Let's get this trainwreck moving.
Doom.
That was the only word that Orochimaru could use to describe what he felt as he looked at Konoha. Its condition was even worse than the Sound Four had described, with blackened walls and a pervasively ominous aura. The faces of the first four Hokage, and the cliffside that served as their monument, were no longer the robust and earthy brown that he'd been so used to seeing throughout his life. Instead, a sickly grey color had seeped into the stone. Brackish water came in from the edge of the waterfall, its inherent poison noticeable even from a great distance. As the Hebi Sennin got closer to the village walls, fear and dread slowly began mounting higher in his heart. Something was wrong.
It wasn't the feeling of a demonic presence; Orochimaru was certain of that. He'd fought against Jinchuriki, and helped his homeland in its battle against the Kyuubi. He'd seen Naruto unleash attacks with his youki from point-blank range. This didn't carry the same feeling as any of those experiences. Demons gave off an air of oppression—they were strong, and they had no issues with announcing that strength to the world around them. This feeling was far more sinister than that.
Reaching the village's northern gate, which was barely repaired from the invasion during last year's Chunin Exams, Orochimaru felt his sixth and seventh senses spike. Five cloaked and hooded figures appeared in the White Snake's peripheral vision, draped in black with only a few strands of white hair extending out of their personal darkness. For a brief moment, he allowed himself the mistaken impression that these were members of the Akatsuki, but that incredulous notion quickly disappeared. He wasn't a particularly strong sensor, but years of genetic modifications had sharpened most of his other senses. His hearing, in particular, was the most advanced of the eight.
Whether it was the soft inflections and mouth movements that betrayed a liar's tongue, or Ayame's three heartbeats, there was little that escaped his auditory notice. That was what quietly petrified him, even as he summoned the infamous Kusanagi into his firm right hand—he heard no signs of life from the hooded figures around him. They weren't breathing; their clothes didn't rustle; their joints didn't glide. By count of everything Orochimaru could observe, he was being approached by the wraiths of dead men. It was an unnerving experience. The only thing he could compare it to was the Shiki Fuin, and even those reanimated corpses had more life than the things facing him.
Weaving through hand seals, Orochimaru summoned a single Rashomon to guard himself from the front. With three of his five enemies now temporarily out of his sight, he dashed to his right to engage the fourth. In its hand was a plain mace, the head smoothed into a sphere, and it seemed to lack the intelligence to dodge as Orochimaru's sword passed through it without any drag. Torn cloth arced through the air, with black blood trailing it, and Orochimaru watched in fascination as the creature's cloak repaired itself. He didn't know how it happened, but the cloth seemed to ripple before all traces of his attack had vanished—including the bloodstain. What didn't get erased, though, was the blood that splattered the ground.
It bled. He could kill it.
Several quick thrusts poked holes in the creature's chest, and each of his sword's strikes went entirely unresisted. With a final slash, the Kusanagi cut through the section where a human's neck might normally be. The wraith stumbled, as if finally conscious, and faded into smoke as its robe fell to the ground. Moments later, the sound of a moving blade tipped Orochimaru off that something was coming behind him. Whipping his body around, he twisted the Kusanagi so that the flat of his blade intercepted the edge of the next wraith's saber. Pushing the creature away, he quickly cast a Katon technique he'd stolen from some subordinate's body years ago. Three small birds of flame leapt out from his left palm, with one flying straight and the other two arcing on either side of it. The enemy dodged pre-emptively, but couldn't get far enough away; when the three birds reconnected after a certain distance, they exploded into a small fireball, and the shadowy assailant started to burn.
With the time afforded to him by the Rashomon, Orochimaru performed the hand seals to the Yomi Numa. Leaping atop his summoned structure as a swamp began to spread, he looked down and prepared for his three remaining enemies to be hampered. Contrary to his expectations, though, their gliding movements were unimpaired. Two brown and orange snakes flew out from Orochimaru's sleeves, intent on attacking one of the three wraiths, but it turned its head just in time to avoid being struck. Instead, as they went across the air, they made contact with the creature's hood. With the cloth covering stripped away, Orochimaru finally saw the face of his assailants. Fine white hair ran from its scalp to its shoulders, and the lilac skin of its all-too-human face was twisted into a hideous snarl. Cold black eyes stared at the Byahebi as he watched his enemies' movements, and it seemed to have lost its ability to reason.
In the next moment, all three creatures let out dissonant shrieks. Orochimaru felt them like sonic needles, lancing his skull in an attempt to reach his brain. As the dark swamp beneath him started drying up, Orochimaru was forced to lower a hand onto the Rashomon to keep his balance. Seconds later, the White Snake's instincts took hold of him before his brain could understand what was happening—strafing off the side of the large gate, he saw twin streams of fire begin to melt the spot where he'd been standing. That left Orochimaru feeling even more perturbed about these strange, not-quite-human enemies. The Rashomon was known for its powerful defensive capabilities; even if it wasn't indestructible, it should have been able to put up more resistance than that.
The Byahebi didn't want to waste any more time, and his black hair ran behind him as he moved to engage his remaining opponents. Fire coated his sword as he wove through the short battlefield, and char-marks smoldered in the places where his blade's edge kissed skin or cloth. Maneuvering so that all three figures were lined up, Orochimaru let his arm stretch out like a lunging viper, beyond its human length, and he pierced all three hearts—or at least, where he assumed their hearts would be—in a single strike. As the trio of enemies collapsed and dissolved, though Orochimaru couldn't discern what was behind that phenomenon, he noticed some of the things they'd left behind in death. The swords, he could care less about; a sword was always more or less a sword, and you'd seen them all if you'd seen one. The spherical mace, on the other hand, caught the White Snake's eye. Something told him that its function went beyond its ordinary appearance, as he lifted it to inspect it, and his chakra proved him right as it ran along the surface of the weapon. Tiny gaps, almost invisible to the naked eye, separated the "sphere" into several cross-sectioned rings. These gaps contained a multitude of wire-brushes, capable of spinning back and forth to create friction.
Static electricity, he realized. But what mechanism could build that charge up enough to be worth more than a minor shock? Even with a rubber coating along the handle, how could it be more dangerous to the enemy than the wielder? As intriguing as the concept was, Orochimaru wasn't sure he was fond of a guardless weapon with so many potential drawbacks that could only be wielded at a very short range. Then again…perhaps he would need to use it, first, to truly determine its effectiveness? Surely, a weapon wouldn't have a function like that without reason.
Thoughts on this puzzling new weapon faded into the back of Orochimaru's mind as he walked through Konoha's broken eastern gate, though the Rashomon stayed in front of the entrance as a way to signal the Sound Four if they came here. Bleak grey and black cobblestones laid out the village's streets, and the many vibrant buildings now seemed to sag with the weight of age. What had happened here? Why had it happened? Faint orange lights emanated from the cracks between the boards that covered windows, telling Orochimaru that there were some people who still lived inside the village, but each successive knock only left him more discouraged.
"Outsider," they called him, as though he hadn't lived the first forty years of his life inside the village walls. Of course they'd never open their doors to him. Not at night, and certainly not on this night. Didn't he know better? Or was he simply unaware?
Orochimaru didn't know what any of it meant. The sun seemed to hang in the sky, bold and eternal, with seven brilliant stars aligned around it; those stars hadn't been there a few hours ago. Was he really still in Konoha? As time passed, the White Snake felt more strongly about that question. With every step, he felt in his heart and his lungs that the world had changed—and not for the better. He couldn't have known that an argument was futile.
The stars were right.
The dimming glisten of drying blood on the arena's floor had driven some of the Chunin Exams' spectators into a raucous frenzy. Cheers filled the air as the sun continued to beat down on the stadium, and the desert's heat alone was enough to separate the strong from the weak. In spite of this, the people in the arena's private viewing booths remained calm and cool-headed. They watched with interest as the next generation fought to claim a place in the world, whether it was owed or taken by force. It was a showcase of each Genin's talents, first and foremost, and any ramifications or decisions were out of their hands. As Yuurei watched the teens fight below him, he felt a sense of amusement welling up in his chest. It was the kind of emotion born from a rightful belief in his demonic superiority, something inherited from Kurama's cannibalized essence as it had been assimilated into Yuurei's keirakukei. Even knowing that the feeling wasn't truly his own, Yuurei did nothing to try to dispel it.
Kiba's heroics on the arena floor, as he fought some prodigy or another from Kirigakure that Yuurei would never have recognized, could best be described as "barely enough." Having performed a combination transformation technique with his loyal dog, Akamaru, the pair were struggling to keep afloat against his opponent. Pushed to his mental limits by the shock and grief of his fellow Genin, and his own guilty relief for his sensei's survival, he'd already been in poor shape before the match began. The sun's burning shine only drove him further to exhaustion, and his muscles had been begging for the sweet release of unconsciousness for several minutes. Still, he refused to give in. He would be promoted to Chunin, damn it! He had seen it in his mind, the looks of pride on his mother and sister's faces. More than anything, in that moment, he wanted to make it happen.
Neither woman was in the stands to see him struggle on, but Kiba's back straightened reflexively as he thought about someone else who wasn't with him—and who wouldn't be waiting to see him again at home, either. Naruto had walked into his own death, almost a year ago, to make sure Sai and Sasuke could escape from Nami no Kuni. If the older blond could stare that grim future in the face without blinking, then Kiba swore he could still manage his fight. That thought hardened his focus, and his headache began to relax. As he continued his self-preserving strategy, he began to notice small gaps in his opponent's movements. They were slower to come, and slowly getting weaker. All he had to do was endure for a little bit longer.
"Son of a bitch," Ayame whispered as she stared down from the Sound Four's booth. "Kiba's going to win."
"What? Bullshit, he's been on the ropes since the very beginning of the fight!" Suigetsu had picked up on the same things Ayame was seeing, but he couldn't reconcile the beast-man's battered form with any hope of victory.
"His opponent is running out of steam," Karin remarked. "They both are, obviously, but if it becomes a fist fight instead of a Ninjutsu contest...Ayame might be right." The redhead took off her glasses and polished them against her clothes, disinterested in really getting between her teammates when they argued. Putting them back on her face, she saw that Juugo was more intent on watching the match than speaking up.
On the arena floor, Kiba and Akamaru moved in sync. Blood slid freely down their identical bodies, but they closed the gap with their opponent before striking. Claws and elbows moved in quick succession, lashing out with a flurry of blows. Seizing the final advantage, Kiba toppled his enemy and began unloading one punch after another. Several petulant bettors made an attempt to cry foul, protesting that the match had been an unfair two-on-one fight, but their detractors snickered as the proctor stepped in to stop the match. Where had those complaints been, the winning gamblers replied snidely, when the "disadvantaged" lone fighter had consistently held the upper hand?
Kiba didn't hear those conversations as he lost his transformation, beginning to shuffle forward rather than walk; he only heard the cheers of the crowd close to him, and saw the smiles on the faces of his fellow Konoha Genin. Akamaru walked behind him toward the gateway they'd used to enter the arena, white fur matted with blood and sweat, but the dog's head was high with pride. After they reached the shade of the entrance tunnel, a woman Kiba would never meet again offered him two gourds of water. After draining one of them in a matter of seconds, he opened the second and poured the whole thing down Akamaru's throat. Trudging forward for a few more steps, man and beast hugged the wall before falling into unconsciousness.
"He found his resolve in the end," Yuurei said. Shaggy blond hair shifted as the demon cracked his neck, and he let a wistful smile cross his face before his expression calmed again. Kiba had been a good friend to him during their time in the academy. Even if their paths had divulged, Yuurei was happy to see the Inuzuka succeeding.
"He was struggling the entire way, and just barely managed to win a contest of endurance." Yugito wasn't as impressed with the performance. Whether that distaste was born of disinterest in pedantic toughness, some latent remnant of the Nibi's distaste for hellhounds and the long-dead Fenris Wolf, or because she'd simply believed the Genin from Kirigakure should have won, was up for debate. The blonde woman didn't refute her master any further as she looked down into the arena, waiting for the next match to start. On Yuurei's opposite side, Tayuya simply stared forward—the redhead was leveling a glare out into the world, as though she knew exactly who she was looking at from behind the wall of anonymity.
Naturally, she did. Temari had all but been in charge of the seating arrangements for the high profile boxes, at least when it came to making sure that the leaders of the participating villages would have their privacy. Itachi had hurt Mei; even if he couldn't see Tayuya, and even if she couldn't see him, the slim redhead would still stare him down and make her rage known. It would be easy to perform the Genjutsu they'd used in Konoha to send those spectators into a hypnotic sleep, even if the rest of the Sound Four had left her behind in death. Yuurei would follow her, fight with her...murder the Hokage for her. She could feel the sensation rolling off of her demonic lover's skin, and knew that he wanted Itachi to die as surely as she did. Her fingers itched to form hand seals, and her keirakukei ached to feel chakra flood out from her dantian, but her concentration was broken when she felt Yuurei's hand grip her left bicep. Looking at the much larger demon beside her, she saw him shake his head.
"You're radiating killing intent," Yuurei admonished her. "If not for the seals on the walls here, half of the arena would have passed out by now."
"That's a little crooked, coming from someone who's put the world on notice that he can destroy entire cities at will," Tayuya retorted.
"No killing. Yet. It's a miracle that he's restrained himself for this long, but I want to see how much more it can eat him alive inside. I want him broken before he dies." The blond briefly let infernal power glide across his vocal cords, causing a handful of the room's occupants to look at him with fear; the sensation passed as quickly as it came, though, and only Fu's eyes lingered on Yuurei for any longer than that moment lasted.
The Nanabi Jinchuriki had learned a hard lesson, a long time ago: no matter how Choumei felt about the man who inherited the Kyuubi's mantle, she would never be able to truly trust or rely on the demon who'd named himself a ghost. Her segmented eyes met his natural blood-red one, and his lazily-spinning Sharingan, and she resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion when the Kyuubi no Yuurei smiled at her. He was practically invincible, according to all the conventional wisdom he'd already defied. If he wanted to kill someone, it was only a question of how long it would take, but Fu had never seen Yuurei take joy in torturing someone before he finally killed them. Something had changed.
She didn't know what had broken inside of Yuurei on the day Mei was attacked. She didn't know if the behavior would be unique to Itachi. She didn't want to know the answers.