S17 - Flood Village

He was wrong. The mountains guarded the Shirai Ryu from outsiders, that was true. But whatever happened on Ember Island, whatever miasma spread from the Lion Turtle, was not so easily held at bay.

He crested the mountain's surface. The basin that held his clan, his family, and his entire world, was now filled with water. Sparse roofs and trees breached the surface, and nothing aside remained.

He sprinted down the mountain. His mind raced. How did this happen? It wasn't monsoon season— no, even the worst storms never caused flooding this bad. Nowhere close. He bounded down precarious cliffs and with sure-footed stride descended. He needed to get home. He had to see his wife, his son. They had to be safe.

He reached one of the roofs and dived into the murky water. His village sprawled out before him in only outlines and shadows. Devoid of the soul that once imbued them, the homes and farmlands and shops appeared almost impressionistic, as though painted in thick black and blue oils. He moved through his village, the buildings placed exactly to his recollection, but he did not feel as though he had returned. Only a recreation.

He passed the dojo where he learned everything he had ever known about combat, and then finally arrived at his home. The paper shoji had melted away under the water, and he kicked his way into the house. He hoped that he would find nothing. He could continue the search elsewhere with the hope that they were still alive. He slowly moved from the wide main room and into the bedroom. Empty. His chest tightened. He was running out of breath. On the ceiling, flooded above, half stripped to the bone by fish—

Hanzo choked.

Hanzo resurfaced and climbed onto the roof. He thought of his of his wife, how she held his son, both of them bloated and trapped against the ceiling, flesh loose and floating, he hacked up water, bile, his throat burned and tears welled, he lifted his fist but there was nothing to strike, nothing to feel his sadness, his rage, he coughed, he sceamed. He voiced echoed throughout the empty basin. He stared ahead at nothing, without thought, with hardly even perception, as his voice faded away. The mist remained, and Hanzo Hasashi felt, more than ever before truly alone.

But he was not.

A silhouette emerged from the haze, on another roof in the distance. Hanzo lifted himself and reached for his kunai.

"Who's there?" he said. "Who are you?"

A man emerged from the mist. Long hair flowed over his shoulders and tattoos of eyes and leering faces covered his body. "That's a good question. He took a step forward. "I've been wondering the same thing myself."

"Did you do this?"

The man looked around at the flooded village. He seemed deep in thought. Then he smiled.

"I think I did."

Hanzo threw his kunai and set it alight. Whether he was responsible or not did not matter. Hanzo, full of grief, hated him immediately. His very prescence mocked him.

- Season 17 Round 0, /u/Ragnarust