Revived Journal Scratchings

No one had told her. No one had told Baliquis that her sister had died, much less that they had lost her body. They all knew and stayed quiet until they finally retrieved the body and brought it to the temple. She would have blown up at the loss of anybody since her reasoning was sound: “They are dead; you can’t misplace someone who isn’t moving.” She had been assisting in funeral preparations since the priestess who primarily did it had fallen ill, and that’s how she found out. On accident. Or rather:

She found out when she walked into the room with the body and saw her twin sister in the wooden casket.

A clipboard had been handed off when she entered the prior room, but the team of stead-fast funeral staff who aided the primary priestess would bless the body in water. They all stood there to play audience to her looking at the corpse numbly. They all watched as Baliquis looked at the paperwork on the paperwork that confirmed this woman was the priestess previously known as ‘Lady Genosis.’ They stood by and waited awkwardly for orders as the stand-in priestess seemed to hesitate before one nudged another sharply in their ribs, causing that one to pipe up, “Shall we proceed?”

Baliquis looked up from the paperwork and looked at the staff member, but they all saw the blankness in her eyes. “Pardon me?”

“Shall we proceed with the funeral rites?” The person who nudged their peer asked, and then she looked back at the clipboard and said instead.

“Yes…please leave the room so I may bless the body,” she said, and the team followed since this was part of a typical funeral process, but that was not the case today as the stand-in priestess remained, smoothly walking over to the side of the casket but looking straight ahead. Even when she planned her manicured hand and its gleaming grey nails on the side edge of the wooden casket, even though she asked them to leave the room to bless the body, she didn’t.

Blessing the body in this casket would give finality to the reality she wanted so desperately to be a lie. Still, she timidly scratched the tips of her nails up and down the length-wise wood grain against the inside of the box. The soft scraping against the wood echoed in this room, and it was just enough to give validity to its actual existence. Sufficient to ground the priestess but not enough to stop the dam from breaking. She tossed the clipboard into the box and on top of the woman’s chest before snatching her hand away, wheeling around and storming out of the smaller room and striding towards the larger room’s massive double doors. The ones with the metal braces built into the walls next to their doorframe in case of siege so that the women and children could be safe within this room at least. Beside it was the heavy, lacquered, and mainly symbolic, in-case-of-emergency wood bar meant to nestle perfectly in those brackets.

The same wood bar that Baliquis picked up and re-adjusted in her arms perfectly. One of the aides noticed the same one when all of them were giving her a moment and standing in the hallway- ready for her to call out to them and call them back to the funeral room. “My lady!” One exclaimed as the others looked and were alerted to the situation, but they were just a fraction of a second too late as Baliquis kicked the only open door between both closed by planting her foot into the sturdy wood. She dropped the beam into its housing and turned her back to the lower-ranked priests and priestesses banging on the door. She went back to the funeral room as the panicked clergy alerted others to try and get the door open. Baliquis stopped in front of the wooden casket and looked in.

Her twin sister lay dead there. Cold. Grey. Lifeless. Silence is embodied instead of saintism.

As they tried to force the door open, those in the hallway all flinched as an ear-drum-piercing roar erupted from the barricaded room and then stopped. Another loud, piercing sound burst came from behind the door that ended in an anguished wail as Baliquis fell to her knees next to the casket. She stopped, only to pant and catch her breath from the out-of-practice excursion- before she screamed in pain once more. They didn’t have words, but they did not need to. There were no words to spare for the primal, instinctual understanding of La Llorona, the mother who lost her children and endlessly searched for them, nor words to describe the foreign understanding of the wailing. The listlessness of it. The desperation. The once-in-a-lifetime sound of hurt that can never be replicated, never be healed, yet always terrified to feel. Even as she cried, Baliquis did not stop unless she needed to breathe.

By the time she lost most of her voice, and her throat grew hoarse, scratchy, and dry, she resorted to sobbing instead. She stood up and snatched the clipboard from the corpse, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to toss this on you-” For a moment, she lived. For a whole moment, her twin sister wasn’t dead, she lived, and when Baliquis looked over for confirmation, the corpse greeted her with still unmoving poise. “I…” She looked forward and put her head against the clipboard’s unsteady existence. Every part of her shook as she breathed, “Say something.” Baliquis whispered, “Please.” She choked another sob, “Do not let all of this… have been a waste. Please.” Baliquis sobbed behind the clipboard and slowly sank back to her knees, “I… I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Everyone does it. I can’t just- have this one?” Baliquid said, and the room met her with the silence she knew wouldn’t answer her, but life only ever meant this stage of grieving for begging.

“It was… a mistake sending you to the Shinobi; I know that now but please.” She dropped the clipboard and grabbed the casket’s edge, nails scratching the insides deeply, “Please, do not leave me here. I don’t belong here.” She sobbed shamelessly, helplessly, and small. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Her screeching last apology did not help, and it was promptly punctuated by other priests and priestesses falling upon her as they grabbed her and tried to pull her away from the casket, “GE-GET OFF ME!” Baliquis screamed.

It took ten of them to pull her away from the funeral rites room. Two other aides had to go to the infirmary because of the bruises they got while she fought back against them; another had to be carried to the same wing because she had clutched his throat so hard he had passed out and now held a bruise that would not die for weeks. In contrast, two more were getting treated with Neosporin from deep gashes she had given them when she backslid from bargaining to the prior stage of grief- Rage. Baliquis had to be sedated against their practices and beliefs, and the infirmary doctors cleared her to be brought back to her room to rest.

Hysteria and grief have a funny way of twisting and tormenting the mind and subtly side-stepping reality. Rationality becomes fluid in those mindsets, applicable to things that shouldn’t and plausible in cases where it holds starch opposition.

Baliquis slept until the next day, and she was checked on and looked over for any remnants of hysteria, but the others of the temple didn’t see it. Or rather, they didn’t pick up on it because she had buried it like so many other years. They cleared her as ‘healthy,’ and they wrote off her abrupt outburst of irrationality because none of them had ever been present to see such a thing before, so it was foreign. It didn’t exist in this world of peace and prosperity that she seemed to take in and reflect wholeheartedly but ‘reflect’ and ‘replicate’ are two different things. They even allowed her to return to the preparation room to complete her task over her sister’s dead body.

By now, it had been four years since she had heard anything about her sister and Baliquis dutifully went over the body with another aide or two. They took notes while Baliquis swallowed her aches and listed them off numbly, but the wound was still fresh and festering. She took several breaks to collect herself, and the process took longer than it should have. There were only two things left: correctly record and draw out the strange tattoos inside her sister’s forearms and call someone more substantial than her to lift the body into the cremation chamber.

You see, the cremation process consisted of six steps. Firstly the deceased was identified, and Baliquis could do that as her twin, and the other priests could see the relation. Secondly, the procedure had to be authorized, and Baliquis approved it; plus, the temple already had its cremation process and authorization for it and those that requested it. Thirdly, there was the preparation of the body which was another part of the process Baliquis streamlined by doing herself. Fourthly, there was putting the body in a combustible vessel strong enough to bear the incoming weight change, then in the cremation chamber, which was also known as a “retort” and exposed to extreme temperatures- up to 1800 degrees Fahrenheit- so that the only thing left was ashes. Next was the fifth and often not-mentioned process of finalizing the remains by removing metals and non-organic materials from the ashes- then further grinding the human remains in a specialized processor into the official and resulting ashes which would be presented to the family or loved ones. Then the last step was the more favored, picking out urns and returning the ashes to the family. This time, Baliquis would not share the final stage with the family. Not entirely.

Did you know that the whole cremation process itself only takes 2 to 3 hours? It depends on the policies in place, but it could also take seven to ten business days to turn around.

The aides had left for the day, and Baliquis was left with the body in the retort room. After the aides had wheeled it over there, she stood there in silence, looking at the body and then at the vessel it needed not be placed in to burn it. “Elder Baliquis.” A voice spoke up behind her, and she turned her head to the sound, “Is it possible that the body can be seen?”

“By who?” She asked, and the other person replied,

“We have two children and their guardian, claiming they are the children of the deceased, wishing to see the body.” Baliquis had never heard of any children.

“Bring the children and alert the guardian we allow them a day to visit and mourn.” Baliquis said as she smiled back at the other person, “We will house them and alert the other Elders to my decision.” the attendant carried out the orders as always, but Baliquis was left alone with the body.

And with the children when the attendant brought them to her. She watched them from the opposite side of the vessel and watched as they cried and sobbed, but she offered no condolence. Why should she? The longer she stared at the children, her anger and disgust rose. Neither of them even seemed to be hers- there were features in similarity with Baliquis, her sister, and their other family members- but the children didn’t have the heaven-hued hair or even the steel-blue eyes when at their most rested point. They were bastards. That’s all she could think about, and her trance was broken when one of them asked, “When is she coming back?” Then a thought occurred to Baliquis. Her sister was alone now- without their family who all lived. She was alone on the other side. It would be nice if she had some company, wouldn’t it?

As Baliquis pulled away from the vessel, she opened the door to the retort and turned on the mechanics for the gas. With the door open, the retort chamber wouldn’t contain it. It would leak into the rest of the room. Baliquis moved away from the door, went over to the table of medical supplies used to clean the body, and picked up a clean rag, covering her mouth with it slightly, “I’m sure she’s waiting for you two…this must be so hard on you.” Baliquis said and only removed the rag to speak but otherwise covered her mouth. She walked past the two small children and to the singular set of double doors in the medium-sized room before lowering the rag again, “I’m sorry; I’ll give you some privacy so you can grieve in peace.”

With that, she exited the room and shut the doors. She was locking the handle from the outside.

As she exited the area where the cremation facility was, which only had one way in and one way out, she went into a room about 100 meters away that gave way to a hallway where other priests stood by for her orders. Baliquis lowered the rag to speak again, “You are both dismissed for the day; on the way out, please let someone know that the body of the late priestess needs to be put into the cremation vessel.” They nodded and walked off, and Baliquis walked in the other direction. It would be cruel to allow Izayumi to be alone for too long.

Claims:

The Grand Design works in waves, for it is an endless series of opening and closing doors, shifting and reorganizing, moving and ever-changing. There is not one set way it works. It operates in perpetuity, and yet it is consistent and reliable. You can whole-heartedly place your trust in this intangible unknown workings because it will never falter and break. Never will it reach out to change someone's interpretation of its workings or mysteries, but to anyone who wills it? They can use it to validate just about everything and give justification to just as much.

Every failure. Every victory. Every mistake. Every accidentally acquired knowledge.

I, too, will give credit to it for all I have received, for it had been a long journey.

Seven years, to be exact, of actively and doggedly pursuing all that I needed and sought. All that I deserved; was freely given to me or ripped out by way of me cutting off all other exits ad escape routes that led anywhere other than to me. I don't like leaving things so 'open-ended.' I prefer tied-up loose ends if there need to be any loose ends at all.  

My virtues have never rested in being graceful or pure and pious; I have never been entirely kind, not because a cruel world formed me. It has always been there and active. I had no interest in fighting the inevitable from the start because it was a waste. Why spend that energy fighting against a river that can ferry me to where I need to be so effortlessly, as the Sage walked upon the water? It continued underneath him but made way for him all at once. Why should I be kept from that too?

I gave up my family seven years ago so that my sister had the path to gain what she did without the hindrance of the temple and its wants, its ideals, because who better to bare teeth at them than one of their own? I never expected her to return to the temple or the order—quite the opposite. I had viciously and actively worked towards her exile, step by step, stone by stone, word by word, and signature. That's what helped ease me.

People left the order and started families while I resided in this bubble where time seemingly slowed, and I existed more in the past than I did in the present. Even smoking wasn't enough to appease me, and I gave that up. I earned more joy because we would both be out of her soon than smoking on that pipe.

Every dream I had was about that exiling and how the first breath of freedom would look or feel for her.

"What happened?" Another Elder questioned me as I stood before them in the cremation room. "How could you let this happen?"

"I am trying to perform my duties to the best of my ability through this difficult time," I said as I was trying to think of something. I couldn't manipulate my way out of this too well, but if this is what the Grand Design deemed, then I would have to trust in its process because it had already laid out my hand for me this morning-

"If you hadn't left the children alone, someone wouldn't have come in and killed them!" The elder yelled, and I nodded, "Why didn't you take them to grieve with you?"

"They said they wanted alone time with their mother; how was I supposed to know that the clergy could not be trusted in my absence when I have trusted them for so long?"

This morning, the attendant who the attendant meant to move my sister's body from the slab to the casket to be cremated came in to find that the two children who had come earlier were dead and on the floor. The doors entering the room were unlocked, and there seemed to be no disturbance as all the retort chamber doors were shut, and their gas lines were closed tight. The attendant reported the deaths to the Elders, who had come to my room and woken me up, then proceeded to have this tribunal with me in the room. The bodies were still on the floor. "What are we going to do?" The Elders put on even the process of cremating my sister on hold.

"We should have an autopsy done." I offered, and they all looked at me, "I-I know that I am at fault here. I want to do everything I can to make this right to make up for my mistakes." I needed to lean into the emotional side of things to make everything more plausible. I needed an autopsy done, and I needed to cremate them too. Those were the goals now; hiding my evidence effectively.

At the bare minimum, I needed to hide my sister's disastrous and abominable secret children from the whole temple and the shinobi. Who knows what witchcraft they would use their bodies for and who knows what they could or could not do with my sister's body? I had to beat them to the punch and burn them all as quickly as possible to snuff out opposition and opportunities. I'll be damned if someone pulled another fast one on me as they did to my informants in the first place.

"We would need permission from the family, at least from their father." One of the Elders said, and I nodded, "Didn't someone claiming to be their guardian come in?"

"Right, but he didn't look entirely similar to them…" Another Elder said, and I piped up,

"Perhaps it would be best if I put in the request to get their birth certificates?" They looked at me, "It may be more acceptable if her family requested it. We could hold off until then-"

"No." Another Elder said, "If we hold up, we will only be prolonging the pain; An autopsy can be arranged for today, and hopefully, these children can be laid to rest with their mother and save us extra resources by running the retort twice."

"That won't be possible." Another Elder said, "We have only prepared one burial plot- we would need at least another day to prepare two more for the children." I stood there and listened to them work it out amongst themselves.

"It would be unwise to cremate them before their remailing family has a say- did that guardian leave anything behind to contact him? If we had an address, perhaps we could send someone? Maybe a phone number?" Another Elder offered while the attendant from yesterday night advised that the man had indeed left an address but no phone number.

"I believe reducing Elder Baliquis's duties, for now, would be best so there are fewer mistakes; elder Baliquis, since you want to take responsibility for this incident, you would be willing and able to write the letter to this guardian and alert them of the children's passing?" One asked, and I nodded,

"Anything I can do, I will," I replied, and honestly, it wasn't a lie. I was willing to do anything. "Since time is of the essence, if we don't get a reply within two days, it would be best to move ahead with the funeral proceedings, and I will take responsibility for this… Perhaps if I had a larger staff to assist me and prevent any more mistakes while I'm not in my right mind."

"It seems we are all on the same page, then. Please take care of this quickly then, Elder Baliquis." I nodded and waited for them to all leave me alone with the attendant from the night before. I turned to them and asked that the address be brought to my office before I left them to put the children's bodies in their caskets. Hena was waiting for me outside the office already and was aware of the situation,

"Hena, please go and get the birth certificates of those children and use the birth name of Lady Genosis- Izayumi Hozuki." I told her, and she went to do so, but in the meantime, the attendant returned with the address that the 'guardian' had left behind. I dismissed the attendant once he gave it to me, and I was alone in my office when I realized the Grand Designed opened another door for me. The Guardian did the address in pencil on a ripped-out piece of scratch paper. Firstly- who the fuck left their information like this? Anyways, I moved my thumb a bit over one of the numbers and looked at the ceiling.

Was I going to be forgiven for this? Ever in life? I had the distinct, painful feeling I would experience horrendous karma for what I was about to do.

But fuck the Sage; if he did not want this, he would not have ruined everything.

So anyways, I took out a piece of paper from my desk drawer and a pen and started writing a formal letter- one that Hena walked in and saw me writing- that politely informed their unidentified guardian of the fact that their children were dead. We of the temple would need them to come in to identify the bodies. I even had Hena look it over to make sure she could report it to the others. I was 'actively trying to make up for my faults. She handed it back, and I folded it up before producing an envelope from the drawer and looking at the address. The one I smudged to show a different and incorrect number. I wrote it on the outside of the envelope, put the letter in, sealed it, and then handed it off to Hena. When the door to my office shut behind her, I smiled.

The letter would go to the wrong address. It would probably be on the tail end of the two days by the time they got it. Even if that person came in to say the address was wrong, the children's 'guardian' would still not be here. Maybe he would figure it out and decide to come to the temple himself… most likely three or four days from now.

I would have the whole set if he also died of 'shock' in the form of a cardiac arrest. The entire little faux family unit she had made for herself of a stand-in partner and two bastard children.


I left my office and waited until nightfall before going to the cremation room and looking around for my sister's body. I found it, and the night attendant looked at me nervously, "I'll oversee the cremation so that I might sign off on it." They looked wary of me and my presence, but I didn't care. The opinions of those beneath me meant nothing.

I watched as the attendant left the room and came back with my sister in the casket on a wheeled table, pushing it deftly into the room and opening a retort door. There were no movements from me as they lifted the box and planted it on a retracting mechanic system that would push the casket in and pull it out when the process was done. The attendant pressed a button that made the mechanics under the casket jerk to life before pushing it into the chamber fully- they paused to shut the door and locked it- then turned on the mechanics for the gas, which filled the section. I flinched when he pressed another button that ignited the gas and began the fiery process of dissolving the body.

I don't know how I would cope with this, but nothing made me feel better than knowing I was bearing witness to her body being incinerated.


I don't know how long it would take me or what I would do, but I would make sure that there would be retribution and repentance for this as well.

Claims:

I have played my part for so long that- for a time- I tricked myself into thinking I was everything I put into this “MASK” of mine.

I was the femme fatale that captivated me. I walked these halls until the sound of my footsteps was remembered, burned into memory, and brought unease. I wore these robes to look like everyone here, yet I never was. I prayed to the same God, worshiped the same way, and devoted myself just as everyone else did. I wore red lipstick to remind myself that I should smile more and speak less because a woman with red lipstick is never meant to move her mouth too much so that she might not stain her teeth. On that note, I smiled without showing my teeth to show warmth and to seem friendly. I kept my rage to myself. I kept my screaming and hysterics within the confines of my smile, behind my eyes, and within my mind.

My “MASK” had everything they wanted. It was mirrored reflection. When they spoke it, I played God and performed miracles to improve my “MASK” so that it gained what they thought it lacked and lost nothing.




Every step for the past eight years has been to ensure that my sister grew. That she could carelessly find her place in the world. That she could be ostracized from this religion and these people and practices wouldn’t be so devastating- it would be freedom. It would be a relief.

This play and this “MASK” of mine were meant to distract the masses so that she could escape this village and go somewhere else. Then I would draw the curtains, and when they next looked? Like magic, she would be far enough to cross the border of the Land of Fire and go somewhere else. That’s when we would be one again.

She would find someone who respected and loved her for who she was as a person, not who she had been or where she came from. She would have a family if she wanted. Maybe one day, I would see those children.

Once she crossed the border, my part would be over, and so would this play. I could do anything. We could be anything.

I could write her letters without worrying about them being scrutinized or repercussions. I could call her on the phone. I dreamed of that for so long. I dreamed of calling her, hearing her family in the background, and hearing children playing. I dreamed of calling her to say ‘hi,’ and the conversation lasted only seconds because she would have to get off the line and tend to her family. I dreamed of what she would sound like, truly happy.

I have nothing now.



What do I do?

What do people do in this situation? I’ve spent so long acting with this “MASK”, and placing stock in my cottony dreams, that I don’t know how to be a person anymore, let alone a ‘human’. What do I do? What do people do in this situation?

I…

I want to cry—all day. I want to scream until I’m mute or my throat bleeds from dryness, whichever comes first. I want retribution, but I’ll never get it.

I…

I will never be whole.

I could have children, and I would still not be whole. I could be excommunicated tomorrow, finally free of this place, and never be complete. I could return to my family and hug them and never be whole.

I stare out the window most days. From the courtyard, I can see down to the village at a certain angle. I watch them most days. I sit there and watch the Shinobi go about their day. I watch morning give way to day and day give way to night, and all their little lights come on. How? How can they do it?

How can they take my sister from me and then carry on? Like- As nothing happened? How can they carry on like my universe has not imploded? I lose the person I loved most in this entire world, and they can continue to sleep peacefully and wake up, have breakfast, maybe jog like she used to, and be unaffected.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this I can’t do this Icant do this Icantdo this Icantdothis IcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothisIcantdothis

Why do they get to live while I am dying inside?

This is not what Ninshu taught. This is not what the Sage taught; this is not- it’s not fair.

Are you saying I gave these years away for nothing? That my efforts were worthless?

No.

No, that can’t be right.

I won’t accept it.

I will not accept that it is fair and a decision by the Grand Design.

Fuck that.

I want vengeance. I yearn for retribution. I demand a price be paid that I can’t gauge because how does one put a price on something so priceless? It is against the teachings, but I was dead. I want their death.

But… there are so many of them. Even watching them from here, there are hundreds in that small area I can see. There must be thousands here. And outside these village walls? There are probably more of them. They’re like ants, I’m sure; there is variety and abundance. How will I do it? How long could I quietly kill them in their sleep before someone figured it out?

If I could get out of the temple…I would have a better chance.

Right now, I can only kill them around the temple and get back in quickly. They’ll figure it out.







I will trade what is left of this life of mine to take as many Shinobi lives as I can before I die.

Maybe… I won’t even live long enough to kill one of them. Perhaps a shinobi will kill me first, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

I have to do it.

I can’t live this life knowing they get to be free, roam around, and be happy when they used my sister. They used her, and when they were done, there wasn’t so much as an apology. They just gave her back in a wooden casket.

I… won’t play a part. I won’t need my “MASK” once I’m out of this temple.

I won’t burn this village to the ground.

Perhaps I will burn a single building once I kill everyone in these walls. I want them to see the smoke- the other villages. They may even grow concerned when no one is answering them. It will start small… I will have to be careful.

They will send search parties; it would be best for me and more rational to send a few at a time. When they don’t return, they’ll send more. And more.

Maybe I will be lucky- perhaps, I will find someone to help me. Or, maybe I can find a map to take me to the village that will send out search parties and go there only to see a few.

It may take years, but if that is what I have, that is what I will give.

I want to walk among them and see them in their organic state, in their natural boldness, that is, them living as if my world didn’t freeze in time when I saw my sister’s body.

I cried and said I made a mistake but indeed… no… No, it was them who made a mistake.

She could have lived, and I wouldn’t be in this mental state. She could have lived and been happy, and we would not be here: with me sitting, watching them move around like ants from my window up on high.

When a levee breaks, the dam collapses, and the flood takes everyone off guard.


I will start finding my way out of these temple restraints and walls and into their village they love so fucking much. I will rise in the ranks quietly as I did here. That’s when I’ll do it.

While they are distracted and watching me move up? They’ll never see the flood come and sweep them out from the side.

My sister could control water… I have not allowed myself much indulgence in those types of things, but I will do it. I will kill them with their twisted magics. I will reinforce the outside of these village walls and say it’s against our enemies but really?

It’s to keep them all in so that they fucking drown when I flood this place to the top of these same walls.

The smell will be pretty bad for a while since I’ll just let the bodies lie about in the heat afterward, but who cares. After all-

They’re only filthy Shinobi, and this is what they bought with their greed and selfishness. They can only blame themselves.

[ WC: 1517 ]

Claims: