I do believe that was the last time the old geezer underestimated me.
Had she insulted me again and brought out her usual puppets with the intention of going all out to bring a swift end to my life it would have taken little effort to outlast her. There was no way she could have survived any length of time with such a wound, or have fought effectively with it. Instead she selected the wiser option, immediately seeking to stop the blood pouring from her stump using medical ninjutsu, while falling back and dodging my assault in the basement. I anticipated this wholly but was still rather hopeful that her retreat might take our little scuffle back above ground, where I would hold the advantage. Clearly however she realised the situation and refused to hand that much to me. Down here my attack manoeuvrability was heavily limited by the roof while Chiyo effectively used the workbenches as cover. Yet the small size of the basement also hindered her defensive options. Sweeping attacks in such an enclosed space left her little opportunity for escape, and snipped more than a few grey hairs off the top of her spotted scalp as she just managed to slither away in time.
Now, to address a question wrought with rumours and whispers: why would such a hateful old bag of bones ever wish to learn the noble art of the healer? She was a killer, and a damn good one at that. Too good at murdering and far too proud of it to fall from her glorified 'honoured' pedestal and wallow amongst the sick and injured all her life. Regardless she was undoubtedly one of the best medics alive, proved only by her curing what no other in Suna could. It was also rumoured that she could rival Konoha's Slug Princess, Tsunade Senju, who boasted a solid record for concocting an antidote for every poison the twisted monster crafted. Some say that the granddaughter of the First Hokage found some secret practice to preserve her youth, while the old fart decomposed to a prune. Becoming jealous of the Senju woman and her alleged 'eternal' youth, a deep burning hatred festered in the aged crone that fuelled her to challenge the slug girl in every way imaginable. More realistically however, it follows that with an understanding of poisons, which my ex-teacher had plenty of, one lent themselves well to medical ninjutsu and in a time of war any and all medical ninjas were appreciated.
But I'll be damned if my curiosity was to be sated by mere public knowledge. I was drawn to something a little closer to the truth, and a lot more secret. A few glances, sweet words, and a painful amount of fake laughing landed me one seduced male within the Puppet Brigade. It wasn't long before I had him muttering in hushed tones the secrets he overheard from his superior; Chiyo led a failed project to breathe life into puppets. That was the sole reason for her study of medical ninjutsu. The boy didn't know or couldn't access any details beyond that so he didn't exactly stick around for long. Not that he didn't try his hardest to. It was almost rather cute. Only a few ever spouted madness of experimentation to create 'living' or 'human' puppets for the war. Even fewer dared to say that the honoured hag herself was involved in it. However grief does strange things to a person. With the loss of her son and daughter-in-law perhaps it was possible that she sought to suspend their souls for all eternity in puppet form. It was easier to disbelieve those words back then. Now all I had left was an undying want, no a need, to put my faith in anything but reality.
Despite the utter turmoil resounding within me, one mental pillar stood unshaken; my mission. It was all I had now. The Third Kazekage had ordered me to investigate the mysterious disappearances, and apprehend or dispose of any culprit behind them if they were indeed malicious. I had discovered the truth. Or so I had thought.
Two and a half minutes dragged on for what felt like forever. Heart pounding adrenaline, fear, and excitement brought time to a standstill. Blood began to drip more slowly from the old woman's wound due to her treatment, driving me to press my attack more hectically. She displayed no sign of fatigue despite the intense combination of blood loss, attempted self-healing using medical ninjutsu during combat, and hauling her ancient body around drastically to evade my continual barrage of blades. Infuriatingly she actually seemed to be adapting to patterns in my movements. I had never anticipated that her experience would grant her such sharp analysis over my style. Make no mistake however, this does not mean that I was the one doing the underestimating now. As I was running out of time before the imminent counterattack that potentially lay not even another two and a half minutes away, I deduced an instantaneous plan to at least edge the field further to my favour. The room was becoming a cluttered mess, with debris both lying and flying around everywhere. This environment just didn't suit me at all and I was growing tired of the games the harpy thought she had me caught up in.
With my opponent backed against the wall adjacent to the human puppet monstrosity, I lunged forward with one hand in front, five blades embedding themselves into the wall in a horizontal line where the ugliness once was. As expected the witch ducked with naught but a second to spare. I was certain she was moving so late to mock me now. No matter though, I had her exactly where I wanted her. Her eyes shot upward, alerted as she noticed the chakra threads attached to each blade dissipating. I spun around putting the other blades between us in a wall as a distraction, while attaching new chakra strings to five explosive tags. I poured my heart and soul into hoping she wouldn't notice my preparation. Mid-turn I cast four of them out around me, sticking them to the floor and ceiling while I primed another and brandished it in front of Chiyo upon completion of my turn. The sound of my favourite hissing signalled the beginning of the countdown to ruin. Five. She looked at me like I was mad. After all, using explosive tags at this range under such conditions would be suicide. I leapt and surrounded her between the other blades I had at my disposal and the wall. Four. She darted for the gap where I jumped from. She surely knew it was a trap now. Three. Our eyes met as I flew over her and we exchanged smirks. Two. I threw the explosive tag on the ceiling behind me, planting my legs firm against the wall and pointing myself toward the tag. One. I inhaled sharply. In that second doubts flooded my mind. Had I miscalculated the timing? Was the tag faulty? Had I primed it correctly? Had she been able to disarm it? I could feel the momentum stored in my legs fading. I tried desperately to loop the one free chakra string I had left round the rest of my blades that were below me in the wall. It hadn't reached the last blade when the explosive tag lived up to its name and I threw myself at the blast.
My madness paid off as I shot out the smoke and emerged above the ground once more almost mostly unscathed. I could feel pain all over my body but could not pinpoint any particular source. A ringing in my left ear made me worried that I might have been deafened. I was badly disoriented. The world spun as I could hardly process what was in front of me. A large white ball of light shone clearly against a sheet of spotty blackness then began to roll around in it, flickering in and out of my vision. Looking back I realised this was my view of the night sky as I spun through the air, hit the ground, and continued to roll. Not my most graceful move I'll admit. I dragged both my aching arms forward, throwing all my blades in front of me before cancelling the chakra strings to let them fall to the ground. More importantly though it primed the remaining four explosive tags. In my hazy state I struggled to count the number of weapons I had rescued from my antics before a much larger boom sounded behind me and a greater shockwave shook the desert. I sat up slowly as I regained my senses, but the ringing still persisted to sing in my ear. I turned back to spit in the direction of the hole where I buried the hag;
"Now you really do die. No more pretending."
I brought myself to my feet as something from my face fell to the floor. Instinctively I brought my hands to my face to investigate. My body froze while my fingers fumbled. Originating at the middle of the forehead, snaking down the centre, and then ending at the lower left cheek was a crack that split my mask in two. I stared down at the smaller fragment that lay in the sand. My pride… The pain in my left arm dragged me back to reality. I stifled a cry as I pulled a large chunk of debris from my bicep. The pain and damage to my arm came second in my head. First was the state of my cloak. It was torn in two from the rock and had been tainted a deep sickening crimson. It was all I had left. Besides one thing, well ten things. No matter how much I wished it, I knew better. In the last second before the initial explosion I hadn't managed to loop my chakra string round the hilts of all five blades. Now I only had eight. Eight blades lay in the sand before me and no matter how hard I tried I could find no more. I had lost them in the battle. Chiyo had inflicted three wounds upon me that would cut deeper and linger for longer than any physical wound ever could.
You could describe me as anything but sentimental, but choose to, and you'd be wrong. I'm just as sentimental as the next person. That person may choose to form an attachment with multiple people, or objects, while I chose only three objects. That makes me sound like an inept loner. Truthfully, any relationship formed with me was made out of convenience for the other party, instead of being genuine. I was mostly the victim of those relationships in my youth until I became hardened and instead commanded them. You see, I have no parents or family. Or I might have but they mean nothing to me. I was abandoned at birth, dumped outside the Sunagakure Shinobi Academy with only a cloth cloak wrapped around my little naked self. Hence began my life under their care and training. My upbringing was undeniably tough and lonely, and as a result of that is not something I relive often or with great joy. The cloak really was all I had in the world. Yet my survival, my very existence in this world despite all odds, sparked something strong deep within me; pride. I suppose I did particularly well in my classes at the Academy to catch the eye of the Puppet Brigade. With little choice and even less interest I was drafted into their programme, or as I liked to view it, their freak show. Here, little boys played with killing machines for their sick enjoyment. Due to my disinterest I was bullied for all number of reasons, and fell swiftly to the bottom of the class. You'd assume my pride would demand the centre stage and spotlight, but that would be a mix of arrogance and idiocy. I hungered for something far beyond that scope. So I perverted their dear chakra strings technique to spite them, to turn their own weapon against them. I learned to hold weapons in the air and have them act as disconnected extensions of my body. It took a lot of work, both to hide and perfect my technique, but their scorn and my hatred provided plenty of ammunition. Eventually content with my threads and technique I envisioned the ideal weapon for my style. Unique and beautiful, a blade design capable of tearing through flesh, bone, and wood came to me one night. Call it divine intervention if you will. With all my savings from missions, along with a discount earned by flirtatious means, I poured every last penny into the realisation of my dream. When the time was right I bared my claws against those who suppressed me, and tore their dreams asunder in the process. Their meagre minds were set on passing the exam. What folly. I saw the audience, the stage, the show, and reached for the moon. I was unsure of where my ambition would land me, but the cold, porcelain, grey-whiskered ANBU mask was a fitting reward. It represented many things. To allies, it was a sign of power, skill, and ability. To enemies, it was a symbol of fear and despair. To me, it was the very embodiment of my pride. I like to call it pride anyway. Perhaps it really was hubris.
A choked laughter came from the smoking pit. I readied my weapons once more and was stunned to find how much of a difference in balance two missing blades on one hand made. I flicked one blade across, relying on one blade per finger as I tucked my thumbs in tight against the palms of my hand. A figure sifted through the smoke. She was a state, though I was no better. I knew it would take more than that to kill her, after all she certainly was a tenacious ancient hag.
"You'll never be able to permanently put me in the ground child."
Two puppets trailed behind her from the rising black plume. So that's how she survived. Her usual two machinations packed full of hidden surprises. One shaped to resemble a male, and the other a female. Morbid imitations of human life. The 'mother' and 'father'. Before the abomination in the basement, nothing had sickened me more than them. Named with connotations of care and protection they reaped lives, not saved them. Their lifeless eyes stared deep into my soul as they floated awkwardly behind her. Of course, she was no more used to using those two with only one hand than I was fighting only with eight blades. She held them up with two chakra strings each, likely leaving one spare to attach to whichever she chose to attack me with at one time. A sensible yet predictable option. In spite of my revulsion for those two freaks I was relieved that I did not find myself facing off against Chiyo's legendary White Secret Technique: the Chikamatsu Collection of Ten Puppets. I had to question if she could even use that technique with only half her ability to control them. The idea of fighting them thrilled me, but I knew it was nothing short of foolhardy. Her steps stopped a reasonable distance from me, comfortable for a puppeteer of course, less so for me.
"I'm surprised you caught me with that first trap Arashi. Your chakra strings always were strong, but that made them obvious. You struggled to conceal them. For me to have missed them, perhaps you do hold potential."
Her compliment was rendered empty by a guffawing laughter. Though it stopped abruptly.
Multiple smoke bombs went off behind and around my old teacher. Following her eyes I was certain that the same was happening to me. Our eyes met in momentary panic as I moved first. I turned my back to her and edged quickly back, putting a gap between myself and the smoke, halving the distance between myself and the crone. Her eyes told no lies. This was no device of hers. I shouted back at her but kept my gaze fixed upon the unknown intrusion in front of me;
"Are you just going to stand there?! We might have a score to settle and I assure you given half a second I'll end this but right now…"
I felt her back pressed against mine. Sweaty and warm, it was better than being impaled by one of her puppets. I smirked.
"No need to shout girl. I'm not deaf yet. Don't get in my way."
From the fog appeared a squad of shinobi. They had us surrounded, outnumbered, trapped, and injured. Ripe for the kill. Having literally just been ambushed my mind was crystal clear on three ideals. Firstly, like hell I'd go down without a fight. Secondly, I would never die before Chiyo. Third and finally, it'd be me to take her head, not one of these outsiders. All were ready to attack, except the one to my right. His sword remained holstered, slung over his right shoulder. From the way he stepped forward I guessed he was the squad leader. Eyes trailing over to him I noticed his spiky silver hair, the back of which was pulled into a ponytail, and his forehead protector, adorned with the symbol of the Hidden Leaf, glistening in the moonlight.
"This isn't quite what I expected to find."
A boy sat atop a sandy dune in the distance. His red hair swayed in the breeze. His brown eyes watched intently. His mouth curled into a smile. Like puppets without strings they danced for him. Soon he would make them perfect. He couldn't wait. Soon he would make their corpses dance for him. The first of his special collection. Soon 'he' would lead the dance for him. His head turned slowly to the paralysed body snared by the tail of his shell. His smile spread to a maniacal grin. He climbed back into his shell and began to walk away. This piece of art could wait no longer.