No Title for now

The outside world was a thundering disturbance; the polluted gases lingering overhead ruptured without hesitation, tearing open in displays of imperial blues, a static art. The streets emptied long before the storm escalated this far. Infact, it had been days since anyone ventured outside their doors. The old man had been far outside the city, held up in a series of unexplained caverns in great meditation. Only the feeling of god broke his concentration. Amongst great swells of distorting neon and vibrating grids, a very cold glare struck through, silencing the assemble of string instruments he had orchestrated in his unconscious. Very real terror, the type that collapses your windpipes and leaves you numb, defenseless- All harmonance faded away and there was simply the stone walls, and the presence of god. The silhouette protector of their land, the illusion which communicated only through an origami angel. But at this moment there was no scripted message sent ahead of this violating presence, it was alone, it was peering directly into him. In the corner of his eye, barely visible centered in the light of the tunnel, stood a cloaked orange haired man. No details could be made, but the elder knew very well that he himself was completely exposed; his pathetically weak expression, eyes begging for mercy as the sags beneath blushed a powdered white. His lips trembled, there was nothing he could do, no words to express his loyalty- He had no headband, no insignia or possessions linked directly to the village. Had his god decided he could be a threat, there was no way, nor any will, to stand against. All the while the expanded eyes stayed lingering, very real, in the back of his mind. It felt like centuries had past, but there was a simple reality check, he had not even closed his eyes yet.

Then there was only the feeling of cold. His cheek bled all the heat it could to the stone, his vision nothing more than this incomprehensible rush of memories, footsteps slowly passed from behind him. Had there been somebody behind him? He was afraid to spectate, to wonder if perhaps there was more than one assailant, that god could be more than one actor, and just a title to stand beneath. It would all add up, to the mystery of one man taking down all of Amegakure's finest, and Lord Hanzo himself- but, already, the thoughts strayed too far. God could perhaps be egotistic, vulnerable to questions. All the old man could do was struggle to think of something else; to his family, to the well being of his old students, but two thoughts kept themselves at the forefront, spotlighted, unavoidable. How had someone moved through his sensory barrier? And would he be spared? The rumbling of the floor gave some distraction, but also worked to reinforce the speculation of his god's anger.