He danced in the night over the lifeless bodies behind a white and red mask. His sword in the air sliced and moved with his graceful feet. There was blood on him, but he didn't care. There were also at least a thousand enemies, nor did he care about that. A full fat moon hung in the air and all he could do was smile behind the mask and keep on dancing.

The wind blew unequally, sometimes sweeping heavily along the ground, seeming to whisper its moaning in the cold ears of the dead, then rising in a shrill and mournful whistling. It entered the forest with a rush that filled the air with the leaves and branches it scattered in its path.

The man's silver hair had blood in it, and it covered the clothed gloves that stretched all the way up to his bicep to leave the branded mark of ANBU showing. He was nothing but a tool.

Kakashi laughed as the enemy charged at him and all he could feel was pity for them. Pity that they could defeat him; pity that they would have to die. Pity that they weren't as good of a tool as he was. Too bad, he thought as he snarled and drew his father's sword through the air, killing them left and right. How glorious, his mind whispered.

Jumping back and out of the way of a blade that aimed for his head he backed up and landed on a branch of a lofty tree; his balance never failing him. Raising his mask from his face, he turned it to the side so it would rest on his head, he scanned the area of dead men and few stragglers that seemed determined to stay alive.

The winds began to die down into a gentle breeze and he let it calm and sooth his heart and mind. Closing his eyes he let nothing important run through his mind at that point in time because death was on his way to deliver his last message before he went home to crawl into his bed, alone. Cracking open his sharingan eye, he activated the wheel and raised his sword once more in front of him, spotting his next victim that was still trying to hang onto dear life.

Grabbing the ANBU mask he replaced it over his face and fell from the tree tops, like an angel; so graceful and beautiful but deadly. One powerful swing to the last casualty and his mission would be accomplished. Kakashi swung hard and fast, enough force to get through the flesh and bone in the neck, severing the head to make it roll on the ground with an expression of fear locked on the dead man's features. Kakashi was nothing but a faceless warrior, now.

Back straightened, he slowly walked over to the detached head on the ground and the dead man and the living man exchanged a long look before Kakashi finally felt satisfied, because it will be inevitable to understand the things that sprint through his head.

This was realization, which leads to completion, Kakashi's thoughts convinced himself. Nothing hurts anymore because nothing is real. He inhaled the air around him and the acrid stink of death and blood seeped in through his mask to burn his nose. Suddenly he felt empty inside and wondered if this whole reality was a test for him. Perhaps… perhaps not.