Unknown POV
The once bustling motor inn, now reduced to a silent pile of rubble, stood as a grim reminder of what had been lost. It was a sanctuary for survivors clinging to life amid the undead just days ago. Now, it was nothing more than a graveyard of shattered hopes. Yet, one person had returned to this desolate place, driven by a purpose unclear even to themselves.
This figure had been searching through the debris for days, seeking something—or perhaps someone. The intent behind their search was a mystery; it could be driven by malice or by something more benign, but only the searcher knew the truth, and they weren't sharing it.
After three days of relentless digging, the person finally found what they were looking for an axe. To their surprise, it was in remarkably good condition, its blade gleaming in the light as if it had been waiting for this moment. The person smiled, a wave of nostalgia washing over them. This was the weapon that had almost ended their life. Holding it now felt strangely comforting, a connection to a past that had been ripped away from them.
The man's mind wandered back to the day his home was destroyed by monsters and the deep hatred he harbored for those who had taken everything from him. The axe, now firmly in his grip, symbolized his vow of vengeance. He would bring those responsible to their knees, one by one until he had executed every last one of them.
As he tested the weight of the axe with a few swings, the man's face remained obscured by shadows and the glare of the sun. Only a few details were visible: his white skin and the black cowboy hat atop his head, adorned with a simple silver cross and ribbon. The hat had belonged to his father, a man he had once thought was nothing more than a humble dairy farmer. But in the wake of his father's death, the man had discovered secrets that hinted at a more remarkable lineage than he had ever imagined.
His father had always emphasized the importance of protecting his younger siblings, a promise the man had failed to keep when it mattered most. Now, as far as he knew, he was the last of his family. The memory of finding his brother impaled by a pitchfork—a grim fulfillment of a dark joke they had once shared—still haunted him.
Placing the axe on his shoulder, the man took one last look at the ruins of the motor inn before turning his back on it. He had no clear destination in mind, no sense of where he should go next. Perhaps he would let fate decide if fate even existed. And if it didn't? Well, then he supposed it didn't matter. He would keep walking, driven by the only thing he had left—his need for vengeance.
Russell story
Russell's POV
"I've been walking forever," Russell muttered, exhausted. The weight of his bag was wearing him down, but he knew it would be far worse without the mana training he'd undergone. According to a sign he had just passed, he was only seven miles from his destination, his grandmother's house in his hometown. Seven miles was nothing compared to the distance he'd already traveled, so Russell kept walking.
The road stretched straight for miles, empty except for a corpse lying to his right—no magical monsters or anything unusual. Russell cautiously checked his surroundings before approaching the walker. "Hey, are you getting up?" he asked, raising his voice slightly. It was risky to do so, but he could handle one walker with his mana. Thankfully, it was truly dead. "Good," he muttered, continuing down the road.
As he walked, he heard something behind him—a truck approaching in the distance. Russell felt a wave of fear. The living were unpredictable. You could anticipate monsters and walkers, but not other people. "I should probably hurry," he said to himself, picking up the pace. But his heavy bag slowed him down. Even if he ditched it, he doubted he could outrun a speeding vehicle. The truck was getting closer, and it looked like it was accelerating. "Shit, shit, shit," Russell whispered, trying to stay calm. He needed to act fast—hide or stand his ground. Either choice had its risks, but there was no time to debate. He decided to hide, quickly dropping to the ground, unfortunately right next to a rotting corpse. "Gross, man," he grimaced, regretting his choice. But he was used to regretting his life choices. The only one he didn't regret was learning mana, though even that decision could have its downsides. He just hoped the truck would pass by, but it didn't. It came to a stop, which meant it had seen him.
"How do I get into these situations?" Russell thought. "Is it bad luck or fate?" He didn't like either possibility, but one of them must exist given all the crap he'd been through.
"I see you cuddling with your girlfriend down there," a rough voice called out from the truck. "Shit, bro."
Russell stood up, disgusted by the comment. He decided to try a non-confrontational approach. "I want no trouble, sir, please," he said, quietly activating his mana just in case.
"You just want to be left alone down there?" the man asked, chuckling. Russell could tell this guy was a total asshole. Everything about him screamed 'threat.'
"No, just leave me alone," Russell said, hoping to end the encounter quickly.
"Look, I don't care what you do to anyone," the man started but then cut himself off. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, giving Russell a creepy grin. Russell decided to be polite, not wanting to provoke the guy, especially since he wasn't sure if this man had mana or even a gun. He soon noticed the gun on the man's waist. Good to know, he thought.
"It's Russell," he answered.
"So, you didn't steal that bag? That's good to know. You're no thief," the man said, catching Russell off guard. He didn't like this guy at all but wanted to end the conversation without a fight.
"I don't care who you steal from. You could be in a gang for all I know. Maybe you're wearing hoods or something. Are there people in the house I have to worry about, boy?" the man asked.
"I'm not in any gang. That's fucking racist. Come on, man," Russell said, offended. The man widened his eyes slightly, realizing his mistake.
"No, I wasn't trying to be racist, man. I was just…fuck, sorry about that," the man apologized, which somewhat comforted Russell.
"Just for that, I'm gonna help you. You can get a ride, or you can get out here, 'cause to be honest, kid, I'm pretty bored," the man said, picking his nose. Whatever respect Russell had gained from the apology quickly vanished.
"Can you get me to Statesboro?" Russell asked. The man was silent, so Russell explained further. "That's where my grandma lives. I'm trying to meet up with the rest of my family. If you could get me there, it would be a huge help."
"Is she throwing a party or something? Come on, get in. We'll get there, or somewhere, either way," the man said.
Russell didn't like the guy, but he had no other options, so he got in the car. The interior was musty with a smell he couldn't quite define—a mix of blood and something else. Russell blushed as he realized what the other substance might be. The car drove off, and any hope of getting out quickly disappeared.
"The name's Nate, thanks for asking," the man said, drinking some hard liquor, which disgusted Russell even more. There was something off about Nate—something not quite human. His presence was unsettling.
Nate offered Russell a drink, but he declined. "Sorry, I don't drink, and you shouldn't either. You need to stay focused on the road," Russell said.
"Oh man, you're no fun. But if you insist," Nate said, rolling down the driver's side window and tossing the bottle out. This surprised Russell—he didn't expect Nate to comply so easily. He became more curious about Nate. If he was this easily swayed, what else could influence him? Not that Russell intended to try; he just needed to get to his family, and if Nate could get him there, so be it.
"So, where did you come from? Must've been part of a crew or something," Nate said, trying to make small talk, though it wasn't working. He kept picking his ear as he spoke, making Russell focus on the road, hoping Nate would get the hint that he didn't want to talk.
"You know any tail? We could double back, and you could do a little finger jig, if you know what I mean," Nate said, but Russell had no idea what he was on about. He just tried to stay calm and focused on getting to his destination, ignoring whatever Nate was rambling about.
"Come on, boy, you gotta tell me something about yourself, or this drive is gonna be super boring. I don't think you're gonna like me when I'm really bored," Nate said, sounding threatening. Russell, unsure of what this maniac might do if not entertained, decided to share his story.
"There were seven of us, none of my family. All down in Statesboro. There was a dad with a daughter about my age. She always told everyone he was a cop, though I didn't believe it. There was a teacher and his wife. Our leader was a guy named Steve. He was a beast, not quite human. Something beyond my comprehension or anyone's. He's the one who taught us all mana, if you've ever heard of that," Russell said, pausing to see how Nate would respond.
"Yeah, I know what mana is. Been trained in it myself. It's the only way to survive in this world now," Nate replied.
"Exactly. How would I describe Steve? We never actually saw his real form, only a hologram. It was the only way he could interact with our world. I'm not sure if he got out into this world, though. Probably not," Russell said, but Nate cut him off.
"Hey, let's go back to that," Nate said, but Russell ignored him.
"He was a pretty bad dude. He would order us to kill everyone who wasn't us—every group of survivors we came across. All the carnage, I just couldn't handle it anymore, so I left. It wasn't me. If I had stayed, I'd have become a bloodthirsty monster. Of course, you could argue I already am one," Russell said, tearing up. Nate showed some sympathy.
"There, there, kid. I'm not really good with this stuff, but I know you're not a monster. At least, not from our conversation. Maybe you're a werewolf or something, I don't know. But that Steve guy sounds like a real asshole. Sure, you might think I'm an asshole, but I bet that Steve guy was a bigger one," Nate said with a smile. It didn't cheer Russell up much, but it helped him hold himself together.
"He would…" Russell struggled to finish his sentence.
"Come on, man, what did he say? Were we gonna kill these people and take all their stuff? Then bam, they're dead or crushed or poisoned or way worse," Nate pressed.
"So what you're telling me is you didn't get down with the daughter?" Nate asked, enraging Russell.
"No," Russell said firmly.
"Come on, give me something. Did she have a huge rack, small rack, medium? What'd this girl have? I gotta know," Nate persisted.
"Whatever," Russell muttered, trying to ignore him again.
"So that's not who was in your heart, I guess," Nate said suddenly. Before Russell could respond, Nate sped up the truck, jolting Russell back in his seat. Then, just as suddenly, Nate slammed on the brakes, throwing Russell forward against his seatbelt. A walker slammed against the truck's glass.
"Tell me, Russ, is this a one out of ten babe? Here, I'll even open the window," Nate said, opening the window. The walker grabbed Russell, making him panic. He quickly activated his mana ability, eroding the undead's arm and it exploded into a cloud of yellow-orange rust. "Come on, Russ, you couldn't give me an answer?" Nate jeered, seemingly unfazed by the close call. He then hit the gas again, speeding off down the road.
Russell's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He hadn't been that close to a Walker in ages, and the need to use his ability had dredged up feelings he desperately wanted to forget. "Fuck!" he yelled, the word tearing from his throat.
"Whoa, man, calm down," Nate said with a smirk, clearly enjoying Russell's distress. "Maybe this will cool you off. Load my gun. The ammo's in the glove compartment."
Without hesitation, Russell reached into the glove compartment as the truck barreled down the road. His hands were shaking, but he managed to find the ammunition and started loading the gun, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice.
"Let's see what we can find. Maybe, if we're lucky, we can find some pumps that are still working," Nate suggested. Russell just turned his head, still not liking this situation—or the guy he was stuck with. He decided to stay silent, letting Nate prattle on without encouragement.
"Don't be mad," Nate said with a grin that only worsened Russell's mood. He kept quiet, refusing to dignify the idiot with a response. Nate grabbed the gun that was lying on his lap. A flash of hesitation surged through Russell, but he quickly crushed it.
"Fine, be mad. But don't be such a pussy," Nate sneered. Russell turned to say something, but before he could get a word out, a bullet smashed into the window beside his head. If it weren't for the window cushioning the impact, he would've been dead. The realization hit hard, his stomach twisting into knots.
"Oh shit!" Nate cursed, ducking out of the truck. Russell followed, diving out from the other side. Bad move. He didn't know why he did it—maybe panic—but he bolted towards one of the pumps. A second gunshot rang out, hitting the pump. It didn't explode, but the situation was beyond dangerous. They needed to get out of there, fast.
"What are you doing, Russ? Get over here!" Nate shouted, concern in his voice.
"You got bullets this time?" Russell asked, more hesitant than he'd ever been. The thought of trusting Nate with his life was almost too much to bear. How had he ended up in this mess?
"Don't fucking think about it—just keep your head low! I'll keep this bastard busy!" Nate shouted. He conjured a javelin made of water and hurled it towards the direction of the gunfire. Russell took the cue and dashed back to the truck, no other options available. Trusting this guy was his only shot at survival.
"Nice job, Russ. Now let's go deal with this," Nate said.
"Are you serious? We need to get the hell out of here!" Russell argued, desperation lacing his words.
"Unfortunately, we need the gas this guy's hoarding. If we don't get it, we're stranded, and I'm not leaving my truck," Nate snapped, his voice hardening. Before Russell could protest further, Nate grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye.
"Russ, I know you probably think I'm some creepy guy—I get that a lot. But in this situation, I see something in you, something like myself. So, I just need you to trust me this once. After that, you can bail all you want—I couldn't care less. But we need to get through this now, and we can't do that if we're arguing." As if to drive home his point, another gunshot rang out, making Russell flinch.
"Alright, what do we do?" Russell asked, realizing Nate was right.
"First, we're going to figure out where this asshole is," Nate said, smirking. Russell sighed but nodded, peering out to catch a glimpse of their attacker. He saw a flash from a right-side window and ducked just as another shot was fired.
"See? Easy. Now we know where he is, we can fucking get him," Nate said, confidence radiating off him. It made Russell smile, despite himself, but he quickly suppressed it.
"Alright, let's push the truck and use it as cover," Nate instructed. "It's in neutral—just keep your head down."
Russell helped him push, but their effort was short-lived. A gunshot rang out, taking out one of the tires. The truck lurched, becoming harder to move. "Keep pushing!" Nate yelled. They tried, but when the second tire was shot out, they were stuck.
"End of the road," Nate said, sounding almost tired.
"So what now?" Russell asked.
"We have to get beside the building. But that means one of us will have to cover the other. Russ, I want you to cover me. Do you have any long-range Mana powers, or is it all close-range?"
"Sadly, it's just close-range—whatever I can touch. I can't exactly throw it unless you cut off my arm. And don't get any ideas, you weirdo," Russell said, earning a chuckle from Nate.
"Alright, alright. I'm lucky we have this gun, then. Here—take it. If you want me to cover you instead, that's fine, but we can't waste any more time. Decide quickly," Nate urged, shoving the gun into Russell's hands.
"You know what? I'll cover you. It's not a big deal," Russell decided, grabbing the gun.
Nate smirked. "Alright. Just keep that fucking head low and then toss me the gun so I can cover you, too. Make sense?"
"Yeah, I think so," Russell confirmed.
"Alright, let's start now." Nate rushed forward, and Russell began firing at the flashpoints. He wasn't sure how long he should keep shooting, but he kept it up until Nate yelled, "Alright, I'm on the other side—throw me the gun!"
Russell made the best throw he could, and Nate caught it easily. He returned fire, giving Russell the cue to sprint to the other side. As he ran, he noticed something strange—Nate was firing way more shots than the gun should have allowed. How was that possible?
Once Russell was safely behind the car, they were both catching their breath.
"We're so close—we just need to get to that diner and we can take this fucker down," Nate said.
"Okay, alright—I can do this. We can do this," Russell said, smiling at Nate. He just smiled back.
As Nate resumed firing, Russell dashed towards the side of the diner. But before he could reach it, Nate suddenly grabbed him from behind, yanking them both into a huge leap forward.
"What the hell, man? You couldn't wait for me?" Russell snapped, feeling betrayed despite his willingness to help.
"Sorry about that, Russ. I was running out of Mana," Nate said, panting.
"What exactly did you do with that gun? You kept shooting, but isn't it, like, out of ammo?" Russell asked, confused.
Nate chuckled. "Using my water Mana, I can create water bullets—think of it like a catalyst or a hose. It's a very skilled thing to do. So far, you're pretty much an amateur at Mana, right? Probably learned it recently?"
"Yeah, like five days ago," Russell admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"Alright, there's some stuff you need to improve on, but we'll do that after we take this guy down," Nate said, determined.
"I'm thinking we should sneak around back. If it's just one guy, we can probably handle it. If there's more, we'll have to get tactical," Nate suggested.
"Like what? What do you have in mind?" Russell asked.
"I don't know, but I think I'll know when the time comes," Nate said, smiling. Russell didn't know what to say to that. He decided to just trust him—Nate had saved his life, after all. He might be weird, but maybe there was more to this guy than met the eye—or ear.
They quickly climbed a fence, taking some time but managing it. Now at the back, they spotted the rear door of the diner.
"Let's take this as quietly as possible. We can do this, Russ," Nate said, trying to reassure him. It was kind of working, but Russell still felt hesitant and afraid. He didn't want to go back to a life of killing, but it was either this guy or them. Yet, something felt wrong—like this was unfinished business or something more.
"What exactly are we doing?" Russell asked, his voice tinged with doubt.
"Okay, Russ, I guess I should be straight with you. This is some unfinished business—a job I was supposed to do. Sorry for dragging you into this. You were just here at the wrong time," Nate admitted, sounding genuinely apologetic.
"What are you talking about? What do you mean, unfinished business?" Russell pressed, confused.
"You'll find out soon," Nate said honestly.
As they walked past a Walker, Russell felt a pang of sympathy for it.
"What's wrong, Russ? It's just a Walker—leave it alone," Nate said as he continued walking. As he did, his clothes started catching fire. Russell's eyes widened as Nate's entire outfit transformed from dirty trucker gear into Victorian clothing, complete with a bowler hat. Russell's jaw practically hit the floor.
"Oh, I should have warned you. I wear enchanted clothes—you see, I'm a monster hunter. A pretty high-ranking one at that," Nate explained casually.
Russell had nothing to say—he was completely stunned.
"We'll talk later, Russ. Let's deal with this first," Nate said, ending the conversation as they entered the diner. They crouched in the kitchen, and Russell carefully peeked over to see what was happening. To his surprise, there were two people inside, arguing heatedly about something.
"What should we do?" Russell whispered.
"Let's let this play out for now. Maybe they'll kill each other," Nate suggested, his voice tinged with dark amusement.
Russell wasn't sure what the situation was—and he didn't want to find out. How did he always end up in these messes?
Nate's POV
Nate wasn't sure who these hooded figures were, but one thing was clear: they were bad news. The pure mana surrounding them was sinister and vulgar, almost suffocating, and that was just from one of them. The other... he couldn't sense anything at all, making him more hesitant to step in.
They were arguing about a seal, and something about that word triggered a memory. "Why does that sound familiar?" Nate thought to himself. Then, it clicked—the Devil's Seal in Savannah.
A few thousand years ago, a man named Van Helsing Saint John lived in a world overrun by monsters. The mana back then was much stronger than it is today. In a desperate bid to rid the world of these creatures, Van Helsing used a powerful spell to seal them away, likely the strongest spell he had ever cast. It had cost him his life. If these hooded figures were trying to break that same seal... the consequences would be catastrophic. Nate knew that at his current level, he wouldn't stand a chance against the horrors of Van Helsing's era, and even today's strongest monster hunters wouldn't be able to match that time's power.
He needed to act, but before deciding on a plan, their conversation ended, and the figures disappeared. Nate cursed himself for not intervening sooner—maybe he could have learned more—but at least he now knew what they were planning.
"What the hell were they talking about?" Russell asked, emerging from his hiding spot.
"I'll explain later. All you need to know now is that they're planning something that could end the world as we know it," Nate replied, still reeling from the revelation.
They exited the kitchen and found the lifeless body of their shooter, an old man. But Nate couldn't care less about that now—there were far more pressing matters at hand. He was already contemplating his next move. Should he contact headquarters in Savannah? Even if he wanted to, he was too far out of range.
"This seems like the perfect time to explain everything," Russell insisted, determination in his voice. "If the world's going to end, I need to know how we can stop it."
"Yeah, I'd like to know that too," said an unfamiliar voice.
Nate quickly sensed three mana signatures behind them. Turning around, he saw three strangers: an Asian man with black hair, a heavier-set white guy with blonde hair, and a third, more punk-looking guy wearing a beanie with a piercing on his chin.
"Looks like we have company," Nate muttered. "Who are you guys?"
"We're just survivors trying to stay alive," the Asian man replied.
"I see. So you want to know what's going on?" Nate asked, still unsure of their intentions. He couldn't sense any ill will from them; they genuinely seemed to want to help.
"Well, sadly, even if I did explain it right now, we couldn't do much about it. To be honest, I don't think it's quite your fate to be involved in this," Nate said cryptically.
"What the hell are you talking about?" the man with the beanie demanded, frustration evident. "Don't talk in circles, man."
Nate looked up at the moon and smiled faintly. "If we've got each other's backs, if we've got all of humanity's backs, then I think we'll be all right."
Mitchell's POV
Mitchell hurried down the narrow alleyway, urgency driving his every step. He had crucial information that could mean the difference between life and death and needed to deliver it quickly. He found the manhole that led to the sewers and, without hesitation, lifted the heavy cover and descended into the damp darkness below.
Time was of the essence, but Mitchell knew these sewers like the back of his hand. Navigating the twisting tunnels, he moved swiftly, his mind focused on his destination. As he approached the hidden refuge, he was stopped by two guards. These weren't ordinary sentinels—they were elemental constructs, beings created by Boyd's formidable magical powers. The guards were made of air, their forms barely visible, yet their strength was undeniable. Mitchell, powerful in his own right, knew he could defeat them if he went all out, but he had no time for a fight.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced the identification watch that all Monster Hunters affiliated with the Society carried. The constructs recognized the watch and silently allowed him to pass.
He continued until he reached what appeared to be a solid wall, but Mitchell knew better. It was an illusion, a barrier meant to deceive. He walked straight through it and was immediately confronted by another pair of elemental guards, these made of fire. They radiated intense heat and were far stronger than the air constructs outside. Fortunately, his identification watch granted him passage once more.
Inside, he found the hidden chamber bustling with activity, but there was a palpable tension. Mitchell scanned the room, searching for Vernon, but couldn't see him anywhere.
"My God, Mitchell, you're here!" Beth exclaimed, her voice frantic. The entire group looked frazzled as if they were on the brink of panic.
"What's going on?" Mitchell asked, confused by the chaotic scene.
"Vernon's trapped," Beth explained, her voice trembling. "He's in an area none of us can reach. Do you know where he is?"
Mitchell shook his head, frustration bubbling inside him. This was bad—he had vital information that Vernon needed to hear, and now it seemed Vernon was in trouble himself. "Damn it... Where did Vernon go? I need all the details so I can find him."
The others quickly relayed what they knew, piecing together the events that led to Vernon's disappearance. Mitchell listened intently, and a possibility formed in his mind.
He set off once more, his thoughts racing. Vernon might be near the Devil's Seal if his hunch was right. That old man had a way of getting into the most troublesome situations, but Mitchell needed him alive. The information he carried was too important to be delayed any longer.
Sasuke's POV
Things were looking bleak for Sasuke. He wasn't sure what had happened—one moment, he had stopped to catch his breath, and the next, he found himself teleported in front of a strange machine. Now, drained of chakra and surrounded by undead creatures, he was trapped in a car with no way out. Despite his arrogance and pride, Sasuke knew when a battle was lost. It reminded him of that time in the Forest of Death, when he and his team faced Orochimaru, the snake Sannin. The fear he felt then was nothing compared to the terror gripping him now—the fear of not doing enough.
Sasuke's hand brushed against something in his pocket as he sat there, contemplating his fate. To his surprise, he pulled out a photo of Naruto. "When did I grab this?" he wondered. Had he done it subconsciously? Why did he have so much in common with that dope? They should have been worlds apart, yet for a time, Naruto was the only person Sasuke considered a true friend.
He quickly shoved the photo back into his pocket, trying to discard thoughts of Naruto. It didn't matter anyway—he wasn't going to survive this. Sasuke closed his eyes, accepting his fate, ready to face the inevitable.
But then, a loud noise shattered the silence. He couldn't pinpoint where it came from, but it seemed to draw the undead away from him. Before he knew it, someone pulled him out of the car. His legs instinctively followed, running alongside his mysterious rescuer. Her hand was soft, warm, and comforting, reminding him of his mother's gentle touch.
As everything came into focus, Sasuke realized the person leading him away was a girl, around his age, or so he thought. They finally stopped in the middle of the forest, both catching their breath.
"Wow, I can't believe my idea worked. I'm a genius!" the girl said, proud of herself.
"You didn't have to help me. I had it under control," Sasuke retorted, trying to play it cool. He didn't want to give her too much credit.
"Bullshit. If I hadn't come along, you'd be dead right now—or worse. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I do know what happens when someone gets bitten by one of those things," she replied.
Sasuke cut her off, already knowing the answer. "They come back as undead."
"You're pretty arrogant, you know that?" she said, her emerald green eyes shining in the sunlight.
"Enough with the arguing. Who are you, and why did you help me? It's not like I asked for it," Sasuke demanded, wanting answers.
The girl smiled, and now that Sasuke could observe her more clearly, he noticed something strange about her. She didn't quite seem like she belonged in this world either. She had bright pink hair, and a normal white complexion, and wore a white T-shirt with a kid in a straw hat on it, along with black jeans and black shoes. The most striking part of her appearance was the two horn-like things on her head. Sasuke wasn't sure if they were actual horns or just some kind of accessory.
"Sorry, I ramble a lot. My name is Anya Kazaraki. Nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand.
Sasuke had a sudden flashback to Naruto doing the same thing. He quickly shoved the memory aside, deciding to unpack it later. Reluctantly, he shook her hand. "Thank you, I guess," he mumbled.
"Huh? I can't hear you, what was that?" Anya asked, a goofy grin on her face.
"You're pushing it, you know that?" Sasuke simply said, narrowing his eyes.
"Fine, can I at least ask you a few questions?" Anya asked, her expression turning serious.
Sasuke sighed in bewilderment. "Alright, what are your questions?"
"Well, it's actually just one, but it's good that you'd answer multiple—that's a good sign," Anya said, her tone lightening. "Is your ethnicity Japanese? You kind of look like it. No offense if I'm wrong, I'm just curious."
Sasuke was taken aback. He had never heard of any land or village called Japan. "What the hell is Japan? Is that some new hidden village?" he asked, confusion lacing his voice.
Now it was Anya's turn to be confused. "Really? You've never heard of Japan? Where have you been—under a rock, or maybe a car?" she teased.
Sasuke felt a surge of annoyance but was also genuinely curious. What was this place called Japan, and why did it sound so familiar? It seemed to evoke a sense of home, though he couldn't place why.
"Well, I can't give you any specifics right now, but maybe when we get to my house, I can show you what it looks like and explain more. How about that? I don't feel good about talking out here in the forest alone," Anya suggested.
Sasuke found her reasoning sound. He, too, was starting to feel uneasy in the forest—after all, you never knew when an enemy might strike. "Alright, lead the way," he said.
The girl immediately smiled, grabbed his hand, and started running again. As they dashed through the trees, Sasuke couldn't help but think, What have I gotten myself into? And where is Naruto?
Author note
Hello, everyone. Episode 3 is now officially over, and normally I'd be announcing that we're moving on to Episode 4. However, I'm currently unsure how to proceed with Episode 4, so I may need to take a hiatus for a while. It pains me to say this because I'm enjoying writing this fic, and I appreciate all of your support. Rest assured, I'll keep working on the story until we reach its conclusion.
If you thought Episode 3 was a rollercoaster with plenty of great moments, I promise you that the upcoming episodes will be even more action-packed, with more character development and twists you won't see coming. I'm also considering writing another fic at some point, but that's a bridge I'll cross when I get there. That's a plan for the future, but the future looks bright for this story and all of you.
I hope you all have a great day and a wonderful life. I'll see you when Episode 4 begins!