The view on the Kazangakure ruins was breathtaking to say the least. Directly beneath the balcony of the old warehouse was a maze of small, thin houses stacked together tightly in a maze of alleyways, all covered in thick layers of ash. The slums of the village, most likely. Probably once teeming with life; traders, working-class men, pickpockets. Further away the market square distinguished itself among the countless indistinguishable buildings as a large circle of ash-covered bricks. Several stands could still be made out in the distance, destroyed by the enemy or collapsed under the weight of rubble.

All of it gone, reduced to memories. War was such a cruel, beautiful thing.

Denrei took a deep breath through his mouth, inhaling tobacco from his pipe and enjoying the view and the thoughts and histories that lied beneath it. War, strife, death... to an unattached mind like Denrei’s these changed from horrors to curiosities. With the fear of loss of loved ones or homes removed, added with the confidence of an accomplished shinobi who wasn’t as vulnerable on the battlefield as most, war could even become enjoyable. And a great source of inspiration.

”If I were to use this for a technique.. It would be my greatest work of art as of yet!” He wanted to start working on it right away, although unfortunately he would have to prolong this little project of his. The Sashikami’s Kekkei Genkai was a difficult one to master completely, and even though Denrei was regarded as a genius among users of Ink Release, he still needed more practice in order to utilize a technique of the calibre that he was envisioning here.

While he had once regarded Kazangakure no Sato as a hazardous place, his time spent at the Ouraboros base had made him more accustomed to the ruined area. He knew which places he could and could not frequent, the area’s that were more frequently visited by rogues and treasure hunters. Most tourists nowadays only checked out the richer districts, hoping to find some leftover valuables. Foolish. Whatever had been left in the wake of the villages’ destruction had long been picked clean by now. Nevertheless, the slum area was typically left alone. Atop the roof of this tall, grim warehouse he was well out of anyone’s sight. The thing itself was easily fifty meters across, a massive triangular slab of ash-covered concrete. No money had been spent on glorifying this huge warehouse with roof tiles. It sat among the small houses like an enormous, grey giant.

His first few days with the Ouraboros had been interesting to say the least. For the first time in his life he felt that he was among peers; everyone in this group was different in some way. In that regard, they were all the same. Denrei was often regarded as a madman by those who knew what truly went on behind that jovial smile and those laid-back, friendly manners, but you had to be somewhat crazy to leave your village and wind up in an organization like this.

Take the ravenous girl named Rina, for example. Having entered the room ripping apart a man and a horse, this feral creature was more beast than girl and incapable of communicating with people through ordinary means. Yet Denrei didn’t doubt for one second that her place in Ouraboros was undeserved; her bestiality would no doubt give her an edge in combat. The other females of the organization were no less strange; the mysterious Sheffield who kept mostly to herself yet had such a rich history despite her young age, the cheerful Sakra who seemed nothing like the other criminals and was cheerful and sociable instead of dark and gloomy, much like Denrei himself. Then there was Hisame. This woman, a more experienced member of Ouraboros, had not hesitated to step into the spotlight and put the new recruits in their places.

Of the men, Lee was the only member acknowledged as a senior. He resembled Sheffield; cold and distant. Not impolite and outwardly hostile, but threatening in a silent but powerful way. The same went for the Uchiha named Storm, who had gone as far as to create a clone in order to gage the situation first. Until Sheffield had dismantled it, of course. Finally, there was the other Uchiha. Tamashi deserved credit for being a skilled enough fighter to join Ouraboros despite having lost his eyesight. However he had blundered with his attempt to make himself look like a fool as most members had been able to see right through it.

What was Denrei to expect of these new allies of his in the future? Only time would tell.

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Word count: 766

Eyes watched the artist from the shadow, the man was sitting atop a large warehouse elevated above most of the other buildings. The assassin had to admit to herself that Denrei had picked a nice spot to be alone; very few would think to look for someone up there, especially if they didn't even know anyone was around. Sheffield was an assassin though, trained in mindsets, common and uncommon opinions and thought patterns; she understood how most people "ticked". She hadn't needed to follow the artist through Kazangakure to this spot, she had noticed him leave the hideout's common area. The wal he walked about enlightened Sheffield that this man had already taken the liberty of familiarizing himself with most of the general and secret areas of the deserted village.

As one who had previously done this herself a long time ago, she was farm more familiarized that Denrei would be, she knew the best spots and the worst spots to hide or be alone and not get noticed. Denrei's decision of a spot was a good one, she had to admit to herself- it was a pleasant spot that revealed a large portion beneath the user in a wide display of broken grandeur. She watched him unnoticed, studying his relaxed movements- probably in full thought and his guard down now that he thought he was alone to do some private artwork. Sheffield wished to make her presence known, but she didn't want to startle the man into doing something rash or foolish.

Per usual, Sheffield was in the shadows- in fact, she was in the shadows overhanging a nearby roof of a grain silo that rose just a bit higher than the warehouse. She stood lightly on a metal crossing just between the empty silo and looked at Denrei, watching his every move. From the turn of his head to the stroke of his paintbrush, she noted it all in her memory bank for later use. She was an assassin and a manipulator- a weapon of pure cold killing intent and facades, there was no human inside Sheffield. She had been trained well at a young age, the only desire she knew, the only love she understood was the love for her clan. The clan who had made her the weapon she was and then persecuted her for being too good at what she did. Her love went passed physical forms, it was ideology and she wasn't afraid to spill every one of her clan members' blood now that they sullied that very name they represented.

She would have her vengeance, she would remake her clan and back into what they represented; but first she needed allies, or rather, valuable pawns willing to assist her. Hence her reason for watching Denrei the artist- his skills in combat seemed lacking, from a physical form at least. Unlike Lee Denrei's steps and movements were less controlled and more free-flowing. Sheffield's every action was a planned step, whether ten steps in advance or two steps ahead of schedule; it all depended on what she needed and desired to happen.

Finally, after studying Denrei for a long moment, she sent out a feeler; a sudden and quick harsh killing intent directed towards Denrei, the only person around. As soon as she released the overwhelming desire to kill, she repressed it, knowing that Denrei would feel it and look around. If he spotted her, the first thing he would see would be her eyes. Light golden orbs staring at him intently, indifferent to killing him or talking to him, whichever he preferred. She would step out of the shadows and step lightly onto the roof he was relaxing on; her light footwork tested the structure's integrity before relying her weight onto it. As she stepped down, her bosom bounced with the sudden change in motion and gravity; her skin tight leather suit doing very little to hide what was already there.

I seems I have been found... She said absently, almost sounding disappointed; though knowing it was her who had revealed herself to him, even if subconsciously, he probably assume he was the one who had noticed her first. She took a couple large steps towards him slowly, her long legs crossing the distance easily and her feet not making a sound that even the blind Tamashi could hear. An assassin's movement was their pride, an assassin who couldn't sneak around was worthless. The way you look at me: you know who I am, do you not? she said halfway serious, while smiling innocently, her face a perfect façade, unreadable. Her hands were at her side, a kunai in her up-turned palm and concealed by her sleeve. She was ready to plunge it into the man who was no more than four feet from her if he answered wrong.

If he answered in an acceptable way, she would push the kunai up her sleeve and leave it there until it was needed again. She didn't want Denrei feeling that she would easily dispose of him as if it came as natural as breathing air if she had to. She would sit by him, a little too close for his comfort- maybe. She admired his handiwork at art, all the while allowing him to smell the alluring charm of her body lotion. So the coward is an artist~ she teased, not bothering to remove herself from near him. If he responded violently or in a possessive way, she wouldn't do anything; she would take his reaction passively like a doll, unphased by any torture or threat he might promise her. There was little that he could do that would concern her; she was not a woman knowing fear, she knew death and welcomed it if it was her time... but that time was not yet.

If he did respond in a negative such way, she would be sure that he didn't take any "liberties" from her. She was a weapon yes, but even an assassin had pride and only used such "liberties" when it was convenient. Sheffield was not a woman oh physical pleasure, she didn't know pleasure at all, even killing was not a pleasure to the assassin. If he reacted in a way that would warrant a reaction from her, she would use her specialty, Genjutsu. Being so close, gazing on her, hearing her voice, smelling her lotion and even feeling her touch- all of these were deadly triggers that Denrei knew nothing about. No one knew Sheffield was a Genjutsu master, save maybe the leader. She charged a bit of chakra just in case she had guessed the delicate nature of the artist wrong.

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Word count- 1,112