a new paralysis demon for @thetoaddaddy !
Lucidity was a series of snapshots for Haruka now, since the day he had failed his mission. The present was rooted in the past. There was no future. Memories that were not his bid his body to wander one way, for one duration of time, then, when another took hold, another way for another duration. The distinctness of 'Haruka' felt less and less authentic as he blended and blurred into the suffocating mass of 'other' that occupied him.
That was, until, Haruka crossed paths with him. It was by a chance passing in the busy streets of some nameless village that the former ANBU felt the clawed grip of piercing clarity seize his mind. A Sannin, silver-haired and broad shouldered, there was no doubt. For all the time Haruka had been a serving shadow, sending and receiving intel, securing camps, acquiring supplies... anything that could be considered enabling Konoha's greatest assets, he would cease to exist without that context. He had spent the majority of his life in that service.
Ever since, he resumed his former role. Now, just as then, he occupied the unseen spaces around Jiraiya as he traveled from village to village, amassing what Haruka could only conclude was a comprehensive report of some manner. While it bothered the former ANBU that he could not entirely grasp what it was and more especially why it eluded him, Haruka's frustrations were temporarily vented in the execution of his role. The roads Jiraiya opted to travel were always secured, rogue bandits were handled and obstacles were removed. They were a waste of a Sannin's skill, time, and effort.
But the prickle of uncertainty built over time. They had been on the road for... days... weeks? It blended together now. Why had they not returned to Konoha? What nature of a report necessitated prolonged absence without communication? Where were the rest of the Sannin? It was unusual for Konoha units to work independently. And if there was such an occasion why did he not know of it?
It was in this way that in the dead of night, Haruka came to stand over one such Sannin's bed, a furious expression on his too-pale features. Physically, every living part of him had drained of color, his skin, his hair, his eyes. The outdated uniform he still wore was torn and stained, the sort of thing one would really only expect to come crawling up out of a grave.
"Sannin-sama." He addressed cordially, but strained. "Your report... is it complete yet?"