The seductive Kunoichi Fuuka is back from the dead! She wants to take revenge on the blond-haired brat who dared to expose her best-kept secret and defeat her in battle years ago. Much has happened since then but the story of the attractive woman, whose beguiling charm had brought many strong opponents to their knees, also continues...
Fuuka's Last Kiss
Chapter XXVIX - Curse
"No no: It's to early for beddy-bye, boy!" - Fuuka
It was quiet.
The walls of the Hokage's residence seemed to keep out the sounds of fighting. But judging by the sight that presented itself to Fuuka, there seemed to have been quite a lot of noise inside the building just a short time ago. Several weapons were stuck in the walls, countless splinters of broken vases and dismembered furniture lined the floor beneath her feets. Fuuka, however, was unwilling to bother about a few sharp objects that seemed to be the only obstacles standing between her and Naruto Uzumaki. With slow but firm steps, she walked along the circular corridor that led upwards at a low angle. Every wooden beam lying on the floor, every sharp Kunai, every throwing star was pushed aside by her feets as if they were just annoying and meaningless. The red-haired Kunoichi was unwilling to take even the slightest diversions on her way to her long-awaited revenge on and well-deserved triumph over the blond-haired brat. Here and there, however, larger obstacles crossed her path, such as the lifeless bodies of fallen Ninjas who had the misfortune to have met their end here. Fuuka did not avoid these either. They were not worth the trouble of being moved out of the way. Her black boots merely stepped on their bloodied heads, on their legs, on their backs, as if putting foot on a doormat, while she continued her confident walk unhindered. It did not seem to matter to the Kunoichi either whether they were the corpses of her allies or her enemies. She treated all the victims of this slaughter with the same indifference, with the same lack of reverence, with the same non-existent respect. They were all meaningless; the only thing that mattered was the boy - and what she intended to do with him.
Fuuka kept her course.
Another body blocked her path. Another annoying obstacle that was not worth her attention. The green waistcoat with the red swirl symbol suggested it had been one of her adversaries - not that it mattered. A long knife stuck deep in his stomach. The puddle of blood that had pooled around him still seemed fresh. Fuuka lifted her left foot to press the sole of her foot against the mute man's neck so she could step over him, but suddenly the body jerked up; in a fast, nimble turn, the Ninja, who appeared to be still breathing after all, threw a Shuriken at close range towards what was, almost by objective standards, her pretty face, with the intention of irreversibly damaging it. But Fuuka's beauty was immutable; even if one of her bodies were irrevocably marred in its perfection, she could simply switch to another body in her collection to restore her flawless grace.
But that would not be necessary this time: In a flash, she threw her upper body diagonally to the side while simultaneously catching her long hair with one arm, thus taking her life essence out of the trajectory of the projectile before it could be harmed. Cutting off a single, long strand of her hair could cause her to lose control of the body - depending on which body it was specifically, or rather, which person that body had once belonged to - and how strong that person's will had been while alive, before making contact with Fuuka's lips. The victim's soul would use the moment of vulnerability and weakness on her part that the damage to her hair caused to attack Fuuka's spirit, which held the victim's soul in chains, suppressing it. If the spirit in question was strong enough, the red-haired woman would be forced to release the soul, for otherwise Fuuka would risk losing control of the other bodies as well - and in the worst case, losing dominion over her own self. Since she could not and would not allow that, this circumstance inevitably led to her having to push her hair off the body in order to retain control, thus sacrificing and consequently losing it. However, since Fuuka's own life essence, still intact, was the force that maintained the body in its original, functional form, once the woman's spirit was successfully displaced, the body would instantly age and crumble to dust.
The attacker's throwing star bored into the ceiling and the knife, still stuck in his stomach, dug deeper into his abdomen as Fuuka pressed against it with her right foot - without slowing her gait, without a single snide glance in his direction. A short, muffled groan from his throat, and silence fell again.
Fuuka kept her course.
A wall to her left seemed to have been so badly damaged by the fighting that the masonry collapsed just as Fuuka walked past it. A loud rumble of crumbling rock could be made out, followed by a dull bang as the rock hit the ground outside. But Fuuka walked on, unconcerned. Now it was no longer silent, as the sounds of battle found their way back into the building, as well as into Fuuka's ears. The crackling of flames and fire breaking wooden beams and bringing buildings down, the wailing of the injured, the cries of pain from the maimed Shinobi; all passed her by as she moved on. Fuuka did not pay attention, she did not allow herself to be distracted; she had only one goal. She was Naruto's curse.
Fuuka continued walking. Then she saw the Hokage's door.
