"Hokage-sama — the Second — is a man who commands respect as effortlessly as others draw breath.
"The clan he hails from always produced warriors of incredible strength, back when children as young as six — or perhaps less — would march out wearing clan armor too big for their bodies, returning in coffins if they returned at all. But where his ancestors saw necessity in such sacrifice, he saw something that needed to be broken and reforged.
"Hokage-sama turned even his clan's legacy into something greater: not just a promise, but an unbreakable vow written in the very foundations of our village.
"'No child of Fire will ever again march to war. No child of Fire will ever again perish on the battlefield.'
"He is old now, his hair fully gray and his frame marked by the weight of years, older even than the grim Commander of the Enforcers and perhaps as ancient as Mito-sama herself. Yet, while her years settle upon her as a crown of ageless grace, his seem to press upon him like a mantle of iron.
"Though these three titans of Fire rarely agree on anything, all three are called warrior philosophers. But while the Commander speaks of duty and Mito-sama of balance, our Hokage speaks of love. The same way his cherished student does.
"And at its heart, Hokage-sama's vision, much like his flames, burns brightest."
初
炎
17 — FIRST FLAME, SECOND EMBER
THE TROUBLE WAS, neither Naruto nor Shinpachi were truly trained in stealth.
Not properly, at least — not in the way the shinobi of the mainland seemed to perfect it, turning silence into an art form and shadow into an ally.
Certainly, they were Uzumaki, and that alone gave them other advantages. Strong of body, resilient of spirit, their movements carried the unmistakable weight of their heritage.
They had been trained well in many things: the intricacies of seals, the required precision of chakra control (something that was not particularly natural to them either, and perhaps gave him some hope, in a roundabout sort of way), the tenacity required to outlast an opponent. And Taijutsu, too — they were good at that.
Naruto had focused his efforts on the Crashing Gale, a form that favored raw, sweeping power; wide arcs that could knock back multiple opponents in one blow. Shinpachi's movements, Naruto had supposed, would be of the sharper, more refined sort; he likely used the Falling Current style, a counter-heavy style that redirected the energy of an opponent's strike into devastating ripostes.
And Shinpachi confirmed it with a few hushed whispers when they hastily drew plans. Together, Naruto supposed they would make for a chaotic but effective team — when subtlety wasn't required.
Because stepping lightly, for one, was difficult when the floorboards seemed to groan with every step, as if waiting to betray their intentions to the enemy. It was for exactly that reason they took to walking on walls and ceilings, sticking to shadows whenever they could.
No, Naruto thought, stealth didn't feel all that natural to him. Perhaps it was ingrained in their bones. Uzumaki, whose voices so often carried across windswept cliffs and crashing seas, instinctively sought the open air.
They did not really favor hiding. Many of them would choose to face storms head-on, wielding power with confidence and cunning, trusting their overwhelming presence rather than their absence.
Naruto grimaced as he shifted his weight along the wooden beams of the ceiling, his chakra anchoring him in place. Somewhere behind him, however, Shinpachi moved in near silence — if only in comparison. His footsteps barely seemed a whisper against the grain. It jarred Naruto — not that Shinpachi was quieter, but for the reminder of how unnatural this creeping around felt. Every muscle in his body yearned for action, for clarity. But stealth was all they had, when faced with what they had figured to be experienced shinobi — or any other sort of mercenaries.
Both boys understood it was only a matter of time before they were noticed. Even so, they pressed on, their movements deliberate, and their breaths steady.
By Naruto's reckoning, they were about halfway to the dining room they'd been in earlier. The machine rooms — if his half-absent observation during boarding was correct — were tucked toward the rear of the airship. Outside, the night was clear, the air sharp and alive with the rush of spring winds. It might have been pleasant under other circumstances, but now the moonlight spilling through the windows and holes made their task far harder.
Walking across the airship's rigid shell was out of the question — someone would surely be watching. And even if they weren't, the metal's slick, treacherous surface was no place to gamble their lives, chakra or not.
Their plan was simple, born more of necessity than brilliance: if they encountered any of the passengers, and if the way seemed safe, they would ask for information about the four adults' whereabouts. If they didn't, they would move cautiously toward the source of the initial explosion and hope their allies were still fighting.
Otherwise…
Naruto clenched his jaw and pushed the thought of Aiko from his mind. Worry about a girl he barely knew in the first place would do no good here, not when their focus was the only thing keeping them balanced — on the beams, in their quest, and in this tense calm.
Even so, the two boys established a rudimentary communication of sorts. Naruto, whose eyes they had noticed saw slightly better in the dark than Shinpachi's, would be the lookout. He would alert the other boy for movement he couldn't perceive. For much the same reason, Shinpachi was able to stick to deeper shadows and signal from there.
They had only established a few hand signals: stop, advance, enemy nearby. It wasn't much, but it had served them well so far. That, and the few spell cards Shinpachi always carried with him.
The two boys continued their crawl along the wooden beams, moving carefully from one corner of the room to the other. The beams were safer than the metal tiles above, which they had quickly realized — with a jarring creak and a sharp pop — were too fragile to hold their weight without betraying their position. The air vents had been tempting for a moment, but their narrow confines would leave them defenseless, unable to fight or flee if discovered.
Ahead of them, an open doorframe loomed, a black void that seemed to swallow all light. Naruto squinted, his sharp eyes straining to pierce the darkness, but even he shook his head, signaling that he couldn't see beyond it.
Shinpachi raised his hand, a quick, curt gesture: stop.
Naruto paused, his knees braced against the beam, watching as Shinpachi tugged at the cloth wrapped around his arm under the borrowed cloak. From its folds, he withdrew two nearly identical spell cards. The parchment seemed soft from wear, the inked spiral at their center faintly glimmering in the dim light — slightly too visible already. Wandering Eye. It wasn't perfect, and it wouldn't last long, but it would give them what they needed.
With a deft twist of his fingers and a quick mutter, Shinpachi infused one of the cards — the transmitter one — with a pulse of chakra. The ink shimmered and shifted, the spiral expanding outward. An eye made out of ink appeared on the card, blinked once, almost lazily, before the tag lifted into the air.
Shinpachi exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he focused on the seal's connection through the receiver card he continued to hold. Naruto knew this much: the world around him dimmed, his perspective tilting and warping as if he had stepped out of his own body. He directed the hovering card near the door.
Through the Wandering Eye, he saw the room ahead, which he would soon describe to Naruto, in a quiet whisper: narrow and cluttered, with crates stacked haphazardly along the walls and in the middle of the room, and a faint glint of light reflecting off metallic surfaces.
The next thing, he wouldn't have needed to describe. Because Naruto would soon see it too — a shadow. A figure, hunched low, slipping between the stacks of crates. Shinpachi couldn't make out much detail, but the faint glow of a weapon's edge was unmistakable.
He opened his eyes and gestured quickly to Naruto: enemy nearby.
Naruto nodded, fingers twitching at his side. But Shinpachi wasn't done. He guided the Wandering Eye further, willing it to drift higher and closer to the doorframe. The faint glow of the eye illuminated the figure's features, noticeable only to Shinpachi — it was a large man, who was scanning the room with predatory precision. A second shadow moved behind in the same room, smaller and quicker. Two of them, then.
Shinpachi suppressed a grimace. The eye flickered, the chakra tether beginning to strain. He had pushed it farther than he should have, with his limited control. With a quick exhale, he pulled it back up.
Turning to Naruto, he held up his fingers, just to make sure the message was clear — two enemies, four spread-out doors. It meant that in the right circumstances, the men wouldn't be able to keep track of everything at once. Shinpachi's eyes flickered toward the crates stacked ahead, his hand making a subtle gesture to indicate a potential path around them, eyes searching Naruto's for a response.
Naruto briefly considered going back and around. There were bound to be enough holes in the airship's hull for them to slip out and back in at a further point, instead of risking passing this room.
Shinpachi tucked the transmitter spell card back into his pouch, his lips tightening into a flat line. Waiting for Naruto's decision. There was something in his expression, something Naruto had noticed before: Shinpachi was rather independently-minded... but rarely willing to make decisions for others. He would rather wait for someone else to take the reins, even if it meant walking into danger himself.
Naruto shifted, uncomfortably aware of his own uncertainty.
He wasn't the leader that Shinpachi seemed to silently hope for. Not like Yasaka. She would have already barreled forward, fists cocked back and ready to test her strength against anything in her path. She didn't waste time doubting herself, never hesitated. No, Naruto wasn't like her. His fists couldn't match half the force of her unbridled confidence, and he didn't have the luxury of throwing caution to the wind—
Ah.
No, he was lying to himself here. That was something he had been doing quite a lot recently, with varying results. He had proved himself to be just as reckless, in his own way, only more fearful. His hand relaxed slightly — he was a hypocrite, wasn't he?
A few more questions arose. Was there a right choice to make? Or was every path just as dangerous as the next? Was this the sort of thing he could expect from the mainland?
What would Yasaka do?
The thought came again, unbidden. Yasaka was a force of nature, a wild storm, but him? His chakra, though strong, lacked the raw power to break through reinforced steel with a simple blow. He wasn't invincible, not nearly, and he had been made aware of it rather painfully, several times in the last few months.
But still… the thought of her — charging ahead without a second thought, pushing past every obstacle, made him smile faintly. If he were being honest, it was that kind of courage that he had always admired in her. It was a small comfort, a flicker of warmth that eased the weight in his chest. No, he wasn't Yasaka. Only himself.
And if she were me…?
Ha. Obvious answer.
He soon raised his hand, fingers moving with the quiet resolve of someone who had made a decision he would take responsibility for. From his sleeve, he brought out a simple, weathered brush, pressed it against the small, inner seal that was present on all Uzumaki cloaks. The brush triggered that seal, allowing it to release a small quantity of ink from its stored capacity.
He steadied his breath as he began to inscribe something onto the beam — a basic design that no one would notice. Even Shinpachi, from his vantage point, couldn't see what he was drawing in the darkness.
Dust...? No, smoke as the target; set it to draw inward, omnidirectional; anchor it until it is fully saturated; no escape route; no scatter.
The brush swept across the dusty wood with practiced ease, and each stroke was a delicate movement. He didn't need to look at the symbols as he drew them. His mind was focused on the task, leaving Shinpachi to keep his attention split upon the two enemies, to make sure neither was aware of his actions or coming this way at all. It wasn't meant to be perfect, not by any means. In fact, it was the opposite.
Shinpachi glanced at him, as though sensing the shift in Naruto's demeanor, the way his fingers moved with a new kind of resolve. He didn't interrupt. The brush paused. The seal was nearly done, but was currently unstable — the edges already starting to fray, the ink bleeding in odd places, the design not quite aligning with what he now knew to be the 'right' way to do it, no strong symbolic anchoring or similarity between the seal and the target…
It was a seal that would misfire, undoubtedly.
Naruto exhaled softly, wiping the brush clean before slipping it back into his pouch, his gaze flicking toward Shinpachi. Without a word, Naruto raised his hand. He caught Shinpachi's eye, knowing the other boy would be paying close attention, waiting for his next move.
The gesture Naruto signaled was simple: advance.
Shinpachi's nod was terse, and his face, sharp with focus. He moved like smoke now, gaining confidence with every measured step as he balanced along the beam's edge. Naruto went first, his heart pounding, syncing his leap with some of the louder tremulous sounds the airship's damaged engines made.
The jump was brief, but it felt like an eternity. Naruto landed softly, his feet brushing against the wall with barely a sound, and he immediately pressed his back flat against the surface. Shinpachi was already beside him, his hand hovering near his pouch, ready to unleash whatever spell card he'd primed. They slid downward, their descent slow and deliberate, until their feet touched the cool metal of the floor.
The clatter of the airship echoed around them, masking their movement. Stay low. Stay quiet. Naruto thought the words with such intensity it felt like they were etching themselves into his brain. Shinpachi didn't need to hear them; he moved with the same urgency, the same caution, if not more.
Ahead lay the next room, dimly lit by a swaying overhead light that cast jagged shadows over crates and steel walls. The sharp tang of oil and metal. Naruto pressed himself closer to the ground, the chill of the floor seeping through his clothing.
His palms felt damp as they crawled forward, body pressed close to the floor. This had to be the worst part so far: this quiet in-between, the fragile silence where every noise seemed magnified.
The two men stationed there were oblivious for now, their attention continuously switching from the other doors across the room to the shadows in which the boys crawled, without seeing them.
The first figure came into full view: a massive, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a jagged scar slashing through one eyebrow. He moved with deliberate care and sharp eyes; it was the posture of someone expecting trouble. The second man, wiry and restless, crouched atop a crate like a feral animal, his twitching movements betraying a coiled tension.
Naruto's breath hitched as the larger man's gaze swept perilously close to their hiding place. He froze, willing himself to disappear into the shadows. Beside him, Shinpachi was like a ghost to him— his form still, his breathing impossibly quiet.
Naruto's mind had started counting the moment they jumped. When he reached twenty-four, a faint shimmer of light flickered back in the room they'd just left — exactly as planned.
It was, after all, the average time it had taken for this sort of seal to fail him, before he had learned better — or perhaps one second too soon. Either way, it was close enough.
The smaller man's head snapped toward the distortion, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell's that blue light?" he hissed.
The larger man grunted, his jaw tightening. "Go check it out," he said, his voice gravelly and low. "I'll stay."
The wiry man slipped down from the crate, landing with a sharp metallic thud. A blade appeared in his hand as he crept toward the flicker. The larger man followed for a few steps, slower, his gaze still sweeping the room like a predator sizing up the shadows.
The faint glow in the other room deepened the shadows in this one, cloaking Naruto and Shinpachi further. Most of the mercenaries' attention remained fixed in that general area. It was the perfect opening.
Naruto tapped Shinpachi's arm, a silent command: advance. Now.
The two of them slipped behind a crate, smoothly and swiftly. Naruto's pulse thundered in his ears, but he forced himself to stay focused. The seal wouldn't last long — just enough to pull attention away. Their window was small, razor-thin, and closing fast.
Pressed tight against the crate's cold surface, Naruto barely dared to breathe.
He brought his hands together shakily in a Dragon seal, generally well-suited for opening or breaking a link to a seal. Then he broke the one binding him to that failing seal sharply in half.
The unbalanced seal, now lacking the only thing able to somewhat stabilize it, failed — and detonated.
It wasn't that strong of an explosion, not compared to explosive tags, which were made powerful on purpose — and the reliable ones generally worked on rather different principles anyway. But in this tense silence, the light of it felt blinding, and its roar ear-splitting; a vibration that shook the very floor beneath them. Shrapnel and debris clattered against the walls like an unholy rain, and he could smell burning wood.
Shouts rang out, sharp and alarmed. "What the hell was that?!" one of the men bellowed. "Is the ship—?"
"Come over!" the other shouted. Figuring which one was which without seeing them was rather more difficult than Naruto had expected. But he heard the footsteps drawing away. Shinpachi peeked over the edge of the crate, and Naruto's heart was hammering. He confirmed that the two of them were moving toward the burning remnants of the beam, weapons drawn. It was working — just barely.
But just as Naruto started to signal Shinpachi forward again, he noticed it. He froze mid-step, hand outstretched. The air in the room was dense with dust, every surface veiled in it. He could feel it tickling the back of his throat, but he had managed to force himself to swallow it down.
Shinpachi and his sensitive nose, on the other hand, hadn't.
No, no no no—
A sharp, stifled, loud sneeze broke the silence.
Naruto's blood ran cold. The floor creaked somewhere in the darkness. A low growl came from somewhere deeper in the shadows, too close for comfort.
He looked back, and his worst fear materialized: a third mercenary, previously obscured by the crates, nearing the corner behind which they had hidden.
The man's eyes fell down, eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the dim light. And then, he saw them.
"Hey!" the man roared, his voice a jagged edge of sound. He staggered back, reaching for his weapon. "They're here!"
Failure. No time for subtlety now. Not while they still had the advantage of surprise. Not while there was a chance the man hadn't been heard yet, with so much noise around.
"Go!" Naruto hissed at Shinpachi, though he wasn't even sure what he meant himself. Escape? Attack? Survive? No matter what it was, his body moved before his mind could catch up. He hurled himself forward, kunai in hand, toward the moving soldier.
Naruto was fast enough. The blade sank deep into the man's shoulder, eliciting a strangled grunt and forcing him back a step. But it wasn't enough. With a guttural snarl, the man retaliated, his fist connecting with Naruto's temple like a sledgehammer. The world spun violently, his vision shrinking to a blurry tunnel edged with darkness.
A sharp ringing sound filled his ears, drowning out everything else. Was it an alarm? Or just his skull splitting under the blow? He didn't know. All he knew was his pained moan, the taste of copper flooding his mouth, and the cold, unforgiving floor upon which he was tumbling drunkenly.
"Little shit," the man growled.
Naruto blinked hard, fighting to refocus, just as Shinpachi leaped into action. The movement was quick, almost too quick — Shinpachi's hand snapping forward as he flung a spell card with the sort of precision that, as desperate as it seemed, had to have been trained. It hissed through the air, slicing toward its target.
The man, as seasoned and sharp as any, reacted instinctively. He shifted back, just a fraction, and the card whistled harmlessly past his head. His lips curled into a cruel smirk, eyes locking onto Shinpachi like a predator sizing up his next meal.
"I think I'll—"
The sentence was never finished. The card, one half of Shinpachi's inherited Kazeneko — Wind Cats — unfurled in midair, its dormant power blooming with a sound like tearing silk. In a heartbeat, blades of razor-sharp wind extended outward from its edges, catching the man entirely unprepared.
Naruto saw it all, in horrifying clarity. The way the man's confident expression twisted into wide-eyed shock. The precise, surgical arcs of wind as they slashed through his throat. The way he staggered, hands clawing desperately at his ruined neck, a wet, gurgling moan escaping his lips.
And then, the silence. The awful, suffocating silence as the man crumpled, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
Naruto's breath caught in his chest. He turned, his wide eyes locking onto Shinpachi. Ryūjin's technique had been one thing. This... The younger boy stood frozen, his face pale and streaked with sweat. There was no triumph in his expression, only horror — a raw, unfiltered kind that also clawed its way into Naruto's stomach.
Shinpachi's hands trembled, his fingers still half-raised as though he could pull the card back, undo what had just happened.
And so, blood spattered his face, dark and gleaming in the dim light.
And so, he deftly caught the card that flew back into his hand; another practiced motion.
And so, at the grand age of ten, Uzumaki Shinpachi of the Gakusha-ke killed his first grown man.
It wouldn't be the last, but it had to have been the first, from his reaction.
Naruto forced himself to look at the body again, perhaps out of morbid curiosity. The man's eyes were open, glassy with the uncomprehending realization of his own death. Killed by children he had been tasked to recover. A grotesque, jagged wound stretched across his throat, deep enough to reveal glimmers of bone beneath the crimson.
The pit in Naruto's stomach yawned wider, swallowing any satisfaction he might have felt. A dark glee flickered at the edges of his mind — the grim understanding that they had survived this moment — but it was drowned by something heavier. Something uglier.
He wasn't sure what unsettled him more: the man's death, or the way he had wanted it to happen — needed it to happen.
Shinpachi's breath hitched audibly, snapping Naruto out of his spiral. He reached out, placing a firm hand on Shinpachi's upper arm. The boy flinched at the contact, his bright, dimmed eyes darting toward Naruto.
There were many things he could have said, but none quite fit.
"…Them or us," Naruto said, and the words tasted like ash.
Of course, he was too young to understand this was the way of the world then. He took to its golden rule remarkably well in spite of it.
Shinpachi swallowed hard, his lips trembling. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I thought he'd dodge. I thought—"
"Thank you. You saved us again." Naruto tightened his grip. "…Don't think about it now."
Shinpachi nodded, though his movements were jerky, unsure. His hands still shook as he wiped the blood from his face, but he didn't look at the body again. Neither of them did.
"…Them or us," Shinpachi repeated, sounding hollow. "Right?"
"Yes — Help me drag him away," Naruto said, feeling distant from himself. No one had come yet, which meant the man hadn't been heard before they— "We'll stack him behind these crates."
And so they did. Then Naruto straightened, forcing blood into his legs, preparing to move again—
The sound of boots slamming against the metal floor shattered the fragile moment, echoing down the corridor like gunpowder cracking. Shinpachi froze, his head snapping toward the sound. Naruto grabbed his wrist and yanked him behind a stack of crates just as the first men rounded the corner.
"Blood?"
There were four of them, their silhouettes sharp and black against the faint light of the hallway. Their movements were deliberate, coordinated — trained shinobi, too. One barked an order, his voice low and clipped, and the others fanned out, their eyes scanning every shadow.
They found the corpse nearly instantly.
Naruto pressed his back against the crate, his mind racing. They were outnumbered and outmatched. Once was lucky enough. These weren't the kind of opponents they could scare off with tricks or lucky shots.
Shinpachi clutched a spell card in trembling fingers, his breathing ragged. Naruto shot him a look and shook his head, mouthing, Not yet.
Inwardly, he was worried. Shinpachi didn't seem to be in a state to do anything that wouldn't hinder them. One of the men stepped closer. Close enough that a single look would expose them instantly.
Naruto felt for the storage in his sleeve, his fingers brushing the coarse fabric, resting on the seal that held a smoke bomb. It wasn't much, but he wasn't sure whether Shinpachi could stomach another murder — whether he himself could. He glanced at Shinpachi and gestured toward the far side of the crates. When the boy hesitated, Naruto leaned close and whispered, his voice barely audible, "You break left when I throw this. Don't stop. No matter what happens."
Shinpachi opened his mouth to argue, but the words died when he saw the look in Naruto's eyes. He nodded reluctantly.
Naruto took a steadying breath, and then hurled the smoke bomb over the top of the crates. It hit the ground with a dull clang before erupting into a dense cloud of gray.
"Move!" Naruto hissed, shoving Shinpachi toward the opening.
The men reacted instantly, and their shouts sounded muffled by the smoke.
There were more of them than Naruto had thought, perhaps a dozen.
He darted in the opposite direction, kunai flashing as he lashed out at the first shadow he saw. The blade caught the man's arm, drawing a sharp cry, but the retaliation was brutal — a sweeping kick that knocked Naruto off his feet and sent him skidding across the floor as he recovered.
It turned out, rather evidently, that the gap between a child in training and an adult man was generally too wide to be breached.
Naruto rolled to his knees just in time to block a second strike with his kunai, the clash of metal on metal ringing in his ears. The man loomed over him, his face obscured by the smoke, but his intent was clear in the way he drove forward, relentless.
Strike to debilitate, if not kill.
Naruto barely managed to deflect the next blow, his arms screaming in protest. He could hear Shinpachi's panicked footsteps fading into the distance, followed by the heavy thud of another man giving chase.
Perhaps one of them might get out of this alive. Perhaps Shinpachi would even reach in time—
A fist hammered into Naruto's ribs, stealing the air from his lungs. Taking his rational mind away. He bent, breathless, vision swimming, but the guard didn't give him the chance to recover. Another strike, this one to his shoulder, sent Naruto crashing to the floor, his limbs heavy, his head spinning. His kunai slipped from his fingers, spinning uselessly across the cold floor, far beyond his reach.
Only impulse remained.
Them or us—
Every breath he took was like swallowing shards of glass.
—define the parameters—
Naruto gritted his teeth, driven mostly by hateful instinct, and spat blood onto the floor.
—cut down on the number of seals used—
His hand fumbled to his side, fingers slick with sweat and blood as he reached under him, where the man couldn't see as he kicked Naruto's unprotected back.
—blood as a source, medium, and target—
His vision was a blur of shapes, flickering in and out between heavy blows, but he knew this — he had no time for precision, no time to think.
—set the output direction—
His bloodied fingers dragged across the floor as he drew the crude, jagged lines of a seal, alternating with his aching knuckles.
—binding mechanism—
It wasn't elegant, not by any measure.
—set the limit as low as you can for input and power source—
It wasn't refined.
—give it everything you can—
The edges were shaky, and the symbols bled into each other, and Noboru would have bitched seeing it, but it didn't matter.
—as fast you can—
Hasty, frantic scrawl; his blood soaking into the floor, merging with the chakra as his Intent bled through the pain.
—overflow safeguard set to flow outward—
But it wasn't about perfection.
—through the path of least resistance—
It was about desperation.
—it can't explode on me—
Survival.
—anchor it—
A foot slammed into his face when he turned around, splitting his lip. Although his vision swam, his focus didn't waver. Moaning in pain and feigning weakness to hide his ministrations, even as more shattering blows rained upon him, Naruto stuck to his improvised plan.
—connect the origin to the input—
The guard was already raising his boot to kick at Naruto's skull when he turned around. But this time, Naruto was ready. He flashed the man a sharp, bloodstained smile as his palm slammed down onto the crude sigil, making him pause before the boot could make contact.
—unleash the stored energy.
The chakra he rammed through the seal reacted just as violently as it had been forced in — an explosion of heat and dark energy ripped through the space, sending a jagged arc of blood-red light through the air.
A basic, targeted Catch and Release bind, using his blood to bind… his own blood.
A simple seal that he had willingly overloaded, letting it tremble with pent-up energy, like a coiled spring poised to snap — ready to surge in the direction he had set.
The unrefined blood spike shot out from the seal, a jagged, feral burst of energy. It struck the guard's foot dead center, cleaving it in half, instantly cauterizing the flesh and sending the man stumbling back with a scream of agony, clutching the ruined stump. The skin had already blistered, blackened from the heat, but there was no time to savor it — wait no, savor it—?
One heartbeat. One precious, fleeting heartbeat.
Before the man could do more than curse, Naruto lunged, moving like a cornered prey. With nothing to lose. He'd long discarded the idea of a clean fight — there was only the raw, primal need to survive at any cost. His second hidden kunai, hidden in the sealed folds of his dusty clothes, slipped into his hand. The blade caught a glint of light — just a flicker — before it drove into the guard's left eye with a sickening squelch.
The man's scream curdled in his throat, cut off as the kunai sank deeper. Naruto felt the weight of him falter, his body slackening. He didn't hesitate, forcing the blade further, until there was a crack that reverberated up his arm. Dark ichor gushed over his fingers, warm and sticky, pooling beneath him as adrenaline dulled the edges of everything else. More slackening.
But like the man before, Naruto didn't see it coming.
A blast of water slammed into his kneecap sideways, the force of it exploding bone and flesh. Pain ripped through him as his leg crumpled, and he hit the ground with a hoarse, animalistic scream.
Before he could recover, another hand found his shoulder, jerking him up and slamming him down again. The floor cracked beneath the weight of it, rattling his teeth. Another man was standing over him, fury etched into his features, though it was nothing half as horrifying as the gooey paste all over the still face of the man he had stabbed.
Naruto's vision was tunneling, the edges darkening as the weight of his injuries finally caught up to him. He felt battered, broken, and he was sure the fight was over. Every breath was a struggle, and the room spun, more footsteps echoing closer, drowning out the fading strength in his limbs.
It's over, and I think I was rather done anyway.
The kunai in his hand had fallen, useless. His palms were too slick to hold it anyway, and he thought he knew what was coming, whether they killed him now or not.
A blur. A flash.
Something. A whistling sound — the telltale rustle of a card slicing through the air — was coming for the guard nearest to him.
It was Shinpachi. Who was supposed to have run away.
Naruto blinked, heart clenching as he saw him in the corner of his eye, throwing that damned card. But it wasn't fast enough. Nothing like the one from before.
Too slow. Too visible.
From his position on the cold, unforgiving floor, Naruto's blurred gaze lifted toward the ceiling. And, in that split second, he understood.
The card. Shinpachi's card — Naruto realized it wasn't meant to strike. No, it was a diversion for that shadow. How it would go, he didn't fully know. If it was the last thing he was to see, he only hoped it would be a good show.
The air seemed to shift in an instant, like the snap of a taut string breaking. And the shadow Naruto alone had seen move was like a cloak, unfurling in the heavy silence.
In a split second, the figure dropped, a graceful, effortless motion that sent a ripple through the air — now cutting through the room like a blade.
And then the voice. Two words, simple, and final:
"Sealing Field."
Naruto's heart skipped a beat as the temperature in the room plummeted, then rose — sharp, unrelenting, like a blast of scalding air. Unseen but undeniable, power spread outward, wrapping the space in a suffocating grip. A crimson glow bathing everything in its light. Naruto's awareness, which had been fading into darkness, snapped back into focus at once. As if his very survival depended on it.
It did.
Naruto's blood ran cold, and his body stiffened with the weight of the unfamiliar power. Fear, raw and primal, crept into his chest. He could feel it — the pull of this technique, wrapping itself around his mind, around everything. It wasn't just a barrier, although that, too, was an essential part of it. It seemed a force that shaped reality, one that turned the space within itself into a weapon.
The guards froze.
Every single one of them. Everyone within range, including Naruto. Mid-step. Mid-swing. Mid-shout.
It was as though time itself had stilled in the wake of that command. In truth, it wasn't that their bodies had stopped, no; it would be truer to say that their very minds froze for a moment, that their thinking process was suspended.
The reason for that was the sudden influx of memories that jammed their brains.
The same way it did Naruto's, who was forced to see it: a grotesque tableau of destruction, an open grassy field sprawled with bodies twisted at unnatural angles, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, blood pooling in dark, slick rivers across the dirt-streaked ground, shattered weapons littered everywhere like remnants of a forgotten war, smoke curling into the still air, the sounds of dying shouts and guttural gasps stifled by an oppressive silence, the horror of it all, a feeling he didn't even think was his, felt with startling clarity that made everything else seem muddled, all this crashing down on him in one overwhelming rush, a flood of broken lives for a meaningless cause, pretty dreams crushed by the weight of the few's boundless ambition, and so all the people in the room, Naruto included, were trapped in a frozen moment that seemed to stretch for eternity, leaving them struck, barely remembering to breathe, and not able to fully process the sudden nightmarish, vivid memory before them.
"Incarnadine Threads."
There was no time to process what couldn't be an illusion, no time to think, no time to blink.
The first kill was almost gentle — a whisper of motion, a perfect red dot appearing in the center of a man's temple, the eyes rolling back before he understood death had claimed him.
Then the dance began in earnest.
Shiori, who had always seemed so poised, so controlled… Shiori, who never let go of her Sealing Field technique, became a violent storm, a blur of movement as she fell upon the enemies like a predator set loose.
Her hands, swift and precise, cut through flesh and bone with an artistry that could only be described as death incarnate. With a flick of her wrist, her fingernails — now elongated into what seemed to be obsidian needles from afar — pierced the soft temples of men and women alike, sinking into that fragile junction where thought and life intertwined.
Body after body dropped to the ground with barely a sound. She didn't hesitate. She didn't falter. She moved like smoke through their ranks, inevitable and unstoppable. Beautiful, terrible precision; a ritual of death performed by a priestess who had long ago transcended mere killing.
Thirteen bodies collapsed in near-perfect rhythm, like rain on temple stones. Men fell, one after another, each strike sending them into that final, silent sleep. Blood pooled at their feet as her movements ballet of destruction accelerated.
The last two, a man and woman whose faces were twisted in disbelief, stood frozen in the wake of her carnage, unwilling or unable to flee.
Shiori's gaze settled on them with the coldest of intents. The room seemed to constrict around them as she approached, a soft but foreboding smile playing on her lips.
She didn't look at the bodies. She didn't acknowledge the slaughter. Instead, she glanced over at the two children — who were trembling, eyes wide with fear. The silence in the room was thick with dread, and yet, she spoke as though nothing was amiss, as though they weren't standing in a cold warehouse awash in blood.
"Come, little ones," Shiori murmured, her voice carrying the warmth of a mother and the emptiness of the void. It took Naruto a jarring moment to realize she wasn't talking to Shinpachi and him. "Let me ease your suffering before I leave. Something terrible stirs ahead, and we must speak of it before the darkness claims you too."
"That barrier technique..." The woman's face contorted in recognition, terror blooming in her eyes like black flowers as she caught a glimpse of Shiori's face. "…You're the one who killed Renjiro in Earth, aren't you? Soothsayer! You wretched—"
Shiori's smile was gentle as morning dew.
Whatever she had glimpsed in the woman, the terrified Naruto couldn't tell. But whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Shiori's hand moved with liquid grace, and another perfect hole bloomed, a burgundy rose, on the woman's forehead. As she fell, her eyes held a moment of perfect understanding — then that same emptiness Naruto had witnessed several times tonight already.
"Why yes," Shiori said, so softly it almost felt tender. "I suppose I am."
She turned to the last survivor.
"Well, then?" she asked. Her words carried with them the weight of fourteen fresh corpses and countless before them.
"Will you talk?"
lensdump:
i/Llaa4r : Lady Shiori
i/LzHVKx : Gojō, On Sealing Fields
i/LnCaQ2 : Extra — "Are Sealing Fields something only I didn't know about... again?"
Annex — On Sealing Fields
Sealing Field. Sealed Field. True Art of Sealing. Call it what you like, there will be a thousand new names out there by the time I'll manage one anyway, and half of them will drip with self-importance the thing might deserve. The other half, as always, will sound like someone's weird little brother came up with them during recess.
In any case, I'm talking about turning barrier techniques into your portable, personal no-go area. Maybe even about applying your extension technique to it, who knows. In whichever form you do that. Solid? Congratulations, you've just made an impenetrable wall that says 'Keep Out' louder than a suspiciously cheap apartment lease — bed bugs will do that. Intangible? Who's going to walk in anyway? Only our clansmen are prepared to do that. And whether it's out of preparedness or sheer, brainless guts... well, let's just say I've met both types.
As for the downsides, it of course drinks chakra like most of our best techniques (the other tends to leave you dead instead, so let's count our blessings). It requires the user to be a master of barrier techniques, of course, and maintaining one is about as fun as chaperoning a fishing trip with the younger years.
Also, we're not supposed to show them to outsiders. Which means finishing the job, usually. I think that about sums it up.
Thus writes Gojō, on the third day of July, in the Year 208 of the Fire Cycle.
AN: Ah, yes, "beware of an old [wo]man in a profession where [they] usually die young."
A classic trope I do enjoy, admittedly...
Next chapter: To Be Chosen