Disclaimer: Don't own PJO or the Whiskered Warrior.

Lunar Phases

One Man Wolf Pack

Shinobi.

A word loosely translated to mean "to steal away; to hide". The closest word to be associated with it is 'Ninja', a warrior of shadows from the 15th century. Often characterized by wearing dark, fitted attire, shinobi are believed by modern scholars to have been spies or mercenaries for hire. Evidence of sects and different groups is prominent throughout history, but the fantastical powers they were mystified as having were debunked by modern studies. Furthermore, the belief that shinobi or ninja were the dishonorable sort, to backstab or double cross an employer, is believed mostly inaccurate. It was the 'honorable' samurai warriors who made such betrayals, whereas shinobi considered their word and devotion as a bond and assurance. For if you cannot trust those that work in the shadows, who can you trust?

The hunt was long, two days and counting, and The Yankee was hidden from its senses. Probably the work of one of those damnable divine douchebags. Figures, it was bad enough that there was a bunch of old bastards from Greece it had to worry about, not to mention Khonsu's possible say in the matter, but that accursed Tian-ascended bastard was also probably helping The Yankee.

Typical geriatric cults, always pushing their conservative ideologies onto others and causing problems just by still being alive.

Admittedly, The Uchiha wasn't entirely sure why it had a dislike for the elderly, just that it had an issue with anything that was sufficiently older than it was. Given that the Jiangshi had been around for two or three millennia now, that was saying something. Some would think it was hypocritical when it was nearly as old as those being criticized, but they would be wrong considering it was technically not among the living. The Uchiha was around for millennia, yes, but it wasn't alive.

Memories of life before Jiangshism were ...fragmented. The sight of falling sakura petals made it feel melancholy, and the use of Ninjutsu – Boy wasn't that a surprise for everyone upon first waking up in the Coven! – often made The Uchiha wonder what it would look like with a face mask.

Even The Yankee was a cause of nostalgia. It was an annoying, oftentimes angry feeling that The Uchiha didn't like, but it was a connection to the life of that which came before The Uchiha. Just thinking about The Yankee's stupid face caused feelings of violence to burn beneath its cold unfeeling skin.

Soon...The Uchiha smirked as it finished its meal before it would resume its skip towards its target. It dropped the corpse of the nameless man with B-Negative blood and a silver star on his black shirt and wiped the dribble from its lip. It was lucky, these particular mortals generally travelled in pairs, but this one had a third in the back of their car. The mortal in question screamed in horror as the Jiangshi turned to her and smiled.

Jan 30th, 2009

They had four days remaining.

Minato was, admittedly, impressed by the progress his son made. In just two days, Naruto managed to get down what took most beginners weeks or months when they started using chakra. Granted, those beginners were easily anywhere from a third to a fourth of his son's age, but if anything, that made the surge of growth even more impressive. The saying about 'old dogs and new tricks' wasn't entirely inaccurate, and given the completely alien culture the boy had grown in, learning what his girlfriend called 'Ninja Magic' — Kushina would've loved to see the face Minato made when Thalia had called Ninjutsu that after he suggested Leto help her with her polearm fighting (because apparently Leto was rather skilled with a spear and shield, herself) — was not as easy as riding a bike.

"Are you serious?! Again?!" Naruto growled. The annoyed teen's ire was due to his botched Bunshin no Jutsu. It was actually rather amusing how defeated and sickly the illusion would come out. However, given how strained their relationship was, Minato wouldn't dare laugh. Not aloud, anyway.

"Good effort." Minato smiled gently at the frustrated teenager and restrained himself from trying to put a hand on him in reassurance. It was established early on that physical contact outside of a spar was not welcomed, and Minato couldn't exactly blame Naruto for that. All the same, he stared at his son's failed Jutsu until it went up in smoke seconds later. "Perhaps the quality isn't your issue…but the quantity?"

"You said it yourself, they're illusions. What good would having a dozen holograms do me against a monster or demigod, let alone a vampire? It isn't like they touch the ground or replicate my scent, so I can't even use them for a decent distraction or misdirection!" The boy vented his frustration and his hands were tossed into the air.

The Yondaime hummed and cupped his chin in thought. That was a valid point, most preternatural beings used their stronger more obscure senses other than sight to keep their targets locked. Given the war that his son was bound to throw himself into, the typical Bunshin No Jutsu was not much of an assist. Perhaps he would benefit from a nature-based Bunshin? Although, having a grasp on the basics was a must to make a decent shinobi. It was the building blocks that saved your life, after all, not the flashy over-the-top Jutsu.

—And yes, The "Yellow Flash" knew how hypocritical that sounded coming from him. However, it wasn't like having flashy techniques in your pocket ever hurt anything either.

"Try again once more," he said. "Then, we'll revisit your calligraphy."

"Oh, Zeus could smite me now…Yes, I was being sarcastic. ..Shut it, Energizer." Naruto grumbled, putting his hands through the motions of the basic technique while Minato felt out his chakra shaping via Sage Mode. He ignored the comment and the unease that came with it as a new thought occurred to him. Naruto wasn't a Jinchuriki in the traditional sense like Kushina had been, but he was similar enough to one and could access the Kyuubi's chakra.

If that were the case then— Minato planted his face into his hand.

"I'm an idiot!" He declared for the world to hear.

"…Not disagreeing, but why do you think so?" The dry sass was uncalled for. Minato would let it pass, just this once.

"You're a Jinchuriki!" He grinned and put his hands on Naruto's shoulders.

"And?" The impassive stare leveled at him combined with the quizzical arch of his pierced eyebrow made him feel like an Academy student. Well, at least he hadn't reacted violently to the contact. Oh, wait, there's the annoyed glare. Whoops. The Yondaime sheepishly pulled his arms away with a soft apology.

"Your chakra pool is probably three or four times the size of my own, er, prior to deification. Actually, I'm not sure if that affected my chakra —no, focus Minato. Sorry, son, ahem, anyway…In order to do a basic technique, you'd need to have mastered your control over chakra." Minato turned away and started pacing. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before."

A beat passed before Naruto snorted. When Minato looked at his son, whose arms were crossed while his attention was on his pacing (temporary!) divine father, the boy tapped his tattooed arm. Again, Minato wondered what kind of life he had growing up to have defaced his body with such markings. Admittedly, the shoulder work of the celestial wolves of the Norse Pantheon was rather beautiful.

"Basically, The Fox came to the same conclusion."

Probably not in very nice terms. Minato mused. He shook his head. "Okay, well, there's a few alternate ways we can go about this. Clones, as I mentioned before, can be made of chakra elemental natures, and are physical. They can interact with you and the environment, but they are not very durable. Consequently, they can be used to set up combinations, such as a Mizu Bunshin dousing your enemy upon dispelling and making them more susceptible to a Raiton attack."

"Yeah, I'll pass on that for now." Minato arched a brow at the immediate dismissal and Naruto shrugged. "My girlfriend can generate lightning. And static. A lot of static."

He shivered and the Yondaime tilted his head in thought. What in the world did Naruto mean by that?

"Oh!" Minato blinked, the answer came to him as quickly as he wondered the question. Naruto and Thalia often fought in tandem, so there was the off chance it could backfire on them and short out whatever plan they had. He tapped his chin. "Well, I'm aware of the Doton and Raiton variants, but I'm not very good at either of them. Honestly the most versatile Bunshin is the Kage Bunshin, but it might be too much so soon..."

"There's a 'Shadow Clone'?" Naruto asked, brow furrowed in thought. "What, do I make a copy of myself out of my shadow? I think The Rich One would sooner take my soul on the spot than allow that to happen."

"No, they're exact physical replicas of yourself - as are most more advanced clones - but the Kage Bunshin can retain information. Upon dispelling, the chakra used to create them returns to the user and with it the information they'd gathered. It was very useful while experimenting with the Hiraishin. Not to mention, the Rasenga— Kami, I could work on completing the Rasengan…" Minato muttered as his eyes widened. He furrowed his brows and cupped his chin. "But Fūton is so volatile, it always destabilizes and might backfire on the clone before I get anything worthwhile from it. Maybe I need to use less nature chakra while forming the sphere? No, I think I tried that. Too much would make it explode…it took forever to grow my eyebrows back."

A sharp, piercing whistle had him refocus on Naruto, who was giving him another annoyed glare.

"Kage Bunshin. How is it done?"

"Er, uh, right—Wait, that's a really advanced technique, Naruto. I don't know if you're ready for—"

"I'm going to be fighting a &$* vampire that can make his own version of lightning on command, Minato. I need every advantage I can get." Naruto's curt interjection to his concern made the temporary god of war blink. Well, when he put it that way…

"…Fair point. Alright, the hand seal is fairly unique, but simple, but in order to perform it correctly you have to concentrate while you're molding your chakra. Try to imagine you're folding a piece of paper. Keep folding it as many times as you need, and consider each fold to be the amount of clones you're going to—Naruto, are you listening?"

Naruto was staring off to the West, into the thick wood. His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed red. A deep growl rumbled from his throat and a chill went up Minato's spine. He palmed a kunai and braced himself in case the Fox was going to make an attempt to escape.

Faintly, Minato heard the clicks of something he knew were to be automatic weapon safety latches — his yet still uncontrolled domain had its oddest times of rearing up — despite not fully understanding how he knew what those words even meant. Familiarity with this world's modern sense of warfare, faint though it was, told him there were a good half-dozen armed men unloading from some sort of large vehicle. A bit to the south beyond that was another half-dozen, in another vehicle.

"Must be some kind of hunting party." He muttered to himself. Weird that they felt the need to be so armed to go after some deer. Maybe they were after a bear? …how big did the bears of this world get? Surely they weren't as large as the beasts back in the Forest of Death. The memory of the house-sized Ursine that had almost swallowed him whole whilst on his first excursion into the elite training ground sent another shiver up his spine.

"They smell like blood." Naruto's growl broke Minato from the memory and he saw his son had curled his lip. "Human blood."

"Mortal mercenaries." Minato confirmed after he honed in on the mortals with whatever psionic or psychic ability his domain gave him. It wasn't an omniscience or omnipercipient sense, exactly, but it was something that would let him focus on the weapons of the men, then on the souls of those who used them. These men were not good or bad, but they were driven by greed. Whether that greed came from good or ill intentions was beyond Minato's ability to tell. He frowned at what he learned/knew of their weaponry. "They have various automatic rifles and gear I don't recognize... I don't think they're hunting animals."

"Probably after Thalia's bounty." Naruto agreed, another growl emanating from his person.

So much like his mother, Minato thought. Kushina was always very protective of what was hers. Or what she perceived to be hers…gosh-darned sexy ramen thief wife of mine…I miss you.

"Show me how to do the Kage Bunshin." A calculative gleam was in his son's eye, as he met Minato's gaze once more. The fledgeling god stared into his son's eyes and shivered again from what he saw. Those were not the eyes of the fox. They were red and angry, yes, but within was not hatred and malice that were associated with his village's bane. There was something primal and excited in those blood red orbs. A wise man wouldn't succumb to such a gaze, but a loving father was weak to their child's wishes.

He showed the boy the hand seal.

"I need to handle this, go explain everything to Gran-Gran and check your barrier tags," Naruto said. He held a hand up to keep Minato from interrupting. "This is part of an agreement I made with The Fuzzball. Besides, it's probably best if we keep your actions concealed from The Thunderer, let alone That Goddess finds us again."

A grimace crossed his face and Minato decided it was best to do as was requested. The last thing he wanted was for that Goddess to find either of them again. Not to mention, since he was under heavy scrutiny from Zeus and didn't want to risk his or his son's life by doing something the King of Olympus might not condone, he agreed to stay back with a nod.

2/1/2009 17:15:56

Taylor Salem was ex-military, a common history that was shared among members of the Triumvirate Holdings' PMC. He'd signed up out of high-school and served as an U.S. Army Ranger during Desert Storm, before he was picked up by the Triumvirate after his squad encountered a very hostile Preternatural Megafauna and was nearly eliminated to the last man. Learning there was a world hidden from his eyes and the eyes of other normal men was a shock, but Salem adapted quickly. He had to in order to survive. Rather than get tossed aside and swept under the rug like so many of his fellow veterans were by Uncle Sam once they were used up, Salem took their offer of employment.

The private sector was a completely different life from enlistment, but it still had a sense of order to it. The others in the PMC told him similar stories to his own, they told him of monsters that people wrote off as fiction and magic like out of a tabletop game thrown about by wizard-wannabes with delusions of grandeur. A few tours overseas and a few more on restricted soil to deal with such place took place over his ten year career, and while he was capable of it, he didn't tend to lead his teams.

Unfortunately for Salem, that wasn't the case today. Unlike others in his unit, he was the only one that took to hunting elk in the northern forests during his off time. When it was discovered by the others on his squad, his call sign was changed from his surname to "Huntsman".

Talk about unimaginative.

Still, since Salem was head of this op, he took charge and did things as close to the book as he could — exceptions were made in his code of ethics since this op was not on foreign soil. As soon as their truck stopped and their boots touched the ground, he took point, keeping an eye out for disturbed trees and brush that emulated the photos shown in the briefing not a day prior. Apparently their target had gone against a large Preter-Fauna and emerged victorious not too long ago.

Twenty minutes into their walk, they found a pair of trashed Triumvirate APC, tires ripped off and fresh blood splatter that crusted over the windshields. They broke rank and scoured the area, but when nothing more turned up, they moved on. All the while, the thin hairs on the back of Salem's neck were up.

The sun had hours until it set, and this was supposed to be simple: Eliminate the target. Finding another Triumvirate APC was not doing his gut any favors. It was screaming at him to call the op off.

"Huntsman, we're sure that the target's out here, right?" Ellis Rios, a longtime friend and fellow Ranger, asked. Salem looked up from where he was triple-checking his magazine. The younger ranger had been present during the operation that started their new careers, he was barely out of boot camp at the time, and afterwards their brash camaraderie turned into a true bond of brotherhood.

"No, but she was last seen in the area. The closed circuit footage of the park is being expertly looped and the eggheads think it's being done by a Preters' interference." Salem explained before he pursed his lips. "This seem off to you?"

"What?"

"The op. The APC…What if we're not the first group sent out here?"

"I mean, I'd be lying if I said I was stoked over it." Rios admitted with a shrug. "Just try to think about the bank, it's working for me."

"Right." Salem muttered as he considered the words and resumed checking his rifle's magazine.

The mission they had was a standard target elimination, but the age of the target bothered him a bit. He had a niece the same age, already talking about her career goals as a kindergarten teacher, or so his sister told him. Granted, that wasn't his only hold up about this op.

Salem might be a hired soldier who did some shady work, but he wasn't an assassin, and that the company sent him out to be one was a little unnerving. Most of the others in the squad agreed with him when he voiced his concerns to the Triumvirate Holdings Intelligence Agent that delivered the target's dossier to them, but as the stuck up prick pointed out, their contracts had them under an oath to do as The Board bid.

Besides that, Rios had a point, there was a lot of money on the line.

The equivalent of Fifty Million U.S. Dollars, in whatever form or type of currency was desired, for each member of the field operation. Including himself, that was six men and women who were going to be paid a stupid amount of money. The Triumvirate's banks were packed and never seemed to fail. Anyone with a brain would take that option, some would think.

Salem had morals, he was raised in a religious household, but had already resigned himself to his place in Hell for the sins on his soul. What was one more ounce of blood on his already crimson hands? He steeled himself and slapped his magazine back into place.

Young age or not, the girl was going to die.

"Movement spotted!" Adams, a fifteen year veteran of the PMC life and an ace marksman who used to be an asset to the CIA until a Preternatural Incident ended that career avenue for him, suddenly hissed over the radio. Rios and Salem lifted their rifles and turned with the rest of the squad. Salem tracked the treeline and made his way over to the older man.

"Where?"

"Fifteen meters out, south west." The marksman swirled his chew from one side of his mouth to the other. "Flicker of white, five, maybe six feet off the ground."

"Preternatural?" Salem asked.

"Could be."

Salem nodded and turned to look at the rest of the squad. He lifted his hand and, with his index finger extended, circled it overhead. His fingers extended and closed into a fist before he resumed to steady his rifle. The squad fanned out and approached. If there was an unregistered Preternatural out here, they would have to deal with it before it alerted their target of their presence.

If she didn't already know they were here, that is.

At his wordless direction, Rodriguez and Daniels covered the left and right flanks respectively. The former had several tours in Iraq under her belt and the latter was a washout who'd been relieved of duty under questionable circumstances, i.e., she tried to blab about her Preternatural Experience to the wrong person and got blacklisted for her troubles. Salem had chosen to bring Rodriquez for her records of success in emergency medical field work against IEDs, and Daniels had some experience in Preternatural warfare, being the same PMC member that pulled his and Rios' asses out of the literal fires of Hell not a decade prior.

The last member of their merry band was a former Police sergeant named Bernard O'Malley, but everyone just called him Burns. Not because it was his name, but because of the third-degree burns that covered half of his face. Burns had been tacked onto the mission by The Board at the last minute, much to Salem's chagrin. Those kinds of guys always seemed to bite it first, so as much as Salem didn't like it, he also didn't argue against the quiet new addition. If the Board's lackeys became a Preters' snack, it gave him time to think about saving the rest of his team.

"In position." Daniels whispered over the radio.

"No sign of the—wait, fourth branch from the top." Rodriguez' hushed words made the rest of their squad release their held breaths. "Is…is that a body?"

"Dios mio." Rios muttered before he made the cross at the sight of the skinned body that was draped across the tree branch in question. "Think the target did that?"

"Not her M.O.," Burns' gravelly comment got a nod from Salem. The target was more likely to stab someone or electrocute them, if the dossier was right. It was nothing new for him, dealing with a preternatural opponent. It was the age…

Salem looked at Rios, then at Burns, before he gave them the signal to advance past him.

Rios took only five steps before a twig snapped under his boot. Salem held his breath and waited for something to respond. Silence.

"Clear!" Rios declared, reaching the base of the tree and flipping around in a crouch. Daniels and Rodriguez did the same to cover their right and left flanks respectively. At a flick of his wrist, Salem signaled a shot from Adams' rifle that tore through the rope that the corpse hung from. He and Burns crept forward, the op commander knelt beside the corpse once he was close enough.

"God, that smells." Rios muttered as he flicked a glance at the body over his shoulder.

"It could be worse." Burns' gravelly voice rumbled. It sounded like someone had ripped apart his vocal chords, and given the severity of his wounds, it probably wasn't too far from the truth.

"How could it be any worse?"

"It could be on fire."

"David Craver." Salem muttered as he read the tags still looped around the body's neck. He took hold of them and pulled. "Guess we found his—."

There was a pop and a large cloud of smoke exploded from the body.

"&$*% me!" Rios cried out as they were engulfed.

"Defensive positions! Hold fire!" Salem quickly ordered. The first order was obeyed easily enough. The second…

"Contact! Preternatural si—Sh—!" Daniels cried out, a short burst of fire from his weapon preceded the crackle of his radio's silencing. Salem went back-to-back with Rios and Burns.

"Adams! Eyes on hostile?" Salem barked into the radio. There was nothing but static. He tried to signal their sharpshooter again. "Adams!"

Bursts of fire had them drop to the forested floor. Salem's mind raced as he considered the possibilities. Was there another Triumvirate team in the area? Or was this Military? Local law enforcement? A liquored-up family reunion enacting their second amendment right?

"Adams." Salem tried once more. "Do you read?"

"Was — a visual, —smoke affected th—al. Hold — fire, it—Rodriguez." Adams' choppy response broke through the deafening silence. "She—caught in—are—freaked."

"That &$%* loco punta! This ain't the time for her to lose her cool!" Rios swore as Salem grimaced. He started to get up, only for a scream to break through the wood. The radio came on.

"By God —witness." Adams muttered. "—not paid eno—."

"Adams? You're breaking up. What did you see?"

"Christ— &$#%* thing. There." Distortion gave out."They were on her like a pack of wolves the second she went to reload. &$*% me, if I hadn't seen $&*% like that before…"

Rios and Salem shared a look.

"Who's 'they'?" Rios asked. Salem furrowed his brow. The longer they were on this op, the more he got the feeling they were missing something. He needed more information,

Before he could say anything, a squeltch caught their attention and Rios let out a cry of pain. Acting on instinct, Salem caught his brother-in-arms' hand with his own and pulled against the preternatural force that was trying to haul him off.

Salem was damn near taken along with his friend, were it not for Burns throwing himself over Salem's back.

"My leg. It's in my leg." Rios grimaced and Salem looked at the source of his pain. A curved silver arrowhead was buried deep into the younger man's calf, a thin cable attached to the hilt. Salem let go of his rifle, drew his sidearm and took careful aim.

"Don't move." He urged Rios. The man went still, the death grip on his arm kept him from being pulled free. Salem pulled the trigger once the sights were lined up and the taught line snapped.

"Mother—!" Rios, free from his predicament, rolled to look at the damage. Burns, once he rose back to his feet, glared at the offending object and pulled it out. "Gah, you sonova—!"

"Easy." Salem placated his partner and began to apply the little mediocre first aid he was capable of. It would keep Rios from bleeding out, but this operation was officially FUBAR. They needed to regroup.

"What kind of sick &$%* uses arrows like that?!"

"I don't know—"

"I've seen these before." Burns interjected. His good eye glared malice the likes of which Salem had never seen in another man's gaze. He tucked the weapon into a pocket and drew his rifle up. Sights and magazine were checked before the safety was firmly switched off. "That little &$*€% is still alive, huh? Not for long."

"Save it, O'Malley. We haven't got time for your vendetta—"

Crack!

Salem's head snapped back as something struck him in the face, hard. Coherent thought made it clear it was the stock of a gun, Burns' gun. A second blow to the throat cut his airway. His vision went dark after the third hit to the back of his head, and the last thing he he heard before being deafened by a gunshot was Rios' cry of his name.

AN: Goodness Gracious me, these past eight months sucked. Legal effort didn't amount to anything but all my medical was covered, and shortly after the last chapter was posted I finally got my tickets to the Backstreet Boys Reunion Tour.

Suffice to say, I'm not happy.

But! I'm not done with this either.