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With the click of blade returning to scabbard, the spokesmen’s eyes grew wide with confusion. Was this truly how a Funikimi acted in this day and age? Had the former King left such a weak heir behind? Eyes narrowing, the spokesman allowed his perceptive gaze to penetrate Hitoshii’s closed lids, peering directly into his soul. For a moment he saw confusion; then he saw bloodlust; then he saw resentment. Finally, after moments of silence and the heir speaking, the spokesman saw what he wanted the most to see.

He saw the soul of a leader.

Underneath the face mask the shinobi’s lips contorted into a wide grin. This was what they had waited for. Years of pillaging and of sacrifice, of pain and of patience, had finally yielded milk from Izanami’s bosom. The destiny of Kusa no Kuni was going to be forged here today, one hammer strike at a time.

“This,” The spokesman began, his words trembling with excitement. “This is our leader…!”

As he spoke the spokesman fell into a bow. With that one signal the dozen shinobi in the trees jumped forth and landed on the cliff, surrounding Hitoshii and kneeling at his feet. It was doubtful he knew what was happening—at least, that was the case until the first man spoke.

“I am Gekiryu, son of Tsukiryu, who is head of the Shinrinkasai-Ichizoku. We have been sent to track you, Funikimi-Taisho, for we are your people’s loyal soldiers.”

And then it all became clear. The Shinrinkasai had served the Funikimi for the longest time. They were the bodyguards, the arms and legs, the body that did the dirty deeds for the Four Kings. Now, with Kusa’s return, it was time for the Shinreinkasai to return to the spotlight as the Kings most powerful subjects.

The giant newt was still at first. Several minutes of silence later and she had begun to move slowly into the deeper parts of the river. Naji’s back was burning under the sun, as she was a swimmer and used to being underwater. Open heat like this did horrors to her slime covered body after a long period of time.

As she moved, her massive, black eyes never left Sen’s own grey gaze. She swam around him, uncaring for what he had been doing earlier and if he was on guard. Soon the Rite of Survival would begin—no, that was incorrect. The Rite of Survival had already begun. Of course the young Genin had not known it, and he wasn’t going to until this was all over, but Naji was well aware of her job here.

Upon reaching the deepest part of the river, the center, Naji lowered her lower jaw into the water and opened her mouth slightly. If Sen had a keen eye, he’d notice the current of the river had changed. Its course was now the blackness of the newt’s throat. Rising out from beneath of the surface of the water then was a tail, the tip of it pointing towards Sen’s heart. She wanted to make it clear that she was talking to him.

“You,” The voice was as monstrous as she was, but at its core was a mother’s love. Perhaps this could disarm Sen. “Are of Tokomaru blood, correct?”

SPOILER: Click to show

_____ Prepped!

“…Seclusion…” An ancient voice spoke, reverberating the entirety of the dark cavern. It was inhuman and monstrous, yet wise and pained.

This was the voice of Katsushio, the Salamander’s Riptide, Sage of the Abysmal Newts; when he spoke all who heard listened, be them young or old, junior or senior, weak or powerful, for the Riptide was a force of nature. Thus the raising of the heads out of the cold water by the newts was not a strange or questionable occurrence. Their master had something important to say.

“…It is time…to end it…” Slowly did Katsushio speak, and as he did the purpose of his words became more and more clear. For years the sect had been inactive, finding no mortal capable of passing the three rites required to contract them.

“…Go and find the Tokomaru…Naji…”

In the darkness one of the larger newts seemed to grunt in confirmation before diving into the cool water of the underground. The time had come for a new contractor of the newt to be born, though the Sage’s reasons were both unknown and unquestioned.

SUMMONING

Sencha took the hand, but the shake he gave was still anything but respectful. It was bestial, in a sense—the long nails of his hand dug into the skin of Clave’s own. When they parted the shinobi listened to the Brother’s proposal and grunted out an affirmation. A new door had been opened; a door to a future of violence, carnage, bloodshed, and death.

Just as Sebastian did, Sencha turned on his heel, scooped up his equipment, and followed him into the heart of the broken village.

/exit

“Leave?” Sencha repeated, as if the concept was foreign to him. For a moment he looked bewildered, stunned almost, but then his lips contorted into the darkest of grins. Shark like teeth broke through the redness of his lips and, after a moment of letting the thought set in, laughter exploded similar to the Brother’s was released. If Clave was an intelligent man, he’d see the two were extremely similar in more ways than one. This was enforced as Sencha’s face suddenly took on a hard, icy mask.

“I don’t care about your screening—any test you’ll have I’ll pass. But just so you know, none of it means shit to me. I came back to this dead ass village to do what I was born to do—kill for it.” Sencha paused for a moment, allowing the cocky grin from earlier to return. The tension in the air didn’t seem to affect him at all—he was an instinctual beast and thus oblivious to such things.

“My target list is ever growing, Sebastian. If the difference between turning this dump into a fuckin’ empire is adding another name to it, then so be it.”

Even if Sebastian hated the attitude and arrogance that exuded from Sencha, he would have to respect one thing about the man: he was loyal to the village, probably more so then the other people who had returned to it.

SPOILER: Click to show

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Takigakure no Sato had been dead for a long, long time. Even calling it a true hidden village would be to overestimate the nature of the military compound. The entire country was nothing more than a third world country, a blip on the radar of the more powerful, established nations. For the last seventeen years, it had not grown at all—nothing but shabby wooden buildings and clumps of tilled land made up the village, with a few cleared fields for the small amount of “Shinobi” to train. Out of these few “Shinobi”, quoted due to the fact that the title barely fits them, gems existed—the metaphorical diamond in the rough.

Yukina Sencha was one of these diamonds.

He sat on one of the many tree stumps dotting the training field, hunched over and his elbows on his knees. Sencha was a rarity in the world and an outlier in Takigakure no Sato; he was one of the only people to hold not only a Kekkai Genkai but also the fabled Kekkai Touta. Amongst the civilians in the village, few knew if these rumors held any truth. They were myths on the wind, for the ninja that of the Waterfall were secretive about their arts and techniques. Despite the fact none of them held a rank higher then Genin, for in a village with no order or recognition growth was stagnated, each individual held techniques that could easily cause the death of another.

Standing up and dusting his aqua-hued haori off, Sencha sheathed both hands into his pockets and began to walk back towards the center of the village. Mid-stride he came to a realization: it didn’t matter where he went. The same people would be there, doing the same things, achieving the same nothingness that Taki folk achieved. A flash of anger flew past Sencha’s thoughts as he turned back towards the fields behind him.

There had to be a way to make this nation feared, as the stories say it was in the past.

And I will find that way.