Oh my gawd! Did petgirlsweet just continue a oneshot? Oh my gawd, I think she did. How could she ruin a perfectly good story like that? I mean, how could she?!
There was once a great village known as the Hidden River. This was one of the first of the Shinobi villages to establish itself and thrive after the end of the Feudal wars and the beginning of the Five Shinobi Nations era. The country it came from was small and insignificant, dwarfed even more by its neighbors, the countries of Wind and Earth. Its inhabitants were few, but those that did wear the village's headband were skilled and proud. Many historians have noted that the village would have become great, had it not been for one man: Hidan.
Hidan was in the first graduating class to receive the new headbands. He didn't have a choice, since both his parents were lost in the end of the war when he was still and infant, and like many villages the Hidden River had introduced a program where orphans such as him were raised by the village and repaid their debt through Shinobi service. Hidan had always been a bit of a wild-child, and a violent one at that, and save the bit of training on patience, he had no objections to this contract.
From his dead parents, Hidan had only gotten two things, a round metal rosary and a memory. The memory was fragmented and broken and was nothing more then a song, or rather the tune of the song and the first line of it: Praise our God, the great Jashin-sama
The public library provided no answers as to who this Jashin-sama was, and by the time Hidan was ten he had given up trying to find out anything about him. But when troubles arose, he always found himself turning to his rosary and asking Jashin-sama for guidance. It was not until he was twenty-two and a high-ranking Jounin that he stumbled across forbidden files locked away deep in the village leader's mansion.
They were all transcripts of books from the library that had been ordered to be burned at the end of war. Most of them were completely uninteresting lost battles that the village suffered, but there was one manuscript that caught his attention. It was all the details of the religion once known as Jashinism, and the story of how every follower of his religion was ordered to be killed by the village for the greater good.
Hidan poured over this particular set of files, memorizing every ritual and prayer. The religion had been small, only a hundred people or so had practiced it before it was wiped out, but of that one hundred, two of the names Hidan recognized as belonging to his parents.
All his life, Hidan had been lied to. They said his parents died a noble death defending the village. They said Hidan should be proud to have parents like that and to live up to their names. He would live up to their names alright, he would do more; Hidan was going to get revenge.
That night, Hidan prayed to Jashin, correctly that is. One hundred and thirty seven Shinobi and two hundred and eighty nine civilians made up the Hidden River. By the end of that night, there was only one.
Hidan took big gulping breaths as he looked around at the miles of spilled blood and mangled bodies. His own wounds no longer hurt. For the first time in his life, he felt pure and cleansed and light and alive and it was the most wonderful feeling he could ever imagine. And through all this euphoria the light was fading from his eyes and he dropped to his knees; he knew he was dying but he didn't care because this was the only way he ever wanted to die.
Just as he fell into the blood-soaked dirt, he heard a deep voice resounding through every fiber of his being.
"Serve me well."
When Hidan awoke he knew what he must do. Since that day for the next hundred years he killed in the name of his god who gave him immortality. He killed thousands, millions and savored the way their blood dripped through his fingers and the dimming in their eyes just after they look their last breath.
But no matter how many lives he took, Hidan was never able to bring his parents back. He knew from the start that it was impossible, but a small child inside him told him it was. One day, that child died but at that point Hidan didn't notice or care. His goals were no longer important, because all that mattered was his rosary and a the first line of a song long forgotten.