Juan was LIVING as he hunted his prey, face awash in offal and jocularity.
At the base of the hill he had met a charging guard with a clothesline to the solar plexus, nearly snapping the man's frame in two. The missing-nin smiled, a big ugly thing festooned in hungry yellow pearls. For a fraction of a second his face appeared to elongate; no longer Juan nor Wani, this was Ammit, 'devourer of the dead.'
"I'll help myself,"
he growled, taking a chunk out of the guard's jugular with a sickening squelch. Taut skin burst like a grape under the ravenous pressure of the Crocodile's bite. Hell was running rampant.
A second man at arms loosed an arrow that zipped past Juan's cheek with a sotto voce whoosh
. Never one to lose momentum—Doryūsō
—Wani cocked a bird seal. Terror took hold of the marksman's face, and there it stayed frozen as the cold cobblestone street beneath his feet formed an ersatz stalagmite that suddenly ran through him coccyx to breastbone. A crop of Shimogakure civilians, having just witnessed a man practically erupt, let loose a collective wail that'd surely haunt a lesser man for a lifetime. Wani's eyes rolled like planets thrown off their axes. But rather than settle his gaze on the fleeing mouthfuls of flesh, shrieking and pissing hysterically this way and that, just begging
to turn to cud in Juan's jaw, a more filling morsel piqued the croc's attention.
Twas a rather sickly looking fellow, though he carried an uncanny, off-kilter import about him not unlike the one Juan sensed from Soma. This vibe stirred something in the missing-ninja's bones. He caught himself slavering, blood and saliva dribbling to the stone below. Juan's body shifted uneasily, as if pulled by some cosmic force.
"The sweet blood, oh, it sings to me. It's enough to make a man sick..."
And then he split.
Juan the Crocodile and an actual crocodile burst onto the scene after their macabre mitosis. The braided black beast darted left and his maker right, intending to attack the mysterious being with a two-pronged assault.