AN: Hey, reader! My exams got pushed back because of the Winter Storm (no power or water for 4 days, wow!). I didn't want to keep you waiting, so I split the chapter. Next chapter will be about 5000 words, like this was.

Chapter 11

Bladesmith

4 Months Into Second Shinobi World War

The Face of Heaven (3)

Orochimaru

Orochimaru leaps backwards from the blast and lands a good distance away.

Hinome and Takenaka are fine. An unexpected explosion would not take them down. Especially since they are gifted with their eyes in a way he is not. The only thing he is bothered by is the strange fourth man. Even with this distance, nothing odd stands out about the area—

"Sorry about that, friend."

On the nearby rooftop is the slender man, Motochika Sei, watching the cloud of smoke swell.

"We're working on Chuushaki. Wasn't how it was supposed to go, but eh."

He shrugs. With that, a gentle breeze sends locks of greasy hair spilling over his eyes.

Orochimaru stares into them, body tensed, scanning for any murderous intent within the blue-green abyss. They are as relaxed as a pond's surface.

The man, having finished his own staring, closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Orochimaru assumes he's watching the sky. Why not him?

"As I said before, I'm not interested in fighting. That's too much work, you know? I mean, one of them's going to steal that Byakugan from your friend. They hardly need me, right?"

Orochimaru's gaze drifts to the smoke cloud.

"Why even stay in the Leaf? You know they're just using you. Sure, you may have won the last war, but, uh…" Motochika brings his head down, tapping his chin. "What did that cost? What did it cost the world? Are you really the good guys because you won and destroyed everything your enemies worked for?

"Don't get me wrong, we have two very different ideas about how the world should go, yeah. But, yunno…the only person who really suffers for years to come are the children. They never asked to be born, for crying out loud. Why is it that the number of graves for our shinobi...are far less than the number of graves for our children?"

Orochimaru's chest tightens.

How many months had he spent walking to his parents' graves just to stand there, aimless? What else could he do? Even if his parents busied themselves with the war and left him in the dark for all of his life, how could a child make something from themselves with no one left?

His story isn't uncommon. It hurts.

Motochika makes a crooked smile and throws his hand up in the air. "You don't care about children, do you? Sad, seeing as they depend on us, but—no, I can see your point, they're frustrating crotchgoblins. Still, I'd rather not kill you, friend."

Boom.

Like the sound of a gunshot, an explosion rings. Moments later, the sword of the young boy flies out the smoke cloud. It buries itself hilt first into the ground, explosive tags spilling out the scroll. So deliberate. As positioning itself for an attack.

He needs to warn whoever still inside.

As soon as makes the hand seal for the Body Flicker Technique, metal flies past his face. Small and quiet. Shuriken.

Motochika's hands are empty, body relaxed. "Ah ah ah. That's not the Leaf way. Ganging up on my team isn't fair. If you really think this way, I kinda have to fight to protect my beliefs."

This is something Orochimaru is equipped to handle.

Motochika slips one hand into his kimono's sleeve, from which a sword hilt emerges. He pulls the blade free for what seem like minutes. Fully exposed, the mythical blade looks as though a gale could snap it in two. If so, close range combat should destroy the sword, though there has to be more to it, if Kisame's or Zabuza's blades are anything worth comparing.

Orochimaru eyes the weapon and raises a brow.

A chuckle bursts from Motochika. "You seem afraid. Don't worry, friend. My sword is a lot like getting a shot. You won't feel a thing."

A lie. If he wants to survive, he needs more information. For that, he needs time.

Orochimaru sprints down the village rooftops. Something pulls at his tongue, morphing it, hardening it. The distance clanking of the roof tiles forces him to use more chakra to speed it up. At last, reaching down its throat, he tugs the Grass-Mowing Sword out the snake, saliva dripping off the blade in his hurry.

Armed, he faces the Swordsman.

"Oh, gotcha." There is not disgust on his face, only a wink. "Of course, someone like you wouldn't care about children. You're not a normal human. Hm. It's funny. That wasn't your choice. I'm sure being a ninja wasn't your choice either. Nobody good chooses to kill. But what do I know, friend?"

Nothing. It's his choice to be a ninja. Even if he has to hurt those who threaten his loved ones—an awful truth he has long since accepted. Perhaps he doesn't understand why his body isn't so… but that's not all being a human is in this world.

The all-cutting sword whistles in the air with his slice. He grits his teeth.

At the last second, Motochika blocks, smile split by the thin blade.

If the Grass-Mowing Sword cannot cut through this metal, this sword is worthy of being mythical. That does not mean it is without flaw.

The sword dance continues.

Motochika is the fastest man he's ever seen. He is like water, too: regaining balance when the blows of the blocks rip through his skinny body. It contorts him, threatens to break him. When Orochimaru thinks he has enough time to tear into the man's flesh, he snaps upright to block the next hit, eager.

There is no way Orochimaru will win a sword fight.

Their blades cross. Strength pushes against the other. Neither overpowers.

"You must've been a good boy growing up—working and studying," Motochika grits. There's a sudden glimmer in his once dull eyes that has Orochimaru's stomach clenching. "Shame you'll just die in war having wasted your one life. You could've been special."

The last quarter of the blade jets into the air. On its end, a thin wire is visible only due to the sunlight. It reaches its apex and begins its calm descent.

No, not for long. The sword point shoots towards the earth with unnatural speed. Within moments, the wire point has lodged itself through Orochimaru's heart. His jaw is wrenched open, seeking a breath of air to scream, and collapses into mud.

He reappears behind Motochika, both hands on the Grass-Mowing Sword to decapitate. Louder than the sword cutting through air is Motochika's leap carrying him a distance away, unhurt.

Somehow, he has to—

Between them, the sword's point rips through the roof, lightning-like. He goes to cut the wire and the all-cutting sword fails to cut through that, too. What even is this material?

The sword point coils itself around the unbreakable blade. Despite struggling, he cannot free it. He can only stick his palms onto the hilt and tug.

"Alrighty," shouts the man from behind, "enjoy the ride!"

More wire manifests from the within the blade. It allows the longsword to carry him up high into the sky—the village no bigger than his arm—and sling him back and forth and back again. The wind, the pressure, all batters his body even with the protection of chakra.

Then, the sword releases its hold, his world blue as his body spins relentlessly. One of the taller buildings has a sharp edge that clips his leg and sends him crashing into another. It's a struggle to take a breath. Standing is the easy part; he prevented any fatal wound.

Just his luck. That weapon is a whip-like sword. The sword cannot be broken and has, apparently, unlimited durability. It moves either using chakra or being an extension of its user. Somehow.

The sound of the roof tiles stressing under weight—clank…clank…clank—is deliberately loud.

Adding to that, Motochika's close-range defense is immaculate. His weapon extends his range for mid-range and beyond. No wonder the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist are legendary warriors capable of toppling countries. If only they would use their strength with and not against the Leaf.

The hairs on his body stand on end. An adrenaline burst gets him running.

The point of the longsword emerges from the place he once was. Having missed, it retracts. He ran out of time.

"I don't intend on hurting you. I actually don't like killing. But, if you get hurt, I can fix you up with Sewing Needle here. Guess you could say I'm a bit of a surgeon." Motochika's head appears in the hole on the roof. Sewing Needle reconnects itself. "No many how many pieces your body ends up, I'll sew you back together all nice and cute."

The sword extends from its base and shoots towards him. He only has seconds to place the Grass-Mowing sword in his mouth and Body Flicker out of harm's way. It leaves him crouched on a rooftop, eyes darting to reorient himself, searching for a safer location.

"Running's for cowards!" Behind him, Motochika is leaping to his roof, dragging an arm across his chest to whip Orochimaru. He just manages to avoid the point digging through the roof. "Didn't you want to fight? What are you fighting for, huh?"

Motochika lands on his roof. The sword's far too detached to attack in the short distance. Orochimaru throws a kunai, but he dodges, and the sword reconnects.

"Come on, man, you can't tell me there's nothing that makes you fight. Unless you're subservient to a higher cause. It can't mean much if they want you to make orphans of your foes, no?"

Grass-Mowing Sword in hand, Orochimaru sprints the small distance. The Swordsman blocks, obviously, and so he wills the sword to grow longer at the last moment, forcing Motochika to back up as the blade's point rips his collar and neck.

He can't push the blade too far. Too much chakra and concentration. Wouldn't be a problem if he'd spent more time practicing…

Motochika doesn't need to know that. In fact, the similarities of their swords wash away the placidity of his face. The chuckle that follows is unlike any other: it trembles. He tosses his hair over his shoulder. "Strong and silent, right?"

Takenaka has good long-range techniques. Orochimaru could try to trace him while leading Motochika over. There's no way Motochika would stay still enough for Hinome to dominate him by martial arts alone.

"You probably hate relying on people. I'm the same. People are weird. You don't quite get 'em. How can you really trust them with your life?"

He can hear explosions in the distance. Easy enough to follow. If the sounds are moving this much, Takenaka must be there. It's a bit of a ways to—

"Stop ignoring me."

Motochika's face is flushed.

"Bet you think you're so cool. You're going to die an emotionless stone. Can you cry, friend? Have you cast your humanity aside to be cool?"

Can he cry? Can he—there's no point thinking about trivial things. He needs to enact his plan.

"You're really pathetic if you think standing here with as much life as a corpse with rigor mortis makes you a cool guy. How they all mock you!"

The longsword extends. Motochika bolts to him. Orochimaru is on guard, not avoiding. Is this the Swordsman's weakness?

Though as soon as Motochika is in range, he vanishes.

No sound cues. No light. He looks left. Right. Up—

The point of the sword cuts into his shoulder. Then it coils itself around his chest, squeezing every drop of breath in his lungs. He struggles to escape. He can't. Not with the searing pain shooting down to his fingertips, nor his bending rib cage that hurts slightly less if he doesn't breathe.

With that, Sewing Needle keeps him trapped until the world vanishes around the edges and flings him not a moment sooner.

Orochimaru can't focus enough to stop his descent. He can only protect anything vital. Everything is blue. Then dark.

Water aims to finish the job Motochika started. His body gasps for air. The waves of pain overwhelm his flesh. He claws and twists, and then, air brushes his face. The first breath he takes is glorious. It is followed by coughing so hard, he gags, but glorious all the same.

"Not so cool, huh?"

Something grabs his ankle and raises him. Instinctively, he goes to cut the wire, but his hands are weaponless. Motochika slams him onto the river bank, further jostling his chest. Hot blood trails down his mouth, accelerated by dripping water.

There he is, on the river's surface, so small in comparison.

The Naka River is the length of 20 adults and the same color of the Swordsman's eyes. It is serene as it glitters under the sun, not like the man's shaking pupils.

Orochimaru clenches fistful of dirt and grass as he rises. Pressing the lower left of his chest reveals the shifting of bone shards. The tiny jolts of pain are annoying, but he can ignore them. For now, he does not sport any injuries that will kill him immediately. Hopefully.

He wipes the blood from his mouth.

Motochika lets out a brittle laugh. "You're no human. It's shame how much the world's let you down, that you think this—"

Boom.

Orange light dances in the sky. Moments later, an aftershock. Even the river shakes at its intensity.

That's the biggest explosion he'd seen.

There could have been hundreds of explosive tags on that sword. If the boy detonated them all…

Takenaka could be...

"Chuushaki never uses that much," Motochika says calmly, "unless he wants to kill someone."

No. No, he agree to that. There's no point in speculating without evidence.

He drops to all fours. The cool river meets his hands. Drops of blood fall and expand inside the water like smoke clouds.

"One of your buddies is dead," continues the Swordsman, a gentle smile on his lips. "All because you wanted to fight. Are you the leader of them, friend? You're awful at it."

And yet, his heart betrays him as it drums out of control. Takenaka can't be dead. That man was his first friend, the first person who saw his loneliness and stayed by his side without being obligated to. He is the only friend he still has, despite his mistakes—despite that god awful mistake at the castle—Takenaka has stayed by his side.

"A leader with no one left," Motochika says, "is hardly a leader at all, you know?"

Why would there be anyone even now? He can't understand it. It's not as if his classmates cared for him much after graduation. Nor all the teachers he was a role model student for. Nor his thrown together teams during countless missions over the years, despite the dangers and saving one another's lives. No one cares about him.

No, he shouldn't be surprised. No one stays in his life for long.

No one really cares. And if they do, they only think that way. For who would want to stay with a man who knows their future, their every pain and their tragedy, and has done little prevent it? Should he tell Tsunade her lover, brother, and teammate died in an alternate world? Would she still stay at his side? Leave him? Orochimaru would leave. Should he tell Tokonoma never to have children if she wanted to see them, too, die tragically? She would have never let him step foot in her home.

The Swordsman tsks. "Shame. On. You. The Leaf lied. All your friends did. You're no leader. You're not even a hero. Aren't heroes supposed to save people? Looks like you can't even get that right."

Heroes save people, that's true.

"Heroes are more than that, friend," Orochimaru hisses, pupils widening at the look of shock on Motochika's face.

Much like Sewing Needle's piercing, shooting out of the water is a silver, unfathomably sharp blade. Motochika starts to block but freezes. The sword is still extending.

At that time, finishing with the Ram Seal underwater, he waits.

"Earth Release: Earth-Style Spikes."

Motochika dodges the Grass-Mowing Sword. Sewing Needle extends and coils around the blade. Thanks to him, the Swordsman retrieves the blade for Orochimaru. He then, helpfully, flings the four meter sword his way.

Orochimaru stares down the airborne sword.

Two things happen:

The smile on Motochika's face vanishes as what he assumed to be the perfect throw somehow misses his target.

Below his feet, a shadow grows and grows until a massive spike erupts from water. He has moments to tilt his head back and feel the spike graze his chin while it avoids him. He soon realizes that there are more to come, each rises unpredictably and at irregular lengths. Only after the razor sharp points stop lacerating his body does he watch Orochimaru. Hard breaths are coming out his nose. His eyes, bloodshot.

Trapped in an artificial prison, Motochika smiles a smile that does not reach his eyes. He gives a half-suppressed laugh.

If Takenaka is dead, then...Orochimaru has every reason to kill him.

AN: Question: I can write 3k-6k chapters once a month or I can write 900-3k every 1-2 weeks. The advantage with longer chapters is that more plot, development, intrigue happens all at once. The advantage with shorter chapters is that it's fun to speculate with the small pieces of the story given and are great for busy schedules. You can chose which version you like, and I will take it into consideration. I do want to post a few longer chapters as of now, as I feel the pacing is starting to slow down. Reviews are appreciated, and I'll update regardless of reviews; thank you for taking the time to comment, reader.

- AestasWinter, thanks; I really like the idea of "episodic chapters" since I'm a busy person, you might be, it's easy to read a little and live life.

- RedHood001, thank you for both reviews. Will you believe I get my inspiration to write fight scenes from Attack on Titan? Combat scenes are hard, but they're the reason why I love Naruto, so I want to include them a lot and make them good. You are correct: there is a summoning seal on the back of Orochimaru's left forearm. I think there may be more positions.

- Merendinoemiliano, thanks; sorry if I got the username wrong. (I love everything about this username; the entire prologue is full of s-alliterations.)

- DBZfan45, haha! 2021 sure isn't 2020, but it's really trying to compete for the title, huh?

- Karazik, ask and you shall receive! I'll consider too many POV changes.

- thepowerfullkira, right! Longer chapters are better sometimes, you know?