Inside the hotel, now riddled with blast holes, Kurogai sat in silence. The Mangekyō Sharingan gleamed in his eyes, casting a blood-red hue across the shadows. With a subtle shift in his vision, a weapon slowly manifested before him—a crescent-shaped scythe, its curved blade glowing with a cold, predatory light.
It looked like something forged for one purpose: to reap lives.
"A good time to test the sharpness of this thing," Kurogai murmured, fingers curling around the weapon's handle.
He had acquired this scythe recently while pursuing a rogue Kree scouting party. On a remote, desolate world, its native people had worshipped the weapon as a sacred object. To Kurogai, it was more than that—it was a tool of efficient slaughter, one that happened to possess a strange ability: it fed on blood.
Kurogai rose to his feet, the scythe swinging effortlessly by his side, and walked out of the ruined building, the air tense with the scent of ionized metal and war.
Outside, the Kree vanguard surrounded the ruins of the bar, their weapons drawn, eyes cold, nerves tight.
"As expected," their commander muttered. "Energy attacks were useless. Time to claim this creature's head. All units, charge!"
Blades were drawn. Energy rifles were raised. And with war cries echoing across the dusty field, the Kree soldiers rushed forward in a coordinated wave.
"Cut him down!"
"Bring me the Kree Hunter's head!"
"He dies today!"
The commander didn't expect victory—not truly. This wasn't about winning. It was reconnaissance. Kurogai's reputation across the galaxy was one of death and devastation, and the Kree High Command had demanded knowledge. Real knowledge. So the commander carried a small recording device, capturing every second of what was about to unfold.
"Let's see what you're really capable of," he whispered.
Kurogai activated his Byakugan. His pupils turned pale, veins surfacing along his temples as his 360-degree vision came online. His grip on the scythe tightened.
"Let's test the Bloodthirst."
In a blur, he dashed into the advancing formation.
The scythe carved through the Kree soldiers like a crimson whirlwind. With each swing, a trail of blood followed its arc. The bodies fell in perfect rhythm, as if orchestrated. As Kurogai struck, the scythe pulsed—glowing, feeding, absorbing the life essence from the fallen.
In an instant, the blood vanished, drawn into the weapon itself.
Just as he had hoped.
He had grown tired of collecting Kree blood through tedious methods. With Bloodthirst, the work was efficient, seamless. Deadly.
A Kree soldier lunged at him from behind, screaming—but before the soldier could complete his attack, Kurogai had already spun, severing his head cleanly from his shoulders.
There were no blind spots with the Byakugan. None. Kurogai saw everything—every movement, every angle, every flaw.
"Kill him!"
"End the Hunter!"
"Why?! What did we ever do to deserve this?!"
Their rage filled the air, but their panic was deeper. Kurogai didn't answer. He didn't need to. With every swing of the scythe, he danced through their lines, targeting pressure points and weak joints with clinical precision.
The battlefield was his arena.
The Byakugan made him a phantom on the battlefield, untouchable and omniscient. Every breath his enemies took was already calculated. Their fate sealed.
Each of Kurogai's pupil abilities offered unique advantages. The Geass Eye influenced minds & foresight. The Magic Eye dealt with arcane forces. The Mangekyō Sharingan was built for wide-scale, often long-range destruction. And now, the Byakugan added an edge he'd long lacked—close-quarters dominance.
Before now, melee combat was a weak spot. Not anymore.
With this arsenal, Kurogai was no longer a hunter—he was a storm.
The Kree forces dwindled quickly. Limbs. Blood. Screams.
Then silence.
Only the commander remained, stunned, frozen. The small device in his hand continued recording—until the scythe shattered it along with its owner.
The commander never saw it coming.
Kurogai exhaled, his bloodied weapon pulsing softly, its hunger sated for now.
"That should keep them guessing," he muttered. "Let's see how their main fleet reacts to that little performance."
He looked out across the ruined field, littered with bodies. This had been more than a slaughter. It was a message.
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