Zabuza took a moment to let out a heated, anger-restrained exhale, tickling his vocal cords to produce a low growl and send a frightfully cold paralysis down Tenten's spine. Cornered and captured mentally as much as physically, Tenten can't even stop listening if she wanted to as he demoralizes and deconstructs something previously safe within her.
"In an effort to teach me the strength of his position, he gave me a horn big as I was that I was to blow in every seven minutes during his sermon. He was a weak and petty man, so I didn't care, but I did it anyway. The first time I sounded that horn, he stopped preaching, dropped to one knee for two silent seconds, then got back up and continued yapping.
Everyone there naturally thought it was odd; looking around like idiots. I thought he'd lost it, myself, but the second time I sounded that fucking horn, two followers dropped to their knee along with him; for two seconds before standing back up again. The third time, a dozen worshipers took a knee with him before standing. The fourth time, they all took a fucking knee. Not out of obligation.
He didn't order them or even make mention that he was going to act that way. They simply followed blindly, and to this day, with all the murders and slayings I've committed, that's still the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life!"
Gripping Dānyī's entire face with a painfully tight grasp, the angry assassin glares directly in the choking arms dealer's eyes and practically yells, "it's when I learned that none of you mattered more than nourishment for the strong. Your sheep-daughter was born to warm my bed and you were meant to feed my sword, you thieving cow."
Turning back to back to Tenten, he grips her by the throat, gripping her thin anatomy shocking hard as he stares into her shaking eyes and states, "I see the same quit in your eyes, girl."
"N-no," a hollow and tearful Tenten manages.
"Ten," her father weakly voices. "He's g-goading you. There's nothing wrong... with b-bein a fol-lower. We all follow!"
"She's a quitter," Zabuza accuses her.
"I'm... not," Tenten tries to yell through gritted teeth.
"If you don't die now," he starts shaking her thin but strong neck. "You will, peacefully, in your own bed from old age. And no one but your pathetic, fatherless offspring will know your name," Zabuza assures her with all the certainty of his decades as an elite ninja.
Trembling, Tenten couldn't respond. To be so easily forgotten, to be passed by unnoticed, to amount to nothing, it was her worst fear. And without knowing her, Momochi Zabuza easily grasped upon the very thing she feared most about herself. It's why her father's capitalistic nature or her mother's abandonment is never worth mentioning.
"You should leave, Ōyashiro," Zabuza orders, confident the merchant isn't going to draw attention, considering the ninjas he's smuggled into the village.
"I certainly intend to do so," Ōyashiro kindly states. "As soon as my business in Konoha has concluded."
"Then get out while you can," Zabuza warns the old merchant. "Because if you think your business has anything to do with Kubikiribōchō, then you've wasted a trip."
With a short bow, the merchant calmly speaks, "with all due respect, Momochi-dono, I don't believe it is."
Kicking the chair Dānyī is tied up to with his long leg, the Demon of Hidden Mist tells him, "don't blame me because you trusted this filth enough to sell you smoke."
"Then I ask, why are you here," Ōyashiro almost ponders to himself rather than ask Zabuza. "The executioner blade is already in your possession. Why not flee? Whatever more could be keeping you here, I wonder."
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