Chapter Three - Dead Zone
A high sun shielded by shade meant little when the air itself was stuffy with heat. Kushina let it roll over her as she leapt from branch to branch, the rush doing appallingly little to make it feel as if there were some sort of breeze. She had long since become drenched in sweat, could feel it cling to the back of her neck like warm oil. When one had been chasing one tree after the next for the past forty-five hours, there was very little to occupy a mind beyond how the body felt. She had already run through the possibilities of the situation they found themselves in within the first two hours. Every jutsu she knew occupied the next four. But as the body tired and the mind dragged, another soldier pill and meditative focus was the only thing that allowed her, and the animal-masked nin rushing beside her, the power to keep up their wild pace.
She likewise dressed as ANBU, a mink mask fitted into place. It stalled the flow of sweat on her brow, condensing it on the inside of the porcelain. She had forced herself to stop thinking about it, otherwise she would have gone mad long ago with the itch to rip the mask off and let her skin breathe. How Obito and Rin put up with it for years, she didn't know. She would have preferred to forgo the get up entirely — Kushina had never been a part of the institution nor had any inclination to become so — but it had been on Mosa's insistence after she had let herself into the operation's building to demand a team, a hastily scribbled note with Minato's seal in her fist. The uniform itself was surprisingly comfortable. Enough so that at twelve hours in, Kushina idly mused at adding some similarities to her regular shinobi gear.
Ten hours ago their makeshift cell had picked up an extra two, their presence grating on Kushina like a hangnail. ROOT agents; ones who could not have set out much longer after they did. They must have pushed themselves to catch up but they kept apace now, never once slowing. Too well trained to be burdens. Kushina regarded them out of the corner of her eye.
One was a woman of a small and lithe stature, the entirety of her skin hidden in black knitwear beneath what looked like no more than standard ANBU grey. The knit was tight enough that beneath it, her hair looked completely flattened to her head. If she even had hair. The woman wore plain white porcelain over her face. No markings, no unique moulding the likes of which ANBU coveted, and even took pride in. ROOT Agent One simply wore a face to cover her face. Obito had grumbled for months about his ugly bear mask until he was able to make a special request with several high class missions under his belt. 'It'd fit my codename better,' he had moped (like he hadn't been the one to choose the name in the first place) until finally his captain had relented. Kushina had been offended that he hadn't appreciated her papier-mâché version of the one he wanted.
Agent One's companion was as nondescript as her; covering himself in a pale hooded jacket that extended past his knees, his mask also bland save for cheeks striped in red. Well, at least Kushina thought the agent was male. 'He' was tall and lanky, but one could never quite tell with ROOT. Not unusual. They never advertised themselves and seemed more spectres than people. Hells, she was willing to bet that most of them weren't even on Konoha's roster, rather posing and going about their lives as civilians. When they weren't deep in the bowels of Danzō's dungeons or doing his dirty work. Or cleaning his laundry. Wiping his ass. Ugh. As they travelled toward their target, she knew the pair recognised how she watched them. They simply didn't care. Assholes.
At forty-six hours they came upon the Dead Zone.
Kushina's breath caught as she finally allowed herself to slow, snatching at the bark of the trunk to hold steady. The last tree before the end. Under the afternoon sun lay a rolling land of blasted rock. At the edge of the wasteland, all around them was shattered timber and upturned trees. The colossal severed branches she had spied nearing the place must have been those thrown outward. A mile out from her tree, sat a sloping gorge of churned soil. What had likely been a ravine three days ago was now blocked in a landslide of sediment and stone. If anything had been living in caves beneath the surrounding area, the crushing impact and jutting stone meant they certainly weren't living now. Mosa had been right with his calculated guess. Though there was hardly evidence of it now, it had undoubtedly once been the Kannabi ravine.
A large presence landed softly beside her, his sandals a whisper-scratch on the branch. "Commander," Mosa rumbled in his deep baritone, his tiger mask turning to face her. "Your orders?"
"Fan out, but stay close to the treeline. We're not supposed to be here; let's make like we aren't." A nod and he was gone to pass the order along.
With the thrown branches and carcasses of trees had come a suffocating presence; muted at first, but which grew with every step until here at the edge, it felt as though it permeated the very air itself. Kushina could only describe it as though a blanket had been tossed over the land and beneath the covers, a creature lay there with her, its otherworldly hands pushing down on her chest. She gripped down hard on the tree bark, unminding of how it bit into her skin. It was... unnerving, in a way she had never felt. Adjusting the layer of scrolls at her hip, Kushina settled, reaching out with her senses to try and pinpoint an origin to the heaviness. There was none. It was simply there. Everywhere. All at once. The remnants of the chakra suffusing the air was demonic. Kushina had not been a Jinchūriki for twenty-four long years to not know the feeling of supernatural chakra intimately, even if the depth of that intimacy was now a thing of the past. Yet it had no intelligence to it. It did not feel like the hot ash and waste and unfathomable vastness of the Kyūbi no Kitsune. Neither was it like that of Isobu, with the Genbu's slow, guarded, and ancient weight seeping amongst the sizzling water they had found him in. Nor was it the vague impressions of the captured yōkai that she had felt from the other Jinchūriki those years ago.
Kushina wasn't sure what to make of it. It felt a lifeless thing, yet weighed on the land, as though holding it in an unnatural grip. At the base of her tree where green still survived, she spied an ill-looking grass, blackened and brittle with veins of grey extending into what was a healthy green. Her tree did not fair much better. The leaves drooped and shrivelled with a crispness, as though the moisture had been drawn from them. Some had already browned completely.
Distant movement caught Kushina's attention and she tensed. Far beyond specked the hint of moving shadows. People, traversing between the towering rock. Hope they don't mind the company, she mused. Kushina put her fingers to her lips and gave the high, hissing wheeze of a whistling duck, and flaring her chakra.
In the safety of a bower, camp was set up quickly, four of their dozen splitting to vanish amongst the branches of the surrounding trees to keep watch on the edge of camp. The rest, Kushina included, wrangled with the barrier seals to secure the area from curious eyes and ears. Their trappings were spartan, the barest of essentials drawn from sealing scrolls. Kushina's own bedding was nothing more than a thin mat. A relief, even that. This rest would be the first in a while.
The afternoon had drawn well into twilight when Kushina gathered Mosa to her side and the captain called for a report of what they had observed. Many noted the lack of anything — at least anything living, even as others too saw the movement of figures among the rock. Strangely, it was almost impossible to sense anything through the haze of the unnatural chakra. It was Gosei, his beaky sparrow mask cocked and looking ungainly large with his hood pulled, who revealed the distant figures to be Kusa nin.
"Based upon visual indications only. As others have noted, sensing unique chakra signatures alone across the blast site is a difficult endeavour. Moreover, attempting to see these signatures presented a strange complication."
"What kind?" Mosa asked.
"The signatures were... warped. I could not see their pathways clearly. It is almost as if within that space, living chakra signatures meld with the demonic chakra persisting in the surrounds."
Kushina spared a glance to the pair crouched together, listening intently and almost unnaturally still. Bet they're interested in that. Perhaps one of them was a Uchiha, mentally recording the revelations for later, to whisper in Danzō's ear. Not that having the Sharingan was a requirement. Rumour had it that any ROOT agent worth their salt was as good as a Uchiha with noting and recalling information, Sharingan or not.
Gosei fell quiet, and Kushina felt a sudden, subtle spike of chakra from the man activating his Byakugan. His shoulders seized, and those around tensed with him.
"What is it?" Kushina asked.
"I... I did not notice it before with the vastness of the demonic chakra so close, but now that we have retreated apace..." He paused, slightly cocking his head as though in thought. Or watching something she couldn't see. "Everyone present now bears the presence of demonic chakra within their pathways." Kushina gripped the fabric of her pants tight. "The suffusion is not permanent," he added. "It is dissipating as we speak, slowly but surely."
Kushina felt disturbed. By the shuffling of the nin around her, they were likewise. "Is it dangerous?"
"That remains to be seen."
Across from him, a cat-masked operative picked up a leaf, quickly slicing it in two with his chakra. "I feel no different," he said. Kushina fluxed her own chakra, as did many of the others. She too felt no discernable difference in her ability to mould power. Questions hung in the air. Her mind turned to the blackened grass. It did have some sort of effect. Yet was that simply 'singeing' from the blast, or an effect of constant proximity? Was the chakra seeping outward into the land?
ROOT Agent One didn't move, yet it seemed as though her want to speak drew her presence forward, capturing the attention of those gathered.
"Those affected by the blast, or whomever had been within the vicinity will have this demonic chakra more readily diffused into their circulatory system. Likely a significant amount." Her voice was even, each word enunciated with care in a creaking, sing-song voice that sat high in her throat. It sounded natural to Kushina, too. And not one that she recognised at all. This agent posed as no regular nin.
"It furthermore suggests," the woman continued, "that we ourselves should be careful not to linger, lest we suffer some unseen damage to our own chakra pathways and coils. We do not know if, nor how such chakra might warp us and in what way."
Gosei ducked his head. "Wise."
Mosa shuffled in his crouch as he thought, his large shoulders hunching over. "The culprit will have a trail then. The chakra wouldn't disappear that fast."
"Just so," said the ROOT woman.
"Or culprits, plural," Kushina corrected. She tapped at her mask, tempted to push it aside just to stick a nail between her teeth. She ground them instead. What was plain to her, was that there were those out there who hadn't learnt the hard lessons of the Year. She felt a sudden, deep spike of rage. So much lost and yet people persisted in tampering with something they didn't — would never — understand. And this was the result. This utter destruction. Was this destruction truly the consequence of malice, or simply the unintentional disaster of fools? "This seems like something beyond the capabilities of one person. We should probably consider the possibility we could be dealing with a group." Of idiots. Of fucking fools.
"Just so," the agent agreed, and Kushina suppressed a roil of disgust.
Kushina turned her gaze northward. Beyond the trees was miles churned rock and lifeless soil. That blanket, the all consuming presence of other touched the edges of her senses, lighting along her nerves. Kushina clenched her jaw, grim.
Obito tipped his head back, enjoying the contrast of warmth and cold on his face. In his fist, the icy coolness of the packet of frozen dumplings stung through the towel. He sunk deeper into the pillows of the couch while trying not to disturb Akino where the dog slept on his thighs, half tucked between his legs. The dog's head lolled in Obito's lap as he coaxed the blood flow back into his legs, glasses slipping precariously further to the side of his muzzle. Urushi had already claimed the other end of the couch, while most of his remaining ninken laid curled on the carpet at the foot, keeping close as they sensed their master's pain.
Obito appreciated the company, truly. Only Pakkun remained asleep in his basket, but the little pug was one for preferring his own space anyway. In the past, Obito had tried and failed to come up with an explanation of why the little dog liked to hang around him so much compared to the others, those ninken happy to pop out of existence until he needed them (or they felt he needed them). He wasn't about to reject the pug's company either. Theirs was a companionable if strange relationship, built on shared grief and the need to overcome it. He blinked up at the ceiling, stained with the remains of mildew, and listened to Bull's long, grumbling sighs.
Obito hadn't moved from the couch for the vast majority of the past couple of days, haphazard and comfortably dressed in a singlet and pair of sweatpants. Little point in getting properly dressed when feeling like a hot turd. Against his eye the frozen dumplings were slowly warming and with it the sweet numbness began to fade. If he wasn't careful, the bandages keeping the medical pad in place would become moist and he would have to change them yet again. Probably should have picked up several rolls during his outing that morning. The prospect of venturing back out to mingle amongst the masses left a sour taste.
'The Demon Star'. That's what people were calling it. For its bright white destruction and unnatural essence. The rumour mill had been churning grist, fueled by anxiety, anger, and for more than a few — horror itself. None wanted another Year of Nightmares. It didn't help that nobody could seem to give an explanation, and so people had come up with their own, ranging from the fantastical to the absurd. Now days on, there were hawks flying about with word that people had been killed, entire swaths of land destroyed, and refugees making their way to any kind of safety. Lingering too close to a temple, you might hear word of how Amaterasu herself smote Kusa as retribution for the dead. Walking in one of the markets meant you might hear how the Grass and Earth nin had gathered to make a go at human sacrifice to bring back the Kyūbi no Kitsune only to horrifically fail (and thank the Kami for that). Thank fuck Obito's little breakdown happened in a private booth.
Earlier in the morning, he had hobbled to the local store for some basic, easy supplies, not wanting to bother Rin for something he could easily do himself. Everywhere people crowded, nervously chattering to one another on the street, in doorways, over the tables of stalls. One old, grizzled man had loudly declared that the Kyūbi no Kitsune had returned and that the government had been lying about the monster's destruction. The people had looked disturbed, and worse — listening. It was conjecture, the man knew nothing but Obito had set his mouth, hid his chakra signature, and made himself seem like just another in the crowd. In the store, the atmosphere had seemed grim, the shoppers subdued. The clerk had taken his handful of things with a pale face and downturned eyes. Obito's eye had pulsed all the way home, rising into a pounding headache that pills did little to dull.
"Ugh." He pulled the packet of dumplings from his face, it now doing little to help the rising ache as all numbness subsided. Obito sighed, contemplating the freezer from his place on the couch but somewhat loathe to remove the warm comfort of the dog from his lap (and receive a grumpy, judging stare when he did so). He eyed the empty carton of cigarettes on the kitchen bench, thoughts he had relieved himself from for a couple of hours making themselves known once again.
"It might be that someone else has your power, 'Bito," Rin had said the morning after everything had gone to shit, and she had shuffled him home in the dead of the night, claiming his spare bedroom once he had settled. Hours later they had shared a pot of coffee and a tense cigarette. Rin, dark eyed and clearly suffering from a lack of sleep, rattled off her conversation with Minato. Nothing in that conversation had alleviated the feeling of dread constantly present since the agony had subsided enough that his Sharingan wasn't flaring every two seconds, and his eye wasn't pissing blood. What a way to end a week. He prodded at his eye through the cloth and plastic draped over it. Rin had hissed when she inspected it and Obito didn't need to look in a mirror to know that it wasn't a pretty sight (he did anyway). The medical nin who had inspected it at the hospital had all but shrugged, healing the worst of the burst blood vessels and assured him that it would heal in time. The man had given no answer to what had caused it in the first place, and in the medical nin's defence, Obito hadn't asked.
Getting an idea, he sat up, muttering an apology to Akino. He activated his Sharingan. First, only in his right eye, the world sharpening into precise lines. No change there. Then, he tried his left. A sharp knife of pain pierced his skull, and he grunted softly, baring his teeth. So, no change there either. When Rin had given him fresh bandages as she visited last night, merely exposing it to the light had been just as painful. His vision in the eye, even as its usual black, was warped and distorted. Rin had pointed out that this — all of this — couldn't be a coincidence and Obito was inclined to agree.
Kamui was intimately connected with his Sharingan — only his, he had thought. But if not, then which of his dear cousins had been playing with demonic chakra? Not that Kamui itself necessarily had anything to do with it, it was only Rin's hastily cobbled together hypothesis but it hit a little too close to home. He didn't like it. Since activating the thing, Obito had been under the impression that the dimension space was his and his alone.
Kamui. He needed to know.
Akino huffed grumpily as Obito moved to stand, receiving curious, questioning looks from several of the dogs that blinked at him and raised their heads. This should work. His chakra reserves were absolutely fine. He'd toyed with the different powers of each eye — both allowed him to enter Kamui in slightly different ways. In fact, it was lucky, even, that it was his left eye damaged and not the right. He'd never been particularly good at channelling Kamui to engulf things from afar; rather terrible at it, actually. His aim was always off and he only had so much chakra to practise with before he keeled over. It was much easier to draw things inward within a shorter range. One always had to be careful with a Mangekyō as well. He didn't fancy going blind at the ripe age of thirty.
"You're about to do something idiotic," Pakkun stated disspassionatedly from his basket.
"Probably," Obito agreed, chucking the now warm dumplings on the kitchen counter.
Squaring his shoulders, Obito focused and activated the Mangekyō in his right eye. He felt a prick of pain in his left as some of the chakra automatically flowed that way through his tenketsu points. Its intensity was nothing he couldn't handle after the past few days. In a swirl of light, he disappeared from the space of his creaky, greytoned apartment.
Well, shit.
He barely had time to find his footing before he almost tumbled dead away into the void. Obito, aghast, looked at what little remained of his dimension.
Kamui had been nigh blown to pieces.
Shattered chunks of pillars floated in the space, he himself standing barefoot on the remains of one of the crumbling faces. Few of the blocks of stone remained wholly intact, and what was once a connected maze of blocks which fit together like a complex mahjong stack was now fragmented pieces scattered across the board. All around the void was streaked with bright glowing tears of white and blue. They wavered, trying to stitch themselves together, only to warp and come apart. There could be no doubt now. Rin was right. Somehow, Kamui was connected to the Demon Star. And while there had been a few times in the past, especially during the lowest points of his life, that Obito lost himself so deeply that he forgot himself, he was fairly sure he had nothing to do with this.
"She'll be pleased," he dumbly told the silent space. Deep in thought, Obito returned to the apartment.
"Fuck!"
Obito's head shot up and he summoned a kunai into his hand. At least those were still floating around, somewhere. He was greeted to the sight of Raidō, leaning heavily against his apartment's glass front door. The man had been in the midst of locking the door behind him, Obito's spare key in hand. Bunched under his arm sat a stack of cardboard takeout boxes, sweetly smelling of sauced meat and noodles. Obito relaxed from his defensive stance. Raidō, on the other hand, had nearly lost the takeout boxes altogether in his bid to swipe a kunai from his pouch.
Raidō lowered his kunai with a heavy breath. "Seven sages, you scared the shit out of me."
"What are you doing here?" Obito asked quickly, turning away. His gaze jumped about the living room, distractedly looking for his gear. Sensei needs to know, he thought, swiping the Jōnin vest from where it was slouched over an arm of the couch, moments from dropping to the carpet.
Raidō navigated around the hoard of curious and wagging ninken to place the takeout on the counter. "Uh, what does it look like? Food."
"Oh, yeah. Right. Thanks," Obito muttered, snatching his kunai pouch from where he had thrown it onto his desk in the corner of the room, going through the habit of checking their number and sharpness.
Raidō grumbled, mocking Obito's reply, before muttering, "you're welcome." He paused to watch Obito go about himself, squinting. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"
"No time. It's all connected. Rin was right."
"Right about what? What's connected?" The man followed Obito as he padded to his bedroom, and watched, incredulous, as Obito allowed himself to babble. He pulled off his sweatpants, balancing precariously to shuck the pant leg from his foot. Raidō, from his cross-armed position at the threshold, swore and put up his hand to shield Obito's modesty. "Kami, Obito," the man said. "Put some trousers on before you talk to me."
In nothing but a pair of fresh, half pulled up briefs, Obito pointed at him. "No, listen, this is important. The Sharingan is involved. Kamui can only be accessed with a Sharingan — and a Mangekyō at that. Only mine, I thought. But I sure as fuck didn't do that." He gestured wildly behind himself. "That means that whatever the 'Demon Star' is — or was, whatever — my clan is involved in it. They must be."
Confusion passed over Raidō's features until he caught on with a small 'ah'. Genma had probably filled him in. He could never keep his mouth shut about much, especially anything concerning one of their little group. Or maybe Rin, if they had met. It was not unlikely that she had been the one to push Raidō to pay Obito a visit.
"Or... someone with access to a Sharingan?" Raidō pointed out, quirking a brow. "You sure every single Mangekyō is accounted for?"
That made Obito straighten, his shirt on and pants unbuttoned. No. He wasn't sure of that. You didn't even need a full hand to count the number of people within the clan who were known to have achieved the Mangekyō Sharingan. But that was only the ones Obito himself was aware of. It could be possible, he supposed, and if someone or some entity were to have a grudge, or willing to have the blame placed elsewhere...
"Kiri?" The word stumbled from Obito's mouth.
Raidō shrugged. "Sure. But they've been quiet. They haven't been that willing to start making waves—" ha, "—again after the Year. So who knows?"
Obito stifled a growl of frustration. Quickly wrapping a piece of errand cloth over his eye, he pushed past Raidō. "Come on."
The scarred man's nose wrinkled. "But the food's going to get cold. Is it really necessary to leave right this second? Minato can wait an hour."
"No, I don't want to forget anything."
"You've had your Sharingan activated this entire time. What the fuck are you going to forget?" Raidō sighed and followed him nonetheless, giving a forlorn pat to Ūhei's head before he trailed behind Obito out the door.
"This is clearly an act of blatant destruction. A verifiable atrocity. Hear me, it was no accident nor coincidence, I say, that the Demon Star detonated so close to our northwestern border..."
Minato tapped the table in a silent, mindless rhythm as he listened to the rattling voice of his advisor. The old man stood, bowed and leaning heavily on his cane. He eyed each man and woman seated at the long council table in turn, waiting for a challenge before he continued apace.
"Answers must be demanded of Kusa. We cannot suffer silence when it is our security that is threatened as well. But they have said nothing to us; the gall of it!"
I'm sure they have far greater things to worry about. Minato watched the proceedings — more grandstanding and chest-beating, really — in contemplative silence. The chambers were packed to the brim, every council member present. Their assistants (sworn to the highest orders of secrecy) mingled, on hand to take notes, orders, requests of tea, and — for the representative of the Daimyo at least — a cool cloth to pat his brow. From his seat at the head, Minato could see the lay of the chambers like a battlefield; little factions that predated his succession of Hiruzen, the late Hokage himself replaced as clan head by his younger brother. The old man's brow creased, nodding every so often to Homura's warbling.
On one side of the field sat the noble clan heads. At Minato's right was Hyuuga Hirashi, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Every so often the severe man would incline his head and murmur to the old man at his side, and Sarutobi Nobushi would frown, his jowls wobbling as he chewed on the words. Some of these he would pass to Uchiha Fugaku, ever straight-backed and stalwart, his chin raised high as his coal black eyes regarded the old advisor with no little amount of disdain. Next to him, the quiet Aburame Shibi said nothing at all, though kept good company with Akimichi Chōza nonetheless, the large man's arms crossed, as he leant back in his chair. At the end of them all sat Senju Seidai, his head bobbing as he listened.
The Senju's clothes were the finest of all the clan heads, his yukata trimmed in golden thread. On his fingers sat rings with no small amount of precious stones. Senju Seidai was middle aged and kettle-bellied; the kind wrought from a life of ease with no admirable benefit like that of the Akimichi. He accepted a small plate of daifuku with a flourish and a loud thanks, making Chōza grunt. From him, even the Akimichi head leaned away.
It was clear Seidai's presence in the Shinobi council grated — the man had no skill nor experience as a shinobi himself beyond the basics taught to a child. Even Minato questioned his presence; the man rarely had any input of use in Shinobi affairs. It was purely tradition that allowed him to keep the seat. The 'head' of the Senju clan (if it could even be called a clan any longer) was little more than the representative of four of the richest Senju families in Konoha. Seidai sat as their elected representative for his position as the head of one of the Land of Fire's most prosperous construction firms. Whatever the other thousand or so Senju families thought was anybody's guess.
Beside Seidai, at the end of the table and of little notice, sat the current Civilian Council's representative, Hirano Sunao. The unlucky vote for a turn at the Shinobi Council seat this year. She was a petite, soft spoken woman, often overshadowed by Seidai, her only ally. It was perhaps no coincidence that the two with some of the least amount of input were sequestered away at the end of the table, out of sight and out of mind.
"Noble Shigeru, surely Lord Yoritomo considers this to be a severe act of discourtesy?"
Minato watched as the Keishi diplomat, a waif of a man with too pale skin, peppered his brow with a newly dampened cloth. "Yes, yes, my Lord has considered this of course," he muttered, "the Court at Keishi is most concerned..."
"As they should be," Homura intoned gravely, keeping to his ever present doom and gloom.
On the advisor's side of the table sat the other half of the battlefield. The Daimyo's man's, Ichijō Shigeru, sat at Minato's left — a place of privilege with little meaning. Once he might have sat at the opposite head of the table when the Daimyo held true dominion over the Land of Fire, but those times were long since passed now.
Homura hovered over the man at his left, and beside him Koharu, blithely sipping on her tea. Both of them contrasted with Shireta, the last of the Hokage's advisors. The middle-aged woman bore a hard face, scattered with scars, one sliced through a milky eye. To her, Homura and Koharu paid little attention; a trusted veteran of the Second War but shamefully young compared to the ancient souls that sat either side of her.
Shimura Danzō. Once the occupant of Shireta's seat, sat and watched the council proceedings in a way that only the head of ROOT would. Even Minato himself was under inspection; the rhythm of his silent fingers, who he gazed at and for how long that gaze lingered. Every person was like an insect to be curious at; every word something to be tucked away for later use. At his shoulder stood Kaikei, his ever present right hand. The man's entire person was obscured by his muted green hooded cloak, his face hidden behind a plain black painted Noh mask shaped into a face — its features androgynous. What Danzo didn't catch, Kaikei most certainly would.
The rest Minato had no qualms over, having picked each to succeed the station himself. Zō, the Commander of ANBU, and a man who made Minato feel better for his grounding presence. Shikaku, Supreme Jōnin Commander and representative of the Jounin council. Then there were the T&I heads, Ibiki and Inoichi, followed by Yui, head of Logistics, and finally Genkei, master of Konoha's Seal Corps.
Minato turned his attention back to the discussion at hand. "Do we have any idea of the culprit? Surely there must be a lead," Shigeru asked. "We ought to be proactive about these things. Keishi has heard of the refugees spilling into our lands without order nor control. My Lord Yoritomo will arrange an inquiry himself if need be to sort these things — he is ever generous in this way. Konohagakure is obligated to notify Lord Yoritomo of any such progress." That earned him several frowns from both sides of the table. Even Minato narrowed his eyes at the demand. "The Court must be informed of these decisions, the Daimyo—"
"—Will suffice with the reports he is provided," Danzō cut in, uncaring of gentility, and drawing the attention of the chamber inward, like a flooded drain newly cleared. "Lord Yoritomo may make any demand that pleases him, Councillor, but he is not the sovereign ruler of this nation, need I remind you. The situation is in hand. Bid him to trust in the system." Approving stares and nodding heads. Poor Shigeru was left to bite his tongue.
Leaning forward in his seat, Senju Seidai rapped his knuckles on the table. "The fellow does make a point however, hm? What do we know of the Demon Star's origin? Who could have wrought this kind of destruction? I do hear that the damage is quite severe."
"Yes, quite severe," Shigeru agreed, "quite severe, indeed."
Minato's gaze subtly shifted back to the length of clan heads, trying not to too pointedly look Fugaku's way. Obito had come to him yesterday, an aggrieved Raidō in tow, to reveal the shattered state of his Kamui dimension. By Obito's insistence, the 'Demon Star' would have had to be related to the Sharingan. It was a fickle and politically dangerous puzzle.
He watched Fugaku closely. The man was aloofly poised, trained from birth to be, propriety a weapon. Despite whatever misgivings or unkind opinions the other clans had about the Uchiha, the clan heads gravitated toward him. The man was charismatic to a fault, confident and comfortable generations worth of respect afforded him. Minato knew all too well how the man could be appraising and dismissive all at once; invited into his company on behalf of his wife before the years and the Uzumaki's sharp downturn in reputation dragged Kushina and Mikoto apart. What it would be, to have the power to capture attention effortlessly, especially of those who sat at high tables within Konoha and Fire Country. If Fugaku wanted something done, it would not be so trying to have it be so.
Minato had been made aware many times now that being a good Shinobi and war hero only got a man so far. He was clanless. Nameless; 'Namikaze' being of his own choosing. And so he was little more than an upstart in the eyes of the old clans. Marrying a daughter of the Uzumaki's main branch had helped his own position somewhat. At least, until the Year.
When Minato was called upon, it was Hiashi who turned to him. "What is our current standing in this? What further reports from comrades and friends?"
"The breadth of the destruction has been examined by both ROOT and ANBU, the latter led by Kushina, our expert on otherworldly chakra." Minato did not miss the sudden tightness on several faces. "Centred on the Kannabi ravine, the blast was large enough to partially destroy at least two villages while obliterating Kannabi Bridge. There is confirmed loss of life. How many victims is unknown due to the remoteness of the surrounding area but it is expected to be in the hundreds, with more injured. Infrastructure has been affected, of course. Warehouses, grain storage, farmland destroyed or inaccessible. Takigakure has been invaluable in providing some of this information."
"And what of Kusagakure?" Hiashi pressed. "What of our enemies?"
Minato fought the urge to frown. "Kusagakure is up in arms, as expected, and have asked for Iwagakure's aid." Also expected. "With the suddenness of this disaster and its magnitude, it would not surprise me if Suna, Kumo, and Kiri also had agents about the place."
"But we do not know," the Hyuuga stated. To that, Minato gestured at Danzō. The man was spymaster. He was welcome to share his secrets. Minato ignored the press of Kaikei's eyes.
Danzō leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers. "Kumogakure agents have been confirmed. As have those of Sunagakure, Tanigakure, Amegakure, and Ishigakure. We believe that Yugakure intends to buy whatever information is found from Kumo."
"And Kirigakure?" Hiashi interrupted.
"Has not yet been sighted." And likely never will. If there was ever a lack of activity to be suspicious of, it was from Kiri. "Regardless, things are well in hand."
Across the table, Fugaku flicked his gaze to the Hokage, appraising him. Minato welcomed it.
Hiashi pinched his chin in thought. "Regardless, we are still yet mired in unknowns."
"We are," Minato admitted. "But not blind. There are several lines of investigation being pursued. Spearheaded by Commander Zō, and Lord Danzō." He swept a hand toward where both men sat, Danzō inclining his head. "But this information does not come freely. And with tensions high in the nations, I would recommend against going forth too brazenly and intruding where we aren't welcome."
Perhaps the wrong thing to say. Several of the clan heads and even some of those to the left of the battlefield looked unmoved. Nobushi frowned deeper and Chōza gave a soft snort.
"This tension is all the more reason, Lord Hokage, that we must present a united front," Hiashi challenged. "A strong front. Not one of us here is deaf. I'm sure all have heard the rumours circulating in the streets; some so outlandish it offends the sensibilities. What is our line — our official word? The people of Konohagakure and Keishi — nay the whole of Fire Country — require prompt reassurance. Reassurance that this is not another Year. Moreso: reassurance that our enemies do not meddle in demonic chakra in ways we do not perceive."
Alas, we can't have Konoha appear clueless. And what of being the one perceived to have meddled in demonic chakra? The man's words brought to mind those of Uchiha Etsuko. The often divisive relations of Uchiha and Hyuuga were in agreement with this, it seemed.
"Astute, Lord Hiashi, and I agree. For now, the truth will have to suffice: that Konoha won't allow misuse of demonic chakra to go unexamined and we are being proactive in seeking answers from allies, as well as doing our utmost to support those displaced by the disaster."
With the talk of demonic chakra, a weight gathered in the room. Hirano Sunao leaned forward in her seat, timidly raising her hand. At Minato's nod, she cleared her throat. "Lord Hokage, I must ask... is this— what I mean to say is... the Kyūbi no Kitsune... does the Demon Fox have aught to do with this?"
The weight dropped and the chambers became tense, from clan head to loyal retainer. "No." That, Minato could say with confidence. "Our teams have sensed nothing of the Grand Yōkai. Its essence remains scattered, Madam; its being and power utterly unravelled. Whatever the origin of the Demon Star, it has nothing to do with the Fox." Even as people began to relax, Minato pushed further, keen to drive the conversation away from that dark topic. "Messengers have been sent from Konoha to all the nearby nations to establish a dialogue. It won't do for things to get out of hand and people to start pointing fingers."
"The Lord Hokage speaks true," said Zō, nodding his head, his cat mask bobbing. "Our fastest agents have been sent and are passing along the Hokage's inquiries accordingly." Nods and approving stares. Very good.
The Daimyo's man sniffed. "Has a man been sent to Keishi? Konohagakure really ought to send one."
Minato smiled. "Why, Honourable Shigeru, I can think of no better man to send back to the Court than yourself, as informed on the situation as you are."
The house was quiet when Minato entered. He toed off his sandals amongst the smattering of lopsided shoes pushed towards the wall of the genkan, taking care to place his shoes neatly to the side. The lights were off as Minato slipped past the entrance and if not for the murmur of distant movement in the rooms beyond, he would have thought the house to himself. The tempo of pattering footsteps comforted him. Kushina. Naruto was still far too partial to stomping about the place despite being four years out of the Academy and a Chūnin.
He quickly divested himself of his keys, his weapons, coat and flak jacket, now keener to seek the company of his wife than maintaining any sense of organisation. Still, he couldn't help but neatly fold his coat over the back of one of the dining room chairs; an oppressive reverence for what the coat represented maintaining a sense of propriety. Minato sighed, feeling a heaviness to his shoulders and a weight under his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair, padding his way up the stairs and down the mansion's long hall to their bedroom. The sounds in the bedroom paused as the floorboards beneath his feet groaned, his wife listening to his own approach. For once, Minato was glad Naruto appeared to be elsewhere. He needed quiet solace tonight and the presence of a woman he had not seen for a terribly long week.
And then Kushina was there, brilliant red hair drooped in wet waves down her bare torso, a pair of loose sweatpants — his own, by the look — bunched around her hips as she leaned into a towel, petting her hair dry. The waning light played softly across her pale shoulders, slants of it painting her breasts gold and her hair a bright, flaming orange. In the depth of his chest, a ball of pressure released, eking out with his fond sigh. Kami, he'd missed her. It was times like these, when the pressure mounted and expectation gathered between his shoulder blades that he ached for her grounding presence.
From her perch on the bed, Kushina smiled up at him. "Hey you," she greeted softly. Minato moved to sit next to her and she bumped her shoulder against his. "Rough couple of days?"
A warmth suffused him. "Just a few," he replied with a tender smile and kissed her on the side of her mouth.
She threw her towel at the wicker chair in the corner of the room, often burdened with various errant clothing until one of them (usually him) bothered to put them through the wash. Sidling up closer to lean into his side, she dropped a returning kiss on his shoulder. "People or the 'situation'?"
"They're one in the same, aren't they?"
Kushina let out a soft 'ha' but eyed him patiently. Minato failed to hold himself back. He leaned towards her, his body magnetic to her presence and pressed his brow to her temple. She waited, ever patient, ever forgiving to let him find his words. "You just returned home. We don't have to—"
"Yes, we do," she said.
For a pause he struggled. "Alright."
He allowed himself to talk and let the word spill as he tracked the days since a star had appeared too close to the earth. About Kamui, and the insistence of Obito and Rin. At that Kushina hummed, unconvinced at the insinuation that the Uchiha were somehow at fault. Though her friendship with Mikoto may have waned, Kushina was still disinclined to think ill of her and her clan — and perhaps she was right to. After all, both Obito and himself had considered that one hardly needed to be of the Uchiha to make use of a Sharingan.
"Kiri?" She murmured. "We know one of their commanders has a Byakugan. And that several Sharingan have gone missing."
"I don't know," he admitted. "Things just seem to be getting stranger."
He spoke of the citizenry and the rumours; the fear and the tension, and did not miss the way Kushina's jaw clenched. He let it be. That was a wound that had marred them, and that they recovered from still. She would only snap at his pity, and Minato couldn't bear to have her accusing eyes on him. Not right now.
Finally, he mentioned the other nations. The hawks he had received, terse letters asking for information and for explanations he couldn't give. The Council of Taki requested any word, noting the trickle of refugees from the surrounding areas of the blast into their lands; a trickle also noted in Fire, the lost and wounded wandering through villages. He had failed to mention at the Council meeting the... state of some of those fleeing from the destruction of the blast. Reports of severe burns, mutilation, blindness — temporary in many, but permanent in those who were unlucky enough to be close. And those were only of the explosion itself, not to mention the more pedestrian injuries gained from collapsing buildings, blasted trees, and thrown debris. Then there were those that suffered from greed and cruelty: bandits and missing nin taking advantage of the chaos. Well past midnight one night, a ROOT agent had come to him to report that Kusagakure itself was slipping into turmoil, Iwa having to step in to wrangle some form of order, rather than Kusa making any official request.
As he finished, Kushina looked up at the ceiling, inspecting the tung and groove in thought. "You know," she said, "I can't help but think."
"What?"
"That nobody intended for this to happen." She looked at him, her blue-grey eyes searching. "That it was an accident."
"Maybe. But intentions mean little. No one should be playing with this kind of power." Like we did. And they had learnt. Oh, they had learnt.
Together, they grew quiet. Minato looked down at his hands; sore from the hard grip of a pen, calloused from a lifetime of gripping what should have been deadlier things. Since taking Hiruzen's mantle, he had learnt that the pen was just as sharp.
Pointedly, Kushina took one of his hands into her own, turning his wrist to press her lips to his pulse. The brush of her cracked lips drew him from his thoughts and the tension in his brow eased, though Minato hadn't realised his own frown. She moved to kiss further up his wrist before switching to his lips. Minato wondered at it before he sighing at the insistent press of her mouth. Up close, the dark circles beneath her eyes became all the more visible and he swayed back. "You should rest."
"Hush," she said and tugged at his shirt, rolling it up until he relented and let her pull it over his head. She pushed him down, the blankets against his back soft and soothing. There, her kisses were all the more warm and inviting, and Minato leaned into them, captured in a sudden stir of need, heat alighting to pool in his belly. Kushina grinned against his mouth at his growing interest, stroking her thumb over one of his eyebrows.
Together they made quick work of the rest of his clothes. She wiggled out of his sweatpants before straddling his hips. Above him, Kushina's form was wiry and strong, thick with muscled but tempered with areas of softness. He ran his eyes over her body, lovely and heated pink, nicked and flecked with little scars, contrasted with the odd puckered wound that cut deep. As he admired, not for the first time did Minato consider their likeness to one another in respect to their bodies — their hardness, their softness, the scars, their bright colouring. It was her spirit that differed. Kushina was resolute to the depths of her soul in a way Minato could only desire. He was sure that the entire world could fall away, and she would still be standing at the end, all the more defiant. While he... Well, some things had to be accepted.
She poked his ribs, bringing him back to the present. No thinking, it said. He murmured an apology, and moved a hand between her legs. Kushina burred. Despite her fatigue, Kushina still managed to be playful, tugging his hands away, pushing them above his head with enough laxness that he was invited to wrestle. Delighted, he bucked as she threw her head back, relaxing as soon their jostling turned to coaxing sounds from one another. Too soon, Kushina leaned away and Minato made a soft sound at the back of his throat.
"Patience," she insisted, kneading his thighs, her fingers finding and pressing into the hints of softness there that age had given him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Minato was captured in a sudden magnetic pull of desire, drawing him closer. In a smooth motion, he sat up pressing chest to chest. Together, they moved.
They tangled themselves; knotted themselves so fully as they joined that later when Minato opened his eyes for a quick glance, a gasp in his throat and heat bone deep in his belly, for the barest moment he could not tell whose limb was whose. The realisation made him jolt, sparked something in him that had him pressing his face into the junction of Kushina's neck. Caught in the mess of heat and electricity, he was only vaguely aware of his wife's hurried movements. He let her use him, aiding as best he could through his scattered nerves until she too was undone. And as she found it, Kushina moaned and laughed high in a pure joy that had him giddy and displaced. Gently, she took his head and cradled it against her chest before easing them both down onto the bed. And Minato let her, pleased to have her guidance, a peace and contentment in his chest that he had not felt in days.