Slaughter of Insects

Reaper of a black cloak, sky of a blade's clash. Darkness devouring the lights of the damned. Mortals watched over by a warden of hell. jobs entailed for the scythe to be set, flames to be cast, and gifts to be given....How they burned.... The waters of a god's eye fall, drenching the bringer of a new life from hair to leather. Steel ready to soak in the devil's wine. Powers of a world unknown set free to wreck those who oppose a king of kings. Fools forget who they mess with and meet a swift end. The horsemen of reality soon to arrive and claim their soldiers. The reaper's goal to deliver the men only to that crossing-point. A job of ease and entertainment, yet of hate and remorse. To humans of a mortal realm fear the blades of a cross. The mind polluted with thoughts of power and greed, sin envelop them and decide their fate in the seven circles. Uncle watching like hawk on it's pray. Methods of one thousand crows flow throw the mentality of a living blade. Outcast of no power allowed to have the luxury of survival against the force of a shotgun. Such would not happen today. Different mortals, different views, different judgement, and different power. As the reaper draw near a horde of insects, all that was left to do was slaughter. Atop a hill of sand, eyes catch view of a flame and smoke. Many bugs laying across the ground with few awake to watch the darkness drain their souls. The reaper silent and unseen, untrained eyes seeing only a shadow of their future. Conversing in casual manner as the blade draw close, hostages in sight. Sacrifice was required in this world. To kill the damned, innocent must be one with the damned. So say the gods of a underworld. Unorthodox tactics lay in place as preparation for their future come in sight,

Dellapero Grance was an individual with a appearance much different from a normal shinobi. Aside from the facts of his early-developed physical body and somewhat-tall height for the age of thirteen, he pertained other odd characteristics. Starting at the head was his hair. Being of a pitch-black color and in a spiked style where it seemed that several strands of hair had been stitched together into several larger strands, counting up to be thirteen spikes in total. It covered anywhere on the head from the top of the forehead to the mid-level of the back of the neck. Dellapero wore a headband unlike others as well. The cloth material was of a crimson red, often said to be originally gray, but made red by constantly soaking in the blood of the defeated. The metal section itself was of a darker-grey, but not yet black shade. The sunagakure symbol engraved in the same crimson color. Dellapero's eyes were also of a black, though, there was more to them that varied them from others. Both eyes constantly showed a sign of complete emotionlessness. It wasn't an act, rather as if the being inhabiting the body of blood had no soul at all and had made a deal with the devil for greater power.Such was slightly true as his clan dabbled in the demonic arts, though, that was a different subject entirely. Dellapero's physical body has slightly advanced muscle mass, being barely noticeable, but still a small trait of his appearance. His skin consisted of a pure Caucasian color with several red markings along the arms, not in any specific shape or wording, but just burns that lay as a reminder of the past. Time was such a odd concept. Being intangible, yet always carried. Covering his back and the sides of his stomach and chest was a black leather jacket, showing only a black shirt underneath in the front of the body along the center.Also drawing eyes would be a black sheathe holding the weapon of king nothing. A silver sword with only the power of it's wielder. Such was all that was available in this twisted society of shinobi. The only other devices being a group of shuriken and kunai resting on the inside of leather pockets.The rest of his clothing all followed the same characteristics. Pitch black made of light-weight leather material.

Signs of the inevitable fate strung into a net. The gun powder set in place and extra settings being put in place. This would not be the normal transfer of a reaper's scythe, but by a different weapon entirely. One that is unknown to mortals and feared by the immortals. Giving one last look down upon a collection of failures, flames knead in the stomach of a pyro. More signs of hands being made as the flame finish kneading. The reaper's blood burn with fire, boiling into a crimson mist inside the veins. As the last of blood is discarded, a crimson steam would fall out from the lips of silence. Not a word as flames fly through the throat and gather in gluttony's mouth. Cheeks expanding and more chakra generating along the arm of a right hand. Parting lips and allowing the sealer of fate to be set of, a black light burst forth, torrents of the dark flames molding together into a giant sphere of embers. Just as the last flame exited the body of a man of skill far beyond his rank's reputation, a fist strike forward at the ammo of a gun. Winds of a beast unleashed from the knuckle and sent crashing forward with a loud bang. The shotgun had been fired. Steam fill the air from water hitting flame. A flash of light fill the insect's view, showing them their fate. A burst of wind mistaken for thunder and sealing the fate of fools. In moments, the black inferno crash down on a dead camp, fire exploding in every direction across the yellow sand. Another boom masked by the crashing of lightning. The sweet sounds of screamo being cast as insects are given the gift of death. Bodies burning, skin melting, sleep broken and a nightmare created. The final moments of these fools were as they should be, scum on the earth. The screams of their pain mixed with the music of burning sand make a choir of blood. Heat ripping them apart. Crimson wine drop from their grave and feed the fire. A black light constantly lighting up the sky. A blood red smoke drifting up as the vocals of the music were silenced.Organs fried and bones scorched. The unknown captives burning in shock, the betrayal of what will never be known, haunting them in the next world. As the reaper's job was done, it was time he left the horsemen to do their job. With another clash of blades and a light covering the village of the damned, the reaper transform, crows ripping out from their body into a massive murder. None remain of the reaper, but the yells of crows moving in toward the village echo in the eternal sky that bind mortals to earth.



WORD COUNT- 1185