The fit lasted only thirty seconds. Hibiki shuddered, then went still. Hikari realized he had fallen unconscious. She pressed a finger to his forehead and channeled healing chakra through him. Hibiki woke with a start; wide-eyed and frantic.

"What happened?" Hikari asked, removing her hand.

"I found him!" Hibiki shouted. He struggled to get to his feet, stumbling several times. Hikari was forced to hold him by the arm so he could stand. His knees were weak.

"How?" Tetsu spoke up. He had fetched the hilt of his shattered sword and sheathed it.

Hibiki had a wide, pleased grin. "Oh, the chakra. I don't know how you two cannot sense it. An overwhelming explosion of power, for just an instant, and then it was gone. Whatever technique Orochimaru uses to shield his bases wasn't strong enough to suppress Bolt in that instant."

"... So you know where Bolt is, exactly?" Hikari asked for clarification.

Hibiki nodded. "Thirty-three miles to the southeast. One mile from the Land of Fire border, approximately," he rattled off.

Hikari looked to Tetsu. "Let's go," she said.

"Yes, my lady," Tetsu responded resoundedly.

"Wait!" Hibiki exclaimed. Hikari paused. "We're not in any shape to help Bolt right now. He's alive, I know that much. We need to rest and get help."

"We don't have time," Hikari growled.

"If we go now, we'll die. You know as much as I do that Orochimaru was playing with us. If we're going to challenge one of the Sannin then we need professional assistance," Hibiki said.

Hikari scoffed. "Professional assistance? There are ninja who specialize in fighting the Sannin?"

Hibiki smiled. "If you know where to look, yes," he said. "Orochimaru made many enemies. Some of them are always looking for an opportunity to even the score."

Hikari considered it as her eyes flicked between Tetsu and Hibiki. She wasn't faring much better than either of them. "Fine," she agreed.

The three of them quickly gathered what meager possessions and supplies they had before slipping out into the light of day. Hibiki led them northeast, towards the Land of Steam.


They arrived at a small town that lay several miles from the border of the Land of Steam. The white crags of the Land of Steam loomed over them on the horizon. It was a quaint little town, set atop a rising hill. Before it lay mile upon mile of rice paddies, and after it was nothing but rolling plains of grass until the border.

"Who are we meeting, again?" Hikari asked, for the third time. She had yet to receive an acceptable explanation.

"Well," Hibiki hesitated. "I don't know. He, or she, takes a different identity every few weeks. Or days. No one really knows. It's not like I know the contact personally. But you hear about these people in the right circles."

Their "contact" was a man or woman whom, according to rumor, had a fierce grudge against Orochimaru for wiping out their entire family. A mercenary for hire—often spy or bounty hunter— of extraordinary skill. His entry in the bingo book left much to be desired; no name, no photograph, no history, no listed contacts or associates, and only the vaguest rumors of his skillset. Their contact was, according to hearsay, a spirit.

They were walking into a meet-and-greet blind. Hikari didn't like it. That was how good field operatives ended up dead, or worse.

"And how are we supposed to know the contact when we see him?" Hikari asked. She could feel Tetsu silently agreeing with her. He was equally irritated by their need to recruit outside help and the anonymity their potential employee enjoyed.

Hibiki shrugged. "All I know is that he has serious money problems. Likes to gamble. Intel says the contact likes to frequent gambling parlors. This is the largest in the country—underground, of course," he explained.

An illegal black market gambling parlor. Not the worst place Hikari has had to meet a contact. But definitely not the best. "Let's go," she grumbled, following Hibiki to a small warehouse near the outskirts of the village.

Hibiki waved the two guards off; two burly men with swords on their hips. Each one sported a collection of headbands whose fabric was woven together to form a sash. There was one from every major village, at least, though most consisted of minor villages. Hikari saw two from the Mist and idly thumbed her headband that was tied around her neck.

They descended down a set of stairs hidden under a large pile of wooden crates. Hikari expected a spartan underground shelter or panic room. Instead, she was greeted by a lavish underground retreat that bordered upon palatial. A utilitarian display of wealth and comfort. Hikari didn't particularly care for such things but she thought it had been one of the nicer hideouts she'd seen in her career.

The three of them came to the end of the entrance hall where they were stopped by another pair of guards. In front of them was a wall of stone and metal with a small window in it. Behind it stood an older, graying man in a suit. Hibiki passed him a small case of ryō—most of which was hers. Or, rather, the pool of wealth that she and Bolt shared. The man counted the money behind his reinforced glass window that was nearly as thick as her forearm. Then, he pushed a stack of chips to Hibiki.

Hibiki took them and the guards allowed them to pass deeper into the gambling parlor. Surprisingly, no one asked them for their weapons. Granted, Hikari kept her in the seals Bolt had placed on her palms and Tetsu only had the mangled remains of his sword. But still. Did the guards think they could take them, or did Hibiki have that much of a reputation among the underworld? He was a spy for the Hidden Grass. How much did he know? How much weight did his name and that knowledge carry?

He had taken to wearing the scarred headband proudly ever since Bolt had all but forced him to deface it. It now sat at its place of honor around his neck, just like her own. No one had given either of their former symbols of loyalty a second glance. Impressive, really, considering the defaced symbol of the Mist and Grass outed them as rogue ninja.

Maybe they were planning to report them to the nearest bounty hunter station?

Hikari wished them luck, if that was the case.

The room they were ushered into was long and narrow. More of a second hallway than anything. A long, low table occupied the length and breadth of the room. Small pillows were spaced at varied intervals for seating. Men and women of all ages and nationalities were arranged around the table. Games of chance were bet upon with the chips they had bought earlier. Each game was officiated by a man in a professional suit.

Hikari coughed under her breath. It was smoky. Several handfuls of people were smoking. More were drinking. She already couldn't wait to leave. To do something productive. To get back on the Hunt. They needed to be rescuing Bolt, not visiting some farflung gambling parlor on a whim.

"Do you see him?" Hikari asked.

Hibiki shook his head. "No. But I can feel him."

Hikari let her eyes trace over the forms of everyone in attendance. She saw no telltale signs of formal military training; no rigid stances, no outlines of hidden weapons, no one positioned so that the doors and guards were always in their immediate line of sight. If Hibiki was right, their bounty hunter was good.

"This one was told that you were unable to sense the bounty hunter," Tetsu spoke softly. It was meant to come out as a whisper, but rumbled through the room for a few feet. Hikari tensed as several gamblers turned their way. She hushed him.

"I can't," Hibiki said, smiling coyly as he sat and began to play a round of cards with three other older gentlemen and a woman in her late forties. Hikari took up her position as a guard to his right. Tetsu kneeled to her left. "But I can sense the abnormally large and calm pool of chakra that no one without some form of training would possess. He's here, I can assure you."

Hibiki quickly, somehow, cleaned out two of the four players within three hands of cards. The rest quickly folded and moved on to other games of chance. Hikari thought—knew—he was cheating, but she didn't know how. Hibiki stood and moved to a game of dice. She and Tetsu followed him, playing the dutiful bodyguards. Hibiki lost more money than he won. Hikari thought the dice were weighted, but she couldn't tell without handling them.

The next was a game of cups where a nugget of gold was placed under one of five cups. The host was surprisingly dextrous with his hands as he switched the cups around faster than the eye could follow. Hibiki smiled and pointed out the nugget of gold had been palmed and placed up the sleeve of the dealer. Apparently, that was the sixth and legal place to hide it.

Hikari didn't see a single person acting out of place the entire time. Hibiki moved on. Determined and calm as ever. Another game of cards; a different set of rules. One Hikari hadn't heard of—which was impressive, considering the Crimson Tide had a particular fondness for card games.

Hibiki stilled, then smiled. It was that faux smile; the insincere one. The one people had to practice and learn to wear. Hikari had seen him wear it several times. Around her, around Tetsu, but never around Bolt. That was the only reason she trusted him as much, or as little, as she did.

"Hello," Hibiki said. He had eyes for only one person: a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. Plain, with soft features and long, wavy auburn hair.

The woman quirked a brow. "Hello," she replied demurely, taking her cards the dealer dealt.

The dealer placed three cards face up on the table. One of the players folded. Hibiki pushed a small pile of chips forward. The woman called him, as did the other players. "I've heard that we have a mutual enemy, of sorts," Hibiki whispered. His voice was so soft that it was barely a whisper. Hikari wouldn't have heard if she hadn't been standing between the two of them.

The woman, to her credit, didn't flinch; didn't blink, didn't breathe abnormally. The dealer dealt another card face up. Another player folded. Hibiki pushed more chips forward.

"I'm afraid not," the woman said. "I have no enemies. I make sure to pay my debts." She doubled the amount of chips Hibiki had bet.

Hibiki smiled, calling the raise. The only other player at the table folded. "Oh?" Hibiki said, as the dealer dealt the final card.

Hikari saw him frown. The dealer pushed the mountain of chips toward the woman. Hikari quickly went through the mental calculations of how much ryō Hibiki had just lost them; ten black chips, fourteen yellow, five green, two blue... one hundred and seventy-seven thousand. She clenched her fist. That was nearly half the money they received for the bounties in the Land of Sound.

"Yes," the woman said.

Hibiki made a small noise in the back of his throat and shrugged. "Too bad. I guess we'll have to find someone else to help with our snake problem."

Hikari caught the slight twitch of the fingers as the woman passed her cards back to the dealer. Even the best professionals had a tell. Hibiki seemed content to continue to gamble. The dealer started another round. Three more cards. A fourth. A fifth. Hibiki won, that time. The pot was worth a little under forty-eight thousand ryō. At least they had made a little of their money back.

The third round started shortly after. Hibiki folded when the fourth card was dealt. The woman folded on the fifth and excused herself. Hikari watched as she strode from the room and deeper into the parlor. Hibiki played one more round; he won twenty-seven thousand ryō, that time. The sting of loss was lessened.

Then he excused himself and followed after the woman. Hikari followed him, with Tetsu bringing up a brisk pace behind them with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The gambling parlor was a maze. Its bowels were hall after hall of luxury and sin. Hibiki, however, never seemed to lose his sense of direction.

They came to a section of the underground facility that was obviously apartments. Hibiki knocked once, ever so lightly. The door opened a moment later and they were ushered inside. The woman's room was spartan and absent of any trinkets; the only thing of note was the copious amount of chips and ryō. "Sit," the woman said.

Hibiki did so. Hikari and Tetsu remained standing, playing their role. There was an awkward, tense silence as both parties judged the other. Hikari didn't miss the way the woman's eyes lingered on her and Hibiki's headbands; proclaiming where they heralded from, and their disloyalty.

Hibiki smiled. "So," he spoke first. A sign of weakness in such negotiations, but it was no secret they were bargaining from a position of weakness. "Orochimaru."

The woman fidgeted at the name. "So you told me," she said.

Hibiki nodded. "I've heard you have quite the grudge against him. Know how he works better than anyone else. Well, anyone who is still alive, that is," he said.

"And if I do?" the woman asked.

Hibiki flashed her one of his false, charming smiles. "If you do, my friends and I would be very interested in hiring you," he said.

"And why would you have a problem with Orochimaru?"

Hibiki paused. Considered his answer. Then he shrugged in indifference. "One of our friends was taken captive by him. He's still alive, as far as we know. We want to rescue him," he answered.

Hikari could see something soften in the woman's face. Empathy, maybe. Hibiki continued speaking. "We'd try to rescue him ourselves, but Orochimaru is far too powerful. And we have no disillusions that we could infiltrate his main base of operations without being discovered. Naturally, when one has your particular skillset, you can see why we would come to you," he finished.

There it was. Situation bared. Now to see if their offer was accepted.

A small pause. "You know where his base of operations is?" the woman asked.

Hibiki nodded. Another pause. The woman looked between them again. Noting the defaced symbol of the Grass and Mist. Her eyes paused on Tetsu; roving up and down before settling on the hilt of his sword. A conclusion was reached. "You're rogue ninja. Why?"

Hibiki smiled one of his false, reassuring smiles. "We present no danger to you, I can assure you," he said. "We each have our reasons for severing the bonds between us and our former homes. I cannot speak for the others. It's not my story to tell, you understand. But, personally, I found something—someone—more worthy to follow than my village," he said. Hikari thought he could be quite eloquent when he wanted to.

"And that is?" the woman asked.

"Love," Hibiki stated with a nod of conviction.

Hikari twitched under her new mask. What the fuck did that mean? The bounty hunter didn't seem to know what to make of that, either. She shrugged the answer off. "What crimes have you committed?"

Ah. Now that was a difficult question to answer. Hibiki turned to look at her. Hikari cleared her throat. "Perhaps it would be easier to ask which crimes you would find unforgivable?" Hikari asked.

That seemed to upset the woman. Hikari could tell that they had just lost some amount of leverage in their dealings. "I won't work for scum," she said with absolute conviction. "If you've ever murdered an innocent in cold blood, committed rape, or deliberately brought harm upon a child, you can leave now. No banditry, either."

Hikari paused to consider her answer. They'd certainly never raped anyone. Eiji had—quite literally—castrated a man, publically, for groping a woman they had captured to turn in for a bounty. Tetsu was too honorable for that. Bolt was a privileged little brat, but he certainly wasn't evil. He would never have stooped so low.

But they had murdered plenty of men, women, and even a few children. In cold blood, though? Never. It had been war, or work. Their work had been for the greater good, too. Would that absolve them of their sins? And they tried to avoid murder when at all possible.

"We haven't," Hikari answered with a nod.

Another pause. Hikari could practically see the gears turning in the woman's mind.

"What are your names?" she asked.

Hibiki smiled, taking control once again. "I'm Hibiki. These are my associates, Hikari and Tetsu," he answered for the three of them.

"And the friend that Orochimaru captured?"

Now, this was where things got complicated. If they told her who they wanted to save, there was a risk. If the bounty hunter didn't approve of Bolt, or wanted to capture him for his admittedly impressive bounty, there would be little they could do to prevent it. On the flip side, it would be much better to learn that now rather than when they rescued Bolt from Orochimaru. Having that discussion in the lion's den was not conducive of a long life.

Hibiki looked suitably nervous. "Bolt Uzumaki," he said, with only the barest tremor in his stoic countenance.

A look of disbelief flashed across the woman's face. It was gone in the next instant, replaced by warring expressions of approval and distaste.

For a moment, Hikari feared they were about to be told to leave. That they had wasted their money, and more importantly, time. When they had precious little to waste.

"I want five million up front," she said. "Ten million upon delivery. Anything I find in the base is mine."

"Deal," Hibiki agreed. Hikari blinked. They barely had five million. They most definitely did not have ten million. Unless Hibiki was hiding a fortune in the folds of his robes somewhere.

The woman nodded. Then, she tilted her head back and parted her lips. A wispy, pink-colored smoke spilled forth. Hikari yanked Hibiki backwards by the collar of his robes. Tetsu had the mangled remnants of his sword drawn and brandished as he stepped forward to defend them.

The smoke continued to spill forth. It coalesced upon itself, forming a vaguely human shape. Then it solidified. A young boy, perhaps in his early teens, no older than fourteen or fifteen, appeared. Short and thin with pale skin. He had dark brown hair and eyes, with a light dusting of freckles across his nose. He looked feeble. Not frail, like Tsuchigumo, but feeble. Weak of body.

"I'm Yasuo Iburi, last scion of the Iburi clan," he introduced himself.


Mitsuki blinked.

Bolt was lying in a hospital bed. The pungent, sterile scent hit him hard. Mitsuki hadn't remembered how he had gotten there. The rhythmic beeping of the machinery was all that assured him his friend hadn't slipped away.

He was pale and clammy, and his breaths came slow and shallow. No less than five medics were watching over him at any one time. Mitsuki could tell things were bad, even with his minimal training.

Mitsuki stood and made his escape. He didn't want to dwell on the future any more than he had to. He wandered, letting his feet guide him. He stopped when he heard shouting; a raised voice so similar to his own. Mitsuki pressed his back to the wall and crept forward.

"... how many?" Orochimaru was asking.

"Estimates... generations twenty-one... thirty-two lost," Mitsuki heard his own voice, deeper and raspy, answer.

Mitsuki flinched as the sound of flesh striking metal echoed. His father made a growling noise of anger. He'd never seen him lose his composure before.

"What about generation thirty-six?" Orochimaru asked.

"Labs two, four, five, nine, twelve, and sixteen were all destroyed," his 'brother,' Log, said. "Ninety-three percent of generation thirty-six was destroyed in the attack. Labs six, eight, ten, and thirteen contained nonviable embryos that were lost when generators one and three were destroyed. We lost eighty-seven percent of the data."

Orochimaru sighed and slumped in his chair. The two of them did not speak again for a full minute.

"We knew this was a possible outcome when we initiated phase four," Log said, softly. "Despite the loss of generations twenty-one through thirty-two, and the damage to generations thirty-three to thirty-six, generation two has shown remarkable growth. Enough to warrant the losses."

Mitsuki stilled.

"Yes, he has, but this incident has cost us months, perhaps years, of work. Time we do not have, Log," Orochimaru said. "And this was never supposed to happen. It was completely outside our parameters for—"

"Hey!" Mitsuki flinched. The red-haired woman, Karin, was standing a few feet away from him. The conversation inside the room had abruptly stopped. "What are you doing out here?" Karin asked him.

Mitsuki didn't answer. He couldn't think of a convincing lie. Karin just shrugged him off. "Come on. You might as well be here for this," she said, pulling him inside. Mitsuki caught a flash of her scarred skin; indentations of teeth marring her pale flesh.

His father and brother didn't appear to have been offended to learn he had been spying on them.

"Patient A-zero-zero-one is stable," Karin reported. "We've managed to contain the Cursed Seal of Heaven and repair the internal damage it inflicted. He's no longer in critical condition."

Mitsuki breathed a sigh of relief despite the clinical diagnosis. Bolt would be fine.

"Thank you, Karin. Dismissed," his father said.

It was clear to Mitsuki that his father and brother wanted to continue their discussion from before. But he had no intention of leaving. Not until he got answers.

"Why?" Mitsuki asked. The question needed no explanation.

"... It was necessary," Orochimaru hissed.

"Necessary? Necessary. It was necessary to kill Bolt? That is your excuse?" Mitsuki hissed back. More human than serpentine; opposite his father. The anger he felt earlier reared its ugly head.

His father shook his head. "All simulations pointed towards a ninety-four point seven percent chance of survival, or higher," Orochimaru said. "He is an Uzumaki. Their natural Yang energy makes them harder to kill. He has an unnaturally high pool of chakra to draw from, reducing the risk of introducing natural energy into his system. Finally, and most importantly, his father was an exceptionally powerful Sage. That genetic quirk alone should have allowed Bolt to adapt to the Cursed Seal, not including the rest. It seems... Bolt was not lucky enough to have that passed on to him."

"So, what? He was unlucky?" Mitsuki demanded.

Orochimaru hesitated. "Sometimes, luck is the largest determining factor," he said.

"That is shit and you know it," Mitsuki said. "Fix it. Fix him. You can remove the Cursed Seal. Help him recover."

"We can't," it was Log who answered him. "The Cursed Seal of Heaven was never designed to be removed. It originated as a life extension technique before it evolved to a power augmentation fūinjutsu. It integrates itself with the host's pathways, like a parasite, and begins blending the host's chakra with our father's. It takes that blend of chakra and adds a third of its total potential power as natural energy."

"It's not that it cannot be removed," his father said. "It's that removing it kills the host or otherwise damages them irreparably. That is if the natural energy coursing through them doesn't petrify them first. The best we can do is attempt to stabilize it. I would have caught the rejection sooner had Bolt not been an Uzumaki. He was remarkably resistant, right up until he exceeded the limits of his pathways."

Mitsuki was silent. "So there's nothing you can do? Nothing to save Bolt? Keep him alive?"

He didn't like the hesitation he saw in his brother and father. "There are things worse than death," Log said. "Techniques that would keep him alive in body if not in mind or spirit."

Mitsuki was horrified at the suggestion.

"I thought not," Log said.

"There has to be something," Mitsuki begged.

Log and Orochimaru shared a look. It was his father who answered him, this time. "We could ask the White Snake Sage to administer his test. It would give Bolt the ability to control natural energy, and thus the Cursed Seal." Mitsuki felt a flicker of hope. "However... given that his inclination towards natural energy is extremely low, the test would almost surely kill him. Far more painfully than the Cursed Seal, I might add." His hope was dashed.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing his father or brother could do.

Bolt was going to die.


Bolt drifted amongst the darkness.

It was cold.

He thought he might be dying. It felt eerily similar to the times he had been severely injured. He couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't use his dōjutsu. He simply drifted, like a stray cloud in an otherwise clear sky. Aimless and cold amongst a sea of blackness.

Sometimes, he would feel pain. It coursed through him with every beat of his heart. When he had his fits, every thought and emotion fled and the only thing left was the all-consuming pain. After awhile, he learned to enjoy it. When the pain came, he forgot about the cold and the dark. His mind went white, a pleasant experience after an eternity of sensory deprivation. The pain that tore through him didn't leave him capable of experiencing the cold.

It was nice.

Sometimes, he heard voices. Mitsuki, most often. Once, even, he thought he could see him. Concerned bestial eyes staring down at him with worry and regret and fear. The other's voices were less frequent. His mother and sister at their clan's gym as they ran through stances of the Gentle Fist and reminisced of the happier times. Hikari, frantic and scared as she pulled the remnants of his team together. Hibiki, determined and resolute as he used his silver tongue to cheat his way through a game of cards.

The voices were the best and the worst. Best, because they distracted him from the great nothing. Worst, because he wished, more than anything, that he was there talking with them.

Worse, even still, were the times when the hours stretched on and on with no distraction at all, like now.

Bolt sighed as best he was able to. He wasn't physically able, of course, but it had the same mental release.

He drifted. Another hour—or what he thought was an hour, it was hard to tell—passed.

A spark.

The sudden light was blinding. A small wisp of blue-green fire.

The pain came back. More intense than ever before. Different, though. His mind didn't white out. Bolt underwent the painfully odd experience of being stretched too far in every direction. It reminded him of hazy feeling he got when he fought the One-Tail and constructed his chakra chains for the first time.

Like then, he doesn't fight the feeling. He goes with the flow. Fighting it only leads to more pain. Bolt can recognize the feel of the chakra. He had only touched it for the barest moments, but it was burned into his memory.

Orochimaru.

He is drawn towards the blue-green fire.

In the Crimson Tide, some of the older mercenaries liked to wax poetic. Talk philosophy. The nature of good and evil. The ethics of their profession. That always brought them to a heavy topic: death.

They always said death was seeing the light. Bolt never thought of it that way. Death was the all-consuming oblivion. Pain was the light; the white.

They always said their lives flew before their eyes. Bolt never experienced that—unless the voices he heard counted. Did they?

They always said it was a third-person experience. An out-of-body experience. Watching yourself lay there, on the ground, bleeding and dying and moaning in agony.

That, that Bolt could relate to.

"We're losing him!" the red-haired woman screamed.

A man in mint-green scrubs and a pastel blue mask ran over. He had a large syringe of black fluid in his hands. He stabbed Bolt in the chest and pumped him full of the drug. The red-haired woman took a scalpel and cut a long, clean cut from her wrist to her forearm as she forced Bolt to drink her blood. Bolt spasmed. "Hold him down!" the red-haired woman barked, even as she forced more of her blood down his throat.

Bolt winced. He rubbed his chest where he could feel the pain. His throat was warm.

Another doctor, a woman, in the same scrubs but wearing a white coat, stormed in with a metal cart. Three other medics followed her, their hands already glowing with a soft green light. The doctor in the coat withdrew two metal instruments and placed him on his chest. She weaved hand signs and electricity surged through them, and into him. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. "It's not working!" she cried.

Bolt was dizzy with the sensation of foreign chakra coursing through him. Unlike Orochimaru, the medics' chakra was cool and soothing. He felt the urge to follow it, but resisted. The red-haired woman's chakra was almost painfully nostalgic; brimming with Yang chakra. He frowned as the doctor continued to try to resuscitate him with electricity. It seemed his body's natural conductivity was working against him rather than for.

"Where is Jūgo!" the red-haired woman screeched.

The doctors were too busy, or too terrified, to answer her. A moment later, the doors of operating room swung open revealing Suigetsu and Jūgo. Suigetsu found a corner of the room in which to lean and watch. Jūgo marched over to the red-haired woman.

"Use your cellular ejection technique! Quick!" the red-haired woman commanded, even as she gave him more of her blood.

Jūgo frowned. "Karin, my technique only works with those compatible with the seal," he said softly.

The red-haired woman, Karin, was almost hysterical in her response. "Do it! I can't keep him alive on my own much longer!"

Jūgo lifted a hand and placed it on Bolt's abdomen, just over his navel. The orange-haired man's skin glowed a fiery red color as his flesh slopped off his body in great waves and assimilated into his own biomass. Jūgo began to shrink in on himself; regressing to a childlike appearance.

Bolt felt queazy. Like he had eaten some old food or drank spoilt milk. He wanted to vomit, but couldn't.

Bolt vomited. It came up as blood. A spray of red liquid and mist. One of the medics recoiled. "Don't stop!" Karin screamed. She medic returned to healing him. Karin dropped one of her arms and added her own Mystic Palm to the arsenal.

Orochimaru bustled into the room at a sprint. He had a number of tags in his arms. He and an assistant quickly went to work. They plastered the tags on his arms, legs, chest, and head. The Sannin himself then weaved hand signs before his entire body began to glow a brilliant green color. He placed his hands on Bolt's chest.

Bolt sighed in relief as the nausea passed. The now intimate feel of Orochimaru's chakra flowed through him. He wanted to recoil, to push the chakra away. He couldn't.

The newly added biomass from Jūgo didn't hold. It sloshed off. Orochimaru growled. "He's rejecting my chakra!" the Sannin hissed.

The doors swung open again. Mitsuki. His blue hair was dishevelled. Yellow eyes shining with tears. "Get him out of here!" Orochimaru screamed, glaring at his son. Suigetsu moved from the wall and gently, but firmly, dragged Mitsuki from the room.

Bolt frowned. The question he asked himself during their sparring match resurfaced. Why? What did Orochimaru want from Mitsuki? Why push him so hard? So far? Why hurt his own son? Bolt had to know.

The machinery around his body was whining and blaring. Red lights blinked.

It finally hit him. He was dying. Bolt was watching himself die. It was an odd feeling. He felt strangely detached; uncaring. He was ready to die, Bolt realized.

But not quite yet. He wanted an answer to his question. The question that was, quite literally, his last thought.

"—Why?" Bolt croaked. Blood spilled from his lips.

Orochimaru snapped his head up. "Damn it, brat! Don't fight it! Do you want to die?" the Sannin screamed.

Karin collapsed to the floor. She was unnaturally pale.

Bolt pondered the question. Did he? No, he didn't. But he wouldn't mind. He felt tired. Tired and warm, like he was ready for a lazy afternoon nap.

But he had to know the answer to his question, first.

Bolt followed the feeling of Orochimaru's chakra. It was a bit like swimming. Carried off by the currents. He was vaguely aware of panicked screams in the operating room. He ignored them. Submersed himself in the chakra. Let it sweep him away. He found Mitsuki and Suigetsu. They were standing opposite each other in rough stances. Mitsuki had brandished Kusanagi.

Bolt wondered why Orochimaru's chakra had brought him here.

Mitsuki lashed out, angry and frightened all at the same time. His sword caught in the now liquified arm of Suigetsu. A wave of chakra rushed forward from the slash and buffeted him. Which was strange, really, because Bolt knew his body was spasming on a metal slab several rooms behind him.

Mitsuki hacked the arm off, kicked Suigetsu aside, and sprinted back down the hall.

Ah.

That was it. Bolt berated himself for not understanding it sooner. He followed Mitsuki back to the operating room. Orochimaru had stepped back and was dragging his son away. It was half an embrace.

Their relationship was unconventional, true, but Orochimaru still loved Mitsuki. Loved him enough to hurt him to make him stronger. To prepare him for what was to come. To prepare him for—

The world went dark. All he could see was darkness. For miles and miles. Yawning on for an eternity. The landscape was dotted by billions of small, warm fires.

Bolt closed his eyes.


A/N:

So, yeah. This chapter was fun. I was considering writing more but this felt like a good place to stop. Ah, also, this story has past 100k views! Happened last chapter. Pretty happy about that. Nearly a fourth of them were from this month, too, which is cool because of the writing challenge I did.

Yasuo Iburi is an OC of reader SimplyLokajad who is based upon the Iburi clan from the Kakashi/Yamato ANBU arc in the anime. If you're a manga reader only, I recommend watching it (episode 352). For those who haven't watched or don't plan to: the Iburi clan possesses a unique bloodline which allows them to turn into a pink-colored smoke. Orochimaru experimented upon the clan and eventually drove it to near extinction with one sole survivor.

Friskey — Bolt, in particular, is immune to most ocular based drawbacks of high-speed movement due to the Byakugan. On the flip side: the Lightning Armor is notable for its ability to augment the nervous system with Lightning chakra which, among allowing the brain to function at a higher cognition, includes the eyes. This is how ninja like the 3rd and 4th Raikage are able to move at such high speeds without a dōjutsu. In terms of non-Lightning Armor based high-speed movement... the Eight Gates removes the brain's limits; physical speed has a hard cap both in body and mind which can be bypassed with a dōjutsu (most notably the Sharingan); being a jinchūriki seems to bestow some form of heightened senses that allow for high-speed movement (Bee and Naruto); and the Flying Thunder God is less of speed and more of teleportation—there isn't a need to process the "speed."