Maguro
Maguro stood in the crater staring down at Takara's body. It was covered in bone spikes and blood. His hand was still warm with her blood.
His tears trickled down onto her. He'd killed her. He'd really killed her. His tormentor was dead. He should be happy.
"Why do you hate me so much?" Takara asked.
"Because you're so fucking perfect."
Takara rose limply to her feet, crouched over her arms swaying lifelessly. Her head rotated until it was completely backwards staring upside down at Maguro with hollow black eyes dripping with blood.
"So you killed me just because you felt inferior to me, is that it? Well, has your self esteem improved at all from killing me?"
"I'm strong now. I'm real strong, strong enough to beat the Kazekage."
"Strength is meaningless unless you have something to protect. Who do you have Maguro? You killed the last person alive who truly cared about you."
"I don't need anyone. I'm going to kill more and more people until everyone recognizes me the ultimate villian."
"Always concerned about what other people think. But what will you think of yourself after all is said and done? And what do you think of yourself after beating me? You realize I let you win. Your strength is fake. It always has been."
"Just stay dead already!" Maguro plunged his hand into Takara's chest.
But then Takara was gone and when he looked down, his fish hand was inside of his own chest. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't control his hand as his fingers wrapped around his heart.
Maguro sat up in his bed, panting and in a cold sweat. Gaara was there next to him, snoring.
Just a bad dream. Takara was dead and he'd left that place behind.
That's right, he'd gone to Sunagakure and recruited Gaara. The one sand ninja had then attacked Gaara before Gaara had sicked his other Jonin on him. Then they'd chased this guy, Kini, out of the village before Gaara sent… a pony with a cardboard cutout of a tree after him.
At one minute to midnight, Maguro felt the call of the Corruption. So he woke Gaara and now the two stood on Gaara's balcony, overlooking Sunagakure.
The twisted landscape, the strange colors and cryptic symbols. All of it seemed like it could be a part of the corruption already.
"I see what you've been trying to do with your village here, and I think I can help you get there."
"Really?" Gaara waved his arms up and down like a puppy wagging its tail. "Yes, please! Can you make trees too? I could never get any to grow here."
"How about trees like gemstones."
Gaara chuckled. "Yes! The most powerful kind of trees, trees with strong bones."
The village below, with its twisted and contorted streets, was but a canvas waiting to be molded by his corrupted powers.
With a surge of corrupt energy pulsating from his fish arm, Maguro unleashed a torrent of malevolence, a wave of dark energy that slithered over the village. The ground quivered and groaned as the land itself responded to his malevolent call.
Before Maguro's eyes, a place glimpsed in a dream materialized. Trees with leaves of shattered iridescent jewels towered over the village and its surroundings, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the desert floor. A river flowed nearby, its crystal-clear waters shimmering under the moonless moonlight. Creatures with feathers the color of
precious metals flitted through the trees.
The giant teapot had grown to colossal proportions and floated up into the air. Sand continued to somehow trickled from its spout.
But it was the overhead loop-de-loop that stole the attention, an exaggerated manifestation of its previous existence. What was once a simple architectural oddity now towered above the village, many gigantic loops and twists curving high into the air. Shinobi and villagers that had been standing on the road when this change happened,
now found themselves on this gravity-defying structure, defying the laws of physics as they moved upside down and sideways. Most looked quite panicked. A few were clinging onto the edge as the strange gravity tried to pull them upwards or sideways.
Buildings now leaned at unnatural angles, as if bending under the weight of some unseen force. Structures sprouted nonsensical appendages, with windows and doors multiplying haphazardly across their surfaces.
Beyond the village walls, from the depths of the desert, a magnificent structure emerged which dwarfed the village and all else, defying the laws of architecture and challenging the boundaries of reality itself. The Midnight Palace, a monument of otherworldly beauty, rose gracefully from the sands, its spires reaching towards the heavens like
delicate tendrils of obsidian
The palace was a symphony of unearthly hues and intricate designs. Its walls, crafted from an otherworldly material, appeared to be infused with the very essence of starlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that danced and shifted in a hypnotic rhythm. Every intricate detail, every curve and contour, seemed to tell a story of ancient secrets and forgotten dreams.
As the Midnight Palace soared higher, it seemed to draw upon the essence of the night sky. Celestial orbs and galactic spirals dotted its surface emanating a soft, alluring light. The air around the palace hummed with an otherworldly energy.
Maguro was spellbound by the sheer magnificence of the Midnight Palace. Its grandeur surpassed his wildest imagination, evoking a sense of awe and wonder that transcended his corrupted nature. For a fleeting moment, he felt a semblance of pride, as if he had unlocked a hidden beauty within the darkness that consumed him.
But amidst the splendor, a subtle undercurrent of unease tugged at the edges of Maguro's consciousness. The beauty of the Midnight Palace was undeniable, yet it carried an intangible sense of foreboding, like a siren's song luring sailors to their doom. He couldn't help but question the true nature of this otherworldly creation and the toll it
exacted upon the world around it.
A tear ran down Gaara's face. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. How did you do such a thing?"
Maguro said, "The power of the Corruption is the power to grant wishes. I wished for power and I was given power. I imagined an invincible shield of fire and the Corruption made it so. And I dreamt of the Midnight Palace. The Corruption let me manifold that dream into reality."
"Then it can even give me the love I've longed for."
Maguro nodded. "Let us go. The Midnight Palace calls to us."
Maguro entered the Midnight Palace with a sense of triumph, his heart filled with anticipation for that place he had dreamed of. The towering gates swung open.
In his mind's eye, he had pictured a place of ethereal beauty, where every step would be on floors of shimmering crystal and walls adorned with exquisite tapestries. But as Maguro crossed the threshold into the heart of his creation, the stark contrast between dream and reality struck him with a jarring force.
The grandeur he had imagined, with its resplendent halls and radiant splendor, dissolved before him. In place of the glorious corridors was a single cavernous room of rotten decadence, the air heavy with the stench of decay.
Pits full of black liquid, thick and noxious, pocked the imagined pristine floors. The walls, rather than being adorned with vibrant hues, exuded a sickly pallor, marred by grotesque growths and pulsating darkness.
Rising from the decaying ground, the throne was an amalgamation of nightmarish elements. Its backrest, resembling gnarled skeletal remains, twisted and contorted as if writhing in eternal torment. Jagged spires of obsidian shot out from its surface, sharp as razors and dripping with an oozing, viscous substance that seemed to be a manifestation of the corruption itself.
The arms of the throne extended outward like twisted branches of a cursed tree, terminating in clawed appendages that curled with wicked anticipation. Sinister runes and symbols, etched in a language long forgotten, adorned the surface, pulsating with an unholy energy that whispered of ancient, forbidden power.
The seat itself appeared like the maw of some ravenous beast, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth that seemed to hunger for souls. Its surface, a patchwork of dark, tattered leather, seemed to writhe and breathe as if it were alive.
Hovering above the throne, a canopy of swirling shadows loomed, coiling and undulating with an ethereal menace. Within its inky depths, sparks of sickly green light flickered and danced, casting eerie, shifting patterns across the chamber, as if they were the twisted souls trapped within the throne's unholy grip.
Maguro ascended the steps leading to the grotesque throne, each stride filled with a sense of purpose and anticipation. As he approached, the corrupted essence of the Midnight Palace seemed to intensify, emanating waves of malevolence that washed over him like a dark tide.
At the pinnacle of the dais, Maguro took his seat upon the twisted throne, feeling the jagged edges of its arms dig ever so slightly into his flesh