Chapter 24 | On the Battlefield II
Madara and Takuei overlooked the savage battlefield. Bodies were littered across the wide field, the blood dry on them, the skin eaten from their faces by the black birds flying overhead and despite their presence, the war raged on over them. Their rotting forms were used as stepping stones until the limbs fell away from them to become one with the earth beneath them. The dead were not buried by their comrades, they were pulled under a thin layer of dirt cast on them by the onslaught of attacks exchanged by enemies and for a moment, Madara imagined that being the worst of deaths.
He wondered if the fighting had escalated to the point that they no longer could spare a moment to bury their dead or had they simply not cared from the start.
Motou Enki and Mikami Seiko joined them in full armor with a familiar face coming up behind them in a stride. Her vibrant red hair sat in a high ponytail that slithered like the serpent at her back. Her eyes were almond shaped and the color of brass and her figure clothed in a red kimono top belted by a black sash bearing the white outline of the sunburst complete with dark trousers was strong but curved.
"This is Motou Ayuka," Enki introduced, "She is the first commander in this humble army of mine. Ayuka, you know these shinobi, yes?"
"Uchiha Madara, Ito Takuei, Uchiha Kyouya, Ito Fumio, and Ito Mako," she said pointedly going down the line to everyone in his group. She inclined her head. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, now, if you'll excuse me."
She gestured to a younger girl with black hair forward and the girl held out the small glass jars she struggled to hold. One by one, Ayuka starting with Madara forced him back a step to pack dirt into one jar and she did the same to the rest until she had gathered dirt from under everyone's feet. She excused herself, beckoning her two similarly clothed attendants to follow. The dark haired girl that provided the jars grimaced when her companion, a freckled girl carrying a gigantic scroll on her back, stumbled. The three disappeared and nothing more was said in regards to Ayuka or her companions or their strange behavior, though that seemed to be considered normal among them.
Enki and Seiko dove straight into strategies and explained the territories split between him and his brother. He revealed secrets of the Sone clan and admitted that Jikai's, his brother, army consisted of more shinobi than his own, many of them skilled Suiton users, which might him and Kyouya at a slight disadvantage. Madara decided to place the Ito at the forefront of the strategy he helped devise for Enki, who provided his remaining shinobi for him to lead through the fray. He warned them to steered clear of those in moss green robes, a symbol of the Southern Temple's priests that would be their biggest adversary, and deep violet ornamental gowns, the priestess of the same temple and wielders of the darkest arts.
"It will do you well to watch your step," Seiko advised. "The lands are perilous from decades of kinjutsu usage. Think of crossing through the battlefield as though you were walking on poisonous water. You don't want to fall in if you want to keep your life."
Madara stared beyond the hillside to a sea of dark earth where the clash of weapons was loudest and the swell of different chakra roared to life in the form of ninjutsu that tore the battlefield asunder. The only thought in his mind was jumping straight in to challenge the Motou on the enemy's side. He wanted to see their kinjutsu.
Enki stepped forward momentarily, pointing to a castle tower on the opposite side where he suspected was where the island ended. "My brother defends his castle. He will not leave," he explained. "That is your goal."
"Kyouya," he said, eyeing the sensory shinobi fleetingly, "we are going."
He jumped straight down, discarding the plan, gathering chakra at his feet to land. He heard Seiko curse and Takuei call to him, his voice edged with anger. He hit the ground safely, Sharingan activated, and felt a boiling heat radiating from beneath his feet that ebbed away at his chakra like a leech. Soon as Kyouya landed, he bolted straight into the battle ahead warning the shinobi at his heels to keep moving. If one stayed in a single place for too long, the earth underneath their feet would suck away their chakra. Madara thought to use that to his advantage as he came across the largest field of battle where the smell of blood and rotten flesh was the strongest.
Madara became an immediate target for Jikai's shinobi. He predicted their actions, anticipated their ninjutsu, and saw through the genjutsu used to fool many of Enki's warriors. Although weapons, small and as tall as he were hurled at him, and stone walls were raised against him, he swept through their first line of defense without so much as a scratch on him.
Takuei caught up to him with Fumio struggling to keep up and Mako rushing headfirst into the next line of assault with Kyouya joining her. The taller male planted his hand on his shoulder and smirked. "You leave this horde to us and take the Motou shinobi ahead," he said, unraveling the fine wire he kept wrapped about his wrists and passing chakra to it that made it spark with electricity. "Lay waste on that castle, boy."
Madara grinned, allowing Takuei the time to create an opening for him and Enki's shinobi to follow. With a snap of his lightning imbued wire, Takuei made his presence known and his name rang in fearful octaves that mingled in the air with Madara's own name.
Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. He was known even here.
Fumio and Mako used a combined wind technique that hurled dozens of shinobi off the slippery earth, Kyouya slashed his opponents down with a kunai, and Takuei rendered any Doton users useless with a snap of his whip. Once the inner area was cleared Madara shot forward with two dozen shinobi and another two dozen priests and priestess under his command. He split everyone into groups, sent the priests forward to accompany him with five shinobi towards the castle and left the remaining shinobi and priestess to deal with attacks sent in his direction.
The enemy quickly made note of their objective and attempted to strengthen their next line of defense halfway to his destination. They sent many violet clothed woman to the forefront, each rearing to commit to one of many dangerous kinjutsu in their arsenal and he watched the priestess' on Enki's side counter each by forcefully sealing their ability to cast other such techniques, leaving them defenseless and easy prey for the shinobi behind him. He learned how to spot kinjutsu at its early stages, each begun with a peculiar hand gesture he thought nonexistent until a shinobi explained that it is a special sign that protects the user from being dealt harsh repercussions from the forbidden techniques. Now, he wanted to try countering it, though he had been warned against doing so earlier on.
Enki had assured him that if he had wanted to see it for himself or learn it or defend himself from it, there would be a time for it. That time had been scheduled for after he killed Jikai, he'd be formally welcomed in the Sun Country, he and all his clansmen and allies would be equally received. It all rode on his killing one man and he had been killing men all his life. Home had been that house in the countryside with his grandmother and Izuna and Mio and it had been away from it, on the battlefield where he had lived watching men rise and fall and blood flow into the earth—that had been home too. He had seen terrible things, endured the worst of them, and he had survived them.
This pathetic war seemed to be about two brothers' inability to kill each other despite its conclusion being two decades overdue. It felt too easily resolved for something to have required the extreme of kinjutsu users, though as the southern castle came into view, he slowly realized that both sides had grown so frustrated and exhausted it had started to show in their lackadaisical fighting styles. He welcomed the cluster of enemies that put some effort into their attacks and gladly defeated them, but he had grown bored long before reaching the castle.
Kyouya and Takuei had caught up to him; neither sported any wounds only singed clothing from the splash of rotting earth. He ordered them to accompany him into the castle. He hoped that whatever men awaited them there would be worth the trouble and it seemed as though they also looked forward to the same.
"Perhaps worthy men await us there," commented Takuei, his eyes skimming the high walls of the southern castle. The wire he carried wrapped around his hands sat colored and dripping red.
Kyouya exchanged his kunai for a sword that had cut down several opponents.
Madara said nothing, he pushed forward as a new wave of shinobi came rushing towards them. Shouting coded maneuvers at one another, they surrounded him and attacked at once. Kunai and shuriken followed him wherever he turned. Streams of scalding water pursued him like a curse and when he raised a wall to protect himself, others came and they fell prey to his Sharingan. All turned against one another, butchering their own comrades while he slipped away disguised as a priest he remembered killing earlier.
The high castle walls loomed over him and within it he sensed great power. The adrenaline came back.
Southern Castle
She had arrived a silent shadow dressed in pale robes stitched in black flower prints resembling the sunburst that had once represented a united clan. She had settled into the darkness with a welcomed smile on her ageless face. Oh how beautiful she is, he had thought upon seeing her pad across the room and he had thought it a thousand times in his lifetime. He had thought of it as he remembered this war against his brother, the selfish Enki that had chased his lovely Miwa until he had manipulated her to him. This dreadful battle had started on that day and he had grown wary since—wary of fighting and of mourning and of shame. For it had been shame that forced his hand, humiliation that his brother had enamored his Miwa, and dishonor that his Miwa had abandoned him to chase Enki. He had lived every day in torment, every year worse as he had watched his son, Heita, grow day by day resembling him less and his wife more. He had been a terrible man to Heita.
He had been waiting for her arrival to herald the end of war and she had haunted his room with her silence, carrying the Kuronuma artifact at her back and a jar of blackened earth in her hands.
"…And he will come on the new moon and herald the end of this war," she had begun, her opening words too soft for ears. She had found a seat on the floor far enough from his futon to unfurl the Fate Sphere as strands of muted red hair had tumbled down her shoulders. She had discarded the contents of her jar and he had watched with his own eyes as the paper come alive, taking the pile of earth and narrowing it into a straight line that had pointed at him. Below it, bits of stone and dirt had mapped out the story of his life. They had looked like the roots of a tree and the woman had read them in earnest. "Do you wish to know?"
"When did you arrive?" he had asked, heart accelerated. His palms had been soaked by the fright of her presence because the beauty had masked ancient secrets and death. She had arrived several times before to many people calling death and death had come for them, taken them. "When did you come from the Water Country?"
She had smiled, her full red lips curved sensuously as though she had been staring at a lover. "I will come when my family needs me," she had answered, though they were distantly related. "So do you wish to know what you may look forward to?"
He had steeled himself, green eyes peering down at the answer below. A single line had meant one direction and that direction had the potential to branch out into several others, so he had told himself not to overreact.
"Only one pathway exists for you, Jikai," she had started, bright eyes watching, "and it is to your death."
Motou Jikai replayed the memory for the umpteenth time. Behind him, through the open window, he heard the clash between his men and his brother's—the never-ending conflict going on strong. He had not been right since the day that woman had slid into his bedroom to reveal he had come upon his final pathway.
It had been two weeks since that conversation had occurred and since then, he had increased the amount of shinobi guarding his bedroom and the castle tower where he spent most of his day. He had wanted to ask about what might remain of his castle, of Kazushige, his right hand man, of Heita, and the people that had supported and fought for him for the past twenty years when he had come to one grim realization. Like a wraith it had haunted him for the past two weeks and it had been the only thought in his mind since then.
He did not want to die. He waged this war knowing that either himself or Enki would die and no matter how many years they prolonged the conclusion, it would end the same. He had asked himself many times during those twenty years—will it be Jikai or Enki? Who will carry the Motou clan?
He had grown up without fear for death. It had seemed as though he had come to some form of understanding in association with the subject. He would die when the time came and would accept it. That seemed to have been the deal he had made with life as would any shinobi would have. Battlefields were everywhere and people died. He would fight and he would die. Eventually.
Dying had seemed so far away. Truthfully, he had never thought of it before—not once in his life, but the idea had been there and he had known long ago that he would die.
However, two weeks changed everything and every thought in his mind revolved around death. What would occur? How it might happen? No—no, that's all wrong. He knew how it would happen and by who's hand.
"He will steal into your tower with eyes glowing red and a sword in his hand—Kazushige's blade if you can recall it," the woman had detailed in a dreamy voice. "There is power in those eyes of his and if you cannot bring your hands together, then you will lay down your life to him. Bequeath him with a last request and he will honor it."
An explosion sounded close, rattling the high tower where he stood. Kazushige belted out his orders, for defenses to be fortified at the base of the castle and all remaining shinobi rushed to the site of the explosion. He did not dare peek out the window in fear of the red eyes meant to send him to the afterlife and that passing thought made him laugh.
He feared.
I fear a child. It is a child I fear.
He laughed. Dust spiraled from the ceiling and the stench of death slowly gravitated towards him. It gathered around him like a miasma that wrapped itself about to wring his neck and he was overcome with mirth.
"He is no child," she had chastised when he had barked out a laugh. It had been so ridiculous then. "At fifteen many have been men as young as twelve. So you must not hide your fear with mirth. You are being pathetic, Jikai."
"Silence!" he had shouted, daring to touch her scroll and toss it. The dirt scattered and his final pathway gone, as if disappearing. "Be gone, witch!"
And she had gone, but the blackened earth remained destroying his hopes of that meeting having been a dream. He had servants clean it, but the imprint had remained to haunt him.
The shouts of wounded men echoed in the darkness and a great fire erupted from his courtyard. He ran a trembling hand across his bearded jaw and turned slowly to the sight of destruction. The flames devoured everything in their way, eating away at wood and growing brighter until a wall of water halted its trajectory to his tower. For a moment, the idea of it hitting its intended target brought forth hope now denied. Had it occurred, his pathway had changed, but it would not have been his doing. It would have been his killer's.
Jikai turned ready to take his sword and join his comrades, but his eyes cut through the darkness and bright red greeted him. A Sharingan. A cursed red evil stood in the shadows in red armor with a long sword, the blade reflected the chaos behind him and at the base of the finely crafted metal was the Sone clan's insignia, a budding sprout. It belonged to Kazushige and he feared the blood on the boy as there were no visible cuts on him.
He attempted to move, to reach for his own sword—to prove that old bitch wrong. He would not die today and he did not fear death. How tempting the words sounded in his mind, but his body neither moved and his mouth did not speak. He only stared at the reaper and stood reminded of his final conversation with the hag. It played in his head endlessly until every spoken word overlapped to the point he could no longer make sense of anything but the noise and those eyes.
He had seen that blood red a thousand times before in his youth, but it had never paralyzed him. The hag had been right; there was power in his eyes, such as the world had never seen before.
The boy stepped forward, his armor clinking lightly even with the noise outside. He had not yet lived half of his years, yet he would be his end. It made perfect sense no doubt, for the new generation to kill the old.
Beads of sweat formed and slithered down his face and the steel sat pointed to his neck. He had no intention of drawing out his torture and as the end came rushing forward, he forced words to leave his lips.
"You have chosen the wrong brother to kill," he said, sharpness cutting into the skin of his neck, bringing feeling to his hands as the Uchiha paused. "Kill Enki." He caught the sword in his hands and stilled the Uchiha's grip when he attempted to finish his job. "Kill him before he kills you."
The Uchiha boy that spelled his doom did not play a role in it. He held Kazushige's prized blade in his hands when Jikai took matters into his own hands and cut down and deep across his neck to feel the warm blood creep down from the wound. He decided to die that night parting with words of wisdom and dropped to his knees as heavy footfalls reached his ears.
As life left him, voices came to him, and he had chanced to wonder if Miwa might have lived had she stayed in this cold dank castle with him. Death rushed to welcome him and he learned the Uchiha's name when another man called him.
Madara.
And he hoped to hear his brother was welcomed into the afterlife with the same name.
xl: I will say nothing about this chapter and see if anyone one sees what I did there.
I'd like to express my gratitude to HushedFable (Your name didn't show up in the last chapter, I apologize, I forgot that it's a period thing-lol this made me laugh and it shouldn't), Loteva, Aries01xD, and Poche00Deea for reviewing! :)
Thank you so much for reading. If you want a preview to the next chapter, you may find it at my LJ, link through my profile.
I also want to apologize for not having added more to the discussion entry I made for this mini-arc. I'm waiting to hit the next chapter before really going into extensive detail. So, yeah, if you haven't read what I wrote, you should. It has to do with Mio's grandfather, Shin, and how everything connects in the end.
The next chapter will take a bit longer to post, in the 5-6 day range, a week at the latest because I'm thinking of adding another scene during the editing process. So, I'll see you then. :)