The Pantheon of Nine
By: Finn Mertenz
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN NARUTO. I DO NOT CLAIM TO OWN NARUTO.
Chapter 140: Use It, Or Lose It! Death Before Dishonor.
Saturday 10:33am, October 25th 58SSP.
Peace and tranquility, that was the sight in front of Konohamaru's gaze, possessing black pupils. As the world sat on the brink of destruction, this child stood atop the stone Hokage Monument.
Firm, like a cement statue, he loomed upon the scalp of Hiruzen, the earthen skull of his grandpa. Even in death, this elder of the Sarutobi continued to watch over his village, his home.
The same settlement and namesake of his own life, Konohamaru beheld the image of withered trees. Decayed, dead and husked from the season of autumn, branches were devoid of leaves.
Barren, the usual blanket of emerald around Konoha was gone, taken place by surrounding bark. Brown lumber stretched beyond the extent of the horizon, endless and unreachable.
This was the nation that the 3rd Hokage gave his life for, like the 1st and 2nd Hokage before him. Even the mighty 4th fell in the line of battle, giving life and limb for Konoha's security.
More than the Kage; Kurenai, Shino, Kiba, Choji, Kakashi and Iruka had perished as worthy ninja. Even Jiraiya was sealed away, imprisoned by his own Jutsu, taking Kabuto and Orochimaru with him.
Left in this reality, an obscured obstruction from life just a year ago, Konohamaru was blank. No expression was revealed by the sun above, instead, eyes were stricken and worried.
During the height of war, this village in front of him was rather serene and quiet, free of conflict. The sound of hammered nails and muffled crowds blended with the scent of noodled broth.
"I was wondering where you sulked off." Udon sniffled.
Wiping dripped snot from his nostrils, this student of the Konoha Academy offered a friendly hand. Receiving a reply of silence, and the back of his best friend, focused on Konoha's horizon.
"Because of the war, schools out, so I've had plenty of free time..." He sneezed.
With a singular hand, he dove into a tanned satchel upon the back of his waist, fiercely digging. Plucked loose, a wooden pipe was brandished, brushed against the shoulder of Konohamaru.
"It's supposed to belong to the 3rd Hokage... O-er, I mean- it did." His words were stuttered.
Trailed by a gentle gust, its current blew with a crunched, orange and wrinkled array of leaves. Scratching his scalp with trepidation, Udon sniffled, dripping a steady stream of snort.
"He used to stand with me... Right here." Konohamaru refused to turn around.
Back then, the world seemed so peaceful, even the elite, yet deadly title his grandpa maintained. Now, he saw the threat of battle for what it was, a revolving cycle of lethal conflict.
More and more, with each passing day, the Sarutobi became endangered, losing countless ninja. Too few in number, with the death of Hiruzen, Asuma became the prestigious clan head.
Like the Senju, Uchiha and Uzumaki before them, the Sarutobi were limited by time, and a new age. The time of the shinobi was beginning to fade, like glorious empires from old.
The era of clans neared its end, heralding smaller retinues, and encouraging tight knit families. Free from the influence of greater clans, they sought to retire from shinobi life all together.
Konohamaru couldn't blame these villagers, knowing first hand the experience of loss and pain. Many wished to leave this reality behind, to honor the dead and move on with their existence.
This was the struggle that Hiruzen's grandson endured, perpetually inflicted by the crude past. After everything he learned, the friends he lost, and the ones he gained, Naruto haunted him.
Ten minutes later.
"Been a minute since I seen you two!" Teuchi grinned.
Holding a twin pair of piping hot porcelain bowls, the famed 'Iruka Ramen Special' was popular. Gifted free of charge, Udon dragged his friend to Ichiraku's Stand, intent to cheer him up.
"Konohamaru didn't get back to the village until recently..." Udon blew snort from his nose.
Tipping his hat in praise to the youths before him, this elderly shopkeeper went into the kitchen. Left to stew with the sautéed pork in front of him, Konohamaru's face reflected off.
"After we finish this... Could you help me with my shuriken practice?" He used a napkin to sneeze.
Piercing these words before they could progress, Menma pushed past the crimson entry curtains. Followed by Moegi and Fuki, the gang was gathered, enjoying a beautiful day of peace.
"Is that Iruka's Special? Gimme, gimme!" Moegi lunged inside Udon's bowl of juiced broth.
Rushing in from the back, Ayame took three new orders before delivering them with gusto. Serving another detachment of satisfied customers, she rejoined her father in the kitchen.
Gripping the scalps of Fuki and Konohamaru, Menma brushed their hair until it started to shag. The final trio of Jiraiya, a lasting impression from the Hermit Sage of Mount Myōboku.
Quiet and still in the midst of a struggle for food, Konohamaru pushed his own meal as an offer. Promptly standing up afterwards, he strolled onto exterior streets, damped by distant children.
Each aware of this depressed descent, everyone knew the emptied void Konohamaru wallowed in. This life he lived was nothing like the past, a stark reminder he hated to think about.
Meanwhile.
"Tft... You got me again." Asuma shrugged.
Inhaling a steep drag from the lit cigarette in his mouth, streamed smoke drifted towards the sky. Both wearing distinguished and stretched kimono's of their clan, Shikamaru sighed.
A diamond in the middle of war, these shinobi both had the day off, a blessed contribution. Aware of the battle outside their walls, they had no idea of the blood and sacrifice it required.
"Eh, it's no big deal." Shikamaru twirled a piece of Shogi.
Leaning back, a flatten palm rested atop the planked surface of an oaken walkway, outside. Consumed by the spread fabric from dark green linen, a wavy seal of black was sewn in back.
The iconic symbol of the Nara clan, as its heir, Shikamaru was expected to carry its Will of Fire. Mirroring this mindset, Asuma's own attire was adorned with the seal of all Sarutobi.
Wearing woven fabric of scarlet, the icon upon his back was as dark as coal, baked by the sun. Arranging another board of Shogi, wilted cherry blossoms hung over a tranquil pond.
Nestled inside the historic Nara compound, well-trimmed grass was partially brown and decayed. Parted by placed walking stones of cement, a bamboo fountain repetitively dripped.
"What's the latest news?" Asuma aligned numbered tiles.
Earning an exasperated groan, Shikamaru hesitantly pinched the bridge of his nose, tired. Waving encouragement, he snagged a fresh cigarette from his sensei, lit by the same man.
Too young to smoke or drink, in a world where shinobi died young, no one cared about minors. The constraints of civilians didn't apply to those that risked their life on a day-to-day basis.
"I lost contact with Lord Hokage just yesterday... And none of my fire hawks can make it through." Shikamaru murmured.
Absorbing puff after puff, he harshly coughed while Asuma placed the final piece of Shogi. A grim and silent atmosphere, the son of Hirzuen stroked his ragged and knot beard.
"Oh, Guy can handle himself, trust him." Asuma had flashbacks from the Academy.
"I'm more worried about Ino." He made the first move.
Motivated by the clap of miniature tiles, Shikamaru slumped before making the second move. Stationed inside Konoha, a guardian to his home, Asuma glanced at the stone face of Hiruzen.
Meanwhile.
"All you do is bitch." Sakon sulked.
Speaking with a hung face, it was promptly battered by the back of Anko's left hand, swung. Delivering a violet bundle of flowers to the Memorial Stone, new names were regularly added.
"Shut it, you two faced bastard." Anko snarled.
Usually forgotten, Ukon was forever attached to his brother, jutting from the back of his neck. With pale blue hair, as vibrant as sapphire, these conjoined siblings stood with crossed arms.
Amidst the old training ground for Team 7, rickety and worn logs of lumber jutted from the earth. Splintered and chipped from weathered foliage of natural rain and eroding wind.
"Sometimes, I forgot you used to be Orochimaru's favorite." Kidōmaru moaned.
Visually pregnant, Anko was the last living member of the Mitarashi clan, a dying bred of ninja. However, the next generation swelled inside of her, an heir of Mitarashi and Hatake blood.
Bending over, her gifted bouquet decorated the Monument of Sacrifice, a reminder of everything lost. The quiet grove around only strengthened lingering doubt, scarred by conflict.
"I might be fat, but I can still kick your ass." Anko snarled.
With wide hands, she held the girth of her engorged stomach, blanketed below a purple kimono. Running the length to her ankles, the symbol for her clan was sewn across the back.
Resembling a snake, eating a kunai, its inception was brought about during the 1st Shinobi War. Time and time again, the Cycle of Hatred gave rise to existing scales of torment.
Even now, almost sixty years since the creation of shinobi nations, bloodshed only escalated. A peaceful existence without war was nothing but an imagery façade, imposed by naive thought.
Shrugging in reply, Sakon kicked a soggy mound of dirt, spewing dislodged debris of soil. In the middle of the day, he longed to return home, eager for a nap and some video games.
Shuffling through barren bushes and withered trees, they vanished under glinting rays. Watched by grey sclerae, twin pupils of undeath peered through far off tree-lines, a familiar sight.
Meanwhile.
"Is your trap still yapping?" Biwako coughed.
Combating the natural season, this wife of Hiruzen stood in a garden, decayed from the weather. Holding a porcelain vase of green, she poured fresh water onto a clumped garden.
"You're still a little girl, and you always will be, too me." She gazed at the sun.
"Yea, yea... You sound just like the old man." Tsunade pouted.
With crossed arms, they were barely seen beneath the hulked bulwark of her gigantic breasts. Growing further along in pregnancy, her stomach swelled, resembling a blotted blob.
"At least you can deliver it for me." She brushed her abdomen.
An heir of the Sannin, the child of Jiraiya and Tsunade, this unseen baby budded, taking shape. The next generation, conceived in an era of conflict and war, unware of the future ahead.
Gathered in the historic Sarutobi compound, the garden of this clan was tended by its guardian. A spiritual head and successor of the Sarutobi, the true power fell to her son, Asuma.
"I know you miss Dan... But, I'm happy you gave Jiraiya a chance." Biwako smiled.
Implanted with age, crows feet protruded from the corners of squinted eyes, aged with stress. The widow of the 3rd Hokage, she was Konoha's finest surgeon, a master under the scalpel.
Both talented kunoichi, they were each touched by the Will of Fire, Hiruzen's love for life. Wearing the feminine kimono's of their clans, Biwako's scarlet cloth swallowed her silhouette.
Draped in the garb of her own clan, the seal of all Senju embellished Tsunade's hunched back. Colored teal, her robes rustled as she took a seat upon chiseled rock, a stone bench.
Exterior doors to a two story house were left open, exposing a spotless shot mat, recently swept. Tiles from the roof jutted like spiked shingles, as green as a forest during spring.
"Too bad, neither of our men are here with us." Tsunade scowled.
Blinded by rays of light from above, this student of Hiruzen raised shaking arms to her face. Eclipsed by a radiant orb of yellow, the blue skyline was slowly polluted by drifting clouds.
Meanwhile.
"I can't believe I got stuck on guard duty..." Iwana Akame wallowed.
Celebrating his 33rd birthday, its anniversary was spent at work, watching the Western Gate. Scarred from past war, his left eye was covered by a black patch, the same tone as his visible pupil.
Tilting his bandana into a tighter fit, the metallic symbol for Konoha was engraved in front. A Chunin, he sulked behind a maple desk, studying an empty street, and entrance to his home.
"Now you sound like Kotetsu." Suzume hummed.
The one-time sensei of Ino, Sakura, Hinata and Tenten, this kunoichi recently turned 32 years old. Frizzled locks of black were clumped together, depicting a stuffed muzzle of curls.
Possessing oval-rimmed glasses, she nudged them up to enhance her view, sighing with fuss. Like the partner she was assigned with, these ninja were veterans from the 3rd Shinobi War.
"I can't help it, I wish Iruka would've listen to us!" Iwana raised his voice.
Flying south for the winter, birds soared overhead in ever growing numbers, squawking aloud. Shedding a collage of multi-colored feathers, this artificial cloud shrouded the land below.
Squirrels searched gutter drains, piles of trash and interior shacks for nuts to store and scavenge. The approaching frost from future months lent death to the unprepared, frigid and chilled.
Sneezing into the left sleeve of her pale pink kimono, it ran length down the middle of her thighs. While Jonin and Anbu safeguarded the gates above, these Chunin watched the roads.
As allied shinobi died in far off lands, the village they fought for, Konoha, endured lush tranquility. However, even this momentary serenity would give way to chaos, another piece in the cycle.
Meanwhile.
Strolling throughout the market district, scented aroma's permeated the air, sweetened and salted. Groups of children played on their day off, kids from Konohamaru's old class.
Hardened since Hiruzen's death, and Naruto's betrayal, this contributed to his early graduation. Becoming a Chunin at the age of six, he already thought like a Hokage, scarred by life.
"I love it so much!" Kaede Yoshino beamed.
An old student and classmate, this 6 year old kunoichi in training enjoyed a day off from school. As teal as the sacred jewel on Fuki's necklace, her eyes and hair were a perfect match.
Hugging a newly sewn doll, this gift was passed along by her parents, each smiling in unison. Having something Konohamaru never did, the unconditional love of a father and mother.
Swiftly walking past this joyful interaction, the grandson of Hiruzen strove to keep his head down. Praying with all hope that the day would end, allowing him to sleep all cares away.
Bumped by warm hands, Hibari stole a big hug from this former classmate, marveled by his skill. A 9 year old student, she had three years until graduation, far behind the boy in front.
With brown hair paler than Fuki, it was drawn into a bun, allowing thick bangs to cover her right eye. Wearing azure shorts with a bright yellow shirt, she reminisced over old pranks.
"Remember that time you put glue on Ebisu's seat?" Hibari teased.
Vexed by this moment from the past, Konohamaru pushed her away, tearing the scarf from his neck. Knocking this old friend to the ground, crumbled dirt and earth smeared her butt.
Blindly running away, he shoved several students aside, Futaba, Hibachi, Unagi, Ami and Matsuri. All members of the Academy, many the same class as Naruto, failing graduation.
"What's his problem?" Ami scratched her cheek.
The same bully that once mocked and belittled Sakura's large forehead, she was still a student. Hair was as violet as amethyst, trimmed so the left side, and twice the length of the rest.
Gaining height and a budding chest, this kunoichi-in-training just turned 13 years old, growing up. Still, her ascension to ninja was slow, lagging behind the pink-haired girl she once tormented.
"The honorable grandson hasn't been the same since..." Matsuri's words fell short.
Vastly different from the Suna kunoichi that shared her name, Matsuri's skin was darkened. A faint tan, it contrasted her black and thick locks, restrained behind a red headband.
Just 10 years old, she was four classes ahead of Konohamaru, until he graduated early. Dressed in a identical purple blouse to Ami, her sole distinction was the green wrist-guards she wore.
"I blame the fox demon." Hibachi physically spat.
To some, Hibachi was responsible for all of this, the final domino that fell, so many years ago. The prankster that first tricked Naruto, luring him into the forested outskirts outside.
This was the inception of Naruto's relationship with Iruka, the aftermath where he was adopted. However, this acclimation of love wasn't well-received, leaving many villagers to wonder.
A member of Naruto's old class, Hibachi was just 12 years old, fast approaching his birthday. Pupils were grey, encircled by fairly complex skin, obviously outside more than most.
Spiked and needled hair was a pale shade of dirty blond, obscured by a grey-colored bandana. Below, a stretched yellow sweater swallowed both arms, lined by blue knee-length shorts.
"Sometimes, your jokes go too far... But you were always right about that freak." Unagi cut in.
Framed by crystal clear oval-shaped glasses, this 13 year old student failed to fully graduate. Getting held back, he belonged to the same class as Sakura and Sasuke, leagues behind.
Adjusting the leaf-green headband he wore, its fabric wrapped around a combed auburn scalp. A teal jacket clung to his torso, partially unzipped and revealing the black shirt underneath.
Using blue shinobi shoes to kick a pebble across the street, the clouds above cast shadows below. A twin tone to the pants he wore, black, triggered by the stark rumble of thunder.
Coating the skyline grey, glass shattered into a dozen shards from an overhanging window. Blanketing the street, a spiral of speed spun, the muscled fixture of Fang Over Fang.
As bland as the hazed sclerae Kiba possessed, this shinobi of the past was raised from the dead. Dressed in the same jacket he always wore, its fabric was tattered and scoffed from burial.
The furred rim of his hood was taut and pulled, encircling the flaked silhouette of his revived face. Sniffing the familiar scent of his village, Akamaru was never far behind, barking.
Still a pup, this zombie of chakra held a defeated Chunin to the earth, sundered by two paws of white. More than this revitalized Inuzuka, flames bellowed from the far-off Konoha Academy.
Pouring black smoke, Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu ravaged oaken planks and aged hulls of lumber. Exuding from six windows at once, explosions of soot destroyed plaster glass.
An epicenter of education, the site to train the future generation, it was torched by swells of fiery heat. Under Naruto's mental command, Kurenai returned to life, devoid of a heartbeat.
Like her canine student, the headband she wore during life was gone, lost in canals of the underworld. Once crimson pupils were drained of tone, a perfect match for brewing clouds above.
Catching a glimpse of this bandaged Jonin, Menma and Fuki squandered upon the derelict street. A bastion of power in the shinobi world, even this village wasn't safe, Konoha was under attack.
Meanwhile.
Swept paws of azure seared a hundred boards of wood, rippling out like a shockwave of flames. Matatabi demolished Makapu Village, a demonic rampage of distain pitted against shinobi.
Kazan was the most stalwart of opposition to this fiend from the old world, the wise 5th Jokage. Commanding a war-torn nation and village, the Land of Hot Springs remained strong.
With only one kusarigama remaining, a disheveled link of chained iron hung from the hilt, charred. A veteran of the 3rd Shinobi War, a student of Tonbee, and the bestfriend of Hidan.
Kazan had many names and titles, paving the path to this battle, a confrontation of bygone might. Meng, Olivia, Suzumebachi and Kurobachi all aided in this defense, the survival of ninja.
Corrosive steam, tangible sound and amber liquid collided with sapphire sparks, embers and cinders. With her halberd broken, Olivia yanked two kunai from the pouch on her waist.
Clank and clung together, metal struck metal as poisonous mist filled the air, obscuring the horizon. This wasn't some one-off battle, this mighty onslaught was war on a national scale.
Releasing a primordial howl, older than the shinobi world itself, Matatabi pulverized a dozen homes. The outline of an ethereal giant charged afterwards, burning the landscape below.
Focused on the heterochromatic gaze that approached, Kazan stood firm, like a statue of cement. Using pre-existing steam to coat his own limbs, he lunged towards the dreaded Two Tails.
Fists stuck razored claws as adjacent rock broke a thousand times, reduced to crumbled dust. Occasionally slashed, heated air was parted by a sideways kusarigama, fast and nimble.
Beast, instead of man, that didn't hinder the capabilities Matatabi possessed, standing upright. Like a meerkat, frontal paws bore down, parrying the legendary shinobi and Kage she fought.
"Honey Style: Amber Mammoth!" Suzumebachi and Kurobachi cried.
Each stationed on divided sections of the battlefield, their hands weaved untold angles and seals. With bulged cheeks, golden sludge gushed from their mouths in the shape of a cone.
Molded and given life, independent streams protruded and tripled in girth, a visible swale of honey. Like the chorus of a blown trumpet, a pair of trunks sang, spewing glinted droplets.
Tusked and defined by matted layers of wet fur, these behemoths shook the ground as they rumbled. Caught between these makeshift summons, tusks locked around Matatabi.
Abruptly sizzled into steam, the remnants of Makapu swiftly became unrecognizable and damaged. Pipes of sewage uprooted uneven streets, concealed by lingering and dense mist.
Obscured by this miasma, blue ash shed as Kazan fought Matatabi, an exchange of Kage combat. Their mixed blows carried such weight, the surrounding mist was crushed by pressure.
Even the sun hid from this battle, barricaded behind steep clouds of grey and black overhead. Every attack echoed like static lightning, overwhelming any remaining portions of stone.
Hurling separate barrages of kunai, Meng and Olivia loomed atop decayed and towering trees. But, blockaded by frigid walls of stagnant fire and crackled residue, Matatabi was impregnable.
As these rotating blades of metal reared close, they melted to black ooze and tar, soaking the earth. Coughing up skewered hairballs, they caught alight in midair, engulfed by azure.
Gripping a frail plank of wood, Olivia tossed it in front, utilized as a makeshift wall for safety. As quickly as it was raised, several spheres of soot burnt through it, too hot to touch.
Stricken by heated gusts, these blobs of blue attached to one another, grafted into solid mass. Growing from one opponent to two, a fiery clone of Matatabi took shape with identical eyes.
Both side-swiped, Meng and Olivia broke trees in their descent, snapping oaken hulls on impact. Twitching to aid his daughter on reflex, Kazan forcibly parried a stiff paw of blue flames.
Strained to deflect this hazard of chakra, his own right limb became seared and singed by fire. Blotted black and charred, spots of cooked skin boiled and gorged with dripping pus.
Gritting teeth in place of a deafening scream, the 5th Jokage endured much for the land he loved. Scarred wounds blistered like swollen pimples, faced with the heat of an ancient demon.
Worthy of praise, his Taijutsu was a mirror of Hidan, growing, training and becoming ninja together. Now, fighting the same Tailed Beast his old teammate helped defeat, eyes narrowed.
"Steam Style: Corrosive Barrage!" Kazan sang, sheathing his miniature scythe.
Clasping flat palms, the dog, horse, monkey, tiger and hare seals blurred into reality, a sped mirage. Given the opportunity, a steep breathe of air was kneaded with chakra in his stomach.
Propelled in haste, these vacuumed bullets broke the air, puncturing gapped holes across Matatabi. Spiritual and ghostly, this two tailed beast spilt the earth with a high-pitched hiss.
Glancing at the heralded siblings of Kamizuru, approving nods met his gaze, encouraging action. Vanishing in the mist, they were trailed by Kazan's quickened speed, jumping over debris.
Unwilling to relent, twin outlines of sweltering blue conjoined into a wavering hulk of sapphire. Doubling in size and girth, Matatabi healed the previous gashes inflicted upon her flames.
Dwarfing cobbled bricks, a demonic and blazing silhouette flickered like waxed candles, gleaming. Extinguished in an instant, she surged forth, baking the landscape beneath jolting paws.
Chiseled rock turned to husked magma below this advance, trampling withered and dried bushes. The earth shuddered as Kazan fled, contorting up a slanted hill, outrunning fire.
Using a bent branch to sling himself, the air darkened as he climbed the steep sides of Makapu. The namesake of Meng's home, and a sleeping volcano, its prestige was famed.
Further along, the 5th Jokage ascended to the top, reaching an oval ring of stone, hugged by the sky. Here, the wind fell quiet as the sun refused to shine, poised behind thick clouds.
Positioned on the edge of a precipice, his bald scalp was lain bare, laden by poorly-healed scars. Like Ibiki, his life was spent on the battlefield, conflict after conflict, loss after loss.
Even now, drawing the attention of a demonic beast from his daughter, Kazan had more to give. Studying a misty backdrop, its density was only strengthened by his degree of control.
Breaking an earthen bridge beyond, a paw of azure stretched over 30ft, lined by black kanji. Rolling from its path, the girth of a boulder was clenched by daggered claws, digging deep.
Giving way by this collision of might, encompassing soil slid like a trodden avalanche of brown. Dousing the center of a dormant dome, discolored lava was given life by radiating chakra.
Broiled coating of orange cut through aged blots of hardened and molten liquid, glowing bright. Landing upon obsidian sludge, Kazan hovered mere inches from this sweltering heat below.
Feet used floating chunks of debris to maintain balance, illuminated by dormant yet radiant lava. Emerging from this lake of hell, a heterochromatic gaze peered out, unmoved by heat.
A gigantic cat in appearance, but an elder demon in reality, Matatabi cared not for natural terrain. The eye of a volcano was nothing to her, like a serene bath in magma beyond comprehension.
Squinting to observe the fiery beast he fought, Kazan's mind eventually wondered through the past. Losing love, friend and family, he never foresaw this as his end, surrounded by magma.
These day dreams of old were outshined by rupturing bubbles of soapy lava from, heated extremes. Calm, still and serene, he watched as surfaces of orange shifted in tone and degree.
Morphed by the infectious spread of kanji, voided scribbles empowered cinders and embers of blue. Flames, burning at temperatures equal to lava, that was the might of Matatabi.
Evading singed blobs of magma, Kazan leapt from dislodged rock to walls of volcanic ash and soot. Taking hold of his flailed kusarigama, its severed chain steadily twirled like a whip.
Hurled and spun, this lasso of steel produced steam with each rotation, a geyser of evaporated air. Slung at the head of this erosive veil, the curved edge of a singular blade protruded.
Oblivious to the steep cut of this attack, Matatabi leaked chilled and black embers instead of blood. Stuck in the side, this piece of iron was nothing but a splinter to this beast of old.
Locking paws and fists, these titans of power wrestled atop bustling liquid, quaked by their exchange. The sizzled magma abound them polluted the steamy and thick air, barely breathable.
Drenching this singed moisture, a massive bomb of sap took shape in the air, pasted together. Infused and powered by Kamizuru technique's, Suzumebachi and Kurobachi were stalwart.
"Honey Style: Sweetened Nuke!" Was screeched in unison.
An S-ranked Jutsu of their famed clan, its usage was forbidden in most circumstances, outlawed. Only these head twins knew the secret seals necessary to complete it, ferociously hidden.
Stationary upon opposite edges of a volcanic mountainside, they raised their palms aloft to the sky. Swelling in size, chakra and amber, stray embers of popped lava doused under rainfall.
Given just enough time to form this creation of honey, the soiled crater beneath them gave way. Caught by this tumbling gravel, they beheld the strength of their own Jutsu, falling fast.
Intercepting this plummeting bomb in midair, Matatabi's twin tails swatted and swayed, absorbed. Compact beneath the densest weight of honey, these cinders of azure were extinguished.
Cracking like an explosive tsunami, supple nectar poured over a boiling lake of lively lava. Briefly drowned, its heat sweltered at degrees too high to expel, a consecutive source of light.
The only illumination Kazan could comprehend, darkened clouds continued to poison the horizon. Secluding the sun and all radiance of its warmth, the volcano below was its sole replacement.
Confronted by three legends in their own right, paws of sapphire held them at bay, starkly flickering. Without her tails, feline howls still managed to cripple her organic opponents.
Scorched and shaped by ethereal flames, a trio of claws swiped Kurobachi's chest, burning cloth. Eating through the padded flak jacket he wore, even the shirt underneath wasn't safe.
Staggered from the drifting obsidian below, his lethal fall was narrowly halted by sisterly arms. Disconnected from one another, a tangible swell of flame-tattered wind raged in mass.
Retracting the linked chain of his kusarigama, its blade was far gone, unable to slice, dice or cut. Instead, the iron bonds of its hilt were thrown around a volcanic boulder, coated by ash.
Usually embedded in place, the roaring quake of a mountain freed the loosened soil around it. Flung forth, Matatabi's fiery silhouette was divided by this lodged pillar of chiseled black.
Spilt ten times over, miniature versions of this demon turned lava blue beneath their heated girth. Still, Kazan's vigor was concrete, scoffing with chipped teeth, metal and steam contorted.
Wrapped around his right forearm, skin pinched between stiff rigids of steel, hot from past flames. Risking limb, and the life that carried it, an adamant fist collided against spiritual fire.
After all this, the battle continuously rumbled, swarmed by seven separate Matatabi's at once. Cupped in the heart of a volcanic, every blow gave further strength to its natural rage.
Dispersing three of the chaotic beasts he battled, congealed ligaments of iron encircled his right arm. Dodging, deflecting and evading, even this hardened material wouldn't last.
Correcting his posture, he sought to block the fierce swipe of a fiery paw, searing rustic metal. Faced against flames older than the shinobi world, Kazan's fair skin boiled into blisters.
Spliced in two, the defensive limb he used was bisected, falling into the sweltered pool of lava below. Retaining one sole grip, he struggled to lock fingertips with his twisted foe.
Engulfed by temperatures beyond humane safety, the fresh wound upon his arm quickly singed close. Stretched cloth from Kage robes were covered in flame-tattered holes, clear cut.
Growing more violent with each second, the volcanic crater they fought inside barely held itself together. Larger than pebbles, cylinders of black spewed from this abysmal maw like an inferno.
Trying to help, Suzumebachi scrambled to avoid dislodged debris, rupturing like a geyser of steam. Carrying her injured brother, this bulwark of the Kamizuru clan didn't have the luxury to assist.
Wilting down the ethereal demon he fought, portions of Matatabi's enflamed torso began to fade away. Like Shukaku before her, all Tailed Beast had their limits, the point when chakra ended.
Partially burnt by the spirit inside, Karin's exposed skin was naked and cooked, brought to exhaustion. Alone, stranded and surrounded by boiling magma, Kazan's expression turned grim.
Catching an ember paw with his sweaty and trembling palm, a stout shin was propelled forth in haste. Imprinting heavy weight upon Matatabi's skull, celestial ears vanished into cinders.
However, this blow carried its own side-effect, hit by a reaching veil of winded flames, cinders flew fast. Only buoyant boulders secured his balance, encompassed by lava in all directions.
Even the Two Tails limped atop this surface of liquid magma, exposing the nude arms of her jinchūriki. Brought to limit and bare by the multitude of shinobi she faced, a union of ninja.
Partially sunk and strained to stay afloat, this demon from the ancient and old world howled in rage. Silenced and tackled by the bald-headed opponent she was unable to slay.
Both pitted into a pool of molten ooze below, the mixed weight of their crash slung singed heat. Evolving into a fierce eruption, house-sized obsidian rocketed towards the dark sky.
All coated in toxic and sweltering degrees of magma, they bathed the damaged remnants of Makapu. Far from the peaceful and serene depiction Karin once visited, destroyed by conflict.
Hiding among these damaged homes, Meng cradled the bloodied gut of Olivia, impaled by wood. Terrified by crashing meteors of flame, she was blinded to a steep collapse of earth.
The namesake for her town; Mount Makapu fell upon itself, swallowed by soot, dust, fire and ash. In the midst of this storm was Kazan, a proud father, a noble friend and a true Kage.