Just like half a year ago, a crowd of ragged, terrified children was driven onto the massive stone altar in the centre of a huge cavern. The ceiling vanished into darkness, and only the wavering torchlight snatched pale faces warped by fear from the gloom, along with dark stains sunk into the stone.
Hayashi stood in the same place as before, his back to the victims, wrapped in a black cloak. His eyes, narrow blood-coloured slits in a face ruined by scars, burned with the familiar fanatical fire as he contemplated the altar.
Suddenly an intrusive thought flared in his mind, born less from inspiration than from irritation at the recent failure.
Max.
That small, unbearable, invulnerable freak. A useless glutton? Or… untapped potential? A sudden flash of insight blinded him.
If he combined that cursed immortality with the Cursed Technique 'Blood of Cursed Control'…
An absolutely invulnerable carrier, capable of surviving even a Kage's attack. Then all Hayashi would need to do was gather the blood of the strongest warriors, fallen or wounded, and remotely control entire armies without spending a drop of chakra, without risking the Gift.
No weaknesses like Haruto. An absolute strategic weapon.
With a weapon like that, was world domination still out of reach?
The thought was bold, almost sacrilegiously practical, and it lit a new, greedy flame over his usual fanaticism.
That wretched Max… suddenly became priceless.
A crude mistake, to underestimate such a gift, even wrapped in such a repulsive shell.
With a sharp motion he beckoned the old man in the white coat over, without taking his eyes off the altar.
The old man, watching the ritual preparations with a mix of professional interest and dull disgust, flinched and came closer, trying to hide the weariness in his eyes.
"Yes, Divine Messenger-sama? You called?"
"Where is the immortal one?" Hayashi finally tore his gaze from the altar, letting it skim the children as if searching for a familiar figure. "Bring him. Now. He must be present at the sacrifice. Let him witness Jashin-sama's greatness… and perhaps serve him."
The old man froze. Horror twisted his wrinkled face.
"My lord…" He searched for words, trying not to anger the Messenger, but unable to hide his disgust. "Please, do not drag that monster into the sacred ritual. His antics, his hunger, his blasphemy… he'll defile the ceremony. Jashin-sama may turn away from us!"
He knew Max better than anyone. That 'immortal' was a walking catastrophe.
Poisons? Useless. Hypnosis? Useless. Any torture ended the same way: Max screaming that he was hungry and demanding food.
But more than that, the sacrifice was sacred. If that madman showed up here and started grinning, cracking jokes, or, Jashin forbid, demanding a 'snack'…
The consequences would be horrific.
Hayashi's face darkened. He needed this experiment.
"You dare disobey?" His voice dropped, and that only made it more dangerous. "Bring him. Now."
The old man shuddered, realising arguing was pointless.
"…Yes, Divine Messenger-sama."
He nodded to one of the cultists lurking in the shadows.
"Bring the immortal."
"Yes!" chirped his ninja assistant, young and still full of zeal, and vanished into one of the dark passages leading to the prison blocks.
Everything was ready at the altar. The children huddled together, trembling. The adult 'donors' with white, empty eyes formed a tight ring around the stone slab. The guards stood waiting for a signal.
Hayashi watched the dark passage where the ninja had disappeared, and in his heart, beneath plans and fanatical certainty, a familiar icy unease crept in.
Where is he? Why is he taking so long?
Max might make trouble, but dragging him by force would not be difficult. Immortal or not, the boy was weak and predictable.
"Where are they?" Hayashi asked coldly, almost hissing, turning sharply towards the old man in the lab coat.
The old man flinched as if shocked. He tore his gaze away from the altar, where ritual bowls were already being set out, and gave a fake laugh, rubbing his hands.
"Divine Messenger, uh… they're probably delayed. You know how disobedient he is!" The old man waved with feigned annoyance. "Always pulling something. Ren!" he called to another ninja standing closer. "Go check why Syuka is taking so long. And make sure that… cursed one doesn't ruin the sacrifice. Hurry them up!"
"Yes, sir!" Ren, an experienced jonin with an expressionless face, nodded and melted into the tunnel's darkness.
Time passed. The old man began to fidget, his gaze darting between the passage and the Messenger's face.
Ran? Finally?
The thought was sweet as forbidden fruit. He imagined silence on the base, saved resources, an end to this eternal nightmare. Anger at disobedience mixed with wild, barely restrained joy.
He ran. Perfect. I've given him chances so many times, left keys, weakened bars. At last, great Jashin-sama granted him a crumb of sense!
Suddenly a figure burst from the tunnel. It was Ren, but not calm the way he'd left. He stormed into the cavern, breath breaking.
"My lord!" His voice, sharp and loud, cut through the heavy silence. "Syuka is badly wounded! And Max… the immortal… is gone! His cell is empty!"
"What?!" Hayashi's roar, hoarse with rage and humiliation, rolled through the cavern, drowning the children's crying for a moment.
His scar-ruined face twisted with fury. His eyes flooded red, almost crimson.
He ran. That worthless pup. That 'gift' that was supposed to become my greatest weapon!
Max might have been a useless glutton in the old man's eyes, but to Hayashi he became, in an instant, a priceless tool that had slipped from his hands at the worst possible moment.
And he dared to wound my man. Dared to run.
The old man beside him went rigid. His face was a battlefield of emotions. Anger for his wounded subordinate fought with wild, near-hysterical joy. He clenched his fists desperately so he wouldn't betray his triumph.
He's gone. Finally. He won't devour my resources, wreck plans, drive people insane. Now I can shackle him so he will never be a problem again.
He didn't even notice Hayashi's gaze at first, cold and deadly.
And Hayashi was thinking the same thing, but from an entirely different angle.
Chase him? Now? Abandon the sacrifice, interrupt the ritual? That would anger Jashin-sama…
Refusing the blood offering at a moment like this was unthinkable blasphemy. But if he completed the ritual, threw himself into the bloody orgy like he'd planned… then Max would have a huge head start.
That little bastard who pretended to be a pious idiot openly, brazenly humiliated me, the great Lord, the Divine Messenger.
The questioning looks of his subordinates by the altar, full of fear and confusion, burned him. A wave of searing humiliation crashed over Hayashi. For a man who had lived for decades with absolute power, with fear and obedience, this public disgrace was unbearable.
Clenching his teeth, holding back the roar of fury trying to tear out of him, he forced each word through them, freezing and precise.
"Begin the sacrifice. Now."
At that single, soul-chilling command, the familiar slaughter began. Hayashi's face stayed dark and still, like a stone mask, as he watched life after life go out on the altar. But inside, a volcano raged.
Cursed little bastard… you won't get away. I'll find you. As soon as Jashin-sama accepts the sacrifice and grants us his favour… I'll catch you. And when I do…
In his mind, images of exquisite, endless torment rose up.
I'll slice you into the thinnest ribbons. I'll tear your flesh with hooks every day. I'll grind your bones to powder and make them knit back together again and again. I'll wall you into stone at the bottom of the deepest lake and leave you to rot in the dark for centuries. You'll beg for death, and it won't come. Only then will you understand that being unable to die isn't a gift, it's the cruellest punishment. You'll remember forever how you dared to humiliate me!