The air grew damp as Hidan followed the black-robed cult leader deeper into the earth.
Moisture clung to the stone walls, dripping in steady rhythms, echoing faintly down the narrow passage.
So this is what devotion looks like, Hidan thought. Living in caves, scurrying through the dark like rats.
No wonder they call it a cult.
They probably think torches make it look mysterious, but honestly… it's just damp and depressing.
Whoever designed this place really leaned too hard into the "emo" aesthetic.
Still, his smile remained polite, almost serene, as his sandals scraped against the cold floor.
The cult leader's hoarse voice broke the silence.
"We have arrived."
The tunnel opened into a vast crypt. Dozens of flickering torches lined the stone walls, their flames casting shadows that danced like skeletal fingers.
Passages branched out in every direction, curling into blackness Hidan couldn't yet see through.
At the center stood the largest cavern of all, shaped like an auditorium, the heart of the cult.
Hidan tilted his head, pretending to study the architecture with awe. Inside, though, he was unimpressed.
Big room, lots of torches, echoes everywhere. Classic villain base checklist. All they're missing are some bats to make it extra dramatic.
Out loud, his tone was respectful, curious.
"So this is where all the ceremonies take place? The… headquarters of Jashin's chosen?"
The cult leader turned slightly, his masked face lit by torchlight. "Yes. Every drop of blood spilled in Jashin's name is remembered here. This place is sacred."
Hidan nodded, hiding a smirk. Sacred? More like smoky. I'd be surprised if half these guys don't die of lung disease before they get their immortality.
But he pressed further, his voice calm, inquisitive.
"Tell me, Leader… the experiments you spoke of. How many… survived?"
The cult leader's breath rasped as he answered. "None...but I'm sure you will."
For a moment, Hidan let the weight of that hang in the silence. He touched his chin thoughtfully.
"None, huh? All that work, all those rituals… and no survivor. If I survived that would make me feel special."
Or maybe it just makes me wonder how bad your science department is, he mused inwardly.
The cult leader, oblivious to Hidan's sarcasm, bowed his head slightly in reverence. "Jashin blessed you. You are proof of His will."
Hidan's smile widened, gentle on the surface, sharp underneath.
"Then I suppose I should live up to that will… while also making this cave a little less gloomy, don't you think?"
He chuckled lightly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to pass as youthful humor.
But in his mind, he was already cataloguing the layout, counting the torches, tracing the exits.
If I'm going to be their 'chosen one,' I'll at least make sure I don't suffocate in their melodrama.
--
At that moment, the sound of chanting filled the crypt.
Dozens of figures knelt on the cold stone floor, their black robes and wide-brimmed hats hiding every trace of their faces.
Their voices rose and fell in unison, prayers murmured toward the grisly altar ahead.
On the wall, suspended by iron hooks, hung a corpse.
Freshly dead.
Blood still dripped from its wounds, each drop echoing with a hollow tick on the floor below.
The man's face was twisted, his body marked by torture. His eyes...clouded now seemed frozen in hatred, staring blindly at the congregation who worshipped beneath him.
Hidan took in the sight, expression carefully neutral.
Well, that's not creepy at all. Nothing says "welcoming atmosphere" like a rotting corpse for decoration.
At least they could've gone with flowers or banners. But no... classic emo design: dead guy on the wall. Very original.
The cult leader stepped forward, raising his hands. His hoarse voice scraped through the cavern, harsh and jagged, like claws dragging across glass.
"Believers! End your devout prayers and rise! Gaze upon our newborn lord, the beloved Son of the Evil God!"
The words rattled against the stone walls.
To Hidan, they sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
If I ever lose my hearing, I'm blaming this guy.
But to the cultists, the voice was divine decree.
One by one, they rose to their feet, their movements stiff, mechanical, yet filled with unshakable devotion.
Dozens of shadowed faces turned toward the child standing beside the cult leader.
Their gazes burned with fanatic piety.
The leader had declared him chosen, and that was enough.
If the leader said this silver-haired boy was Jashin's Son, then Hidan was their lord. Their reverence was absolute.
Hidan met their stares calmly, a faint smile curving his lips.
Ten years old and already the star of the show. Guess I skipped the tutorial and went straight to "main villain." Not bad... not bad at all.
Outwardly, though, he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement, his posture steady, dignified.
Inside, he was already testing the weight of their faith, measuring just how far he could push these people and how useful their blind devotion might become.
"Give the chosen one the secret curse bestowed by Lord Jashin!"
The cult leader's hoarse voice thundered through the crypt, brittle yet reverent.
"From this day forth, he shall be the second will of the Evil God… his vessel, his coming in this world!"
At once, the cultists scrambled to obey.
Black-robed figures hurried about, bringing folded garments of ritual cloth, bowls of blood, and scrolls etched with strange markings.
Their movements were frantic, yet precise...like ants scurrying to build a hive.
Hidan watched, curiosity flickering in his silver eyes.
So they really believe all this. I thought the old man started this cult for his own ego.
But no... he's actually convinced himself an evil god exists. A man who can lie so well that even he's fooled? That's terrifying.
He folded his arms, posture steady, as one of the cultists knelt to present him with the ritual garments.
Still, this works in my favor. The more loyal they are to their "god," the easier it will be to claim that throne.
All I need is to smile, play along, and let their faith build the stage for me.
His lips curved faintly, polite, almost saintly.
In the end… the so-called will of Jashin won't be theirs. It'll be mine.
"I would like to ask, Lord Cult Leader…"
Hidan's voice was steady, cutting through the murmurs of the cultists.
"…may I participate in the blessing of the evil gods?"
The chamber stilled.
Robed figures turned, their hidden faces tilting toward the boy. Even the torches seemed to falter, their flames shrinking for a moment in the heavy air.
The so-called blessing—to outsiders it sounded holy. In truth, it was nothing more than cruel experiments: bloodletting, rituals, twisted procedures meant to carve strange powers into human flesh.
So far, not a single one had succeeded. Only corpses.
Yet still the cult persisted, tireless in their madness.
The cult leader's rasping voice echoed.
"Oh? You… wish to undergo the sacred experiment?"
He leaned forward, the mask hiding his eyes, but his tone betrayed both caution and surprise.
"Know this, my lord. The blessings of the evil god are not given lightly. Not everyone can endure them. Even you… even the chosen… may die."
The meaning was clear: they had lost too many to these failed rites. To risk their newly declared "lord" was dangerous. Wasteful.
Hidan's lips curved faintly. His eyes gleamed with the kind of sharpness that could not be hidden.
"I must participate."
His voice did not waver.
"The evil god will love me. If anyone is to bear his true will, it will be me."
Inside, though, his thoughts whispered differently.
Experiments, blessings, curses… call it what you want. In the end, it's just a gamble with blood. But unlike the others, I already know how the dice will fall.
Not to mention… even if it failed, there would be no 'then'—only certain death.
He straightened his back, no hesitation in his stance.
In a place like this, there was no need for subtlety. No games of half-truths.
Say it directly, and let the cult decide.
The leader's breath rattled.
For a boy so young...to have such awareness, it's really magnificent.
And to a man who had built his life on faith and sacrifice, that determination shone brighter than fear.
"Since you have made up your mind, then let us begin."
The cult leader's hoarse voice carried through the crypt, his masked gaze burning with intensity.
"I expect that the blessing of the evil god will descend upon you. When that moment comes, you shall be the leader of our cult… the second will of Lord Jashin himself."
His eyes glowed hotter the longer they rested on Hidan.
To him, this silver-haired boy was proof of devotion made flesh. Even he, the leader, had never dared to undergo the blessing.
But Hidan dared. That was enough to call him the most loyal believer of them all.
At his words, the one who had left earlier now returned.
The first carried a folded black robe, and with it, a weapon so infamous that even the flickering torchlight seemed to recoil from it—an immense triple-bladed scythe, the Bloody March Scythe.
The second carried a scroll bound in black cord, its surface marked with sealing wax. The air around it seemed heavier, oppressive, as though the parchment itself rejected the touch of light.
Hidan's eyes burned.
There it is. My scythe… my curse.
The key items that would one day etch his name into the annals of shinobi history, resting now in the hands of trembling cultists.
The cult leader's voice rasped again, half a smile, half a reverent proclamation.
"Are you satisfied, my lord? These are the possessions reserved only for the chosen of Jashin. Once, they were meant only for those who survived the blessing."
"But you… your existence alone has changed that fate. Take them, and may the blessing prove you the sole will of the Evil God on earth."
Hidan didn't need to be told twice.
He seized the scythe's rope, the black spear, the robe, and the scroll with both hands, his chest rising and falling faster.
"Arrange a room for me," he said quickly, almost impatient. "I'll join the blessing soon enough."
The cult leader gave a single nod, then gestured.
A side character bowed low and led Hidan away.
The chamber they gave him was dark and bare, with only a flickering candle on the stone table.
Hidan's voice trembled with excitement as he unrolled the scroll.
Sure enough… it's here. Forbidden Technique: Death by Blood!
Lines of runes and small script sprawled across the parchment, a web of black curses.
The technique described within was as grotesque as it was elegant: to consume blood, mark it with ritual, and bind an enemy's life to one's own body.
No seals. No counters. No escape.
An absolute curse.
His silver eyes darted greedily across every line, absorbing every instruction. The words almost felt written for him, as if his very existence had been prepared to wield them.
When he finished reading, he leaned back, breathless.
He could feel it. The technique pulsed within him already, like it had always belonged.
Yet one thing was missing.
The cost was life itself. Without an immortal body, he could not wield it freely. Not yet.
Hidan tied the scythe's rope around his waist. He slung the black spear across his back. Finally, he pulled the robe over his shoulders.
The cheerful, "bright" boy he had played for the villagers was gone.
In his place stood a figure wrapped in shadows, the scythe at his back gleaming red in the candlelight.
The air shifted around him, thick with an aura of cruel inevitability.
Now… all that's left is the immortal body.
His lips parted into a grin, cracked and dry. He licked them slowly, savoring the anticipation.
"Hahaha… this world is too perfect. It was made for me!"
His laughter filled the stone chamber, loud and manic, echoing off the walls until it sounded like dozens of voices cackling with him.
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