Here's chapter 22: Into the Mist.
Now fair warning. This is Kirigakure while still very much the bloody mist.
There will definitely be more unpleasant connotations mentioned albeit not vividly described.
As usual I do not own, or in any way have a right to the characters of Naruto or its world. I'm just a lowly fanfiction writer.
Hope you enjoy it!
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Our journey to the Land of Water is grueling, each step dragging us deeper into a world that feels like it's alive and malevolent. The air shifts as we cross the borders of Fire Country, stepping onto a ship, heading into - for us - uncharted terrain. The air grows damp and heavy, laden with the scent of rotten fish and mildew underneath the fresh sea air. The sun, once warm and comforting above the canopy, disappears behind a blanket of mist as we set off. Every breath feels like swallowing water.
I adjust my pack, my fingers cold and stiff, and glance at my teammates, glad to have Hanako and her slight warmth wrapped around my abdomen. Gai is stoic, his fire for youth temporarily muted by the oppressive atmosphere, his jaw tight with focus. Genma, on the other hand, has adopted his usual indifferent mask, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand lingers near his kunai pouch. We all feel it - the oppressive energy of this land we're approaching.
And we are only by the border, by the sea, not yet truly inside the Land of Water. How bad would it be further in, I wonder.
We arrive on one of the outer islands unmolested, but I can feel the watchers around us. Mist Nin, border guards no doubt. They feel strong. I shiver slightly as I feel the killing intent in their chakra, until it settles down, and they satisfy themselves with watching.
Orochimaru-Sensei leads the way, his movements deliberate, his gait unhurried. He seems unbothered by the damp, by the shifting mist, or the gnawing sensation of being watched. The Snake Sannin, as always, is in his element, I think.
For once comforted by his presence. Gai and Genma as well, press in somewhat closer. They're not able to feel chakra like me, but no one can miss the sheer intent to harm us that everything seems to exude.
Our path narrows as the forest thickens on the island, the trees twisted into grotesque shapes, their roots half-submerged in stagnant pools. Every step is accompanied by the soft squelch of mud or the sudden splash of water. The terrain slows us down, even water walking takes extra effort through this swamp, but Orochimaru-Sensei doesn't seem to care. He stops occasionally, tilting his head as though listening to some distant sound only he can hear.
"Keep up," He says softly, his voice slicing through the silence. "We wouldn't want to make a poor first impression by being late, children… Ku ku ku."
I can feel his chakra around us, it wouldn't surprise me if he has snakes following underground. Powerful our sensei is, but for all his relaxed manner, he's also a cautious man.
Something we've all emulated, to different degrees.
Gai especially, is almost nothing like his future self. Sure, he's still a taijutsu nut, he can still be loud and annoying, but it's tempered. He's been baptized in blood and guts, and now uses his gauntlets and sword almost as much as pure taijutsu, his stealth having grown enough he has performed assassinations.
Gai, the silent blade.
I suppress a groan, tightening my grip on my tanto's hilt as my mind turns away from my teammate. The landscape still feels hostile, like it wants to swallow us whole, and my skin prickles with unease. We've traveled for half a day already, through a hostile environment filled with bogs, bugs and air almost too thick to breathe. No wonder Mist Nin are so cranky, I can't help but think.
Following Sensei through this slog for much longer is not appealing to say the least, Genma muttering something unkind under his breath.
Then, without warning, they appear.
Three figures materialize from the mist as if conjured by the oppressive atmosphere itself. Their steps are silent, their forms barely distinct until they are right in front of us. Jounin, all three, I suspect, and their presence is as suffocating as the damp air around us.
The leader is tall and wiry, his frame all lean muscle beneath a tattered cloak. A jagged scar cuts across his face, bisecting one milky white eye that stares blankly ahead, while his remaining eye gleams with sharp intent. His hair, long and dark, is slicked back, water dripping from the ends like blood.
To his left is a woman with hair as pale as the mist, her features sharp and cruel. A cluster of scars mars her cheek, and her lips are set in a thin line of perpetual disdain. She carries twin daggers at her hips, her fingers twitching as though itching to reach for them.
The third man is a hulking brute, his muscles straining against his flak jacket, his face hidden behind a half-mask that does nothing to conceal the malice in his eyes. A massive cleaver rests on his back, its edge nicked and stained, hinting at years of brutal use.
These are killers, and they don't hide that fact. So different from Konoha's own killers.
"Welcome to the Land of Water," The leader says, his voice low and guttural, like stones grinding against each other. "We are your escort, tree huggers."
His killing intent presses down on us, thick and suffocating. I feel it in my chest, a weight that makes it hard to breathe. It's not directed solely at me - Gai and Genma are both pale, their eyes sharp and wary, their bodies coiled like springs.
Only the fact we're so used to Sensei's killing intent makes this a bearable experience.
Orochimaru-Sensei, of course, is unaffected. If anything, he seems amused, his lips curling into a faint smile as he inclines his head slightly. "Ah, the famed hospitality of Kirigakure. Truly, you honor us with such a warm welcome." He hisses out, licking his lips.
The scarred man's gaze sharpens, but he says nothing about Sensei's words, merely turning on his heel. "Follow closely," He snaps, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And do not stray. Or you will die."
As we fall into step behind them, the tension is palpable. Their killing intent doesn't waver, a constant undercurrent that keeps us on edge. I keep my senses alert, my chakra strings poised for any sudden movements. They wouldn't attack us, would they? Not before we even reach the village? I think.
It's very unlikely. Not with Sensei as their opponent, but they feel like they're a moment away from it.
Still, their presence is unnerving. The woman glances over her shoulder occasionally, her cold eyes lingering on each of us, as though cataloging our weaknesses. The brute doesn't look back, but his massive frame radiates menace, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the handle of his cleaver.
I don't have to be a Yamanaka to figure out he wishes to cut us down.
The path grows narrower, the mist thicker, until it feels like we're walking through a dream - a cold, wet, and hostile dream. The ground beneath our feet is treacherous, the occasional splash of water hinting at how close we are to sinking into the swampy terrain.
Hours pass, then half a day as we make it from island to island never stopping to camp. It feels like an eternity, before the vague silhouette of Kirigakure emerges from the mist. The village is nothing like I imagined yet strangely fitting all the same.
The punishing pace we'd set to reach it would have exhausted most Chuunin. A petty tactic, but one we'd expected and prepared for.
I gaze over what I can see of the village as we approach, the mists even heavier here, the chakra laden into it telling me anything the mist touches, the Mist nin could see.
Their own approximation of Konoha's barrier I suspect.
Tall cylindrical buildings rise from the ground, their stone walls slick with moss and moisture. Vegetation clings to every surface, giving the structures an almost organic appearance, like they've grown from the swamp itself. The entire village is shrouded in mist, its boundaries indistinct, as though it could disappear entirely if the fog thickened just a little more.
The air here is heavier, colder, and the oppressive feeling that has accompanied us throughout the journey reaches its peak. This place doesn't just look like it has a dark history - it feels like it's alive with it, every stone soaked in blood, every shadow hiding a secret.
Maybe the smell of iron in the air is from the city half sunken into a swamp - or maybe the blood spilt here truly lingers on…
The Bloody Mist truly earned their moniker.
"Charming," Genma mutters under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Gai as my boys stare at the village with some apprehension.
Orochimaru-Sensei stops abruptly, turning to face us with that ever-present smirk. "Take it all in," He says softly. "You won't find another place quite like Kirigakure, a village that never left the warring era."
I give him a deadpan glance, "You don't have to sound so excited, sensei."
"Ku ku ku," Is my only response.
The Kirigakure Jounin halt as well as we do, just outside the gates. The scarred leader turns to us, his expression unreadable. "You will wait here," He says, his tone flat. "The Mizukage has yet to grant you entry."
Wait? Outside? I glance at Orochimaru, expecting some kind of protest, but he merely raises an eyebrow, his amusement undiminished.
"A power play," He murmurs to me, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "They want to see how we handle the humiliation, or perhaps they're just bored. Let them have their moment."
I bite back a sigh, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. We've come all this way, only to be left standing outside the gates like beggars. The mist swirls around us, cold and unwelcoming, and I feel the weight of the village's aura pressing down on me.
As a kunoichi, I also don't exactly feel thrilled standing out in the open, from where anyone could bombard us with jutsu and weapons from atop the walls.
Two of the Jounin stand nearby, obviously not intending to leave us alone, their presence as oppressive as ever as their leader moves on to report our presence. The woman leans casually against the gate, her eyes never leaving us, while the brute sharpens his cleaver with slow, deliberate strokes. The sound of metal on stone grates against my nerves.
Gai shifts beside me, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. I can tell he wants to say something, to challenge the unspoken insult of being left outside, but he holds back, his sense of duty overriding his pride as a Konoha nin.
Either that, or he's holding back the urge to challenge the Jounin in front of us. Either or is a possibility with this goof.
Genma, ever the opportunist when it comes to shit stirring, leans in close, his voice a low whisper. "So, bets on how long we'll be standing here? An hour? Two?"
"Shut up, Genma," I hiss, my eyes flicking to the female Jounin, who is clearly listening despite pretending not to.
We have a clear mission from the Hokage, as much as I dislike it. And being kicked out from Mist on some pretense because Genma pissed off one of their Jounin, is not something I want on my record.
The wait stretches on, the mist growing thicker, the cold seeping into my bones. Orochimaru remains perfectly still, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes fixed on the gates as though he's enjoying a private joke.
I cross my arms, trying to block out the oppressive atmosphere, the unyielding gazes of our escorts, and the gnawing uncertainty of what lies ahead. This place feels like a graveyard, and I can't shake the feeling that it's waiting to claim us.
Still, we stand our ground, waiting in the shadow of Kirigakure, the village that looms like a specter in the mist.
The oppressive mist clings to us like a second skin in the end, a shroud of cold dampness that seems to seep into our very bones. I've lost track of time - how many hours have passed since we were left to stand outside Kirigakure's gates? Six? More? My body aches from the chill, and my nerves feel as frayed as the edges of the cloak I wrap tighter around myself. The world is gray and silent, the mist muffling even the sounds of the swamp around us. It's as if we're standing in the waiting room of death itself.
Normally something as simple as time keeping would not be an issue, but I am admittedly frazzled to be here.
As much as Konoha can suck, I feel lucky to have been reborn there, if this is the alternative.
Hours we've been here, and not a single traveler or merchant has appeared. The Chuunin exams are starting, they should be buzzing with the commotion.
Konoha on a normal day rarely sees the gates lonely for long. Yet here, no one arrives, no one is wanted.
Orochimaru-sensei stands calmly at the forefront, his rain cloak hanging still despite the faint breeze that brushes past. His posture is relaxed, a predator at rest, but there's a gleam in his eyes that betrays his amusement.
He thrives in situations like this - when power plays hang in the air like unspoken threats. Behind him, Gai fidgets slightly, his usually boundless energy now suppressed under the weight of the atmosphere. Genma leans against him with a bored expression, but his fingers twitch against his kunai pouch still from time to time. I stand next to them, silent and still, my heart pounding steadily in my chest as my breath clouds in the damp air.
The silence is broken by the groan of the massive gates as they begin to creak open. The sound is low and ominous, like the growl of some ancient beast waking from slumber. My stomach knots as I watch the mist part, revealing the figures emerging from within.
At the forefront is a man who can only be the Third Mizukage. He moves with an air of absolute authority, his long black hair cascading down his back in a waterfall of shadow. His face is pale and unnervingly composed, and his eyes - those pale steel grey sclera with no visible pupils - seem to suck the warmth from the very air. Pearlescent ornaments circle his head, glinting faintly in the dim light, adding an almost pretty quality to his otherwise terrifying presence.
Behind him, an entourage of Mist shinobi fan out like silent ghosts. Each one carries the look of a seasoned killer - scarred faces, weary eyes, and the unmistakable aura of people who have seen and caused unimaginable death. They radiate killing intent so palpable I feel it in my throat, a suffocating pressure that makes it hard to breathe.
"Welcome to Kirigakure, Konoha's snake." The Mizukage tells Orochimaru-sensei, his voice cool and devoid of any warmth. The words feel like a formality, hollow and insincere, as if he's already dismissing our presence as unworthy. His chakra feels like a ever growing glacier to me, devoid of mercy, just waiting to come crashing down and bury everything.
Orochimaru-Sensei steps forward, inclining his head slightly in a gesture of respect, though his smirk never fades. He's bold even in situations like this, and I can't help but respect it."Mizukage-Sama," He replies smoothly, his voice a venomous purr. "Your village is as captivating as ever. The mist has a charm all its own." He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming, "I should know, I've had hours now to study it…"
Next to me I can bear Genma just barely audible, breath out, "Fucking hell, sensei."
The Mizukage's lips curl faintly, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes, which look cold and dead. "Captivating, indeed. Even snakes crawling in the mud can see clearly, it appears." He murmurs, his tone laced with something I can't quite name - mockery, perhaps - it's said with such little inflection it's hard to tell. "I trust your journey was enlightening." He finishes, not looking like he cared at all.
"Quite," Orochimaru-Sensei answers, his amusement barely concealed. "Your hospitality is most appreciated, Mizukage-Sama."
The Mizukage's gaze sweeps over us, lingering on each member of our team in turn. When his eyes land on me, it feels as if my soul freezes in place. My pulse stutters, and my hands clench instinctively at my sides.
"The Chuunin Exams will commence tomorrow morning," The Mizukage continues, his voice unchanging. "Your students should prepare themselves. Kirigakure's standards are exacting."
There's a faint shift in Orochimaru-Sensei's posture, his smile sharpening. "We wouldn't expect anything less," He says, his tone silky. "I have no doubt my students will rise to the challenge."
The Mizukage hums, the sound low and chilling. "We shall see."
Then, without warning, his gaze locks onto mine again. The world tilts, and I feel a surge of cold that is unlike anything I've ever known.
It's not just cold - it's pure death.
Invisible spears of ice pierce my body, frost crawling over my organs, freezing me from the inside out. I gasp, but no sound escapes. My limbs won't move, and my vision blurs as pain floods every nerve. I see myself reflected in a thousand shards of ice, each one showing a piece of me - my face, my hands, my chest - shattered and broken.
I am dying.
I feel it in every fiber of my being. My body is splintering, disintegrating, until there's nothing left but fragments scattered into the mist. The pain is all-encompassing, and I can't even scream.
And then, just as suddenly, it's gone.
I stumble, gasping for air, my knees buckling beneath me. Orochimaru-Sensei's hand is on my shoulder, firm and grounding, pulling me back from the abyss. My heart hammers in my chest as I blink rapidly, trying to focus.
Genma is pale as a ghost, his hands trembling visibly. Gai is hunched slightly, his face twisted with a sickly expression, as if he's just been punched in the gut. We've all felt it - the Mizukage's killing intent, cold and merciless as the village he rules.
This is an S-Rank, I think, staring at him with covetous eyes, the episode already behind me, as I think of ways to improve my own killing intent to match this experience.
The Mizukage turns away, his disinterest as sharp as his earlier malice. "These three are too weak for you, Snake," He says over his shoulder, his tone dripping with disdain. "This game won't even be entertaining."
Orochimaru-Sensei's hand tightens on my shoulder briefly, a silent command to stay composed. I force myself to take a shaky breath, willing my legs to hold me upright. For the first time in this little discussion, I feel my sensei's anger. His chakra is absolutely broiling at that last snide comment.
The Mizukage's entourage follows him without a word, disappearing into the mist as if they were never there. The oppressive silence returns, broken only by the faint rustling of the cloth from the shinobi still hidden in the fog around us.
One Mist shinobi steps forward from the shadows, his expression neutral and his posture rigid. He bows slightly, his movements precise and practiced. "I will show you to my superior, who will lead you to your accommodations. Furthermore he is also responsible for your well being during your stay, please do as he says." He says quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.
I glance at Orochimaru-Sensei, who nods imperceptibly, his face returned to a mask of calm amusement. We fall into step behind the Mist shinobi, the weight of the Mizukage's words and presence lingering like a shadow over us. My chest still feels tight, the memory of that deathly cold etched into my mind.
As we walk, I can't shake the sense that we've already stepped into a trap, one that we might not escape unscathed.
If not for the seals capable of reverse summoning us in the face of death…
I might not have had the courage to keep walking forward at this moment.
If the Mizukage wants us dead, while we are in the heart of Kirigakure, I can't see how anything else could stop him.
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The air inside Kirigakure is different yet again. It's not just the dampness that clings to my skin, seeping through my clothes and chilling me to the bone, but the weight of it. Every breath feels heavier here, laden with something unspoken, something oppressive. The mist wraps around everything, blurring edges and swallowing sound, making the world feel smaller, more confined.
Like we're all rats caught in a maze, the watching eyes hidden in the mist studying our reactions to cruelty and hate.
The streets are narrow and winding, cobbled together with uneven stones slick with moisture. The buildings lean into each other, their wooden frames warped and weathered by the constant damp. Many of them are in disrepair, with sagging roofs and boarded-up windows, their exteriors streaked with moss and grime. The few that look intact are guarded by sharp-eyed shinobi, their presence a stark contrast to the decay around them.
The stone buildings seem to have survived the weather and the inhabitants better, but only marginally, their facades chipped and rusty looking, the further in we go, the more stone we see, the rotting wood obviously meant for those lesser citizens.
At the forefront of our little procession - the man who's taken over the lead, and will be in charge of us for our time here - is Kushimaru Kuriarare, one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. I don't need Orochimaru-Sensei's quiet whisper of confirmation to know who he is.
The reputation of the Seven precedes them, and Kushimaru's appearance does nothing to soften it. He's tall and lanky, with a spidery frame that moves too fluidly, too eerily. His porcelain-white mask conceals most of his face, leaving only his cold, predatory eyes visible. Strapped to his back is Nuibari, the Sewing Needle sword, its long, thin blade gleaming faintly even in the mist.
I am well aware how he uses it. His preferred method is not a kind, easy death.
Walking behind him is a trial in itself. His presence radiates cruelty, a kind of sadistic glee that curls around us like the mist, invisible but suffocating. Every now and then, he glances over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on each of us in turn, as if he's measuring our worth - or deciding which part of us he'd like to carve up first.
The people of Kirigakure are a study in contrasts as well. The civilians we pass are gaunt and beaten down, their faces hollow and their clothes threadbare. They shuffle through the streets with their heads down, avoiding our eyes, their bodies hunched as if bracing for a blow that may come at any moment. The few who do look up meet our gaze with a mixture of fear and hatred, their eyes burning with resentment before they quickly dart away.
But the shinobi are a different breed entirely. They stand tall and unyielding, their bodies lean and strong, their eyes sharp and calculating. Their presence is commanding, even in the shadows, and they watch us with a predatory intensity that makes my skin crawl. They move through the streets like wolves among sheep, their power palpable and oppressive.
A child stumbles into our path, his face smudged with dirt, his clothes hanging off his thin frame. He freezes when he sees us, his wide eyes locking onto Kushimaru's mask. The fear is instant, paralyzing, and the boy scrambles back, nearly falling in his haste to disappear down an alley.
I glance at the alley as we pass, catching sight of a woman pulling the boy close, her arms wrapping around him protectively. Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and the hatred there burns hotter than anything I've seen in Konoha. She doesn't need to say a word for me to know what she's thinking - Outsiders don't belong here.
It's not just us they hate, though. It's everyone. The civilians hate the shinobi, the shinobi hate the civilians, and everyone seems to hate each other in some unspoken, twisted way. This village doesn't feel like a community. It feels like a cage.
"This place is rotten," Genma mutters under his breath, his voice low enough that only Gai and I can hear.
Gai nods slightly, his expression uncharacteristically grim. He's usually so full of energy, so eager to find the silver lining in any situation, but even he can't hide the unease that hangs over us like a shroud.
I glance at Orochimaru-Sensei, wondering if he feels it too, but his expression is unreadable, his focus fixed on the path ahead.
Of course, silly of me to forget, to him, suffering is normal and right.
As we turn a corner, the mist thickens, and the air grows colder. The streets here are narrower, the buildings leaning so close together that the sky is barely visible. A group of shinobi stands at the edge of an open market, their presence dominating the space. They're tall and broad, their faces obscured by masks or cowls, and their weapons gleam faintly in the dim light.
Their bloodlust and hate is beyond obvious.
One of them steps forward as we approach, his eyes narrowing as he takes in our group. He doesn't speak, but the weight of his gaze is enough to make my stomach twist.
If we didn't have one of the Seven and a Sannin with us… I think, feeling chakra that is almost as inherently hateful as my brush with the Kyuubi way back when.
Kushimaru doesn't stop, doesn't even acknowledge the other shinobi as he leads us past them. But the tension lingers, a silent threat that follows us down the street.
The market itself is barely functioning. The stalls are sparse, their goods limited to small bundles of vegetables, scraps of fish, and other meager offerings. The people here move like shadows, their movements quick and furtive, as if they're afraid of being caught doing something they shouldn't.
A man at one of the stalls glances up as we pass, his face gaunt and lined with exhaustion. His eyes flicker to Kushimaru, and he quickly bows his head, his hands trembling as he adjusts the meager goods on his cart.
I can't help but wonder how these people survive. The disparity between the civilians and the shinobi is stark, almost jarring. The civilians are weak, beaten down by the harshness of their lives, while the shinobi are strong, their bodies and spirits honed for battle. It's a divide I've never seen so clearly before, not even in Konoha.
Is this all a trick? They live by the sea? how can they not have plenty of fish?
Unless… Kiri doesn't let them out to fish…
"They're all broken," I murmur, mostly to myself.
Kushimaru's voice cuts through the silence after my statement. "The weak always break," He says, his tone cold and dismissive. "That's the way of the world. Only the strong survive, and only the strongest thrive."
I bristle at his words, but I don't respond. There's no point in arguing with someone like him. He revels in this world, in this cruelty. It's who he is.
I try to ignore it, keeping my focus on the road ahead, but his voice cuts through the silence like the blade on his back again.
"You know," Kushimaru speaks up, his tone conversational but dripping with malice, "Nuibari isn't just a weapon. It's a work of art." His hand trails over the hilt of the blade with a kind of reverence, and I feel my stomach churn. "It doesn't just kill. It stitches. It binds. You can string a man up by his own tendons, weave him into his comrades, and watch them struggle as they're forced to bear his weight." He waxes with an almost orgasmic quality to his voice.
Gai stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening as he stares straight ahead. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fists clench at his sides. Genma, on the other hand, looks bored, but I know him well enough to see the subtle twitch in his fingers, the way his eyes flicker toward Kushimaru's back like he's already planning the best way to strike him down.
I keep my own face carefully neutral, but inside, my thoughts are racing. Kushimaru shouldn't even be alive, a change I've wrought. In the timeline I know, Gai's father, Maito Dai, sacrificed himself to take out four of the Seven Swordsmen. It was one of the defining moments of Konoha's history, the act of a man who knew he wouldn't live to see the outcome but gave everything to protect his village and his son.
That was to save a different Team Gai, however. Whether it was supposed to happen already. Or in the near future, I've changed that.
The team is different, the timeline has shifted, and the Seven Swordsmen are all alive.
I glance at Gai from the corner of my eye, watching the set of his jaw, the fire simmering beneath his usually cheerful demeanor. At least his father is still alive. That's the only silver lining in this entire mess.
Kushimaru continues speaking, his voice gaining an almost feverish edge as he describes his favorite methods of torment. "The best part," He says, his eyes gleaming behind the mask, "Is the way they scream. When you thread the needle just right, catching muscle and bone... Oh, the sounds they make. Music, really."
I feel my stomach twist, bile rising in my throat, but I force myself to breathe through it. This is what Kiri is - this is who they are. If I let myself falter now, I'll be giving him exactly what he wants.
They're like my father, I just need to picture him, and imagine what I'd do with free reign… How I will survive this by showing no mercy to this village of monsters…
Orochimaru-Sensei walks ahead of us, his pace unhurried, his expression one of mild condescension as he listens to Kushimaru. He doesn't seem fazed by Kushimaru's words or the oppressive atmosphere of the village. If anything, he seems to enjoy it, like he is in his element.
Kushimaru notices, of course. His gaze shifts to Orochimaru, his tone sharpening slightly. "Your students are quiet, Snake. I expected more amusement from Konoha's finest. No trembling? No tears? Where's the disgust? The fear?"
Genma snorts softly, drawing Kushimaru's attention. "You'll have to try harder than that," Genma says, his voice casual but edged with steel. "We've heard worse. Seen worse"
Kushimaru's eyes narrow behind his mask, and for a moment, I feel the weight of his killing intent spike. It presses down on me like a vice, sharp and suffocating, but Orochimaru-Sensei's voice cuts through the tension before it can escalate.
"Why would they fear a little thing like you?" Orochimaru drawls, his tone dripping with mockery.
Kushimaru stops walking, his hand twitching toward the hilt of Nuibari. The mist around us seems to thicken, the air growing colder. "Careful, Snake," He murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "Even a little thing can bite."
Orochimaru-Sensei turns to face him fully, his golden eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. "Oh, I'm well aware," He says smoothly. "But let's not pretend you're anything more than an errand boy. Escort us to our accommodations, and save the dramatics for someone who cares… I am so far above you, your existence is beginning to bore me."
Kushimaru's grip tightens on Nuibari, but he doesn't draw it. Instead, he exhales sharply, the sound more like a growl than a sigh, and continues walking.
When we finally reach the hotel, it's a small, nondescript building tucked away in a narrow alley. The mist hangs heavier here, clinging to the wooden walls like a living thing. The windows are dark, the interior barely visible through the fogged glass.
Kushimaru stops at the entrance, turning to face Orochimaru-Sensei one last time. "Your kids have some balls I suppose, Snake, to last through my killing intent," He says, his tone laced with annoyance. "I will enjoy bringing their mutilated corpses to you when they fail this exam."
Orochimaru-Sensei chuckles softly, the sound low and venomous. "Perhaps they're simply unimpressed," He suggests, his gaze sharp and cutting. "They stood up to the Mizukage's intent, compared to that, you might as well be a genin yourself."
The words land like a slap, and I see Kushimaru's hands clench into fists, his entire body stiff with barely-contained fury. He says nothing, though, his mask hiding whatever expression twists his face.
Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, disappearing into the mist like a wraith. The silence he leaves behind is oppressive, but there's a faint, bitter satisfaction in the air as we step into the hotel, leaving him behind.
We can't fight a man like that, we can't afford to backtalk too much.
Thankfully, Sensei did it for us.
＊＊＊
The morning air is thick with mist, so heavy it clings to our skin like a cold second layer. Orochimaru-sensei is absent - likely meeting with the exam proctors or the Mizukage - leaving the three of us alone as we're escorted into a large rotund building at the heart of the village. Its towering stone walls loom above us, ominous and foreboding. The air inside the building is stifling, the oppressive weight of so many hostile presences pressing down on me.
The room is enormous, the open floor teeming with genin. Hundreds of them, most of them Mist shinobi. I feel their gazes on us the moment we step through the doors - sharp, scornful, and dripping with disdain.
Gai walks ahead, his determined stride only slightly dampened by the hostile atmosphere. Genma is at my side, his usual smirk missing, replaced by a grim expression. My stomach churns at the sheer number of eyes on us. The swords we carry draw their attention, only making them more hateful. I can feel their sneers, mocking us for thinking we could even hold a candle to them in this place.
Kenjutsu is almost a religion in Mist, I know. And although I agreed with sensei's reasoning in Konoha, it is only serving to inflame the hatred towards us now. Making me second guess myself.
We shouldn't be here, I think for the thousandth time, my senses all sharp and on a hair trigger as I try to anticipate avenues of attack.
This is not Konoha, where even rivals have a begrudging respect for one another. Here, there is no camaraderie, no pretense of unity. Every single one of these genin would kill us without hesitation if given the chance - and they might get that chance.
We find a corner near the wall and settle in as unobtrusively as possible. There's no way to avoid being noticed entirely, not when we're the only Konoha team here, but we can at least avoid drawing unnecessary attention. I lean against the wall, keeping my senses sharp, my chakra suppressed to the lowest possible flicker.
The tension in the room is suffocating. I can hear murmurs and occasional bursts of cruel laughter from the Mist shinobi. Their hostility is palpable, almost a physical force pressing down on us. I glance at Gai, whose fists are clenched tight at his sides. Genma looks around with narrowed eyes, his jaw tight.
"I don't like this," Genma mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the din of the room. "We'll be sitting ducks once this starts…"
"Focus," I reply quietly. "We are strong, we can handle it. We strike with no mercy, just as they would, and we walk away after."
I refused to allow anything else to happen. I will drown this swamp in blood if I have to.
Before I can say more, a trio of Mist genin approaches. The leader is tall for a kid, his lower face obscured by bandages, his eyes glittering with malice. My stomach drops as I recognize him instantly despite the age difference - the bandages only help me recognize him, rather than detract from his appearance. Momochi Zabuza. The Demon of the Mist.
How is he not a chuunin yet? I think, dreading his presence in these exams. He's a legend in his own right, even at this age, due to the massacre he committed during Mists infamous graduation ceremony. Then again, I remind myself, he's around Kakashi's age, isn't he?
Just a young monster, like the rest of us, albeit with a little more blood in his ledger…
He stops in front of us, towering over me despite only being a year or so older than me, he crosses his arms over his chest staring at us with a judging gaze. His teammates flank him, both looking pathetic next to him, even as their expressions were smug.
You're teenagers and the chibi is the scary one, stow your smugness NPC's, I think, irritated to be looked down on, even if it's to my benefit.
"Well, well," Zabuza drawls, his voice low and menacing. "Konoha shinobi. You've got some nerve, playing ninja in our village, don't you know that's dangerous."
Even with bandages covering his mouth, his bloodthirsty grin is obvious. I just raise an unimpressed eyebrow, keeping my cool. Adult Zabuza was a threat. No doubt about it. This one… My eyes narrow in consideration as I lightly probe his chakra network, a challenge, but not insurmountable…
Gai steps forward, his shoulders squared as he eyes the other boy with interest. "We're here for this youthful exam, same as you, it is unwise to put fellow shinobi down, before knowing what they can do. Kiri-san."
Zabuza lets out a cold, humorless laugh. "You? You think you can survive this? With your little toys?" He gestures mockingly at the swords we carry. "Do you even know how to use them?"
I bite back a retort, forcing myself to stay calm. Zabuza wants a reaction. He's baiting us, trying to provoke us into fighting or arguing. Either could get us disqualified - or worse.
"Ignore him," I mutter to Gai and Genma. "Don't engage."
Zabuza's gaze shifts to me, his lips curling into a sneer. "What about you, little girl? Hiding behind your teammates? Let me guess - you're their weak link."
I clench my fists, but I don't rise to the bait. Instead, I focus my chakra subtly, extending a single thread toward him. It's a delicate, nearly invisible strand, impossible to detect without a dojutsu. I let it brush against his chakra, trying to get a feel for its flow. Thinking about getting him disqualified right now, ending the issue.
It's like touching a blade. His chakra is sharp, cold, and deadly, brimming with raw malice. I suppress a shiver as I pull the thread back. If there's a way to manipulate him later, I'll find it. For now, I need to stay quiet and avoid a fight.
I give him a bored look, not playing his game, his killing intent spiking, even as Genma can't hold back a chuckle, realizing what I'm doing.
Before Zabuza can press further, the room falls silent. A chilling, piercing scream echoes through the hall, freezing me in place. I turn my head sharply, my breath catching as I see what caused it.
Kushimaru Kuriarare, our guide, stands in the center of the room. His long, thin blade - Nuibari, the Sewing Needle - has threaded through the body of a Rain genin a dozen times in the time it takes for us to look over. The boy dangles in the air like a gruesome marionette, his face twisted in pain and terror.
Blood runs down to the floor, dripping off his extremities, and we can hear bones creak as he's lifted higher to show the entire room, hung up by the strings Nuibari had threaded through him.
Kushimaru's voice cuts through the silence, cold and mocking. "You failed," He says to the boy's teammates, who stand frozen in horror. "You let me do whatever I wanted like a couple pussies! Your team is disqualified."
With a flick of his wrist, he rips the blade free, the threads pulling taut and tearing through the genin's body like paper. Blood splatters across the floor as the boy crumples, in pieces, lifeless, to the ground. His teammates tremble, their faces pale.
"You're lucky," Kushimaru sneers audibly at them. "By exam rules, you're free to leave, since I'll get nagged at if I kill too many in the first exam. Go."
The two remaining Rain genin don't hesitate. They bolt for the door, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. Zabuza is grinning wildly, almost vibrating in place, his own teammates looking slightly queasy.
I study the corpse dispassionately, a string of chakra confirming this wasn't a Genjutsu meant to scare us. Kushimaru truly had just murdered another nation's genin for no reason in the first exam.
I surreptitiously sign to my boys, we must be ruthless. Or a similar equivalence at least. Our own made up sign language isn't very verbose.
This beyond anything else proves that we must kill any enemy we encounter - because there will be absolutely no kid gloves available in this exam.
Kushimaru turns to the rest of the room, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Welcome to the Chuunin Exams," He says, his voice dripping with mockery. "Now, pick a number, meat."
One idiot foolishly raises his hand to ask, and Kushimaru scoffs at him, casually appearing before him, slapping him with a backhand that turns the Mist genin's neck around 180 degrees with a loud crack.
Whoever his two teammates are, they don't draw attention to themselves, as the entire room freezes in place.
I can see a few teams from other nations, Iwa, Kumo, Suna, Kusa and the like, all watching the proctor with wariness. I exchange a look with Gai and Genma, both of them looking grim.
Life is cheap here.
Chuunin begin walking through the room, carrying bowls filled with numbered tags. The genin around us shift nervously, whispering among themselves as they take their numbers. Keeping a wary eye on Kushimaru, even as they wonder what's next.
Kushimaru chuckles, his voice carrying a sinister edge as he looms over us all. I can feel the Genjutsu kick in, as his presence seems to expand across the room as I allow it to take hold, inwardly scoffing at the shitty workmanship. "Don't let anyone see, little idiots," He warns. "Your number is your secret, the first exam is simple… Two members of your team will get a victim from another team, and pass if they manage to extract their number… One member of the team will become a victim to another team, and will pass if they keep the secret. A team only passes if all teammates pass."
Kushimaru laughs lowly and coldly, as we all take that in, "A Chuunin must be willing to break their enemies, while able to withstand a certain amount of pressure themselves." The grin in his voice is audible behind the mask as he scratches his head with the tip of Nuibari. "Well, here anyway. Your weak ass cunt teachers probably coddled y'all."
One of the Rain genin nearby mutters something about torture not being allowed in the exams. Kushimaru's laughter echoes through the hall, sharp and cruel at that.
"Oh, limb removal and permanent damage aren't allowed, unfortunately," He says mockingly. "We'll kill you if you go too far, meat. But anything else? ~Have fun."
I pale, my stomach twisting into knots as his words sink in. Anything else. The implications are horrifying, there's no doubt genin are going to be sexually assaulted for the information, it's the easiest way to break them without permanent visible damage. My mind races, but I shove the thoughts aside, forcing myself to focus.
Genma and Gai both glance at me, their worry evident. Gai leans closer, his voice low and urgent. "Ino-chan, maybe I should -"
"No," I cut him off, keeping my voice steady. "I'm the only girl on the only Konoha team. Of course they'll pick me. Don't waste your energy arguing. Focus on your part. Get the number from your victim. I'll handle mine."
I'm not the only kunoichi in the room who's realizing exactly what situation we are in. One girl from Kumo even tries to quit. Kushimaru telling her the exam has started and she can either leave in a bodybag, or after passing or failing the first stage.
The Kumo kunoichi is a beauty, and the amount of attention she receives from the nearby Kiri nin is… Concerning - but ultimately she's an enemy and I can't worry about her. I can at least hope that my interrogator isn't interested in a child, when it comes to my turn.
Genma frowns, his jaw tightening. "Ino -"
"I said I'll handle it," I snap, sharper than I intended. They exchange a look but don't argue further. They know I'm right. This entire setup is tailor made against kunoichi. Some sick twist thought up by Kushimaru.
When the Chuunin reaches us, I draw my number. Sixty-nine. Really? Is this someone's idea of a joke? I grit my teeth, incinerating the tag before anyone can see the number with a sealless fire jutsu.
The Chuunin's eyes flick to me, a smirk curling his lips. "You're the victim," He says, predictably, licking his lips, motioning for me to follow, before handing me over to another Chuunin.
Of course. I knew it would be me, but hearing it still sends a chill down my spine. I glance at Gai and Genma one last time, their faces a mix of worry and frustration, before I step away. My heart pounds as I follow the Chuunin out of the room, leaving my team behind.
The door closes behind me with a heavy thud, sealing me into whatever hell awaits.
＊＊＊
The damp air of the Mist wraps around me like a suffocating blanket even inside this building, as I'm led down the dimly lit corridor. My escort, a gaunt Mist Chuunin with pale, unblinking skin stretched too tight over his face, shuffles beside me. His eyes - or rather, where his eyes should be - are empty sockets. Yet somehow, I can feel his gaze on me, crawling across my skin. He's been quiet for most of the walk, but now, he starts speaking, his voice low and rasping.
"You're lucky, little leaf," He mutters. "You get to play. We don't let most outsiders have this kind of fun. If you survive, though…" His voice trails off, and I can feel him smile, jagged and cruel. "Maybe I'll see you on the battlefield one day. Cute little face like yours wouldn't last long there, not that it's your face I would have my fun with..."
I keep my face impassive, but inside, my nerves are coiled tight. He's trying to rattle me, and I won't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I focus on the flickering torchlight ahead, counting each step until we reach the cell. I will find a way to turn this to my advantage, I'm no weak newbie genin. I am strong, I am dangerous. I will not be a victim again!
We stop in front of a heavy metal door. He pulls it open with a screech of loud hinges and gestures for me to step inside. The cell is barren - just cold stone walls and a single metal chair bolted to the floor. Chains dangle ominously from the armrests.
The Mist Chuunin motions for me to sit. I hesitate for only a moment before obeying. His thin, bony fingers move with unnerving precision as he secures me to the chair. The cuffs bite into my wrists and ankles, their cold surface sending a shiver down my spine. I test them lightly - they're tight. No room to maneuver. The bastard is thorough.
When he clicks the chakra-suppressing cuffs onto my wrists, I suppress a smirk. I've felt stronger dampeners before - ones that locked me out completely. These? These are amateur work. I can feel a faint trickle of chakra, just enough to work with. Not much, but enough to stay hopeful. Enough to survive.
The Chuunin leans in close, his breath hot and rancid against my cheek. "Stay put now," He whispers. "And try to have fun. The real games are about to begin. I'll be watching, I can't wait to hear you scream and cry for mommy!"
I refuse to react, keeping my gaze locked ahead as he steps out of the room. My heart hammers against my ribcage, but my expression remains calm. I've trained for situations like this. I've studied under Orochimaru-sensei. Fear is my enemy. I will not let it overtake me. "Hanako, don't act unless ordered to." I whisper to my summon, hidden under my clothes, wrapped around my waist.
She tightens briefly to show she's understood, and it gives me some comfort.
I center myself, waiting for my enemy to arrive, my eyes cold as I prepare to do anything it takes to succeed. Hanako is my trump card here, but I'd prefer not to reveal her yet.
The door creaks open again a few moments later. Two figures step inside, their shadows looming large on the stone walls. My stomach tightens when I recognize the one in front - Momochi Zabuza. His presence feels heavier than the room can hold, like the very air bends to his will. He grins at me, all sharp teeth and malice.
"Well, well," He drawls, his voice a gravelly rasp. "If it isn't the little leaf cunt with the sword. Didn't think I'd see you again so soon."
I scoff, not believing him for a second, my eyes narrowing, "Yes, such a coincidence, not at all a bribe or threat to one of the proctors." I drawl, feigning indifference.
Zabuza chuckles, his grin stretching wider underneath the bandages, "Not as dumb as you look it seems. It will be interesting to see how you handle a large Mist born sword." He mocks.
I only cock my head, studying him, because I can sense his chakra, I know he doesn't mean what he says. A demon he may be, but it appears he's not a rapist.
Behind him, his teammate chuckles, a taller boy with thin, wiry arms and an unsettling smirk - this one on the other hand, I think disgustedly. "She's cute," He says, leaning casually against the wall. "For a tiny little Konoha runt." He looks at me with dark eyes, "I bet she'll squeal at facing a real man…"
"Let me know if you find any of those." I say sarcastically, sitting in my chair like it is a throne, like I'm uncaring of the shackles.
Zabuza steps closer, his gaze darkening. Without warning, his hand lashes out, striking me hard across the face. Pain explodes through my cheek, metallic and sharp. Blood fills my mouth, and I bite back a gasp. He leans in, his grin widening as he watches me struggle to swallow the coppery taste.
"Glad you've got some spine," He says softly, almost too softly as his fingers brush against my neck. "This is going to be fun."
I breathe through the minor pain as he closes his hand around my neck, keeping my voice steady. "I'm flattered you're so excited to see me again," I say dryly, spitting blood onto his face. "But you're wasting your time. You won't break me."
I've been broken too many times. These idiots won't succeed.
Zabuza laughs, a low, dangerous sound. "We'll see about that."
As they move to circle me, I let my chakra flow as subtly as I can, forming a single, invisible string. It's delicate work - these cuffs limit my reserves, but they don't stop me. I let the thread drift toward Zabuza, attaching it to him just below his abdomen. His chakra is chaotic right now, like a storm raging beneath the surface, the previous sharpness lost underneath the storm. Touching it is like stepping into a whirlpool, but I've trained for this. I don't need to overpower him - I just need to nudge him in the right direction.
Zabuza looms over me, pointing at the blade strapped to me. "You think you're something special, bringing that little toothpick into our village? This is Mist, little girl. The real swordsmen are here. Not your village full of amateurs."
I focus on his chakra, letting my own slip into the cracks of his. Subtle. Gentle. Paranoia, I think, shaping the suggestion with precision. I plant the thought like a seed, watering it with his own tension.
"You're awfully trusting for someone in your situation." I say aloud, my tone calm. "Didn't you kill all your classmates? From what I've heard, they'd love to take you down. Your teammate included more than likely, just imagine the reputation he'd get..."
The taller boy scoffs, but I see the flicker of doubt cross Zabuza's face, inflamed by my gentle touch to his system. He angles himself slightly, shifting so he can see his teammate better. "Shut up," He snaps, glaring at me. "Mind games don't work on me!"
"Relax, don't let her get in your head." His teammate says, holding up his hands. "You want to go first, or should I?" He puts a hand on the handle of his sword, as I ramp up Zabuza's paranoia, "Let's cut her some before we take her."
Zabuza's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. "Don't touch your sword," He barks suddenly, his voice sharp. "We don't need it for this bitch."
I focus on my Genjutsu, as I watch Zabuza eying his teammate, who immediately takes his hand off his sword like the handle had burnt him, wary of angering Zabuza. What Zabuza sees however, is the boy almost drawing it with murder in his eyes, before he clicks the sword back in his sheath with a scoff.
These chakra shackles are a boon, really. Because no one suspects a Genjutsu when their 'prisoner' is cut off from chakra.
Not that someone of my skill should be able to be caught by these Neanderthals anyway…
The taller boy frowns, his hands now nowhere near his weapon. "Fine, I'll just break her the other way." He says, hand moving to his belt.
"What, no foreplay?" I ask coolly, raising an eyebrow sarcastically. "And here I was getting my hopes up."
Zabuza growls angrily, pacing like a beast as he glares at both me and his teammate. I wince slightly as he grabs my throat and squeezes.
"No more words out of you, bitch!"
I can feel Hanako begin to move, and strain my abdominal muscles to dissuade her. Instead I slide my chakra string away from Zabuza for a moment, attaching it to his teammate, who's finished undoing his belt, waiting for Zabuza to move to do anything else.
This guy is as average as can be, so I don't go too subtle, as I hit him with a Genjutsu. With what little chakra I have to use, I can't go too fancy, so I simply make him hornier, which might seem counterproductive, but I want him too horny to remember he's afraid of Zabuza.
"Get off her already, I wanna break her on my cock." He growls, giving Zabuza an elbow to the side to get him to move.
Zabuza predictably punches him in the face with a snarl, getting his teammate to back off, his sad member flapping in the air, Zabuza giving him a look of pure disgust.
I suppress a smirk, keeping my expression blank. My string reconnects me to Zabuza as I reinforce the suggestion of imminent violence, letting the sound of metal sliding against leather echo in his mind. His paranoia flares, just a fraction, but enough to make him uneasy, as he takes a stance, prepared to defend himself.
"Well? Who's fucking my needy little leaf cunt," I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Trusting each other so much that you'll leave your backs to each other like that. It's adorable, maybe you're not Mist shinobi after all?"
My fear has all but disappeared with how easily I'm controlling these two meatheads with but a simple touch.
Genjutsu used properly is a scary discipline.
Zabuza snarls, his fists clenching. "You're lucky I have bigger issues to deal with," He growls. "If I had my way, you'd already be bleeding out and screaming." He sends his teammate a dark look, even as I whisper in his ear. He's planning to kill you, failing the chuunin exams are nothing to the accolades of ending the Demon of the Mist…
The taller boy steps back, his eyes flicking between me and Zabuza. "She's playing you," He says flatly. "Focus on the task. Or are you too scared to handle a little leaf brat?"
I'm sure he doesn't realize how, but he does have the right idea. Too bad it's too late.
Scared, is that you? I whisper in Zabuza's ear, blending it with his thoughts, his inner voice, the Demon of the Mist fears NO ONE! I drive his paranoia further, fanning the flames.
"Ah, so he's the team lead, and you're the team bitch, Zabuza." I say, like I've made a revelation, "So it's you I have to deal with?" I say coyly to the dead man walking.
Zabuza looks like he can't decide whether to go for me, or his teammate, something I solve for him by making his eyes see his teammate draw his blade.
"I'm no one's bitch!" Zabuza roars, drawing his own sword, his teammate screaming in fright as he draws his own blade and barely parries the first strike, but the difference in skill is obvious, the result a forgone conclusion.
Within three moves, Zabuza knocks his teammates blade aside, cutting him from shoulder to hip, hot blood splashing over him and our surroundings as Zabuza continues to cut into the body, hacking it apart.
The door slams open, the Mist Chuunin who'd escorted me previously, barking, "Zabuza! What the fuck are you doing!?"
I smile, wide and cruel, as blood splatters across my face, the Mist Chuunin foolishly thinking himself safe, as my whispers told Zabuza he was there to execute him.
The Mist Chuunin falls to the floor, dead, practically bisected.
It could have been a problem, but it wasn't me that did it. Deaths were obviously part of this exam, and what could I? An innocent little Konoha genin do? The Demon did have a reputation for killing allies…
Zabuza is breathing heavily as he approaches me, "What… Did you…" He breathes out, confused, my Genjutsu unraveling as his bloodlust and anger is sated.
"Hanako." I order, the confused and disorientated killer before me not able to react, as Hanako uncurls around my abdomen, slithering out underneath my hakama, and shoots forward, fangs glistening.
I can't help but let out a slightly demented giggle, as Hanako bites down on the crotch of the Demon of the Mist.
Her paralyzing venom immediately gets to work, and before Zabuza can do more than curse and go for his sword, he's too far gone, and falls down on the stone floor, dead to the world.
It's a pity Hanako isn't more deadly, but I'll take Zabuza being out of the exams. Having Hanako pierce his throat right now risks ruining the narrative. Besides, potentially losing his cock seems punishment enough.
The crazed Demon of the Mist killing a teammate and his proctor, the scared little genin managing to paralyze him before he could kill her. It made for a good story, one that would ensure I pass this stage.
Whereas me killing them all, officially, is more likely to lead to trouble.
Hanako slithers back up under my clothes, as I smile, feeling assured my boys would have handled their part.
When a Mist Chuunin finally comes to check on us, as the first stage came to a close, he finds a room absolutely covered in blood, floor to walls, with two dead bodies and one demon completely out of it.
And me, sitting calm as can be, a smile on my face, some blood still dripping off my face from Zabuza's enthusiastic dismemberment of his opponents.
"I didn't give them the secret. Do I ~pass?" I let out with a giggle.
Which turns into a full out laugh as the Chuunin pales and backs out of the room.
Really?
Why so scared?
When in Mist, do as the Mist nin do…
＊＊＊
I reunite with my boys, and smile as I have to stand still as they pat me down and check me over for any damage, refusing to take my word for it that nothing happened.
As I'm checked over, I look over the room, about half of the teams having been eliminated. I recognize some of the looks on both the Kunoichi and Shinobi in the room, and look away, not enjoying the look in the mirror, so to speak.
Others hadn't been so lucky today as I had, it seemed.
If Mist was normal, compared to Konoha's other enemies, no wonder there was always a new war…
People did not come out of these kinds of violations and humiliations the same.
"How did your interrogation go?" I ask my boys, as they finally finish going over me with a fine tooth comb.
Gai speaks quietly for once, eyes on our competitors, "Yosh, we got a most unyouthful lady from the hidden mist."
"What constitutes unyouthful?" I ask teasingly, as my boys both sling their arms around my shoulders, keeping me between them, their warmth comforting.
Genma clicks his teeth, his senbon rolling around his lips. "She seemed to have difficulty communicating in anything but curses."
I could imagine that. Gai would have definitely been frowning the entire time, I think, "How did you get her to talk?" I ask, curious.
Gai and Genma share a look over my head, and I roll my eyes. "It's me. Don't be shy."
"She was remarkably resilient." Gai says reluctantly.
Genma chips in, "Gai beat her around a bit and it only made her mouthier." His grin turns a bit savage as he continues, "So I shoved a senbon in her urethra, and she sang before I could even grab a second one."
My boys almost seem worried, even Genma behind his bravado, so I hug them closer and breathe out, "Good work," With feeling.
Yeah, it's not nice. But it's what we need to do, survival is all that matters right now. Does it make me a hypocrite? I don't care.
Wait…
"Genma, that's not the same senbon, right?"
"Genma…?"
"Answer me!"
＊＊＊
Author's Note:
So Mist is a fucked up place. We all know it. With all of the seven Swordsmen still alive, they're stronger then what they would have otherwise been, more self assured in their cruelty.
Zabuza changed it a little with his graduation stunt, but with all the monsters still fully leading the war, it hasn't changed enough.
Genjutsu isn't most of these people's strong point. Good for Inohana.
Team 9 will be taken seriously after this though. And they're definitely continuing down the slippery slope.
Wonder what Inohana will do to earn the moniker Konoha's Waking Nightmare?
Cheers
Jollyhippopotamus