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The cry of alarms scream in your ears as you run, feet against the dirt beneath you as screaming voices grow quieter and quieter.
You wonder why you did what you did, either out of impulse, desire to prove yourself, or both, but, as you flee into the darkness, escaping the prying eyes of guards with your prize held tightly in your chest, contained in cardboard and wrapped in foam, you know it was worth it.
You keep running in the darkness, never slowing down until the voices and sirens fade away to silence mixed in with the cries of the forest. Alone, minus whatever creatures could be with you at this time, you sit down, back against a tree as you look down at the box in your hands.
Sure, you know what this is… but you need to see it for yourself.
You wrestle against the tape binding it closed for a moment, before sliding it open, packing peanuts and foam blocks instantly filling your vision. You slowly push the foam peanuts to the side as you pull out the foam blocks with care, cracking them open to reveal your ill-gotten prize:
A rusty helmet, covered in spikes, with three jagged hornlike ones of notice on the front of it, the center one and the ones just above each eye longer. Between each of the side horns is an array of small cyan dots, faintly glowing in the darkness.
Huh.
It’s… a lot more worn down than you expected it to be… but…
It’s yours now. Yours and yours alone. And you’re not going to let anyone else take it from you.
You’ve learnt the name of this damaged, rusted helmet, from passed down rumors and legends: the Kuro Kabuto, ancient helmet of the leaders of the Foot Clan, the oldest recorded ninja clan in Japan. It’s origins date around 1,500 years ago, where the founder of it forged it out of the totems of their slain enemies, making a helmet reportedly stronger than steel.
But not stronger than rust, it seems.
You resist the urge to chuckle at your little joke, and keep inspecting the helmet in your hands.
…Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to put it on…
…Right?
You slowly put it on your head, careful to not cut yourself on the spikes that cover it. It takes little adjusting for it to fit, and it feels rather snug on you, not snug enough to hurt, but snug enough to keep it from falling off.
Looks like you’ve officially claimed it as your own with that, it see-
“That is not yours, you know.” A deep, masculine voice says, snapping you out of your thoughts as you jump up, looking around.
Shit. Have you been found?
But… you don’t hear any sirens or other voices…
And… that voice… he sounded like…
…he was in your head…
“Ohoho, I expected that reaction from you, pest .” He laughs. You can imagine him swirling around you, mocking your terror as he prepares to strike you in your confused state.
“Now…” He hisses out, voice laden with venom. “...Time to reclaim my sacred helmet.”
Instantly, you feel the helmet clench onto your skull, causing you to yelp as you frantically grip it, feeling the rust that covers it flake off. The horns grow out, extending and growing more sharp points, resembling tree branches in shape as the metal seems to melt down the back of your neck, forcing your hair out of your head as you feel more spikes form from the metal, your nerves twisting as you feel them extend into the growing spikes.
You feel three smaller sets of spikes form on the helmet, two inbetween your horns, and one behind the center one, which trail down the back of your bald, metal coated head. You desperately try to rip the helmet off, to stop this, but in return, all you get is a horrible burning sensation on the left side of your face, the skin there scarring over as your sclera turn red, bloodshot veins clearly visible on them.
The skin on your face bubbles and warps as the metal melts over it, almost melting off as your nose sinks into your face, replaced by a simple covering with two slits for you to take in air with. Your lips and cheeks, meanwhile, do not have such luck, as you feel them melt off your face, warm blood and melted muscle dripping on the soil beneath you as you quickly breathe in, metal soon coating the front of your exposed mouth, strands of metal dripping down the sides of your mouth, to help lock your jaw in place.
Two small curved spikes form on your metal coated chin, with two more on the sides of your head as your ears are coated by the dreaded steel. You hiss as you grab your head, poking your fingers on the countless spikes as you try not to scream out as, somehow, your hearing improves, new sounds entering your ears as you try not to scream out from the sudden sensory overload, as your nerves trail up your spikes and horns, wrapping around them and officially making them a part of you.
Your neck thickens out, more muscle forming on your body, your skin bulging and twisting as you feel your heart beat faster and faster, as if it is about to burst inside of your chest as it moves, twitching about inside of your bulking body. It feels as if you are about to be torn in half as you breathe in and out, panting, as your blood shifts in color to a glowing cyan as it drips from your mouth.
Your ribcage expands, your body growing larger and your shirt ripping itself apart along with it as you feel a horrid pain build up in your spine. You scream out, feeling your vertebrae twitch and almost break as three metal spikes break out from your back, stretching out and sharpening to a bladelike edge and point as cyan blood drips from your rapidly closing wounds, your spikes shooting out large and fierce against the night.
As you struggle to stay focused, your heartbeat grows louder and louder in your ears as metal plating emerges from your ribcage, guarding the bones in it as your heart, now a glowing purplish blue in color and slightly deformed in shape, breaks out of your chest, ripping past your skin and placing itself right in the dead center of your chest, the skin around it taking a bluish shade.
You panic, as you see it emerge from your skin and expose itself to the elements around you.
“Ah, it took me a while to get used to that, too.” The voice says, never dropping his cold tone. “Not like it will matter for you.”
You double over again, as the same horrible sensation that overtook your spine reappears, this time on your shoulders, as you feel and see three large bladelike metal spikes emerge from each one as they broaden out, growing larger in shape as the muscle contained within them bulks up to incredible degrees. Your veins almost seem to plump out, becoming larger and more visible on your massive frame, as your skin ripples, covering itself with burn scars and sores.
Your arms bulk up in muscle, growing much larger as you feel more blades rip their ways out of your shoulders, tearing apart the fragile skin only for it to stitch itself back together, as cyan veins slither up your newly formed blades, attaching to them as you feel nerves form deep inside of them, helping attach them to your changing form.
As your hands bulk up, bones in them cracking as they grow bigger, the skin on your fingers ripple and twist as metal plating breaks free from underneath it, cyan blood dripping down your fingers as their nails fall off, the metal plating covering them up, extending a bit past your fingers to form small, sharp claws.
More metal plating breaks out from your skin on your lower body as you feel some of your fat fade away into nothing, slimming you down a smidge as you feel your pants and shoes tighten on your body as you begin to grow in size. You grit your exposed teeth as your burn scar, sore, and blood covered form blossoms to eight feet in height, your skin feeling like it will rip apart at any moment.
Thankfully, or unthankfully, it doesn’t, and you live on, feeling your thighs bulk up with muscle as your kneecaps pop out of your knees, metal covering them that soon forms into a sharp, curved spike. You scream out again as similar but thinner spikes break out from the back and the outermost sides of each of your knees, as you nearly fall to them, feeling hot blood trickle down your legs as the muscle there continues to bulk up a little more, as you grip a tree, trying to keep conscious.
Your toenails grow out, as more metal rips its way out from the base of your toes, forming slender, curved blades that almost look like talons, further tearing apart your shoes. Similar shaped blades emerge from your heels, adding insult to horrible injury as your blood pools at your feet, staining the soil beneath you a brilliant, glowing cyan.
“Ahhh… perfect.” The voice says, looking over your deformed, mutated form as you feel your brain pound against your skull as a headache comes over you. “Absolute perfection, I have turned you into. Now…”
“Let me reclaim what is rightfully mine.”
Your headache seems to worsen in intensity, and you feel… angry. So, so very angry. You hate this. You hate your new body, you hate the pain it brought you as you changed, you hate this mysterious voice, you…
…you hate that accursed rat’s children who tried to stop you, you hate how your helmet was pawned off and stolen like it was some useless chunk of metal…
You hate.
And, oh, how deep your hate festers inside of you.
“Good, let your hatred rise.” The voice says, molding you in his image more and more. “Let it consume you. Let it take you. Let me take you.”
Your grip on yourself seems to loosen.
Or… was it even yourself to begin with?
The life of some petty, useless thief, taking what belongs to you just because they can… that’s not you. You’re not some pathetic lowlife…
…You are Oroku Saki. Leader of the Foot Clan…
…and rightful ruler of this planet.
You remember it all now. The bloodshed you caused, the chaos you brought forth… yes… oh, how wonderful it all felt. Your one regret?
The fact that you couldn’t be there to let it claim the world. Those brats killed you- a mistake on their part.
And they will pay greatly for what they have done.
You chuckle a little as you think about all this, feeling it become a full-on laugh as your irises turn a brilliant, glowing cyan, lighting up the night, as the tattered shirt loosely hanging off your body reshapes, color shifting to purple as it grows in size, draping over your form and attaching itself to you via your spikes as it becomes a tattered cape.
The torn pants turn a more grayed purple as they shrink down into shorts, lighter wrapping slithering out and tightening itself over your waist and just before your knees, similar wrapping forming on your feet from the remains of shoes.
Finally.
You have returned to the land of the living, ready to finish what you starte-
“What the hell…”
A voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
You turn around, seeing crowds of people behind you, believing themselves to be chasing after a normal human.
How foolish.
You clench your hands into fists, as twin blades emerge from both of your knuckles. You instantly lunge towards the weak little humans before you, as you mentally grin.
When you are done with these pathetic morons, The Foot will truly walk again.
And you will be there to lead it.