A headache.
That was the first thing that greeted me upon waking—a deep, splitting pain that pulsed behind my eyes like molten iron had been poured into my skull. A groan escaped my lips as I tried to open my eyes, but the moment I did, a sharp, searing agony lanced through my head, forcing them shut again.
It felt as though someone had cracked my skull open and stuffed burning coals inside. My body ached in ways I couldn't describe, nausea rolling over me in thick, suffocating waves. My limbs felt wrong—too heavy, too foreign, like they weren't mine.
A strange sense of disconnect crawled under my skin, subtle but unsettling.
I took a slow, shaky breath, waiting for the pain to dull. When it did, I cracked my eyes open again.
Darkness.
Panic surged through my chest. Why couldn't I see?
I forced myself to blink. Once. Twice. Slowly, the darkness gave way to vague, shifting silhouettes. The sensation of cold, damp mud pressing against my cheek became more distinct—the grime clinging to my skin, seeping into my clothes. My fingers twitched, sinking into the wet earth.
That was when I noticed something was wrong.
My hands—they were too small.
I stared at them, my breath catching in my throat. My fingers were delicate, tiny compared to what they should have been. My wrists, my arms—they weren't mine.
A sickening wave of realization swept through me.
This isn't my body.
My chest tightened. My pulse roared. The disorientation, the heaviness in my limbs—it all made sense now. I had been reborn.
The knowledge sent my thoughts spiraling. Who was I now? Where was I? What happened to—
The smell hit me.
Smoke.
Burning wood.
Iron.
The thick, cloying scent of blood.
The realization struck like being hit by a truck.
I tensed. My stomach twisted violently, and before I could stop myself, I rolled onto my side and retched.
The bitter taste of bile filled my mouth, but I barely registered it. My trembling hands dug into the dirt as I forced myself upright. My head spun, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
And then I saw it.
Corpses.
Dozens of them.
Men, women… children. Their lifeless bodies lay scattered across the ground, bathed in pools of their own blood. Torn limbs, severed heads, intestines spilling from open wounds. Some had kunai buried deep in their flesh. Others had been pierced by shuriken, their bodies riddled with holes.
The village was in ruins. Charred remains of buildings stood like skeletal husks, their blackened frames groaning under the weight of destruction. Ash drifted through the air, glowing embers flickering in the dying fires.
A cold, suffocating dread wrapped around my throat.
I took a step back, my boot squelching against something wet—something soft.
I turned.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
A boy. No older than six.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin.
His small hands were still curled into fists, frozen in time. His face was twisted in eternal agony.
A deep, gaping wound had cleaved him in two.
His intestines spilled onto the mud, dark and glistening under the flickering light. The blood pooling beneath him was still fresh, the air thick with its metallic tang.
I staggered back, bile rising in my throat once more.
I couldn't breathe.
The world spun violently. My chest tightened, my lungs refusing to expand. My hands clawed at my throat instinctively.
No. No, no, no.
Memories, fractured and blurred, slammed into me all at once.
A woman's warm embrace. A gentle laugh. The scent of jasmine.
Gone. All gone.
Flashes of fire. Screams. Cold steel slicing through flesh.
Stop. Please, just stop.
My lungs burned. My pulse roared in my ears. I was going to suffocate.
I was going to die.
Then—
"Hey, did you hear that? One of those bloodline freaks must have survived."
A voice. Rough, grating—like sandpaper against raw flesh.
I froze.
Through the haze of my panic, I forced my head up, vision swimming. Two figures stood in the distance, their postures relaxed, their tones casual.
Like they were discussing the weather.
Not the blood soaking the streets.
Not the people they had butchered.
Not the horror they had created.
Fear gripped me.
Run.
My legs screamed in protest, but I pushed forward, sprinting blindly through the ruined village. My breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. Each step sent jolts of pain through my body, but I couldn't stop.
Laughter rang behind me.
Mocking.
Amused.
They weren't chasing me.
They were toying with me.
They knew I couldn't escape.
A flicker of movement above—
I looked up.
Two figures perched on the rooftops, grinning down at me like hunters watching a wounded animal.
I skidded to a stop, breath hitching. A trap.
I never had a chance.
One of them leapt down, landing gracefully in front of me. Before I could react, something slammed into my stomach.
Pain. Blinding, suffocating pain.
I collapsed. The world blurred. My body refused to move.
Hands grabbed my hair, yanking my head up.
"I think you broke him already."
"I thought you wanted me to make him immobile so we could have some fun with him."
No
No, no, no.
A rough hand grabbed at my clothes. My breath hitched, my body convulsing with sheer, animalistic terror.
"Please…" I rasped, barely able to form the words. "Please… don't."
"Now, now," one of them cooed mockingly. "As long as you don't make too much of a fuss, we'll make it quick."
A sob tore from my throat. Someone, please…
Then—
A whistle.
A wet thunk.
And just like that, the weight on top of me was gone.
I barely had time to process it before the body collapsed beside me, a jagged ice spike impaled through his chest.
The surviving ninja snarled in rage.
"YOU BASTARD!"
He lunged.
But before he could reach my unseen savior, the ground beneath him froze.
Thick tendrils of ice erupted, surging toward him like serpents. The Kiri-nin barely took two steps before the ice coiled around his legs, trapping him mid-motion.
His eyes widened in horror.
More spikes burst from the ground, impaling his torso. His body jerked violently before falling limp, crimson staining the frost.
Silence.
I lay there, shaking. My stomach twisted, my breath unsteady.
"Thank you…" I whispered hoarsely, barely able to form the words.
The man barely spared me a glance before gripping my shoulders firmly.
"You need to run, Hyouketsu."
His voice was gentle despite the carnage around us.
"Keep the clan alive. Live to see another day."
I could only nod.
"Now go!"
And so, I ran.
I didn't stop.
Because now, I understood.
I understood why they called this place the "Bloody Mist".