The time for observation had passed.
Though a dark, curious part of Yuta's mind wondered what would come from the trough once it was full, he was no monster like Danzo. He could not stand idly by and watch over a dozen children be slowly killed before his eyes.
'Wait, is that fair?' he checked himself. 'Even Danzo, at this point in his life, probably lacks that level of depravity.'
In that light, this Priest is even more of a beast than Danzo!
With a final click of his tongue, Yuta moved. His form became a phantom, materializing directly in front of Chikami Kirisu.
The cultist, a mere civilian, had no time to process the movement. A kunai flashed, and Chikami Kirisu crumpled, his throat slit before a single thought could form.
Yuta repeated the process with the other four cultists—a series of swift, precise executions. The scum were eliminated without a moment's hesitation.
If he recalled correctly, this was his first time killing ordinary people.
Yet, his conscience remained silent, a placid lake.
These five had long ago surrendered their humanity. They were viler than the lowest human traffickers. Granting them a quick death felt like a mercy they didn't deserve.
They should have known the terror of bleeding out, drop by drop, as they had intended for their victims.
"Chikami! Why do you delay?"
The Priest, his gaze locked on the slowly rising level of the trough, remained oblivious to the slaughter below. He didn't bother to look up, his voice sharp with impatience.
"Hurry up! Just a little more… a few more offerings, and the Holy Pool will reach its zenith!"
"Let us prepare for the advent of our God!"
The Priest threw his arms wide, his voice climbing toward a hysterical crescendo.
And then, his body froze.
An uninvited presence now shared the dais with him.
"Chikami?"
"Save your breath. They're all dead."
Yuta stood before the Priest, his posture relaxed, his face a mask of calm neutrality.
He had waited, biding his time for two specific reasons: to fully understand the scope of their deluded plan, and to ensure no other cult members were lurking in the shadows.
It appeared this was the cult's entire local presence—a handful of fanatics led by a single madman.
They were likely at the beginning stages, not yet having the time or influence to swell their ranks.
It would be decades before this cult grew into the organization that would one day spawn an abomination like Hidan.
The Priest showed no surprise at Yuta's sudden appearance. Instead, he slowly nodded, a glint of intellectual curiosity in his mad eyes.
"You are the child Chikami Kirisu retrieved."
"I see now… You are a shinobi. Only one of your kind could have dealt with my followers so… efficiently."
"However…" A grotesque, knowing smile split his pale face. "Do you truly believe you can stand against me alone?"
He reached up and lifted the ghost mask from his face, revealing features that were unnaturally white and strikingly young, now contorted by a feverish, religious ecstasy.
Without the mask, his voice lost its echo, though it still trembled with fervent passion.
"Do you comprehend who it is you challenge?"
"You challenge a God!"
"Those fools died believing I sought to summon the great Evil God. No…"
His eyes widened, gleaming with divine madness. "I will merge with the Evil God! I shall become the supreme existence!"
A blotchy, fevered flush spread across the Priest's cheeks, his words tumbling out faster. "The Holy Pool is not yet full… but it will suffice."
"The moment I enter its sacred depths, the Evil God will feel my devotion, and our fusion will begin!"
"I am on the cusp of immortality!"
"Raving lunatic.' Yuta found the man's logic impenetrable.
Even if this pool held power, and even if this "Evil God" was real, what possible reason would a deity have for merging with a mortal? The sheer arrogance was breathtaking.
Yet, the madman's rant served as a warning.
Allowing him to reach the blood pool could indeed catalyze a bizarre and dangerous transformation.
The solution, therefore, was simple: eradicate the problem at its root.
'Like this.'
In a burst of speed that defied sight, Yuta closed the distance. A Rasengan formed in his palm in the space between heartbeats.
He offered no warning, no final words. He simply drove the spinning sphere of chakra into the Priest's chest.
The Priest had not anticipated such pragmatism. He had expected a debate, a confrontation of ideologies—not this blunt, shinobi efficiency.
"It is useless!" the Priest shrieked, even as the technique began to shred his insides. "I am blessed by the Evil God! You cannot kill me!"
'Fool.'
The thought was cold and sharp in Yuta's mind.
'You want to consume your god and steal its throne, but you still expect its protection? You cannot claim both betrayal and blessing.'
The Rasengan performed its function with brutal finality, tearing through the Priest's body and extinguishing his life in an instant.
Even in death, the man's face remained locked in that mask of ecstatic triumph.
Yuta found the expression deeply unsettling. To eliminate any risk, he planted a foot and kicked the corpse cleanly off the raised platform.
Best not to let the body fall in and potentially trigger some grotesque reaction from the pool.
'I am nothing if not thorough.'
But what Yuta had not anticipated was that the moment the Priest's body was dispatched, the placid surface of the blood pool erupted into violence. It seethed and churned, thick, glutinous bubbles bursting on the surface with a sickening, gurgling sound.
It looked… it looked as if something was gestating within.
'Don't tell me something is about to climb out of there'
The moment the thought came, Yuta's blood ran cold.
There, in the center of the churning crimson, a blurred, humanoid outline was indeed condensing, becoming more solid with every passing second.
'Damn it. I was right. Something is coming out.'
'What fresh horror is this? Did the madman's ritual actually work?'
Yuta stared, his mind racing, as the silhouette within the blood gained definition.
'Is that… the Evil God? Is it manifesting?'
'This is strange. The Shinigami's confirmed existence is one thing, but this "Evil God"... is it a real entity too?'
There was no more time for speculation. The humanoid form was clarifying, its features threatening to resolve into something recognizable.
Yuta's body reacted before his mind finished the thought.
Sage Mode!
Power flooded his cells, the markings of the sage etching themselves across his skin.
Whatever was being born from that sanguine broth—deity or demon—would face his ultimate technique first.
Sage Art: Wind Release: Rasenshuriken!
The air itself screamed as the technique took form above his palm, a vortex of countless microscopic blades spinning with the power of nature itself.
The figure in the blood pool seemed to sense the threat. Its coalescence halted, the form freezing in place as if staring into the face of its own annihilation.
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