That thought gnawed at him the hardest. Desperate to rid himself of the burden by legal means, which was impossible, you couldn't kill him, you couldn't throw him out or shackle him without the Messenger's permission, the old man took a reckless step.
He started… helping Max escape.
In secret, of course, and from everyone.
He ordered the weakest, slowest shinobi to guard that sector. He would 'forget' to lock adjoining cell doors after inspections. He would 'fail to notice' rotted beams in a far corner of the corridor leading to the ventilation shaft. He would 'not have time' to patch fresh holes in the walls, the ones Max loved pounding until he bled. Once he even 'dropped' a lockpick near his cell, but Max flung it away, declaring that 'Jashin doesn't stoop to thievery'!
The old man left hints, maps, laid-out routes, anything that might point the boy towards escape. But Max was blind and hopelessly stupid. He either ignored these chances, lost in his manic fantasies of grandeur, or took them as… a test of faith? Or simply as what was owed to the 'incarnation of a god', a convenience provided for him.
It felt like Great Jashin had granted the fool immortality, but taken the last scraps of his mind in exchange.
"That's it, enough. My patience is gone. After the sacrifice… we'll shackle this idiot. Let him sit. A year. Two. Until he turns into a dried, silent mummy. Then, finally, order will return to the base. And my budget will be saved. I just have to do it in a way that Divine Messenger never finds out… or it'll end badly for me," the old man decided as he approached his laboratory.
He pushed the door, already savouring the silence that would settle in after they walled up the eternal freeloader. The thought of soon being rid of the problem was sweet as honey.
⁂
In my cell, I smirked, leaning casually against the cold iron bars. My eyes slid over a familiar silhouette in the dim torchlight.
"Yuto. Haven't seen you in months. Been out on a mission?" I called, deliberately loud.
Guard Yuto, a hard-looking man with a scar slashing through one eyebrow, gave a bitter smirk and shook his head. His fingers tightened around his club.
"It's your fault, you cursed glutton. I heard more than half the lads from our base got sent out to earn money. For your endless appetite."
Hearing a grown man whinge, I rolled my eyes for show and looked at him with contempt.
Pity? Not a drop. If they knew what they'd done to me over these six months, their money complaints would sound like baby talk. They cut me, stabbed me, broke my bones, burned me with fire, drowned me in ice water, buried me alive, boiled me, shocked me… all with cold, methodical calm.
They tried to scrub my mind too, of course. Hypnosis, genjutsu, drugged cocktails. Pointless. Pain… pain had become background noise, like the hum of ventilation. Suffering was loose change. None of it mattered. Except one thing: the scorching, animal hunger, especially after severe damage or lightning hits. That hunger turned my guts inside out, drove me mad, made me scream and slam myself into hysterics. It was my only weakness, a terrible one, and at the same time my salvation from pain.
"Oh, come on, Yuto, don't be so petty," I waved him off, playing the part of an arrogant fanatic. "I'm a growing body, I need to eat. Besides, if an organisation can't even feed its people properly, how's it supposed to win their hearts, eh?" I paused for effect, watching his cheek twitch. "Take our True Jashin cult, for example. If they can't feed me, the very incarnation of Jashin, how do they expect anyone else to believe in them?"
"More like a walking curse," the guard spat through clenched teeth. "I'm sure Jashin-sama cursed you for your mouth."
"Oh, Yuto, your faith is as deep as a puddle after rain," I shot back with a theatrical sigh.
I'd settled into this 'incarnation' role. At first they beat me for saying it. But when neither torture nor hypnosis could break the 'blasphemer', and a few especially fanatical guards started secretly looking at me with awe, because they needed some explanation for my immortality, the rest simply accepted it.
And this shinobi was the type who believed exactly as much as was profitable and reasonably safe. The perfect target.
Yuto lazily tapped his club against the bars. The metallic clang echoed down the stone corridor.
"Wait." I reached through the bars with a quick movement, like a snake's tongue. My fingers hooked into the rough fabric of his vest. "Come on, Yuto, talk to me a little longer. Why did everyone suddenly come back? I only saw Captain Kaita yesterday. Wasn't he supposed to be on a mission in my name?"
Yuto yanked his sleeve back hard and brought the club down on my hand. Pain flared sharp, then immediately began to dull, dissolving into the constant hum of familiar suffering.
"How should I know? Don't ask me," he muttered, turning to leave. His shadow merged with the corridor's darkness.
"You stingy piece of rubbish," I hissed through my teeth, pulling back my reddening, already swelling hand.
On my lips was not pain, but a sly, triumphant smile.
Cold metal sat clenched in my fist. A single moment of contact, and my nimble fingers had done their work. The key from Yuto's belt was mine now.
I didn't know exactly which cell it opened, but it didn't matter. Yuto had just returned and was responsible for the entire block. The keys on his belt were definitely for doors around here.
"If I'd known during the ceremony that my fear was only the beginning of a six-month hell… would I have let them 'chop me up' back then?" The thought flickered as I studied my prize.
But that was weakness. A momentary weakness. Because those six months of hell had unlocked this body's true potential. Not just immortality. Not just regeneration. The ability to train in a way no mortal could.
Every fracture, every torn muscle, every burn… after healing, the tissue grew stronger. My muscles responded to strain with absurd returns, if they had 'fuel', those same pills I extorted, stole, or tore down after experiments.
I took them not only to heal, but to grow. For strength. Every free minute between the old man in the white coat's 'sessions' went into exhausting training in the darkness of the cell: push-ups until my bones cracked, fists pounding the wall until skin peeled off in strips. Then regeneration. Then again.
Yes, I was still a child. I barely had enough chakra for basic techniques. But physically? I was no longer that frail little boy. Under the rags was a body tempered by pain, ready to explode into action. An adult shinobi's strength locked inside a child's frame.
My trump card, carefully hidden behind the mask of a hysterical fanatic.
And yes, I saw all those 'accidental' loopholes: poorly locked doors, 'forgotten' hints, weakened grates. The old man was clearly tossing me chances like alms. Here, run along, little fool.
But if I looked wider, the picture changed. This cult was a shadow organisation, and the village clearly disliked it. Which meant their hideout was carefully disguised, and its secret was guarded.
If I escaped, it would lead to the den being exposed. To its destruction. To the old man's death, the same old man who wanted my 'escape' so badly.
The conclusion was obvious: he wanted me caught. He wanted an excuse to imprison me for ever.
Why? I suspected it was my appetite for knowledge and power. I wasn't just surviving, I was preparing. Learning to endure, to analyse, to play a role, thanks to my past life in sales.
I gathered information in crumbs: from guards, from prisoners, even from the old man himself. I was looking for a real chance, not a set-up. Yes, I was afraid. Every day could be the last. But cold calculation beat fear. One mistake, and there would be no second chance.
So I waited.
The perfect moment was coming. Soon, another 'sacrifice'.
On ritual day, every cult shinobi, including Hayashi, would converge on the main hall. The laboratory and prison blocks would be left with minimal guard, with men like Yuto.
That was my chance. Not earlier. Not later.
All the previous 'opportunities' had been mousetraps. But now… this was real.
I glanced around. The corridor was empty. Gritting my teeth, I pressed the sharpened end of the key to my stomach, just under my ribs.
Pain. Again. But this time, under my control. Better a thousand wounds like this than ending up on that altar again, helpless… or worse, shackled for ever.
My face twisted with pain and effort as I drove the key in. Sharp, slicing agony. The familiar feel of something foreign inside me. I pushed deeper until the metal disappeared completely into flesh. Teeth clenched, I felt the tissue tighten around it. I ran my fingers over the wound as it sealed fast. A moment later, only swelling and a dull ache remained.
"Fine. First I'll get out. And then… I'll take revenge. For every torture. For every blow. For every starving howl in an empty stomach. Just wait for me," it flashed through my head as I stared into the darkness where Yuto or another guard would appear at any moment.
Rage boiled inside me, not childish any more, but forged over these six months, held back only by iron will and the cold calculation of my previous life.
Soon. Very soon.