The rain fell, making the cool night into a beautiful display of glittering diamonds in the streetlamps. Iori had always loved nights like this; sometimes they were so refreshing, but not tonight. There was no comfort in the rain tonight, no refreshment from the cold wetness as it trickled down his neck. He walked until the streets could no longer be seen, to a place once sacred to his family.
He stopped at the gates, taking in the desolate scene that lay before him. A light breeze stirred the long grass that grew all around the gravestones and also around the temple that overlooked them. Instead of being high on a hilltop, raised high above the normal ground level, the building seemed to have been relegated, as if it were something to be hidden from view; to be shunned instead of exalted. A house of many gods where few had ever been and which, it seemed, the gods themselves had decided to pass by. The temple was old and the passing years had not been kind to it. Its seemingly fragile structure was worn, cracked in places so deeply that the entire structure looked to be in danger of collapsing. The remnants of an offering alter crumbled beside the steps to the door, which had housed no gold offering plate for hundreds of years. Where it was no one knew and no one cared. No one ever visited the temple now.
The nearest town was over five miles away, the temple itself set back from the narrow road, which wound through the Japanese countryside. No birds nested in the eaves. No rats frequented the hollow shell of the building. Neither man, animal or gods, it seemed, was interested in the place. A place filled with painful memories.
Iori stepped onto the gravel path, which led to the temple steps. Taking fleeting glances at the ruined and disrepaired state everything was in. The statues, which seemed to close in on the path, seemed almost insubstantial, not as impressive now that the rains had worn their stone features. The path disappeared into overgrown plants, which stretched from the dark recesses in the grass, twisting between the broken gravestones of the long since dead Look what he's done to your ancestor's resting grounds…Yes that's right, Kusanagi desecrated their graves…He has no respect for you!. Iori tore his way through the jungle of vines, stopping at the outskirts of a temple in its centre to catch his breath. He steps into the shelter of the covered entrance, suddenly realising how wet he actually was, feeling uncomfortable in his wet trousers.
The wooden doors squeal in protest as he swings them open, hanging torches flare into life, illuminating an extensive hallway, much bigger than the building that houses it would suggest. He steps into the passage, the doors swinging shut behind him. Hands in pockets, he slowly walked down the corridor, passing several doors, which led to now empty rooms. He stopped, taking a sudden interest in the detail of the dragons, carved into the doors before him. Closing his eyes, he gripped the handles Still doing what daddy told you?Iori grunted, anger taking hold of his usually calm features, a low growl formed in his throat. His grip tightened on the handles You know, maybe Kusanagi was right…You are weak!"I am not WEAK!" Iori's voice bellowed, a mass of purple flame streaming from his hands, the voice laughed at his anger. The doors flew from their hinges, an inferno of violet fire burst after them. The voice teased him; he ignored it, making his way through the splinters of wood to an ornate altar. A green glow illuminated its surface, he grinned picking up the Magatama, examining it, taking in its beauty. Placing it gently around his neck, "His death will be for my ancestors," he whispered, kneeling before the altar to make one final prayer.
