Post Sound Four Liquidation Interlude 3: Chojuro of the Mist

"HIYAAAA!"

Chojuro's snarl tore through the thick blanket of mist, his razor-sharp, shark-like teeth flashing as he lunged forward. His grip on Hiramekarei was firm, the legendary blade glowing with pale blue chakra, casting an eerie glow through the fog.

Before him, three enemy shinobi, all wielding short katanas, glared at him with hardened, angered expressions, their stances taut with anticipation.

The battlefield around them was a cacophony of steel clashing against steel, of screams—rage-filled, pain-filled, adrenaline-fueled.

The trio reacted instantly, scattering into the mist in an attempt to vanish from sight. But one was too slow.

Chojuro swung Hiramekarei in a wide arc, the blade's chakra-infused energy trailing like a river's flow. His cut was clean, effortless, and the shinobi barely had time to scream before their bisected body was flung apart, both halves crashing onto the ground with a wet, sickening thud.

The moment was short-lived.

The remaining two lunged back out of the mist, their katanas poised to strike—one moving with deadly precision, his blade aimed directly at Chojuro's heart.

The blade found purchase—or so it seemed.

Chojuro's body shattered into water, dissolving into a harmless puddle beneath their feet.

A Water Clone.

And before they could react, the real Chojuro descended from above, Hiramekarei now crackling with energy as its chakra morphed into a massive mallet.

"HIYAAA!"

He brought it crashing down, slamming into both men with devastating force, sending shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. The ground cratered beneath them, the concussive blast hurling debris into the air.

A triumphant roar erupted around him, the sounds of allied shinobi cheering his name filling the air.

Chojuro felt his face heat up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "No, please, it—"

The scene shattered in an instant.

The triumphant cheers were replaced by shouts of warning—urgent, panicked, terrified.

Something was wrong.

Chojuro 's body tensed, his instincts flaring to life just as a water whip lashed around him, binding him in place. His limbs seized, unable to move. A trap.

Before him, a masked shinobi held the other end of the whip, his free hand gripping a katana slick with blood.

Chojuro's eyes flickered downward—to the shinobi he had crushed beneath Hiramekarei.

They were still moving.

Barely, but enough.

The red armbands on their sleeves, stained with blood, stood out starkly against their pale skin.

A Genjutsu. When was it cast on me?

"Die, traitor!" the masked ninja snarled, blade flashing as he lunged forward to strike—

And then the air turned ice-cold.

From within the ever-thickening mist, shadows moved—silent and swift.

Blades flashed in the darkness, cutting through enemy shinobi before they could react. Throats slit, spines severed, lives snuffed out in an instant.

And then, finally, Chojuro saw them.

The blue armbands. The sigil of Kirigakure emblazoned on the armband.

Allies.

His chest tightened. "Help has a-arrived!" he called out. "Don't lose heart! Keep fighting!"

"Shut it!" the masked shinobi spat, his grip tightening on the water whip. "I'm going t—"

His words cut off into a gurgle.

Two senbon had embedded themselves deep into his throat.

He staggered, gasping for breath, before collapsing face-first into the mud.

Chojuro barely had time to register what happened before a blur of green and black streaked across the battlefield, moving too fast for even him to track.

More bodies fell in rapid succession, their screams swallowed by the mist.

And then, for the first time that night—Chojuro heard genuine cheers of victory.

A crystalline mirror formed beside him, its surface gleaming like ice in the dim light.

From within, a familiar figure emerged, stepping onto the battlefield with effortless grace.

"Are you alright, Chojuro-san?"

The voice was gentle, calm, despite the carnage that surrounded them.

Chojuro exhaled, letting his shoulders slump slightly as his companion reached out and touched the water whip—which froze solid at his touch before shattering into useless shards.

He awkwardly rubbed his wrists, offering a sheepish grin. "Y-Yeah… in no small part thanks to you, Haku-kun."

Haku merely smiled, the mist curling around him like a phantom cloak, his presence cold as a blizzard, yet his gaze held a quiet warmth. "I'm glad to be of help."

Chojuro shifted awkwardly, hoisting Hiramekarei onto his shoulder. "So…" he hesitated, glancing toward the ruins of the battlefield. "The eastern quarter is… won?"

"Yes."

Haku's voice was even, composed, but there was a weight behind it. "The Red Loyalists fought hard. They made us pay for every inch we took… but we were victorious."

Then, his lips curled into something sorrowful, a quiet, fleeting expression of regret. "It's just a shame they chose to fight to the last man."

Chojuro's grip on Hiramekarei tightened.

He and Haku had spoken about this many times before—and they weren't alone in their thoughts. Many officers in the Blue Liberation Brigade shared the same uneasy sentiments.

It felt wrong. Killing their fellow Kiri-nin.

Pitting one shinobi of the Mist against another—it was the greatest sacrilege their village could commit.

But there had been no other way.

The talks between the two factions had collapsed completely, their last fragile hope for a peaceful unification shattering beneath the weight of old grudges and fresh bloodshed. The Mizukage's forces had refused to yield an inch for their calls for reform, and the Blue Liberation Brigade had no choice but to fight.

And so, war had come.

A war that had raged across Kirigakure's misty islands for months, a relentless, brutal guerilla campaign that had chipped away at the Mizukage's control, turning brother against brother, teacher against student.

Until finally—they had gained enough strength, enough support, to breach Kirigakure's walls.

And for that, they had Zabuza-sama to thank.

The Demon of the Mist's resurfacing after years, and his decision to stand with them had sent ripples through Kirigakure's ranks, sparking mass defections from the Mizukage's forces, swelling their army to the point where victory had finally become a possibility.

Chojuro exhaled, his shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of it all.

"…It hurts to think about, yes," he admitted, his voice quieter now.

Then, he lifted his gaze, steeling himself.

"B-But… we're doing this for justice. For a better Kirigakure."

"…I hope so," Haku murmured, his breath a quiet sigh lost in the chill of the mist. "Otherwise, we've plunged an entire country into bloodshed for nothing but veiled ambitions—for power masquerading as justice."

His gaze darkened slightly, the weight of war settling over his usually serene features. "I made contact with the southern quarter. The fighting is nearing its end there—Ao-sama assured me. And now, with this quarter secured, that leaves only the Northern Quarter, where Zabuza-sama and Mei-sama are personally leading the forces."

Chojuro nodded grimly. "We should finish up here and head there to reinforce them. That's where the strongest concentration of Loyalist forces is—they're going to need all the help they can get."

But before Haku could respond—

A deafening explosion shook the ground beneath them.

Chojuro's head snapped toward the distance, eyes locking onto the Northern Quadrant, where thick, black smoke now billowed into the air, curling ominously against the darkened sky.

But more than the smoke, it was the sight of the Mizukage's building engulfed in flames that made his breath catch in his throat.

A beacon of fire in the midst of the endless mist, its flames licking high into the air, visible even through the thick haze that smothered the battlefield.

"We need to move now," Haku said sharply, his voice urgent. "The fighting is getting too inte—"

Another earth-shattering explosion rocked the battlefield, but this time, Chōjūrō saw the source.

From the depths of the mist, a massive, condensed sphere of chakra—a boulder-sized projectile of raw, burning energy—tore through the haze like a comet, momentarily clearing the suffocating fog.

The orb shrieked through the air, its speed unnatural, before it struck the waters beyond the city.

The impact was instantaneous.

A brilliant, blinding eruption of light swallowed the horizon, the sheer force of the blast parting the sea where it landed. Even from this distance, the shockwave ripped through the air, sending a gust of violent wind through the streets, forcing Chōjūrō to shield his face with his forearm.

The ground rumbled beneath them, as if the very earth was recoiling from the unnatural power unleashed.

"…Chojuro-san," Haku's voice came softer this time. "Look."

Chojuro followed his gaze—and his blood turned ice-cold.

The mist had parted just enough to reveal the carnage unfolding in the heart of Kirigakure.

Atop the flaming ruins of the Mizukage's office, his lady—Mei Terumī, leader of the Blue Liberation Brigade—stood at the ready, her hands positioned in a precise, combative stance. Her usually composed expression was tense, her sharp green eyes locked onto something in front of her.

Beside her, Zabuza Momochi stood firm, both hands gripping Kubikiribōchō, the massive executioner's blade glinting ominously under the firelight.

They weren't alone.

They were staring down a single opponent.

And that opponent was unlike anything Chojuro had ever seen before.

A foul, suffocating chakra hung thick in the air, oppressive and overwhelming, like an invisible force pressing down on his lungs.

The figure was shrouded in a sinister cloak of raw, malevolent energy, the chakra forming a dark red, skeletal exoskeleton around his body.

Three unnatural, swaying tails lashed behind him, dripping with chakra that burned through the rooftop beneath his feet.

White, glowing eyes and a gaping, fanged mouth twisted into an expression of pure hatred—before the figure suddenly threw his head back and unleashed a scream.

A sound so loud, so unnatural, so filled with rage and pain that the very air seemed to tremble with it. The roof beneath it cratered at the sound of the cry, and it coiled, ready to strike

Chojuro gritted his teeth, his knuckles tightening around Hiramekarei.

"…Is that…?" Haku murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The Three-Tails," Chojuro finished, his throat tight.

He had only heard stories about it in his youth—whispers in war stories, the kind spoken in hushed tones around crackling fires. But now, seeing it with his own eyes, there was no doubt.

To think the Mizukage had that beast sealed inside him all along.

"…I never expected to see it again."

Haku's voice was strangely calm, but there was an edge to it—something unreadable flickering behind his normally composed features.

"A Jinchūriki in action…"

For a brief moment, his expression shifted. Reminiscing.

"…This chakra. It feels… familiar."

Chojuro glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Similar to what?"

But Haku didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the battle atop the burning tower.

The Three-Tails Jinchūriki lunged forward, a blazing streak of crimson chakra, moving with a speed that should have been impossible for any natural creature.

A bolt of living rage.

Mei braced for impact—but before it could reach her, Zabuza moved like a phantom, a blur of lethal instinct, shoving her aside just in time.

The air crackled as the beast's claws tore through empty space, barely missing her.

The two adjusted instantly, their battle-hardened reflexes kicking in.

Mei's hands flashed through seals, her breath controlled, sharp. Then—

A stream of white-hot lava erupted from her lips.

The molten attack struck head-on, dousing the beast's form in a flood of scalding, liquefied stone. The lava dripped and clung to its body, hardening rapidly—a prison of solidifying rock locking its limbs in place.

Zabuza wasted no time.

He moved like lightning, his massive blade swinging down with terrifying force, aiming straight for the Jinchūriki's skull.

The Executioner's Blade struck—

But the beast screamed.

The sheer force of its cry shattered the hardened lava around it, the vibrations rippling outward like a seismic wave. The stone prison crumbled instantly.

And then, before anyone could react, it charged Zabuza directly.

The blow landed.

Zabuza was hurled through the air, his body spinning wildly before he slammed into a nearby structure, crashing through it in an explosion of debris.

Mei's hands moved again, her next attack already forming—

A thick wave of corrosive mist surged from her lips, engulfing the beast in a cloud of boiling vapor.

The moment the chakra-infused mist touched the Jinchūriki's skin, it sizzled violently, eating away at the unnatural cloak of energy wrapped around it.

Zabuza recovered swiftly, pushing himself from the wreckage, his fingers curling around the hilt of Kubikiribōchō once more. His stance was firm, his breathing steady—ready to charge back into the fight.

"Chojuro-san," Haku's voice came suddenly, cutting through the chaos. "They need us. We need to h—"

A voice rang through their heads, sharp and authoritative.

Ao's voice.

Transmitting orders: All units outside the Northern Quarter are to hold their positions and hunt down any enemy stragglers. Under no circumstances will any unit leave their assigned sector.

Chōjūrō blinked, startled. "What? But—"

"To hell with that," Haku said slowly, his tone darkening. "Zabuza-sama needs my help. I—"

The transmission continued, cutting him off.

Orders have been given by Zabuza-sama and Mei-sama directly. I repeat: under no circumstances will any unit outside the Northern Quarter move in.

Mei-sama and Zabuza-sama are currently engaging the enemy commander and have explicitly commanded no interference.

Chojuro turned, watching Haku's expression harden, his eyes locked onto the battle above.

From their vantage point, they could see Zabuza dodging relentlessly, his movements sharp but desperate.

The Jinchuriki's form was an ever-shifting mass of raw power, its body now sloughing off acidic mud and chunks of partially hardened lava, slowing it down—but it kept fighting, kept advancing.

It was a monster made of war itself.

"…They gave us our orders."

Haku's voice was quiet but resolute, the mist swirling around him as he stared at the distant rooftop where Mei and Zabuza still fought against the Jinchūriki with relentless determination. Streaks of water, lava, and steel clashed violently against the monster's shifting form, but it refused to fall.

"As much as it pains me to say it," Haku continued, "that battle is beyond both of us right now. We need to focus on the fight they entrusted us with. The battle here."

Chojuro exhaled heavily, nodding.

"…Right."

Still, he stole one last glance toward the burning tower, where his leaders waged war against the living nightmare that was the Three-Tails Jinchūriki.

But he forced himself to turn away.

"We need to trust in them as much as they trust us to win our own battle," he said, gripping Hiramekarei tightly. "We can't let them down!"

A roar of agreement erupted from the shinobi around them as Chojuro raised Hiramekarei high, rallying their forces.

As if on cue, a messenger ninja landed between him and Haku, breathless, his flak jacket soaked in blood and sweat.

"Chojuro-san! Haku-san!" the shinobi called, urgency in his tone. "The remnants of the Loyalist forces in this quarter have regrouped around one of their surviving Jonin! They're making a push toward the Northern Quarter!"

Haku's eyes sharpened immediately.

"Then we stop them," he said without hesitation. "We cannot allow them to interfere with the battle there."

"Agreed." Chojuroadjusted his grip on Hiramekarei, his stance shifting. "Let's move—"

A blinding bolt of lightning suddenly struck the ground before them.

The sheer brilliance of the strike momentarily blinded Chojuro, forcing him to raise an arm to shield his eyes. The scent of ozone and burning stone filled the air, crackling energy dancing in the mist.

And when his vision returned—

A lithe figure knelt before them, white hair slick with rain, twin swords crackling with electric fury in each hand.

Kiba.

The Thunder Fangs.

One of the Seven Legendary Blades of the Mist.

The man lifted his head, smirking, his expression one of effortless confidence.

"Room for one more in this party?"

"…Mangetsu-san."

Haku sighed, his tone carrying the weariness of someone used to dealing with such antics. "Is theatrics really necessary? We're in the middle of a battle."

Mangetsu Hōzuki, the Second Coming of the Demon, simply pouted, his smirk never fading. With a casual twist of his wrist, blue electricity surged across the twin Kiba blades, illuminating his lean frame in an ominous glow.

"You're always no fun, Haku-kun." He grinned, sharp teeth glinting. "At least this junior of mine knows how to appreciate a grand entrance."

Chojuro couldn't help but smile lightly, despite the tension still thick in the air. "Mangetsu-san, we can't waste time. An enemy force is moving toward the Northern Quarter to—"

Before he could finish, another explosion of chakra tore through the skyline.

A blast of raw, concentrated chakra erupted from the top of the burning Mizukage office, tearing through the mist and carving a searing line of destruction across the sky.

"An enemy force is heading to the Northern Quarter from here."

Mangetsu's voice was pointedly casual, but Chōjūrō knew him well enough to understand what he was doing—keeping them focused. Keeping them from getting too distracted by the titanic battle raging above them.

Then, with a flourish, Mangetsu rose to his feet, flipping one of the Kiba blades over his palm as lightning sparked across its edge.

"Well then! I'll be joining you." He grinned, cocky and unbothered. "Let the enemy tremble and fall before my unmatched handsomeness!"

Haku simply sighed again. "…Let's just go."

Chojuro gave a faint smile, running to Mangetsu's right as Haku took his left, leading the Kiri-nin with them to the next battle of the night.

While above them, the fate of an entire ninja village was being decided.