In an old body, a foreign body, he leaned to one side, taking a forced step and he fell to the other side. his stare was blank, dark like his eyes. he shifted said blank hues around the land, seeing people around him call out battle cries and dying in mere seconds. he continued to walk, unfazed by his surroundings. the only thing stopping him, was his look-alike son, standing in the trees before him. "Son.. I'm afraid... It seems... We're at war"
He forced himself to stand still, though the very marrow of his bones quivered. He’d considered this eventuality, as soon as the first whispers had swept across the forces like a gale of wind, chilling, unstoppable — the dead are rising.
Yet consideration did not render him immune. Kakashi flashed from boy to man to boy to man, the boy who’d never forgiven and the man who’d never forgotten (if ever he’d forgiven).
His father’s (His father? Or his corpse? There was no protocol for this sort of thing.) words brought on a strange, twisted desire to laugh. He didn’t like this morbid part of himself, liked it even less than the other parts he loathed.
"It seems the world is always at war."
The words released none of the tension that he held, snug and sharp, within and against his body. But the battlefield was no place for any sort of reunion, let alone one with the dead.
Allowing a smile to crawl over his features, his empty eyes closed. "Kakashi.." He breathed out, reopening his eyes at the other hatake. He patted his body around, seeming to be searching for something, only to glance back up at his son. "You still have the lightning blade I gave you? Yet you now carry that fancy sword.. How you've grown...."
