The night was thick with mist and blood. Cries of the dying rose and fell, mingling with the clash of steel and the wet, brutal sounds of flesh torn apart. Kimimaro moved through the chaos like a phantom, a silent specter cutting through the haze. He had spent much of his life locked away, his power feared even by his own clan. But tonight, with the Kaguya clan's assault on the Hidden Mist Village, he was released—like a blade drawn from its sheath, finally free to cut.
His movements were deliberate, calculated, and as his eyes scanned the war-torn streets, there was a cold detachment to his gaze. The Kaguya had turned the village into a battlefield, bodies strewn across the ground like discarded toys. But Kimimaro did not fight like the others—he was not lost in a frenzy of violence and bloodlust. For him, the battle was not an ecstasy of slaughter but a methodical hunt, each movement precise, each target a necessity.
He couldn't tell if he felt the same thrill as his kin—the rush of bloodletting, the sight of lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground. But one thing was certain: anything was better than being locked in that cage again.
That's when Kimimaro saw him, a boy darting between shadows, pursued by Mist ninja. His movements were quick, desperate, but there was something about the way he ran. Calculated. He didn't stumble like prey; he zigzagged through alleys like someone who knew how to keep a step ahead, even if just barely. The grime on his hair was no disguise; it stuck to him like war paint. The Mist shinobi were after him, and that was enough for Kimimaro to assume the boy might be a Kaguya. After all, why else would they chase him down with such determination?
He felt a familiar instinct rise up, gripping his bone dagger with purpose. "Could he be one of us?" Kimimaro wondered. But that thought hardly mattered—there were enemies to cut down.
Kimimaro moved quickly, becoming a blur through the mist. The first ninja barely had time to gasp as Kimimaro's dagger pierced his throat, quick and clean. There was no wasted motion; he wrenched the blade free, and before the rest could react, he was on them—stab, twist, stab. Each blow was sharp and final, like the bite of a serpent, and they fell into the mud, the life gone from their eyes. Kimimaro's face remained still, void of emotion. He had no time to feel—he just acted.
Zarato came to a halt, panting lightly as he saw the massacre unfold. And then there was only Kimimaro, the bodies around him crumpled like discarded leaves. The two locked eyes, and for a moment, the mist around them stilled. Zarato's eyes darted between the fallen shinobi and the boy who had dispatched them so effortlessly. Despite his heavy breathing, there was a glint of something—not quite fear, but something close to excitement—buried deep in his gaze.
"He doesn't look like a savior. He's probably after the Mist ninja... but what if he's coming for me next?" Zarato's thoughts raced, weighing his options in an instant. "If I make a run for it, he's faster. A lot faster. No—if he means harm, my best bet is to talk my way out of this."
"Why did you help me?" Zarato asked, voice coming out between breaths. He couldn't take his eyes off the bone dagger, the way it still dripped red in Kimimaro's hand. He wasn't terrified, but he was aware—this boy had power, and it was best to keep on his good side.
Kimimaro tilted his head slightly, looking for a mark—something to confirm if this boy could be a Kaguya, even though he had never seen a Kaguya with red hair before. It didn't quite make sense, but right now sense didn't matter. He stepped closer, eyes scanning Zarato's face, his forehead... nothing. No identifying marks of kinship. "Are you a Kaguya?" Kimimaro asked the boy, his voice steady but demanding an answer.
"Kaguya?" Zarato thought quickly. "Should I just play along? No... better not risk it."
"I'm not... Kaguya. I just—escaped. They locked me up, put me in a cage." He paused, considering how much to reveal, before adding with a mix of sincerity and curiosity, "Someone let me out. I don't know who... just ran."
The word "cage" struck Kimimaro deeply. He knew what it was to be caged—hidden away, held back because of the power inside. His grip tightened on the dagger, the memories clawing their way back into his mind. He could see something of himself in Zarato: another kid trying to break free, trying to understand why his power made him an outcast.
Kimimaro was about to respond when a flash of steel interrupted him—a kunai, slicing through the air, aimed straight for his neck. "Watch out!" Zarato called, and before either could think, ghostly white chains erupted from Zarato's body. They snaked around the Mist ninja's arms and chest, holding him in place. The chains glowed faintly, almost alive, but they flickered—like a flame trying to catch—and faded into nothing.
Not what he wanted to show, but if it kept Kaguya boy on his side, it was worth the risk. Better that than a Mist shinobi coming after him.
The hesitation was just enough time for Kimimaro. He closed the distance with a quick, practiced step, and his bone dagger sank deep into the Mist ninja's chest. A twist, and the body crumpled, gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Those... chains..." Kimimaro muttered, his eyes turning back to Zarato.
Zarato forced a shrug, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Yeah, well... they don't really last. Or do much." He let out a breath, more out of exasperation than anything else. "Not as useful as that, huh?" He motioned with his chin to the bone dagger in Kimimaro's grip. He could be frustrated, sure—but there was no point. He'd learned long ago to roll with whatever cards he was dealt.
Zarato hadn't had the chance to experiment with his power; it was too risky, and despite all the precautions he'd taken, he still ended up locked in a cage. He needed time, trials, and errors to really understand it. The irony wasn't lost on him—that he was hunted for a power he barely understood himself.
Kimimaro didn't say anything more. Instead, he knelt down, snapping a bone from his forearm and shaping it into a new blade. He tossed it to Zarato, who caught it.
"If you want to survive," Kimimaro said quietly, "use it."
Zarato's eyes flickered with curiosity as he caught the blade. "So, he forms those daggers from his own body? That's... quite the ability."
Zarato's mind hummed with curiosity as he gripped the dagger, feeling its weight, far sturdier than any kunai he had held before. He glanced at Kimimaro, noting the effortless way the boy fought, despite being close to his age. "So calm, so precise… It's impressive", Zarato mused, a flicker of excitement stirring beneath his cool demeanor. "I wonder what else he can do."