A/N: This fic is collaboration between Iki-Neko and Kamiya. Italicized words are thought. Standard disclaimer applies.

Nataku's Mantle: Wrath of the Asynjur

Midnight in the kingdom of Volsug came with a raging storm. Lightning cut across the heavens and rain fell heavily over the canopies of the dense forest. Thunder boomed loudly through the darkness, the shrill whistling of the wind adding more to the ominous presence brought by the storm.

The dark tempest swirled and raged, its howls daring any man to come against its path, but no answer came…even the bravest chose to withdraw from the storm's challenge and retreat into the safety of their homes and the warmth of a pyre. The sound of minds could very well understand the threat of death should one get caught in the storm's fury.

Yet… a hooded figure treaded the muddy paths of the dense forest, his lithe strides not even near threat of sinking in the sludge, and not once did he slip. Such feat in the presence of a storm only seemed to be proof that he was an agile and an audacious man… more so, because he dismissed the threat of the storm's fury… his steps slow and placid, unhurried and with hardly a care in the world.

His light tread ceased as he lazily pulled his gaze from the ground to stare at the entrance of a small village — another of many small dwellings scattered around the outskirts of the capital city, Prontera.

An anticipating smile appeared on his lips as he studied the place. The feeble lights of the neighborhood twinkled as though inviting him to come. The invitation was more than welcome… He drew his katars, his grin grew wide, and as though heaven sensed his purpose…the night cracked with a bolt illuminating his lone figure…heaven's warning to whosoever was unfortunate to receive his visit…

…………………………………

"Feh…"

Irritably, the old woman dropped the spent matchstick and attempted to light another one.

"Having a candle die out on you in the middle of the damned night…and in a storm at that!" she grumbled to herself as the candle caught blaze.

With that done, the old lady slowly hobbled over to an old rocking chair and eased herself into it. No, she could not go to bed once she'd awakened. Add to that, the storm will prevent any chance at slumber.

"Better to wait until dawn…"

A suddenly sardonic smile crept upon her wrinkled face.

"If I could manage to see it that is…"

The cottage was already secure, and with nothing better to do… she opted to pick up her crocheting and begin her work.

"Eh?" a seemingly amused voice sent her to crick her neck, looking for its source. "Grandma…you're awake. That's too bad … I was hoping to catch you asleep."

The old woman dropped her crochet on her lap, gaze fixated at the candle.

"I've been expecting you…," she whispered evenly.

"Really?" came the amused query of her midnight guest.

Moving out of the shadows and into the lighted circumference of the lone candle, he perched his hip on the table and idly studied the old woman, not even bothering to sheath the katars in his hands and began carving out small cuts upon the table wood.

"You are the Midnight Wanderer, are you not?" she asked, ignoring his vandal of her property.

The man chuckled.

"So… I guess this means you really are a genuine psychic," he sneered. "Forgive me if I find your famed clairvoyance nothing more than crap…"

With difficulty brought by age, the woman stood from her chair and slowly ambled towards the hooded figure. She stopped a few inches from his person and reached up to touch his forehead. Her mouth began to move listlessly in a chant as she closed her eyes in concentration.

What began as amusement turned into bewilderment, and escalated into sudden anger… he gripped her wrist and pulled the hand roughly from his forehead.

"I don't want to be the subject of your enchantment, hag," he warned.

The old lady stared back at him fearlessly, a calm smile poised on her lips. "Your presence here as the way you are now will fade by the light of the full moon, exactly fifteen years from her grave… only the armor of the Gods will save you from your curse --- "

The old woman's sentence was cut off as the man's heavily gloved hand backhanded across her face, sending her body clear across the room. Her head cracked against the wooden post, bursting into a cascade of blood and brain. A weak moan elicited from her ashen face and dying lips, her eyes blinking with the haze from her own blood as she tried to focus a look upon her attacker.

Silence ensued as the man's figure glanced at the limp body sprawled on the floor. He lit a cheroot and watched as she continued to bleed, scarlet stains flooding the carpet of her humble home. He walked towards her prone form and felt for a pulse, only to find a weak one. The old hag was dying.

He stood, taking out the cigarette from his lips, and dropped the ashes of it into the woman's dying gasps, grinning, "May the dawn come without you seeing it… and me pocketing five hundred thousand zeny…"

That said, he left, strolling out the way he came. The storm had turned into a drizzle in the course of his assassination.

"I suppose the little sacrifice has appeased the gods," he thought with a smile.

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