Chapter XXIII: An Intervention
Zuko walks steadily through the forest, the weight of Itachi's unconscious body draped across his shoulder. The rain falls in a steady, rhythmic patter, soaking the ground beneath his boots, adding to the somber atmosphere of the moment.
A quiet, peaceful sigh escapes his lips as he finally drops Itachi's limp form to the damp earth. With a quick movement, Zuko forms a single hand sign, closing his eyes as he focuses his energy. Moments later, the sound of Gyatsō's voice reverberates through the forest, and soon, a hologram of the Yamikage materializes before him, its eerie glow casting faint shadows around them.
"What is it, Zuko?" Gyatsō's voice is calm, yet laced with a subtle impatience.
Zuko bows respectfully, his dark hair falling slightly over his face as he points to Itachi's prone form on the ground. "Lord Gyatsō, Itachi Uchiha has been defeated. The battle we had was... interesting, to say the least," Zuko adds, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
Gyatsō's intense gaze falls upon the unconscious Uchiha, his expression remaining as unreadable as ever. He makes no move to acknowledge the fight, his tone casual when he speaks.
"I am not surprised. Hide mentioned that he felt his other side stirring. Since Dark Phantom Mirage's power is split between the two of you, I knew you were using that power. Itachi simply isn't strong enough to overcome that force," Gyatsō says.
Zuko nods, his gaze briefly flicking to Itachi's still body. "Well, it's all done now. I'll return to the hideout with the subject. Knowing Hikari, he's already finished his preparations in the Hidden Leaf Village. Am I correct, my lord?" he asks, his tone calm, though his mind is already shifting to the next task.
Gyatsō's smile is small but dangerous, the anticipation of victory clear in his eyes. "Very soon, oh, so soon," he murmurs, his voice thick with promise. "Once I ascend, I shall rise as a god. Your loyalty and services, Zuko, will be rewarded in ways you cannot yet imagine."
Zuko bows once more, a quiet gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Lord Gyatsō. Signing off." With that, he lowers his hands, and the hologram flickers and disappears, leaving only the sound of the rain to fill the silence.
Sighing deeply, Zuko takes a moment to compose himself. The weight of the task ahead is heavy, but he knows there is no turning back. He turns on his heel, starting to walk back to the fallen Uchiha.
Shnk!
A sharp, stabbing sound rings out beside Zuko. He blinks once, and a hot line of blood trickles down his cheek.
He quickly glances to the side, his eyes narrowing as he sees a kunai lodged in the earth just inches from him. Before he can react, more kunai are hurled at him, their blades gleaming in the dim light of the forest.
With a scoff, Zuko snatches the kunai from the ground and effortlessly hurls it back, his aim precise. The weapon collides with an oncoming blade, causing it to ricochet and strike the others in rapid succession. One by one, the kunai veer off course, their trajectories disrupted.
From a nearby tree, a figure watches intently. The man, with striking red hair and piercing purple eyes, stands tall and confident, a black jacket draped over his frame with a red shirt beneath. His gaze is unwavering as he grits his teeth, clearly sizing Zuko up.
Zuko meets his gaze, unfazed, before disappearing in a blur. In an instant, he appears above the man, spinning through the air to launch a powerful kick toward his head.
The unknown shinobi reacts quickly, raising an arm to block the kick with a swift motion. The impact sends a surge of wind crashing outward, rattling the nearby trees. Zuko's leg remains on the man's arm as he hovers in the air, his eyes narrowing as he locks his focus on his opponent.
Then, without warning, a thick line of blood erupts from a cut on the man's arm, whipping around Zuko's leg with astonishing speed.
What?! Zuko's mind races as the blood wraps tightly around his limb. The man's lips curl into a smirk, and in a single fluid motion, he spins Zuko around and hurls him to the ground with a force that makes the earth beneath him shake.
Zuko grits his teeth, quickly rebounding as he slides across the dirt, locking eyes with the man who just threw him. Anger flares in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet.
"Who the hell are you?" Zuko demands, his voice cold and controlled.
The man doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he calmly unsheathes a slender, gleaming samurai sword, raising it and pointing it directly at Zuko. "My name is Ketsueki Kuraiya," the man replies, his voice smooth and unwavering.
Zuko's eyes widen, a flicker of shock passing through them.
Did he say Kuraiya? Zuko thinks. The Fourth Hokage wiped out the entire Kuraiya clan years ago. How is this man alive? To his knowledge, the Kuraiya clan's kekkei genkai allows them to control their blood at will... this won't be easy.
Ketsueki smirks, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Furthermore," he continues, his voice laced with an unsettling calm, "I know everything about Gyatsō Mataba's plans for a new world order. I also know much about the Osore organisation. My sources have told me everything I need to know."
The air grows thick with tension as Zuko's angry glare deepens. The boy slowly rises to his feet, his body surging with dark energy as his Shaolin shifts into its second stage. His eyes burn with determination as the power within him pulses.
"I see... well, Kuraiya," Zuko says, his voice steady but laced with a growing rage, "it seems that I'll have to shut you up myself."
Without warning, Ketsueki leaps from the tree, but instead of crashing to the ground, he levitates in midair. His blood flows around him like an invisible force, lifting him effortlessly. The air around him seems to hum with power, an eerie aura surrounding his every movement.
"Consider me... an intervention," Ketsueki's voice echoes, cool and detached. "Itachi Uchiha was defeated because his resolve was too weak. He tried to carry the burden of bringing down Gyatsō and dealing with you Osore folk on his own, without truly understanding the whole picture. But I... I have that knowledge. That's why you'll be the first to fall, right here, today."
As he finishes speaking, Ketsueki lands lightly on the ground, his feet barely making a sound. Zuko stands frozen for a moment, his gaze unwavering, before he grits his teeth in defiance. The cross symbol around his neck blazes a brilliant red as black markings rapidly crawl across his body, a visual manifestation of his anger and the power surging through him.
"I am sick... and tired... of vermin thinking they're worthy of stepping in our way!" Zuko shouts, his voice echoing through the forest, thick with fury.
In an instant, the black-haired teen vanishes, reappearing in front of Ketsueki. With a growl, Zuko launches a brutal punch aimed squarely at Ketsueki's stomach. The force behind the blow is immense, but Ketsueki only smirks, his confidence unwavering. He absorbs the hit with ease, his body shifting slightly, before bounding forward in a fluid motion. As Zuko's fist connects, Ketsueki strikes back in a flash, jabbing the blade of his sword deep inside Zuko's stomach.
The force of Zuko's punch has sent Ketsueki sprawling, but the red-haired shinobi recovers quickly, his expression remaining smug and conceited as he rises to his feet. He glares at Zuko, his posture as relaxed as ever, as if the clash was nothing more than a brief inconvenience.
The Shaolin wielding shinobi grips the hilt of Ketsueki's sword and pulls it out of his stomach, groaning out in pain.
"Using this sword against me is pure stupidity," he cackles, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My wounds heal!"
But then, his expression changes in an instant. His body falters as he suddenly drops to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands. A guttural shout of pain erupts from deep within him, raw and desperate.
What... is this sensation?!Zuko thinks, trying to make sense of the agony surging through his veins. The burning heat inside him spreads rapidly, as though his very insides are being set on fire. His breath hitches, his vision blurring with the intensity of it all.
"Underestimating me is pure stupidity, Zuko Taisega," Ketsueki sneers, his voice laced with malice. "My Sword of Sin is no ordinary weapon, foolish child. One slash is all it takes to finish a fight, thanks to the invisible poison coating the blade. This poison—it's unlike anything you've ever encountered. It's the very incarnate of my sword's demonic spirit, ready to tear through you."
Ketsueki's lips curl into a twisted smile as he wipes a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth, savoring the moment. The air around them seems to thrum with the weight of his words, and a dark, oppressive energy radiates from him.
Zuko roars in response, a primal cry fueled by sheer defiance. Instantly, the full power of his Curse Mark surges through him, erupting with violent intensity. Purple mist pours from his body, swirling around him like a storm of shadows. His hair stands on end, shifting to a stark, ghostly white, and from his back, two massive wings unfurl, flapping rapidly, sending gusts of wind crashing through the forest. The intensity of Zuko's chakra causes the ground under him to crack and give way, throwing the teenager into a newly formed pit.
Ketsueki watches, unfazed by the desperate transformation, his gaze cold and calculating. He flicks his wrist, sending a thin line of blood snaking out to his sword. The crimson thread wraps around the hilt, and with a swift, practiced motion, he yanks the blade back toward him. He turns gracefully, sheathing it with a smooth, almost casual movement.
Ketsueki's purple eyes gleam with a cold, calculating light as he looks down at his defeated foe. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, revealing a twisted sense of satisfaction. "I've had a change of heart," he says, his voice smooth and deliberate, each word dripping with malice. "Rather than ending you as quickly as possible, as I had originally planned, I think I'll let you suffer down there instead."
He gestures toward the pit below, where his opponent lies crumpled and writhing, the effects of the poison already taking hold. "The poison coursing through your veins will continue to send surges of immense pain throughout your body," Ketsueki continues, his tone almost conversational, as if discussing something mundane. "Wave after wave, until you finally succumb to it. It won't be quick, and it certainly won't be painless. But then again, you of all people should understand that pain is a powerful teacher."
He takes a step closer, his shadow looming over the fallen figure. "The lesson here is simple," Ketsueki says, his voice hardening. "You always pay for the pain you inflict on innocent people. Every life you've destroyed, every family you've torn apart—it all comes back to you. Consider this your reckoning."
Ketsueki crouches down, his eyes narrowing as he locks gazes with his enemy. "Cherish it well, Taisega child," he murmurs, his voice low and venomous. "Let every second of agony remind you of the consequences of your actions. This is your legacy now."
With that, he rises to his feet, turning away without a second glance. The sound of labored breathing and faint groans of pain echo behind him as he starts to walk away, leaving his victim to endure the torment he so carefully orchestrated.
The redhead strides over to Itachi's unmoving body, his movements more relaxed now that the threat was dealt with. He kneels down, gripping Itachi's shoulders as he lifts the body off the ground.
Zuko's chest heaves as he lets out another guttural roar, his voice echoing through the desolate battlefield. His fists clench so tightly that his nails dig into his palms, drawing blood. His bloodshot eyes, burning with fury, lock onto Ketsueki, the man who had defeated him with such unsettling ease.
"Bastard!" Zuko snarls, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Ketsueki lets out a soft, almost mocking laugh, the sound dripping with condescension. He tilts his head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Zuko, his purple eyes glinting with amusement. "Itachi is vital to Gyatsō Mataba's plan," he explains calmly, his tone unnervingly composed. "So... I'm taking your little toy away. When Itachi wakes up, I'll partner with him. Together, we'll put an end to Gyatsō once and for all."
As he speaks, Ketsueki reaches down and brushes a strand of hair from Itachi's face, his movements almost tender. He pauses, then carefully pries open one of Itachi's closed eyes, staring deeply into the still-active Mangekyou. Ketsueki's own eyes close for a moment, his expression serene, as if he's absorbing something profound. When he opens them again, his irises have transformed—now perfectly mirroring Itachi's Mangekyou Sharingan, the intricate patterns spinning slowly.
Zuko's breath hitches, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to process what he's seeing. "What... What the hell is this?!" he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ketsueki smirks, his new Mangekyou Sharingan gleaming with an otherworldly light. "I possess the unique ability to temporarily imitate any Sharingan I lay my eyes on," he explains, his tone laced with pride. "And with it, I can wield their techniques as if they were my own. I owe this gift to my former teacher, Shin Uchiha. A remarkable man, really."
Before Zuko can react, the world around him shifts. His vision blurs, then sharpens into a monochrome landscape of black and white. He finds himself bound to a massive wooden cross, his arms stretched out and his body immobilized. Panic surges through him as he struggles against the restraints, but it's futile.
"Tsukuyomi," Ketsueki murmurs, his voice echoing ominously in the void.
Zuko's Curse Mark flickers and fades, its dark energy dissipating as the genjutsu takes hold. His body goes limp, his consciousness slipping away under the crushing weight of the illusion. Ketsueki watches with a faint chuckle, his expression one of satisfaction. With a final glance at Zuko's unconscious form, he hoists Itachi's body over his shoulder and vanishes into the shadows, leaving only silence in his wake.