Maybe storming off injured wasn't a good idea, even if his rage, stubbornness and pride told him otherwise.

He was puffing all the way to his apartment, and when he got back to his room and calmed down, he realized he should have taken the medical help. He wasn't able to clean his acid-burns properly, and those tiny pieces of clothes melted into his skin were the worst. He was gritting his teeth and swearing at himself in pain when he was trying to remove them, but he messed up and it just got worse. In the end, he sprayed something onto it from his apartment's first aid box, which temporarily and slightly decreased the paint.

Temporarily and slightly only, so it didn't help much. His skin was tensing more and more as it was getting swollen, and it hurt so much that Fuuga wanted to rip it off. He couldn't lie down, and couldn't sleep much either. He didn't know anything about this kind of injuries and didn't know how to treat them. Was he supposed to let his skin breathe by not covering it? Or should he have covered them to not get dirty? He didn't have much time to decide which was better or to heal, because he was called into mission in the morning. With constant hissing, he put on some bandage, soaked in medicine and dry on top, so his shirt wouldn't cause irritation and the wound would be protected.

He felt dizzy and cold when he walked into the neat rendezvous house an hour later. He stopped when he reached the stairs and moved his arm to check the pain. He clenched his jaw and covered his mouth. It was getting more and more excruciating. He waited for his breath to return to normal, and repressed another moan before walking up. His feet didn't make a sound as he stepped to a door and caught the end of a conversation.

- … His resistance is put down for now, but I doubt it'll last long. Just strain him further. And you, Choujuurou: focus on the preparations.

He reached for the handle, but then the door was opened. Fuuga entered and closed the door behind him. He didn't greet them, they didn't greet him. They didn't even look at him.

The Mizukage nodded at Choujuurou, who stepped to the hooded one and handed a file to him. – This is your next target. – pity and a bit of dislike was hiding in his voice. – We need him alive.

Fuuga nodded and turned around to leave. – Wait! – he heard her order and sighed. He stopped to listen, but didn't face her. Obviously, Kirishichi didn't like it: he grabbed his aching upper arm and forced him to turn.

He tried to not express how damned it hurt. But his stagger, his hand reaching for his injury, his groan and his distorted face gave him away. There was a few seconds of puzzled silence, broken by the Mizukage's sigh. - Either Kirishichi's got a deadly grip in all of a sudden, or you did not let that medic heal you yesterday. – she shook her head and left the room with Choujuurou. – With that injury, even a civilian can defeat you, Fuuga. Stay here, we'll send someone for you.

The blond straightened his back and sat down, closed his eyes and took control over his breathing. He wouldn't defy this time; he remained still, trying to suppress the pain, not giving a word to the only shinobi left in the room. He felt Kirishichi's tensed gaze cutting into him. The man was visibly sweating, his fingers were fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve as he stood at the door with arms folded. He watched every little movement of him warily, anticipating an outburst, an attempt of the blond to run away or to kill him, especially after the events of last night.

It took more than thirty high-strung minutes for a medic to arrive. Fuuga and Kirishichi were both relieved on their own way. However, the healer ran out of chakra before he could have finished his work on him. The blond simply touched his arm in response; then the medic froze, turned to Kirishichi, and back to his patient. – Excuse me, what was that?

- I gave you some of my chakra. Go on, finish what you started.

- What did you say? – Kirishichi raised an eyebrow and a snarl.

- Are you deaf or what?

They glared at each other until the mist shinobi turned away. When Fuuga's arm was completely healed, he thanked the medic's work, grabbed the file and left. Before he left the house, he checked his target, then the post-it note attached to his photo and snorted. 'Fuck me, why do I have to collaborate with a team of Anbu?'

- This was a frigging great plan, I have to say. – Fuuga hissed while jumping from tree to tree along with the other shinobi.

- It would have worked, had someone done his part well! – an Anbu snapped at him.

- I did exactly what you told me to do! It's not my fault that-

- Stop it already! We don't have enough time, we have to catch him before he reaches Tesseineko and warn the others! – the leader of their team ordered. – How are your reserves?

- After our fight just right now, almost completely empty. – one of them spoke.

- Same here. – another admitted.

- Plenty. – Fuuga answered on an indifferent tone.

- And how? – the previous one laughed in disbelief. - As much as I can sense, you're at a civilian level, you shouldn't even… What are you doing?

The blond one performed a few hand-seals, and nearly chuckled when he saw the Anbu feeling his chakra level growing at least tenfold. 'I knew adjusting my seal would freak him out, but this just feels damn good.' – As I said, I have plenty of chakra to use. What about you, squad leader?

- Not doing very well.

In a few minutes the other two of their team had to stop. The leader was able to run for a little more, then he entrusted Fuuga with catching the man. – We need him alive. – he reminded him of it once again before jumping to the ground and sitting down to catch his breath.

Fuuga smirked. He felt the excitement growing further in his body as more adrenaline rushed through his veins. His moves got faster, his senses sharper, his grin wider. He felt like a hound kept on leash, now released to catch a rabbit. He would catch it, oh, he would. And he wouldn't keep his fangs back.

He didn't need ten minutes to return to the Anbu captain with the unconscious rogue ninja they had tracked. The man noticed the captive's deformed limbs and spoke with worry in his voice. – Please, tell me he's alive.

The hooded shinobi dropped the body in front of him. – He. Is.

Kirishichi knew he should pay attention to his mission, but he couldn't. He wasn't paying attention to the pouring rain, nor to the event they had been observing inside a building of Tesseineko. In the corner of his eyes, he was monitoring Fuuga's every little motion. After he had nearly killed him, he was wary of him, more than anyone of his previous patients. He wasn't the obedient assassin he had predicted to become at the beginning of his torture. He wasn't under their control as he wanted. He hadn't been broken enough, or had been too much, he couldn't decide.

"Beware of any suspicious intent from him. His resistance is put down for now, but I doubt it'll last long. Just strain him further." He repeated his superior's words in his mind. 'I've done my best in the basement, Mizukage-sama. But I don't want to strain him outside my playroom. I'm afraid he would kill me this time.'

- I know I'm handsome, but stop staring at me. – the hooded blond whispered.

- Repeat what the mission is.

Fuuga let out an angry sigh. – Monitor every movement of the leader of the gathering in that house.

- Exactly.

- ... You don't even know his name?!

- That's why we're here. To examine him. To gather knowl-

- They call him the Deacon, he's a kind of spiritual leader of a newly founded religion. And he's got this strange rhotic accent...

- How do you know that?

- Why are you after him?

Kirishichi didn't answer, so Fuuga faced him. He didn't even flinch under the shinobi's gaze.

- We have intelligence he had been involved in a terrorist attack.

- You mean the one against your Mizukage? Him? Involved? – he snickered.

- He was the one who sent a party of rogue ninja to the attack's leader. The pirate captain you killed not long ago.

- Gorou? - Fuuga hummed. – I overheard them talking about the attack.

- What? When?! – Kirishichi nearly shouted.

- Not long before I killed him. – he examined the Deacon's features. They were somehow still familiar. - The Deacon wasn't happy he wasted his men on the Mizukage. He wanted someone else.

- Whom?

Fuuga thought about it for a few second, then shrugged.

Kirishichi looked around. They were on the roof of the nearest house, and through a window they could see their gathering. It was about the end, the hooded one knew it. He had a strange feeling about this event, like he should know or knew what was going on inside. Of course, he remembered Gamashiro's observations, but he still had that feeling. Then he saw the breads. The Deacon stood above them talking, then servants came and took the breads and handed them to the other participants. After that, they started to eat.

Fuuga was frozen to the spot. He knew why it was so familiar. – What are they doing? Having dinner? – Kirishichi asked.

- No... It's part of their... ceremony. It's part of an everyday ritual of a long lost and forgotten religion.

- If it's long lost and forgotten how come they are doing it?

- It's not extinct. A small group of isolated people still practice a variation of it. It has lived on through all those centuries.

- Do you know them?

Fuuga glanced at him then away, and lied once more. – Just heard about it.

He had a strange feeling of anticipation, like when the puzzle's pieces would click together soon. 'This looks exactly like the ritual the others did at home... It's like the ceremony of the Magor's ancient religion! But how does he know it?'

He froze. The puzzle clicked. 'Oh my god... Oh. My. GOD!... Now I get why it was all so familiar!...'

Fuuga gulped. 'The religion, the face, the accent... We're from the same island!... The Deacon is a Magor!'

- Fuuga! Pay attention!

The blond snapped out of his musing. He shook his head. – What now?

- Someone just entered the house. There. He's standing right at the door to the ceremony. – he pointed to a window. Fuuga's eyes widened for a second in surprise, then he adjusted his hood to hide his smirk. 'There you are, you dirty rat!' He took a deep breath. His blood cooled and boiled at the same time. Every muscle in his body became ready to jump. The mission, the deal, the Deacon didn't matter anymore; only the drive of the unfulfilled hunt and his lost and found prey. 'I'm going to catch you tonight!... Well, as soon as I get lost from this moron.'

- He must be waiting for someone. – the moron whispered. - Let's scale those walls so we could-

- No, don't. – his left wrist itched from the absence of his blade and from the urge to draw it forth.

- What?!

- He's a chakra sensor type medic shinobi. He'd spot us right away.

- How do you know that? You know what, nevermind...

Fuuga smirk didn't want to leave his lips. 'Nezu... You never showed up like this when I was spying on the Deacon earlier. What are you doing here right now?'

The blond watched with eager eyes as he was walking up and down. Then just when Kirishichi adjusted his position on the rooftop, Nezu stopped. Fuuga leaned to the surface even more, but still got to see his smile creeping up to his face as he took a quick glance towards their location.

- No way he noticed us! – Kirishichi whispered.

The hooded one looked at him, examining his stance. – Wait. – he narrowed his eyes. – Don't tell me you're using chakra to stick to the tiles.

- I use as little as I can and I'm hiding my presence. – Fuuga palmed his face. – What?

- For fuck's sake, he's a sensor type, a super sensitive one! Wasn't it obv-

- How am I supposed to stay on these slippery motherfuckers? I don't have glue on my fucking feet like you!

- I don't have any glue, I simply know how to stand properly. – he snarled, trying to hold back himself. – Thank you, moron, for giving us away.

-... He's not hiding or running away. Maybe he's not concerned in us.

- It doesn't matter if it's him! – 'I will punch him in the face when he's gonna be an ass again.' – Anyway, the ritual ends in a few minutes though. He'll get away, but we can't follow, Nezu knows we're here.

- How the hell do you know all of this?

- Mind your own damn business for once?

Fuuga heard a growl and not even a second later, he was grabbed and pulled into to Kirishichi's face. – I am overseeing your actions, so everything you do and know is my b-

His nose cracked quite loudly. He didn't have the opportunity to answer to Fuuga's rude forehead, because he was introduced to his even ruder fist. The blond watched in satisfaction as the man rolled down from the roof and quickly turned back to look for his new target.

Nezu was nowhere in the house. Fuuga caught sight of him vanishing behind a corner. 'I won't let you get away this time!', he smirked and darted off. He ran and jumped as fast as he could on the slippery roofs. Some wet tiles cracked and whimpered under his feet; a few gave in and slid down. Water splashed all over his leg when he landed minutes later. He halted in a small alley when he spotted the man again.

He was panting, his body was pumping with excitement. - There you are, little rat... – he whispered as he took quiet steps towards him. – Got you now.

Like he heard it, Nezu turned to him and smirked. He formed words on his lips, but Fuuga couldn't understand it at first, he kept on moving closer. Then, the pirate pointed up as the blond heard noise from above him.

An enraged Kirishichi with bloodied face appeared and kicked him hard to the ground. Fuuga could barely glance up to see Nezu waving him goodbye with that creepy smile of his – the next moment he was knocked out.

His body felt numb and his mind hazy when he managed to open his yes. He was in darkness. He heard a way too familiar whistle. He was standing, and, or not? Something was holding him up by his wrists; it hurt so much as it pulled his arms backward, like when he was...

'Oh no.'

'Please, god, no, NOT AGAIN!'

The chains rustled. His limbs trembled. He felt sweat running down his face. He didn't dare breathing. The melody became louder, and it shivered down his spine.

He heard the snicker of an unfamiliar yet well-known voice. He gulped as a masked figure with floating copper red hair emerged from the evil shadows dancing around the candle lit in front of him. Her words were distorted; the smell of the room turned back and the noise of light and dark hit his ears. He recognized this feeling: he was drugged or under illusion, or both, and...

He was in that room again!

His mouth was dry; his heart raced. His lungs were begging for air. He couldn't control his muscles. He couldn't move at all! He wanted to, he needed to go away, to flee, to run to anywhere, before...!

He knew Kirishichi and his kinks, but this person wasn't him, she was someone else, and dear god, he didn't know why, but he feared her from the very bottom of his heart! He just wanted her to go away, he wanted to tell her, to shout it at her, but he couldn't, he couldn't do anything!

Her hair kept coming closer. It scratched his face and body, leaving crimson trails on his skin. She just stood there, stayed there unmoving and vibrating at the same time. Her mask snarled blankly at him. When she raised her hands together, crimson butterflies hopped off her hair and climbed out of her mouth. They flapped around him, danced to the wicked melody of torture. They landed on him, merged into his body, crawled into his ears, his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his soul.

And then, they brought His Nightmare to life.