Naruto: A Red Eye Hidden by Shadow

by Tatanka4Life

On the fateful night of the Uchiha Massacre, a girl of Uchiha and Nara blood is spared and left with no memories of her past. Now she must walk on the path left by her family to help her build a new future for herself. Her path will be hard, full of struggles and pain, but as long as she has her friends and family at her side she will keep forging ahead, even if it was a drag.

156. Chapter 155: Infiltration and Invasion

Chapter 155

Infiltration and Invasion: Temujin, The Man From Across the Sea

As awareness of himself flared like the sun rising beyond the horizon, scattering mornings first light upon the world, so too did the awareness of all sorts of aches and pains arise.

Grimacing, Naruto let out a grunt and squeezed his shut eyes tighter. Holy cow did his back ache. His skin felt sunburnt, lashed raw and split open, all while someone was scrubbing his skin with the tentacles of a jellyfish.

Lying down, as he presently was, couldn't be more impossible. He wanted off his back. He wanted to stuff the pain away into a box and kick it to the curb.

Better yet, he wished he could turn onto his side so it wouldn't hurt anymore.

He grunted again as he shifted beneath a thick, heavy blanket, shut eyes squeezed tight. No. Nope. He couldn't turn onto his side. That hurt just as much.

Nagging pain thrummed from his hips, trying its hardest to be heard over the aches in his back. And boy was he hearing it.

Behind his right shoulder he felt a tight pinch, like a vice grip clamping on a nerve ending, that would've woken a bear from deep hibernation. His toes and fingers sort of hurt, but at least he could wiggle them around, right?

Small victories. Now to gather his bearings.

From beyond the warmth of the blanket, and the chill biting at his face, Naruto recognized the crackle of a campfire. The flap of a tent and whisper of wind as it passed between the fabric. The smell of fresh cooked food.

Further out, the gentle and joyful strumming of a lute was joined together in its merry tempo by the graceful whistles of a bamboo flute, the rich strike of percussion, clapping, cheers, and the festive stomp of feet dancing in tune.

People were skipping. Some were running. Children squealed and a large animal expelled air roughly from its nostrils.

"You're missing the festivities."

Naruto ceased to grimace. The voice was as soothing as Medical Ninjutsu.

Eyes open, he finally saw Amari seated beside him, whitish-grey shawl covering her upper body and a fur blanket laid over her crossed legs.

An unfamiliar Crow perched itself on her right shoulder, appearing, to his drowsy eyes, to stand shorter than Osamu and Atsuko, though not by much. Maybe it hadn't reached full adulthood yet.

"Amari?"

"Shadow Clone," she informed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've gotten pummeled," he admitted, grunting. "And not in a fun, training sort of way. More like Granny Tsunade flicking me."

Honestly, a flick from Granny Tsunade was worse than being pummeled by Sakura, Mimi and Amari combined. Not that he'd ever tell them that. Amari and Sakura would probably let it slide, or even agree. But Mimi?

Naruto shuddered beneath his blankets.

Mimi would take it as a challenge, and, frankly, he was glad to have survived one of her beatings.

He didn't know if he could survive two.

"I'll be fine, though. I always recover quickly. What—geh!" He grunted as he tried to sit up. "What even happened?"

Amari shifted onto her knees, taking one of his cold hands into her own and pressing the other against his back as support. Sitting did feel a little better, at least on his back. His abdomen and chest, though, those were beginning to hurt a bit more.

Naruto shivered. His jacket, shirt, armor—everything had been removed. Everything except his boxers and the bandages doctoring his body.

Quickly, or as quickly as he could manage while flinching and grunting, he draped the blanket over his shoulders and cocooned himself inside of it.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Amari asked.

Naruto shut his eyes. "We were fighting against that knight guy with that super weird green energy stuff. Sakura got him in the air. I went after him with the Rasengan, but I hit his barrier. Or whatever that was. There was an explosion and…I remember the feeling of falling, and then…now I'm here."

He opened his eyes and looked around the tent. "Where is here, anyway?"

The tent was bigger than their usual tent, with enough room for at least twenty shinobi, if packed in together like sardines in a can.

Above, there was an opening in the tent, a crescent shape bearing similarity to the moon or a half-open eye. He felt his heart jump at the sight of the twilight sky glinting with stars beyond it.

"How long have I been out of it?" Naruto asked. "It was around mid-afternoon when I last remember."

"It's only been a handful of hours," replied Amari.

"A handful of hours?"

At least it wasn't a whole day. But still…

"What happened?" he repeated.

"When the Rasengan and that strange energy collided, all of that power was concentrated and focused at the point of impact." Amari brought her fists and knuckles together. "The two forces battled to overwhelm the other, like two bulls butting heads. Except neither gave way.

"Your powers kept charging headfirst against each other, locking horns, but all of that coalesced power—that energy—had to go somewhere. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction—that's basic physics.

"For instance, if you and I create an equally powered Rasengan and slam them against each other, and neither gives way, the force has to go somewhere. Eventually we'll simply repel each other, in the best case."

"What about the worst?"

"We'll blow our arms off," she answered plainly.

Naruto paled. And me and Sasuke were considering a test of strength between my Rasengan and his Chidori.

Now his fantasies of victory were tainted by gory scenes of missing limbs.

He could see it playing out in his head. They'd run towards each other like charging bulls, slam their jutsus against each other, and then their arms would spontaneously explode into bloody mush.

How was he supposed to hold a bowl of Ichiraku Ramen to his lips and drink down the last of the broth with one hand? Or sweep a girl off their feet without throwing them over his shoulder like a creepy kidnapper?

Would they even accept a one-armed Hokage?

"Something has to give way," Amari continued her explanation at seeing his horrified expression. "Like Zaku's arms when Shino plugged the holes."

There was a vivid image his imagination didn't need.

"In this circumstance, the Rasengan and that strange power caused the earth to tear apart as you both tried to bulldoze through each other. Then, since the two forces refused to be abated, they negated each other in a volatile explosion that sheared the cliffside off the mountain."

"Sheared…the cliffside off? Like off off?"

The corner of her lips quirked up. "Better the mountain than your arm."

He shuddered. Nope. No way were they ever going to test the Rasengan and Chidori against each other like that.

"Sasuke and I were blown away and uninjured, luckily. You, Sakura and the knight all fell into the stream below."

"Wai- wait, Sakura was caught in it, too?" He felt a flare of panic. "Is she all right? Is she here?"

Wherever here was. He still hadn't gotten that answer yet, but Sakura's safety was more important than that.

First he looked left, and saw another body lying beneath a blanket. A blond man asleep or unconscious.

It was the knight.

"Sakura is here. She's behind me," said Amari.

He snapped his head to his right before he could contemplate the knight's survival. Or the pain of the rapid movement. Through a grimace he saw Sakura beneath a blanket, eyes shut, but the blanket rose and fell with her breathing.

Beside her was another Shadow Clone, also accompanied by a Crow; she sat with her eyes shut, appearing to meditate while she waited for their teammate to come around.

"Nothing looks broken and I didn't find any gashes or bumps on her head," Amari said, looking at Sakura over her shoulder. "But, from that height, water is basically solid earth. Or a series of powerful flicks from Lady Tsunade. I don't know when she'll come around, but she will. Sakura is as tough as the rest of us."

"Yeah."

"Don't blame yourself," Amari said, now looking him in the eyes. "It was an accident. None of us knew the kind of power we were dealing with."

"I know… But it still doesn't feel good knowing I could've severely hurt all three of you. You guys are… You guys are super important to me." Naruto shook his head. "I don't ever want to hurt any of you. Even by accident."

Fingers jabbed his forehead.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you won't hurt us."

"It's not that simple, though." He clutched his hand over his stomach beneath the blanket. "If I ever lose control—"

"You won't."

"You don't understand. He's planning something, I know it." His fingers dug into his belly. "And if I don't get stronger or get control of this power like Granny Mito believed, the first person he'll kill is you. He's told me that more than once. He hates you. He hates you with everything he's got, and he's got plenty of it."

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Back when we survived against Lady Mito?"

"Yeah," Naruto nodded slightly. "It's because of him and Kasai that I sort of figured it all out. Your ancestry, I mean. Kasai's obsession with you. Your 'inheritance' or whatever he wants to call it. He had his suspicions. But Kasai's obsession confirmed it, I guess. He used to hate you just because of how warm and nice you are."

"Oh," she chuckled despite how serious this all was. "Maybe he shouldn't be so prickly and hatred-filled. I might give him a belly rub."

The growl of the Nine-Tails rumbled through his core.

"It's not a joke, Amari," Naruto felt strangely out of his element. Usually he was the goofball and Amari was the serious one, but somehow their roles had been reversed. "He wants you dead. If he ever took control of me, he'll go straight for you. He'll do everything he can to see you die, all because of something as stupid as who you're related to."

"He won't lay a paw on me."

"Amari—"

"Because you won't let him," she interrupted, voice and eyes as serious as she'd ever been. "I may not know how it feels to live with him daily or know how it feels to know he's planning to use my body to hurt people I care about, but I know you.

"I know at your weakest moment, when your body, like mine, was at its absolute limit and his chakra was unleashed, you still fought. You fought against his control with every ounce of your Will.

"And despite your weakness, he didn't break free. Despite the immense power of Will he possesses—and he does possess one—he did not break free. He did not control you. You maintained your own Will and ideals when faced with his overwhelming hatred. You remained true to yourself.

"Even when Lady Mito was pummeling you, as your chakra resonated, Naruto Uzumaki did not fade away. If anything, your battle of Wills only made you stand stronger, firmer, in who you are," Amari declared, passionate on his behalf.

Naruto could only duck his head down and tighten his jaw. His vocal cords tensed. His fingers curled tightly into the blanket.

Amari…

"At your worst, at your weakest, you stood by your ninja way. As always. At your weakest, you were still one of the strongest people I've ever known." Amari shook her head. "Don't let him plant even the smallest seed of doubt in your mind. In the battle of Wills, yours won. Don't lose sight of that. Don't lose sight of how strong you really are."

You always believe in me, don't you?

"Lady Mito entrusted her knowledge and Will to you. She opened your mind—all of our minds—to the struggles she faced in your position, and the struggles of all who are forced to bear this burden. She taught you what was necessary to succeed, in addition to the Adamantine Sealing Chains. She revealed that your mother loved you dearly. So dearly, she sacrificed her life for you, right?"

He could only nod silently. Not just her. But his dad, too. Just like Shisui and Amari's parents had sacrificed themselves for his best friend. The friend he was so happy to have in his life. So fortunate.

"That's all you need, then," Amari stated as an irrevocable fact. "You have everything you need to keep him in line. You have your passionate drive to succeed and your stubborn Will, Lady Mito's wisdom, her Will and her truest faith that you would surpass her, the love of your parents, and all of us to back you up."

Two fingers gently prodded his forehead. "Trust in yourself. Believe in yourself. Never give up or go back on your word, no matter the odds. Those are the lessons you taught me through your actions. They inspired me and others to follow in your footsteps, you know."

Through all the heat emanating beneath the blanket, and the tightness of his throat, so tight it was hard to swallow, Naruto felt his cheeks flush in overwhelming embarrassment. And pride.

It felt like forever ago since they'd had a heart to heart conversation, he'd forgotten how open and big Amari's heart could be. And how amazing and embarrassing it felt to hear even a fraction of it.

"So, don't fear him. He wants you afraid. He wants you to doubt. He wants you to second-guess yourself. That's the only way his plan can succeed. Without your doubt and fear, he can't win. So don't worry, everything is going to be okay."

"Will it? Is she still so certain? Look around you. Your Land is being invaded by a foreign continent," the Nine-Tails reminded menacingly. "Even she isn't that naïve. She sensed that power, just as I did. Were it's full potential unleashed on these Lands, nothing would be able to stop these invaders from destroying everything you hold dear. There's a reason it was Sealed away."

You know something about that weird power, Naruto realized.

All he heard was the Nine-Tails dark chuckle. Then silence.

"We…" He cleared his throat. "We have to be careful about that guy's power. He said it was sealed away for a reason."

"Sealed away?" Amari furrowed her brow. Even the Crow seemed to narrow its eyes in contemplation. "If it was Sealed away, how does that knight wield it? Unless there's another source…"

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "All of this is weird. Weirder than Granny Mito being alive. A foreign continent? Knights? You said constants and variables again, so this must have to do with something you saw in that other world. That makes this even stranger than it already is. And he's not saying anything else about that power. He was just taunting you."

"Troublesome fur ball," she muttered beneath her breath. After a brief moment of thought, she shook her head. "I'll have to dispel to pass that Intel onto the real me. At some point, anyway. There's more I need to gather here." Her eyes flicked away, to the knight. "From him. And from the tribe."

He tilted his head. "Tribe?"

By a strange stroke of luck, the nomad tribe they were meant to meet saw his, Sakura's and the knight's bodies floating down the river. Amari and the Crows arrived while they were already tending to their injuries.

Among the tribe were citizens of the torched village, Amari had learned. There were also survivors from other smaller villages who's homes had met the same fate. The festivities were, by his teammate's calculating eyes, an attempt to alleviate the looming despair.

"The Crows have been monitoring these invaders for a few days now," she explained patiently. "Trying to find weak points in their roaming tower of metal. Trying to find points of entry for thorough infiltration. Trying to assess the total number of enemies the Leaf would have to face to eliminate this threat and rescue the hostages they've taken. It's taken them longer than they'd hope. That we stumbled onto this was just a freak accident."

"Our luck strikes again, huh?" he asked, lacking the cheek he hoped for.

He couldn't shake his dark thoughts. How many more people were displaced by the strange invaders of no known allegiance? How many people had died? Invaders who burned down entire villages weren't going to be merciful jailers.

"Seems that way," she let out a half-hearted chuckle. "When Lady Tsunade finds out we ended up caught in the middle of all this, I think her head will explode."

"Heh," he exhaled a short chuckle. "Serves the Granny right for shoving us out the gate."

"I'm sure she had good reason to. Even if it has been a huge drag."

"Sure about that? You've been annoyed this whole trip."

"I just don't like being underprepared. Even for simple missions." She shrugged. "Still, no one could've predicted the ferret would run us straight into this mess."

A flicker of realization flashed in Amari's eyes. Naruto didn't know what it was, but he could almost see the puzzle pieces shifting and sliding around in her head. As suddenly as it appeared, she filed it away and looked at him with a soft expression.

"You should rest a little longer. Our luck is bound to strike again."

"What about you? What did you think of just now?" he pressed.

"I think I have a lead to follow. It may be nothing," she admitted as she stood up. "But the pieces align pretty neatly. It'd be one hell of a coincidence. I need to investigate, and I'm in the perfect place for it."

"When encountering suspicion, a shinobi prepares quickly," he repeated a lesson from Kakashi.

"Nailed it," she replied, a hint of smirk on her lips. "Hesitation always leads to disaster. And I think we've had enough of those today."

"I think we've had enough for a few years, actually."

"Can't deny that." Amari turned on her heel and headed for the tent exit. "Rest while you can, Naruto. I'll be back soon."

---

"Something has him riled up all of a sudden."

On the surface the ferret's reaction was nothing noteworthy. She'd hardly call it suspicious. Lock someone in a cramped, unlit cell without any stimulation and, after a while, they, too, would grow restless. Eventually they may even go crazy.

It all seemed harmless. Innocent. Just a mere coincidence that it happened to be agitated at that exact moment.

"No one could've predicted the ferret would run us straight into this mess."

Amari pressed her thumb to her chin.

The assessment was accurate. She couldn't think of a single scenario where Lady Tsunade had an honest shot at predicting where the ferret would end up. At least none where she didn't possess some manner of precognition.

From the moment the ferret was lost, to the nomad tribe making the request, and then finally their strange departure from the Leaf, the ferret had every opportunity to wander the world unsupervised. Anything could've happened. It could be drawn off by a new scent, or be forced to flee from a predator, or a small critter could lead it on a chase.

Their higher-ups couldn't anticipate its final location. No one would've imagined they might stumble upon a covert investigation into invading foreigners.

Why would they? Their mission, on paper, had no potential ties to invaders. This was supposed to be a simple lost pet mission. Track, locate, capture and deliver—nothing more, nothing less.

But missions, in her limited experienced, were deceiving on paper. Hell, nearly every major mission they'd undertaken had predicted a sun shower ahead, only for them to stumble into the bitterest of hailstorms. Now here they were again. Underprepared. Caught in the middle of another unknown scheme.

It felt like home.

I don't know how. I don't know why. But that ferret, this tribe, these invaders, they're all connected, Amari theorized. The ferret led us closer to the burned down village and the tribe. It grew agitated right before the knights attacked, as if it could sense them. As if it can sense that power…

Casting her gaze across the camp, Amari observed a seated middle-aged tribesman joyfully strum his lute, a woman dance and skip in a circle of children as graceful whistles emanated from her bamboo flute, and the tribespeople dance, cheer and clap in tune to the rhythmic percussion of their merry song.

Knights from another continent. A nomad tribe. A strange power the Nine-Tails recognizes. A ferret. How do all these pieces fit together?

The answers were here in this camp. All of the answers were in reach, she could feel it in her gut. But a nomadic tribe wouldn't spill secrets to an outsider, even one they were grateful to. Especially secrets involving a power the Nine-Tails claimed was Sealed away for a reason.

Amari's gaze wandered along the ribbons of smoke rising from the series of crackling campfires settled through the large caravan.

Massive, horned grey silhouettes occupied the edges of the camp—rhinos. The tribespeople's draft animals grazed, stomping now and then. Large ostriches bearing black and pink plumes slept.

The scent of fresh, boiling vegetable broths wafted across the camp. Meat skewered on a spit sizzled, nearly finished. It smelled good.

What led to the creation of this nomad tribe? How did that strange power bind them all together, here, in the present? Amari looked to history for clarity.

What led to nomadic tribes or Clans? Simply put, those who were turned into wandering nomads generally had one thing in common: They once possessed power others could not wield or understand, and so they were inevitably destroyed, subjugated, or scattered to the wind.

Her thoughts returned to Lady Mito. Specifically to the fate of the Land of Whirlpools and Hidden Eddy Village, and subsequent displacing of the Uzumaki Clan—one of many perfect examples of destruction.

From there, her mind flipped back a few pages in history to the First Hokage's capturing and sealing away of the Tailed-Beasts—the subjugation of unfathomable power personified.

So, what is the benefit of living on the move? Looking at it through the eyes of a shinobi seeking to hide their kekkei genkai or to hide from hunter-nin, the answer was academic.

Those who seek to subjugate your power or your destruction cannot find you as easily.

There was only one fatal flaw in her theory: None of these people possessed a stone like the knight.

She didn't sense a scrap of that strange power from these people. She hadn't seen it when searching with her Byakugan, either.

It could be that the power isn't something anyone is innately born with. After all, from what I can see, that stone is implanted into his body, so perhaps that is the only way to wield the power. And who knows what kind of consequences that comes with.

Maybe there weren't any other stones left. The power was sealed away, after all. Except for the one stone she'd seen, at least, which somehow landed in the hands of a foreigner.

The percussion thumped a new beat, its tempo even quicker than before. The lute joined in, gathering speed, and unfurling joyful chords upon the camp. Graceful whistles sang among the laughter and stomping feet.

Amari's eyes fell on the tribe leader—an old man of white shoulder-length hair, a beard reaching his sternum, and a bulbous red nose. He wore a red tarboosh atop his head adorned with a pink feather.

Kahiko was his name. He sat in front of a fire, sprinkling herbs into the vegetable broth he was stirring over the fire. The ferret rested in his lap. It's red eyes, she realized then, matched the knight's.

He'll have the answers I'm looking for. I don't see him answering direct questions, though. I'll have to be discreet.

Joyful, high-tempo music carried across the camp. The tribespeople danced, clapped and cheered beneath the starry sky.

Such merry festivities lowered inhibitions. It kept the atmosphere light and unguarded.

The Nara would use that to her advantage.

---

How many of these guys do they have?

Crouched inside a ventilation pipe, the Shadow Clone of Amari peered at the long hallway beyond with the Byakugan, where metal knights, empty inside despite their physique and power, patrolled.

Clink-clank-clink-clank. Their metal boots echoed with every slow, leaden step. Hunched forward, the mere act of walking looked and sounded arduous for them.

The invaders had soldiers everywhere. It wasn't just the few dozen patrolling the main entrance and working menial labor on the damaged engines; those were just the tip of the iceberg. The whole land-ship was crawling with them.

There has to be a full battalion of these guys, she thought, watching a patrol of three pass beneath her. Maybe more. These metal soldiers are…I don't know. It's like they're a mass produced army of puppets. I need to find the source. And the hostages.

Amari followed the innards of the pipe, a silent shadow deep behind enemy lines. She scanned every corner thoroughly, and committed to memory the location of every soldier she came across, every hallway and where it led, trying to create a detailed blueprint of the interior within her mind.

With Intel on their target—its layout, the hostages and the source of the soldiers—in their hands, they could properly plan an infiltration based on the resources they had available.

Head-on assault was definitely off the table. Too much risk for the hostages and their team.

Amari proceeded higher into the tower. Warm air filtered through the pipe; she could feel beads of sweat building beneath her clothes, but tried to ignore the discomfort.

At least the pipe isn't too cramped. Guess being small has some advantages, she mused, wiping the sweat from her cheek.

Heavy, metallic steps slowly passed beneath her. The soldiers remained unaware of the small, sweaty girl crawling through the pipes above.

Honestly, they didn't seem aware of anything. Like drones, almost, with a single task to follow.

She wondered if any of the foreigners were capable of sensing chakra. So far it seemed their grunts lacked the ability, but maybe they weren't gifted with any special abilities. In battle they relied on brute force and little else.

Only the knight with blond hair possessed technique, form, and that remarkable power. The grunts? They swung their weapons like kids playing with sticks. Or, perhaps, slaves sent in to play meat shields.

Maybe they rule through a caste system? Those higher up get training and power, those below serve obediently? Or are these guys a result of a puppet controlling jutsu?

Questions, questions. The invaders were shrouded in a veil of mystery. They would have to tear the veil down.

More hallways. More soldiers. Every hallway, as with every soldier, suffered from plain uniformity. Just blank walls, lights, and a whole lot of nothing. Clearly no one here knew an interior decorator.

Eventually Amari exited the ventilation system into an open, vast spherical room—a maintenance junction, at a guess. She tilted her head up, exhaling; the lukewarm air almost felt cool on her sweaty skin.

It must take a lot of people to keep this mountain of a vessel running properly. It would be a lot of mouths to feed, if their grunts had mouths to begin with.

Above, there were catwalks of brass, vacant of enemy patrols.

These people had no experience with shinobi, and it showed.

Shinobi would've seen the ventilation pipes and the maintenance catwalks as points of infiltration. We would've assigned guards or layered with it traps—probably some form of paralysis or barriers to avoid damaging our own base of operations. Too bad for them.

In a single bound she made it to the catwalk. It had to connect to the guts of the tower.

Footsteps light, she hurried along the brass walkway, thankful for the spacious environment, if not hazardous. Did no one think to install guardrails? Someone ought to write a formal complaint. She was sure it'd find its way to the person in charge…and then find itself in an incinerator.

As silent as a specter, Amari glided deeper into the soulless machine, deeper into the central core, where she came upon an enormous chamber constructed of brass, its shape a near mirror image of the human heart.

Brass pipes, thin hoses, and various malleable tubing—diameters wider than an oven and refrigerator pressed together—protruded from the structure, forming the arteries and veins of a lifeless heart.

Complex pumps folded and expanded like accordions. Valves opened. Expulsions of steam hissed out. Then the valves sealed shut. Heavy machinery rumbled and rattled, drowning out all else.

It was warmer here. Warm as the vent. For good reason.

Amari crept up to a porthole as another valve opened and vented out steam, heart imitating the pressurized force of the pumping systems against her chest.

She didn't need a porthole. The Byakugan had already penetrated the walls, granting her a clear and precise view of the interior. She could see everything.

Yet her warm, damp body moved unconsciously, drawn to the porthole by the horror show inside. Almost hopeful it was an illusion her Byakugan somehow failed to detect, despite knowing better. Almost hopeful her Sharingan's vision was somehow sharper, keener, and would collapse the illusion faster than she collapsed Kazahana Castle.

Then, once the illusion faded, the valves, the pumps, the pipes, hoses and various tubings would serve some other purpose. Some normal purpose. Like ventilation.

She peered through the porthole.

Nothing changed.

Inside the human heart-shaped structure, what could only be described as a brass tree sprouted from its center, decorated by hundreds of glass spheres fused to its metal branches, like glass ball ornaments hung on a festival tree.

Each sphere, filled entirely with water, cast a luminescent blue glow similar to deep-sea jellyfish across the room. For that reason, all of the brass machinery along the outer ring, consisting of more pumps, valves, levers, hand-cranked wheels, and dials appeared forged from a darker, matte metals.

The luminescence emanated from within the spheres, from the solid, slightly smaller orb encapsulated within. And resting on those glowing spheres were people.

Whether they were asleep, unconscious, or comatose, she couldn't tell.

What the hell is this? Amari wondered in horror. There are hundreds of people in those spheres. Children. Teenagers. Adults. Are these the hostages? How are they breathing in that water?

They were breathing. Every single one of them—prisoners, devoted followers?—were alive. Yet they showed no signs of awareness or life.

They lay utterly still on the solid spheres, crammed between them and the glass, legs and arms dangling over the objects like tired or bored children lying belly first on bouncy balls.

Power, familiar and foreign, pricked her senses. Amari's eyes flicked to the main entryway.

Through it marched two women in similar plate armor to the blond man they fought, except the more slender woman of the two donned turquoise, while her stout partner wore purple-tinted armor. Both were of pale complexion and blonde.

The stout woman stomped ahead along the inner platform, crafted of concrete, annoyance tangible in every step. Beneath each arm she carried a glass sphere already occupied by a child; the slender woman followed behind, gait long and arrogant, holding one sphere.

The children inside couldn't have seen more than ten winters. They were already out of it, but there was no water.

Chest tight, against her internal yearnings, Amari watched as they set the spheres down on the walkway, then they stomped and strutted towards the entrance.

The slender woman halted at the entryway, the stout woman descended the stairs towards a lever, kicking it to activate the mechanisms.

"Temper temper, my dear," purred the slender woman, crossing her arms.

"Oh, lay off of me, will you!" Pouting, the stout woman leaned against the lever as metal claws descended from the tree. "I can't stand looking after these little brats."

"Easy now. Once we have the Vault of Gelel, they will no longer be of any use to us."

"Yeah, whatever."

The claws, like metal hands, gripped the three orbs and lifted them higher into the tree, where they were then fused to vacant spots among the hundreds of disposable prisoners.

Once secure, water gushed into the spheres, filling them to the brim, submerging the children in the breathable liquid.

The stout woman stomped off to another mechanism along the walkway, on top of which clear and empty cylindric capsules protruded. She gripped a hand-wheel and began to crank on it.

Amari felt her heart and body jump when a nearby vent slammed open and steam hissed out.

Below, water gushed into the capsules. Once they were full the stout woman moved to a console of some kind and pulled a small lever down.

Blue luminescent light flared from the three new spheres. The bottoms of the long capsules opened, and through them three massive lumps of what appeared to be clay formed.

I see now… Amari clenched her hands into fists.

The stout woman pulled another lever. Heavy pistons thundered through the brass. Expulsions of steam whistled from a series of open valves. Suddenly, the bottom of the capsules opened again and the clay lumps were sucked down.

Leaning away from the porthole, eyes lifting to the system of tubes and pipes above, Amari saw the lumps bump and roll, bulging against the malleable tubing as they worked towards the bottom floor below her.

She heard three valves slide open, and then the three lumps of tan clay rolled out onto the floor.

When the clay began to morph and transform on their own, becoming bipedal chunks of clay first, and then forming armor, until they finally resembled the metal giants they'd fought, her chest began to ache beneath an invisible vice grip.

They're using their followers and hostages to create an army of these puppet soldiers.

Amari stepped back, into the shadows, as the two women emerged below, trailed by their flowing capes.

That's why there seems to be an infinite number of them. They can create a limitless army as long as they have people to insert into this machine.

They're forcing these people to fight and die, and fight again. They're forcing innocent people—children—to fight against their Will, to burn down villages and kill without remorse.

Will they remember everything? Can they feel the pain? Can they feel their death? Do they die when we destroy the things they control?

Had they been fighting children back there? Had they killed any?

God…

Feeling dizzy, the kunoichi lowered into a crouch and covered her mouth.

The women and their three newest pawns stalked, strutted and lumbered off. Amari didn't move for a long minute. She scarcely remembered breathing.

Finally, she rose and walked to the edge of the catwalk, dropping down to the hall below and proceeding into the chamber of prisoners.

Bathed in the luminescence, she quickly and quietly began to roam the room, investigating the machinery. It couldn't be a one-way system. If it could lock people into the enormous tree, it must have the capabilities to safely remove them, too.

I can't make heads or tails of any of this technology, the Nara realized, hurrying along the walkway to the next station. Nothing is labeled. The spheres likely have some form of opening we can utilize, or we could fall back on the try and true method of brute force, but who knows what that may do to the people inside. They obviously form some sort of mental or spiritual connection with the giants they take control of. Maybe something like a Mind Transfer Jutsu?

Except this wasn't the Mind Transfer Jutsu. This wasn't a Yamanaka Clan technique she could consult Ino or Inoichi on.

What do I do? The Nara paused, wishing to kick the console of switches she didn't understand, but worried it would alert everyone. I have to figure out how to get them out of there before we can even begin a rescue operation. What's the point of rescuing them if we permanently damage their minds or nervous systems?

What she'd give for an instructions manual. Or, even better, a large red sign that read Emergency Shut Off, with an even larger arrow pointing to a specific lever or switch.

A speaker crackled from the hallway.

"My sons and daughters," a deep, resonating voice began, "though there may be times when we face unforeseen struggles, our faith will always lead us forward. It will light the way. And when we overcome these struggles, we will then see they were apart of our path from the very beginning, placed there to strengthen our bodies and reinforce our faith.

"For the path we walk is noble. Our cause righteous. It is through our sacrifices a true utopia will finally be born."

Righteous? Amari hurried to leave the chamber. I'd be skeptical of anyone who claims righteousness. But after seeing this room and how it works, I don't need to be skeptical.

I know you're a rotten bastard.

"We will usher in an era without war, hunger, sickness, or strife. Without fear or pain," declared the voice. "Humanity will be as one, united as a species, no longer separated by kings and crowns, borders and nations. Today we stand closer to achieving this goal than ever before. Together we will heal this war-ravaged world. All I ask for is your patience and faith."

Amari froze at the entryway, eyes widening and heart skipping. Ice flowed through her veins.

"He asks for a lot."

There was no one in the hall beyond the chamber. No. The voice—that voice—came from within.

"However, building a utopia is quite the noble mission statement, wouldn't you say, Haya?"

He's here…

Exhaling softly through her nose, heart drumming a steady but harsh beat, the Uchiha glanced over her right shoulder.

Amid the brass tree and its many glass orbs, the Masked Man gazed down from a sphere halfway up the trunk containing a teenager; the luminescence beneath him cast his shadow higher into the canopy, and the ethereal glow above extended it across the floor, turning one man into two bound together by their towering shadows.

Madara Uchiha.

Her great-great grandfather, or so he claimed, was here.

He sat comfortably upon the sphere, right knee propping up his right arm, calm and composed, which was a total contrast to how her pounding heart felt.

What was he even doing here? Had he been shadowing her every move since leaving the Leaf? Was he here to capture her?

No, the Nara fought against shaking her head. If he's been shadowing me, then he'd know I'm just a Shadow Clone. And if he hasn't followed me, the real Madara's Sharingan would be able to see the difference between the real me and a Shadow Clone. Which means he's here because he knows I'm the Shadow Clone.

A cunning move. He managed to approach, jar of honey in hand, without forcing a conflict with the Crows or Miss Anbu. Possibly without them sensing his presence.

Now they were finally alone together. No one to interrupt his honeyed words, no one to sweep in and pull her away. Nor would anyone come—she was just a Shadow Clone, after all.

It was just the Masked Man and her.

Madara and Haya.

Their red eyes, the colors distorted to appear ominous violet, glowed amid the shadows of the lifeless, yet life-powered, brass heart.

"It is a noble mission statement. But what that man says, whoever he is, and what he does are leagues apart," she replied firmly. "All I need to do is look at the villages he burned down, and the children he's forced to play the role of disposable pawns, to see the kind of man he really is."

"And what sort of man do you take him for, Haya?" the Masked Man asked, his curiosity genuine.

"On the surface, he presents himself as a charismatic leader—a man of peace. But he twists his words and mingles them with noble ideals, that way he can hide his true intentions behind pretty words and self-proclaimed righteousness. Who doesn't want a utopia, after all

"But beneath the surface, behind those pretty words, is a rotten core. I see this room, and I feel his hunger for power and control."

He enchanted masses of people. His speeches on faith and noble ideals put a spell on them, and now they slept soundly in their cages, unaware of his true intentions, or how quickly he'd dispose of them as soon as their usefulness ran out.

In the warm air of the brass heart, Amari cast her eyes about the glowing orbs, and felt a terrible discomfort bundle together in her gut.

This was the future he had in mind for regular people, huh? Put them to sleep, shove them into spheres, and have them serve as loyal puppets for the rest of their lives.

"He'd rather see us all pacified, stripped clean of our free will, our individuality, rendered dull and dumb to the world around us," she said, watching how the bubbles rose from the mouths and noses of the people encapsulated within.

"He'd rather turn us into drones—soulless slaves—he can command to fulfill his Will. No matter how morally repugnant his commands are. That's the sort of man I take him for. Their leader—this man—is not out to change the world. He's just trying to change who sits upon its throne, and to his mind that throne is fit for one person—him."

"You certainly have keen instincts."

"Maybe," she deflected, turning to face the Masked Man. "But anyone who claims righteousness is automatically suspicious to me. People are all flawed. Life itself is a balance of light and darkness. Yin and yang. You cannot have life without death, you cannot know love without pain, you cannot burn bright without casting a shadow."

"Or, to put it another way, in order for someone to win, someone else has to lose."

"I'm not so sure about that," she refuted pensively. "I mean, looking at the world now, you're not wrong in saying that. There are winners and losers."

"Yet you're hesitant to accept this truth. Why is that?"

"Well, from my perspective it's more of a… How to say it? It's more of a…social cannibalism dictated by those in power. It's like… Hmm."

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, gathering her thoughts. The Masked Man didn't press for an immediate answer. He was patient.

What a strange turn of events. She hadn't infiltrated the land-ship expecting a complex discussion of the world in its current state, but here they were, in the middle of hostile territory in front of a silent, captive audience. Emphasis on captive.

I can't give him purely idealistic arguments.

He'd exploit the gaps of logic idealism alone created and claim immaturity, while pouring his honey into her ears. His goal, she reminded herself, was to twist her perspective to match his cynical view of the world.

Amari wouldn't let him.

"It's…"

She paused before she could fully begin, chewed on her lip and shifted her head a little.

"It's like we're all fighting over a bowl of ice cream," Amari finally began.

"Ice cream?" The Masked Man tilted his head, a sign of amusement.

"Its a weird example, I know. But if you follow along, I promise it'll make sense."

"As you wish. So, we're fighting to claim a bowl of ice cream."

"Right. The bowl was advertised to us as a once-in-a-lifetime decadent flavor, but there is only enough for one person. Drawn by the limited nature of it, like a limited resource, we all dove in and started fighting to claim it, determined to taste this once-in-a-lifetime flavor.

"Meanwhile, as we fight and kill each other over it, those in power have frozen vaults filled with the same flavor of ice cream," she made an absent gesture towards a large, invisible vault door.

"Ah, I see now," he dipped his head slightly. "So they've hidden their abundance from us normal folk."

"Exactly," she nodded. "The flavor wasn't as limited as we thought. In fact, it can even be replicated; the recipe is intact. But they don't tell us. If they did, we'd realize they're the ones dividing us. They're the one's who keep us warring for no real reason. And if we realized that, then we'd take their power away. What then would give them an edge over normal people?"

"Nothing at all, I'm afraid. They'd be 'pathetically' ordinary were it not for titles and fortunate births."

"And that's why they hoard the vaults. And the recipe. Then, in order to maintain their so-called 'balance of power,' they tell us this single bowl they've been so gracious to share with us is all there is. And as they eat their bowls, watching us fight, they add sprinkles by claiming whoever eats from the bowl will have an edge over the others.

"That rallies us to fight harder. No one wants to lose, no one wants to feel like they're at a disadvantage, so we fight to be 'winners' as you say. We sabotage each other for it. Even if it's only for pathetic spoonful of an abundant flavor we're tricked to believe is limited. We'll kick down at those just like us to have any measly advantage we can. Even if its imaginary."

She'd come upon the revelation after speaking to Kari.

"I've seen many corners of this world," Kari had begun, bound inside Miss Anbu's Paralysis Jutsu. "Know what I learned? There's always a system to keep certain people in certain positions of wealth and status. The Land of Water, where I was born, had a blatant caste system. It tells you where you stand and how high you can climb.

"But the rest of the world isn't free. No. You're all bound in chains." Kari stared right at her. "Even you, who seeks to change the world. Like a moth tangled in a spider's web, you're caught in their system, and they'll take your dreams, your hopes, and your future and eat them whole if they're given the chance."

"I want to find a way to break that cycle."

"Then you need to understand there's a system that dictates who rises and who languishes. The rules are not always explicitly stated. You won't find many who will admit there's a caste system at work, but it's there. Yeah. It's there, all right.

"That's how they divvy up power. How they keep peasants like me from stinking up their ballrooms. How they keep us fighting pointless battles over things that don't matter. They need us distracted, fighting for a minor advantage over other poor folk, that way we don't see them swimming in their vaults of gold. There's plenty to go around. Plenty to sustain all of us. But power is a meaningless currency if there's no one to rule over."

Power. It always came back to power. It was both the means to achieve an end, and the end people sought to achieve.

It was both the bowl of ice cream they used to keep poor people fighting each other, and the bowl they savored once they reached their thrones.

On the grand world stage, smaller Nations and Clans languished while the Great Nations and their Clans prospered. The smaller Nations loss was the Great Nations gain. But that was a product of the current system, not the nature and fabric of the world.

"Fighting over a metaphorical bowl of ice cream is one way they keep people in a cyclical conflict, while men like him never suffer or sacrifice anything," Amari said as a vent opened and steam vented out somewhere above. "A true utopia would be built on self-sacrifice. Each of us sacrificing a little for the whole's greater good. But his vision of utopia…"

She scanned the brass tree and its glowing orbs, and felt her lip curl.

"This isn't a utopia. These 'sacrifices' aren't sacrifices at all. These people—these children—are just pawns. Tools to be used, broken and then disposed of. I can't think of a world farther from utopia than that."

"While I do agree these people aren't truly 'noble sacrifices' as he would claim, now I find myself curious if you believe the end justifies the means."

"The means matter," she answered, checking her surroundings through the Byakugan.

No patrols had returned. Yet.

"Do they?" the Masked Man pressed. "Let's say this man was successful in claiming the power he seeks. Let's say he brought forth the utopia he speaks of—a world without war, starvation, strife or disease. A world where everyone is a winner. While tragic he would craft the stairs to utopia with the corpses of these people," he said, gesturing with his left hand to the hundreds of orbs veiling them in a blue hue, "he would invariably save more lives than have ever existed. True?"

"No," she answered resolutely.

"Hmm. Now that's a curious answer. Tell me, why do you disagree?"

"Because the entire thought experiment is flawed," she replied, slowly swiping her hand through the air, as if physically brushing aside his argument.

"Oh? How so?"

"First, it assumes he would actually use his new power to help others, when you and I both agree he has no intention of that. Second, it assumes that nobody will fight for control of it. Let's put aside our ideals and our goals a moment. Let's say he claims the power. Then what? Peace will suddenly be achieved? We'll come together, hold hands, and sing away our suffering?"

The Masked Man snorted. "Now that would be a twist."

"It's almost funny, isn't it? It sounds ridiculous. But that's essentially what he's promising. His 'vision' for utopia is completely unrealistic," she shook her head. "Even if he were truly righteous, some new, mystical power wouldn't bring peace to our world. We wouldn't wake up tomorrow and find the world cured of hatred. We wouldn't suddenly lay down our arms, demilitarize, and start new lives. It's a wonderful dream, but that's all it is—a dream. Our world doesn't work like that."

"Very true," the Masked Man dipped his chin in a small nod. "The Great Nations will never settle for a foreigner wielding such an immense power—and the Leaf's no exception to that."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I can imagine how far the Foundation and Elders would go to claim that power for the 'good of the Leaf' or some other patriotic phrase. Look at what people are willing to do to attain our Sharingan."

"You don't get it, do you? The only reason I haven't taken your head for insulting Lord Raikage is because your body is more useful intact and alive. For now."

Despite the warmth of the chamber, Amari felt a piercing chill in her bones.

"Be happy, your children will know a good life. They will be strong warriors of the Cloud. As for you, your power must be controlled. Tamed by your betters."

Tamed. Like an animal. They didn't even see her as human. They only saw the Sharingan, and the potential of unborn Uchiha children to strengthen their Village.

That was their end, and using her body as a tool was the means they planned to use to accomplish it.

So, no. She couldn't stand by the end justifying the means. She couldn't force anyone else to feel that gut-wrenching dehumanization the Cloud shinobi made her feel.

"Our Sharingan," she said, "is a meager power compared to something this wannabe tyrant believes will bring about a utopia. Yet people covet it obsessively. I can imagine what they did to women during the Warring States. And I know they inevitably tried to wipe us out to tame it. Like we were animals instead of human beings, capable of love—wanting love and peace instead of war.

"For a hypothetical power as immense as the one we're considering, a power with the ability to change the very world itself, it'd spark a World War. A war that would stretch beyond our continent. Every Nation, every person—every soul and creature on this planet would be drawn into it.

"Everyone would be fighting to claim it themselves for any number of reasons. Because nobody will trust the other to have righteous intentions. Because they want to rule the world. Because they want to hoard the resources."

She looked around at the orbs, and again felt an awful, cold feeling in her belly gazing upon the still bodies of children, teenagers, and adults sleeping in their cramped spheres. Unaware the two Uchiha were even there.

How did it come to this? How did they end up here? Were they forced against their Will? Or were they desperate enough to submit themselves to it?

This bronze chamber, this pale imitation of a human heart and life, this prison of souls, was it their last refuge from poverty and war?

"It's not going to end here, if he succeeds," she said, feeling something like a premonition resonate within her. "The lives lost wouldn't just be these people or the towns he's torched. It wouldn't just be our lives or our Nations. It will be a conflict that spans the world. Entire countries would be razed by its end. So much suffering and death would come, and this," she gestured to the tree, "is all that would be awaiting those he spared. There's no noble sacrifices here. Just pawns in his game of war."

"Mm. Your foresight is keener than I expected," the Masked Man nodded in approval. "You can see his 'simple answer' to utopia is anything but."

"There are no simple answers. Not for something like a utopia."

"Indeed."

"I truly believe the means to accomplish a goal matter. For more than moral reasons. Assuming he was successful in his goal, and he wrote history to suit his tale of so-called righteousness, the truth would come to light eventually. It always does. Someone in the future will one day learn how he built their 'll learn of its lies, the bloodshed and all else he wrought in his quest to sit on the world's throne."

"What if the truth is buried? Those who rewrite history can erase all that which paints them in less than heroic imagery. You could even say the History of the Shinobi World is not history at all," he suggested, making an absent gesture with his hands. "It is more accurate to call it the Mythology of the Shinobi World. For each Nation has its own myths, legends, villains and heroes."

"No truth stays buried forever," she repeated. "Somewhere between the pages of our mythology the truth can be found. It's in footnotes thought to be erased. It's in unpublished journals hidden beneath floorboards. It's in burned pages, narrowly salvaged from burned libraries. The truth always survives, somehow.

"Look at our Clan and it's history. Tobirama and the Foundation tried to bury their sins—and bury us. Yet here we are, willing to fight to change the world their lies and pointless murders uphold."

She sensed the slightest of smiles behind his flame-pattern mask.

"It's actually worse for a truth like that to be buried. Because when it's uncovered, the person who finds it will gain tremendous power. That person, no matter how weak or frail they are, will possess the power to destroy the utopia and return us to conflict.

"That's why the means matter. Because some people, no matter how peaceful a lie is, will refuse to live in an illusion."

"Mm. Destroying a utopia over a lie. Yes, that does sound like something humans would do," the Masked Man ruminated.

"Besides, a utopia built on lies and subjugation doesn't sound any different than the Village System we currently inhabit," she added, shrugging. "It's just a repeat of the Uchiha and Senju quarrel. Same story, different faces."

"I cannot deny that. I wonder, then, is a utopia truly possible? The Nations are devoted only to their own self-interests. The Stone seeks to reignite a war—unprovoked. Now a new player has inserted themself onto the chessboard of the shinobi world, seeking a power they believe can bring forth a utopia, but will likely bring only destruction to this world.

"Does a utopia have any hope of existing in a twisted world like ours?"

"I think it does," she replied honestly. "But it won't be easy, and, unfortunately, I don't see us building it without war or bloodshed. In order to break the cycle, and change the current systems, we'll have to upset the status quo. Those it benefits will fight back."

"Hmm. Are they to be necessary sacrifices for the greater good?"

Amari scowled. "I don't see people that way. I don't see them as things I can sacrifice in the name of a righteous goal. I don't see myself as righteous, anyway. My hands are bloody," she said, raising her hands to look at them. "They'll get bloodier with every year that passes. That's what shinobi life entails. It is a life of conflict and bloodshed. And one day, when I'm strong enough, these hands of mine will be stained with the blood of those who stole everything from me."

Again she sensed a hint of satisfaction from the Masked Man.

He sought to twist her. But his game worked both ways.

She could play at this high-stakes table of half-truths and lies, too. And if he could twist her, then maybe she could untwist him.

First, though, she needed him to believe he was successfully twisting her. By luring him in, playing her role, he would begin to trust his words and actions were altering her perspective, tightening the leash he hoped to bind her with.

I can't go all-in at once. It's more like a marathon than a sprint. I have to put chips in little by little for it to feel natural.

A vent slammed open, steam hissed out. Amari tried not to visibly jump.

No patrols yet. She had to get moving, and soon.

"Despite all this conflict, though, I know people can understand each other," she said passionately. "That's why I'm going to keep reaching out to everyone I can. I'm going to forge new bonds and shatter this archaic cycle. That's what I've decided to do. My hand will be outstretched to anyone it can reach."

"Many will reject it," the Masked Man pointed out. "They'll seek ways to undermine or destroy you. The Foundation and its leader in particular will refuse to allow your vision of peace to exist. Nor will they ever allow the Uchiha Clan to be reborn."

"I know." She raised her left hand to eye level, analyzing the scars peeking out. "I say a lot that I have to burn brighter to reach everyone lost in darkness. However, fire can do more than illuminate." She clutched her hand into a fist. "It can burn them all away, too."

"That it can, Haya. That it can." He sounded utterly pleased with her response.

Little by little, she thought.

"Anyway, what are you doing here, Grandfather?"

The question itself didn't give him pause. Calling him 'Grandfather' did.

"I caught wind of rumors regarding this roaming tower," replied the Masked Man. He turned his head to observe the orbs and the people sleeping inside. "I never anticipated technology like this. They've caused such pointless devastation. It seems they've even begun capturing the survivors to increase their military strength."

He lowered his gaze to her again. "Although, I must say I'm actually surprised you're here, Haya. Has the Leaf sent you to destroy these invaders?"

"No," she answered honestly. "I was supposed to deliver a ferret to the village the invaders burned down. Ended up stumbling on all of this by chance and…well, you know me," she shrugged. "I can't help but involve myself when people need help."

"Neither could I, at your age."

She offered a light smile. "Suppose it's hereditary, then." Then she half-turned towards the exit, still looking at the Masked Man. "Sorry I have to cut this short. There's more I'd like to ask, but I need to locate the other hostages. Assuming they aren't all in here already," she added beneath her breath.

"They aren't," he informed. "This floor is merely where they process their spheres into this machine. Those still free are six floors up. You'll find them in a room meant for reverence and prayer."

"Six floors up," she nodded. "Got it."

"I should warn you, that is where these foreigners begin brainwashing their captives. Don't be surprised if you find some who have already begun to believe in his cause."

"Brainwashing. How righteous," she drawled.

"Hmph," the Masked Man snorted. "How righteous, indeed."

"If that's the case, I don't have time to lose. Later, Grandfather," she said before hurrying out.

"Good luck, Haya."

I'm definitely going to need it, she thought, bounding up to the catwalks and vanishing into the shadows. Now that you're lurking around.

What a pain.

---

So, they didn't send her here intentionally. Now that's interesting.

The Masked Man lingered inside the chamber of hostages and devoted followers, seated on the sphere as he considered all he learned.

To send Haya this far from the Leaf, knowing I exist, as well as Orochimaru's interest in her… Something must've spooked the Fifth Hokage.

He could imagine what it was. The Foundation, the Elders, or both had finally taken an interest in Haya. And what better way to avoid confrontation than sending Haya out of the Village. On a pointless mission to recover a ferret, of all things.

They were misusing her talents. As he predicted. The more this occurred, the more frustrated Haya would grow, leading her farther from her idealistic hope to reach out to everyone, and closer to the more realistic approach.

Burning them all away, in her own words.

He wouldn't need to rush his plans, the Masked Man judged. Nor would it be necessary to forcefully coerce Haya to his side; although it would take time, she would end up fighting beside him naturally.

The dominos were already in place. In their ignorance these invaders accidentally tipped the first over for him.

Now all he had to do was watch them fall.

It was better this way, he decided. Haya needed more power, more experience in the hell of the shinobi world, and the war would give her both.

"My hand will be outstretched to anyone I can reach."

Once she was stronger, once her eyes were truly opened by war, then she would join him. She would finally see the world for what it truly was, and be willing to make the necessary sacrifices to change their twisted world.

"I can't help but involve myself when people need help."

The Masked Man hummed.

I was the same way at her age. The parallels are almost startling.

Her soft smile came to mind.

"Suppose it's hereditary, then."

A strange discomfort cramped in his chest. In that place left barren by the hell he'd seen.

Haya… You remind me so much of her. It makes me wonder, if our fates would've been different, would you be…

He silenced the thought. The strange discomfort cramped tighter in his chest. Yet there was something else.

Something like relief.

---

The clatter of a drawer thrown aside and the shrill shattering of porcelain plates sent his heart climbing into his throat.

Inside the shelled ruins of his own home, hidden behind a broken shelving unit leaning at an acute angle against the wall, Temujin, but a small boy, sat upon the debris and carnage of broken wood, dishes, and once pleasant dreams, now twisted into a horrifying nightmare.

Trails of crimson ran through the debris like mountain rivers. But he could not scream. He could not breathe. He could only hug his trembling arms around his quaking legs, trying not to shiver. Trying not to make any sudden movements.

Something else clattered against the floor. More of his parents precious belongings thrown and discarded without sentimentality.

Just trash. More rubbish, he heard one of the intruders claim.

Temujin grit his teeth in fear more than anger. He ducked his head down and shut his eyes, wishing, hoping, pleading and praying for the intruders to leave.

He didn't want to die. Please don't let him die.

The two intruders finally found what they were searching for. He did not know what it was. He didn't even bother to peek. He just prayed harder. Fiercer. Begging for safety.

Porcelain grated beneath a boot and the floor. Temujin felt his heart seize.

The steps were approaching.

Closer and closer.

Closer and closer.

One purposeful step at a time.

He felt his body quaking harsher. He felt sweat beginning to drip down his face, and the breaths he tried so hard to silence grew sharper, coming quicker and with less oxygen.

No. No, no, no, no, please. Don't let them find me. Don't let them. Please!

The intruder was in arms distance of the shelving unit. Temujin couldn't control the harsh tremors seizing his body.

Glass shattered. The intruder paused, then turned around.

Temujin never sighed in relief. He sat there, quaking in fear, crying for almost an hour before he finally snuck out from his hiding place, passing over the corpses of his parents as he scrambled out a shelled-out wall and dashed to his friend's house.

He hoped he wouldn't be the only survivor.

---

Blackness surrounded him. A darkness like the sea, which he sank deeper and deeper into.

Deeper and deeper into isolation.

His hair and clothes undulated in the dark sea. His tears, escaping through shut eyes, floated higher, farther away from him, wet stars glistening and glinting in the darkness.

Then, through it all, a light broke through the darkness. He couldn't help but squint, the light was so bright. But then he understood why. The face he saw in it, his green eyes and familiar monocle, and his kind smile.

"Come, my boy," he called to him, reaching a hand out to him. A hand that was so large compared to his tiny, boyish hands.

Temujin reached a hand up, and his large hand gently grabbed ahold of it, pulling him from the darkness.

"Master Haido…"

---

Temujin's eyes creaked open to dim, but warm light. A tent blocked the sky, but the bitter chill on his face, and the candlelight glowing, flickering, against his shelter told him night had fallen.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to wake up."

The casual, almost bored drawl instantly woke him up. Startled him, even.

Red eyes flicking to his right side, he glared at the source, who was seated crossed-legged beside him. It was that girl. The one who's illusion forced him to speak Master Haido's name. A crow was perched on her shoulder.

"Before you try something stupid—"

Temujin sprang up. Or rather, he tried to. White-hot aches blurred his vision, shooting through his sword arm and into his back. He crashed onto his shoulder, sweating, groaning and breathing heavily.

"Yeah. That's pretty much what'll happen," the girl drawled, looking down at his crumpled, heaving form with an unimpressed expression.

"Don't be troublesome and lie still. A nomad tribe pulled you from the river. We're guests. They've been generous enough to use their supplies to tend to your injuries, and the injuries of two of my teammates caught in the explosion. As long as we're traveling in their company, our quarrel is over. Understand?"

Grunting, he adjusted to lay flat on his back once more. He understood. He owed a debt to the nomad tribe for saving his life—a debt he would have to repay. Though that didn't make him an ally to the natives of the continent, they at least appeared to have a sense of honor. A respectable trait, truly.

Something moved beneath the blanket drawn over his bandaged body. Looking down, he saw a small lump crawling its way towards the side.

A small, furry head poked out. The red eyes of a ferret scanned left, then right, before sheltering beneath the blanket again. The lump moved to his feet, curled up and did not move again.

"Nerugui has hardly left your side. Seems he's taken a shining to you."

He couldn't imagine why. He'd never seen the creature before, but it was clearly a pet of some kind. Either the girl's or the nomad tribe's, though the latter seemed more likely. The girl already had a bird for a pet.

"So, what brings you to our continent?" the girl queried.

He said nothing.

"What's your name?"

He did not answer.

"I know you understand me. I know you can speak our language."

Temujin shut his eyes.

"Sheesh. Aren't you talkative." He could sense her eyes rolling. "Will you at least explain why you attacked my team and torched that village? No? Good talk, then."

He heard the girl rise. "Whether you tell me or not, I'll figure out what you and your people are really planning. Because 'utopia' doesn't seem to be in its forecast. Or maybe our definitions of the word simply differ. Who can say."

Temujin suppressed an annoyed grunt. He wasn't in the mood to argue with or convince the native girl otherwise. He needed to recover. He needed to return to Master Haido with his scouting report. He didn't want to leave him waiting too long.

Focusing inward, Temujin drew upon the Stone of Gelel to hasten his recovery, but found it to be a slow effort. Healing had never been his strength. Normally, in the few instances he was injured, he relied on the natural healing the stone granted him.

When the effort strained him too much, Temujin relaxed himself and simply lay there. He wouldn't be able to don his armor or fight, but he would be able to sit up and walk, when the need arrived.

It wasn't much later that the granddaughter of the tribe's elder—Emina—entered the tent to change his bandages. She was a comely woman with long black hair and big, sincere brown eyes, attired in a pink winter hat and a short-sleeved purple dress, beneath which she wore a thermal white long-sleeve and pants.

She was surprised when he sat up without aid, but even that mild movement coaxed a mild grimace out of the knight.

How severe were his injuries? He'd never been left in such infirmity before.

In his seated position, Temujin could see more of the spacious tent and the camp beyond its open flap.

Who he assumed to be the elder, judging by his long beard and wrinkled features, sat by a fire, smoking from a churchwarden pipe. A fellow tribesmen strummed a calm lullaby on his lute, joined in song by the tranquil whispers of a woman's bamboo flute.

Smoke rose from the dying flames around the camp. Rhinos lay in the grass, sleeping. Among the ostriches he spotted children fast asleep, warmed by feathers and blankets.

It was all very peaceful. You couldn't even tell any wars had ravaged the world—here or across the sea. It was almost like a utopia of its own.

Temujin knew better. He'd seen the destruction of war. He'd seen its price.

For all the peace here on this cold, winter night, the world was still at war. For all the peaceful children sleeping here tonight, there were hundreds—thousands—who had lost everything like he had. Who were afraid, homeless and starving.

I will see it done, he vowed as Emina unwrapped the bandages. Once Master Haido possesses the full power of Gelel, he will end all of the pointless suffering. He will create a utopia absent of war and hunger and fear.

Then these children could truly sleep soundly at night, never fearing war or hunger or disease. Then this peace would be widespread, reaching every soul across the world. That's what Master Haido could create. They just needed to find the vault.

"Already healed up, Naruto?"

He drew his eyes to the girl again. She was crouching beside that boy—the one who negated his Rising Thunder with a swirling blue orb. Naruto was his name, he supposed.

"Yeah," answered Naruto, unwrapping his own bandages. "Basically good as new. A bit sore here and there, but that's nothing I can't handle."

"Uh-huh. So this won't hurt."

She slapped her palm on his back. Naruto went stiff as stale bread. The white-hot pain he felt glistened in his eyes. His lips parted to scream, but her hand pressed over his mouth, muffling his cry of agony before it belted out of him.

"I may not be a medic-nin, but I'm not an idiot, you know," she chastised lightly. "Mr. Kahiko, your patient is ready for you."

"Oh ho ho!" chuckled the elder as he approached. He carried a small jar of what was doubtlessly a medicinal ointment. "That's certainly one way to check for injuries."

"Sometimes you have to discipline your subordinates."

By the smirk on her face, the girl was teasing Naruto. By his muffled screams he had plenty to say about her idea of discipline and the title of subordinate.

"It's no worse than some of the stupid things he's done. Like stabbing himself to remove poison."

"Look who's talking!" Naruto tried to scream.

Or that was what Temujin assumed he said. It was difficult to make it out.

He recovers nearly as quickly as I do, he noted.

In addition to the ability to multiply himself, which the blue-haired girl could perform as well, he possessed that powerful orb and the ability to manipulate wind. She possessed the ability to manipulate fire and cast illusions, like Kamira. But unlike his fellow knight, she did not use the power of a Stone of Gelel.

So, what was the source of their power? What else could it do?

The native girl's eyes had changed, too, since their battle. Crimson had become onyx, piercing lavender softened, and the grotesque veins bulging along her temple and cheek receded.

Drawing his eyes farther across the tent, he noticed a duplicate of the native girl kneeling beside the pink-haired one who knocked him into the air. She was bandaged like him and the boy; she had managed to sit up, but was slouched forward in tangible pain.

Yet he also noticed a soothing green hue emanating from her palm, resting over her abdomen. Was she healing herself? Was that another power these natives wielded?

The duplicate had a hand on her shoulder, and it appeared a green hue of a slightly darker shade was being drawn from it.

Was the duplicate helping? A transfer of their power source, perhaps?

They wield an incredible variety of power, he thought. If I could convince them to help us, they could use their power for the greater good of everyone. They could help us build a utopia.

As Emina finished unwrapping the bandages around his chest, the elder peered over his shoulder at Temujin.

Thoughts elsewhere, he didn't see Kahiko narrow his eyes at the sigil seemingly branded on his chest, or how the original girl followed his gaze there, finding another piece of the puzzle.

He was focused on figuring out how to convince the natives to aid their noble quest.

And hoping there wouldn't be many more sacrifices along the way.

---

When the memories of the land-ship's interior finally came to Amari, she shut her eyes and placed a hand over her mouth. Osamu, perched on her shoulder, was the first to notice.

"Lady Haya, what have you seen?"

Beneath the canopy of the trees, the leaves once marigold, now appearing bathed in black oil beneath the night sky, they concealed themselves.

Sasuke sat at the junction where the branch and trunk met, arms crossed; his eyes opened at the sound of Osamu's voice. Miss Anbu kneeled on a branch above, ready to pounce like a prowling panther on any intruder.

Slowly, Amari lowered herself into a crouch, processing every detail, every part of the ship, every thought and emotion felt by her Shadow Clone. The worst wasn't the Masked Man's sudden appearance, but the room he appeared in itself.

The brass tree and the spheres, and all those poor people—those children—forced to fight as soldiers.

Soldiers they had fought and destroyed the bodies of.

Do they feel the fear? Do they feel any pain?

She inhaled a deep breath. Then exhaled it.

There wasn't time to question it. In order to save them, they had to act. These tumultuous emotions could wait.

"I found the hostages," she began after another deep—deeper—breath. "I've also created Flying Raijin Seals in safe points of entry for quick access."

"We can swipe the hostages out without them ever knowing we were there," Sasuke said, nodding in approval.

Amari shook her head. "I wish you were right. But…"

Miss Anbu dropped down beside her. "Haya," she placed a gentle hand on her back. "Please, we need you to tell us everything you saw. Be precise."

Exhaling a final deep breath, Amari described what she had seen. Precisely.

From the patrols to the creation of the soldiers and the children in the spheres, from the Masked Man to the prayer room where the hostages waited in confinement for further attempts at brainwashing—she explained everything.

She wasn't surprised by their startled reactions to the Masked Man's presence. To Amari, though, his being there meant little when compared to the hostages.

He hadn't shown up for her specifically. Not tonight, at least. Chance was what had brought them together. Chance and a yearning to learn more about the invaders.

"He was surprised to see me," Amari explained. "What he wants from these invaders, or if he wants anything at all, I don't know. But he doesn't seem interested in involving himself."

She shrugged. "If he did, he could slip in and kill their leader and leave without a trace. Shell of his former self or not. If he wanted to stop me, he wouldn't have bothered to tell me where the hostages were. And if he wanted to capture us, he wouldn't have wasted time talking to a Shadow Clone. He would've come straight to us."

"We cannot lower our guard," Miss Anbu said. "His intentions for the invaders are unknown, but we know his intentions for you two. This complicates the situation."

"It does. But there is a simple solution," Osamu spoke up. "Should there come a time for us to separate, which there is sure to be, we can split into two teams. You," he gestured to the Anbu kunoichi, "will stay by Sasuke's side, while I remain at Lady Haya's. This grants both squads sensory perception beyond what the Sharingan alone is capable of, as well as the means to defend our charges from the Masked Man, should he decide to make a move."

"Mm. That will work," Miss Anbu agreed. "However, there is no simple solution for rescuing the hostages."

"True," Osamu replied. "Even with the Flying Raijin it will take time to rescue those yet to be brainwashed. The addition of those already locked into their strange technology poses several logistical issues."

"Rescuing all the hostages with just the four of us, silently, is impossible," Sasuke deduced. "They'll figure out someone is inside if they find their prayer room empty, meaning security will grow tighter. Normally, that would be an issue, but the Flying Raijin can get us in and out regardless of their security measures."

Amari nodded, following her clan-brother's train of thought. "The real problem starts once we begin unplugging their hostages from their machine. Those puppets they control will start collapsing. It'll draw them to the chamber. They'll lock it down and send their soldiers to defend it, risking collateral damage."

"And if we try a distraction, like using Shadow Clone's to attack, it won't matter how many we take down," Sasuke continued. "They can keep pumping out new soldiers as long as those people are plugged into their machine."

"Sabotaging that machinery should be a primary objective of ours," Osamu concurred. "However, you two have forgotten the most basic logistical issue at hand. One that stops us from rescuing anyone at all, presently."

"What do you mean?" Amari asked, looking at the Crow.

"Where will we bring them?" Osamu posed the question. "Their homes have been destroyed. We are amidst the wilderness, and though we are prepared to survive the night, we lack the supplies necessary to provide for all those we aim to rescue."

"Oh…"

That was a problem she hadn't begun to consider. All of their homes were destroyed. The closest village was a burned out ruin.

Where on earth did they intend to stash their rescued hostages to survive a bitter winter's night?

"He's right," Miss Anbu nodded once. "Before we can begin considering sabotage or rescue, we need to secure a temporary shelter for these people. You were not assigned to a search-and-rescue operation or a refugee aid mission. For that reason, our equipment and supplies are ill-prepared for what we intend to do."

"Hm," Sasuke grunted. "But we do intend to rescue them."

"Indeed," Osamu said. "Our first course of action is to request aid from the Hokage. I can send an agent to Lady Atsuko to inform her of our plight. Meanwhile, as we wait, there are two scouting operations we must undertake. One team will locate a shelter for those we plan to rescue. The second team, with Lady Haya's Flying Raijin, will continue monitoring our enemy from the inside."

"I need to see the interior of the land-ship," Miss Anbu stated. "It will help me better prepare the four of us for this rescue operation. I will bring Sasuke so he can familiarize himself with our objectives."

"Then I will take Lady Haya to scout the terrain; her Byakugan will be invaluable at this hour."

"Of course."

They were adapting quickly to the situation. Amari did her best to absorb all the information, wisdom and experience the two elite commanders were revealing to them.

"I'll create a Flying Raijin marker out here," Amari said, creating another Shadow Clone. "My Shadow Clone will take you two inside."

"Good. We'll go now," Miss Anbu said.

"This mission keeps getting more interesting," Sasuke commented as he rose.

"Be careful. Both of you," Amari said.

"Same goes for you two," replied Sasuke, dipping his head once to her and Osamu.

"Don't lower your guard, Haya," Miss Anbu stressed.

"I won't. I promise."

It took a moment, but the Shadow Clone and the pair vanished right before her eyes in a violet flicker.

After creating another Flying Raijin marker, Amari and Osamu assimilated into the shadows of the night, guided by her eyes in search for shelter.

The clock was ticking.

---

Review Response to camobear: Glad you loved the last chapter and the Masked Man's show of disrespect! Hope you enjoyed this newest update as well.

Anyway, thank you for the review!

Review Response to Guest: No worries. Hope your new job is going well.

Happy you found the last few chapters interesting and that you're excited for my twist on the Stone of Gelel movie. Yep, the Masked Man has actually graced us with his presence once more for a bit of a philosophical discussion. Hope you enjoyed it.

Anyway, thank you for the review!