AN: Rewritten BLADESMITH. Re-organized the fight scenes; also added a few new sentences, but nothing groundbreaking, so there's no real reason to reread. Provided more context at the end.
Caveat: I've archived all reviews and review replies from deleted/altered chapters.
Present
Cut Him Out In Little Stars
4 Months Into the Second Shinobi World War
Orochimaru leaps backwards from the blast and lands a good distance away.
Hinome and Takenaka are fine. An unexpected explosion would not take them down. Especially since they are gifted with their eyes in a way he is not. The only thing he is bothered by is the strange fourth man. Even with this distance, nothing odd stands out about the area—
"Sorry about that, friend."
On the nearby rooftop is the slender man, Motochika Sei, watching the cloud of smoke swell.
"We're working on Chuushaki. Wasn't how it was supposed to go, but eh."
He shrugs. With that, a gentle breeze sends locks of greasy hair spilling over his eyes.
Orochimaru stares into them, body tensed, scanning for any murderous intent within the blue-green abyss. They are as relaxed as a pond's surface.
The man, having finished his own staring, closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Orochimaru assumes he's watching the sky. Why not him?
"As I said before, I'm not interested in fighting. That's too much work, you know? I mean, one of them's going to steal that Byakugan from your friend. They hardly need me, right?"
Orochimaru's gaze drifts to the smoke cloud.
"Why even stay in the Leaf? You know they're just using you. Sure, you may have won the last war, but, uh…" Motochika brings his head down, tapping his chin. "What did that cost? What did it cost the world? Are you really the good guys because you won and destroyed everything your enemies worked for?
"Don't get me wrong, we have two very different ideas about how the world should go, yeah. But, yunno…the only person who really suffers for years to come are the children. They never asked to be born, for crying out loud. Why is it that the number of graves for our shinobi...are far less than the number of graves for our children?"
Orochimaru's chest tightens.
How many months had he spent walking to his parents' graves just to stand there, aimless? What else could he do? Even if his parents busied themselves with the war and left him in the dark for all of his life, how could a child make something from themselves with no one left?
His story isn't uncommon. It hurts.
Motochika makes a crooked smile and throws his hand up in the air. "You don't care about children, do you? Sad, seeing as they depend on us, but—no, I can see your point, they're frustrating crotchgoblins. Still, I'd rather not kill you, friend."
Boom.
Like the sound of a gunshot, an explosion rings. Moments later, the sword of the young boy flies out the smoke cloud. It buries itself hilt first into the ground, explosive tags spilling out the scroll. So deliberate. As positioning itself for an attack.
He needs to warn whoever still inside.
As soon as makes the hand seal for the Body Flicker Technique, metal flies past his face. Small and quiet. Shuriken.
Motochika's hands are empty, body relaxed. "Ah ah ah. That's not the Leaf way. Ganging up on my team isn't fair. If you really think this way, I kinda have to fight to protect my beliefs."
This is something Orochimaru is equipped to handle.
Though the black, opaque smoke is a pain to breathe, Takenaka doesn't need to be able to see in order to fight.
His matured Sharingan have long since been activated. He hones into the chakra blur of the young man, moving through the darkness in silence, reaching behind him to retract dual sai weapons. Keeping his fingers in the prongs, the blades of the sai rests on his inner forearms.
In range, it's now when he jams the butt of the weapons into the boy's stomach, feeling the grunt made as he is unable to substitute in time. He goes in for another hit, but the boy's chakra shudders and rushes to his face. It forces an impromptu backflip. Moments where he stood, a rush of steaming water remains. The smoke clears. Expectedly, the two are all alone here, save for the person in the carriage who still refuses to make an appearance.
That said, the carriage's occupant is not doing anything to harm him.
"Agghh!" Stomping his foot on the ground, Chuushaki bares his shark-like teeth. "That hurts! You'll get what's coming to you, yunno!"
Takenaka rests his weight on one foot, positioning the other on his shin. With a quick spin, the points of the sai now face the Swordsman. "That's how fights work, Chuushaki. Babies can't be ninja..."
Chuushaki growls. From his rear ninja pouch, he pulls out and places two metal vambraces on his arms. Ready, he grips his sword with two hands. "Your eyes. I hate your eyes! I'm gonna kill you! I'm going to absolutely destroy you."
Takenaka smirks at that. "Usually those who are winning make threats."
The young man charges at him while yelling. It's something a Genin would do, a stupidly over-confident one at that. He waits there, patient, until the boy gets in close.
The Sharingan is already creating superimposed images using the boy's movements—largely unnecessary considering how straight-forward his slashing is. It's a bore to dodge the bulky sword. Takenaka, at one point, sidesteps a swing, and, upon the return strike, allows the disturbed air to blow his face.
Cheerful, he says, "Thanks! It was getting a little hot."
Chuushaki trembles in anger. "Stop mocking me! I will slaughter you!"
With his next strike, Takenaka sees his chakra shift. He steps back further than normal.
In the next instant, the sword explodes.
Chuushaki is not bothered by the headache-causing noise or the bright flash or the smoke. He lets the sword unravel itself to reveal the countless explosive tags attached inside.
Several have disappeared, but there must be hundreds within the scroll.
This is annoying.
Chuushaki slashes and swings without any grace or pretense, forcing Takenaka to stab the cloth and redirect the sword so that its explosion doesn't hit. Annoyed that he can't be hit, the young man yells in frustration and throws the whole weapon at him. Obviously, he sidesteps it. "That's it! I'm going all out!"
The Swordsman lunges for him.
He scans the prediction and reacts—
Chuushaki changes his mind. His muscles tense differently. The prediction is a cobbled together form. Absolute gibberish, though this tends to happen against new opponents. A largely useless prediction only becoming clearer milliseconds before the boy strikes. It's this reason Takenaka observes instead of attacking or fleeing. He'd made an X block as Chuushaki leaps. Overhead, the boy latches onto his forearms, long fingernails cutting into skin. Takenaka must balance them both or risk losing further control of the grapple.
Chuushaki takes full advantage of this. Removing a hand, he slashes at Takenaka's face. The latter debates blowing fire in such close range while dodging until he fails to react to the sudden shift in the boy's movement.
The Swordsman shoves his hand in the man's mouth and rakes his nails on the roof of his mouth.
A burst of pain and blood has Takenaka impulsively throw him off.
Airborne, a sick grin warps his young face. "Let's make a splash, Splash!"
What?
A sound from behind.
He twists to find the sword, Splash, is flinging itself at him. It's easy to avoid.
It is—before it detonates without Chuushaki's touch, accelerating it faster than Takenaka can react.
It barrels into him. The ground is not kind to his sudden, explosive landing. Blood fills his mouth. One ear is muffled. Dirt dries his tongue.
Chuushaki is laughing. "Lay there and die!"
When he props himself up, Chuushaki is descending like the rain, Splash in hand, to pulverize him.
Finally, he pulls off a substitution.
He rests against a building wall, far away. He's forced to use chakra in order to heal his mouth wound, though the cool relief makes the waste so worth it.
"There's more to him than I thought." His mouth moves decently enough. If he could heal longer, it'd be fully okay.
People like Chuushaki are dangerous. There's a limit to the Sharingan and to what he's capable of. Without a warning sign and time, his advantages are null. This is why he prefers to end fights quickly—preferably via a real nasty illusion to demoralize his enemy.
Most Mist ninja know illusions far better than Leaf ninja. Chuushaki could be the exception. He's wasting more chakra and time trying.
If Hinome were here, she could think on the fly. She makes a good Body Techniques specialist for that reason.
If Orochimaru were here, he'd be making an amazing plan.
"Look who's losing now!" Chuushaki has spotted him. He jams the top of Splash on the ground, hops on the scroll, and launches himself using the blasts.
Man and sword are coming right for him.
He's absolutely insane, is the sole coherent thought he has before lunging out the way.
Motochika slips one hand into his kimono's sleeve, from which a sword hilt emerges. He pulls the blade free for what seem like minutes. Fully exposed, the mythical blade looks as though a gale could snap it in two. If so, close range combat should destroy the sword, though there has to be more to it, if Kisame's or Zabuza's blades are anything worth comparing.
Orochimaru eyes the weapon and raises a brow.
A chuckle bursts from Motochika. "You seem afraid. Don't worry, friend. My sword is a lot like getting a shot. You won't feel a thing."
A lie. If he wants to survive, he needs more information. For that, he needs time.
Orochimaru sprints down the village rooftops. Something pulls at his tongue, morphing it, hardening it. The distance clanking of the roof tiles forces him to use more chakra to speed it up. At last, reaching down its throat, he tugs the Grass-Mowing Sword out the snake, saliva dripping off the blade in his hurry.
Armed, he faces the Swordsman.
"Oh, gotcha." There is not disgust on his face, only a wink. "Of course, someone like you wouldn't care about children. You're not a normal human. Hm. It's funny. That wasn't your choice. I'm sure being a ninja wasn't your choice either. Nobody good chooses to kill. But what do I know, friend?"
Nothing. It's his choice to be a ninja. Even if he has to hurt those who threaten his loved ones—an awful truth he has long since accepted. Perhaps he doesn't understand why his body isn't so… but that's not all being a human is in this world.
The all-cutting sword whistles in the air with his slice. He grits his teeth.
At the last second, Motochika blocks, smile split by the thin blade.
If the Grass-Mowing Sword cannot cut through this metal, this sword is worthy of being mythical. That does not mean it is without flaw.
The sword dance continues.
Motochika is the fastest man he's ever seen. He is like water, too: regaining balance when the blows of the blocks rip through his skinny body. It contorts him, threatens to break him. When Orochimaru thinks he has enough time to tear into the man's flesh, he snaps upright to block the next hit, eager.
There is no way Orochimaru will win a sword fight.
Their blades cross. Strength pushes against the other. Neither overpowers.
"You must've been a good boy growing up—working and studying," Motochika grits. There's a sudden glimmer in his once dull eyes that has Orochimaru's stomach clenching. "Shame you'll just die in war having wasted your one life. You could've been special."
The last quarter of the blade jets into the air. On its end, a thin wire is visible only due to the sunlight. It reaches its apex and begins its calm descent.
No, not for long. The sword point shoots towards the earth with unnatural speed. Within moments, the wire point has lodged itself through Orochimaru's heart. His jaw is wrenched open, seeking a breath of air to scream, and collapses into mud.
He reappears behind Motochika, both hands on the Grass-Mowing Sword to decapitate. Louder than the sword cutting through air is Motochika's leap carrying him a distance away, unhurt.
Somehow, he has to—
Between them, the sword's point rips through the roof, lightning-like. He goes to cut the wire and the all-cutting sword fails to cut through that, too. What even is this material?
The sword point coils itself around the unbreakable blade. Despite struggling, he cannot free it. He can only stick his palms onto the hilt and tug.
"Alrighty," shouts the man from behind, "enjoy the ride!"
More wire manifests from the within the blade. It allows the longsword to carry him up high into the sky—the village no bigger than his arm—and sling him back and forth and back again. The wind, the pressure, all batters his body even with the protection of chakra. Then, the sword releases its hold, his world blue as his body spins relentlessly. One of the taller buildings has a sharp edge that clips his leg and sends him crashing into another.
Within moments, the three are separated.
Byakugan activated, Hinome is able to orient herself among the chaos. Orochimaru is fleeing, the leader of the Swordsmen on his tail. Takenaka is undoubtedly using his eyes to engage the one who caused the explosion.
She sprints to an open area. There is a small forum near Kohaku Village's entrance, diamond-shaped, obviously a meeting grounds for the villagers. It's enough space for her to move unhindered.
She doesn't get any more time to search. Through her eyes, the chakra system of the man appears.
Musabori walks without hurry. His steps scuffle on the pebbles while he unsheathes his twin swords. The swords' blades are the length of three daggers. Two prongs on opposite sides jut out per sword. Should he plunge the weapons into her, it will be hard to remove them from her body. Not without significant internal damage a normal blade would fail to do.
It takes a master to use an unnatural blade. She can't afford to get careless.
"Face me, Byakugan," Musabori says, a smirk evident in his voice. "You don't want me to get impatient and hurt you. I just need your eyes—I won't even kill you."
Facing him, slipping into the stance drilled into her by her father, Hinome prepares for him to initiate. The only advantage she's got is that this Mist ninja can't use a single illusion on her. She has all the clarity in the world. Clarity to stop his blows and clarity if he slices through her.
He halts. "No sword? You must be an amateur. These mythical blades are Fangs. The deadly sharp, lightning enhanced Thunderswords. Make me mad, and your death will be painful in more ways than one." He points one sword at her. "This's my last warning, then it's over."
She'd been intimidated by far worse. Musabori needs to try better.
"I warned you. Alright…"
He sprints right for her.
She breathes in. The motion relaxes the tension in her body. Then—
Musabori's sword strikes, aiming for her neck.
It fails to connect.
Two fingertips are coated in chakra, absorbing the strength of Musabori's strike and reflecting it. The impact makes a high-pitched ring—a sound unable to be heard but felt through its vibrations—and sends the arm he struck with reeling back, mystifying him as he has no choice but to yield.
Hinome brings her hands before her body. Her cuff-frills fall down, exposing her thin wrists. Musabori stares at the expanse, unable to understand how such a power can emerge from a birdlike physique.
It's not long before a fire returns to his eyes, a sneer grows. "I get it. So, this the Gentle Fist technique I heard about. Cute. But it won't stop me. Today is the day I become the murderer of the Gentle Fist."
Shouting the last words as a rallying cry, Musabori cuts through the space withing a blink. Fangs, the Thunderswords, move together as does the tides rising and falling. One sword strike would leave a normal sword specialist disadvantaged, the the next sword protects this momentary weakness. There remains no time for Musabori block, only always attacking.
It complicates using Gentle Fist. For one, Hinome has to move faster than Musabori and prepare her chakra. The technique is only for redirection, not offense. She cannot pierce the blades. If he is the quickest person in the moment, she cannot perform the technique successfully.
As of now, the impacts are explosive bursts of strength that leaves her staggering. One hit, Hinome flows with the energy while he reels, preparing for the next hit. Near 360 vision means she doesn't have to look directly at him in order to anticipate the next strike. Backwards, sideways, face-to-face—so long as the Gentle Fist stops his strikes and keeps her alive, what is there to be concerned about?
A particularly forceful impact has her spinning fast, stopping a few paces away. In this moment, Musabori raises his arms and, blades drawn together, strikes. She raises her fingers; the hit is blocked. Though the energy redirected is so great, she stumbles back. Clumsy and gross—her father is mocking her posture yet again—and she lets out a breath to calm herself.
Musabori, though, lunges after her weakness. The distance is slashed as he aims to spear her.
She prepares to evade, easy enough—she's knows her Father wouldn't have to. It's fine, she will have survived this, so his words don't matter. With her Byakugan, she has clarity and control.
And with her Byakugan, she fails to notice how he lets go of his swords until they have crossed half the distance.
Through instincts alone she swats the weapons to the side. The momentum carrying her forward like a toddler. Right into the kick aimed for her chest, amplified by his thick shinobi boots.
Hinome sprawls onto the ground, pebbles pricking her face. Her chest throbs with the smallest breath, though she pirouettes to her feet and resumes her stance.
Musabori opens his hands. Fangs return. "Stubborn. I don't like wasting all my time with you when I could be famous by now."
Chakra pours into Fangs. Shortly, bright streaks of blueish-white lightning entangle themselves on the blades. Loud, hot, frenzied.
"Lightning for the raw cutting power?" she says, switching from a ready stance to cautious one. "Or because you lack strength?"
Musabori's nostrils flare. "I'll let you be the one to decide that, Byakugan."
It's a struggle to take a breath. Standing is the easy part; Orochimaru prevented any fatal wound.
Just his luck. Motochika's weapon is a whip-like sword. The sword cannot be broken and has, apparently, unlimited durability. It moves either using chakra or being an extension of its user. Somehow.
The sound of the roof tiles stressing under weight—clank…clank…clank—is deliberately loud.
Adding to that, Motochika's close-range defense is immaculate. His weapon extends his range for mid-range and beyond. No wonder the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist are legendary warriors capable of toppling countries. If only they would use their strength with and not against the Leaf.
The hairs on his body stand on end. An adrenaline burst gets him running.
The point of the longsword emerges from the place he once was. Having missed, it retracts. He ran out of time.
"I don't intend on hurting you. I actually don't like killing. But, if you get hurt, I can fix you up with Sewing Needle here. Guess you could say I'm a bit of a surgeon." Motochika's head appears in the hole on the roof. Sewing Needle reconnects itself. "No many how many pieces your body ends up, I'll sew you back together all nice and cute."
The sword extends from its base and shoots towards him. He only has seconds to place the Grass-Mowing sword in his mouth and Body Flicker out of harm's way. It leaves him crouched on a rooftop, eyes darting to reorient himself, searching for a safer location.
"Running's for cowards!" Behind him, Motochika is leaping to his roof, dragging an arm across his chest to whip Orochimaru. He just manages to avoid the point digging through the roof. "Didn't you want to fight? What are you fighting for, huh?"
Motochika lands on his roof. The sword's far too detached to attack in the short distance. Orochimaru throws a kunai, but he dodges, and the sword reconnects.
"Come on, man, you can't tell me there's nothing that makes you fight. Unless you're subservient to a higher cause. It can't mean much if they want you to make orphans of your foes, no?"
Grass-Mowing Sword in hand, Orochimaru sprints the small distance. The Swordsman blocks, obviously, and so he wills the sword to grow longer at the last moment, forcing Motochika to back up as the blade's point rips his collar and neck.
He can't push the blade too far. Too much chakra and concentration. Wouldn't be a problem if he'd spent more time practicing…
Motochika doesn't need to know that. In fact, the similarities of their swords wash away the placidity of his face. The chuckle that follows is unlike any other: it trembles. He tosses his hair over his shoulder. "Strong and silent, right?"
Takenaka has good long-range techniques. Orochimaru could try to trace him while leading Motochika over. There's no way Motochika would stay still enough for Hinome to dominate him by martial arts alone.
"You probably hate relying on people. I'm the same. People are weird. You don't quite get 'em. How can you really trust them with your life?"
He can hear explosions in the distance. Easy enough to follow. If the sounds are moving this much, Takenaka must be there. It's a bit of a ways to—
"Stop ignoring me."
Motochika's face is flushed.
"Bet you think you're so cool. You're going to die an emotionless stone. Can you cry, friend? Have you cast your humanity aside to be cool?"
Can he cry? Can he—there's no point thinking about trivial things. He needs to enact his plan.
"You're really pathetic if you think standing here with as much life as a corpse with rigor mortis makes you a cool guy. How they all mock you!"
The longsword extends. Motochika bolts to him. Orochimaru is on guard, not avoiding. Is this the Swordsman's weakness?
Though as soon as Motochika is in range, he vanishes.
No sound cues. No light. He looks left. Right. Up—
The point of the sword cuts into his shoulder. Then it coils itself around his chest, squeezing every drop of breath in his lungs. He struggles to escape. He can't. Not with the searing pain shooting down to his fingertips, nor his bending rib cage that hurts slightly less if he doesn't breathe.
With that, Sewing Needle keeps him trapped until the world vanishes around the edges and flings him not a moment sooner.
Orochimaru can't focus enough to stop his descent. He can only protect anything vital. Everything is blue. Then dark.
Water aims to finish the job Motochika started. His body gasps for air. The waves of pain overwhelm his flesh. He claws and twists, and then, air brushes his face. The first breath he takes is glorious. It is followed by coughing so hard, he gags, but glorious all the same.
"Not so cool, huh?"
Something grabs his ankle and raises him. Instinctively, he goes to cut the wire, but his hands are weaponless. Motochika slams him onto the river bank, further jostling his chest. Hot blood trails down his mouth, accelerated by dripping water.
There he is, on the river's surface, so small in comparison.
The Naka River is the length of 20 adults and the same color of the Swordsman's eyes. It is serene as it glitters under the sun, not like the man's shaking pupils.
Orochimaru clenches fistful of dirt and grass as he rises. Pressing the lower left of his chest reveals the shifting of bone shards. The tiny jolts of pain are annoying, but he can ignore them. For now, he does not sport any injuries that will kill him immediately. Hopefully.
He wipes the blood from his mouth.
Motochika lets out a brittle laugh. "You're no human. It's shame how much the world's let you down, that you think this—"
Boom.
Orange light dances in the sky. Moments later, an aftershock. Even the river shakes at its intensity.
That's the biggest explosion he'd seen.
There could have been hundreds of explosive tags on that sword. If the boy detonated them all…
Takenaka could be...
"Chuushaki never uses that much," Motochika says calmly, "unless he wants to kill someone."
Midair, Chuushaki detonates the sword to recalculate his direction. Takenaka dodges once more. Satisfied, he lands, no longer fussy but energized. He throws Splash yet again.
Takenaka now has to block kicks with his sai, attempt and fail to stab at the annoyance's hands before getting scratched, and how to fight a far more agile opponent. He feels less like a ninja and more like a jungle gym. Not even Hinome can move as Chuushaki does.
Then, Splash flings itself at him, boom. Predicted, he walks back and lets it by. Though, as soon as the smear of colors is gone, he has less than a second to block Chuushaki's lunge.
Boom.
Splash returns. Takenaka pierces the cloth and launches it out of sight, out of mind. As the sword pinwheels away, something tugs his shirt.
The weight confirms it: Chuushaki climbed on his back. The boy's grabbing at his wrists, forcing him to stab at the boy blindly. He feels the blade slide against something; the boy's cry confirms the direct hit.
Boom.
Turning his head, Takenaka looks for—
His eyes are covered.
The boy's disturbed laughing covers the hiss of air as the sword travels.
"You'll get hurt, too, Chuushaki!"
Chuushaki laughs harder.
Impatient, he stabs the boy's elbows—
Hot water soaks him. Of course. He can only force one eye open to see Splash less than a meter away.
He's got no choice but to block as much of the hit as possible. It still sends him flying. Somehow, he gets his bearings long enough to mitigate fall damage. There's the sting of new wounds and—boom—he springs to his feet as Chuushaki sails over a rooftop, eyes wide and searching.
Takenaka runs in the other direction—boom now louder—and Chuushaki appears, manic. He's in front of him and charging. Buildings surround him on all sides; he can't afford to damage them. Nowhere to go.
He's skidding to a halt as Chuushaki leaps, nails curled. Pushing his limits, he leans back. The Sharingan traces the boy's slow arc as he flies overhead. Chuushaki must land in order to chase after Takenaka, and he will use that to his advantage—that is until Splash rolls in front of him and detonates many tags. Boom.
He'd just barely pulls off the Body Flicker Technique.
Crouched on a far-off rooftop, his mind races.
He can't focus on two variables. Not close-range. He's got to get Splash under control. How can he control something with seemingly its own mind? Howevert, letting Chuushaki throw Splash all over the poor village is not going to keep working. He needs a closed space, something to his advantage—
He sprints the other direction and surveys the new location. It's not long before he hears Splash's detonating. It's not long before Chuushaki's shadow falls over the courtyard.
"Found you!"
Takenaka stares up at him. Then, he throws an apple.
The boy's not sure what he's playing at and dodges it. It's enough time to allow Takenaka to burst into the Residence of the Village Chief, his Sharingan burned the outside face of the home to memory so that he can navigate the unlit hallways.
Distantly, a crash. Maybe a door or wall just collapsed.
He enters a wide room full of armor decades old. The sets are beautiful, elaborate, and pristine. He obviously can't hop into one at this moment, though the option's still there.
For now, the room is half the size of his house, ten times taller than his room. This will do.
The door Takenaka just opened is blast through. Chuushaki enters, cackling. "Dead end. You still gonna keep running from me, Uchiha scum?"
How much chakra does he have to use so many explosions? "You can walk away, Chuushaki. I'm not going to kill you," he says, returning his last sai to his ninja pouch.
He stomps his foot. "You can't hurt me if you're dead! This is my life, and I won't let you have it!"
Takenaka doesn't wait for him. He throws shuriken by the handful, some that Chuushaki swats away with his sword, others embed themselves on the walls and ceiling.
Then Chuushaki leaps into the air, no longer wanting to be slowed down by deflecting the shuriken, and flings Splash yet again. Takenaka has to dodge the sword via a roll, shuriken resting between his fingers—though rather than his eyes focusing on Chuushaki's prediction, they hone into the seven hand seals. The exact technique is unknown but resemble most Water Release techniques. He prepares a nature transformation while the boy breathes in deep.
Sure enough, steaming water spews from his mouth. It already makes Takenaka sweat.
"Wind Release:"—the air is heavy around him—"Funnel Storm."
The air spins and howls. The funnel of air drills into the water; the water bends around the air, trapped. It heads directly for the boy with twice the force. What was the boy—Takenaka can just see the chakra blur relocate to a few meters away. All that happens is that the water and air collapse and cover the room in hot steam.
Boom. Boom.
He can just see a smudge of blue and a brief amber glow before he ducks out the way.
Boom.
Takenaka can feel the air of Splash as it flings past him.
Shuriken still in hand, he starts flinging them in all directions. No rhyme or reason. Throwing, throwing, throwing. His pouch is depleted of all shuriken in seconds.
Boom.
Splash narrowly misses him. Chuushaki can't be able to see—how is he so accurate? Takenaka spins on his heel, searching through the haze for a glimmer of chakra. Nothing. Nothing?
Slosh.
His hair stands on end at the unexpected noise too close—right behind him. A foot slams into his back, casting him forwards. Slosh. Boom. Takenaka turns fast, and a body collides into his own.
Chuushaki is screaming. Legs wrap around his waist, tightening, clawing. The Uchiha just barely keeps one arm away while the other tears through his at the flesh on his hand Like an unhinged animal, Chuushaki is out for blood.
Boom—there's Splash, pinwheeling to the side based on sound alone.
Takenaka is thrown to the wall, drops onto the ground. One ear rings. He sprawls to the ground in an attempt to get to his feet, noticing Chuushaki in front of him, on all fours, blood dripping from a new head wound. He lunges for the Jounin.
Despite it being hard to think, it's too easy to grab his wrists. Chuushaki tries to pull free, fails, and starts kicking Takenaka's shins, knees, thighs. At the next kick, a groan pries itself from the older's lips as his grips weakens enough for the boy to free himself. Only to tackle him to the ground.
"I'll destroy you!"
The Swordsman's eyes are bloodshot. Takenaka had manifested his sai at some point during the fall and are the only thing defending him from Chuushaki's nails. Defending isn't right. The boy ignores the cuts as he attempts to pry the weapons away. Hot blood trickles down his face.
"You can't stop me! No one can! No one will ever stop me again!"
"Stop it, Chuushaki! I'm not trying to hurt—"
Chuushaki manages to grab a fistful of hair and tugs it towards the floor. Takenaka can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his head, tries to lean back to avoid most of the pain.
"I got strong 'cause of people like you! I am strong! I'm gonna kill you! I'll kill all of you!"
There's no reasoning now. Nothing can reach him anymore.
He locks eyes with the frenzied boy and pushes an illusion through, an illusion playing off his fears that only takes a portion of chakra. It takes effect immediately. Chuushaki sputters and stares in the distance, hollering. It's enough time for Takenaka to twist out the grip and dash away, stopping at a cluster of shuriken.
"Get back here!"
In no time at all, Chuushaki has returned to reality, as much as he can, and stumbles towards Takenaka.
Takenaka kneels. His chakra pools at his fingers. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I didn't even want to fight."
"Lies! That's all you do! All you do is fight! You live to see bloodshed."
"Who? Who are you so mad at? The Leaf? The Uchiha?"
"Yes, the Uchiha! Who else? Your eyes control the Tailed Beasts, can't they? Your Madara controlled the Nine Tails! Your Madara caused the Three Tails rampage in the Mist and destroyed everything!"
Takenaka heart pounds. "No…no, he didn't. Madara did a lot of things, but not that."
"I know what I saw." Chuushaki closes one eye. "A half-blind man with spiked hair on the back of the Three Tails, armor as red as his eyes! He claimed that so long as he lives, the Three Tails will be under his control unless we follow him. He weakens us! He poisoned the Mist's strength! Humiliating!"
No.
Madara Uchiha is dead.
However, it is a closely guarded secret. Word will spread. There will be those looking for his corpse or become fearless with knowledge of his death. Even he believed the lies, hoping he could someday be the heir that brings Madara back home, now a changed, kinder man. His father revealed the truth during his Sharingan training.
"Dare not to fail me. Madara Uchiha was slain by his brother in arms due to his greed. You fall down his path, and I will slaughter you before you desecrate this clan's legacy further."
His father took him to the Valley of the End and, as soon as he had finished speaking, pushed him off the waterfall.
He remembers gazing up at his blood red eyes, body cold.
"Die a valued ally or die a traitorous stain to the Leaf. There is no other route in life set for you."
This Madara has to be fake, but…no other Uchiha deserted the Leaf. All births and deaths are accounted for. All Uchiha who awakened the Sharingan have been accounted for. No imitation of the eyes would control a Tailed Beast.
The Mist must have launched a smear campaign against the Leaf—
"You're so speechless I caught you," Chuushaki growls. "You're disgusting! I will slaughter you! Splash!"
Takenaka snaps to attention.
Boom.
Splash pinwheels towards them, above them and dangles there, like a chandelier.
Guided by the shuriken and Chakra Strings Takenaka had been leaking the entire conversation, the ninja wire has successfully tangled the sword and renders movement useless. This is the very same wire than can withstand Fire Release techniques, so he knows the wire won't fail him.
Chuushaki, realizing Splash is out of his grasp, howls. "No! You can't do this to me! You can't win! Bad can't win! Bad can't—"
"Please, Chuushaki, talk to me. Let me help you take down this—"
Takenaka stops speaking on his own volition.
Chuushaki has gone from trembling in rage and screeching to still and silent.
At length, the boy tilts his head back. A fog lies in his eyes.
"I won't leave here without you getting a taste of what I went through," Chuushaki says calmly.
His pulse skyrockets. "Wait! I don't know what you're trying to do, but it's not going to change what happened that day, Chuushaki. People live here. You can't ruin everything because you're in pain."
"Yes, I can." Slowly, he goes through hand seals as Takenaka spoke, forming the Rat, the eighth seal, by the time he speaks. Takenaka can long before predict his movements, but can do nothing to stop him. "I can hurt people because I was hurt. How else should people know what they did was wrong?"
What good is it that he can predict everything and do nothing?
No, Takenaka is being a coward, again. He can do something: kill this boy. Break the mission guidelines, kill this boy, and be done with his destruction. It's so, so easy.
I won't kill again, Takenaka tells himself.
Chuushaki concludes his sealing with Tiger. "Blastsword Technique…" The swords unravels the best it can.
The air itself has begun to swelter. Sweating, Takenaka raises his sleeve over his nose and mouth in attempt to breathe in less heavy air. "You'll get hurt, too! You're going to ruin this house!"
"I won't be hurt anymore," Chuushaki states. "Seismic Sea Wave."
Unlike its name, all that is to come is flames.
The air itself hums. Hinome blocks a blow, leaves her arm feeling somewhat numb. She is much more conservative in the amount of strikes she deflects, further giving him confidence to attack faster and faster. In moments, she is nothing more than prey staving off her end.
Musabori sidesteps backwards.
The lightning's heat increases tenfold.
He roars and drops into a crouch. With that as the only warning, he sinks the Thunderswords next to his feet.
Lightning crackles from under the dirt to the surface—something Hinome only barely anticipates. Much like a butterfly, she takes to the air while the ground that once held her is coated by lightning—vicious tendrils that crack and burn.
It is the extension of the rage deep within Musabori.
Slender fingers hook themselves onto kunai handles, casting them into an arc that ends before Musabori's feet. The papers on the pommels flutter like feathers until a stray lightning spark ignites the explosive tags.
With explosion comes the end of the lightning cage. Hinome is able to land a distance away, surveying.
The smoke fades. He's still there. An inhuman growl emerges from his lips as he rises to his feet. His jacket is burning, and he pays it no mind. All he can do is stare at Hinome, eyes the size of pinpoints, and bear his teeth.
"You keep running away and calling me weak. I'm tired of playing nice, Byakugan…"
He sheds the remains of his coat and snatches the chain off his neck, unraveling it. The ends of the chain are tied on Fangs' hilts.
Musabori is becoming deranged. Should he slip further, eliminating him will be effortless. Hinome will wait.
Let the weak burn themselves, her father told her.
Finished with the chain, Musabori yanks Fangs out the ground. Lightning ensnares on the blades once more. This time, the light casts harsh shadows, warping his face in a way that sends chills up her spine.
He dashes, roaring.
The blows cut through the distance at length but are overwhelming.
The third strike leaves her hand so numb it drops to her side.
The fourth strike, she ducks.
Before the fifth, she tears through hand seals and prepares a nature transformation. She can't defend herself, and so Musabori sends the swords spinning, letting one sword propel and lodge itself in her stomach.
Hinome's body trembles and explodes into fire, something he escapes with minor injuries.
She had reappeared behind him, a few paces away. She doesn't need hand seals to do this.
"Eight Trigrams: Sixty-Four Palms."
The lightning, the heat—nothing can shatter her focus. The first two hits stab his back; his grunt is satisfying.
"Two palms!"
His ribs break with her touch.
"Four palms!"
Musabori roars and blood falls out the corner of him mouth.
"Eight palms!"
The Sixty-Four Palms technique spikes in intensity. She knows this would happen. She's done it countless times to save her life countless more times. Why are her arms burning? Why does she move so slow?
This is not the Jounin heiress of the Hyuuga Clan.
"Six-Sixteen palms!"
Her strikes are blocking and wounding but are not fast or sharp enough.
"Enough!"
He pushes through her hands and stops her technique. He can't do that. He just—she hasn't failed this technique in decades. How did she—how did she become this—?
The man bellows, slashing wildly and frantically.
Hinome stumbles back to avoid the blade. She avoids it, but—
He swings the blade back around. She can't untangle her body quick enough to dodge.
With a flash of white, Hinome's chakra decreases in an instant. Confused, she surveys her body.
It doesn't take long. A sound like rain gives it away.
"Does it hurt?" His body sways, like wearing new clothes that don't fit quite right. "I'll make the pain go away…"
Moving away the cuff-frill, she sees a bloody stump where her hand once was.
Her Byakugan allows her to clearly see the other half discarded on the ground, mangled by Fangs' prongs.
No…no.
She's weak.
She's…she's become like Higure.
She's wasn't supposed to be Higure, she had to be better!
What good were all those sacrifices if she isn't better than him?
She promised him—
Pain erupts from her injured arm.
Something writhes under her skin.
From the bloody stump, something tears itself free.
Her vision blurs.
It does not drop to the ground but crawls up her arm and wraps around her wrist. Constricting. It bites whatever flesh remains. The blood, once a waterfall, drips as clumps and then, not at all.
What is this? What just happened? She feels nauseous but alive, hot hot hot underneath her skin.
"What is wrong with you? That's—you have a snake inside your body? Well, I'll cut every snake out your body! What can you do with one hand, Byakugan?"
Grays and reds and blues. Her heart burns. No more pain. The excruciating ache is gone.
"I don't need two hands," she yells, "to beat you!"
"Die trying!"
He attacks. She dodges, moves to elbows his neck. Not graceful, not acceptable. The painful groan he makes it worth it.
He spins on his heel with a fast array of strikes she dodges. All is a blur. Her body is not her own. She spins and spins, expelling chakra from every point in her body.
The Revolving Heaven traps Musabori. He fights the secret technique as long as he can, fearless or disturbed. It's not enough. The force expels him away, his body colliding onto the ground with a wet crack.
She's using too much chakra, but he is suffering.
"Byakugan!" Musabori yells this over and over and over.
He attacks her and she attacks him. Both pouring all their anger, pain, and selfishness into their strikes. Knocking the other down and hating how they get back up again.
It's as if they use the other as fuel.
"Eight Trigrams."
Her hand moves faster than ever before, straining her muscles to the limits.
"Two palms!"
The world smudges. She's convinced there's black snakes in her eyes, too.
"Four palms!"
Musabori cries out.
"Eight palms!"
"No!"
His body tanks her next two strikes. Fangs hiss with a new surge in electricity. She wonders if she'll lose her other hand.
No.
He's not aiming the sword at her, but himself.
Howling, he plunges a sword into his abdomen.
Hinome leaps away, horrified.
"No more of that," he yells. "You can't touch me. You can't hurt me! But I can hurt you. I am Musabori Miyamoto! I have prepared my life for battle, and I will not be bested by the likes of you, Byakugan!"
He aims the lightning-charged sword at her.
"Killing Bite!"
Electricity shoots out from it. She throws herself to the side. The lightning is raw, so unbelievably hot there's no way she could survive a hit.
All Hinome can do is run away.