Slowly Iori walked through the 'old' end of town, with it's dirty, dimly lit streets, drug dealers, cheep prostitutes, and the ever 'friendly' serial killers lurking down rat infested ally ways. He didn't need to lift his head, or remove his hands from his pockets as he walked these streets, he was perfectly safe here, people feared and knew him here, this was where he belonged.

Iori stopped dead, the feeling of someone watching him eminent. He turned slightly, scanning the dimly lit street. Nothing. He shrugged, continuing his steady pace, ignoring the drops of rain that trickled down his neck. He looked up at a dingy building, most of the windows boarded up, the building itself on the verge of collapse.

That's when he realised, when he knew for sure something was wrong, that feeling of unease returning to him. He felt the pressure of his own blood in his ears, a slight sickness to his stomach, that feeling, the constant feeling that someone was trying to control him. He knew at that point that Chizuru was right, Orochi had risen, and he had to face him alone. He's coming for you! His fingers involuntarily coiled themselves around the Magatama, gripping it tightly, "Then I have no choice." He said to himself, turning away from the building, and heading for the land of his ancestors.