Another chapter powered by the song Sign by Flow. I want to draw attention especially to their latest version of this song, which is on their YouTube channel with the epithet "2020 World ver.". Check them out!
Warning: This chapter contains copious amounts of flashbacks and chronological disparities (which means many jumping back-and-forth between scenes). Try to enjoy them as much as possible, and let me know if I've done a good job of portraying the characters in this particular setting and story plot or not. Review, favourite, and follow as always!
This mailbag is as thin as my credit card bills. Which is... a good thing, I guess?
Lord Naruto: Well... yes, that's how it's going to roughly go in the next few chapters. Good prediction!
uboNiniM: What do you mean by "...what Shirou has done..."? I don't quite get the reference.
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
With the sound of squeaking wood as a background, the nameless redheaded boy practiced diligently, letting out his kiai every chance he had in an attempt to cover up that worrying sound. While small, his body was very toned for his age – just enough so without hampering his growth – and the practice clothes he's wearing was already soaked in sweat.
There were others around him, children of similar age, but none had the ancestry like this one. Regardless of age and appearance, they all had something in common: namelessness.
There was no need for a name, as shinobi should become whoever it was necessary at the moment, whenever the mission required it.
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
Still, they all stood at a respective distance away from the redheaded boy, practicing either in pairs or groups, since formation training was a compulsory curriculum in the Fūma Clan. As the Shodaime was a foreigner who landed on Nihon lands during the failed invasion of Mongol, surviving the slaughter and defeat in Tsushima Island, he had sook whatever power and advantage his surroundings could give him.
If he had numerical advantage, then he'd be a fool not to utilize it to its fullest. Therefore, he put real effort in drilling those who'd follow him – a few at first, and legions after his death – so they could become one. Strong. United.
Unlike his brethren who abandoned him once the tide turned the other way, and Kamikaze swept away the rest of their fleet.
Then, if he didn't have numerical advantage, what should he chase? Approaching… no, grovelling in front of the Hōjō Clan Head at the time, he had reached his peak. No amount of training, enhancing herbs, Magecraft, or external aid could evolve him further – the very reason he trounced all other contestants to enter the service of the formerly great clan, having declined when the Minamoto Clan established their shogunate.
Fortunately, it was a case of opportunism for both parties – the Hōjō Clan attained the loyal and cheap service of a talented shinobi and his budding clan, and the Fūma Clan had its future established and assured under the resurgent noble clan's protection. Yes, the latter wouldn't bear fruit until today with the Godaime and Ujiyasu as Hōjō's Princess General, but it was an important milestone entwining the fates of two very different groups of individuals.
Fūma Kōtarō had seen the writing in the wall – even in his homeland Mongolia, the Khanate would never touch these island nation, because he had seen first-hand how the Shogun herself, Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune, rode into battle to aid Tsushima's resistance… and how she defeated him in one blow, not even knowing he was there. Such was her dominance she swatted him to the side like some insect, unworthy to share the same battlefield as her.
He embraced the shame, the anger, the madness to transform himself into his current self, the 'Evil Wind'… yet he wouldn't live to see his beloved clan grow to the state he'd dreamt of.
Therefore, if he could strengthen himself no more… then surely, attempting to do so with his descendants would bear more fruit?
Contrary to popular opinion, his red hair was somewhat common in the continent's Central Plains. The rumour he had inhuman blood was a misinformation coming from one of his mistresses, of which a few among them were female local yōkais. They were basic, wild, and powerful – just what he needed to breed stronger heirs.
Thus, one of the tasks of each successive Kōtarō was set. Other than improving the Fūma Clan as a whole, every Kage was to groom their best successor irrespective of lineage or background. Create the environment where the best would shine through.
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
Additionally, to assist this grooming process far beyond his natural limit, he created the 'perfect' kunoichi who carried with her all of Fūma's techniques perfectly with the assistance of fallen sorcerer Kashin Koji. The latter had fallen out of favour with the current court after his 'affiliation' with Otakemaru was uncovered, and his reluctance to follow the human-yōkai pact sealed his fate.
"Haa… Haa… Haa…" Breathing heavily, the nameless redheaded boy wiped the sweat off his chin, taking a breather.
Instinctively, his sight travelled to his 'supervisor' sitting calmly to the side. It wasn't time to drink or eat yet, and he had no intention to ask for either of them. His body had grown strong, unlike his weak self a few years ago, and had gone past the regular limit of thirst and hunger. Still, his eyes contained a desire behind those crimson blinding bangs: for praise.
However, he checked himself after seeing Danzō's absentminded look, her eyes gazing somewhere to the sky.
Sighing, he trudged to her side, and caringly shook her frail shoulders, the incessant creaking noises from earlier intensifying with this movement. "Hahaue, wake up. I've finished with my set."
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
- Attempting to exit [Standby]… Error. Activating backup power… Success!
Those worrying messages came up more and more often recently, each time goring deeper gouges in the young boy's heart. Growing up without a parental figure – as did most children his age, such as the ones currently practising around them – Danzō had assumed a mother-like role for all of them.
Originally, she was strictly an 'instructor' for this generation – a role she'd assumed for decades before these kids were born. However, the attention-starved children, born in a relatively peaceful era when compared to the Shodaime, soon forged a bond deeper than just that. Beyond a mother, a teacher, an elder sister… a bond beyond those and everything else, especially for the redheaded boy.
"Mngh… Ah, Kōtarō-dono, good morning," Danzō kindly smiled, ruffling his thick hair as usual with great effort due to her crumbling joints.
- Pat. Pat.
He could see the fine dust-like material shedding from her internal structure with every movement, notwithstanding the fact it's already noon – a sign her mental clock had reset once again.
"Yes, good morning, Hahaue," the child smiled back, not bothering to correct her. There were far more important things than bickering over small issues… such as spending as much time as possible before she was 'decomissioned'. "I will start practicing again. Will you watch over me?"
"Of course, Kōtarō-dono. This Danzō is here to serve." Despite her repetitive words, her tone was clearly laced with human kindness the boy had never seen even in human adults. "How goes your earlier sets? Do you have some difficulties?"
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
"No, not at all." Lying through his teeth, it's more proof her sensory capabilities had already malfunctioned, because it's not difficult catching him doing so. "Also, I haven't earned that name yet, Hahaue. Please don't use it."
- Pat. Pat.
"Always the shy child. But you've deserved it, going with what your peers thought about you."
"AAAHHH! NO FAIR!"
Suddenly, a number of loud voices rushed towards their location, initiated by a random black-haired girl.
"NO PATS BEFORE EVERYTHING'S OVER! I thought we agreed on that?" That same girl scolded Danzō, cutely placing her hands on her hips. "If this guy gets a pat, then give me one too, Hahaue!"
"Me too!"
"Me three!"
Soon, the training ground was drowned by a cacophony of children voices, muting out Danzō's quite laugh and the constant creaking from earlier.
With the rain of lance-like arrows stopped, because the redheaded rider had inexplicably jumped on top of the returning arrows to reach Kagetora, the Fūma shinobis had more room to operate. Usually, this signalled the end of their target, given they had never completely failed their missions. Even if they were prevented from accomplishing their main objectives, every Kōtarō emphasized the need of 'small victories' to keep the morale high, and they always brought home results, no matter what they were.
Still, something in his mind told him he shouldn't overlook this lone kunoichi amidst their ranks.
A comedic part of him noted both he and that man had similar hair colours, and he'd like to spend some time discussing how that person grew up among the usual persecution something different received.
Did he have someone accepting his entirety as well, regardless what might befall them? For instance, some of Kōtarō insecurities came from his inhuman blood, leading him to think this Kage title of his was achieved solely because of this – purely because he directly descended from the Shodaime who handed down his name to his successors.
However, he had his 'mother'… at least before she was… 'decommissioned'.
The blade sunk in easier than he thought, and there's no fluid spurting out like when he killed others.
His approach to this kunoichi came faster than he thought, purely because of her unpredictable movement technique – the two of them called it 'Ghostlight Firefly', if he's not mistaken – accelerated her path towards his.
He assumed that technique pushed the conservation of momentum to its utmost, pairing it with insane body control to take advantage of every force the enemy and the surrounding gave her, before amplifying it with every step. Even from here, still three steps away from engagement, he could feel her still building momentum and gaining speed.
He had to make a correction. They'd meet in about one-and-a-half steps.
Other than shurikens, Fūma kunais were also comparatively oversized, especially for those who bore the name 'Kōtarō'. Their exceptional physical prowess meant long-range throwing became less effective than close-range taijutsu, and thus adapted their weapons to match. The kunai he's holding was comparable to a tantō in size, its weight and edge geometry leading it to more of a chopper and stabber than a precision projectile.
He held on to it lightly, ready to react-
- Fwip!
"Uwoh!" He hurriedly dodged when a tantō – 'Where did that come from?!' – flung by, nearly decapitating him even before he could take a stance. "Grr…!"
As he dropped himself downwards, he planted one hand to the ground and lashed out with a straight kick towards the wrist holding the blade. Oddly, it wasn't held in the palm, but jutting out from above the wrist.
As usual, his inhuman blood kicked in whenever he felt danger, and time slowed down for him. He's sure others also had this ability – if they didn't, the Fūma Clan would've cleaned out those other shinobi clans already. He suspected they also engaged in a similar procedure to 'create' better fighters; thus, there was no advantage he'd take for granted.
Calmly observe. Pay attention. Take it all in, and act.
Those were the tenets of what Danzō taught them.
'The tantō was straight and double-edged – scratch that; then, it's not really a tantō. Double-edged like the jian of Wazoku… certainly, it's easier to store and carry when compared to curved katanas or asymmetric normal tantō. The mechanism is well-hidden… Did she make use of the [Space] Element to store and summon it?'
Think. Which shinobi clan fought like this?
His kick missed when the wrist inhumanly changed direction, bending in a way it shouldn't and cleaved down from an unnatural angle. At the same time, a short blade also extended from her shoe's tip, going to scissor his imbalanced state with both attacks. Obviously, attacks with two limbs like this wouldn't have much power, but considering the closing speed she's already on from before, he's not confident his Reinforcement could safely withstand them.
He pushed off with his planted hand, forcibly increasing his rotation despite his missed kick and following through with that motion to lift himself off the ground. Spinning his body, he lashed out straight with his other foot like a drill, barely passing by the attacks… yet, once again, he missed.
'She… banged together the two attacks to initiate movement?! Crazy!'
This 'Ghostlight Firefly' was getting annoying.
Before his rotation finished, he had already completed an abbreviated set of hand seals, puffed his cheeks, and blew out concussive air bullets all around him.
It didn't matter if none of them hit. All he needed was for her movements to be restricted, betting on the fact this person shouldn't be able to step on air to dodge his next series of attacks. A pair of Fūma shurikens appeared in his hands via the painted seals on his wrists; he's confident in his improvisation, given the shuriken formation earlier was easily thwarted by this person.
He already had several theories for that, and none of them indicated she could dodge him.
The Fūma shuriken was created by his clan, yes, but its form, usage, and modifications were well-known in the industry. Perhaps their particular formation from earlier couldn't be copied and understood so easily, but it's easy to discount freak geniuses who could decipher multiple processes at once… because in the end, that was nothing more than a coordinated blade-throwing dance at its core. Defending it using thin wire strings – which this kunoichi used earlier – enabled her to have even more gap and freedom to dodge, especially now he knew of her movement techniques.
'Ghostlight Firefly' certainly had speed beyond common Reinforcement. Kōtarō wasn't sure even he could catch her in a fair sprint.
But the battlefield had never been fair. In fact, it's shinobi's job to make it unfair.
His [Wind] Element attacks didn't react as expected, though. Yes, she couldn't use compressed air as foothold, but she's more than capable of striking the supposedly-invisible bullets with the flats of her straight hidden swords – one deployed in either arm, now – and smack herself around with the recoil.
The exchange took no more than 3 seconds… Plenty of time for his men to regroup and surround her once more.
The arrows from earlier – both the ridiculously large ones and the normal-sized ones – had lost their momentum and stabbed themselves to the ground, creating a forest of shafts. Against other opponents, Kōtarō would be glad of this terrain, because leaping off perches with small surface areas were a shinobi's specialty. However, he's not too confident he could outmanoeuvre her, because the kunoichi should have similar training.
Plus, he still hadn't fully solved that 'Ghostlight Firefly' either. She could seemingly utilize any and all positive forces acting on her to increase her speed and manoeuvrability… and not with reckless abandon, either. Every change of direction and velocity was calculated and premeditated…
…as if she knew all of their moves beforehand.
His brain still hadn't come up with the answer to whose fighting style she resembled, and now another question had surfaced on top of it.
'Is there a traitor among us?'
One rain of attacks had ended, so the Fūma shinobi started another.
Kōtarō placed the question some way back his priority line. That could be investigated later quite easily – there's not a lot who knew the Fūma repertoire this extensively.
It's time to become the 'Evil Wind' and don his demonic mask.
The plains shrieked with lightning, rocks, water torrents, fireballs, and wind blades. Visually impressive… but the real attacks were soundless and formless, such as the darkness encroaching from below. In a way, the arrow shafts also acted as perfect conduits for group ganging like this, because there's just so many ninjutsu which could use both their physical shapes and elemental make-up as boost – for example, the black spears jutting out from the flechettes to deny her landing from mid-air, ready to skewer her entire body.
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
"Mother, happy birthday."
The unresponsive woman stared blankly at the roughly-sewn red scarf presented in front of her.
- Facial recognition… Failed.
"Who…"
The redheaded boy smiled bitterly, patiently holding out the present he handmade while biting off tears.
- Redoing facial recognition… Failed. Redoing facial recognition… Failed. Redoing facial recognition… Failed. Redoing facial recognition… Failed. Redoing facial recognition… Failed.
- Errors surpassing acceptable retry limit. Rebooting… Rebooting… Rebooting…
- Installing backup data… Success. Searching for unsaved data… Success. Facial recognition… Success.
"Oh, good evening, Kōtarō-dono," Danzō quietly smiled, attempting to pat his head automatically with her crumbling joints… still with a mistaken internal clock, too. "What have you here for me?"
He now proudly bore the name 'Fūma Kōtarō', and no longer bothered to correct her form of address. Sadly, the praise he had longed for never came.
"A scarf… for you," he said, barely keeping his voice from trembling. "They said… It was your birthday today?"
"Was it? The day Shodaime-sama created and breathed life into me?" She tilted her head, obviously trying to check against the calendar installed in her. "But I think it's still some ways off…"
"No, please update your system calendar. Today is █████."
"…oh, I see. Thank you, Kōtarō-dono. It seems I need this more and more often lately… Ahaha…" She weakly chuckled, but it's clear she's uncomfortable making such an easy mistake in front of her future lord. "Speaking of which… Kōtaro-dono, your figure didn't match with my memory. Did you have another growth spurt again?"
"…something like that."
'That was me two years ago she's remembering…' Hiding his thoughts well – his blinding hairstyle was done this way precisely for this purpose – he continued, "Do accept this gift. I sewed it myself, with the rest helping to find the materials."
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
"How wonderful!" She clapped her hands together-
- Kacha!
"…oh, dear."
Both of them stared at the right palm which had fallen to the floor, echoing loudly in this quiet room where Danzō sat resting on a rocking chair. A blanket covered her lower body… or what remained of it, as both her lower limbs hung unevenly in the air, not touching the floor, with ends roughly chipped and mangled beyond recognition.
Kōtarō instinctively bowed down and snatched the palm before it could bounce twice, immediately pressing it onto her empty wrist. "I'll tell someone to have him come over."
- Creak… Creak… Creak…
She shook her head, still smiling in that annoyingly peaceful way.
'WHY?! Why can she look so… content?!'
"Keep it. I don't need it anymore." She promptly used her other still-functioning hand to flip the dead palm over and pushed it into his chest. "You know full well-"
"NO, I DON'T!"
His outburst attracted some attention from the patrolling shinobis, with heads popping out of corners and corridors.
He blushed to the same colour as his hair, but his will was undeterred, shoving the fallen palm back to Danzō's lap. "You wait here! Do not move! I'll be right back!"
With that, he flickered away, the red scarf floating down the air right on top of her head.
- Energy level low. Entering sleep mode…
Giggling, she sighed, weakly falling asleep once again.
The odd sense of familiarity when he first saw the covered-up kunoichi was pushed to the side. It's urgent to finish the job now, as from the corner of his eye he observed Kagetora was being pushed back. Certainly not to plan, given her reputation and martial prowess he witnessed himself – thus the rush. 'This hasn't gone on for too long, has it? She's already cornered?'
Certainly, Kanetsugu would have his head if she heard that thought out loud.
He donned the demon mask his predecessor had left behind – said to be a relic of the Shodaime's era – covering the shock when he saw all of his shinobis' attacks were met with an equal and opposite elemental ninjutsu. Realizing what's going on, he chose to sprint forward himself into the chaos.
Generally, making hand seals wasn't enough. No matter how well-practiced and shortened one's set was, after that, there usually needed a physical movement to 'confirm' with the World the ninjutsu was to be activated. For example, his [Wind] earlier was only truly initiated when he blew the air through his cheeks, and the same wind blades were cast from his shinobis' swing. Conjuring the element separate from the limbs was the level of 'Kokyū Hohō' he saw ascetic monks perform.
…and that was primarily focused on spirituality: exorcism, purification, spirit banishment, etc. to do that with offensive ninjutsu – 'She didn't even bother to conjure a barrier!' – was truly something unique.
It supported his earlier hypothesis regarding her ability to process many parallel things at once.
She constantly formed shortened hand seals – to the point of Single-Action for some of them – and allowed Kōtarō to close in somewhat. His shinobis must've had the same thoughts, since three of them were closer to her than he was and already attempting the same thing.
There were four of them in position – he and a kunoichi taking the front and rear respectively, while the sides were taken by two male peers of his. There's no need to signal at a time like this. They'd trained and fought together long enough to understand each other's thoughts, even if the members weren't always the same.
He felt his blood boiling from his view behind the mask, allowing the item to act as a catalyst in self-hypnosis to enable him a better control over his oni heritage. As his Reinforcement was the best, he arrived half a step earlier, back into the range he exited after his disadvantage earlier. 'But let's see now…!'
Lashing out with a standard roundhouse kick, he cleaved the air in half with an application of whole-body [Wind] ninjutsu, erasing all air resistance and enhancing the efficiency of his blow. She parried it with one palm, utilizing Ghostlight Firefly to push off the momentum and lifted herself above a downwards slash from the kunoichi behind her…
…right into the airspace where two chains were already waiting.
The chain was one of the most versatile ninja tool, adept in both offense and defence. Its only issue was the skill, dexterity, and patience required to learn it… with the third one definitely not found in abundance among potential clients. [Time] was often the one thing shinobis lack the most, either in training, during missions, or in the middle of combat like this, where they managed to position themselves to surround this mysterious person's [Space].
However, two equally-long black clothes elongated from her sleeves, hardening like steel sheet whips and parried the chains hard enough to throw the users off balance. Once again, Ghostlight Firefly was in effect, and she accelerated again into a different position from the momentum of the clash.
Kōtarō was used to this ever-increasing speed, though, and slashed his tantō to where he assumed she'd be, and try to avoid tracking her with just his senses… because they'd eventually fail to catch up. Instead, just attack where the likeliest location of an evasion would be far, far in advance, and he'd at least bother her enough to slow down.
Indeed, she had to expend to fingers' worth of effort to flick his blade away, since the awkward angle killed off his power. At the same time, she kicked rearwards, forcing the other kunoichi to block with her elbow lest she wanted her stomach punctured clean though. A pained yelp told the redhead it wasn't fully successful, however. Still, the rest were focused, and as they struggled to prevent their parried chains from ripping their own shoulders off, they threw their Fūma shurikens almost point-blank.
"What?!"
Their opponent somehow got her arms inside the central ring, and redirected their flights back to their users. At the same time, two ethereal strings activated their hidden mechanisms, forcing the nearby Fūma shinobi to taste their earlier tactic of shooting off shuriken parts in all direction.
"That's… a Fūma technique…"
One male muttered, but he didn't continue once he caught eye of Kōtarō's signal.
'Let's go!'
Kōtarō didn't even need to yell that out, as the four of them leapt at the same time and activated the Fūma Clan's most prized taijutsu formation.
Immortal Chaos Brigade
~ Undying Chaotic Brigade ~
This skill should've been used with the full complement of Fūma Ninja Corps – i.e. all 200 of them – but in the chaotic battlefield, sometimes that wasn't possible. Since the start, their puny force was supposed to solely supervise Kagetora's march through Hōjō territory, making sure they kept themselves in line.
Also, wasn't that what Shadow Clones were created for? While emulating their full formation with just 4 of them was a daunting task, potentially even a fatal one, simply multiplying themselves into about half of what's necessary was very doable, given Kōtarō could produce 50 on his own.
And this was still with the support o the rest of his group, still launching ninjutsus like no tomorrow. There's no need to conserve magic energy now – if they lost, it's more likely they'd all get executed alongside Yoshimoto's and Kagetora's forces. That was the unspoken rule of this era – the winner could do whatever they wished to the loser. Of course, there were many deterrents to prevent the former from going too far, chief among which the opinion of the masses, but if information outflow could be controlled so that no one knew, mass slaughter was surprisingly common.
"TRAITOR! REVEAL YOUSELF!" A female voice howled – one of the other three shinobi who managed to reach this far. "THAT TECHNIQUE DOESN'T BELONG TO YOU!"
Kōtarō reminisced about this Fūma kunoichi's face, the one who now bore the name 'Momochi'. Admittedly, the Fūma lagged behind other major ninja clans such as the Iga and Kōga in training kunoichi, but that's solely due to chance. His mother, for instance, used to be an excellent kunoichi – or so he heard – but the areas where the Fūma recruited lacked anyone with enough talent or drive to surpass the social and gender barrier. Going out of their territory had the risk of being discovered and killed, and thus no one would risk it all just for the sake of recruitment.
She was one of the few who made it this far, and also one of the more capable shinobis in his group. He remembered how they competed for praises and headpats from their 'mother' since they were small, though she never stepped beyond that, following the line his peers adhered to in treating him as the next heir. In a way, Danzō, too, never saw him as anything more than 'Fūma Kōtarō', but her place was different than Momochi's.
She shouted… because of the [Wind] Element ninjutsu the surrounded busty kunoichi had just performed – and one Kōtarō knew all too well.
Bull Swallowing
~ Mechanical Illusionary Art ~
Different than what he remembered, this woman didn't have openings or hinges in her palms to serve as a cannon barrel, which amplified the [Wind] produced by this technique. The compression and generation were all there's to it with this ninjutsu – a basic one turned obscenely poweful solely due to Danzō's body.
And here she was, using it as naturally as extensions of her limbs. She didn't even bother with hand seals – the ball of air instantly compressed all around her, visible due to the sheer magical energy packed into them – and purely conjured them around her like miniature moons.
The four of them shifted their Immortal Chaos Brigade to avoid most of the damage, but once again, this mysterious kunoichi seemed to have their routines and reactions drilled down to memory, as the concussive projectile, much more lethal than the ones he attempted at the start of the fight, tracked where their real bodies were while taking out as many clones as collateral as possible.
It didn't matter when Momochi somersaulted several times in the air, spreading her firecracker-based ningu to attempt to consume the air bullet in the resulting flames. It didn't matter when Kōtarō fought [Wind] with [Wind], his Fūma shurikens shrieking with cutting prowess when he flung them to bisect the bullets in two. The other two suffered the same fate, scrambling backwards, sideways, or drilling underground to avoid the tracking missile.
…or that's what they wanted her to think.
Clearly, despite their collective irritation, none of them faltered from executing the trap lying within this particular version of Immortal Chaos Brigade. The possibility of this person knowing this trick was slim to none, since it was very recently created specifically to counter the situations were not all 200 of them were available.
- Great Clone Explosion!
The clones they generated earlier to make up their numbers served multiple purposes. The first and simplest was obviously distraction, since simply splitting the enemy's attention with so many identical figures, forcing them to spent fractions of a second to judge which one's which, was incredibly precious in the fast-paced shinobi combat. None of the clones were expected to provide any actual physical support, since they're usually quite a bit weaker than an opponent a shinobi felt compelled to use this technique on.
Secondly, which this formation demonstrated, was to use them as sacrificial fodders.
An improper use of the Shadow Clone Technique would result in an unidentical replica. However, this was exactly the flaw this new generation Fūma shinobi utilized. Simply by running the same set of Single-Action hand seal through a tattooed seal on their skin, they produced clones wearing different clothes and armament, and at times already with a disguise put on with additional spending of magic energy.
This time, as the technique's name suggested, they're all wearing suicide vests, rigged to explode with a far greater force than normal paper bombs. The 'clothing' these unidentical clones were conjured with also included the [Fire] Element seal – itself a powerful blast – to ignite and amplify the explosions packs after packs of paper bombs stuffed in them.
Yes, it's an incredibly inefficient way to blow up their enemies, since they wouldn't get all that spent magic energy back. However, needs must, and the worth of one's life or victory far outweighed the need of efficiency.
"SHOW YOUR FACE!"
Momochi's angry shout was the trigger to a massive explosion, to which all Fūma shinobi present had to evacuate many steps back to avoid burning themselves from the heat.
- BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!
Today, the creaking noises stopped.
Comically, it's one of those elements shinobi were ill-prepared to face against. Case in point: the Fūma occasionally 'persuaded' their prisoners to spill some information by dragging nails through smooth surfaces or compressing and tearing squishy items. It wasn't even genjutsu – even though there's a lot of schools who used [Sound] as a medium – it's purely the physical interaction between this particular frequency and the human brain.
To Kōtarō and the rest, that creaking noise was both a cherished part of their childhood as well as a source of their nightmares.
Every time they heard it, it was a confirmation their 'mother' was still alive and moving, instead of being stuck in a worrisome standby phase where they didn't know she'd be able to wake up from. Thus, every single mission, they grew anxious whether that very same noise would welcome and greet them once they returned safely.
Shinobi were taught to abandon all emotion and personal desires for the sake of the mission. However, as they gained power, the more they realized this was simply a complete public relation stunt – true power came from the heart… but in such a dangerous amount a cool head was necessary to wield it. everything was permitted… so long as one had the means to take responsibility of whatever happened, and discard the regret stemming from an impulsive heart.
Therefore, most of them who grew up without a parental figure held her sitting posture as an image to go back home to, no matter the cost.
However, today, that image would become exactly that from this point on.
Kashin Koji's design had never been recovered, even after several urgent needs to repair Danzō. In fact, the Fūma doubted there was even one in the first place. Shodaime had passed away, and that sorcerer had disappeared to gods knew where.
Watching her crumble and waste away at the sidelines, while they knew she was once the Fūma's topmost kunoichi, burnt away at their psyche.
"Is it time yet?" She weakly asked, immobile in her chair.
Her beautiful face, still unchanged in all these years of them knowing her, being under her care, cherishing their memories together, was cracked in numerous places, the most grievous and first to form was around her jawline. The black lines crept up and around her, merging with the ones coming from the joints in her torso – a dilapidated porcelain doll almost smashed into pieces.
Still, even when facing death, she smiled just like always. An ancient, motherly grin unsuited for such a young and seductive face – the one they mentally had recognized as 'mother' – to send her off to the next world.
Inwardly, the also acknowledged this, too, would send parts of them following her to another plane of existence.
There were many forbidden ninjutsu and other Thaumaturgical practices which necessitated the sacrifice of a loved ones. It didn't even have to be done by oneself – the sight of their deaths was more often than not enough of a catalyst to initiate said dangerous techniques. Of course, the Fūma had their own version, but it had been long-forgotten in an attempt to bury the clan's dark past: as an invader, killer, and harbinger of chaos among Nihon people.
Kōtarō held his oversized kunai tight, knowing his body would instinctively transform into an oni if he let his emotions loose after this.
'She asked for it. it's not my choice, nor my fault.'
He kept telling himself that even as tears and snot rolled down his face, and his hand stabbed forward into Danzō's core.
- Thud.
Kōtarō's knees hit the ground right after the dust from the blast subsided.
Ordinarily, he should be checking whether the group attack from earlier had injured Kagetora in any way. While they could always frame the redheaded archer as the culprit, it's difficult to do so if the Uesugi Princess General was alive and conscious in any way. That honest, boisterous, and insensitive female martial artist would blurt out everything she had in mind – befitting her inhuman psyche – and probably also attack him on sight.
None of those thoughts surfaced.
The multi-clone explosion had disintegrated the Uesugi arrows, leaving somewhat more space for the present Fūma shinobis to move around… and more importantly, a better line of sight to whatever's happening. Strangely, even with a technique that reckless and powerful, the oversized, lance-like arrows were merely dirtied. Not a scorch mark could be found on their surface if one looked closely.
Right now, all of them had no intention to do so.
The other thing the blast blew away… was the mysterious kunoichi's mask and parts of her body-covering clothes.
"Mother…"
That sobbing tone came from Momochi, who stood there dumbstruck.
That long, flowing ponytail. That pristine, perfectly-crafted and -proportioned face. That voluptuous figure. That gait and posture. Those golden eyes who welcomed them home after every mission…
…not.
Momochi's utterance only brought forth a cold, metallic golden gaze.
"I am no traitor."
"N-No, Mother! I-I was…"
- Schlick.
The black-haired young girl's eyes widened when she felt her stomach pierced through cleanly. She was looking over Danzō's shoulder now, with no idea how the older woman had closed the distance without her reacting at all, and their proximity at least spared Kōtarō, who was behind them, the sight of that thin jian buried as deep as it could into his kunoichi's body.
- Schilck.
"A-Ah… Argh…" Blood gurgled out of Momochi's mouth when Danzō's second blade pierced her body again, this time diagonally upwards through a certain spot at the side of her ribs. "M-Mother…"
"I am not your mother."
Momochi's body was crudely thrown to the floor… and Kōtarō was horrified he could see the falling body so clearly.
Because it meant Danzō had disappeared from his direct line of sight again.
- Slash!
"GAH!"
He instinctively ducked, feeling the bloodied blade tore a deep gash into his back, easily tearing through protective armour, his tantō's sheathe, as well as his Reinforcement. The slash clearly was meant to bifurcate him in half, and only his realization at what technique his supposedly-deceased mother was using saved him.
- Schlick.
He tried to roll away, but the combination of the sharp pain and Danzō's unbelievably-fast kick disrupted that futile effort. The tip of her boot – the one he dodged earlier as he saw it had a hidden blade in it – stabbed deep where her foot made contact, not even allowing him the chance to scream out in pain. "G-Guoh…!"
Moonflower
~ Black Arts Decapitation Technique ~
Fūma-ryū, Ōgi.
Becoming a Kage meant having access to all of the Fūma Clan's secrets, including its most gruesome and forbidden techniques. Aside from the whole 'sacrificing one's beloved' thing, these ones were sealed and taught only to a select few because their usage irreparably harmed the user's body. For example, if Kōtarō himself didn't have oni blood in him, the Fūma yōkai transformation technique would send its user into a descent to madness, not to mention irreversibly locking them into a monster's body.
They were all compiled in the book titled 'Black Arts Decapitation Technique'. Daimyos all over the place kept their gold, jewellery, painting, pottery, and other indulgences under heavy lock and key, considering them their greatest treasures. For a shinobi clan, a compilation of Ōgi like this one was their version of that, because letting it fall into the wrong hands could at best completely dismantle their clan, and at worst completely slaughter innocents unintentionally.
Moonflower – Ipomoea alba – was a morning glory which bloomed at night. While not a biologically accurate description, this irony wasn't lost to the poets of old, especially because of its rarity in Nihon severely romanticised it. Some of its figurative meaning was 'unrecruited love' and 'mortality'… which suited Danzō to a tee.
Right now, Kōtarō could care less about those textbook stuff. His body limply fell to the ground with a 'thud', with his vision showing Danzō disappearing and reappearing among the Fūma shinobis – all frozen in place after the reveal of her identity – and slaughtering them en masse. He reached out his trembling hands towards her figure in futility, and could only watch helplessly as spurts of blood, shouts of disbelief and cries of regret filled the now-quiet plains.
The flower blooming out of time and place. That was the concept of 'Moonflower' – the ability to enter the [Time] and [Space] of one's opponent… even inside their bodies. The most gruesome 'Decapitation Technique'… and also Katō Danzō's signature killing technique, with stories of its usage handed down over the generations.
The 'Blood Kite'.
He wanted to call out to her, repeatedly say, "I'm sorry!"… even though he knew he wouldn't forgive himself over what he did.
That day, he bathed his hands in the 'blood' of his mother.
Technically, it was synthetic fluids essential for transferring magic energy all around her frame, enabling her to move and perform various tasks. Still, the physical and spiritual warmth covering and weighting his hands that time held no difference between it and actual blood. Feeling her life force ebb away, spraying out into his arms and around him onto his peers' clothes… it was as real as it could get.
So what if she was the one who requested it? Did they vehemently know she's in her right mind at the time? Why hadn't they tried fixing her more rigorously, giving up just because they couldn't find her creators or design sheet?
Tonight marked the second time Kōtarō shed tears after her death… with the first being when he actually reaped her soul away from her body.
"Still awake?"
"U-Ugh…"
Blood gurgled out of his throat when he attempted to reply to Danzō, whose legs now filled his vision.
- Zuru.
She knelt down, giving him a good look at her expressionless face, which held no recognition, love, or even the barest human affection.
He had no idea what she's looking for in his face, only hoping to convey his deepest remorse onto her.
Kōtarō choked on his own blood as he saw her taking out an object from a storage seal wrapped around her wrist.
A red scarf.
She moved above him, twirling her birthday present into a taut rope, before circling Kōtarō's neck with it.
"Goodbye."
He felt the all-too-familiar fabric, no doubt still stained with his own finger's blood when he sewn it himself, squeeze and tighten around his neck. Reflexively, his oni blood kicked in, pumping red pigment all across his skin in an attempt to give him some time. Alas, his brain had short-circuited by the sight of the face which was attempting to kill him right now, and said bought time ticked away uselessly, his fighting spirit gone.
He could feel the 'thump, thump' of his overworked cranial arteries struggling for air, as his vision began to colour red from the edges. All he could muster was pathetic gurgles from his lips and scratches scratching motion against the scarf crushing his windpipe, his legs flailing like those fools he always made fun of, when their corpses twitched and twisted unexplainably after he separated their heads from their bodies.
"Just like dead frogs," he once chuckled to his team. Momochi wasn't there, or she would've dope-slapped him from the back.
And now, he had lost sight of every single member of his team, with only the face he wished to see the most every night looking down on him coldly, without a shred of emotion.
Danzō's strangling technique was hauntingly familiar, as his near-dead mind tried to make sense of something… It was the same skill she taught him all those years ago, only performed to perfection.
After all this time he honed his skills, he couldn't match up to her in her prime, it seemed.
Flashes of light illuminated the night sky behind Danzō's black hair and over her shoulder, entering his ever-darkening line of sight. A massive shining rune of three lilies and chrysanthemum – Minamoto Shogunate's iconic seal – formed complex layers and formations in the night sky.
She pulled, and he knew no more.