests of his throne. The uncertain feeling gnawed at him, a shadowy doubt that refused to be ignored. He stared into the orb again, but this time, the images of war brought him no satisfaction. Instead, they only served to remind him of Heikō's influence, of the balance he had fought so hard to maintain.
"He's gone," Susanoo growled, as if saying the words aloud would make them true. "I saw him fall. I saw him erased."
But the doubt persisted. Susanoo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on the battles before him. The shinobi fighting below were mere mortals, their power insignificant compared to his own. Yet, in their movements, in their strategies, he could see echoes of Heikō's teachings.
It infuriated him.
"Even in death, you haunt me," Susanoo muttered, his voice low and venomous. "Why can't you just stay gone?"
The storm outside grew more violent, as if reflecting Susanoo's inner turmoil. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared, shaking the very foundation of his fortress. He rose from his throne, his towering figure casting a long shadow across the chamber.
"No," he said firmly, his voice echoing with divine authority. "This is just a trick of my mind. A remnant of our battles. Heikō is gone. I won."
But even as he said it, Susanoo couldn't deny the bitter truth that accompanied his victory. The only reason he had defeated Heikō was because Concetios had intervened. The god of concepts had tilted the scales in Susanoo's favor, ensuring Heikō's downfall.
It was a fact that gnawed at his pride, a constant reminder that his victory was not entirely his own.
"You always were a thorn in my side, Heikō," Susanoo muttered, pacing the chamber. "Even now, when I should be reveling in my triumph, you find a way to ruin it."
He stopped, his gaze turning to the storm outside. The lightning illuminated his face, revealing an expression of frustration and unease. "But it doesn't matter. You're gone, and I'm the one who stands above it all."
He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "This world is mine now. Let your shadow linger if it must, but it won't change anything. I've won."
Susanoo returned to his throne, his eyes fixed on the orb. The images of war continued to play out before him, but this time, his expression was cold and calculating. He watched as shinobi fell, their blood staining the earth, and villages burned, reduced to ash and rubble.
"This is the way it was always meant to be," he said, his voice low and commanding. "A world ruled by chaos, where only the strong survive. No more balance. No more unity. Just raw, unfiltered power."
He leaned back, his smirk returning as he watched a particularly brutal skirmish unfold. Two rival factions clashed in the middle of a ruined village, their jutsu tearing through the air with devastating force. Bodies littered the ground, and the screams of the dying echoed in the distance.
"Beautiful," Susanoo whispered, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.
But even as he reveled in the destruction, the feeling of uncertainty refused to leave him. It was a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of his mind, a reminder that his victory was not as absolute as he wanted to believe.
Susanoo's smirk faltered once more, and he clenched his jaw, trying to push the doubt away. "Heikō is gone," he repeated to himself, his voice firm. "There's nothing left of him. Nothing."
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, somehow, Heikō was still watching, waiting, and biding his time.
And for the first time in centuries, Susanoo felt the faintest hint of fear.