| [Jun. 12th, 2009|02:39 pm] |
Asuma woke up feeling roughly like he'd been thrown down a mountain. Twice. And then tied up in a sack and clubbed with rocks.
He groaned.
And heard himself.
Memory rushed back in bits and pieces, breaking over his head like a wave. He felt hands on his chest, lived through a quick-fire rush of darkness-ninja-Tsume-pain, and lunged upright with a raw-throated cry to break the first neck that presented itself.
Agony crippled him.
It was the mark of a good shinobi that they could still fight blind, deaf, and halfway convinced their bones were falling out. He'd already done it once. His wild grab caught the arch of flesh and bone that stretched between throat and shoulder, hand tightening brutally over the sharp angle of a collarbone. He wrenched, dragging the shinobi towards him even as his back howled and his wrist shrieked and a firestorm from hell poured molten lava through his skull.
Naked flesh smacked into his chest. Claws raked down his arm. He grabbed blindly with his other hand, back hitting cold metal with another nerve-ending-howl, and sought for the first hold he could get to do real damage.
Somewhere in the chaos, blackened eyes forced their way open. He caught a glimpse of wild, blood-matted hair, irises like chips of sky, and red dagger tattoos arching down angled cheekbones. Claws sank into his jaw.
Asuma froze.
"f'you're a genjutsu," he grated finally, "'m gonna kill y'slow." |
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