Chapter 113
Stolen Innocence: The Hound of the Mist
Where did you run off too?
Chōjūrō adjusted his black-rimmed glasses out of nervous habit. Hastily, he traversed through the trees of a dense mountain forest as a fresh blanketing of snow fell to the earth, searching for a sign—any sign—of the malnourished girl he'd failed to protect.
Were there footprints in the snow? Did the trees have any signs of a struggle?
This is bad. Please stop snowing! I have to find this girl, he begged the weather. Lady Mizukage is probably going to be so disappointed in me. If I had been more alert, we wouldn't have been ambushed. And if we weren't ambushed, this little girl who escaped the grasps of that terrible organization Natsumi and Haku have been investigating wouldn't be running away in the mountains from rogue Mist shinobi. Will you please stop snowing!
Oh, he would be reprimanded for sure. First Lord Ao would chastise him for letting his guard down.
"True Mist shinobi never relax," he could hear the old veteran scolding him already. "Back in my day, we remained vigilant at all times. Any shinobi who let their guard down was immediately expelled from the ranks."
And then Master Zabuza would take on the form of a demon when he learned what had occurred. He fought against a shudder at the mere thought of it.
"And you call yourself one of the Seven Swordsmen? Don't make me laugh, boy. I should kill you where you stand for sullying the name of the great Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. Getting ambushed like an untrained fool; you wouldn't have survived Blood Mist."
But he dreaded witnessing Lady Mizukage's disappointment more than any Demon or veteran reprimanding. She was so nice and kind. She had personally chosen him to be one of her bodyguards, bringing him into her inner circle because she believed that he—a perpetually timid and insecure shinobi—could somehow help build the future of the Mist.
Yet…he'd let the child slip through his grasps. He dropped his guard, left his sword out of immediate reach like a greener than grass shinobi, and now…
Haruhi was injured because of him. The child was somewhere out in this snowy forest of dormant wooden husks once burgeoning with leaves and flourishing pine trees, whose branches creaked and cracked over the silent hills beneath the weight of thick snow, running for her very life from these rotten men who had imprisoned her. And it was his fault.
Chōjūrō could see how deeply the Fifth Mizukage cared about the Mist and its future, how she wanted to protect their people and lift their Village from the dark times towards a brighter and prosperous future.
I…I want to help her build that future. But can I do it? Can I actually be useful to her? What if it's because of my failure we are unable to stop this terrible organization? He bit his bottom lip lightly with his sharpened teeth. I want…I want to protect Lady Mei's future, her vision and her beautiful smile…
The recently turned seventeen year old exhaled softly out his mouth as he landed on another tree branch, scanning the area again. The cloudy puff of condensation, slowly dissipating as it traveled farther away from his mouth, did not obscure his vision.
Did I follow the right trail? Am I still following that little girl?
He'd chased after her as soon as he sent a messenger bird to the Mist and tended to Haruhi's injuries to the best of his lackluster abilities. Haruhi was insistent on it. But he was hesitant to leave her alone; her injuries weren't critical, but Chōjūrō worried their enemies would return to continue their battle while he was gone. And…leaving behind an injured comrade felt profoundly wrong.
"In the dark times of our Village," he recalled the Mizukage's warm and powerful voice, "fellow Mist shinobi have abandoned and even slain their comrades for the purposes of selfish survival, greed or to merely prevent secrets from falling into enemy hands. We've been conditioned to distrust our comrades, to the point of outright paranoia where some of us fear we will fall asleep and wake up to find a friend with their blade at our throats. All in the name of 'protecting the Mist'.
"Let it be known: This doctrine of distrust and bloodshed upheld by the previous leadership no longer has a place in our Village."
Even when he tried to argue his point, Haruhi didn't relent. She kept pushing him to find the girl.
Haruhi…
"Ar- are you sure about this?" Chōjūrō asked, tapping the tips of his fingers together in front of his chest. "We shouldn't abandon our comrades. And you're still injured. What if those rogue shinobi come back while I'm gone? Or the people of this town? They could…"
Haruhi, a kunoichi of his age with chestnut hair styled short at her earlobes, was lying supine beneath the sheet of the small hotel room's mattress, utterly motionless save the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her head was rolled to the side on the flat pillow to look directly at him with her orange eyes, eyes that he'd first thought of as indifferent and cold when they first met.
He knew better now. After a few missions together, where he awkwardly tried to learn more about his comrade and struggled through stilted conversations at first, he learned the truth. Haruhi wasn't cold. Not to comrades, at least. Socially awkward, certainly. But not cold.
She was just focused. Honestly, he envied her level of sheer drive, confidence and determination to complete any task or mission given to her. She was a warrior. And a passionate believer in the Fifth Mizukage.
After the ambush he'd hastily carried her to this hotel and rented a room. Although it may as well have cost him an arm, a leg and Hiramekarei.
Mist shinobi weren't entirely welcome in Shinjuku, or really anywhere in the Land of Water outside of Mist Village, for that matter. Bad memories of war. Bad memories of bloodthirsty shinobi, rogue or otherwise, slaying whomever they pleased.
"I understand how you feel," Haruhi replied after he trailed off. "But that child is a priority. If we can save her from these rogue shinobi, the information she possesses may be all we need to stop this organization from kidnapping more people."
Haruhi grimaced slightly, breath leaving her briefly.
"It's true the people of this Land show us no love," she continued a few moments later. "They look at us with scorn for the sins previous Mist shinobi have committed, even when we aid them. Like we have with the bandits. Even that child feared the symbol on our headbands. But…I believe in Lady Mizukage's vision. I believe we can help her change our Village and its dark reputation. We can help her change this Land."
"I- I do, too. I want to help her build her future," Chōjūrō declared. Then blushed, slumping slightly and tapping his fingers more rapidly. "I mean, I hope I can help…"
Haruhi brought her bandaged hand out from beneath the sheet. The Mist kunoichi snatched his right wrist suddenly. A startled gasp escaped him, to his mild embarrassment. Haruhi held his wrist firmly, orange eyes staring hard at him.
"Chōjūrō, that girl is running out of time. You must find her, save her. Lady Mizukage is depending on us, so go. Quickly. Before the snow covers their tracks. I will be fine."
"If- if you're sure."
"I am. Go."
"O- okay!" he nodded sharply. He clasped her bandaged hand in both of his. "I- I'll be right back, Haruhi. I promise."
Chōjūrō felt his breath hitch. He leapt down from the branches into the snow below, where the imprint of a small body had tumbled over after tripping on a fallen branch. The snow hadn't yet filled it in. Feeling hopeful, he looked for more signs of tracks for the direction the child had run. Across the way, on a nearby tree, he noticed the smallest amount of colorful fabric from the girl's kimono hanging from the bark.
She ran this way!
Leaping into the branches, he searched for signs of her pursuers, which he found. Chōjūrō's heart skipped a beat, a slight relieved smile forming on his lips. The bark of the branches were visibly cracked and even printed by shinobi sandals. He followed the trail deeper into the mountains.
"Just hang on a little longer. I'm on my way!"
Run! Run! Run! Run! Run!
The child dressed in a vibrant and colorful floral pattern kimono struggled to breathe through heavy, panicked breaths. The chilled winter air attacked their lungs, made them ache horribly. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't breathe. Legs heavy and stiff, bare feet cold, almost entirely numb and tingling unforgivingly in the cold snow.
Run. Keep running. But where? Where were they? What were they doing here? Where was here?
Hugging thin arms over a thinner torso, the child tried to keep running. Tried to keep trudging through the ankle deep snow, wincing with every step on their tingling and numb feet. So cold. It was so cold.
But they kept moving. Although they hardly remembered why they were running, the child could vaguely see the malicious man-shaped shadows yelling and pointing their monstrous fingers at them, could vaguely hear the faint cracks of whips and almost feel the flesh on their back tearing open.
More prominently, of all the memories hidden behind a veil of thick mountain mist, they recalled the rolled up parchment tucked inside their kimono.
"This is our salvation, so run. Run as fast and as far as you have to. Find someone, anyone, who will help. I'll be waiting for you. I'll survive no matter what until we see each other again."
The child gritted their teeth, entire body shivering on heavy and numbing legs.
It grew colder. The air, the ground, their body, everything was so cold. Was this death? Were they dying?
Blinking hazel eyes through hazy vision, the child saw white. Pure white snow obscuring their vision, surrounding their frail body, swallowing them whole. Had they fallen over? Collapsed? The child tried to move but found the muscles in their arms to be as firm as melting snow and their legs strictly bound together by a rope of some kind.
They were tired, so tired.
I…can't… They curled their fingers in the snow, packing it in the palm of their hand, squirming against their bound legs to crawl forward. The icy chill penetrated through their kimono, the sharp sensation akin to lying on a bed of needles.
I…can't…stop…
A rough hand seized the child by their long, dark hair, lifting them up out of the snow. They were forced face to face with a wide-chinned man, his grin revealing a golden front tooth. The child grimaced beneath his warm breath, reeking of days old garlic he hadn't bothered to clean. An ugly gouge split his upper lip at the middle.
He was a giant beast of a man. A towering ogre who appeared to the child's blurred vision and tormented mind to stand at least half as tall as the largest of trees in the forest. He was a man the child vaguely recognized in their shivering confusion as "Gold-Toothed" Sōma, an enforcer and hunter of The Crimson Flowers organization.
There were stories whispered delicately and cautiously within the halls of The Flower Shop. Terribly frightening stories of his sick and demented deeds that even the Mist shinobi could not abide, which led to his rogue status.
The child was exhausted and unafraid. The only thing this man could do or take from them that others had not already was their life.
"Well, well," Sōma rumbled menacingly, chuckling as he did. The scent of old garlic grew in intensity. "Look what we got 'ere, boys. Our reward!"
The child heard the cheers of the other men. The gold-toothed leader brought the child closer to his face, the repulsive stench consuming his numbing senses.
"Yer a cunnin' little rat, stealin' from and escapin' The Flower Shop. But if ya wanted to leave so badly, all ya had to do was ask. Where yer goin' next, though? Oh, little rat, it won't be so nice. There'll be no beds or baths or warm company waitin' for ya. It'll be to the mines with ya, and no one leaves the mines.
"Yer precious accomplice will find her home there, too, if she can survive her punishment. But before I send you there, hehehe. Oh, the boys and I will make sure yer properly punished. Enjoy being prettied up while it lasts." His vile grin made the child's stomach churn. "I know we will."
The child didn't think, couldn't think. They felt the snow packed in their cold palm as they dangled in the air, and reacted. They pelted Sōma in the eyes. He didn't release the child. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed raucously, filling the air with his terrible breath.
"We got ourselves a fighter, boys!"
"Hiramekarei Release!"
The child heard a cry of pain. Saw something human-shaped barreling through the snow, carving a path of air and force directly at the back of the towering man far too fast for the eye to track.
The next sound the child heard was Sōma's grunt of pain, or annoyance. Then they were back in the snow, lying on their side, shivering. Sōma was still standing, looming over them. Behind him, at his feet, was the body of one of his men groaning in agony.
Sōma jumped suddenly; he was quick for a giant ogre. The child barely recognized the bladed blue chakra that severed through the air before someone grabbed hold of them, lifting them up and onto their shoulder. Then they were flying through the air. Dashing away.
"Just hang on. I'll get you some place warm and safe soon."
It's that boy with the glasses and bandaged sword from before.
The child shut their eyes, too cold and exhausted to stay awake.
Chōjūrō gripped Hiramekarei tightly in his cold right hand, holding the small and frail and shivering body of the girl on his shoulder with his left.
I wasn't sure about it before, he thought, leaping from tree branch to tree branch with a pensive knot between his brow. But now I'm positive. The man leading this squad is Sōma Akebino, a rogue shinobi listed in the Bingo Book for terrible, terrible crimes. He has killed entire squads of hunter-nin, pillaged and razed towns across the Land of Water and…
Chōjūrō spun around, twisting to wield the blunt face of the fish-shaped blade Hiramekarei in front of his body like a shield. Kunai and shuriken ricocheted off, the clang of metal on metal ringing sharply in his ears. He landed on another branch, turned on his heel and dashed farther through the forested hills.
And he is known to…
Chōjūrō glanced at the little girl on his shoulder. A sick feeling sloshed roughly in his stomach.
I won't let them take her. But what do I do? The nervous swordsmen swallowed. There are five of them now, but Sōma on his own is dangerous enough. If I stand and fight I'll have to drop this girl in the snow somewhere. But she's already shivering terribly and her feet look like they have frostnip. She doesn't have the proper clothing for this weather. At this rate, she'll succumb to hypothermia!
Chōjūrō shook his head fervently. No! I can't let that happen… But I can't very well outrun The Hound of the Mist. I barely escaped with her. And it was thanks to Hiramekarei's power, really.
What would Lady Mei do in this situation? Or Master Zabuza?
They wouldn't need to run, he realized solemnly. Lady Mizukage and Master Zabuza could destroy these shinobi. But I…I'm not strong like them. I can't give up, though! I promised Haruhi I would be right back. That I would save this girl so we could help Lady Mizukage stop this organization from hurting more people and help her build a better future.
His eyes widened momentarily. Wait!
Leaping down into the snow, Chōjūrō channeled his chakra into his sword, which irradiated with sharp blue chakra in the form of a massive axe. With a growl of effort, while running, he swung the sword and chopped down a large tree in a single swing. As it collapsed, he jumped into the canopy again, glancing back once to see if his action slowed down his pursuers.
It had, though not by a significant margin.
The report I sent to Lady Mizukage, he remembered. She would have sent a team to find this girl the moment she read it! I know it. Even if the chance seems small, Lady Mei would send a team to save her from these men. So, where am I now?
Jumping off a tree branch, he soared above the snowy canopy briefly to gather his surroundings. The hilly terrain, the misty peaks higher and higher above…
I think…
Chōjūrō landed among the tree branches, dashing off to his diagonal right, uphill towards the southeast.
Besides Ume Pass, there is one other route in this mountain range that leads in or out of Kiri known only to us shinobi. It's a quicker but far more dangerous route. If Lady Mei sent a team, that's the route they would take. Which means I just need to get closer.
Deep down, Chōjūrō knew it was a long shot. There was no way to know if Lady Mizukage had retrieved his message yet, or if a team was near. But even if they weren't, he reckoned if he could make it to the hidden pass, he could use the dangerous environment to his advantage.
For what felt like hours, he raced through the trees, over white hills and uneven ground when the mountain forest broke off. He evaded attacks, countered with Hiramekarei which the shinobi he faced were extremely cautious of engaging. Rightly so. As former Mist shinobi, they recognized the sword and the threat it posed to their lives.
Farther up the mountain, but nowhere near the hidden passage, he heard the girl on his shoulder groan; it sounded close to a weep. His heart was racing.
"Jus- Just hold on, ok- okay?" he asked desperately. "I'll get us somewhere safe as soon as— Gah!"
He hadn't seen Sōma's attack, but he felt it. The powerful kick sent him careening through the snow, skipping then sliding down the hill some distance. He lost his sword and the girl along the way.
"As soon as you what, boy? Escape? Ha!" Sōma barked a coarse laugh.
Chōjūrō grimaced, rising into a seated position. He adjusted his glasses, knocked askew in the tumble and spotted both Hiramekarei and the girl. His sword was lying flat, the marks of its slide through the snow visible to the naked eye; it was at least two quick leaps away. The girl was easier to spot in her colorful kimono, resting limply on her side just beyond his sword.
"Don't worry. We'll warm the little rat up once we finish with you."
A strange emotion overwhelmed the nervous swordsmen, one he wasn't sure the nature of. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, leaping across the snow, snatching Hiramekarei in a fluid movement to land beside the little girl. He gripped both cold hilts of the mystical sword tightly and settled his feet into a defensive position.
"I won't let you lay another finger on this child!" he growled.
It was anger, he realized a moment later. Raw, coursing anger he'd never experienced the likes of before that moment.
Sōma laughed loudly, heartily. His gold tooth seemed to shine.
"Is that so?" he asked, grinning an ugly grin. "And what do you hope to do on yer own? You may wield Hiramekarei, but yer a pale imitation of the Seven Swordsmen. Yer no Demon or Scourge. Yer just a puny brat playin' shinobi."
Chōjūrō flicked his eyes about. They have me surrounded. With Hiramekarei I could take down a few of his men. He settled his fierce glare at Sōma. But I won't win. I'm at the disadvantage here, and they all know it. Looking past The Hound of the Mist, he examined the steep mountain incline and the sunlight reflecting off the pure white snow.
"I may be a pale imitation of my predecessors," Chōjūrō said softly. "And maybe to a monster like you I appear as nothing more than a puny brat. But…"
"But…I believe in Lady Mizukage's vision," he recalled Haruhi's words. "I believe we can help her change our Village and its dark reputation. We can help her change this Land."
Haruhi…
The blade Hiramekarei exploded with blue chakra; it took on the form of a massive hammer.
"Ohoho, lookin' to die, are ya?"
I'm not like you, Haruhi. Or Natsumi or Haku. You're all so confident and strong. None of you ever seem to doubt yourselves or your abilities. Not like me. I second guess everything I do. Sometimes I'm not sure they were right to pick me as one of the Swordsmen. Lord Ao says it's shameful that two kunoichi have more backbone than me, although the last time he said that Lady Mei was in earshot. It…didn't go well for Lord Ao.
But…I want to be stronger. I want to be strong enough to protect my comrades. I want to earn my place as Lady Mizukage's bodyguard and my position as one of the Seven Swordsmen. I want to protect her vision and her beautiful smile. I want to help all of you change this Land.
And right now that means protecting this little girl, no matter what.
The Swordsman, wearing an intense expression, glared straight into Sōma's twisted eyes.
"You won't get through me," he declared passionately. "I'll turn this mountain into your grave!"
With a cry, he swung Hiramekarei upwards. Then slammed it straight into the ground in front of him. The shockwave of power roared up through the mountain, carving a path of snow straight past Sōma. The Hound whirled around in bewilderment.
Before that moment the mountain lay dormant, resting peacefully in a deep slumber few would dare to disturb. His attack changed that. The pristine white sheets of snow silently asleep on the mountain awoke with a heart-stopping roar. High above and all around them, the snow bonded and melded together cracked beneath the pressure of his strike. The sheets began to shift and cascade down the slope.
Chōjūrō quickly placed his sword in its harness on his back and scooped the child beginning to slowly slide away up in his arms; she was frighteningly cold.
"Yer mad, boy!"
"Hehe," Chōjūrō chuckled nervously, turning his head to look back at the stunned face of his enemy. A quivering smirk graced his lips. "Compared to an avalanche, we're all puny brats, aren't we?"
Without another word, ignoring the shouts of Sōma, his men and the tumbling of snow racing down the mountain, Chōjūrō leapt down the slope at a diagonal in the direction he had come from. The forest might provide protection, he hoped, or at least high enough ground to avoid being buried in the snow.
He could feel his heart pulsing in his skull, hear it crashing against his ribcage in his ears, sense it quickly rising up into his throat. His shinobi leaps were a snail's crawl compared to the avalanche he'd caused.
Foolishly, he glanced back. The mistake tightened his heart in his chest. He couldn't see Sōma or his men beyond the white wave of frost cascading just behind him.
Move, Chōjūrō! Run! Run!
One leap formed a wide gap. By the time he landed, the gap narrowed again. Leap, leap, leap, leap. The gap was narrowing. He could feel the icy chill through his clothes. The roar of the snow drowned out all other noises.
Ah, this was a terrible idea! Come on, faster! Faster! No, not you, avalanche! Me! I'm the one who needs to go faster!
The tree line was finally in sight. Chōjūrō held the child tighter against his chest, grit his teeth, channeling chakra to the soles of his sandals.
I…I'm going to protect you. Now…
He felt a cold blast of air rush past him. Saw the impenetrable white wave of snow in his peripheral vision, obscuring all else except pale death.
Jump, Chōjūrō!
"Ahhhhhhhh!" Chōjūrō released the chakra at his feet with a primal cry of will and terror mixing together.
The white mist overwhelmed his vision, but he could still feel himself flying through the air, sense the wave beneath him tumbling farther down the mountain. Blindly, he soared through the air amidst the terrifying roars of what was certainly death.
The solid form of a tree branch greeted his feet. Hope rushed through his entire body. Then dread as the weak tree branch snapped beneath his weight.
As he fell back, heart jumping into his throat and then plummeting into his stomach, he expected to be consumed into the wave. Prepared for it by holding the little girl tighter against his chest so they wouldn't lose one another in the white wave.
Abruptly, his fall ended. Something snagged the back of his shirt, but he felt the snow rushing over his calves, trying to drag him down into death like demons and skeletons were reaching through the earth to claim his soul.
"I've got you!"
The nervous Swordsman's eyes shot up.
"Haku?!"
Through the obscuring white fog, he could just make out Haku's familiar face, head and upper body leaning out of a horizontally floating Crystal Ice Mirror to grab him by his shirt collar. The boy was struggling to keep grasp of him, evident by the grimace on his face.
"Chōjūrō, grab onto my mirror!"
"Ri- right!"
As Haku melded back into his mirror, Chōjūrō reached up with his right hand, grasping the edge of it. He felt his fingers begin to slip on the slick surface. Then they did. He wailed.
A hand snatched him by the wrist. This time he saw a head of crimson hair.
"Did you have to bring the whole mountain down, Chōjūrō?" Natsumi grunted.
"So- sorry, Natsumi!"
"Don't worry abou—" Her turquoise eyes flicked to the side suddenly, then widened. "Ah, hell! Haku, there's a big one coming!"
Chōjūrō followed her gaze. Wailed in terror. Then began struggling to get on top of the mirror with the girl. The wave of snow was half the size of the trees!
"Pull us up! Pull us up! Pull us up!" he panicked.
"What does it look like I'm doing?! You're a lot heavier than you look, you know!"
"So- Sorry!"
Haku appeared beside Natsumi, snatched him by his collar and yanked him and the child up onto the mirror.
"Natsumi, cover the child in my cloak," he ordered calmly, tearing the thermal clothing from his body and handing it to the kunoichi. "Prepare yourselves. The air is about to become very cold."
Hooking his middle fingers over his pointer fingers, curling and interlacing all other fingers except his thumbs, which he pressed against the base of his pointer fingers, Haku prepared his jutsu. Natsumi and Chōjūrō bundled up the child inside his cloak.
Immediately, they felt a sharp, bitter and sudden drop of temperature. The air itself stung Chōjūrō's face, his bare hands. He felt himself beginning to shiver and quake.
"So- so co- cold." His teeth chattered. His nose was beginning to run, which he was genuinely afraid would result in a frozen icicle hanging from his nostril. He hugged the little girl tighter against his chest, hoping to sustain her body heat with his own.
Natsumi, also wearing a cloak, crouched down beside him and hissed curses, visibly rubbing her arms inside of her thermal clothing.
"Hurr- hurry up, will you? I- I can't tell if you're abou- about to save our asses or- or freeze them off."
Icy blue charka, he noticed, was visibly streaming off of Haku. The boy looked utterly focused, staring down the terrifying sea of white barreling towards them without fear. Seemingly from the air itself, ice suddenly began manifesting in front of them in the shape of a curved wall. Chōjūrō's eyes jolted from the ice, then through the gaps to the frost beyond, back to the ice and to the frost repeatedly.
"Haku," Natsumi ground out the name, turquoise eyes locked on their imminent burial.
Chōjūrō saw his own terrified reflection in the ice.
The entire world seemed to seethe at that moment. The roar of the avalanche colliding against ice deafened all else. But they all felt the vibrations through the Crystal Ice Mirror, witnessed the avalanche rushing past the sides, over the wall and farther down the mountain. And they could do nothing except wait and awe at Mother Nature's power.
The mountain returned to its slumber a minute or so later. Once more silence reigned over the land.
Chōjūrō sat still on the mirror, holding the child in his arms, watching the condensation of his breath to confirm he hadn't died in the avalanche. The air was bitter. But he was alive, as were his comrades and the little girl.
He sighed in relief.
Too close.
"We should find some place out of the elements," Haku said at length, looking down at the bundle in Chōjūrō's arms. "And quickly."
"Ri- right," Chōjūrō nodded.
"I know a place near these parts, one of Lady Mei's previous underground hideouts," Natsumi informed, rubbing her hands together. "We can warm up the kid and figure out our next move there."
"That will do," Haku nodded. "Lead the way, Natsumi."
"Let's go."
And so they departed.
The entrance to the underground base was hidden quite well, as was expected of shinobi. After swiftly traversing through the forested mountainside, Natsumi led the Mist shinobi into a dark, cold and wet cave, absent of any wildlife, thankfully.
Inside, as Chōjūrō and Haku prepared to make camp and discussed plans of creating a fire, the Mizukage's assistant scoffed at the pair and brusquely reminded them she had said underground base, not a tiny cave base hardly fit for rodents.
They watched her place a delicate hand against the cold stone wall at the back of the cave. Black lines dispersed slowly from beneath her palm like ink spilled from an inkwell, spreading across the dull stone with no sense of pattern or meaning at first. But then the shape of a spiraling rectangle took shape; at the center, where Natsumi's palm once rested, was an assortment of Hindi script.
Stone grating against stone echoed in the cave; the fūinjutsu marked area was sinking deeper into the wall. It stopped abruptly, then sank into the floor, opening to a shadowed, spiraling stairwell. An old oil lantern, Chōjūrō noticed, hung from the flat stone wall inside.
"Whoa," he gasped.
Natsumi retrieved a packet of matches from her ninja pouch and carefully ignited the lanterns wick, casting lukewarm orange light and shuddering human shadows against grey rock. Taking the lantern, the kunoichi examined the series of steps and the walls illuminated by the halo of light, squinting to see beyond the border where light ended and darkness began farther down the spiral stairwell.
"I don't see any deterioration up here. Still, stay close," she said, gesturing them to follow with a tilt of her head. "Oh, and try not to trip. These stairs are pretty small and stubby."
They descended into the base at a cautious pace, the icy chill drifting in behind them. The trio made it a handful of steps down before grating stone reverberated in their ears, vibrating over the walls. The entrance was sealing itself.
"Uh- Natsumi? The door does open from the inside, too…right?" Chōjūrō asked nervously.
"No. I've sealed us all away in this cold, abandoned base forever because I hate the surface world. Hope you don't mind," Natsumi droned. "The surface world is so disturbing with its open skies, trees and wildlife. The snow, too! And worst of all: people. Ugh! I can't stand human interaction. It's worse than those cantankerous councilors."
"O- oh… I'm sorry to hear that."
"Wait, what? It was a joke, Chōjūrō. I wasn't being serious."
"Yo- you weren't? But you sounded so…"
"What? What did I sound like?" Natsumi probed dangerously.
"Err- It- it's just yo- you sounded…"
"Stop stammering, you nervous little fool!" Natsumi halted her descent and whirled around. Chōjūrō squeaked out an embarrassing noise, frightened by the red hot fire burning in turquoise seas. And her clenched fists. "I was obviously being sarcastic, but now I want to know what you think I sound like? Got something you wanna say?!"
The Swordsman's throat was too tight to speak. His legs had rooted themselves into the stone, becoming stiff as a frozen ration bar.
Natsumi was utterly terrifying when she was furious.
"I think Chōjūrō mistook your sarcasm for sincerity," said Haku, stoic as ever, when it became clear the Swordsman was too afraid to form a single syllable.
Chōjūrō nodded rapidly.
"Is that it?"
"Ye- yes!" he managed to form the word. "That's all I thought, I swear!"
"Oh." The fire in her eyes cooled. "In that case, I guess I owe you an apology for yelling. Sorry about that. My fuse has been pretty short since the investigation started." She turned around. "Anyway, follow me. We still have some ways to go."
The air was slightly warmer than before, at least for Chōjūrō. But he could still see his breath and the condensation formed by his comrades floating in the cold stairwell.
"I didn't know Lady Mizukage had anything like this," Chōjūrō said softly.
"Wouldn't be a secret base if it was common knowledge," Natsumi replied, but not cruelly. She stated it as a fact, nothing more. "In my experience, one of the best places to hide a secret is in a burrow right under your hunter's nose. Kept me alive before Lady Mei took me in."
"There is wisdom in that," Haku said. "However, it also means you are in constant danger of being discovered. Against the hunter-nin of the Mist, or any experienced shinobi bounty hunters, all it takes is a single mistake for them to pick up your trail. You cannot afford to relax. Or even to trust another person with your secrets. It is a life of solitude and loneliness. You live, and yet it is not life. It is mere existence."
"Mm," Natsumi hummed. "Yeah. It is."
Chōjūrō said nothing. He swallowed and frowned. Did he have a place in this conversation? Although he had no family to speak of, he hadn't grown up the same way Haku and Natsumi had. He hadn't been born into a special Clan, nor did he wield any special bloodline traits similar to what caused these two to live such lonely and solitary existences as children.
Most kids in Kiri didn't have at least one of their parents, or they lived with uncles, aunts or grandparents, so being an orphan wasn't a unique experience by any stretch of the imagination.
He'd had…well, friends would be an extremely gracious use of the word. There were kids who tolerated him enough to let him join their games, bullies who made his life hell for being so shy and nervous, adults who took pity on him or offered sympathy through scraps of food; a normal childhood, by his estimations. A blessed one when compared to Haku and Natsumi's childhoods.
Becoming one of the Seven Swordsmen had been his dream. It kept him going even when he doubted himself. But…there was a part of his heart that empathized with Haku's words. The difference between existence and living, he'd felt that. Experienced it in his own way.
Glancing down at the child in his arms, he wondered if she already understood such a terrible feeling.
"Chōjūrō?"
Haku's voice startled him out of his thoughts.
"Hu- huh?" He turned his head slightly to look back at the shinobi.
"Where is Haruhi? Is she well?"
He nodded once, flattening his lips in discomfort. "Mostly. Her injuries weren't fatal; I cleaned and bandaged her wounds as best I could. But Haruhi wasn't in any condition to pursue this child," he explained. "So- so she asked me to go on my own instead. I checked her in to a hotel in Shinjuku before I left. I've…kept her waiting a little longer than I anticipated. I hope she won't be too mad."
"We'll go recover Haruhi as soon as we finish setting up here," said Natsumi. "The Fourth may be dead, but the reputation of Mist shinobi hasn't changed. We're less of a welcome sight than an avalanche to the people of the Land of Water. I don't trust them."
Chōjūrō swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't want to say it, but he felt the same way. Now that the child was safely in their custody, his nervous mind was stressing out over Haruhi and her condition.
"What about this girl? We can't just leave her alone here."
"Obviously." He sensed her eye roll. "Haku can watch over the kid while you and I go grab Haruhi."
Natsumi looked over her left shoulder at him, shadows and light dancing over the crescent shaped scar beneath her eye. Chōjūrō noticed the roguish grin on her face; it was a bad omen. He swallowed roughly.
"By the way, that's a boy. Not a girl," she said.
"Huhhhhh?!" wailed the Swordsman. All of his blood rushed straight to his face.
Through the shadow on the wall, he noticed Haku lift a closed hand to his lips, hiding his smile as he chuckled lightly.
"Bu- bu- but… Her hair—"
"Is long? That's hardly a defining trait of girls. Look at Haku."
That…was a valid point.
"But her voice—"
"Is it higher pitched than your assumption for a boy? He hasn't gone through puberty in its entirety, you dolt. Both yours and Haku's voice aren't exactly deep either, you know."
Another point for Natsumi. An embarrassing point, but a valid one nonetheless. Haku didn't seem all that bothered by it, though.
"But she's wearing make-up. Lipstick, the stuff girls put on their cheeks, their eyelids and eyelashes, and her kimono is styled for a girl, too."
"Yep. But that is still a boy."
"…I've been referring to her as a girl this whole time in my head," he mumbled in embarrassment. "No- not that it's a big deal. I still would've saved him, but… I feel so terrible. How did I mess that up?"
"Don't be embarrassed. Whoever his captors were went through a lot of effort to make him appear like a girl," Haku soothed. Despite that Chōjūrō could feel him smiling at his expense. "But he is without a doubt a boy."
"Why would they even do that?"
"You know that answer."
Chōjūrō paused, frowning. He…he had hoped Haku or Natsumi would give him a different answer, but…
"Don't worry. We'll warm the little rat up once we finish with you."
Yes, he did know the answer. He just wished it was something else.
"Ar- are we sure he is a boy?" he asked, mostly to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Ho- how do you know?"
"General anatomy," Haku answered clinically.
"Huh?"
"Girls his age have breasts," Natsumi drawled.
Chōjūrō choked. He no longer felt the chill in the air, nor did he speak another word for some time after.
"…Yo- you're never going to let me forget this, are you, Natsumi?" he asked after considerable silence.
"Nope."
Darn it.
The child passed in and out of consciousness. There was little he retained in the moments of wakefulness. Voices. Cold air. Warmth. The blurry face of a stranger peering down at him. But a dense mist overwhelmed his senses, obscured the world; he didn't understand any of it. Nothing made sense.
As he tried to learn, he was dragged deeper into the mist, into a dream-like state where reality was indiscernible from malicious nightmares.
He could see the room. Though he tried to turn away he was shoved farther in, towards the malicious grinning shadow within. Another customer—there was always another. Sometimes repeat visits from previous customers; members, they were called. And Flower Girls had no choice but to fulfill their requests, no matter what. Otherwise they would end up in the mines.
And no one ever leaves the mines.
He felt the flux of emotions, as always. He'd learned to hide it from clients—the whipping post could teach any behavior. But the emotions were always there. Fear. Revulsion. Pain. Submission. Hatred. Shame.
Amidst the shadows he saw his sister again, remembered their nights holding each other through tears and sobs at first, and then simply in silence as they tried to find some semblance of comfort and hope in this hell.
Finally, that hope took shape. She had watched the inner workings of The Flower Shop for far longer than he had, taught him of secret rooms and passages built into their prison and explained her hopeful plan. There was a special meeting taking place in The Flower Shop, one involving maps and business expansion or something; he hadn't quite understood all of it, only the important bit.
Freedom, for everyone. Those imprisoned in The Flower Shop and those forced into labor in the mines could escape if someone retrieved their map and brought it to someone willing to help them.
"This is our salvation, so run," his sister ordered, shoving the map into his hands. "Run as fast and as far as you have to. Find someone, anyone, who will help." She must have seen his fear, his hesitance to leave her behind. She smiled and hugged him. "I'll be waiting for you. I'll survive no matter what until we see each other again."
The man with the gold tooth and his garlic breath tortured his dreams next.
No one came to save him.
His eyes fluttered open. Immediately he failed to recognize the stone ceiling above him, upon which flickering shadows bent and swayed in a strange and pattern-less dance. The air was no longer chilled, far more lukewarm against his face. A welcome reprieve from the bitterness of before.
He recognized the sound of a crackling fire, the padding of a futon beneath him, the weight of a blanket and the contained warmth within it. He could feel his feet again, though when he tried to flex them aches and cramps shot through them. He groaned feebly.
"Easy. Try not to move around too much. I was able to reverse the frostnip on your feet, but there will still be some pain," a soft and soothing unfamiliar voice coaxed. He turned his head towards it.
Sitting cross-legged beside him was a boy with large, warm dark-brown eyes and long black hair contained in a white bun holder; two ponytails hung in front of his face, held in silver cuffs. He was attired in a green haori tied closed by a brown sash, beneath which he wore a pinstriped outfit of Kiri shinobi.
A piece of paper was in his hand, the child noticed, the size of a letter. He had been reading previously, but he was lowering it into his lap, which allowed the boy to see his fingernails were painted a blue-green.
The stranger smiled at him. It was a kind smile.
"Hello. My name is Haku. How are you feeling?"
He couldn't trust a kind smile or a kind introduction. No. He'd seen too many smiles, heard too many introductions, all which seemed kind in appearance and presentation. But they were all false façades, veils of kindness to hide the vileness, cruelty and evil from the world they inhabited daily.
In the room they could collapse the façade and tear away the thin veil so they could reveal and revel in their true selves at the expense of another.
Like the boy with the fish-shaped sword and the girl with orange eyes, though, this new stranger wore a headband with the symbol of Mist Village. A shinobi like them. But…
The other two tried to help him, tried to listen to his pleas unlike the other people in town. They even defended him when his pursuers caught up, risking bodily harm on his behalf. And when he was caught by "Gold-Toothed" Sōma, certain to experience the terrible stories he had heard of, the fish-sword boy returned to save him.
I've heard stories about Mist shinobi, thought the child. Terrible stories. My sister said never to trust them because they were made up of people like "Gold-Toothed" Sōma. Full of Demons, Scourges and other sorts of monsters. But…this boy fixed my feet. The boy with the fish sword saved me.
He couldn't trust them, but he desperately needed their help. The leaders of the organization would punish his sister and throw her in the mines to die. And a world without her in it wasn't worth living in.
If these people could stand up to a monster like Sōma, surely they held the power to help free everyone, to become the salvation they all needed. That was why his sister asked him to take the map and run away: Find someone, anyone, who could save them all. Even if it meant Mist shinobi.
"Are you a friend of the fish sword boy?" he murmured.
"Yes. Although I can tell you are hesitant to believe anything I might say, even more so of my intentions. Don't frown. I understand. Your guarded eyes reveal all I need to see, little one."
Haku turned his head away, gazing at the wall ahead of them where the crackles of burning wood emanated from. The flickers of a fire reflected in his dark-brown eyes.
"As a small boy I was but a shadow in this world," the Mist shinobi said softly after a moment, "watching the world we live in as a helpless bystander, and in my observations I realized those who walk in the light rarely see the shadows struggling among them. And of the rare few who do see us, the vast majority ignore our existence.
"Our pain is ignored. Our suffering goes unseen. We are no more welcome than the trash we must rummage through to survive. We are seen as inconvenient. We're reminders of the light dwellers fortunate circumstances, so they turn their heads away at the sight of us."
The child listened intently to Haku's voice, drawn to it and the story he was telling. Feeling it in his numb heart.
"It wasn't the physical abuse that ever caused me pain," he continued. "To my shame, I failed to even feel despair when I realized I had become numb to my mother's murder at the hands of my father. It…didn't seem to matter anymore. I was alone. All I focused on was surviving day by day.
"But eventually I did despair. Because in all the world there was no one who needed me, no one who wanted me around. Not a single soul. I was…unnecessary. Inconvenient. That night was the first time I had wept since my mother was murdered.
"Why then did I exist? What was the point of surviving for a mere existence of despair and suffering?"
Haku lowered his eyes to his lap, to the piece of paper he had been reading previously. The child was surprised to see a faint smile form on his lips.
What was so special about that piece of paper? Why did it seem to cause him joy when speaking of such pain?
"It was then I met Zabuza. Although he trained me to be an instrument of his Will, a tool meant to aid him in accomplishing his ambition, I was happy to serve him. Over time he became someone very precious to me. Someone I would protect, even if it cost me my own life." Haku glanced down at him, smiling the same sincere warm smile. "And I can sense you have someone you consider precious, too. It was for them you were so determined to escape your pursuers."
"How do you know that?"
"It's your eyes. It is for this person you would even ask a Mist shinobi to aid you, yes?"
The child was unable to conceal their gasp. Haku hid a smile behind his hand, chuckling lightly.
"I told you already: your eyes reveal all I need to see," he said warmly. "Rest assured it is our intention to rescue all those who have been kidnapped by this organization. That is the mission Lady Mizukage has assigned us with."
"Lady…Mizukage? I thought the Fourth was a boy?"
"He was," Haku nodded as a patient teacher might to a student. "Lady Mei is the newly elected Fifth Mizukage. It is her goal to reform the ways of the Mist and bring about an era of peace and prosperity to our Nation."
The child digested the information with a frown. Everything he knew about the Mist came from his sister, who had explained the evil of the Fourth Mizukage and his shinobi. But he knew nothing of this Fifth Mizukage or her shinobi. They were practically foreigners to him.
Could that make these Mist shinobi more trustworthy? He could tell Haku was at the very least sincere in his story and his feelings.
"What is your name, little one?"
"…Mika."
Maybe he didn't need to trust them. Maybe he could just…convince them to help. Use them to save his sister and the others. Then he could go with his sister somewhere far away. Just like they planned.
"And how are you feeling, Mika?"
"My feet hurt."
"I see."
Haku set the paper off to the side, uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. Mika watched him walk out of sight somewhere behind him, then return with a small, circular jar that fit in the palm of his hand.
The Mist shinobi settled down on his knees beside Mika, peeling back the blanket to examine his feet. He unscrewed the jar, which gave off an unfamiliar herbal scent, and dipped his fingers into it.
Mika felt his heart beginning to beat faster. His eyes widened slightly, locked on the shinobi.
Haku must have felt it. He glanced over and smiled gently.
"This is an aloe ointment; it will soothe the surface of your skin."
When the shinobi reached towards his feet, Mika stopped breathing. His body went entirely stiff.
Again, Haku noticed. He stopped his hand before it could make contact. A flicker of realization glimmered in his brown eyes.
"Forgive me," the shinobi said, retracting his hand. "I thought it was the thought of pain that caused you distress, not… I won't touch you, if that is your wish. But I promise I only meant to help."
Mika said nothing. He swallowed roughly, trying to find his breath again. The shinobi screwed the jar shut and moisturized his hands with the ointment he'd procured, no longer smiling. No. There was sorrow in his dark-brown eyes. He covered Mika's feet again with the blanket, then stared at the blanket with his sorrowful eyes.
Mika noticed the Mist shinobi's jaw suddenly tighten and shift. He shut his eyes, inhaled and exhaled before rising again.
"…I'm sorry," Mika apologized.
Haku paused beside his bed. In the dance of shadows and light it would've been nearly impossible to make out the expression on his face. Mika didn't look to see his expression. He turned his head away in shame.
"There is nothing you need to apologize for, Mika. Nothing." Haku's soft voice was as firm as the whipping post but as comforting as his sister's embrace. "You have endured an existence no person should ever be forced to experience, but it is not and never will be your responsibility to apologize for it. You are not to blame, nor are you lesser because of it."
Mika still didn't look over, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. But he sensed Haku kneel down beside his bed, heard the jar settle on the stone floor.
"I'll leave this here, should you wish to apply the ointment yourself. In the meantime, rest is the best medicine for your body."
Mika said nothing.
Haku rose again. "Are you hungry?"
He nodded his head silently.
"Okay. I'll return shortly." Mika only moved his head, turning it away from the entrance of the room when Haku entered his sight. The light clap-clap-clap of his sandal on the ground paused near the door.
"I…I cannot wash away the sins of these…men," he spat the word, the comfort of his voice sharpening into a dangerous blade of rage briefly. Then it returned to its natural softness. "No words I can speak will ever possess the power to relieve you of this trauma. But I swear I will do everything I can to rescue your sister and all the others this organization have captive."
Strangely, Mika trusted his words. He couldn't remember the last time he had trusted someone else's words besides his sister's.
"Rest, Mika," Haku implored gently.
Again his sandals clapped against the ground, retreating from the room. Mika never saw the violent expression on the kind shinobi's face, nor did he hear his final bladed words, drowned out by the crackles of the fire and the clap of his sandals.
"They will never lay another filthy hand on anyone."
A crowd of people had formed outside of the hotel in Shinjuku. The gathered citizens of the village town stood in winter clothing amidst the snowfall, speaking in hushed voices, wielding weapons ranging from brooms and shovels to butcher knives and swords. The sight of them set Chōjūrō's nerves on edge.
He and Natsumi hastily traveled from the underground base to Shinjuku, concerned for their comrade. Rightly so, if the crowd was anything to judge by. Chōjūrō nervously adjusted his glasses as they approached the group.
"What do we do?" he asked quietly.
"We march in like we own the place, grab Haruhi and leave," Natsumi replied firmly. "Stay sharp. A mob with weapons is capable of anything. Don't let them antagonize you."
"I won't."
"I know. That last bit was for me."
Natsumi took the lead. They strode around the crowd, not through it, without a single word. Chōjūrō nervously glanced at the townsfolk. Some were squinting their eyes at the two shinobi in distrust and disgust. A few tightened their cold hands around their chosen weapons. Chōjūrō swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his eyes.
This was just the way things were. The effect of the Fourth's reign and the rogue shinobi who made their lives hell. One day, though, he hoped the old wounds would heal.
They reached the door. Natsumi grabbed hold of the handle and—
"Damn Mist shinobi," the man with the butcher knife cursed them. "This Land would be better off without your kind."
"Wherever you go, misfortune follows!" a woman cried out.
"Look at what your presence has wrought!"
"What our presence has wrought?" Chōjūrō, glancing back at the crowd, murmured beneath his breath, confused.
"…No." Natsumi's shocked voice dragged his attention back to her.
Instantly, his eyes went wide. He felt his heart stop at what stood beyond the doorway.
The entire lobby was torn to pieces. Broken pottery littered the floor, the soil scattered across the room like ashes thrown to the wind. The reception desk was split in two and the body of the man who had practically robbed him lay limply in middle of it. Banners and tapestries were torn by blades.
"Oh, no!" Chōjūrō cried out. He frantically rushed past Natsumi, towards the stairs.
"Chōjūrō!" Natsumi called after him.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," he muttered beneath his breath, heart racing.
He ascended the short staircase within seconds. The carnage continued in the halls. Nothing was left untouched, not the walls, floor, ceiling or doors. Doors were splintered, pictures severed in half, small tables broken. The trail led towards Haruhi's room.
He whipped around a corner, and froze on the spot for moment.
The door to Haruhi's room was kicked in, barely hanging on its hinges; the door frame was shattered and splintered in multiple places. A dead rogue shinobi or bandit lay just outside of the door.
No. No. No. No. No.
Breaking the door off its hinges as he charged in, Chōjūrō cried out: "Haruhi!"
Left, right, up, down, the entire room was the scene of a disaster. Walls bore the signs of cracks from bodies or a heavy weapon crashing into them; three dead shinobi Chōjūrō recognized from the group chasing the child lay dead on the floor. Kunai and shuriken likely thrown by his comrade littered the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the bodies—they hadn't expected her to be prepared for an ambush. He hadn't either, to be honest.
Haruhi was nowhere to be seen. But her headband—noticeable by the black cloth with a single orange stripe through the middle of it— lay on the floor amidst blood.
Chōjūrō stumbled forward in a stupor of horror. No. How could this happen? He…he told her he would be right back. He promised. But…when she needed him most he was nowhere to be found.
The Mist shinobi felt sick. Collapsing to his knees at the headband, he reached his trembling hand forward and picked it up, choking down his screams of agony.
"Haruhi… I…"
The sound of a chuckle followed by wheezing startled Chōjūrō, made his body go stiff.
"Th- The Boss has her now," one of the shinobi he believed to be dead taunted. "You- you're too late, boy."
Chōjūrō grit his teeth. His hand, shaking and trembling, clutched tighter around the headband. For the second time in his life he felt rage flush through him. With the last of his gentleness he folded the cloth of the headband and stuffed it into his pocket, as if the headband itself were his comrade—his friend—he was caring for.
Abruptly, he whirled around, striding furiously straight for the talkative rogue shinobi with a look of death in his eyes.
The Mist shinobi crouched down, grabbed the man by his collar and shook him.
"Where did he take her?!" he demanded.
"Like I'll ta—"
Chōjūrō punched him in the face.
"Where?! Where is Haruhi?! I'll- I'll—"
"What? Kill me? Ha!" The bark of laughter transformed into a bloody cough.
He curled his fingers into the rogue shinobi's shirt, clenching his jaw so tightly he could feel his molars grinding against one another. He was helpless. This rogue shinobi knew it, too, that he couldn't do anything. He was already dying; the kunais impaling his body were incredibly precise, hitting vital organs and arteries. They must have only missed the ambush for him to still be clinging to life.
All he could do was scream and shake him. Chōjūrō squeezed his eyes shut, the mounting frustration at his own helplessness causing his eyes to sting.
He struck the wounded man again. Then again. And again. Grunting and growling in raw emotion with every strike.
"Chōjūrō, that's enough." Natsumi sauntered into the room with fury and darkness in every smooth step. "You'll never learn anything like that. Here. Allow me to make him sing for us."
He obeyed, releasing the dying man roughly and standing up. If anyone could make him talk, it was Natsumi. She had a talent and reputation for gathering information.
As he stepped back, Chōjūrō lifted his glasses off his eyes and wiped them dry with his sleeve. Natsumi crouched down beside the man, eyes scanning over his body punctured with kunai.
Wordlessly, the kunoichi placed a hand on his forehead. The rogue shinobi grinned a bloody grin at the kunoichi.
"What are you going to do? Take my temperatu— Guuhh!"
The man gagged suddenly, eyes widening, mouth hanging agape as the muscles and tendons in his throat visibly constricted. Violent gags and heaving breaths followed, and then…
Chōjūrō leapt slightly when the man unleashed a horrible cry of agony. His entire body was writhing with every stomach-dropping scream, hands clawing weakly at Natsumi's arm until his entire body fell still.
Heavy, shuddering breaths escaped the man, the blood on his face from previous injuries mixing together with new beads of sweat. He blinked repeatedly.
When Natsumi removed her hand, there was a strange symbol branded on his forehead. A whirlpool spiral was printed at the center, with two double helixes separated by a gap of two fingers leading towards his temples on both sides; it glowed like embers, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own.
"Sealing Arts: Helix Binding is fascinating, isn't it?" Natsumi cooed menacingly to the man. He suddenly began to scream again. The mark's ember glow intensified. "Personally, it's one of my favorites for degenerates like you. How does it feel to be powerless like all those people you've forced to submit to your disgusting whims?"
The rogue shinobi was thrashing on the ground, screaming horribly. Chōjūrō grimaced but said nothing. This man didn't deserve his pity or his mercy. But that didn't stop his stomach from twisting into knots.
Finally, the thrashing stopped. The rogue shinobi panted and whimpered pitifully.
"You're lucky," Natsumi said coldly. "Unlike those people, those children you sick, demented freaks have solicited and tormented, you'll only have to suffer for as long as it takes you to answer our questions. How much agony you endure before I finish you off is up to you. Do you understand?"
The man spat blood. It splattered all over the kunoichi's face.
Natsumi didn't flinch. With a quick half Ram handseal she exerted more agony onto the man, mercilessly. She watched him with cold and indifferent eyes, the blood staining her face intensifying her expression. Whatever he was enduring caused him to scream and thrash about on the floor like a fish out of water. Soon enough tears were streaming down his face as he feebly gripped his skull.
"St- stop! Stop! I beg you!"
The kunoichi leaned down closer to his face. "I know who you are. I've seen your face in the Bingo Book. I know what crimes you've committed. So you tell me: Did you stop when those innocent villagers begged you to stop slaughtering them? Did you stop when you had them pinned down, as they wept for you to stop as you tore their clothes off to have your fun?"
"AHHHHHHHH!"
"No. No, I won't stop. Just as you didn't stop. Because those people aren't here today to make you suffer the same agony, the same fear or shame you made them suffer through. But I am. I am here. And I will see that justice is done!"
Natsumi…
"Now look me in the eyes as I ask you these questions," Natsumi demanded. "Look away for even a second and the last few pulses will feel like a massage. Where did your boss take our comrade? Where is Haruhi?"
"Th- the mines! Argghhhhh!"
"Where are these mines?"
"Underground."
"You don't say."
"No- no, don't! I only know they're underground somewhere. I've never seen them in person! I swear!"
Natsumi must have believed him, for she grunted in annoyance and continued on to the next question.
"How many bases does your organization have?"
"I- I don't know."
"Really?"
"No- no- NOOOOO!"
Chōjūrō turned away, unable to watch it any longer. But he could still hear him thrashing around. He could still hear him screaming so terribly, which inevitably became sobs of a broken man.
"Feeling more cooperative now?" Natsumi questioned coldly.
"I- I swear I don't know!" he wept.
"Really?"
"Please, I don- I don't know. Bu- but I know someone who does!"
"Oh? Please enlighten me."
"That child! He stole a map detailing our current operations and future expansion!"
"And are these mines on that map?"
"Yes!"
"You've seen it with your own eyes."
"I swear, lady. I swear it's all on there," he pleaded to be taken seriously. "That's why we were sent after the kid. We were to retrieve the map and send him to the mines with his accomplice. It was just bad luck we ran into you Mist shinobi."
"Mm. Bad luck, indeed. For you, anyway." The man let out a sharp, piercing cry. He proceeded to thrash about until, finally, his entire body went limp and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull.
"Bastard," Natsumi spat on his corpse. She rose to her feet, headed into the adjacent bathroom, switching on the faucet. When she returned her face was no longer bloody.
"Chōjūrō, let's go. We're done here."
"Ri- right."
He followed Natsumi out of the hotel, where the townsfolk were waiting in a mixture of abhorrence and horror at the screams they had heard. They gripped their weapons tightly, the men standing in front of the women protectively. Natsumi sniffed in annoyance.
"You know what I find disgusting about all of you? Your moral superiority to us Mist shinobi. Haruhi and Chōjūrō just finished taking care of your bandit problem. They aren't even old enough to have seen Blood Mist Village. Yet you spit at their feet, you think Haruhi deserves to be captured by these monsters, when all she wanted to do was help build a better future and relationship between the Mist and this Land.
"And what's funny is I remember some of you." Her searing eyes flicked over specific individuals in the crowd. "When I was just an orphan kid, you all scorned me. Ran off the dark-haired girl barely surviving, begging for a single scrap of food. You treated me like the plague, just like all the other orphan kids. And you haven't changed since then.
"You know what the real kicker is? It's taken me some time to figure out this punchline, but I finally understand. So let me tell you: Some of you have been helping this organization from its infancy. Isn't that funny?" she laughed bitterly.
There were members of the crowd who gasped in shock at the accusation. Chōjūrō was stunned to see others far less shocked and far guiltier in appearance.
"This organization was only stealing us unsightly orphans off the street first, prettying up your town while you all turned blind eyes," Natsumi continued with fire. "But now that they've grown bigger and stronger they're stealing your kids, and your wives and your brothers and sisters. Now they're not so helpful, are they?"
At the sight of averted eyes, the townsfolk began to split into smaller groups—the horrified and personally affected and the guilty and those willing to stand by them.
"You….You helped them?" a woman demanded of a man.
"How could you?"
"They've stolen our children!"
"It was for the sake of Shinjuku!"
"They were helpless children!"
"There wasn't enough food to go around!"
In the uproar, the man with the sword—who had worn a guilty expression—charged the two shinobi.
"It's because of the Mist we were forced to— Gah!"
In a single move, Chōjūrō disarmed and knocked him to the ground, roughly. He stood above the man, but did not point the weapon at him. Instead, the Swordsman tossed the blade aside. He stared down at the man with a disapproving and sad expression.
"Our history isn't perfect. But you consciously made that choice to hand orphan children over to evil men. That is your burden to bear, and now all those in this town will know the truth of the crimes you and others have committed."
He lifted his gaze to look at the crowd. "My comrade, my friend… Haruhi believed we could build a better future and mend the fractured relationship between our Village and the people of this Land. That is her dream. It is the dream of the Fifth Mizukage. And I want to help them make their dreams come true.
"So we'll stop this organization. We, the shinobi of the Mist, under the orders of the Fifth Mizukage, will rescue all those captured by these evil people. I promise."
With that, he turned away and walked off. Natsumi followed him, scoffing at the man he'd knocked down.
"You're no different than those who caused Blood Mist," she hissed. "Just more adults willing to sacrifice innocent children for no good reason."
Chōjūrō retrieved Haruhi's headband from his pocket, looking down at the black and orange striped cloth as he strode through the snow.
Haruhi… We'll find you and bring you home. I won't be late this time.
He clutched it tighter.
…Please, don't let me be late this time.