Prologue

It’s been almost nine years since the fall of Konoha. Nine years we survivors have lived in the heart of the cold obsidian earth, in a city of mourning. Nine long years. The blink of an eye, yet an entire lifetime. It usually feels like the latter.
All who have come to call Kamigakure home have experienced loss, even the Ninja formerly of other villages aside from the Hidden Leaf. Well, it seems the perfect setting for individuals such as us: a city eternally the colours of bereavement. Everyone here mourns for someone, for the past, for who we used to be. To live here is to acknowledge that a large part of you has come to an end, and to let it die. I myself have lost much of who I used to be, much of my free spirit and even my very humanity. Sometimes when my husband and children are away I weep for that part of me which I was forced to let die. I know it will never come back. Yet when I am with others I lock it away deep in my mind and carry on with a smile.
This is an ability all Ghost Ninja learn. If we couldn’t, surely we would all die from our sorrow and then Konoha and Suna would never be avenged. So we bury our emotions when we walk our dark, lightless streets and talk to each other about happier and current events, taking solace that we have the Will of Fire, and that we do not suffer alone. We do this especially when we undertake missions, to show the other Ninja villages that our losses have made us stronger.
But we don’t just do it to maintain our reputations and to have a respite from our own personal hells. We need to stay strong for what little we do have. For me it’s my family. I put away my sadness so that I can be the best wife, mother and teammate I can be. Because these people are all that is still good in my life, all that I love and care about. As long as I have them then everything else, the loss and guilt and depression which haunt me, fades away as insignificant. And I know that they feel the same way about me, and hide their own sorrow to be the best family to each other and myself as they can, too. Maybe that is the true lesson of Kamigakure: only through loss and grief can you truly appreciate what you still have.
- Inuzuka Hinata

The world has changed, over these nine years. After the fall of Konoha the forces of Orochimaru did not claim the Land of Fire as their own, instead leading their allies the Land of Earth westwards in conquest. The armies wound along the Great Central Mountain Range, bypassing the Lands of Grass and Rain until they reached the Country of Wind. The memory of their assistance of Konoha still raw in his mind Orochimaru besieged the desert capital Suna, his forces a living sea of hate-fuelled destruction outside the city’s walls. Within another twelve months Suna had been razed, signaling the beginning of the end of the Country of Wind. Like Konoha, Orochimaru ordered survivors to be hunted down and captured or eliminated, drawing the country’s demise out unbearably over the next year and swelling his experimental subject pool significantly. Too late, both the lands of Lightning and Water realized the plan of the Sound/Earth Alliance: to eliminate all other Kages and rule the entire world with an iron fist, bloody from conquest and as black as the depths of terror itself.

The Land of Lightning would have been next if not for the intervention of Akatsuki. The Snake Master’s plans conflicting with their own, not to mention their already existing vendetta, they declared war on the combined forces of Sound and Earth, seeing a chance to destroy Orochimaru while in a state of vulnerability. Knowing that as it stood Akatsuki were the only group capable of defeating him Orochimaru ordered the Earth-Nin to hunt them down wherever they hid, alongside his own Sound. When the decision was met with flat refusal Orochimaru personally assassinated the Tsuchikage. The replacement as leader of the Land of Earth was weak, and in time became little more than a puppet of the Dark Jutsu Master, kept in line with threats of death and the destruction of his people. To this day the Sound/Earth Alliance continues to seek out Akatsuki members and eliminate them with sheer numbers, the war now spanning over half a decade. Even with some of the world’s most talented Ninja none can hope to stand against a veritable tide of enemies and live, and even though they made the enemy pay dearly with every life, Akatsuki is losing. Only four members still live. Which four, none can say.

But, unbeknownst to all save a handful, recent developments have cast the true leadership of the Sound/Earth Alliance into momentary uncertainty…

*****

Kamigakure has changed too. The survivors of Konoha were able to remain hidden from their enemy until they had left what was once the Land of Fire on their conquest, and turned their attention to setting up a new spy network across the countries. Once it was clear that neither the Land of Sound nor Earth were going to add the defeated country to their own fiefdoms smaller and less important countries scrambled forth, squabbling and fighting as they greedily ate up the now unoccupied lands. All except for the ruins of Konoha themselves, left in unclaimed territory by all as a show of great respect to the memory of a mighty nation.
Eventually the Ghost Elder Council decided it was time to make their presence known to the world. Without warning they surged forth from under Kozu Mountain, eliminating all who had dared to claim their portion of land near the borders of the Land of the Waterfall. The few warrior survivors of Konoha were skilled, and the forces of the lesser countries, most without a Ninja village of their own, quailed and abandoned their new expanses or were slain. Once they had all the lands they could comfortably manage the Ghost Ninja stopped, claiming less than an eighth of what had been the Land of Fire. The Land of Ghosts was founded. Surprisingly the villages within the fledgling country’s borders welcomed the new arrangement, as most had come to rely upon a Ninja village to help defend against bandits and the thought of invasion over the centuries. Jobs started to trickle in, even though none knew the true location of Kamigakure. Most villages had a contact stationed within who would act as middle man, relaying the mission to the Village Hidden in Divinity and brokering the mission’s price.

But even after all of this, Kamigakure couldn’t breathe easy. They were too few. Not enough had survived the destruction, and if measures weren’t taken soon it would spell doom for them all. At the time that this issue weighed upon them, all thoughts of revenge put aside in the face of this crisis, Suna fell to Orochimaru. Knowing the horrors of their plight firsthand, and the honour of Konoha’s memory demanding they send aid, the Village dispatched what little forces it had to bring the Sand Ninja survivors back to the dark fortress of Kozu Mountain. The Sand-Nin, after learning what Konoha had enacted since its supposed genocide and realizing that they were now homeless and leaderless, swore fealty to the Ghost Elder Council and joined the village as equals, their own surviving Elders welcomed into the Council. These newcomers kept their old symbol on their reflectors but sat it on the sunburst of Kamigakure, reflecting both their prideful past and uncertain but resolute future in harmony.

Once word of this amalgamation became common knowledge through rumour and espionage by the other Ninja nations the move was met with mixed reactions. While all voiced a public opinion of disgust at joining another village permanently, more than one marveled at the almost instant influx of warriors they now possessed. Normally both would be forced to wait a few generations to come so far in replenishing their number seperately, but they had taken mighty strides in one masterful stroke, ensuring both culture’s survival. Long before this Orochimaru had worked out what was happening, but did not see the culmination of two broken bands of refugees as a pressing threat, especially since he was busy with his war on Akatsuki. So the Elders of Kamigakure were left to wait in their dark lair, wait and scheme…

In fact, the scheme for revenge was only known to the Elders and some higher ranked Ninja formerly from Konoha or Suna, who were forbidden to talk about it unless in the exclusive prescence of the Council. Thus the plans were kept safe from any spies sent from Orochimaru or his allies. Indeed, the plans would take another ten years or more to come to fruition, but that was more than acceptable. Revenge, like a good game of shogi, shouldn’t be rushed.

And the chosen few discreetly moved their pawns about and waited.

**********

The following are excerpts from the journal of Inuzuka Kiba, and we continue following his entries from when he was twenty four onwards. The battered and worn journal is small and unassuming, much like a diary he kept in his teenage years. Missing the small insight into his everyday life the feature in that old diary had given him, he has entered headings to write the weather and a song he listened to (if any) at the beginning of every entry.

It should be once again noted that Kiba skips over or omits anything he doesn’t find incredibly interesting, and that additionally he writes as though someone is reading, as he knows that someday they will, and he wants his feelings and thought conveyed accurately to his audience.

*****

It should also be noted that over the passing years Umino Iruka, Kiba’s teammate has observed the tattoo clad Ninja, but so far has had no reason to believe that Kiba is an imminent threat, or ever will be.

*****

Chapter One

Date – September 10

Weather – Autumn Winds

Song listened to today – All These Things That I’ve Done by The Killers

More training out in the pine forests last night, and seeing there was no moon we decided to continue teaching tracking skills. It was good training for Minoruko, to learn to trust her other senses and not solely her eyes. Akamaru and I smelt out a rabbit and we had her follow their trail back to the warren. Easy enough for her, even though the only illumination was starlight. Sometimes I forget how phenomenal her nightsight is, having grown up in the darkness of Kamigakure. She killed four and brought them back, so seeing she’s learning the skills of an Inuzuka we had them raw. Iruka’s horrified expression as we ate was priceless. What I wouldn’t have given to have had a camera. I thought he was going to throw up. At least his rabbit didn’t go to waste; Akamaru’s was a little on the small side, and he’s a big dog.

This morning we only had three hours sleep, but today is the last full day we have left out here and I don’t want to waste it. Besides, it’ll be good for Minoruko. After all a Ninja needs to be able to perform their duties in any situation including sleep deprivation, and there won’t always be soldier pills to wake her up. After this entry we’ll send her into the forest ahead to lay traps for half an hour then Iruka, Akamaru and I will bypass and defuse them. After that we’ll work on tactics used when trapping an enemy. Heh, I promised her that if she’s good I’ll let her use an explosive tag out here.

All in all I’m pleased with how this training expedition has been going. It’s good for Akamaru and I to just get out into the wilds, and seeing the Academy is closed for a week I couldn’t pass up the chance of bringing Minoruko-chan out here to learn from myself and Iruka about trapping and survival. She has enjoyed it too, I see her during our breaks playing on the nettle covered forest floor with Akamaru. It makes me think sometimes. Just before she reminded me of Hana, the way she was standing as Iruka briefed her on this morning’s exercise. Wherever you are I know you’re smiling at us my sister. And I’m smiling back.

The only downside has been being away from Hinata and Satoroshi. But he really isn’t up to such a level of training yet so I guess it is best she stayed at home to train him. He has only begun to use his Byakugan so she was going to train him extensively in our absence.

Hopefully when we return there will be another mission. Holidays are good sometimes but you can’t beat being paid to take down scum like bandits or the thrill of infiltrating an enemy village.

**********

A small songbird chirped happily, its soft melody carrying through the crisp woodland air and reminding any who knew the song’s meaning that Winter would come soon. Now was the time to find shelter or migrate away before the lands drew their crystalline blanket once more. Kiba crept forward through the pine forest, the carpet of fallen brown pine needles muffling his already silent advance as he crept onwards. A cold Autumn wind gusted lightly between the dew-dampened trees, ruffling his spiky brown hair, now shoulder length at the back, before it stole away again, plucking a few green nettles from the trees as it sped along. The alpine draft carried with it the scents of moisture and cold. Light showers tomorrow. The Ninja ignored the particles of needle in his hair as he walked forward, his old black leather jacket dulled and unreflective in the dim morning sun which hadn’t been covered by the sparse cloud cover for once this trip. Kiba stopped his slow advance and tightened his jaw slightly. This was it. He had reached the area.
Kozu Mountain had a network of small ridges spidering away from its base like so many buttresses roots from a formidable ancient tree, turned to stone from a thousand seasons pitted against the elements. Much of the year the numerous secluded dead end valleys were filled with powder snow. But Winter hadn’t been yet, so they were decorated with a jumble of old avalanche rocks and twisted pines which had withstood snow-ins and the mountain’s movements. It was one of these valleys which Kiba stood at the entrance to, ridges heralding the feet of Kozu spanning away from him on his left and right, crowned by young pine trees which were gnarled and twisted by the ravages of the strong winds the dark mountain had swirling around it throughout the year. At the far end of the valley the grand mountain itself stood before him, dark and imposing a feeling of evil as always. Even now the very top was capped with snow reminiscent of a death shroud, as if the summit were being prepared for burial by the earth and sky.
Kiba crouched and looked at the pine needles at his feet, seeing a hollow in the foliage not created by the wind. A footprint, too small for an adult but definitely created by a Ninja tabi. She must have had a lapse in concentration. The Ninja smirked before scratching his chin in contemplation, absently running his index finger along a deep blue tattoo. By the depth of the print she is no longer on the ground. That means she’s jumped to the treetops, the tall one over there judging by the eleven degree angle of the print. Which also means… Guessing correctly, he looked down and found a small tripwire at ankle height, which ran between a tree and a small rock on the ground. After he followed it to the end Kiba disarmed the noisemaker quietly, gently lowering the small bamboo bell down into the dirt so that it created no noise. Not a bad ploy, in these conditions the sound of the bell would carry for a good long distance and alert her of their approach direction. As he finished and began to rise from his kneel Akamaru appeared beside him, a shaggy beast reminiscent of a massive white wolf with floppy brown ears. Kiba turned to his faithful old partner and scratched the side of his face in greeting before the dog growled once in a soft, low tone. So, she’s put noisemakers around the South ridge too? Not bad, but they’re a little obvious. Still, not bad.
He replied in a hushed voice, keeping quiet in the thin Autumn air.
“Good work. Haven’t heard from Iruka-san yet, but we can assume she’s put noisemakers on the North ridge as well. The plan goes ahead. Get back to your mark and we’ll all advance in two minutes and twenty-three seconds.” Kiba said, rising as Akamaru took two light steps through the needles before leaping into the treetops, the cool wind blowing his long white fur away from the mountain as the dog disappeared from sight.

Kiba waited in his spot near the disarmed noisemaker after Akamaru had left, staying absolutely still with a hand up to his earpiece. Nothing from Iruka. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. He was probably just trying not to give his position away. Even so, a teammate not sticking to scheduled radio contact is… disconcerting to say the least.

On the appointed second Kiba took to the treetops, following the trail Minoruko had taken through the crooked pines, sickly as if their life force was leeched by Kozu. Occasionally he would see another noisemaker or even a kunai trap on the ground. She was getting better; these traps were close to what a Genin would be expected to set up. As he traveled towards the depths of the valley his earpiece crackled to life, Iruka’s whispering voice barely audible as Kiba leapt through the air between the withered pines.
“Just encountered an explosive tag trip in higher up branches. Watch yourself.” The two Ninja had given Minoruko small pink pieces of paper which fizzed like an explosive tag’s fuse when set off. The highly visible colour encouraged clever placement of the tags.
“Check. Heading to forest floor now. Finish sweeping your area and press on further. If one of us hasn’t come across her by the time we rendezvous, we’ll search the back of the valley. Out.” Kiba replied to his teammate before bounding to a lower branch and then to the dark rocky ground of the valley’s dead center, deeming his landing area safe as he was airborne. A few dead pine needles flicked up as he landed in a crouch, his long hair and jacket swaying in the inertia of his landing. Kiba remained in his landing position, with both arms held out in front of him in a ready position and his eyes closed as he listened for anything which would give her away…

A kunai thudded into the ground at his feet, digging into the nettle covered soil between two rocks. Kiba’s bestial eyes snapped open and locked onto it. Attached to the weapon on a string was a pink note, which started to burn with a soft hiss. Kiba’s eyes narrowed. The fuse was much shorter than a conventional explosive note. Obviously Iruka wanted the training to work both ways. Without time to defuse the pink tag or throw the kunai away Kiba leapt deeper into the forest, forcing chakra into the forward thrust of his legs as he tumbled through the air in a controlled vault. By the time the paper gave off a sharp crack signifying an explosion he was clear of what should have been the blast area.
What was the point of that? he thought to himself as he descended through the gnarled pines towards an area unlikely to be booby trapped: the bare trunk of one of the larger trees. As he landed, using chakra through his feet to sit in a crouch on the trunk’s side, his question was answered with the telltale sound of a trigger string breaking. Before he could discern where the string had been cunningly hidden the forest air was cut by the sounds of commotion above. As Kiba looked up the tree he crouched on the side of his eyes and mouth widened in shocked disbelief. Above him, unseen due to his rushed jump to avoid the explosive note was a deadfall trap in the process of sending forest stones the size of his head crashing through the branches above straight towards him in a lethal shower. Without time to think Kiba rose from his crouch and sprinted horizontally down the side of the tree towards the ground with his hair slightly trailing behind him, forming quick seals as rocks thundered through the too thin foliage above. As the stony earth raced up to meet him the rock’s shadows grew on the wall of dirt ahead, and he imagined he could feel the first of the jagged missiles caressing his back and arms through his fraying jacket. KUSO! Kiba shouted in his mind as he finished the seals and lept forward into the dirt.

The world turned black for a moment as Kiba heard the muffled thudding and cracking as the deadly barrage thundered into the forest floor above him. Slowly as his vision acclimatized to the dark he was able to see a few meters ahead of where he now swam. Above his head the morning sunlight weakly caressed the forest floor, barely penetrating the carpet of dead nettles and scattered rocks. Looking out at the forest above was like looking up at the sky from beneath the surface of brackish water. Although one tries not to breathe when underground, inside Kiba breathed a sigh of relief. The stones which had fallen would most likely have crushed him if he hadn’t used his Underground Move Jutsu. Truthfully Kiba preferred offensive Jutsu to this one, being a tactless and brutal fighter at heart, but it was useful for the situations where avoiding detection was necessary so he had learned to use it. Well, seeing I’m down here already, let’s see what we can find he thought decidedly in the dark cold of the earth before swimming through the forest floor’s rocky soil away from the triggered deadfall, using chakra to slow his need for oxygen slightly. Above, scattered pine needles shifted along the broken stones in the alpine breeze and the songbird landed nearby and began it’s interrupted song again, it’s previous stage destroyed by the trap’s destruction. As Kiba pushed along a little through the rocks, dirt and worms of the forest floor he heard a dull thud straight above him. Through the brown haze he saw his daughter land and cautiously approach the rubble, using the Talon Jutsu he had taught her to make the nails on one hand grow long and sharp. She never took her concerned eyes off the pile of stones while at the same time listening, smelling for anything out of place, something which would give away assailants…
Kiba burst up through the dirt behind her, sending a shower of soil, decomposed needles and rocks outward from his emergence as he landed in a relaxed standing position. The eight year old girl gasped before jumping out of his reach and turning to face him, raising her hands in a Taijutsu ready stance with her rending claws before her, her other hand drawn back in a fist. Kiba laughed at her reaction, earning him a glare. Indeed he could have come up quietly and without breaking the soil but the reaction was more to his liking. She hated being scared like that. Seeing her in the Taijutsu stance that both he and Hinata invented especially for her claws, Kiba broke into a gentle smile which he changed quickly for a smirk before slowly, almost casually circling away from her, standing behind the crater he had created with his dramatic entrance.

The two stood in the enclosed arena for a long, tense moment, each waiting for the other to make a move. Kiba stood ten paces from the site of the trap, flecks of dark soil in his hair and stuck in the design on his forehead protector. It even stuck in the recesses of his black jacket, worn on the elbows and patched in places, as well as staining his favourite black jeans, faded to a gray through constant wear. If not for his trademark, cocky grin and casual stance it may have looked as though he had burst up from an unmarked grave, to wreak his revenge on the living. Across the other side of the crater from him, the recession already attracting dead pine needles from the wind, Minoruko stood in her ready stance still with an angry look on her face. The forest scented wind blew her brown tied-back hair slightly, an unbound wisp obscuring the left side sapphire fang she had tattooed on her face for her eighth birthday. Kiba remembered the pride he had felt overcome with when she had asked to have the Inuzuka tattoos applied to her on her birthday, as had been the tradition of the Inuzuka clan for over nine generations. For her to want to keep that tradition alive was a great source of joy to him and the small blue fangs, which would be re-inked every two years as she grew, framed her thin, soft featured face breathtakingly. Most of her looks had come from her mother, which Kiba adored, but occasionally he saw something which reminded him of Hana in her. In a stance, a smile, an attack. But especially her hair, which was bound in the style his sister used to like, if not a little rougher on top. Her eyes, even more bestial than usual from her anger at being scared like that, never left her father as she waited in the ambience. The wind dragged on her shale gray shirt with long red sleeves and mid-length heavy shorts slightly but she ignored the breeze and kept her focus on the environment around her with her senses, as she had been taught. While only a novice, barely initiated into the art of Taijutsu by her parents, she would give it her all.

A crane, sensing destruction coming, broke from it’s hiding place against a beaten tree trunk and flew southwest, calling out hoarsely as it departed hastily and dropping a light blue flight feather. The plume spiraled lazily to the forest’s floor between the two, who had both known of the bird’s presence and ignored it as they faced each other. As it lighted on a lichen-covered rock, Minoruku readied herself to lunge forwards across the earthy crater and join combat…
“Give up. We have you outnumbered.”
Without changing her orientation Minoruko flicked her eyes to a bank of deformed pine trees to the North. Seated on a low bough was Iruka, wearing his new near-black Chunin vest, given to him after his old one had fallen to pieces from wear a month ago. The scar across the face of the thirty three year old helped to hide the toll of a stressful job and heavy alcohol consumption over the years alongside his thick full beard, which was neatly cut around the edges. The old Sensei had become proud of his beard, spending as much time on it as Kiba did caring for his bonsai tree at home. His navy blue heavy jacket and pants underneath were swirled with other shades of blue and gray to help him blend into the shadows, although he still kept the red swirl of Konoha on both shoulders.
Having abandoned his sweep forward after being attracted by the noise Iruka jumped down from his vantage, slowly approaching the father and daughter facing off in the open area, casually disarming a tripwire connected to a shuriken trap as he walked. Minoruko sighed before dropping her stance and deactivating her Talon Jutsu, knowing that there would be no point to fighting. But she kept the look of annoyance up as she glared at her father.
“That wasn’t funny, tou-san.” She protested as she strode over to her kunai and plucked it from between the rocks.
“Well, paying attention with your senses or not you did walk forward recklessly.” Kiba replied matter-of-factly, finally noticing that he was filthy and brushing some of the coarse forest loam off his shoulder. She kept her back to him as she next spoke in a soft voice edged with worry, the anger at her father falling away.
“I was worried you had been hurt by the stones…” the eight year old held the kunai gingerly while she spoke, her young eyes cast to the forest floor.
“Never assume your enemy is defeated unless you can see without a doubt they are.” Kiba used his serious tone. Minoruko bowed her head for a second, ashamed of her mistake even though she had tried to be cautious in her approach. Sensing this Kiba walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, the wind breezing past the three lazily.
“But thanks for the concern.” Now, in a boastful manner with chest puffed out “Just remember in the future that it would take more than a small trap like that to hurt a Ninja as awesome as myself.”
Iruka looked at him as he rearranged the strap holding his wooden wine gourd on his back, his ponytail and the long tails of his headband blowing outward and away from his body.
“Then why is your hand bleeding?” he pointed out, amused.
Kiba looked down at the back of his left hand. In the rush to escape the deadfall trap he must have been hit by a sharp rock. Not serious, but he should probably do something about it. Minoruko’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the trickling ruby blood trailing down over his wedding ring and pattering onto the pine needles but Kiba put her at ease, calmly asking her to retrieve a small container of her mother’s healing balm from her pack. She turned and raced off, her hair and long red sleeves trailing behind her and a kunai in one hand. Kiba smiled. The young girl could be a great Ninja someday.

Iruka looked over at the ruined trap as wildlife returned to the area again, the pile of stones and the broken boughs they destroyed in their chaotic descent scattered across the ground around the tree. He raised his eyebrows, impressed.
“Very well executed tactic, especially considering the limited time we gave her. Some of the other traps were obvious, but she’s only young after all. Minoruku-chan has really applied herself to learning outdoor survival and trapping.”
Kiba looked over at his old teammate. “You would expect anything less from a child of mine?”
At this Iruka chuckled. “No, I guess not. When Minoruko-chan returns we should inspect the rest of the traps alongside her. Are we still teaching tactics this afternoon?” he said as he looked to his friend. Now it was Kiba’s turn to chuckle.
“After all these years you’re still a teacher at heart, Iruka-sempai.” The ponytailed Ninja smiled politely, but the thought of full teaching again was no more appealing now than it had been eight years ago. He would never return as an Academy Sensei. His place was as part of this team, with Kiba-san and Hinata-san. And Akamaru. As if thinking along the same lines Kiba turned toward where his daughter had disappeared and slowly walked, digging the dirt out of his forehead protector, the band still the same he had used all these years down to the faint bloodstains.
“Alright, that all sounds good. But first we had better go get Akamaru. He’s probably waiting at the rendezvous, wondering what’s happened.”

Across the pine filled valley, nestled within two of the stone buttress feet of Kozu Mountain, a loud howl of annoyance echoed through the crisp morning air as Akamaru demanded to know what was going on.

*****

Firelight from the stone braziers posted around the courtyard, the only source of light the compound had this late in the afternoon, shined on the water’s surface and cast a golden film over the bank that Hinata and Satoroshi stood over. The young boy, only one year younger than his sister Minoruko, stared into the pond with a look of determination on his face as he tried to reach out to the tiny life signatures before him. Veins elevated around his illuminated face and eyes as he concentrated, trying to sense the bright orange fish as they swam lazily about or rose to the surface to gulp in air momentatily before returning to the darker areas with a flourish of their long trailing tails and leaving nothing but the occasional flash of indigo from the depths. His mother sat next to him, encouraging Satoroshi in a quiet voice so as to not break his concentration. She remembered how hard it had been at that age, and had resolved to be a better and more patient tutor than her father had been.
“Think of it like narrowing your eyes to block out a sunset behind a person you’re speaking to, but with your mind. Reach out with your perception to all areas of the pond and your Byakugan will show you the koi and the cavefish as they swim about each other. Just keep at it Satoroshi-kun, it will be easier each time you try.”
Satoroshi nodded and furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned slightly closer to the pond, his hands resting in the Byakugan’s final seal. Why is this so hard? he thought in irritation. It was way more difficult than seeing a person. Sure, he could sense the koi on the surface but that he could do without using his Byakugan. As the pond got deeper the orange and white fish were almost like outlines which blurred together until he couldn’t tell how many there were. But this was his family’s Kekkei Genkai. Not even his sister had it. If I can’t do this, then I’m letting mom and dad down. Strengthening his resolve Satoroshi forgot his annoyance and kept looking at the swirling and blurring outlines of the fish in the darker recessions of the pond where the naked eye could not see, not even if they had grown acclimatized to almost total darkness like his had from growing up in Kamigakure. Hinata kneeled on a cushion next to him and watched him patiently, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her long purple hair was brushed loosely over the light pink kimono she had chosen to wear today, the silk fading to white around the shoulders. She also wore some simple geta with white socks, but had removed the wooden sandals to kneel with her son. And as always she wore her wedding band and a thin gold necklace ending in a tiny light blue sapphire inlaid in gold, which Kiba had brought her for their fifth anniversary. She had matured into beautiful young woman, but though she had finally become confident in her own abilities, largely due to the love of her family and trust of her teammates and friends, she retained her quiet manner and could still be provoked into blushing bright crimson with the right stimulation. Satoroshi had forsaken his usual attire of black hooded tee-shirt and olive cargo shorts for this simple training, opting for a simple charcoal kimono of his own. A bead of sweat dripped from his face and onto the soft fabric, the speck staining his collar slightly. Veins from his activated Byakugan spread from his pale eyes, pupils visible from his Bloodline Limit’s active state, and across the tops of high cheekbones inherited from his mother. However his defined nose, jaw and chin were definitely Kiba’s legacy, as was his thin mouth, currently curled slightly in deep concentration. Spiked purple hair sat uncombed with some of the front spikes bent forward loosely and hanging over his furrowed brow. Although he was too young to have the blue Inuzuka fangs yet he couldn’t wait for the day he could get he tattoos and be just like his dad and big sister. Whenever he bragged to his friends about getting them Hinata would smile to herself. He was just like his father: once they decided something it was a battle to have them see things another way. Well, maybe not for her to get Kiba to see things another way… Hinata blushed slightly at the thought. She herself had opted not to get the tattoos, a decision her husband had stood by her on because he thought her face was perfect already. But to Satoroshi it was more than bearing the colours of his clan. It was one step closer to becoming a great Ninja and making his family proud, proving his worth as an Inuzuka and his right to live in his father’s home.

Inuzuka compound was situated in the heart of the east side of Kamigakure, surrounded by the houses of other important families. Built about five years ago on a block enclosed entirely by the city’s trademark chiseled stone streets, the site had originally been a gray betting house, abandoned due to the second and third story’s collapse. Kiba purchased the deed for the block before he and Akamaru set about demolishing the place over a weekend, a job they had thoroughly enjoyed. Once it was down he hired local contractors to build the house, recycling as much of the building’s materials as he could. When it was erected the couple personally set about with the finishing touches, bonding with the building through adding their own hard work and personality. The building had definitely turned out unique.
Bordered by a solid and imposingly tall dark gray stone wall which was capped with broken glass, visitors circled the block until they reached the western street. Situated a little to the left of the wall’s center was a set of wooden double gates, which had what once had been corrugated iron flooring bolted to them for strength and to stop passers-by from having a view into the yard over the top. On each of the doors was a stenciled blue fang, the symbol of the Inuzuka clan. Admittedly the wall wouldn’t keep out a Ninja or even a determined intruder but it did leave the imagination to run wild with theories on what would happen to trespassers.
Once inside the compound via the front gates the first thing one noticed was that the building looked like a hybrid of traditional housing and modern heavy industry. The main building sat on the block’s left, spanning almost the entire length of the left wall and bending in an L shape at the back, stopping a little over halfway along the rear wall’s span. A small wooden deck and verandah, akin to those seen on traditional buildings ran along the outside of this building. However the deck was railed with steel salvaged from warehouse catwalks, broken intermittently for a wooden step up from the ground. Supporting the awning over the verandah, the awning sharing black tiles with the rest of the roof were small metal beams, some painted gray or black, others bare metal. The walls themselves were light gray rendered bricks, the rough surface broken from time to time with a decorative metal sheet or iron ventilation pipe, all of which ran from inside the roof down along the wall and disappeared under the stained wooden decking. The pipes ran heating throughout the house from under the floor but needed to be on the outside as the walls couldn’t support them internally without changing the house’s dimensions. Burai once pointed out that having heaters inside would have worked just as well, but Hinata replied that heaters can’t compare to a central heating system, which is true. However the house’s cold exterior severely betrayed the interior. Inside all the floors were light tatami matting, and the walls were painted bright whites and creams. The doors were all solid wood except for the paper shojis which led outside, and down lights were placed cleverly around all the rooms. It was a warm house which gave the family an emotional reprieve from the depressing colours of mourning the city had always borne, and always would as homage to the fallen of both villages.
From the front gates a small walk ahead and slightly leftward across stone would lead to the guest’s step, where visitors traditionally removed their footwear and waited to be invited inside through the shoji screen doors. On the balcony above the step was a small vantage where the yard was visible. In the corner on the right of the entry was a small tea ceremony house, which Kiba had created for Hinata especially. It broke design from the rest of the house, the walls bamboo and the roof thatched in traditional teahouse style. Outside the small structure sat a wooden bench, in front of which a short table had been drawn. Taking prize place on the dark wooden table rested Kiba’s prized bonsai tree, which had originally been a housewarming gift from Shikamaru. The small juniper, immaculately clipped and tended, sat in a gnarled stone bonsai pot which had been ordered from the Country of Waves. Either side of the seat were low wooden planter boxes in which grew cultivated dwarf lavender, Hinata’s favourite plant. Sometimes she would cut some of the leaves and flowers and hang the sprig in the dining area so the sweet scent carried through the house. Except for some aquatic plants around the pond the lavender and juniper were the only plants which grew in Inuzuka compound, as the tea house and stone yard only received weak sunlight for a few hours a day through the cavern’s break. But the sunlight which did enter bathed inside the little teahouse with a gold colour. On lazy afternoons when they weren’t on mission and their children were at the academy, Kiba and Hinata would spend hours in the tearoom and let the world go on without them.
In the back right corner of the compound stood an independent guest house, continuing the design of the main house and connected by an unrailed wooden walkway between the balconies. It had been occupied by Iruka for the last eighteen months since he had been unceremoniously kicked out of Akiko Hotel because of an incident involving dance music, four drunken Kunoichi from Suna and a large fire. He humbly and graciously accepted their extended hospitality, and in return purchased sundries and stayed out of the family’s way as much as possible. He even cleaned the guest house so that Hinata wouldn’t be forced to. It was rare to see him in the main house, as he had no real need to enter it. But at the end of the day his two teammates were happy that he had somewhere better than a flea ridden boarding house to stay, even if only for a little longer. He had promised to move out soon, after he had saved up enough for a house of his own. Not that either Kiba or Hinata were rushing him. Despite his reputation he had changed from the messy bachelor he used to be.
Between the guest house and the tea house was an empty expanse of the cave’s stone floor before the south wall. There was a structure to go there at one point, but hopes of it’s construction were waning. The matter weighed constantly upon both Kiba and Hinata but they were forced to do nothing as all options were undesirable… in any case they would have to talk about it again after Kiba came home.
Lastly, in the center of the main building’s L shape was a pond which Kiba and Akamaru had hollowed out of the stone with their Gatsuga Jutsu. It had been filled and populated with bright Koi from a nearby village, as well as some of the pale white cavefish which resided in pools under the temple. The fish lacked eyes due to living in perpetual darkness but were docile and coexisted peaceably with the brightly coloured carp. Scattered around the pond’s outside, as well as around a rock in the center which Kiba retrieved from out in the open expanse of wastes near the city, were some simple reeds which the fish took cover in occasionally. The reeds weren’t too fussed with only receiving minimal light, and the fish didn’t eat them so it worked well. It was at this pond, reflecting the firelight emitting from stone braziers built in calculated intervals around the yard, where the two Inuzuka currently knelt, Satoroshi calmly listening to his mother’s gentle voice as she instructed him.

Hinata stood up after another moment. Satoroshi had been performing the same exercise all morning, and monotony is a hindrance to progress. Time to change the exercise slightly. Looking out over the golden rippled pond she selected the reed surrounded stone in the middle as an anchor before making some lightning fast seals and extending an elegant arm over the gently rippling surface, her index and middle fingers pointing at a stretch of water to the right of the rock. As she started rotating her pointing hand in a gentle anti-clockwise fashion the water slowly started to move, circling the rock as Hinata’s chakra dictated. Soon the pond turned with the inertia of a small whirlpool, powerful enough that the fish had to swim against it but not enough to injure or kill her small pets. The water’s surface near the rock lowered as the centrifuge cycled water out to the plant filled edges but Hinata encompassed the bank in her focus, keeping her current from tearing the plants out or spilling over onto the stone floor of the compound. Satoroshi kept concentrating as she manipulated the water with the gentle Whirlpool Jutsu, the fish becoming a little more identifiable as they were forced to swim in a predictable pattern and rise closer to the surface. Suddenly, a piece clicked into place. Like a flash of divine light he knew a fragment more about how the Byakugan worked, a trick that couldn’t be explained but had to be worked out by each individual. Focusing the technique had become just that little bit easier, but there was still much to learn. Soon he would begin to look for the chakra points of people, and this morning’s exercise was but a stepping stone to that. Hinata smiled proudly to herself, sensing his increased awareness. With her help he was taking strides in learning the Byakugan, and the doting mother couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment.

Slowing the whirlpool until the water was calm once more Hinata remained standing as Satoroshi deactivated his Byakugan and smiled at her, his pale eyes losing their translucent pupils once more.
“Domo, kaa-san.” he said, knowing that his mother had helped him understand more about his gift, even if only a fraction more than he had before.
“You’re welcome Satoroshi-kun. Now go get changed. Tsuboro-san will arrive soon, and today we will train more at the Dojo.”
“Hai!” he said, vaulting over the rail with one hand and running inside, slamming the shoji door as he raced excitedly to get ready.
Hinata watched him go with a deep feeling of affection. It was nice to be able to spend time with him like this. He was at home less and less, either at the academy (which had been closed for a week while the building was fixed) or out playing with his sister and their friends, and even though she knew it was a sign they were growing up she missed them being around like they used to.
“Shigata ga nai, neh?” she intoned to herself, dismissing the thought and crossing slowly to the house to change before Tsuboro-san’s arrival, passing one of the stone braziers on her path. Indeed there was nothing that could be done. It was just another part of life.

*****

Tsuboro had come by every day that Kiba, Akamaru, Iruka and Minoruko had been away to borrow Kiba’s gym key since he loaned his own to Iruka, who for unclear reasons had taken it with him on his outing into the wilderness. Tsuboro would arrive at midday and borrow the key, returning it later on in the evening. Hinata had told him to hold onto it but he politely insisted on returning it, in case she needed to access the building. One look up at the ray of sunlight which shone through the cavern’s roof told her that he would be here soon as she stepped onto the verandah, removing her geta as she entered the house.

The gym had been founded by Kiba and Iruka just after Minoruko’s birth when they still lived in Akiko Hotel, the building originally an old gray supermarket six mournfully coloured blocks west from where Inuzuka Compound now stood. They soundproofed the walls before moving in weight benches and training mats (which the two had ‘liberated’ from Akiko Hotel’s facility gradually), as well as setting up ranged weapon targets. The vaulted ceiling, crisscrossed with silver air conditioning vents, was white roofing panels interspersed with yellow fluorescent bulbs which brightly illuminated the scratched and faded wooden floor. It had been a great project for the pair, and even though they paid rent for the premises it had become a secret of the team, where many of their Elemental Jutsus had been learned and polished. After they had rescued Rock Lee and Tenten five years ago Lee had purchased the supermarket outright and now lived above it in what was the owner’s house, caring for Tenten. The poor girl had gone blind during an Earth Ninja ambush soon after the fall of Konoha, and the two had wandered from village to village seeking work much like Kiba and Hinata had when they were rogue, until they had been brought back to the Second Founding. But Lee had now devoted his life to not only be the best himself but to train Tenten to be a weapon master without the use of her eyesight, relying on sound to draw a ranged target or to engage with a hand weapon of her choosing, usually a staff or nunchaku. She had progressed very far since their arrival and was even sworn in as a Ghost Ninja, attached to Lee on missions. Over the years the two had become attached to each other. How far Lee and Tenten’s relationship went no-one knew but them, but rumours circulated throughout the Ghost Ninja of Kamigakure of all kinds of descriptions, from the purest of friendship to outrageously sordid activities.
When he had the deed signed over to him Lee had given Kiba and Iruka a key and asked them to continue training in the Dojo as they always had, on the condition that it’s existence be kept a secret except for those who were deemed worthy to join them. The promise had been kept. Apart from Lee, Tenten, Kiba’s team (and family), Shikamaru’s team, Tsuboro’s team and Kankurou almost no-one else knew the Dojo even existed. Yuriko had been invited to train there too, but rejected the offer once she learned that Kiba and Hinata trained there.

*****

Back at Inuzuka compound Hinata strode into the master bedroom, turning on the down lights as she opened the teak dresser and closet across from the bed, picking out a dull white jacket with lilac elbow stripes and her usual undershirt and black jeans before heading to the shower. Realistically she didn’t need to have a shower. After all, she would be dirty soon enough from sparring. But she had already been training her Gentle Fist in her pink kimono early this morning before Satoroshi had woken and wanted to wash the grime from herself. On the way towards the white tiled room she stopped near a low table which had a lavender sprig with a pretty purple flower sitting in a thin vase and picked up a wooden framed photo of Kiba, Akamaru and herself at a festival they had stopped in on after a mission earlier that year. It had been a fun unwind to their mission, which had only been a partial success.

She missed him. Even though it had only been a few days she missed him. Kiba was such a big part of her life now that she would be lost without him, cut adrift in a sea of hopelessness. Just imagining being without him was almost scary, a sensation of vertigo gripping her. If anything happened on a mission… She tried not to think of such possibilities. Brushing Kiba’s cheek gently she put the photo back on the table and crossed the cold tiles to the fresh towels, knowing her love would be home tomorrow.

**********

Kiba sat alone by the fire, the eerie dancing shadows in the black forest his only company, cast by the campfire they had created for the last night in the wilderness. Normally fires were a commodity Kiba held in reserve. They created an atmosphere of calm and made those on watch dangerously comfortable while pointing out their position for miles around. But they were in friendly territory now, so there was no threat of attack. Besides, if Iruka had to see the others eat raw animals again he may have been sick. In consideration they cooked their kills over the fire and shared them with him so he wouldn’t have to have another meal of dried provisions.
Earlier a team of Ghost Ninja on patrol came to check on the fire’s source but didn’t stay long once they saw it wasn’t intruders. Kiba had been grateful for their departure. Much weighed on his mind.

The four had left the valley after the morning’s training and headed back to their base camp to conduct tactical theory lessons, the small bivouac occupying an open area in the thick of the alpine forest’s largest pines with a small perishable structure created to hold their supplies and no other shelter.
In this section of the forest there were no rocks intermixed with the carpet of brown nettles and all the trees stood tall and healthy, in a prime position to catch the sun. During the winter the trees formed almost an unbroken sheet of snow across their joined branches, waiting for one solid knock to collapse the powder downward in great mounds one could easily be buried under. But now was a good time of the year to camp. Animals were abundant and the few holly bushes scattered about were bearing fruit. Kiba and Akamaru loved it out here, more than Iruka or even Hinata could ever understand. Out in the wilderness, with nothing to rely upon but what you carried and your raw skills, it felt natural. It felt like a second home. But Kiba couldn’t appreciate it to it’s deserved extent tonight.

The Ninja sat on a cut log next to the fire having drawn the second watch, light reflecting off his jacket’s silver zipper and highlighting the stained bandaging around his hand. Truly Hinata’s salve was a wonder. Even now his hand felt normal. The wedding band he wore reflected the flame warmly, like the setting sun lighting onto temple stone.
He had relieved Minoruko three hours ago, who had immediately crashed in a state of torpor after only sleeping for three hours last night and training all day. She had brought a black sleeping bag and rested quietly on the left of Kiba, her hair unbound and scattered around her peaceful form in disarray. Kiba smiled. His daughter, when not fighting to stay awake, had been overjoyed all afternoon since he and Iruka had let her use an explosive tag on a broken tree during their afternoon break after tactics training. The broken pine arranged to represent an armoured target, she had tied the note to a kunai and thrown it, as it was a tactic she had always liked. The projectile hit the target on it’s very left side left but the explosion had torn it apart, as well as other trees close by. A good first attempt, but she needed to work on her ranged skills more. Nevertheless Kiba stood as a proud father during her celebrations at the fiery explosion and showering scraps of timber. At least Iruka hadn’t given her one of the special tags he had learned to write. Some of those were beyond a joke…
The trap expert had collapsed into the dirt on the other side of the fire after finishing off most of his wine bottle and was snoring loudly, dirt and pine needles coating the back of his new Chunin vest and sticking in his hair and beard. Kiba hadn’t yet decided whether or not to rouse his teammate for his watch in another hour. He had gotten pretty wasted. But they weren’t on mission, and there was no training tomorrow so Kiba had let him go.
Lastly, Akamaru lay with his head on his front paws, his lean barrel-like chest rising and falling as the great white dog dreamed. Occasionally his ears would prick in reflex but he never woke. It was Akamaru that Kiba was looking at the longest, mulling over his problem for the millionth time over the last few years.

Minoruko was eight years old now. Next year Satoroshi would turn eight too. According to Inuzuka tradition that was the year in which a child of the clan was given a Ninja dog puppy from the family’s kennel to accept as a partner for their life. So it had been for Kiba and his sister. And his father, may the bastard burn in hell. But it had been Hana who had been placed in charge of the kennel as oldest child, always taking her pack of dogs with her wherever she went. Now the only dog the Inuzuka clan possessed was the great white beast which slumbered next to the campfire, the tips of his long brown ears trailing in the pine needles. The kennel was broken.

Ninja dogs are not normal dogs. They live for fifty years and are born with almost human intelligence and chakra abilities, the result of selective breeding, care and attention. Dog-Nin have always only trained these special dogs through the ages, back to Manzo, the first Dog-Nin. All Ninja dogs traced their heritage back to Manzo’s stables, who according to legend gifted these special creatures to the eight families almost a thousand years ago.
Breeding a Ninja dog with an average canine would yield no pups with special abilities. Which meant for Kiba to keep the Inuzuka a clan of Dog-Nin he would have to broker a deal with another family from one of the other Shinobi nations. Looking away from the fire he scoffed ruefully, the sound carrying over the burning wood’s faint crackle. Dog-Nin were extremely competitive and jealous. If he approached another family it would weaken his clan’s reputation, not to mention that they may just choose to eliminate Akamaru and himself, destroying a competitor forever. His stomach sank at the prospect. If something didn’t come soon he would be forced to approach the other clans. But there were simply no other choices. Who knew, maybe it was a sign. Maybe it is Akamaru’s karma to be the final Nin-Dog of the Inuzuka.

In the fire a few embers collapsed outside the ring of stones. Kiba absently ground them into the dirt underneath, having cleared the pine needles well out of the area before lighting the kindling. There better be missions available when I get home Kiba thought, wishing to put the unwinnable problem aside for something he could do.
Looking over to the right of the flames, strangely cold and alone with his burden, he saw Iruka’s wooden wine gourd laying on it’s side near the provision shelter where it had landed after the bearded trap expert had fallen down, the leather strap laying messily alongside. Slowly he walked over and picked up the vessel before draining it all in one go, immediately choking on the vile alcohol and it’s foul aftertaste, waking everyone at the camp with a start. Damn Iruka’s appreciation of cheap booze…

*****

**********

Chapter Two

Date – September 19

Weather – Rain

Song listened to today – Tomorrow Comes Today by The Gorillaz

After debriefing last night the Elder Council asked that Hinata, Iruka and myself take a few days off before we are assigned a new mission. No complaints from any of us. I’m just happy to see the end of that mission. If I never see another canary again I will rest easy after I’m dead. At least the old man got what he wanted.

When we got home it turned out that a few of our friends have some time off tomorrow, so Hinata and myself politely asked them to come around for a midday meal and tea, since we haven’t seen any of them for a while. Still waiting on a response from Shikamaru, Chouji, Ino and Kankurou but I think they’ll be here. I checked with Shizune and they haven’t got a mission rostered on for today. I told the kids they can invite a few of their friends over too, but I think they all said they were busy because both of them are sulking. Ah well, they’ll get over it, I told them they can go and play once the party is over.

So, a little weight training in the morning followed by a lunch with friends. It’s been a while since we had everyone over like this, so I’m looking forward to it. A shame that Iruka won’t be here but he has told us he will be otherwise engaged, and is being quite secretive about it. Whatever, he can do what he likes without us prying. He is a grown man after all, even if he is drunk half the time.

Reminder: the bathroom sink the kids use isn’t getting hot water. Look into that on the weekend.

(Narrator’s Note: Different pen)
Huh, there’s quite a storm raging outside the mountain. For once I’m glad we don’t get weather in here.

**********

Lightning exploded across the sky, carving a silver arc of energy as it sliced through the torrent like a flashing blade through the heavens, striking off at nothing in particular, venting it’s anger on the clouds which created it. Unseasonable rain assailed Kozu Mountain, the twisted pines on it’s feet groaning and swaying in torment under the battering they received from the strong winds. The brown pine needles on the forest’s floor had decomposed already and left the evergreen trees vibrant and green as they swayed like a sea of hands clawing towards a pool’s surface forever out of reach, a sure sign that Autumn was retreating in the presence of Winter as it always did. The sky erupted again, the crash resounding across the forests around the dark mountain, standing unfazed in the midst of the storm. It had withstood thousands of tempests which put this to shame, and although the angry black clouds raged at the rock it still stood as it always did, imposing it’s menace across the land, the rain which reached it’s mantle freezing soon after contact.

The downpour drove in through the roof of the cavern, a solid sheet of water which doused two of the bonfires out in the wastes of Kamigakure, that barrier of nothingness between the city’s walls and the entrance to the mountain. The runoff sluiced down redundant streets and old foundation lines, sweeping small splinters and glass shards along as it mosaiced the carved stone floor, the lifegiving water wasted in that desolate cavern. One thing was for sure: the storm wasn’t letting up anytime soon. Outside thunder boomed, the sound muffled from the populated ventricle of Kozu’s dark heart by the thick walls of obsidian light-absorbing stone.

A squad of four Ninja on guard out in the wastelands stood near one of the extinguished burners and watched the downpour as it filled the old streets in front of them before moving onward towards the giant mountain of rock, stepping over the larger of the crevasses caused by the slab’s inglorious impact after falling from the vertiginously high ceiling all those years ago.
Nothing had happened out of the ordinary this morning, apart from the six ANBU and the Chunin escorting the two envoys from the Land of Lightning across the wastes to the city. None of the Ghost-Nin liked having outsiders in their home but the fact that Kakashi was leading the ANBU squad made them feel much better. Besides, Matsukara Yuriko was using her Pitch Black Midnight Jutsu on them, so it’s not like they could report anything apart from a shroud of black. She was a powerful Chunin, likely to become a Jounin very soon. And she was very attractive, her twin brown ponytails of satiny hair displaced by her eyes, blue like an inviting sky on a clear day. But everyone knew that she was not attainable, that her appearance belied a heart frozen in time. Less than that knew the why, the story behind her, that she was not interested in having a boyfriend since some old flame of hers died during the fall of Konoha. One of the younger of the four guards out in the wastes had asked her out to a club while intoxicated a good year ago, and pressed the point after she refused. Yuriko had used her Genjutsu to make him dance on the awning to Akiko Hotel in his underwear just as the Elder Council had adjourned their meeting and were leaving Akiko Temple. Very few men had approached her with romantic advances since, leaving her to perpetual loneliness. As was her preference.

*****

Another dulled clap of thunder resounded across the black and gray city, safe from the onslaught of the elements taking place outside the evil looking mountain. Hinata looked out from the balcony of her home towards the hole in the cavern’s roof, an almost clearly definable line of rain torrenting in through the great rent in the stone above before crashing to the floor near the great rock in the wastes. It was very unusual weather, to have such strong rains and winds at this time of the year. Maybe some malevolent Kami spirits wanted to fill this chasm with water and let it become frozen by the winter, trapping the mournful city and it’s ghosts in a tomb of ice forever. She smiled at the thought. If that was the case, the spirits would have to try harder.

She dismissed the foolish train of thought from her mind with a smile and kept on walking to the kitchen, a tray laden with crockery used over lunch in her hands. Her simple house shoes sounded against the wooden deck of the verandah softly as she crossed the dark stained wood, stopping at a shoji door before the corner where Minoruko and Satoroshi sat and waited, looking bored. Today Hinata wore a thin cotton jinbei, a simple robe-like garment, tinted forest green and tied with an emerald obi. Black three quarter pants matched her sandals in ease of wear. As always her sapphire necklace hung down around her neck, delving towards the folds of the jinbei which it complimented elegantly. Kiba had once told her that the bejewelled necklace matched personality and spirit and not the clothing she wore, which is why it always looked stunning when Hinata wore it. She loved the necklace. It was one of the most treasured objects she had ever received.

“Here, let me help you Hinata-san.” Sakura said, appearing beside her and opening the shoji door for her so she wouldn’t have to break step.
“Arigatou, Sakura-san.” Hinata smiled at her friend before entering, inviting Sakura inside for a moment where together they cleared the tray and stacked the dishes to be washed later.

The years had been kind to Haruno Sakura. She had grown taller than both Hinata and Ino by a small amount but was still shorter than most men, almost what one could call a perfect height. Her emerald green eyes shone with inner intelligence and strength, brighter than they had years ago, yet they also spoke of compassion and understanding, a trait which helped her immensely as a Medic-Nin. Her light pink hair was still short but since her first Chunin exams long ago she had come to like it at this length and maintained it at just over shoulder height. Her large forehead had stayed the same but it didn’t detract from her soft and vibrant face, still youthful in appearance despite the death and suffering she had seen through her work at the hospital and her rare mission afield. Lastly, but arguably most noticeably, she had become quite busty as she had come of age. Shikamaru once joked to Iruka that she must take after her old Sensei in that aspect. Tragically Mizune overheard the comedic remark, and made his life ‘more troublesome’ for a good month, giving him demeaning personal missions before figuring he had learned his lesson. Indeed Sakura’s knockout figure had attracted a good deal of attention, but across the years she had not kept a relationship for more than a month. In her absence Ino and Tenten disclosed that Sakura still held a candle for Uchiha Sasuke, even if she herself didn’t realise it.

Today the pink haired kunoichi had opted for a slim fitting fuchsia sun dress, over which she wore a simple gray jacket. Her headband was absent today as she wasn’t on duty at the hospital. Even though she was now one of the senior nurses at Kamigakure Hospital Sakura was glad that Suna’s refugees had included a few Medic-Nin to help her cope with the injured. Without them, she would still be sea deep in a sea of the dead and dying practically by herself, losing her very soul in an unending sea of blood and pain, blood which couldn’t come off…
Those memories were still hard to bear. But now that she had help it wasn’t so bad.
Suddenly snapping out of her dark memories Sakura commented politely on the warmth of the house as the pair of old friends finished up in the kitchen, ready to return outside and save Ino from her boredom.

*****

Outside a table had been set up so that everyone could enjoy their lunch in the open, if such a term can be used in the hollow heart of a mountain. The traditional wooden table sat near the tea ceremony house where the scent of lavender had drifted to the guests as they ate and forgot about their worries, if only for a few hours. Now that the meal had ended the group had split into smaller groups who had drifted apart from each other, some venturing further into the compound’s yard as their conversations consumed them.

Strolling along a path around the gently rippling koi pond, Kiba spoke with Kankurou and Shikamaru. Light from the balcony’s rail mounted braziers reflected off the pond’s surface and alighted on the figures as Kiba spoke to Kankurou, his hands gesturing in front of him animatedly. Today the black leather jacket had been traded for a zippered hooded jacket of the style he still enjoyed in casual settings with fatigue style brown pants and a scuffed pair of hiking boots. Next to him Kankurou Sabaku replied, scratching his chin with his right hand, careful as always not to smudge the facepaint he so carefully applied every day. He still wore the black stage suit and Cat Hat of a Bunraku puppeteer that he had always worn, but since the fall of Suna he had removed his family’s crest from his shirt for personal reasons. Strapped across his back were two large summoning scrolls he had written himself, containing his two newly made puppets. The symbol of Suna sat proudly on his Cat Hat’s reflector, shining with the sunburst of Kamigakure in it’s background. Following the group was Shikamaru. He listened to the conversation as the group wandered directionlessly across the compound and back again as they talked, occasionally butting in or joking with the pair. He sported an expensive blue buttoned shirt with long sleeves and casual jeans over his Ninja tabi, his hair drawn back as it always was with the tips of his tie hanging down loosely as he listened to Kankurou talk in his rough, low voice.

“It scared the hell out of me, I’ll tell you. I mean sure, we’ve been dating for a few years and we’ve shared our apartment for about twelve months but marriage is for old people. Only idiots get married young.” the puppeteer said resolutely before realising his faux pah and apologising hastily “No offence Kiba-san. You and Hinata-san are one of the exceptions.” He said, smiling in embarrassment and scratching the back of his head through his Cat Hat.
Kiba looked at Kankorou for a second before lowering his half cocked fist. It wasn’t like he had intentionally said it, after all. Today the puppeteer wore a blue line across his eyes which spiked twice to his temples, blue the colour in Kabuki and Noh plays which signified the villain. The facepaint was what a stagehand who controlled a Salamander puppet would paint on their face. So, he rebuilt another of the puppets. Good to see that he is moving on. thought Kiba, happy for Kankurou.
“Hey, you saved my life back when we were Genin and I haven’t paid you back yet. I think I can overlook the insult.” The Dog-Nin retorted quickly with a smile, dismissing the unintentional insult. Kankurou and Shikamaru laughed a little as another crash of thunder rumbled outside the mountain before Shikamaru interjected, walking between the two and parting them a little with his hands.
“She has always wanted to settle down while she was young, even when she was a little girl. Well, at least to my knowledge. Surely you two talked about marriage and kids before this?”
Kankurou replied in a surly tone, his eyes perturbed at the thought. “Man, I hate kids.”
Kiba laughed out loud at this and patted his old friend on the back above the top summoning scroll.
“That changes when you have your own. Trust me on that one. But putting that issue aside, she’s a beautiful woman and like you said you’re both young. So just forget about it for a while and have some fun, neh?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling her! We’re young and in love, why can’t we just enjoy that before moving on? Maybe it’s because she’s blonde?” Kankurou replied forlornly, his hands palm up in exasperation. Shikamaru laughed, hands in his pockets while he shrugged, a gentle smile illuminating his face.
“In my experience, most blondes are controlling. And beautiful.” he said, referencing Kankurou’s late sister Temari. There was silence for a moment as they both remembered the bossy older sibling of Kankurou, and how much they missed her.

*****

Kankurou had been present at the fall of Suna, and had fought to keep Orochimaru away from Gaara alongside his sister Temari. At the battle of the Kazekage’s keep Temari had been horrendously injured by one of Orochimaru’s Death Jutsu, crippling her. Kankurou had rushed to his sister’s side as Orochimaru and Gaara fought their clash of ages above, the roof of the tower collapsing from the sheer mightiness of the combatants, two beings of unimaginable power, one a Legendary Sannin, the other the Fifth Kazekage. Kankurou, his puppets destroyed, had grabbed his comatose sister and fled, looking back long enough to see his brother’s demise and the end of Sunagakure. He joined up with a group of refugees and escaped. Two weeks later they were found by a Kamigakure squad and led back to Kozu, away from their home and everything they had ever known, lost forever.
Upon arrival Temari had been admitted to hospital where the doctors did what they could for her. But the Death Jutsu’s crippling was only part of her terrible illness. As the weeks passed she became weaker as her very soul rotted and wasted away, the illness gaining access to the spirit through her chakra pathways. After a few days Shikamaru had learned of Temari’s arrival and feeling indebted to her for saving his life sat with her, keeping her company in those lonely days alongside Kankurou and staying even when her brother was called away by the Elder Council. After all he was the last surviving family of the Kazekage, and looked up to by the refuges from the Country of Wind.
It was during these long days and nights of waiting with her, holding her hand and brushing her golden hair out of her face that Shikamaru realised that out of all the women he had ever met, even though she was undoubtedly the most troublesome she was also the only one he truly felt a deep connection with, on a spiritual level. On the day Temari passed he confessed his love to her. Kankurou had been absent at the time of her death, returning to find only an empty bed and a devastated and broken man. He took it hard, blaming himself for not caring enough for the last of his family, but was eternally grateful to Shikamaru for being there for her and seeing her to the next world, a caring and familiar face to see her peacefully depart this world. They had been friends ever since, both sharing the pain of Temari’s loss. And although it was okay now sometimes the picture of that day would come back to them, her form finally at rest, a beautiful golden haired angel.

*****

Shikamaru leaned in to his black clad puppeteer friend and spoke consolably.
“Hey, I’m sure Temari would approve of you and Ino. She’s really something.”
“Yeah.” Kankurou said softly as he looked over at the blonde kunoichi seated near the flame lit tea house, a thin smile peering through his make-up. “She is.”

*****

Yamanaka Ino sat on the wooden bench outside the teahouse with her sleeve covered arms crossed as she watched Chouji cram another rice ball into his gullet, unashamedly seated at the table after the others had left. Even after all these years seeing someone eat so much when they were so overweight was slightly nauseating. The fact that he was a teammate and confidante made things worse. He barely even chews the food! she screamed in her mind, wanting to ignore him but unable to look away as her shock reached previously unplumbed depths.

Over the eight years Ino had really taken care of her figure. She stuck with a specific diet and applied herself endlessly to taiso, the physical conditioning of one’s body a Ninja had to endure. As a result she was extremely flexible, lean and athletic, without an ounce of fat on her. Her hair had grown very long, ending just lower than the small of her back and she tied it in one great ponytail, with a lengthy golden fringe obscuring part of her face from time to time giving her what she liked to think of as an air of mystery.
Outside a bolt of lightning arced past the hole in the roof, lighting the city dimly for a split second before fading just as suddenly, the mighty crash still muffled by Kozu. Unconsciously Ino drew the tie of her black woollen tenchcoat tighter, outlining her figure darkly and highlighting her ponytail as she sat in the scent of pleasant lavender and waited for Hinata and Sakura to come back so she could continue gossiping about Kankurou.

Originally when he had arrived Ino had wiped Kankurou off as an unattractive, blunt man who hid his hideousness behind a layer of face paint. But as the weeks passed at the hospital and she brought in clothing and food for Shikamaru, who sat alongside the puppeteer and refused to leave Temari’s side, Ino began to see him in a new light. He obviously cared deeply for his siblings, and held himself responsible for, inevitably, both their deaths. Not to mention that behind the Bunraku Cat Hat he was actually attractive, as she saw once in the Shrine of Ghosts where he had removed his hat as a sign of respect to the many Kami who chose to reside in that dark junction of underground rivers. Three years ago she had gone on a date with him out in the Wastes and they had been together ever since, even moving into the same apartment on Akiko Hotel’s second floor. Chouji could see the change in her personality, she only rarely told people what she thought of them on occasion, unlike she used to. In return she had helped Kankurou to stop hating himself, eventually enabling him to carve new puppets and become a Ninja again. The first, a Crow style puppet, he had carved with the kanji for love in it’s forehead. He missed his family every day.

Tsuboro noticed Ino’s discomfort from his spot leaning against the perimeter wall. He would have said something but there wasn’t much to say. Chouji eats large amounts, it’s for his Ninjutsu and she’s had ten years to get past it. Nothing he could say would make a difference.
The sick Ninja had grown tall but remained thin and malnourished in appearance, his skin becoming slightly paler and even more corpselike over time, the yellow hue more pronounced and discomforting. His jaw had strengthened somewhat and was now covered in stubble from where not being shaved that morning. Black greasy dreadlocks decorated with beads of different colours, shapes and materials remained his hairstyle, the lengths now parted down the middle of his head and trailing down close to his shoulders, more a the back. Occasionally he would bundle a ponytail before beading the lengths, but not today. Under his front locks and behind his severely defined cheekbones Tsuboro’s sunken eyes had remained sickly yellow and clouded, judging everything across the dark courtyard from his current station. He crossed his arms as if trying to get warm, not that he could feel the cold. As always he wore a tattered light brown gi, the sleeves torn so that his forearms could fit through the gashes. The Kamigakure reflector was tied over his obi on a brown tie which matched the brown of the suit’s trim, and lastly the sickly thin ninja wore a good pair of wooden geta as he preferred to do when not on mission. Silently he wished that either Burai or Yuriko were here to talk with. But Burai was off training out in the torrential rain outside the mountain and Yuriko… well, Yuriko would rather stab herself with a senbon needle than come here. Besides, she had been called away by the Elder Council early that morning as Tsuboro had left his apartment in Akiko, chatting with her limitedly as she had hurried past. One didn’t keep the Elder Council waiting too long.

So far Tsuboro Ominari hadn’t dated anyone. Looking like a corpse and being immune to physical sensation isn’t something your average woman looks for in a boyfriend. But in truthfulness he had never asked anyone either, reasoning that he was young and he wasn’t currently missing what he had never known. He preferred to be alone and train, the life of a Ninja having become his only passion.

Over at the low wooden table itself Chouji plucked the last morsel of food, half a ripe nashi pear, off it’s plate. As he did, Akamaru stared at him across the wood, sensing there was nothing more and begging for the sweet fruit. The efforts were in vain.
“Sorry Akamaru but I will enjoy this more than you will.” Chouji intoned simply before eating the slice, elicting a whine of self pity from the large white dog who slunk away to find Kiba in defeat. Akimichi Chouji wore a red robe which could easily have armour fastened over it’s top in a moment with traditional grass sandals. His cheeks still had the red spiral paint on them and his light brown, almost red hair he had kept long and rough as he thought it emphasized physique and not girth. He had enough weight to perform some powerful jutsu but through his arduous training just couldn’t achieve a truly heavy weight. Not that he had applied himself to weight gain. He wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as many Akimichi had grown to be but that also suited him fine, as he wanted a wife someday, and the heavier he was the harder it would be, and he had standards, even though they weren’t incredibly high.

Sensing the lack of mood Tsuboro spoke out, his gravelly voice projecting through the void to the two close to him.
“So Ino-san, why couldn’t Lee and Tenten come?” They had promised they would. Ino replied after flicking rogue golden hair out of her eyes, the scent of the lavender drifting to her suddenly, pleasantly.
“The Elder Council had a mission for them. Someone who had hired them before asked for Lee and Tenten specifically.” As she spoke Ino leaned in and studied Kiba’s Juniper Bonsai tree on the table in front of her. He really did take care of it, the leaves sculpted in pontoons like green clouds. She forgot the name Kiba had given the plant.
“Hey, they’re getting popular.” Tsuboro joked about their friends, the dreadlocked Ninja shivering involuntarily. Ino was about to ask if he was ill, but remembered it was Tsuboro she was talking to. She smiled politely at his joke before Hinata and Sakura finally emerged from the house and walked over the stone yard to her bench again, greeting everyone present and apologising for their lengthy absence.

*****

“What do we do now?” asked Satoroshi, staring lazily over the koi pond in front of their stretch of balcony. Minoruko didn’t even respond, staring across the brazier lit compound with bored eyes, waiting for a good excuse to leave.

The brother and sister sat on the balcony in their usual attire, tired of the party. Their friends had already planned to play in the back alleys today and didn’t want to be caught up in a compound, leaving the Inuzukas to their boring fate alone. This hadn’t particularly bothered Minoruko at the time because she still thought her best friend Taroji was coming to keep her company. But last night Taroji had a fight with the Cutters, a small group of orphans the same age as they were and all involved had been reprimanded by the orphanage’s Director. Stupid Cutters the little girl thought venomously. They always started fights with the other kids, either in recess at the Academy or out in the streets and back alleys where they played. One of these days her, Taroji and Satoroshi would have to beat them up to show them they weren’t as tough as they thought.

Satoroshi leaned back on his hands with his legs in front of him, staring at the colourful koi and bland white cavefish he had trained his Byakugan on most days that week. Mindless animals. All they do is swim around and eat. His pale, pupilless eyes narrowed in disdain of the small animals before moving on to Taroji’s situation. He wanted to beat up the Cutters too, but they needed a plan first. Attacking them in the open was suicide. There were, like, six of them. No, this would definitely take a plan. Later, I’ll think of one he resolved as he rolled his neck, the joint cracking and popping hollowly.
Nearby the half-heartedly scheming boy his sister was slouched against the rails with an arm hanging through the bars lazily, watching her parent’s guests off in their little groups. They both yawned, her sapphire tattoos standing out starkly from her pale skin and his purple hair shining slightly in the light of the brazier, the tips bent downwards as always. To pass the time earlier on the siblings had taken turns to punch each other in the shoulder. Now even that had gotten boring so they sat in silence and waited for at least one guest to leave so they could follow along out of the compound. It was nearly twelve thirty. Everyone was probably at the vacant lot they had found a week ago playing soccer across the mounds of rubble. And we’re stuck here. Minoruko yawned again.

The squad of ANBU at the gate shattered their boredom completely.

*****

Kiba left Kankurou and Shikamaru and walked across the stone compound yard to the open gate, approaching the Ninja at the entrance as Hinata and Akamaru joined him, their guests retreating to the lunch table politely.
“What do you think it’s about?” Ino asked Kankurou, putting her arm around his lower back as they both stared across the yard.
“I don’t know, Ino-chan. Maybe the Elder Council has business?” he guessed. Tsuboro leaned in slightly, greasy black dreadlocks swaying with his movement as he did.
“I learned a while ago that back before the Second Founding Kiba and Hinata had been forced to kill two ANBU, while they were rogue.” he said in his now hushed raspy voice. Usually he didn’t gossip but this seemed relevant enough to share.
“Whatever it is, ANBU don’t make social calls.” Shikamaru said, devising over thirty stratagems of assassinating the ANBU leader purely out of boredom. How troublesome, that they interrupt the party. Chouji grunted in assent, watching the group quietly.

Minoruko and Satoroshi slowly made their way along the stained wooden balcony, closer to the armoured Ninja who had entered their compound. However boring today had been, getting this close to ANBU was totally worth it. They stopped near the balcony’s front right corner, Minoruko in front as both of the young Academy students gripped the spotty iron bars in front of them and tried to listen into the conversation.

“Inuzuka Kiba?” the leader of the masked operatives asked, a deep male voice emanating from a mask painted in the likeness of a smirking monkey, with long silver spikes looming over the top as always: Kakashi. It was reassuring that someone as strong and as capable as Kakashi had graciously accepted to head the Kamigakure ANBU all those years ago, but when he had his armour and mask on he ceased to be someone you addressed by name, or attempted to engage in polite conversation. Not that he was the most receptive audience at the best of times. All the ANBU wore their full gear: black body suit with full chest, forearm and shin armour minus upper arm, revealing the ANBU tattoo, and masks depicting an animal, most sad or angry. Ninjato were strapped on their back over the armour, the short swords built for slashing and enclosed combat such as hallways in easy reach at all times. A general aura depicting expectation of immediate and complete cooperation mixed with violent tendencies resting on a hair trigger followed the ANBU around, warning the perceptive what to expect from these, the blunt instruments of Kamigakure. Kiba and Hinata both were uneasy around ANBU. They had been forced to kill two during their days as Rogue Ninja. This group would know that, and ANBU never forgive. Even now the others remained silent, staring through the faces of frowning animal masks at the couple standing before them with their great white dog.

“I am Inuzuka Kiba.” The blue fanged Ninja stated, waiting for the purpose of their visit. Hinata stood close by him and looked behind the silver haired spokesperson. There were at least five of them, and they had some others in the darkness with them too, not wearing armour or masks.
“Two envoys from the Village Hidden in Clouds are here to speak with you.” With that Kakashi motioned for three silhouette figures to step forward from the street’s darkness and into the compound, ANBU dragging two of them forward roughly, a hand on either shoulder.
Kiba was aghast. “To speak with me? What for?! I’ve never even been to that country!” The squad of masked Ninja stared impassively at him as he looked down at his wife. Hinata trembled slightly until Kiba held her reassuringly around her shoulders for a moment. She had almost been kidnapped by Ninja from the Country of Lightning when she was very young, the ordeal still traumatising even now. Kiba knew this and held her for a moment more before letting her go, still shocked at this truly random turn of events.
“They asked for an audience with the leader of the Inuzuka clan specifically. Know that this entire conversation will be reported, word for word, to our superiors.” Kakashi stated in a harshly serious tone as the figures were dragged or walked through the emblazoned gates, everyone within the gray, glass capped walls except for two ANBU operatives who stationed themselves out in the shadows of the street in case the prisoners made any attempt to escape. Two Ninja dressed in green envoy robes with the symbol of Kumogakure emblazoned on the breast in gold were pushed in front of Kiba and Hinata, the ANBU ready to fall on the pair at the slightest hint of treachery with deadly force. The middle aged male on the left wore his forehead protector, emblazoned with the cloud symbol of his village, on his bicep and had graying hair slicked back to hide a balding spot. He held a small scroll in one hand. The other envoy was a younger female, possibly twenty five, with her reflector made into a bandanna which covered her short, pixy-like blonde hair. She wore thick glasses but still looked around confused, like her partner did due to the Jutsu the third figure had used on the pair. Hinata’s stomach turned to ice as she recognised the Genjutsu user, a thunderclap echoing dully through the mountain as their eyes met.
“Hello, Yuriko-san…” she said gently, not having spoken to her for nearly eight years.

Yuriko had indeed become an unattainable beauty over the years, which seemed almost a sinful waste as she had chosen a life of celibacy after Shino’s death, dedicating herself to the Ninja art. Her twin brown ponytails shined over her black mid-sleeve tee shirt, the ties keeping them together yet apart equally black. Continuing the theme black conscript pants, crisscrossed with jagged silver lines resembling the pattern of broken obsidian tiles bloused over her jet Ninja tabi and were held up with a darkened leather belt, which held on her darkened kunai pouches and scroll holsters. The tipless gloves had the fingers rolled back to the first knuckle, revealing immaculate nails which she had coloured a dull silver. As she stared at her two most hated people on Earth with her usually soft eyes, now as cold as the frozen peak of Kozu above, she suppressed the urge to attack them with her Genjutsu. Kakashi was watching. And the ANBU had been asking for her help a lot these days. Maybe they would ask her to join soon. But not if she let her emotions get the best of her this easily.

“Inuzukas.” Yuriko said in a borderline insulting tone, her voice as icy as her expression. Turning away from the two she looked at Kakashi, who nodded underneath his monkey mask. Forming the dispelling seal she removed the two envoys from the Pitch Black Midnight Jutsu, which had been used on them before sunrise that morning three villages away before their escort here. The Jutsu made the affected person’s vision to be shrouded with an impenetrable sheet of darkness, forcing them to fight without the use of sight. Today it had been useful in hiding the layout of Kamigakure from these two, even though they claimed to be on business not related to their Ninja Village. It had been made inescapably clear that any attempt to dispel the Jutsu or record their journey would result in immediate death by the ANBU who surrounded them at all times, two of whom dragged their sightless captives along behind them. No doubt they already knew this was Kozu Mountain, but because of this extra precaution they had not learned anything of the city’s layout nor the existence of the wastes, and they remained intact, ready to deliver their message as ordered.

The elder man, after blinking and rubbing his closed eyes with his fingertips, looked at the pair ahead of him. “You are the speakers of the Inuzuka clan?”
Hinata linked her forest green sleeved arm with Kiba’s jacketed one, resting her free hand on his upper arm gently, drawing his strength. Neither knew what this was about but they were prepared for anything. Akamaru stood next to Kiba’s black jeans attentitively, his shaggy white tail wagging slowly while he summed up the situation. He whined once, disguised as a yawn. Both Kiba and Hinata knew he was prepared to attack, Hinata having learned how to understand Akamaru over the years with her husband’s help. Either one could communicate with him now, a useful advantage in the field.
“We are the Inuzuka clan.” Kiba replied in a serious tone, the words carrying through the still air and out of the compound.
At this the young woman leaned to her friend, a nearby ANBU reaching toward his sword as a precaution.
“Our records state that the Inuzuka had red fangs on their cheeks, not blue.” She adjusted her glasses as she rechecked her file quickly, confirming what had been said.
“It has changed.” Kiba grew impatient with these two unwelcome guests. “Get to the point.”
“Of course, so sorry…” the male said before bowing slightly and clasping his hands in apology, the young female envoy doing the same before they rose. As he spoke she quickly corrected the file with a silver ballpoint pen, adjusting her glasses as more thunder rolled outside in the wilderness.
“We are envoys for the Dog-Nin Master Tournament, a tournament which is held every twenty years and attracts the greatest Dog-Ninja from across the known world to compete for fame, money and eternal glory. It is our duty to inform you that the Inuzuka clan has been issued a formal invitation to compete in the tournament in one month’s time, taking place in the south of our country, the Land of Lightning.” At this he offered the small scroll to Kiba with an outstretched hand, waiting for him to accept.

Everything changed at that moment. Kiba’s pulse raced as he looked at the white paper. This is it! This is the answer, the chance I have prayed for! If I win I will be able to broker breeding rights with Akamaru and take a share of the pups as would be my right! The other clans would BEG for the chance to breed into my champion kennel! Casually he looked over at Hinata, just as elated at this fortuitous turn of events as he was but masking it coolly. Surely this was a sign that it was the karma of the Inuzuka to continue as Dog-Nin. Provided they were able to win, of course…

Kiba stood up tall and spoke with as much of an authoritative voice as he could manage, his friends and children looking onward in shocked silence as he took the scroll.
“The Inuzuka clan will accept your invitation, and grace your competition with our unparalleled skill.” Damn, overdid it a little. Hinata stifled a laugh deftly, a remnant on the smile still on her lips.

Yuriko balled her fists at their fortune, wishing to be gone from this place, these people… she saw Tsuboro in the background, leaning against the compound’s steel decorated boundary wall. At least there was someone here who she liked. He waved to her silently, she returning the greeting with a nod.

“Excellent. May I enquire how many teams the Inuzuka clan will be entering?” the male envoy asked, readying his calligraphy brush to write the details into the official register.
“Just myself and Akamaru here.” Kiba said falteringly after a moment, suddenly feeling underpowered. The envoy raised an eyebrow in slight surprise as he entered the data quickly, his female counterpart quickly judging Akamaru as he stood next to Kiba, staring at the ANBU outside the gate with attentively listening ears pricked. A large Nin-dog. Healthy, maybe twelve years old. Still young. Maybe he isn’t as suicidal as we’re thinking…
“Interesting. But not all that surprising.” The male said before folding the papers and storing them in his loose green sleeves as thunder sounded again, the storm intensifying in strength outside, almost tempest-like. The deluge continued to pour through the cavern’s roof, crashing down in the near-black wastes with incredible force. No light followed the water in, aside from the luminescence of the lightning strikes which plotted lines across the gap.

Something nagged at Hinata. Leaning forward she addressed the female, who glanced up at her through the thick rimmed glasses as she spoke, silver pen in one hand.
“So sorry to ask, but why us? Why are we receiving an invitation specifically?” Kiba looked at his wife momentarily and then shifted his attention to the woman across from her. That was a good question. The robe clad messenger looked almost surprised at the query, the stone below her and her ANBU guard glowing slightly with the light of the braziers.
“Why, to ensure that the line of Inuzuka Kojiro is able to participate!” she answered as if it were as obvious as the land and the sky itself.
At the mention of that name Kiba and Akamaru perked up slightly, Kiba’s eyes growing colder, intense, edged with hatred.
“What about him? What does he have to do with this?” he asked in a reserved voice. Hinata looked across at the messengers, ready to restrain her husband if he attacked after learning the answer. Whenever someone spoke of Kiba’s father bad things happened. The middle aged man spoke in what could have been thought of as concern, the brazier light from within the compound walls shining in his eyes gently.
“He never told you? Why, he was the winner of the Tournament almost twenty years ago, using only one dog as you are yourself!”
Kiba’s teeth clenched in anger at the pair of envoy’s comments. So. It was by the grace of his bastard father that he had been invited to compete in this prestigious event. A crushing fist tightened around the scroll, and a fraction of a second before he tore it to shreds and sent the two home in bloody ruins of broken bone his reasoning stayed his hand. Sighing he closed his eyes and attempted to calm himself. No matter my feelings towards him, I have to do this for the good of the clan Inuzuka. My clan Inuzuka.
“I see…” Kiba said seethingly, still angry after he opened his eyes despite his best efforts at self-placation. The ANBU and Yuriko saw his barely contained rage, all looking directly at the spiky haired man as they tried to discern the cause of his anger. Only Hinata and Kakashi knew the answer. Cautiously the blonde envoy looked away and stopped talking, not wishing to incur his ire. Unfortunately the subtle hints and warning signs were lost on the older envoy, continuing on oblivious of the situation he and his protégé were now standing in the center circle of, but a final slip up from destruction.
“Yes indeed. He brought much honour to your clan. You see, I saw his fight twenty years ago and it was truly an awesome spectacle to behold, one of the greatest events I have ever borne witness to. If he is here I would request an audience with him, to speak with such a fine Ninja.” He smiled meekly and awaited a response. The ANBU operatives continued to watch the spectacle in front of them in interest. Everyone in the compound was silent and watched on with baited breath, the thundering heavens the only party voicing their opinion in the uncomfortable silence.

Kiba’s saw red as his rage boiled over. The man in front of him may as well have told him that he tortured and killed his family at the demise of Konoha. The messenger’s eyes widened as the world around them started to grow darker, colder, almost reaching absolute darkness except for the three of them and a slight glow from the stone beneath them, as if they had been cordoned from the rest of the world with an unsettling black veil. But it was when he looked at Kiba and Hinata his veins ran cold. The entrant’s tattoos had drained of all colour, becoming as black and consuming as the soul of Kamigakure itself. And his eyes… Kiba’s eyes had turned into a vision of primal rage, of some diamond pupilled bloodlusting beast entrapping his prey. The gigantic dog next to him looked ready to join the kill and devour the corpse, his mouth almost frowning in disapproval at this newcomer with hackles raised and tail upward and still in anger. His wife, she clasped his arm dearly as if he was leading her across a crowded soiree, mistress to some unholy murderous beast. The green robed man, realising that he had caused a grave offence, could only gasp in fear as the world became disjointed inside the claustrophobic black sphere surrounding the four. The movements of those across from him were jerky and unnatural like badly maintained puppets. Kiba addressed him in a disquietingly calm voice, the fangs in his mouth sharp enough to tear the envoy’s throat out.
“Thank you for the invitation. Please leave.” he said simply, Hinata’s face impassive at what could be his gruesome death.
With that, the world returned to normal, what dim light existed in the yard brightening the compound walls and the house’s decking once more. Kiba’s face became what it always was, albeit annoyed as if an unwanted guest couldn’t take a hint. The tattoos were their elegant sapphire blue once more and his eyes were softer and again capable of happy emotions. Kumogakure’s envoy had shrunk back in fear. What had happened? Why hadn’t anyone else reacted to this? The slowly balding envoy bowed shakily, stammering as he stepped back out the gate, the ANBU following them out, still ready to kill at any sign of deceit.

Kakashi quickly leaned in to Yuriko, concerned about the chakra he had just felt emanating from the couple and their dog.
“What was that?” he asked quickly. Yuriko still watched the two with narrowed eyes, recounting what she had seen softly, unable to comprehend how either one could know a Genjutsu technique she couldn’t read.
“An opaque chakra dome grew around the three, encompassing the victim until he was alone with the user or users and forcing him to see whatever made him afraid like that. Even I with my considerable Genjutsu knowledge couldn’t see into the Jutsu, the veil was so thick. Not only that but I didn’t witness either one of them perform the seals. Whichever one did, they are incredibly fast.” With that she was silent, still looking unhappily at the bastard couple who dominated her white hot hatred. Kakashi grunted, glancing at the pair for a moment longer as the female envoy exited out the compound gates emblazoned with the blue Inuzuka symbols after her friend, green sleeves and ANBU guard flowing after her, official documents and files stowed away in the folds of her attire discreetly in anticipation of this quick exit. Everyone had sensed that something had occurred, either through feeling the strong chakra or because envoys don’t habitually excuse themselves as if their life depended upon it for no reason. But none had been able to see the inside of the bubble apart from its occupants, which sat right with none.

It never occurred to any aside from Kakashi that the Jutsu this powerful had been activated without seals. Or that both Kiba and Hinata were unaware of what had taken place at all.

Hatake Kakashi narrowed his eyes in grim recollection, the light of the brazier brightening his armour and mask gently. This was a form of Death Jutsu. One which was akin to another he had felt over twenty years ago. Kojiro. Without looking around at his men Kakashi ordered Yuriko to perform her Pitch Black Midnight Jutsu on them again before they were to be taken into the wilderness outside and dumped. As his ANBU squad marched off down the shadowy stone streets of Kamigakure, their violent aura leaving with them, Kakashi approached the couple, concluding their business.
“Thank you for your co-operation. You will likely be summoned within the next few days by the Elder Council to discuss your acceptance of the invitation. Until then you may not take any holidays or accept any missions outside of Kamigakure. That is all.” With that he disappeared in a flash, off over the rooftops and leaving the party on their own.

Kiba and Hinata stood frozen for a long moment before Minoruko and Satoroshi approached along the illuminated wooden balcony decking and across the small span of stone to join them, unsure what had just occurred and unaware that this may be one of the defining moments of their clan. As Minoruko asked about the competition, the others walked slowly across the lifeless, sterile yard to congratulate the family on its invitation. Just being invited to such an event was impressive in itself, and provided they did alright in the competition it would bring prestige both to their clan and to Kamigakure Ninja as a whole. None brought up the Jutsu directly. It was a time of celebration now, not a time for an inquisition. But all were unsettled by such a Jutsu’s use, as if the married couple had embodied some of Kamigakure’s heart directly.


*****

As he ran over the filthy concrete slab rooftops of Kamigakure’s black and gray western district he was lost in thought, steering unconsciously towards the bar Iruka and his date were drinking at, his face hidden by the smirking monkey mask shielded from the rush of air as he leapt between the buildings. Lightning crashes muffled by the sheltering mountain accompanied the ageing Ninja as he picked up the pace, arms trailing behind him as he sprinted along awnings and over shops and gambling dens, all immersed in shadow as always. It had begun today, and Iruka had to know. Kiba had exhibited the first sign. And because Hinata had not recoiled in horror from being so close to the Jutsu, somehow she must have been desensitised to it unconsciously, either by being in his presence for so long or from being intimate with him. Which meant that maybe she was infected too. Would she have to be eliminated for the good of the village too if the time came? And her children?

Kakashi sighed underneath the mask, feeling sick from the prospect as he approached his destination. Iruka, I hope you can do what is necessary if the time comes. I am now certain it will.

**********

Chapter Three

Date – October 16

Weather – Snow

Song listened to today – Let Go by Frou Frou

They sure picked some beautiful country to hold this Tournament in. Kozu can be a glorious white haven during the Winter months, but here in the south of the Land of Lightning lies a different kind of crystalline beauty. The hills are blanketed with flat white, below them the lowlands smooth and unscarred as a million colours wink off the snow in the sunlight. Even the flat red flowers which seem abundant in this area still grow through the delicate freeze, each with a small dab of white across their petals. Everything seems so… rich here, even though the land is sleeping and waiting for the thaw.

When the Elder Council informed me that this was to be considered a mission I did some research into the area, along with Hinata, even though she was dubious about heading here. The texts we consulted stated that the lands in the south of the Land of Lightning are characterised by sleepy farms and ocean trade such as fishing along the coast. I expected for our team to be walking through sleepy hamlets and passing boring coves. The picture I painted in my mind was completely wrong, something I am pleasantly surprised to admit. The snow covers all before it shrinks away in the lowlands before the warm ocean air of the coast, which is a mixture of stone cliffs and sheltered beaches which house the fishing villages, the ocean itself a brilliant and deep blue.

Hinata is enjoying the snowy hills and lowlands as much as Akamaru and I are. I’m glad she came, despite the kidnapping attempt by Lightning-Nin when she was a child. At first she was a little dubious about the trip but she is more of her old self, after Iruka and I put her at ease the first night over the border, smiling and enjoying this wonderful landscape.
No matter how much I travel I am still amazed with this world. Even in foul weather or desolate wastelands there is still something to marvel at and become lost in, as if one can strike a chord with the world around them and hear its song stretching off into eternity. This appreciation of nature is something that Hinata and I share without words. Words would only diminish it if we tried to analyse the feeling. All we can do is stand back and appreciate the world around us and feel both humble that we were chosen to take part, if only for a second, and a sadness that we will depart from this existence someday, leaving nothing but a name and our deeds to live on, until even they are lost to the march of time.

Unfortunately Iruka doesn’t see eye to eye with us on this issue. He caught a cold recently and hasn’t stopped sneezing all day. But he was the one who forsook extra warm clothing for alcohol so he’ll get nothing but wry laughter from me. Not that he looks terribly different than usual: his cheeks and nose are red from alcohol often enough without being ill.

Minoruko and Satoroshi are starting to show an interest in our landscape as we travel ever closer to Murasaka. I am glad. When I was their age I cared nothing for such things, but they have learned an appreciation of the natural world from their mother and myself, and I am glad that they may enjoy something so pure at their age, something I did not. Both are enjoying the landscape for what it is, without destroying it (a real surprise if there ever was one). It’s so rare to see either one of them quiet like this, almost at peace with our environment or perhaps simply in awe, I can’t tell which. I guess the old adage is true: that through their descendants one may live forever. Maybe that is the way to be remembered even after the name has gone. A comforting thought, that I may outlive myself and be remembered as more than a mere Ninja.

We should reach Murasaka in about an hour. As the last few days have gone by the traffic has become thicker. Now we are never out of sight of other travellers, which doesn’t surprise me being so close to the site, and seeing the Genin have finished their own tournament and are making way for us Chunin and later the Jounin.

My invitation says that a greeter will come for us when I identify myself at the gates leading to the arena and from there we have arrangements made for our stay and I will be informed of the schedule. Hopefully they will take care of Hinata, Iruka and the kids in the accommodation apartment, for some reason I get the feeling that the hotels around here will charge a significant mark up during the competition. Not that any can blame them. It only happens once every twenty years.

Barely got any sleep last night. This is it. This is when I prove to my ancestors that I am worthy to lead the clan Inuzuka into the future. As for my opponents… I will remind them that the name Inuzuka is to be respected once more, and restore my broken house to it’s rightful position.

And if Akamaru and I get to have fun along the way, all the better.

**********

If one was asked to define beauty, how would they begin? Is it possible to explain beauty to one who cannot recognise it, or is it like trying to describe music to someone who cannot hear the chords? What would be the first thought, that first image to flicker into the individual’s mind? A place? A person? An emotion, or belief? Perhaps it is not possible to define beauty, the infinite possibilities of such a divine state of being, a culmination of circumstance, unattainability (in some cases) and the beholder.
And it is fitting that that very truth, that beauty is undefinable and defies classification, is in itself beautiful, if one only chooses to believe.

Inuzuka Hinata pondered this as she strode along the immaculately maintained road, surrounded by the natural beauty inherent of this time of year in the Land of Lightning. As she breathed in deeply of the air, hinting at the red flowers around her and the scented soap she had used that morning she glanced at Kiba as he rummaged through his pack intently, barely keeping an eye on where he was walking, or the other travellers around them. Not that there was anything to run afoul of. The peasants had been very thorough in clearing the road of rocks, roots and even the very snow for some days travel now, and guards patrolled the roads, guarding both the native peoples and guests to the country from bandits and highwaymen. No, thought Hinata as she exhaled gently and smiled shyly at her husband, if I was asked to define beauty it would be our love she decided, reaching in and cuddling close to Kiba. It was true that Kiba could well be injured or even die in this tournament. Already stories were circulating about the brutal end many of the Genin had found during their own one week of tribulations. The thought of her husband dying was a recurrent nightmare of a world devoid of joy or laughter or song, for herself and for their children. But long ago both Kiba and herself decided that life is too short to live in fear. Leave karma to karma. With this strangely comforting last thought emptying her mind she sighed, a puff of icy breath wisping from her cherry lips in the dull sunlight.

Kiba himself hadn’t been paying much attention to his doting wife, wrestling with the packaging of an uncooked ramen cake, and was slightly surprised when she leaned in, her face pale from the cold, with a slight rose blush on her cheeks and nose below her lilac eyes, far away from here. But he could tell she was in her element out here in the snow covered hillsides which led southward, away to the lowlands and the ocean beyond, a great expanse of shimmering lapis which shared it’s hue with the tattoos of her new clan, spanning away forever. She had always loved the outdoors, the wonder of the trees and the animals and all the sights and sounds which just weren’t present in villages. Just like him. No-one in his entire life could have ever claimed to be more in their element out beyond the city walls than Hinata and himself except for Shino.

In a way their departed friend was everywhere out in the wilderness, hiding around the next bend, always one step ahead of the pair as they travelled on mission or for an outing with their children or alone. The truth had been spoken all those years ago at his wake in the small, broken apartment in Akiko Hotel: they thought about him every day, constantly reminded of him by the world around them. And both Kiba and Hinata believed he would be happy, at peace out in the wilderness forever. But not smiling. Even in a paradise such as this he would not be smiling, not if there was anyone to catch him doing it.

Warmed by the thoughts of his old partner and friend Kiba gripped the ramen cake topped with it’s orange soup powder in his mouth so the front stuck out obtusely and held Hinata in a mutual embrace, both enjoying the silence of the world around them, only broken by singing birds, the footsteps of the others behind them, and the occasional crunching of raw noodles.

*****

The six figures from Kamigakure walked leisurely along the dirt road towards the oddity of a village which was their destination, the highway a dirt brown brushstroke across the landscape of white, punctuated by snow covered trees and the occasional farm or roadside inn. Traffic had become heavy over the last few days. What had started as the lone traveller or group of farmers on their way home from the fields had grown into the multitude of families, supply carts and the occasional competitor on the roads now. Kiba had tried to size up his competition the few times he had seen another Dog-Nin but it was difficult getting close to them without being seen, and as they weren’t displaying their techniques he only got so much data on them anyway. But it seemed that this competition had indeed drawn Dog-Nin from every corner of the known world, as the emissary had told him back at the steel gates of his home a month ago. Headbands baring the crest of nations far away and rarely heard of were worn prominently by many of the Ninja, who walked through the Land of Lightning towards their common destination without fear of attack as consequence of trespass. The Kumo Ninja had called a truce on competitors for the Tournament, the capital of the Land of Lightning being given a stipend of the event’s profits in return for the cessation of hostilities. As an additional preventative measure fighting outside the event was not allowed by entrants, either on route to the event or during the downtime between stages under pain of disqualification. Which meant that the representatives of Kamigakure were able to enjoy the journey, only keeping a vague watch out for traps and threats. A privilege rarely affordable when in another country.

*****

Before they had left Kamigakure the Elder Council had summoned Kiba, Hinata and Iruka to their chambers, still the near pitch black Shrine of Ghosts in Akiko Temple. From the hanging iron platform eternally suspended over the dark, unyielding river they were informed that this would be classed as a mission, and that they were to take Iruka with them in case something went wrong, as much for extra protection as it was an additional show of presence to the other Shinobi nations competing. Furthermore they were to take both Minoruko and Satoroshi with them, as this was an important event for the entire of the Inuzuka clan, possibly a defining moment in their history and as such they should be present. Their wishes known, the Elder Council who stood in the shadows of the platform, silhouettes to those on the island of stone below, charged Inuzuka Kiba with competing in the tournament officially and sent the two on their path, ordered to bring much prestige and honour to the broken name of Inuzuka and the mourning village of Kamigakure.

*****

Akamaru sniffed into the clean morning air, smelling food further along the trail. Casting a quick glance to Minoruko and Satoroshi who he had kept company for the last fifteen minutes he jogged on ahead, long scruffy hair blending into the snow banked on either side of the road as he arrived at Iruka’s side. The bearded man sneezed again, ponytail tossing wildly as he righted himself and sniffed once, expression seeming to say “Why me?” as he warmed his cold, pale hands again with his breath dourly. The black Chunin vest was the only piece of warm equipment he had on, a mistake that Iruka was extremely aware of. But the bearded veteran was only vaguely aware of his physical body, the recent developments regarding Kiba’s ‘condition’ dominating his thoughts oppressively. Now Hinata-san, Minoruko-chan and Satoroshi-kun may have this curse as well. The clan of Inuzuka must have done some atrocious things in it’s past to warrant the horror they unwittingly live with now.

Before their departure Kakashi had summoned Iruka to his humble room in Akiko Hotel alone, to a secret meeting with himself and Shizune. The former aide to Tsunade had been briefed on the truth about Inuzuka Kiba’s condition and what had happened to his father years ago, so that another may know of the possible threat if both of the Ninja in front of her were killed. Now the three sat at Kakashi’s modest hotel room table, the ANBU captain’s Icha Icha Paradise novel forgotten in the face of the serious situation. There was no doubt in Kakashi’s mind: the same dark Jutsu which had claimed his good friend all those years ago was slowly starting to reveal itself in not only Kiba but also Hinata and Akamaru as well. All three arrived at the same conclusion that it was likely that Minoruko and Satoroshi were also affected, but how Hinata and Akamaru had become infected was unknown, not sharing any of his cursed bloodline. It was ventured by Shizune that perhaps it was due to prolonged contact with the host, but it could have been a myriad of other reasons. Besides, the why of the situation was redundant. The fact was that there was an entire family, a whole clan infected, and if the trends continued in the same fashion they had seen nineteen years ago continued they could become a dangerous liability to Kamigakure. What was particularly of concern was that, like Kojiro, they had no idea in the beginning of what was taking place.
Eventually it was decided that Iruka would accompany his teammates to the Tournament and observe the five affected, in particular Kiba. He was to document any drastic changes and report upon returning. And, if he deemed any of them an imminent threat, he was ordered to eliminate them.

Like it’s that easy thought Iruka unhappily as he continued walking behind his best friends, angry at not only the situation but that there was nothing he could do to help the Inuzuka, the only people who still meant a damn to him. Not knowing what he would do if the situation arose Iruka took a swig from his wine gourd, sneezing as he replaced the battered old vessel across his back on it’s worn strap, the cold a minor nuisance to him in the face of such a crushing burden, a terrible yoke he was forced to bear alone.

*****

Poor Iruka-san thought Akamaru before confirming that Iruka didn’t have the food and walking ahead again past a travelling monk, leaving the freezing Ninja to his cold and bleak thoughts.
At the front Kiba and Hinata talked about the tournament to come. Realistically Akamaru should have been listening to this but anything they didn’t know he and Kiba would be told once they arrived, and they were discussing their tactics at the hotel tonight after the details of the event were given. The letter had been very vague in that regard, assuring the entrants that their questions would be answered at the orientation later today and not before, to ensure fairness amongst all the competitors.
Still chasing the scent he sidled alongside Hinata deftly, looking at her hands quickly. Wrong one. On the other side of the pale skinned woman Kiba was busy eating a square of uncooked instant ramen, the orange soup spice poured over the dry noodles for flavour the origin of the scent. Between sentences the tattooed Ninja crunched on the square, having missed breakfast at camp this morning. Zeroing in on the remnants of the cake Akamaru ducked back behind Hinata, vaguely aware of his presence behind her and re-emerged next to Kiba, a short distance from his target. Breaking mid-sentence Kiba turned to his partner for the trial coming up and handed him the half cake after taking one last bite and turning back to his wife, a hollow crunching emanating behind him for a few seconds before Akamaru reappeared at his master’s right hand, happy with himself and ready to listen to the conversation as they continued on the crowded road, a cart carrying cheap tourist junk toward the village’s markets pulling past them.

Bringing up the rear Minoruko and Satoroshi walked alongside each other, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of this new country. Both were excited, and not just from being out in this cool terrain. There was going to be some of the most powerful Dog-Nin there when they arrived, and they were going to get to see them fight each other. When Minoruko had told Taroji he had almost destroyed everything on one of the rooftops they were playing across, angry that he wasn’t allowed to go too. In a way both her and her brother were sad that their friend couldn’t come, but soon they had forgotten him in the midst of the adventure, the girl with tattoos and the boy with pupilless eyes overjoyed that they not only were going to another Shinobi nation but that while there they were to see other Dog-Nin fight each other. Satoroshi could have cried in happiness but both he and his older sister were quiet now, enjoying the energy of the land and people around them, the mood almost like the warmth before a storm.
“Hey, sis.” Satoroshi said, purple hair hanging over his forehead swaying slightly as he turned to Minoruko.
“Yeah?” she replied, her eyes cast out across the thawed lowlands and into the distance at the shimmering ocean.
“Do we get anything if dad wins?” he asked, excitement edging into his tone as he swung his arms in front of him energetically. She stopped and looked ahead in thought for a moment, not really having considered it yet.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But the main purpose of dad entering the Tournament is to bring honour to our clan. Maybe that is enough of a prize.”
“Oh.” Satoroshi replied disappointedly, having hoped for money or weapons or something cool. Kiba had not discussed his plan to broker a deal with another house with his children, as he didn’t want to disappoint them if he failed.
As they continued a female traveller in an extravagant white and red tomesode pushed past Satoroshi, knocking the young boy into his sister. Only casting a vague sideways glance at the pair the apparently wealthy woman continued onward, presuming them beneath her station and not someone to apologise to.
Minoruko angrily pushed Satoroshi off herself before both children turned to the woman, hurrying along the path in front of them, almost level with Iruka.
“Hey! Baka!” Satoroshi yelled after her, Minoruko getting ready to tackle her and bloody the old hag’s snooty face. Iruka’s bearded jaw tightened as the Chunin stopped, turned around and shot a glare at the seven year old, simultaneously freezing his sister.
“Children your age do not use language like that.” he admonished in a scratchy voice before taking another swig of wine and walking on, returning to his dark thoughts. Even this display of rage tortured him, making him wonder whether it was part of the darkness which may be enveloping them or just embarrassed anger.
The children stared after the woman angrily as she disappeared past their parents and Akamaru, both quickly scanning for a rock, a stick, anything they could throw at her. Nothing. The peasants had done too good of a job cleaning the road. Unhappy that they would not be able to get revenge on the hag Minoruko and Satoroshi continued along the dirt road at their own pace, watching an eagle fly through the azure above as it scanned the snowy fields for mice.

The group had rugged up for the trek, all wearing warm jackets, scarves and gloves except for Iruka, who had forsaken a scarf to carry extra rice wine. Hence the cold he had caught. And hence why Kiba and Hinata didn’t pity him, occasionally making jokes at his expense as the group trekked along the ridge-top road, the dull Winter sun shining down happily on the travellers and the snow fields, a rainbow of sparkles gently brushing the group from the unbroken fields on either side. And there in the distance at the crowded road’s end was their destination, Murasaka.

*****

It had been named Murasaka, a village situated around a flat-topped hill with one valley allowing access without scaling almost vertical rock and earth. Murasaka was unique in that only the lower half of the village which surrounded the tor was inhabited permanently, dominated by small hotels and pleasant gardens, now dusted quaintly with snow. Particularly prominent even from far away, the outskirts were littered with campsites of many of the competing clans, too at home in the wilds or too poor due to the costs of travelling to stay at one of the many traditional inns which dotted the lower city. But it wasn’t the lower, outer districts which caught the Kamigakure Ninja group’s attention.
The upper district was separated from the rest of the village by the steep hillside and a circlet-style stone wall with a single entrance, accessed by a grand stone ramp which stared directly down the lower village’s main road imposingly. The walled portion of town stood tall over it’s neighbouring suburbs like a Jounin among peasants, basking in the Winter morning sun proudly as all marvelled at it wherever they beheld the sight from. The pristine stone walls which crowned the plateau were draped with red nobori, great flags hanging from bamboo frames proclaiming the Dog-Nin Master Tournament and making the walls look slashed and bleeding, setting the tone for the tournament which had already been underway for over a week, the Genin level tournament concluding two days previous. Above the wall a few structures could be seen, mostly filthy buildings in a more modern architectural style criss-crossed with telephone wire draped with icicles, the sunlight glancing off of the crystal spikes and making the awnings and electricity lines glisten with a rainbow of refracted colours. The tallest of the buildings stood directly in the upper district’s center, a dark and imposing culmination of traditional architecture and modern building making which gave a panoramic view of the entire countryside. Kiba was reminded of a lesser version of Kozu as he looked at the village’s centrepiece, the dilapidated, unclean pinnacle capped with more crimson nobori and a steel mesh safety barrier surrounding it’s precipice at a fifteen degree angle. Any fall from the top would definitely be fatal, the person finding a sudden and gory end on the street below, seven seconds later. To all Ninja who viewed the village, and understood its role, the entire upper district felt like a filthy meat grinder.

*****

Despite the seriousness of the competition he was about to enter Kiba grinned as he stared at that tower, his long hair blowing slightly in the cool Northerly which had sprung up from over the snowy lowlands.
“This is going to be fun.” he said to himself, his clear excitement shared by his children who had caught up to where he and his wife had stopped. Upon hearing the statement Akamaru barked once happily, agreeing.
“Just be careful Kiba-kun. This place… reeks of bad karma.” Hinata said, turning her worry-edged lilac eyes toward her husband. Kiba met her gaze and smiled reassuringly, his long brown hair blowing in the slight breeze which had picked up on the hilltop.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m taking Akamaru after all.” He joked. Hinata looked at him once more before returning her gaze to the tower looming above all menacingly, suddenly wishing for the Tournament to be over quickly and to be returning home to plangent Kamigakure with her husband and family. Iruka sensed his teammate’s discomfort and approached Kiba’s blindside area before speaking to him curtly, voice hoarse in the morning air from the cold he had caught.
“Don’t be getting cocky. We want you coming back alive and able bodied. You’re no good to Kamigakure dead.” Iruka stated before realising that he had made everyone feel less at ease with the Tournament than they had been. Recovering slightly in the uncomfortable silence he corrected his mistake.
“What I mean is, play it like you always do. Don’t have anything to prove in there.” Kiba turned to his friend following the statement and smiled reassuringly, understanding what was being said.
“Don’t worry Iruka-san. I don’t plan on dying.”
Putting an arm around his purple haired wife Kiba walked on, the foot traffic heavily congested this close to the city, surrounded by white snow and flat red flowers which waved in the breeze.

*****

The stone ramp which led up to the entrance of the walled arena had been remade, chipped and worn stones replaced seamlessly. On either of the walls were more banners, each proclaiming virtues a Dog-Nin should have: Cunning. Strength. Agility. Stealth. Ruthlessness. At the ramp’s summit the gate leading inside the arena represented a torii, a wooden archway usually found near a shrine which signified leaving the mundane world and entering a spiritual plane of existence. Here the blood red gate spoke a stern message: leave all emotion aside from anger, hate and violence behind as you enter for they are useless in the bleak, sadistic world beyond.
The gate was flanked by two intricate komainu, guardian dog statues usually seen in temples. Indeed the Shrine of Ghosts in Kamigakure had one to watch over the shrine and banish evil spirits, and it watched all who entered from the Great Hallway with a chilling stare. These two guarding the Murasaka arena’s entrance had long, flowing hair like Akamaru and four curling tails behind them as they sat rigid, judging those who would enter the arena with their terrible, piercing glare, teeth bared in a pose of eternal readiness. Above the snowcapped crossbar of the entrance arch which the twin dogs guarded one could still see the very top of the center building, looming ominously over all who would enter the competition, red nobori fluttering in the sky’s unhindered winds.

Striding proudly through the crowds of Murasaka’s snow-capped lower city, who parted in respect of an obvious Tournament entrant, Kiba and Akamaru approached a young man on the ramp dressed in the same green coloured robes that the envoys had worn when delivering his invitation. The teenager was bald and wore his robe in the fashion of a priest with arms bare but a Kumogakure headband shone in the sunlight on his forehead proudly as he turned to greet the Dog-Nin approaching him, family and bearded teammate in tow. Stopping two paces before the emissary Kiba drew his invitation from his pack and presented it to the youth as he announced himself, voice carrying to the crowd who had gathered.
“Inuzuka Kiba and Akamaru, here to compete in the Dog-Nin Master Tournament.” Akamaru sat at attention in a dignified pose as the young man checked the authenticity of the invitation before bowing low and smiling to the two.
“Welcome to Murasaka, Inuzuka Kiba-sama, Akamaru-sama. We are honoured to have the clan of a past champion competing this year.” Kiba let the talk of his father slide, although for some reason it was more difficult than he would have thought, the anger hard to mask.
“My teammate and family have travelled for some weeks now, and I am assuming that as good hosts that their accommodation will be seen to.” Kiba remarked politely, the sounds of the city alive again as the locals and one or two rival Dog-Nin went about their business, having ascertained the name of the newcomer as well as the fact that he was the bloodline of a previous tournament winner. All essential in calculating gambling odds of both survival and winning. Or determining how much of a threat he was. Hinata ignored the vultures, standing with her children in a respectful position behind Kiba.
The young man’s smile remained on his face as he replied to the inquiry.
“Certainly, Inuzuka-sama. If you follow me we will see your clan settled in before I escort you to the orientation. You arrived with almost perfect timing, if I may say so.”
Greetings completed the young man led the force from Kamigakure away from the ramp and into the city to find accommodation, smiling and jovially discussing the village’s history as they walked through the clean swept streets, locals and tourists alike parting respectfully for the group, as they did all entrants.

*****

On the roof of a nearby restaurant, shaded by the taller building adjacent, three figures stood on the snow covered roofing tiles and watched Kiba and his family as they were led towards the hotels. Each figure had a dog sitting next to them, growling as they also stared after the departing group. The three all wore traditional clothing of different styles, but all were black.
“That’s him?” the female voice asked levelly.
“That’s him.” confirmed the leader in an eloquent, high-born accent.
“What now? We follow him and kill him and break him and slash him and gut him and feel his silky satiny life blood?” the third asked excitedly, almost gleeful at the prospect of a bloody murder, his dog barking happily at the thought.
“No!” the leader interjected forcefully, one hand on the katana at his waist. “We cannot engage him until the tournament has commenced. Once in there, we will hunt our way through all of these other backward Dog-Nin to him. Then we will make his end long and… particularly excruciating.”
The third almost squealed in excitement, lost in thoughts of gory bliss. The other two Dog-Nin watched hatefully as their prey was almost out of sight, savouring the vengeance to come.

*****

On the crowded streets below Kiba, Akamaru, Hinata and Iruka felt eyes on their backs. As one all four turned to look at the rooftop of a restaurant in the distance behind them, ignoring the bustling city around them. Empty, save for some snow disturbed by figures no longer there.

“Did you see them?” Kiba asked Hinata, her Byakugan activated as she stared down the street.
“Three figures. Two male, one female. Three Nin-Dogs.” she replied, Satoroshi marvelling at the range her Byakugan had picked up the figures with.
“Dog-Nin.” Iruka stated, putting a shuriken back in it’s pouch.

Kiba replied dismissively as they continued on their way through the crowds, the air electric from the Tournament atmosphere.
“If they’re Dog-Nin, I’ll see them at the briefing.”

*****

Chapter Four

Date – October 17

Weather – Light snow forecast for this evening

Song listened to today – The Pretender by Foo Fighters

*Narrator’s Note: skipped ahead past yesterday’s events. It should be noted that in this particular entry Kiba seems distracted, as if something was troubling him*


Orientation was a joke.

They assembled us in groups of twenty, told us to turn up fully armed at the arena’s front gates tonight at sundown and that the competition would begin shortly thereafter.
No questions were answered by the officials so Akamaru and I came back to the hotel room to have dinner with everyone else.
That I was able to enjoy a meal with everyone was a happy occurrence, but I don’t like being kept in the dark when it comes to missions, even if everyone else is as well, and this tournament is no different.

But at this moment I have put that thought aside to deal with another issue which lingers on my mind. Last night I had a nightmare which has me questioning myself as I stand here on what should be one of the definitive days of my life, and hopefully writing about it here will help me work through it’s purpose.

In my dream I fled through a midnight forest, running from a great beast as it thundered through the pines after me. Somehow I knew that my weapons and Ninja abilities would be useless against the shadow and that my only hope was to outrun it.

So I ran. I ran myself ragged, but to no avail. The beast came into focus behind me: a great ebon wolf, slavering as it drove me into the ground and spun me onto my back so I could not avoid looking into it’s eyes: black holes of mindless psychotic bloodlust, the primal urge of a predator to kill prey.

I could do nothing but look up at the horrible creature as it held me down by my shoulders, snarling hatred into my face. The last thing I saw before it tore into my throat was two blood red Inuzuka tattoos on the sides of its face, glowing like forged steel. I woke up in a cold sweat.

What are my ancestors trying to tell me here? That I am too weak? That I have forsaken them?

I do not know.

**********

Light snowflakes fell onto Murasaka, the failing sunlight staining them orange as they drifted leisurely over white rooftops and empty streets. The lower district was eerily quiet, all villagers and tourists inside their hotel rooms or houses in respect for the Dog-Nin who assembled on the great stone ramp leading into the great walled arena in the village’s center.

Long had it been tradition for the streets to be devoid of all but the competitors as they walked along the snow covered streets in the evening silence, some alone, others in twos and threes before Dogs and Ninja together reached the arena’s single entrance.
There they would stand and wait until all light bled from the skies before entering the upper city’s hallowed walls and defining themselves as the warriors they were in a trial by blood.

*****

Kiba stood on the ramp amongst the competitors, every man, woman and Nin-dog watching in complete silence as the last of the now pink rays disappeared from the heavens above altogether, pale white flakes lighting unnoticed on the motionless crowd.
Every man, woman and dog stay frozen in their starward surveyance as if they had become no more than icy statues who had stood side by side for a thousand years on the cold stone ramp, another lifeless part of the village.
In the east a pale gibbous moon emerged from the clouds, dark curtains revealing a being of fickle light which would illuminate the streets of Murasaka on this, the first night of the competition. All gazed up at the white shape in the sky, the canine instinct of each bonding with the auspice before eventually it too dimmed, obscured momentarily by thin gray cloud.

Kiba and Akamaru stood in the snow and waited, lowering their eyes from the finishing spectacle of the cloud scattered sky above as everyone else did, snowflakes settling on both of the only representatives of Kamigakure delicately, Akamaru licking an errant flake off his coal black nose.
Seventy-eight Chunin ranked entrants filled the arena’s entrance ramp, accompanied by over one hundred Nin-Dogs, all obediently sitting in reverent silence as they waited for the competition to be revealed to them.

It was a fact that some would die here in Murasaka, chasing glory and honour amid the snowy streets and icicle-draped buildings. But this was a cold and dark grave all present had chosen willingly. Honour and glory are never without sacrifice, and if death was the price some had to pay they knew that their remains would be carried home proudly, and that they would be remembered by their families and villages as dying an honourable death.

In the near-black of the ramp Kiba’s thoughts turned to Hinata.
Her shy smile, still one of the things he loved most about her.
Those beautiful eyes which he was powerless before.
The parting kiss they had shared before he had left with Akamaru that afternoon.
Kiba smelled gently. Even above the myriad of scents mingling in the air from the other Dog-Nin he could still smell her perfume faintly, a sweet smell of peaches and light persimmons which made him feel that she was here by his side, as always.

If he died during the tournament leaving her behind would be his only regret. Satoroshi and Minoruko didn’t need a father. Kiba himself had grown up without a father and he knew his children were strong enough to do the same.
But the thought of putting Hinata through such a nightmare was too much of a horror to think about.

No, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
Narrowing his brown, animalistic eyes Kiba resolved that he would come back alive to her, no matter what price needed to be paid. As long as it wasn’t Akamaru.
I’d still die in your stead, old friend Kiba thought, looking down at the giant white dog standing next to him, ignoring the flakes which had landed on his fur. And it was the truth.

As Kiba made this resolution floodlights concealed along the roof capped wall bordering the arena flared to life, the gentle dusting of snow highlighting the hushed crowd below. Still none moved when a man’s voice boomed to life from in front of the blood red torii which stood before the competitors, the strong words echoing past the Ninja and dogs into the cold, dead streets of Murasaka.

“On the final night of his life Manzo, father of all Dog-Nin, bequeathed his stable amongst the eight families so that all Ninja may benefit from his life’s work, the Nin-dog. All eight, who Manzo knew would be able to honour his gift properly as they possessed senses and abilities akin to those of the canine, humbly accepted their gifts and returned across the lands to their homes, as was expected of them. All except one.”

Dressed completely in forest green dignitaries robes and with a large summoning scroll tied across his back the grand master of the games, Manzo-Ri, the eldest descendent of the creator of the first true Nin-dogs, walked from the folding shadows of the crimson archway until he stood upon ramp’s crest.
Skirting the shadows behind him stood nine pure white Nin-dogs, all identical as they stopped and stood side by side, impassively watching the Chunin assembly which stretched away below under the bright light of the floods.
Although the dogs were only half of Akamaru’s size, what little rumours Kiba had heard stated that to face them was to face your own death.

Jet black hair framed his head like a great mane but Manzo-Ri kept the black locks surprisingly well groomed.
His long fangs and bestial eyes, bright blue diamonds more fierce than Kiba’s, shone with a great yet almost sinister inner power as he spoke his address.
Gray streaks dabbed Manzo-Ri’s coarse sideburns which extended outward onto his cheeks but apart from the slight discolouration the man was incredibly youthful looking for the age of sixty two.

Men like Manzo-Ri aged well. For proof, one only had to look to the Legendary Sannin Jiraiya. He had been somewhere near eighty when he had left to train Naruto.
One could only wonder what he was capable of now.

Standing in awe of the man at the head of the giant pack both Kamigakure representatives were silently thankful that they would not have to face Manzo-Ri in this tournament.
But if he is still alive in twenty years…
Kiba promised to himself that he would return and fight for the right to face him in the grand finals of the Jounin tournament. And he was sure that it would be a battle for the ages.

A bond of steel formed in Kiba Inuzuka’s heart with the oath sworn as the greatest Dog-Nin of this age recounted his family’s history to the lesser Ninja before him, the growl of his voice almost challenging anyone to question his words.

“Only Koroii stood next to his friend and waited for the time to come and pass, the Ninja’s dog watching and waiting sadly. Koroii helped Manzo settle his estate out and comforted him until he was gone. As thanks Manzo gave his favourite Nin-dog Tameti to Koroii as his last action in this world. Together Koroii and Tameti travelled the lands until eventually leaving to the west and becoming legend.”

All knew the story of Manzo’s death, and how he chose to gift his greatest and most powerful Nin-dog Tameti to Koroii instead of his own children.
The full tale went on to state that Manzo’s children were upset that Tameti had not been given to one of them. However none had been present at their father’s death and so had not been deserving of such a fine creature.
It served as a stern reminder that while one can be rewarded, none should expect it.

Manzo-Ri looked across the crowd for a moment before stretching his arms outward towards those assembled, taking in the contestants who stood before him proudly.
To be part of something so momentous… how many in the ranks of Dog-Nin could compare their own family’s history with he who stood before them?

The dark-maned man continued his address, snow continuing to fall from the night sky above.

“And here in the hallowed streets of Murasaka stand the descendants of the eight families, all wishing to prove to the spirit of Manzo himself that they were indeed worthy vassals to be entrusted with his legacy. To have been invited is indeed an honour in itself, a sign that you have been found strong and sharp, each and every one of you an embodiment of Manzo’s dream.”

Indeed, most Ninja here were in some way descended from the eight families, either through blood or marriage, and all felt Manzo-Ri’s words before he welcomed them to the twenty second Dog-Nin Master Tournament.
Clan Inuzuka was an exception. During one of the Great Ninja Wars six hundred years ago Kiba’s ancestors had been gifted enough Nin-dogs to begin a stable from a wealthy Daimyo after saving him from assassination.
Previous to this event the clan had been excellent trackers but the blood in Kiba’s veins was not particularly high-born. Over the years this had earned scorn from many of the other Dog-Nin clans, but Kiba could care less what spoiled dandies from old money clans thought.

Besides, a kunai thrown by a lowly tracker was just as deadly as that thrown by a Kage.

“But inevitably there can be only one winner among you, only one who can claim to be the pinnacle of Dog-Nin. One Chunin who stands alone, an alpha male who all others will look to as they look within themselves in the pursuit of perfection. And now is the time where we take off our pleasant facades and bare our teeth! Now is the time where we show our true mettle! And now is the time where we redefine what it means to be a Dog-Nin for years to come!”
Manzo-Ri bellowed the last sentence powerfully, earning a loud roar of approval from the assembly below.
The spokesman held his hands up as all below cheered and howled, before silencing them with a cutting gesture, his blue eyes boring into the very core of all before him.

“Soon you will be led into the upper district of Murasaka, one at a time. Each of you will be allocated a small territory of land and one of these.”
In Manzo-Ri’s raised hand was a small stone disk, the size of a coin. Embossed on the surface was the Manzo clan’s crest, two narrowed wolf eyes gleaming on a full moon. All participants watched and listened intently, the business end of the speech finally at hand.

“The rules are simple. Three days and three nights you will spend inside the arena, pitting your skills as Dog-Nin against one another. At sunrise after the third night the first stage of the tournament will be over. To progress you must have at least ten of these on your person.”
Manzo-Ri grinned wolfishly as a murmur rippled through the crowd. Out of all seventy-eight Chunin assembled only seven would proceed to the final stages. At most.
Not giving the Dog-Nin a chance to contemplate this he moved on with the guidelines.

“How you spend those three days, or acquire the stone tokens is completely up to you. You can choose to barricade your territory and eliminate attackers, or move to a different territory and claim it as your own. You may instead decide to utilise stealth and infiltration: stealing from your enemy when they least expect it, another amiable quality in a Dog-Nin. And of course you may just choose to forsake territories altogether and do combat with any and all as it pleases you.”

Kiba smiled cruelly at the last option. He had already formulated a plan. Rig his territory with enough traps and explosives to kill anyone who stepped inside and use hit-and-run attacks on his neighbours.
Akamaru looked up at him slyly, snow speckling the brown on his ears. They were both on the same wavelength. Play it hard and heavy.
Manzo-Ri continued.

“You may even choose to broker alliances with others but remember–” the elderly Ninja warned sternly, raising one cautionary finger to emphasize his point “it is the individual with ten tokens who progresses, not every member of that team.”

Point made, Manzo-Ri wrapped up his speech, each and every Chunin and Nin-dog who stood on the snowy ramp serious and ready for the first night of violence which would undoubtedly follow.
“I will meet with those whom prove themselves worthy of progressing to the next stage in three days. I have no more time for the rest of you, only to urge you to be ready for the next tournament, assuming you survive this one. But I will leave you with one final piece of wisdom. Remember the story of Manzo’s death, and heed the lesson hidden within: Only the worthy are rewarded. Prove yourselves such!”

As he growled this last note the nine pure white dogs circled him as one before howling as a salute to all who had been chosen to participate, in particular those who would never leave Murasaka alive, before all ten figures erupted in an explosion of smoke and were gone.

With nothing to do but wait for their turn to enter the arena the Ninja started to walk around the crowd, sizing each other up or seeking out old friends and rivals.
Kiba knew no-one here. He had been but a young child when his bastard father came to the last tournament and he hadn’t been invited to come along.
And even if he had attended, he would have been too young to remember anyone here.

Already wanting to be in the arena Kiba and Akamaru started to make their way to the front of the crowd, Kiba brushing some of the still falling snow out of his long spiky hair and off his dull leather jacket’s shoulders as he went, head held high.

As he and Akamaru walked many of the other entrants watched and commented amongst themselves, parting slightly to let the duo through.
The statements and observations drifted to both through the crisp air, some hushed, while others did not even lower their voice.
“There he is. The last Inuzuka.”
“Didn’t Clan Inuzuka have red tattoos? That’s what my data stated…”
“Wow, I bet a dog that massive would be a challenge. I’ll have to seek him out.”
“So Kamigakure did send a team. Are there any others?”

Kiba and Akamaru strode up the gradient confidently, both glancing at the Ninja as they walked through the frosted assembly, eyes trailing them as they marched towards the blood torii above.
There were many types of Dog-Nin configurations represented here: a small amount, like Kiba, only brought one Nin-dog with the intention of powering through resistance.
Others brought large packs ranging between four and twelve, their strategies invariably overwhelming the enemy with a sea of teeth and claws.
Most had two dogs, which it seemed was a good number. A small enough number to focus on strength, but still able to use advanced tactics and hunting formations.

Thirty meters from the front of the assembly a voice stopped the pair, the insult scalding both of them.
“So this is the last of the Inuzuka. A pity. I was hoping for someone worthy of my attention, not some weakling with a tough-guy façade and a gangly freak of a dog.”

Suppressing the urge to beat the person to a bloody pulp momentarily Kiba and Akamaru stopped and turned around unimpressed, all nearby Ninja and dogs stopping to watch the coming events.

Before them in the bright light stood a male Ninja who at first glance could be mistaken for a samurai. Clothed in a kamishimo consisting of white kimono with black checkers around the cuffs of the sleeves and matching split hakama, the man stood tall and proudly, bearing a look of contempt in his light brown eyes.
Healthy black hair was tied in a traditional topknot, and on his feet he wore traditional tabi of white sock and travelling geta instead of the modern version which Kiba wore.
On his obi he wore a beautiful white daisho, the ornate brace of katana and wakizashi very expensive indeed. It was on his katana’s hilt where he rested his right hand, forearm crossing his body to do so.
Around his neck he wore a Ninja headband bearing the symbol of Kusagakure, the Village Hidden in Grass.

Behind the samurai stood a salt and pepper coloured dog, which could be considered large if not compared with Akamaru, reaching up to her master’s waist.
The Nin-dog looked to be in excellent physical condition and was definitely the result of highly selective breeding.
All four could sense that both she and Akamaru were roughly the same power, and the two stared at each other, ears pricked up angrily and hackles raised as their masters faced off.

Both Kiba and Akamaru stared at the newcomers for a moment before the samurai spoke again in a refined, high-class accent.
“You have no idea who I am do you?” he asked the uncouth Ninja before him, snow falling slowly between them in the light and the crowd around them growing, a circle forming around the four.
“I don’t know nobodies.” Kiba stated dismissively, turning to leave.

Rage flashed on the samurai’s face momentarily, his extended black eyebrows making him even more imposing as he spat his next words vehemently at Kiba’s back, furious at the absolute lack of respect.
“Lowborn bastard! How dare you! I am Tokugawa Kokinshu, heir of the Tokugawa Clan of Kusagakure and descended directly from the most prestigious of the eight families!”

This statement piqued Kiba’s interest. The Tokugawa were indeed one of the families who Manzo himself had selected to carry on his dynasty.
For most Dog-Nin it would have been an honour to even speak to a member of one of the families like Kokinshu, but Kiba had never cared for anyone from a prestigious family aside from Hinata.
Stopping and glancing back at the Samurai over the shoulder of his leather jacket he raised one eyebrow on an otherwise impassive face, all who stood around the snowy circle hushed.
“Is that right? What do you want?” he said, feigning boredom.
Akamaru and the mottled dog continued to stare each other down, both growling lowly in the backs of their throats.

The samurai grinned maliciously as he spoke next, having waited for this day a long time.
“My father, the honourable Lord Tokugawa Wakamaru, was your father’s opponent in the grand final of the last Dog-Nin Master Tournament. He died in that battle, killed by someone as lowborn and cowardly as some runt from your disease-ridden clan. And I am here this tournament to exact revenge on you in kind by ending the kennels of Inuzuka once and for all. Rest assured that in three days time both you and your scabby Nin-dog will be dead, and your lowborn line will never have another stable in all eternity!”

Kiba stood quietly for a moment in the snow after Kokinshu had finished, turning around fully to look the Samurai up and down before acting.
Staring Kokinshu in the eyes he roared with laughter until he hunched over, holding his side with his left hand, the other hand pointing at the Samurai as he continued his laughter, Kokinshu’s face crimson with unbelievable ire as Akamaru barked in amusement alongside his master.
Eventually Kiba controlled his laughter long enough to talk.
“If someone as poor a Ninja as Kojiro was able to kill your father, then he must have been completely talentless! A real screw-up!” More laughter, followed by another cruel attack.
“The rest of your clan must have been glad to have him so conveniently removed as Lord!”
Tears rolled down Kiba’s sapphire tattoos as some of the crowd joined him in laughing at Kokinshu. Few noticed the click of the katana being readied to draw.
“Looking at you… it makes me wonder if being a loser is genetic.” Kiba finished with mock contemplation, no longer laughing but smirking patronisingly, tear rimmed eyes taunting the Ninja across the circle from him as a final humiliation.

The flashes of steel were lightning fast, the arcs only visible as the clean katana shined with the reflection of the floodlights above.
Kiba had anticipated this and drawn two kunai, knocking each of the three blows aside, silver sparks scattering onto the stone below before they were extinguished in the cold as the fluid strikes wheeled away, steel ringing across the arena’s frosty entrance.

A few cheers went up from the ring of spectators as Kokinshu circled leftward and attacked horizontally, the sleeves of his white kimono trailing after his arms, gleaming sword humming through the air.
Kiba blocked again, the strength of the sword blow almost breaking his guard, before leaping backwards a few paces to get some room, snow drifting off his closed black jacket and flowing spiked hair.
The strength of the samurai’s blows tested Kiba’s strength, every one uncomfortably close to crashing through his guard and cleaving into flesh and bone.
Kokinshu would cut him down if close quarters combat continued for much longer. He needed to eliminate the advantage the Ninja had with his sword.

Akamaru and Kokinshu’s salt and pepper dog leapt into one another, snapping and biting as they tried to pin the other, snarls broken by yelps from both parties. Kiba called Akamaru back to his line in case Kokinshu was callous enough to take advantage of the situation and kill him.

Unhappily the long eared dog complied, trotting back to his master across the snowy stonework, not once taking his eyes off either of the figures behind him until he assumed his ready position in case Kiba decided to start the Beast Man Clone Jutsu.
“Let him be Noko. You will get your chance in a few moments.” Kokinshu said measuredly, not relaxing his ready position, katana held in front of him ready to attack or defend.
Noko sniffed once before circling back to the Ninja across the thin matting of snow over stone, hackles never dropping.

Kiba crouched low, his arms crossed in front of him and three kunai in each hand, ready to launch at his opponent. His long brown hair ran down near his jaw, the old stained headband trailing alongside the wayward spikes, both catching snowflakes anew.
Kuso, he’s powerful thought Kiba, rueful that he had made a bad situation worse through his mockery but pleased he had taken the smug bastard down a peg or two.

Both parties stood in stalemate for an eternity, the only indication that time was passing the snow that fell between them onto the stone ramp and the cheering and baying coming from the crowd around them.
The two were quite evenly matched in a straight fight; the determining factors would be their tactics and jutsu use.
Kiba was about to launch the offensive with an adapted version of the Gatsuuga Jutsu when a female voice broke the silence which had shrouded the combatants.

“Kokinshu-niisan, are you thinking of having all the fun?” the voice said cruelly in a playful fashion. Kiba glanced towards the source angrily. There better be good reason for this interruption.

Kokinshu grinned triumphantly as he relaxed from his combat stance, looking at the figure.
“Not at all, Tanka-san. Please, I would be honoured if both you and Sobi could join me this fine evening.” the Samurai said as the woman stepped into the ring, drawing cheers and hollers from the spectators, hungry for blood.

Tokugawa Tanka was shorter than her cousin but was tall for a woman of her age, only a year junior of Kiba. Her clothing was in the style of an evil Miko, her black shrine maiden robes and geta highlighted with blood red the hue of the torii which stood at the ramp’s summit. It matched her deflector’s headband, the cloth tied across her forehead tightly.
The interior of the Miko’s long sleeves housed a metallic gleam, which Kiba and Akamaru could only surmise as ranged weapons, and she carried a folded windmill shuriken across her back alongside two summoning scrolls, probably filled with sealed provisions and extra weapons to last the duration of the tournament.
Her hair was dyed blue-black and hung down around her face like a cowl, two dull silver clips breaking the sea of black above her ears.
Tanka continued to smile as she walked to her cousin’s right hand and stopped, waiting for Sobi.

With fur the colour of dried blood Sobi was admittedly a small dog, but he proudly bore scars across his face, relics from other battles where the fur would not grow back. Sparing a quick, confident glance to Noko the dog stopped and joined his counterpart in staring at Akamaru, eyes glowingly hotly.
Like Kokinshu’s own dog Sobi was well bred to the degree which few present at the tournament had access to. But the damage to his face cast a malicious light on him, showing that his violent, primal side was close to all there was to him.

Tanka smiled as the crowd cheered and barked at her, snow contrasting her dark hair which shined from the floodlights above.
No matter thought Kiba confidently, not changing his stance.
Akamaru and I can still beat all four.

Suddenly Tanka banged her fist in her hand, as if having a moment of realisation.
“You know what’s missing here, Kokinshu-niisan?” she said in mock genius, grabbing the crowd’s attention.
Kiba glared at her, quickly analysing her size, shape and scent in the hopes of finding a weakness. Akamaru joined him, the two knowing what needed to be done without communicating.
“Why, Kyoka-san is missing! We should invite him!” she exclaimed before both looked at Kiba and Akamaru, soon to be dead.
“It’s about time you let me in, I was about to leave and find some different fun!” a high pitched voice said before stifling a manic chuckle. The crowd howled in false sympathy for Kiba and Akamaru as the third member entered the circle, dancing as he walked across the side of the circle to the line where his friends waited.

The final Chunin of the Tokugawa clan to be selected to participate in the Master Tournament, Kyoka was by far the most unsettling. Shaved red regrowth covered his head closely, unable to hide the recession of an extensive cranial scar which ran along the right side of his head, above his black headband.
However the headband was not his Ninja reflector. Instead it was a tight cloth, punctuated with a small blood red handprint off center to the right above his temple.
Over his slender and blade-scarred torso Kyoka wore a dark black happi, the robe of a servant, but on the back where there should have been his clan’s symbol was the kanji for an asylum patient, a warning to everyone not to get too close.
The happi’s sleeves had ties like a straight jacket but they hung loose, trailing after his hands as he waved them. In addition the garment was open, revealing a gray armoured vest underneath. Hanging from his left forearm was his reflector, Land of Grass just like his relatives.
Black split hakama and modern Ninja tabi rounded off Kyoka’s outfit, aside from the wild blue eyes and insane grin he now wore as he stared disconcertingly at Kiba, his face quickly changing to joy, then to concentration, and again to anger as his own Nin-dog sat next to him, growling.

The final dog on the team was sized between Kokinshu’s and Tanka’s canines, the black beast growling with pointy ears pricked.
White foam poured from the beast’s mouth, everyone having stood back slightly when he had entered the ring.
Kyoka had purposefully gotten his Nin-dog rabid, making him an even greater threat during combat and playing on the fear of disease commonly harboured by opponents. While the practice sickened many there, others wondered that it did increase the dog’s offensive capabilities significantly.
Constantly delirious from its infection the dog had a hard time staying still, constantly pacing or turning around on the spot but always with it’s eyes on the enemies.

The circle grew silent, six figures on one side of the white stonework underfoot outnumbering the two on the other as more flakes drifted down out of the black night sky.
Already the spectators were anticipating the bloody scrap, some even going as far as to make wagers on how many Kiba could take down before he was incapacitated or killed.

Kiba sighed once in resignation, before standing up straight, putting away all but one of his kunai in their respective pouches.
It would seem that he would need to use his greater jutsu to defeat these punks.
But one thing was certain: they were underestimating the power of Inuzuka Kiba and Akamaru.

“What’s the matter, Kokinshu? Too weak to fight me alone?” Kiba growled, ready to create his seals in a moment and bloody the snow.
The samurai replied matter-of-factly to the upstart Inuzuka in front of him, ignoring the insulting absence of an honorific.
“Oh, I don’t see taking advantage of superior numbers cowardly. It’s really common sense. But we can’t expect a miserable loner from a village made of weaklings, refugees and people living in the past to be too knowledgeable of tactics, can we?”

Kiba clenched his teeth in anger at the remark about Kamigakure, which got laughs from some of the crowd, but stopped himself attacking blindly. For this battle he would need his wits, not a cloud of emotion.
Collect yourself, Inuzuka…

“Whatever. The insults of a spoiled dandy who likes playing dress-ups with his friends are dry and weightless.” He said, dismissing the insults flatly.

All six opposite the Kamigakure team turned to each other.
“Let me use my favourite jutsu scroll Tanka-san. Oh please tell me you got me my favourite jutsu scroll!” Kyoka said desperately to the evil Miko across from him. The dark haired woman handed him a scroll with a smirk, winking as the scarred Ninja held the roll of paper before him, snow landing along his cranial scar.
“Make a good hole in him Kyoka-kun.” she said sweetly, having seen the technique in action before.

Kyoka rubbed his hands together and smiled before biting his thumb, ready to unravel the scroll and light up the arena’s entrance, spilling the first blood even before the competition began.
A drop of crimson splashed onto the floor as Kyoka held his hand in front of him, licking a trail off his lip and savouring the copper tang.
Kokinshu stood back and smiled in satisfaction of the coming moments, his sword sheathed. The samurai had always envisioned himself killing Kiba during the tournament, but for the simpleton to be removed before the games even began was just as satisfying a thought.

In the calm before the battle, Kiba felt inexplicably confident. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a primal part of him which was slowly awakening dismissed the battle as child’s play for the Kamigakure Ninja.
Grinning, Kiba nonchalantly readied a red food pill to be tossed to Akamaru. Whatever the insane one had planned, Kiba and Akamaru would see if he laughed so once he was entombed in the stonework under his feet.

All leaned forward in anticipation.

ANBU wearing green armbands and dog or wolf masks materialised out of thin air, ready to intercept the next person to move, the aura of malice and violence which all ANBU carried appearing with them. The spectators sighed in disappointment, knowing that the entertainment was over.
The leader of the ANBU force, barely containing her urge to badly injure all involved, turned to Kiba and Akamaru and addressed them in a grating tone, the voice echoing across the circle as snow landed in her auburn hair and on her mask, the likeness of a smiling puppy.
Her tone belied the mask.

“Inuzuka Kiba and Akamaru, it is time for you to enter Murasaka. However I have been requested to remind you that should you survive the first phase of the Tournament to refrain from violence against fellow competitors outside of scheduled matches.”
That said she turned to all present, continuing as the Dog-Nin who had watched slowly dispersed, walking further along the ramp to find more entertainment until it was their time to enter.

“Consider yourselves on your first and only warning. If this happens again you will all be expelled from the tournament and escorted out of the country.” she said, angry at all participants for causing such trouble in direct disobedience of the rules.

Exasperated by the loss of his revenge but unable to act, Kokinshu looked at Kiba and spoke quietly to him, checkered sleeves flowing in a light breeze, now possible since the crowd had moved along.
“In the arena, we will seek you out. Watch your back, Inuzuka. For we will find you and end your mistake of an existence.” He said simply, glowering at his enemy.
Kiba smirked back cockily, staring Kokinshu straight in the eyes as he had done whilst insulting him before.
“Inside the arena there won’t be green clad ANBU to save you. I look forward to encountering you ALL in the streets of Murasaka.”

With that, Kiba let himself be led away from the six hateful figures and up the snowy stone ramp, his escort of displeased ANBU stopping just shy of the vermillion Torii gate. The female ANBU Captain beckoned him inside wordlessly, snow-flecked long hair trailing behind her before she disappeared into the cold shadows altogether.

Kiba and Akamaru both felt a warmth of anticipation, joy and adrenaline radiating deep within them as they crossed the threshold which the blood torii above marked out, stepping into the icy world of death and despair beyond.

The snow started to fall in earnest, capping the dark walls and buildings of the arena ahead as the luminescence of the floodlights shrank away in the face of the arena, the world tinted blue from the night’s ominous shadows, awaiting the gibbous moon’s triumph over the clouds above to free it from its oppressive lapis prison.

Following the scent of the puppy masked ANBU, Kiba and Akamaru beamed confidently as they dashed over broken building tops crisscrossed with electrical wires and along alleys strewn with trash and filled with fallen snow towards their allotted territory, already at home in the grisly city.

They were already having fun, and it hadn’t even started yet.

The coming three days were going to be a blast.

**********

Chapter Five

Date – October 18 or 19

Weather – Snow

Song listened to today – What I’ve Done by Linkin Park

The date isn’t particularly accurate but it’s pretty much midnight, and I am not fishing out my MP3 player to see the time.

The competition goes well. After trapping our Territory and leaving, Akamaru and I have skirmished my way along the inner outskirts, ambushing lone fighters and harrying the larger allied groups.

So far my chakra is holding out fine, and neither Akamaru nor myself have sustained much more than scratches. We are taking rests every six hours for one, and it seems to be working well.

I have decided to stay away from the center tower. The closer I get to the inner districts, the more dead I find strewn across the cityscape. As redundant as it is, I still check the bodies for the stone tokens. None have had any.

As of this entry I have collected six of the tokens for myself, including the one I started with. Tomorrow I will move towards the residential districts and take on the survivors there.
Hopefully I will find that bastard Kokinshu there, and we can settle our differences. Forcefully.

Heh, as I was packing up my journal a large explosion went off in the Southeast. Had to have been my territory.
Maybe I did use too many explosions, but like Iruka-san once said while in this situation: I felt as though I needed to make a point.

**********

“Okay Kokinshu-niisan, the traps are set. You and Noko get some sleep. Sobi and I will take the first watch. Hai?”

Grateful that he would be able to get two or three hours rest the Samurai merely nodded as he sat down on a battered stool, his loyal Nin-dog yawning and laying next to the dusty chair, resting a weary head on its two front paws.

Tanka and her scarred companion took up a position in the gutted corner booth of the old tea house where Kokinshu had decided they would hole up for a few hours.
The old wooden floorboards were warped unevenly from periodic exposure to the elements through the broken front windows and in places were fractured or broken, shards of the shattered pane gathering in the breaks and recessions.
The faded drywall across from the counter where the white-clad Samurai now sat was punctuated with two rusting kunai, and below these the floor was stained with old blood spilt long ago.
Time as of yet had been unable to erase the blotted circle, nor the drag lines which led into the empty backroom, snow intruding in the darkness by way of a fracture in the deteriorated building’s ceiling.
Despite the fresh air circulating through the tea house’s front room the building gave off the musty smell of dust and decay.

But none of the present Ninja were about to complain, dog or person. All were tired and had depleted their chakra greatly.
That said, the results of their combined skill were clear. Between them they had fourteen of the stone tokens, mostly a product of the successful defence of Tanka’s territory, a small square which had featured a frozen fountain, soon after finding one another in the near blizzard conditions outside.
Once it had been impossible to defend the plaza any longer they had set fire to all of the burnable structures and left, fighting their way along the outskirts. Just as all three Tokugawa Chunin had agreed upon arrival.

Looking across the filthy room Kokinshu frowned. It was the second evening and they still hadn’t met up with Kyoka.
Hopefully he hasn’t deviated from the plan, and gone into the center of town he thought, annoyed at the possibility.
That was where the fighting was thickest. Both Kokinshu and Tanka had viewed the regions surrounding the base of the tower earlier in the day, from the mantle of a rusted rooftop water tower.
Surrounding the base were obvious signs of battle. Smoking craters visible through the falling snow, the scent of blood mixing with the wet odour of the city in the wind.
And the bodies.
Whole teams of dead Ninja lay around the tower’s base, their dogs alongside them in a grotesque parody of loyalty after death, crimson pools staining the purity of the white snow.

The fools had fallen into the first trap of Murasaka: trying to claim the tower as their own territory.

There was no question: anyone who controlled the tower had a massive advantage. The entire arena was visible from its sheltered stone eaves, and one could sit back and wait for others to launch an assault.
But attempting to take this particular high ground was folly.
From the icicle draped water tower both Kokinshu and Tanka had seen that the architectural monolith had no doors on the ground floor, and no landings until well over halfway up the structure. Entry was going to be almost impossible during these three days.
Even if you ran up the tower’s side, you would stand out like August fire during your ascent, and could only expect to be picked off from afar by Ninja waiting for such recklessness and idiocy.

Sighing at the apparent stupidity of some of the lower born entrants Kokinshu brought his mind back to the matter at hand, pulling his right arm and shoulder out of his kimono before wiping a thick layer of greasy dust off the counter where he had seated himself and drawing a small tied pouch off his sash.

Wherever he was, Kyoka would be leaving a trail of blood across this city.
While Kokinshu had no problem whatsoever killing a downed opponent to spare them the shame of failure and to ensure they never became a recurrent nuisance, for Kyoka it was never a choice NOT to kill a defeated opponent, the idea of revelling in the taking of a life too good to pass up.
The man had no self control, and if it wasn’t for the insistence of Kokinshu’s uncle, currently acting as regent of the Tokugawa clan, he would have left him in the asylum, alone with his paranoia and madness.
The defeat of the enemies is one thing. But Kyoka was a loose cannon: his lust for blood and killing was never slaked, and if Kokinshu wasn’t there to direct him he would likely follow his thirst to an untimely demise.
Assuming he didn’t take either Kokinshu or Tanka down to Hell with him.

“Here Tanka-san, eat this. I prepared it before we came so it’s fresh.” Kokinshu said, throwing a sky blue pill over the broken and pitted floorboards to his cousin, who grunted in thanks before biting it in two and handing half to Sobi before both swallowed, the rust coloured dog crunching it twice.

Looking out the jagged remnants of snow frosted panes of glass toward the front of the secluded arcade Tanka had to smile to herself. The taste of wild berries lingered still. Her cousin really was a man of many talents.
She had known him to travel out into the wilderness of the Land of Grass by himself to gather the ingredients for these blue soldier pills, and then slave tirelessly over his personal alchemical bench for hours, even days, until the finished product met his extraordinarily high standards.

Slowly feeling her pathways relaxing as her chakra well filled once more she spoke to her cousin, neither her nor Sobi averting their attention from the covered alleyway outside, snow banking at it’s entrance.
“Kokinshu-niisan. Is it true that after you kill the Inuzuka that you will assume lordship of our clan?”

Kokinshu did not respond for a moment, the question lingering in the stale air of the broken tea house as the samurai thought on the question, putting his arm back through his white right sleeve after brushing the sticky dust off as best as he could so as not to stain the expensive material.
As Tanka began to think he would not answer Kokinshu stood leisurely, tying the pouch back onto his belt.

“That question has weighed long on my mind, Tanka-san. To set my father’s ghost to rest has always been my goal, first and foremost. I suppose once I go home I will challenge my uncle to a sword fight, and if I am able to defeat him I think I will be capable of leading our clan to a better future, as my father would have wanted.” The white-clad Ninja said thoughtfully before turning back towards the counter, seeing Noko asleep after having eaten her half of his own blue pill.

“But… that’s not the only reason you want to kill Inuzuka, is it?” Tanka said delicately, testing the waters on the subject she really wanted to discuss.

Kokinshu glanced at her sidewards along the counter, taking in the dark Miko before him. A few loose snowflakes hung in her black hair, Tanka too lazy to shake them loose.
He had known that Tanka of all people would have noticed. She did not wear the clothes of a shrine maiden just as a fashion statement. Her knowledge of spiritual matters was vast, and while not on mission many came to her for help with purifying the sites of deaths and suicides.

“I thought you noticed it.” He replied bluntly as Sobi pricked his ears to listen above a gust of wind which howled past the entrance of the arcade, snow whirling down the dark alleyway and collecting with the old trash.

Tanka spoke with a note of interest in her voice, never once ceasing her surveillance of the outside world.
“He has a dark presence within him. It feels to me like it has only recently made itself known, but already I can sense that this prescence has deep roots seeded in Inuzuka’s very soul.”
After watching an icicle fall into the courtyard and shatter into a sea of diamonds on white velvet with a muffled thump, she continued.
“This… darkness, it seems more like an advisor than a puppeteer, but whatever it is the taint is strong. Maybe too strong. If he is allowed to live it may take control of him.”

She turned away from the frosty window remnants for a moment, her long dark hair swaying as she looked at Kokinshu, a black eyebrow raised in interest.
“It seems your uncle was right. There is some kind of evil in that clan. Almost as if the Inuzuka know Death well, like an old friend or a close confidante. It is a good thing we’re going to put him down.”

Tanka turned her attention to the arcade once more, brushing some dust from her black sleeve.
“You introduce me to the most interesting people, Kokinshu-niisan. Now get some rest. Kyoka-san is still out there, and the sooner we find him the better.”

**********

Back in the Land of Ghosts a great howling gale of rain lashed Kozu Mountain, the supercooled droplets punishing the ancient stone and the inhabitants within as the temperature dropped below zero.

The residents of Kamigakure shivered in the freezing streets, the damp atmosphere within the cavern they called home only adding to the great freeze.
Still water froze outdoors and the gray and black mournful buildings were as cold as their lifeless appearances suggested.
All wore their warmest clothing if they were forced to venture outdoors, away from their warm hearth or heaters, and for once the city was as quiet as it’s tormented heart, save for the odd sound of industry which continued despite the coldest days the Second Founding had experienced in their new home.

*****

Deep within Akiko Temple, down a small hallway off of the Grand Hallway stood Shizune’s office.
The small room, furnished with a modest desk, some chairs and a small personal filing cabinet and scroll stand, had once been a private meditation chamber. It was due to the positive energy circulating through the square room that the former aide to the Fifth Hokage had chosen it, so that she may dispel stress or anxiety from her stressful work when it became too much.

Such as it had now, after Kakashi and herself told Team Fifteen of Kiba’s condition, having deemed it necessary to have more watching Inuzuka Kiba, lest Iruka fail in his duty.

The three figures marched out of the office and into the Grand Hallway once the briefing had finished and surveillance orders had been issued, passing the statues of the former masters as they walked towards the tunnel’s end, a light only barely outshining the flickering torches in the corridor emanating from the freezing village.

If not for the raised voices of two of the Ghost-Nin the footsteps would have been easily audible, as the carved stonework conducted the thin air of the chill perfectly.

“How can you not agree with me? It is obvious: Kiba is a threat and needs to be destroyed.” Yuriko spat, only barely looking sideways at Tsuboro as she walked, her twin brown ponytails joined by a black and silver plaid scarf which complimented her usual pants, crisscrossed with jagged silver lines.

“We do not know that he is a threat! Besides, death is a little extreme when there are other alternatives!” Tsuboro’s normally quiet voice rasped in retort, his cloudy eyes narrowed in anger as he glared kunai at his teammate.

Yuriko stopped and turned on Tsuboro, hair and scarf trailing slightly before she stabbed an exposed finger at the thin Ninja. Her words rode on frost as they emerged from her mouth.
“Were you even listening in there?! If this is so important that the grandmaster of Kamigakure’s ANBU and one of our prominent elders felt it necessary to bring us into the fold, then it is definitely not the time for a soft touch on the issue, regardless of who they speak of!”

The sickly thin Ninja with greasy dreadlocks had halted mere centimetres from Yuriko, staring her directly in the eyes.
“Don’t you DARE try and take the high road on this! We all know that this is just an excuse to push your own vendetta, Yuriko.” He finished accusingly and without honorific, citing her hatred of both Kiba and Hinata.

Even after having known him so long Yuriko was forced to break eye contact with the Ominari, a deep primal disgust which all humans share of the sickly and frail overpowering the knowledge that he wasn’t contagious.

“Get away from me.” Yuriko said, shoving Tsuboro back the way they had travelled, her exposed fingertips freezing as they had rested for the briefest of moments on his exposed chest, his trademark gi looser than normal.
She had forgotten that he couldn’t feel the cold. Here he stood after regaining his balance, wearing his normal attire and geta in this great freezer of a corridor, body as cold as ice. But she didn’t care right now.
Flicking beaded greasy dreads out of his face Tsuboro was about to walk back to Yuriko and continue berating her when a gray sap glove grabbed his bony bicep.

“Hey! Now I’ve stayed out of this up to this point but will you both kindly shut the hell up?” Burai intoned aggressively, his low growl echoing along the chiselled stones of the corridor as he held Tsuboro in place.
Yuriko averted her gaze at the attention of her immediate anger and looked to Burai.

Over the years Itae Burai had continued his extreme strength training and diet micromanagement, making him a powerhouse of a Ninja even though he was still short. However he had taken great care to keep up his Taiso training, the flexibility exercises ensuring that he did not become muscle bound and limited in his arcs of movement

Biceps bulged under his unzipped gray training parka and a complete washboard of abdominal muscles and pectorals of stone rippled under the grey tank top which was exposed to the periodic torches along the corridor. Wine red gym pants hung over his black Ninja tabi, cloaking legs which were hard as steel. And of course his ever-present gray sap gloves and bicep seated reflector finished his attire.

To make himself more fearsome, and to bring him close to normal height, Burai had fashioned his dark copper hair into a great Mohawk with shaved sides over the years, the back of which hung long and ended between his shoulder blades, currently sitting over the folded hood of the parka. When he moved the tall style swayed with his movements before righting itself.

Playing peacekeeper again, Burai started by talking sense into them, one at a time.
“Whatever decision is made by the Council of Elders is what action we will be taking. Yuriko-chan, whatever your personal feelings on the matter may be, you cannot disobey the Council. And Tsuboro-san,” Burai said in a still slightly heated tone as he looked up at his oldest friend, “I understand that he saved your life, alongside Hinata-san and Iruka-san. But if he is deemed a threat then you too must listen to the council and-”

“That is what blinds his judgement, Burai-san. He feels a loyalty to Inuzuka for saving his life, and in my opinion he may falter in his duty to Kamigakure because of this.” Yuriko interrupted, her accusing tone echoing down the hallway.

To Hell with all of this tiptoeing around her feelings Tsuboro thought, his white-hot rage leading the charge as he broke free from Burai’s grasp and imposed his wiry frame over Yuriko.
“I have had to endure years of strained relations with both you and the Inuzuka family because of your hatred, but I will NOT be insulted by you for it.” He said in a dark tone.

Too late, Burai saw where he was headed but could do nothing to prevent the fallout which followed.

His breath hanging mid air as he spoke in a blind rage, Ominari Tsuboro made the most hurtful statement of his life.

“You blame Kiba and Hinata for Shino’s death. But it wasn’t them. It was you. You let Shino die, no-one else. And I will not stand here idly while you try and blame away the blood on your hands with another’s life.”

“YOU BASTARD!” Yuriko screamed as she punched Tsuboro straight in the face with all of her force, face twisted in rage and pain, tears already welling. Another blow would have followed but Burai’s steely arms wrapped around her own, pinning them next to her body as the Mohawked Ninja held her still from behind.

Tsuboro crashed to the freezing stone floor, blood trickling from his nose and lip a testament to the strength of the blow.
Sitting up after a moment and touching his face to see if he had been injured the sickly man saw blood on his fingers. To have been made to bleed from one blow would have been impressive at any other time, having extremely deep blood vessels from his Dead Flesh.
But now it had helped him make up his mind.

“LET ME GO!” Yuriko shouted at Burai, writhing in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.
“Both of you CALM DOWN!” the short Ninja yelled, looking around Yuriko’s side to glare at Tsuboro as he stood, a crimson line of blood trailing down his chin.
Way to go too far, baka! Burai thought to himself, mad at Tsuboro’s willingness to tread through the one area all knew was taboo just to strengthen his argument.

Gravelly voice booming down the Grand Hallway, Tsuboro started down the statue lined corridor towards the Shrine of Ghosts, shouting over his shoulder as he strode.
“That does it. I’ve had enough of your selfish want to put your sorrow above friends, old and new. As of now I refuse to work with you!”

Breaking from her teammate’s grasp Yuriko strode off in the opposite direction, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. At that moment she hated Tsuboro for dredging up some of the most painful memories of her life.

“Fine! Team Fifteen is finished!”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

“FINE!”

A stupefied Burai stood between the two before bellowing down the hallway in both directions.
“HEY!”

“Don’t follow me Burai!” came the answer from both ends of the freezing stone corridor as the figures disappeared, leaving him completely alone.

Burai had never been so angry. His rage at both of his friend’s stupidity bubbled over.
With a loud roar the Ninja lashed out at a stone statue in its intricate alcove, destroying the master’s head with one strike from his sap gloved right hook.
Still pissed at what the stubbornness of both his friends had brought about he kicked the statue, alternating shins making short work of the solid stone as his Mohawk swayed from side to side with his blows, shards and chunks crunching to the floor.

The ancient carving now nothing but pieces of stone littering the torch-lit hallway Burai booted a large piece of torso far into the darkness where Tsuboro had disappeared.

Both of you are stupid teme. You would throw away a friendship which has spanned over ten years just like that. And maybe what someday may have been more than a friendship…

He had seen through his actions that Tsuboro liked Yuriko, and had even discussed it with him once while both were drinking on the roof of Akiko Hotel while not on mission.
Tsuboro had grown fond of her a few years following their reunion in Kamigakure because she was one of the very few women who wanted to know him past his appearance.
But it was more than that. He respected her as a Ninja, having worked so closely with her and seeing her skills applied so skilfully. And she had, except for times in her grief and matters which involved the Inuzuka clan, been genuinely happy to know him and want to hang out with him.

He had not done anything on the issue for fear of making things awkward in the face of a rejection, and with his low self esteem he thought it the only possible course of action. Not to mention that he knew that she still grieved heavily for Shino.

But now it seemed that none of that meant a damn for the Ominari. Now both he and Burai himself would be reassigned, and Yuriko would likely push to be inducted into the ANBU, now that her team was disbanded.

Deeply saddened by what he had just seen Burai walked back towards town, his black tabi echoing along the Grand Hallway in the cold, puffs of frosty exhaled breath lighting up in the torchlight as he left.

**********

The lifeless shell city known as Murasaka showed its true personality at night: the snow drifted streets, debris riddled alleyways and icicle spined ruins donned a shroud of deep blue shadows, each seeming to move or shift ever so slightly as one’s gaze passed across it.
Murasaka guarded those who chose to hunt their fellow competitors, and each shaded awning or pitch black alleyway potentially concealed an enemy, ready to descend upon you with claws extended and fangs bared.

So had learned Haraite Naho, who now lay in a seated position against the front wall of a beaten old Taijutsu dojo in the fortified semi-industrial area six blocks from the city gates.
The purple stealth clothing Naho wore hid her in the shadows which were strong against the building and blurred her unmoving form with the old wood panels at her back, now sticky with blood. Not even the stained white bandages which tied down her leggings so the kunoichi could run quietly could be seen, not unless the searcher knew where she had been propped.
A Hidden Mist protector tied neatly through her dark blonde hair, the moon not finding the purchase it needed to shine from the metal because of the jutting roof above.
The longest strands which she leaned upon were matted into brackish crimson, the stain encroaching upon her violet right sleeve. Underneath, the arm had ceased to function.

Shivering from the enveloping cold, Naho clutched a small white bundle to her chest sadly, dead arm placed loosely across to shield it from the breeze which carried ever present crystal flakes past her to bank along the street, having since cleared the smoke and it’s acrid smell.

She was dying. A great hole ran straight through her chest, puncturing the now tarrish folded purple cloth and burrowing through her right lung which had since collapsed, exposing an ivory rib to the freezing air.
As she sat on the battered, lonely deck tears of pain and horror froze on her deathly white cheeks, the seventeen year old knowing her fate already.

But even now while her life force guttered it was not herself she cried for.
Marumaru is dead...

Another fresh tear fell as Naho held the small white dog close, her blood matting it’s lifeless fur as she weakly stroked his head with her left hand, just as she had so many times before when he had been alive.

Her one comforting thought was that Marumaru’s death had been instantaneous. A precise killing blow behind the head, it had been over before he had known they were under attack.
Unlike the horrible agony she was now forced to endure.
But that was her karma, and a fair trade.
If she had to have seen him in pain, heard him yelp and scream and writhe, Naho would have died hating herself, cursing the day she was born for what she had been responsible of.

Not that it matters now.

Marumaru is dead, and I will soon follow.

Through the haze of the cloaked midnight light a figure crunched through the fallen snow along the claustrophobic alley of a street the dojo faced onto, followed by a dog. It took a moment for the young kunoichi’s mind to register that her murderer had come back.

Black ties drifted behind long sleeves which trailed after the movements of his arms like a shadow blurred with its owner, and a black headband with an off centre bloody handprint caught a few of the snowflakes on it’s cusp, as did the deep cranial scarring he bore.
He still reeked of the weapon he had used on Naho.

“Well, I am truly impressed! You’re still alive!” Kyoka exclaimed in happiness for Noho as a shadow of a dog materialised next to him, shaking the powder off as he joined the pair under the awning.

Turning to his partner the insane man scruffed his jet creature, which had stopped foaming for the time being.
“You won the bet fair and square, Tsukku. When we find Kokinshu-sama, I’ll ask him to buy you something nice.” He said, a faint breeze which found it’s way along the tiny street blowing Kyoka’s unbuttoned happi open. Tsukku growled angrily at him in response, believing his logic undeniable from the start.

In the obscure light Naho could see a myriad of scars across Kyoka’s exposed shoulders and chest, at least in the spaces between the plates of the armoured vest. The scars were various ages and sizes, but close to all of them were unmistakably self-inflicted.
Tokugawa Kyoka truly was a madman.

Kneeling next to the defeated Ninja Kyoka rifled through her robes and pouches roughly, his search eventually yielding the square token he had expected, as well as a packet of Maple Rogues and matches which he had not.

“Well well...” Kyoka said in mock admonishment, drawing one of the cigarettes from it’s tan packet and lighting it with struck match, inhaling deeply.
“Please pardon my rudeness if I don’t share, but these things will kill you.” Kyoka said in genuine concern before sitting next to Naho, an unintelligible whisper passing her lips as she wished him gone so she may pass in peace.

After a few long draws Kyoka smiled at his new friend, her head lolling towards him slightly as she continued to stare in helplessness, a faint trickle of blood and spittle drooling from her blue lips. Looking back at her above a warm smile were portals of madness, opened long ago by some unimaginable horror and now beyond hope of ever being closed.

“You know, I’ve collected thirty one of these coins now, including yours.” He began, Tsukku wandering a short distance from the cover of the awning to look for anything edible, white immediately speckling the black Nin-dog.
“But out of all of the people who have tried to kill me here at this tournament, you are the most polite. I mean look at you. You’re listening to me and not butting in once. It’s nice. You’re really easy to talk to.”

Finishing the cigarette between his fingers Kyoka flicked the butt into the street, embers scattering as it hit the far wall. No one around to tell him not to the Grass Ninja drew another, revelling in the forbidden luxury he was not afforded in the Asylum before putting an empty arm around his neighbour’s shoulder. The kunoichi could do nothing to shrug him off, slowly drifting to the abyss as more blood trickled from her mouth and nose.
“I like you. A lot.” Kyoka said shyly, a faint grin hinting at Naho fleetingly. “I would propose to you, but Kokinshu-sama didn’t give me a ring. Or did he...”

A quick search of his kunai pouch revealed nothing.
“Nope, sorry.” Kyoka said, not sounding apologetic at all before shrugging happily.
“Well, if anyone asks let’s just lie and say you do have one, but you don’t wear it because it’s a terrible colour. Okay?” he said, turning to look at the pretty young woman in his arm.

Naho was dead, having finally drifted into blissful oblivion. At the end she had lost all of her senses, the only awareness she had a memory, before finally that drifted away too.
Laughing and playing with friends as a child, Marumaru barking and running alongside happily.

Frowning at this, the near bald Ninja released her and stood, slowly scratching his chin in puzzlement for a moment.
“Hey... it’s very rude to die while I’m talking to you!” he said, face mirroring how hurt he had been by her actions.

The following backhand sent the former Kunoichi through the old wooden raining which stood just past her feet and out into the street before she crashed through the warehouse wall opposite, droplets of the blood which had pooled underneath her trailing after.
Much of the wall and some of the roof collapsed after her, the din of clattering wood and iron resounding for some distance through the blue stained night.

Hearing Kyoka on the wind Tsukku ran back after bolting down part of an old fence, tail wagging once he saw they were about to move off.
Aware of his return Kyoka turned to leave, squinting slightly against the haze of white which further blotted out the moonlight, coat blowing freely in the freezing wind.

Something inside the old warehouse caught his eye, a faint glow emanating through the new entrance Naho had made. Stopping, Kyoka looked again, peering into the depths of the warehouse. Definitely something.
“What is this? An engagement gift?” Kyoka asked Naho excitedly, stepping over her corpse which lay amid broken remnants of wall and buckled sheet metal, the darkness reaching out to grasp him as he walked, footsteps on concrete echoing throughout the room.

Far inside of the empty warehouse was a rectangular glow, red light shimmering in it’s bed of black. A kunai appearing in his hand, Kyoka looked through the warehouse for enemies in hiding. Nothing, not a sight, sound or smell. They were alone.
Looking down for a moment Tsukku confirmed the diagnosis with a bark, slavering slightly as he sniffed the unswept concrete.

Moving forward, both Ninja and dog eventually approached the source of the light, glowing red like a baleful sunrise.
Next to what should have been the foreman’s office stood an unassuming door, it’s red lambent outline cast by a light shining behind.
Cautiously Kyoka and Tsukku reached the office, mysterious door just a step away. Only a moment passed in hesitation before the door swung open, a noisy metallic creak filling the room.

A steam-filled shaft walled with slick concrete stretched into darkness beneath the pair, rusting and broken metal rungs bolted into the opposite wall. Once it must have been a ventilation tunnel for something far below, but long had it sat forgotten among the untended ruins.
Up above, a slowly turning fan perched behind thin iron bars covered in condensation, the patch rusted old mechanism slowly circulating the humid air in the accessway. Impenetrable black dwelled eternally within the long stack which reached skyward, the stand that the lazy blades seemed to rest upon, themselves further heating the tunnel with their motor temperature.
Installed just above the door through which the two leaned was a humming red light, bathing the entire vent with a supernatural glow, but it was no longer the light but the writing which interested Kyoka and Tsukku the most.

Stencilled hastily on the left wall was a downward pointing arrow, followed by the phrase ‘TO THE UNDERWORLD’ written in black. The bottom of each of the letters and the blade of the arrow ended in permanent drips, the paint having bled down the wall somewhat when fresh. In the red light the paint looked even darker than black, almost outdoing the lightless areas of the vent with their negative vibe.

Kyoka stared into the darkness for the longest time before eventually realising what he felt: happiness.

Somehow this shaft felt comforting to the Tokugawa, like a garden path leading home after a long journey or teammates closing in on a kill, beckoning you to join them...

This tunnel beckoned so.

Gathering the chakra in his feet the short haired Ninja picked up his dog and descended into steam and black, the red light almost seeming to become absorbed by his dark shirt and leggings until he was gone.
The tracks in the snow, Naho’s still form with blood trail and an extinguished wick which lay near his cigarette butt on the veranda of the dojo remained the only signs of his passage.

*****

They were enough for Kiba to find.

Fresh and pumped with adrenaline from a successful assault three territories over Kiba had smelt the acrid smell of cigarettes on the wind, his senses far keener than the great white dog which he rode.
Through the blue shadowed streets of the fortified suburb he steered Akamaru, over a snowdrift and down the small street on his way to the source of the smell, stopping a little away from the Taijutsu dojo.

As he dismounted the wind picked up again, blowing his long spiky hair forward and obscuring the sapphire tattoos on his cheeks, almost invisible against the blue shadows of Murasaka.
Here the smell was strong, but standing alongside it was the all too familiar wet smelling signature of spilt blood as well as something else of a slightly burnt chemical persuasion, very separate to the tobacco.

Simultaneously he spotted the tracks in the snow. Coupled with the damning smell of the smokes it meant that someone was getting careless. Hiding one’s passage was one of the most basic tenets of a Ninja.

Kiba narrowed his eyes in suspicion. This situation seemed like a trap.
Stretching out with all of their senses Kiba and Akamaru became one with the street. Every shaded nook and pitch black building was analysed, searched out from afar and found empty aside from snow and darkness.

They were the only living beings in the immediate area, and there were no traps about.
There were two bodies though, and coupled with the fresh made tracks it was obvious that two competitors had met here, two teams of Ninja and dog. And one had lost.

Satisfied they had a moment to investigate Kiba and Akamaru walked down the street, careful not to disturb the snow more than could be filled quickly by that which still fell from the dark void of the sky, even moonlight barely able to shine through.
Crossing over the broken pieces of railings and the blood trail which was being ignored for the time being the pair came to the sources of the chemical smells, Kiba kneeling next to them on the warped floorboards as Akamaru leaned in and peered at them, the great white dog exhaling frost through it’s nostrils.

A cigarette butt had been ground into the floorboard, black ash scraped in a line under the crushed filter. Next to it was the discarded wick.

Both Ghost-Nin looked at each other. The stiff length was the source of the unfamiliar smell, which had attracted Kiba’s attention first, alongside the tobacco smoke.
It reeked of burnt wax and accelerants unpleasantly, and had only recently become cold, within ten minutes.

Not sure what to make of it, both left it alone and turned to the pool of near frozen blood which shared the Dojo balcony with them, blue-black light hiding it’s true colour. Reaching down, Kiba touched the pool with two bare fingers and smelled the tarlike ichor, careful that none of the sticky strands mired his battered leather jacket.

Lifeblood. Belonging to a... female... younger than me. Between fifteen and twenty. Judging from the coagulation rate, including the freeze process... five minutes since the body was moved.

Akamaru had followed the trail of rogue droplets and strands down through the ruins of the wooden safety rail and across the street, the lines and dots difficult to pick against the snow by sight alone but strong scented.
As Kiba wiped the tacky gore off his fingers Akamaru barked from the other side of the road, long white hair collecting snow.

A body. Not surprising... we both smelt it on our way past. thought Kiba as he stepped towards the destroyed wall across the road from where he now stood, unconsciously following the trail of red dots and dashes before he stepped over the wall remnant and inside, his face white around his blue tattoos from the freezing cold.

Akamaru had already searched the warehouse for enemies upon entering ahead of Kiba and immediately reported the fresh scent of an intruder, obviously whomever killed the Ninja.
Hearing this as he stepped into the vague light which came through the collapsed area of roof the brown haired Ninja smelled deeply, immediately recognising the mixture of sweat and cigarette smoke as if a signature.

Akamaru confirmed it. The insane Ninja who had wanted to fight him before the competition. Tokugawa Kyoka.

Fresh adrenaline coursed through Kiba’s veins, sending a wave of freeze from head to toe as he saw the opportunity to be rid of one of the smug baka. Maybe more, if the clumsy trail of destruction led back to the others.
He took a single step into the dark on Kyoka’s trail when he kicked something amongst the recent made debris.

Pinned face down underneath a snapped wooden roofing beam and rusted corrugated iron was the corpse of a young kunoichi, her blonde hair matted with blood and frozen over her stained purple stealth suit.
Next to her, almost completely obscured by the rubble was a small Nin-dog, also dead. Frozen white fur showed from between the gaps between metal and wood, snow fall starting to obscure the small tomb as it drifted on the chill winds through the damaged roof.
Akamaru whined once looking down at the pair, buried in their cairn of fallen roofing.
“Yeah, terrible to die so young.” Kiba said detachedly, hauling the young girl free and checking her robes for a stone coin. Nothing, but he hadn’t expected to find one.
“But that’s the life of a Ninja, is it not?” he asked before laying her respectfully on the warehouse floor and putting one of her kunai gripped in both hands over her chest.
Akamaru agreed as he watched Kiba take an explosive note and stuff it into a pocket within his worn old jacket, still zipped up tightly.
No use letting these things go to waste, the long haired dog thought.

Standing upright, Kiba looked down at the bloody kunoichi unemotionally.

NICE KILL, HUH?

The words made Kiba’s blood run cold, the hairs on his neck standing on end. It took him a moment to realise that the phrase had not come from without, but within his mind. A foreign tangent which he had not authorised, bursting from a dark corner of his thoughts.

What the Hell is this?! he thought in shock, waiting for an answer. None was forthcoming, the silence of his thoughts and muffled ambience of Murasaka the only semblance of a reply.
Seeing an almost frightened look upon his master’s face Akamaru looked to Kiba and cocked his head in concern, having stoped mid-step on the unswept concrete floor.

“Uh... nothing... let’s go Akamaru. Maybe we can still catch this punk.” The Inuzuka said hesitantly, walking ahead of the great canine and into pure darkness, the smell of Kyoka’s passing clear as if the path was lit with torches.
Work helped put the voice out of his mind, at least for the time being.

Through the warehouse’s empty belly they walked, trying to anticipate their quarry’s movement until they saw it. The red rimmed door hidden next to the foreman’s office, blood glow beckoning them forward disconcertingly.

Kiba stopped next to his Nin-dog, the red bathing his jacket and face gently, reflecting from his wide eyes.
“What in the world...” he muttered under his breath, not liking the doorway hidden in the shadows at all. Akamaru remained silent in the face of their discovery but shared the discomfort, his white fur stained scarlet.

From the simple doorway a great sense of foreboding came over the pair, the feeling only growing during the minutes that both stood immobile, until the aura of pure dread which surrounded that place reached their very cores. The doorway felt evil, tainted with malice and torture, but it also felt so much worse.

A crimson gateway to Hell stood before them, almost reaching out to claim the two mere mortals who stood before it.

Kiba wanted to take Akamaru and leave. To turn and walk away, fighting those still above, and to abandon Kyoka to whatever death was in store for him down there. Anything but enter that unholy gate.

But he couldn’t. Kyoka undoubtedly had many of the stone tokens with him, as the blonde kunoichi had been evidence of. And defeating him would send a message to the other Tokugawa, not to mess with Clan Inuzuka.

With a great sense of unease Kiba swung the steel door inwards, the hot air issuing forth blowing Akamaru’s fur and his own brown mane gently, little comfort despite the cold outside.
The blood red tunnel stretched down into the black via the haze of steam, rusting and broken rungs on the far side useless for descent.

It was down where Kiba and Akamaru smelt the chemical cocktail of cigarettes, sweat and whatever the wick had been from.

Reading the painted phrase on the condensation covered wall, Kiba gritted his teeth unhappily, his great white Nin-dog seeing it at the same time.
To the Underworld?

He had a very bad feeling about this.

But bad feelings or no, that was where they were going.

Gathering all of their courage Kiba and Akamaru jumped down into the steam-filled darkness, banking off the walls to slow their descent. The humming red light and slowly turning fan slowly disappeared into the distance above.

Little did Kiba know his father Kojiro had made this very descent, twenty years ago to the day.

**********

**********

Date – October 18 or 19

Weather – Still heavy snow, maybe escalated to a blizzard

Song listened to today – Knights of Cydonia by Muse

*Narrator’s Note: skipped ahead in the entry*

After descending to the bottom of the shaft the sense of malice so overbearing before no longer weighs upon me. Whether it has dissipated into the caverns of the Underworld or merely that it is so prominent here I can no longer judge what is normal and what is not, I do not know. But something here… feels familiar. I can’t explain.

If anyone finds this entry please give it to my wife and children, of the Inuzuka Clan from Kamigakure, for I am dead.

Minoruko and Satoroshi – Make me proud by becoming great Ninja and keeping House Inuzuka alive. I will watch over you both and keep you safe, even if I have to tear the afterlife asunder to do so.

Hinata – Know that I love you beyond reckoning, and that when you join me in the abyss I will be standing at the gates, waiting with open arms.

**********

The view of Murasaka’s outer city was normally quite pretty at night. Lights from quaint houses, taverns and hotels shone out over the green gardens and stone roads which ran the frosty ring around the arena in the center, tranquil city of warm lights a stark contrast to the grimy cesspool of death which sat at its core.

Tonight however, Hinata could see nothing but a few lit buildings through the near-blizzard snow which tumbled past the rail of her room’s balcony, a small slanted awning above-head which had been replaced only weeks before in readiness for the affluent guests the Tournament always brought keeping her dry.

Clothed in a sleeveless light pink night dress with delicate straps Hinata leaned against the polished wooden rail as she peered through the obscure darkness towards the arena, straining to see anything with her naked eye.
Hinata’s long, healthy hair sat neatly down the silken material of the dress, both reflecting the gentle glow of the hotel room which played down her back, and goose bump covered skin was cast in a tone just shy of her Hyuuga eyes, near white from the cold and current lack of strong light.

But even now as she was, dressed for sleeping, a kunai pouch remained tied around her pale thigh where the short gown ended. Despite the truce which all Ninja seemed on the surface to be obeying for the Tournament, a deep sense of unease dwelled inside her. And Hinata had learned long ago to trust in her feelings.
This was the Land of Lightning after all. The country which had tried to kidnap her as a child to learn the secrets of her Byakugan. And even though it was all reportedly water under the bridge she refused to be caught unprepared, the black holster a small comfort to her as she exhaled fleeting mist into the darkness.

Not that she cared much about the cold. Training in Water Elemental Jutsu will anneal anyone to low temperatures.
Even so, I should be getting inside. As used as I am to these kinds of temperature, I will catch something if I stay out here Hinata thought as she stared into the night, only barely aware of her body sending signals that it needed warmth.

Yet she did nothing about it.
Her thoughts dwelled with Kiba and Akamaru, both somewhere in the arena.

I promised them both I wouldn’t worry...

But the words had been easy to speak while her husband had been there, holding her in a warm embrace. Now that she was all alone Hinata’s darkest fears surrounded her, stabbing her over and over with chills of fear and uncertainty, especially whenever a faint explosion echoed outward across the starless night from the arena.

It wasn’t the not knowing which was the worst, she had decided.
No, it was the knowledge that there would be no knowing until the competition was over, and the battered and bloody survivors paraded through the gate. That she could not help her love at all. That all she could do was hope, and pray, and wait.

Looking over her shoulder Hinata heard nothing but silence from the pastel coloured hotel room behind her. Minoruko and Satoroshi had been asleep for hours in their room, separate from her own, and Iruka was still out drinking in the hotel’s bar.

Faint music drifted up through the swaying snowfall, reaching her as she unconsciously held herself loosely for warmth, finding little.
Dim amber broken by the shadows of the bar’s patrons reached out dimly onto the snow surrounding the hotel and joined that from windows and doorways of nearby buildings far below.
They stood as sole reminders that the rest of the city had not been claimed by the never ending snowfall and become just another casualty of this foul night.

Iruka-san...

Why he had not left in search of entertainment before tonight was beyond the purple haired kunoichi. Iruka had barricaded himself in the hotel rooms with Hinata and her children since Kiba and Akamaru had departed, and had only gone to the bar when she had ordered him to get out of the apartment and have a good time.
It was not like him at all. In fact, to say he looked like he had something troublesome on his mind would be a gross understatement. The normally jovial Ninja was quiet and morose, sitting in his room for hours at a time and staring into nothing, consumed by this burden he refused to talk about.

Any other time and Hinata would have marked it down to another break-up. It happened from time to time, and the bearded Ninja would mope for days as he worked through his scattered emotions with more alcohol than usual. But this was very different, on some level she just could not quite put her finger to. It was almost reminiscent of his mood which had characterised the months following the destruction of Konoha.

Coming back from such difficult memories Hinata sighed sadly. Sleep had been elusive since the competition had started, her worries about Kiba and just being in this of all countries denying her any but a scarce scattering of hours.

And even though she hid it well, Hinata knew that Minoruko was worried too.

*****

Readying herself, Minoruko took one last look across the hotel room at her sleeping brother. Satoroshi hadn’t moved for over an hour, spiky purple hair sticking over the drawn thick blanket he had been given. An hour was a long time to wait just to confirm he was asleep, but Satoroshi had an uncanny knack for disrupting his older sister and making her return to her body prematurely.
Finally convinced that he was not waking anytime soon, the young girl lay back on the hotel bed and quieted her mind, getting comfortable before ceasing all movement, laying with her hands by her sides.
The glowing bedside clock had earlier told her it was past two in the morning, but sleep was not a problem. She was too excited and scared to sleep. Had been since the tournament started.

I want to leave my body…

Over and over the long haired student repeated her desire, awareness of her body slipping away gradually until it no longer even registered as a thought, numb. It was then she envisioned herself standing next to the bed, looking down upon her own tattooed face and long brown hair, slightly unruly up the top. She held the thought in the focus of her mind, staring at her own body as it lay on the cream coloured quilt until she felt a jolt, like a weak electric shock.

She stood in the hotel room, outside of herself. As always, the room seemed to increase exponentially in detail. Her favourite shale gray shirt with red long sleeves showed the areas which had faded or where stains had been removed. The pastel tones of the room spoke of fresh application.
And as always her silver cord ran from her Astral self to her dormant form, the bluish white cord connected to her navel on both ends.

With the briefest of acknowledgement that she had succeeded, the little girl set to work.

***

During her more peaceful freetime, when she and Satoroshi weren’t training, Minoruko had been travelling to her father astrally. Astral travel had been something she had been doing for almost a year, first crossing to the lowest realm after a solid week of extended physical training with her class.
At first travelling to the astral realm had scared her somewhat, but Kiba and Hinata had asked Ino-Sensei to explain it to her when she voiced her fears to them. The blond woman’s words and the select experiences she had chosen to share with the young girl had put her at ease with this newfound ability, and encouraged her to continue doing it.

From time to time Minoruko would talk to Miss Yamanaka about Astral Travel and ask more questions, but for the most part she was content to handle it herself. After all, nothing in the realms could do anything more than frighten her, and she could never become lost, thanks to the silver cord which all living beings in the realm had connecting them to their body.

***

As much as she had been able, Minoruko had joined Kiba in the arena astrally. Standing alongside he and Akamaru as they battled the other competitors, surveying his form in battle, watching as the pair formulated tactics and strategies to outwit those around them; she was learning every minute she travelled with him. An opportunity like this was rare, and the kunoichi-in-training was not passing it up.
But it was not all about learning new tricks. She wanted to help her father, to watch over him as he fought some of the strongest Ninja he’d ever had to face, and just by being there, by watching over him, she felt that she was making a difference. And that in turn brought her peace of mind.

When she was ready to begin she would imagine herself at the top of Murasaka Tower, the speed of thought bringing her instantly to her destination, cord trailing after her back to her body as she stood on the angled chainlink safety barrier, snow drifting slowly past on the wind as it fell earthbound, each flake clearly definable if one chose to stop and look for a time.

The astral realm was different from the mundane world in this sense. Colours were so much more vibrant. Everything seemed intricately detailed, and a moment’s concentration on an object would yield it’s myriad of colours, it’s exact number of bumps and ridges and even it’s history. An icicle hanging from a rusting gutter could seem like an entire universe of internal fractures, bubbles and swirling blues and greens, each and every additional layer of frozen water separate from the others.

The tower served as a good staging area for finding Kiba. Once there she would focus her attention on locating him until she felt him, a force like a beacon telling her where he was. She would follow it until she found him, trudging through snow clogged streets or riding Akamaru into battle against an enemy.

She would stay with him for as long as she could, until either something in the mundane world roused her from her travels or something frightened her. While it didn’t happen much, some of the lower astral entities could still scare her from time to time, making her forget she could not be harmed in this form and disrupting her journey.

Today, the feeling Minoruko received guided her down the tower’s spiralling staircase, onward and deeper than the foundations of the buildings above, until she emerged into a cavern. Not pausing she flew down a smaller tunnel for an age, passing another figure on her way until she reached a ladder to the surface.
There sat her father, long spiky hair trailing over his headband, beaten old jacket zipped tight, faded black jeans over his tabi. Akamaru was waiting patiently as Kiba drew out his battered diary and began to write, wiping down a piece of condensation beaded wall to use as a rest for the book.
As she watched Minoruko sensed his great unease at being down here, a deep seated fear which showed in his stance and travelled to his eyes unconsciously as he wrote, the words not calming him like she knew they normally would. This was no good.

Floating close, Minoruko stayed close to her father.
Tou-san…
As she stayed with him she saw him slowly become relaxed, more like his normal self.
Unblinking, she felt a sense of fulfilment. She had alleviated his fears. Merely by being with the pair astrally she was helping.

Finishing up, Kiba put the book away and stood, clearly ready to give chase to an opponent who had passed recently. Minoruko followed.

*****

Having brushed the surface of her memories of Konoha Hinata stared blankly into the night, faraway in thoughts and recollections.
It was great that Minoruko was so close to Kiba. Hinata had for the most part been denied such a relationship with her own father Hiashi. He always had other things to do for the betterment of Clan Hyuuga, and coupled with her being a late bloomer in regard to her abilities he had rarely said two words to her, focussing his free time on both Neji and Hanabi instead. She had never outwardly held it against him back then, but at times she felt a dark sorrow that they never truly knew each other in the time they had been given.

But such thinking was useless. Those memories had long become redundant, with no way to set things right aside from killing Orochimaru and destroying the forces of his oppression, a day Hinata would give her life gladly to see.
However that phase was still many moves away in the grand parlour game every last Ghost Ninja was a part of, even if they were not aware of it.

Too cold to even think of revenge the purple haired kunoichi closed her eyes and focused her mind upon the one person she needed the most in this whole world, a stray hand reaching upwards and gently holding the precious sapphire necklace she always wore. Looking down at the dark cobalt stone which sat on her pale fingers Hinata somehow felt warmer, as if he were there with her, holding her close. And for that fleeting moment the world wasn’t so bad.
Kiba-kun...

**********

Along the tunnel Kiba and Akamaru walked, an occasional bare bulb light wired into the uneven stone walls breaking the darkness of the earth’s belly.
The humidity was high, Akamaru panting as he scoured the semi-darkness ahead for enemies.
Already Kiba’s stained old headband was moist from perspiration, irremovable blood stains all the darker against the ancient blue cloth. But even in the sweltering conditions he refused to unzip his beaten leather jacket. It served as an additional layer of armour after all, and a small amount of discomfort was little price to pay for that.

“What, did we descend all the way to Hell?” Kiba muttered under his breath, eyes following the dull orange pipe which ran wires along the sweating stone wall. Condensation beaded across the tube in places, a small stamp coded on the wires suggesting that the installation happened at least sixty years ago.

Kyoka’s stench had grown strong down here, the low amount of traffic making tracking the bastard all that much easier. Every now and then a small amount of the stationary droplets which covered the wall would be freshly wiped away where someone had brushed against one of the many blunt points, the individual not overly avoiding them. However there were no footprints or drags in the wet dust on the floor. Not that Kiba had expected them. The enemy were Ninja after all.

Despite the unsettling, claustrophobic nature of the Underworld Kiba clung to one comforting fact as they continued along the access tunnel, passing another humming bulb in the darkness.
Even if this place of terrible madness would be a source of strength for the madman, they were surrounded by rock and earth. The domain of the Earth Elemental Jutsu user.

As the sweating pair stared ever forwards, two pair of keen wolf eyes amplified by years living in the sunless realm of Kamigakure, Kiba lapsed into thought again.
What WAS that voice?
He had heard it before, in times of heavy conflict or extreme anger. But back then it had almost been an inexplicable extension of his own mind, like an errant thought which conflicted and confused. This had been different, possessing a distinct voice and dark opinion which manifested inside his head. Neither of which was his.
Is this madness?

It was in the darkness between two lights when they first heard the unmistakable echoes of combat rushing to meet them head-on. The crash of metal on metal, angry barking and shouting. Akamaru pricked his ears for but a split second before both he and Kiba broke into a run, headband and long white fur trailing in the dense air as Kiba’s reflections were cast aside.

After vaulting a gentle yet condensation slick downward slope the thin ventilation tunnel opened up into a grand hall-like cavern, the dark stalagmites scattering the ground joined at their posts by the occasional tripod halogen light. Their power leads wound and snaked between rock formations back to the old orange tube Kiba and Akamaru had followed along the accessway.
Scattered throughout the shady cavern’s obstacles were some equipment crates, a deactivated fuel generator and an old foreman’s table, the curled blue and white edge of a blueprint visible upon its surface even from across the domain.
The entire place looked like an abandoned archaeological site, complete with dust and downed tools from place to place. But all of this paled in comparison with the cavern’s masterpiece, the focus of the bright halogen lamps.

Against the far wall sat a carved stone building which stretched upward into the ceiling. This section of the structure had been painstakingly chiselled from one single vein of bedrock long ago, surfaces smooth and orderly in stark comparison to the chaos of the cavern’s own walls and ceiling.
A miniature replica of the ramp which led from Murasaka to the arena’s crimson torii gate ran from the cavern’s floor up to an open archway seated flush against the wall of the pre-Kage dynasty styled antiquity, bordered by a pair of disused prayer bells. The dusty metal orbs reflected the blaring halogen lights back around the cavern dazzlingly, damp ropes hanging still beneath.
Past the large archway the very beginning of a grand spiral staircase could be clearly seen, the steep angle of the steps soon disappearing into darkness.

The two Ghost-Nin stood in wonder at the site. Here, all this way underground stood the roots of Murasaka Tower. And Kyoka had led them to it.

The majesty of the tower’s hidden entry had all but made the pair ignore the figures breathing heavily in the center of the room, their battleground an uneven floor of stone flooded by light. At once they remembered what had gained their attention to begin with, sneaking into the shadows of the cavern’s edge.

Kyoka stood on the right, the cranial scar and red kanji across the back of his open happi clearly visible to Kiba’s narrowed eyes in the light. Staring at his new opponent he flicked a thin, ornate dagger he held, droplets of crimson arcing away.
Next to him the infected dog sat, foam oozing from it’s jaw once more as Kyoka reared his head back and laughed, the high pitched roll suiting him. Slavering. Manic.
Sickening.
Kiba’s lip curled angrily in unison with Akamaru’s raised hackles before they shifted attention to his opponent…

… and beheld a dazzling curiosity.

On the left of the stalagmite rimmed floor stood a masked kunoichi, in seeming good spirits despite being injured. Reasonably tall and quite slender, she wore a pleated light gray skirt and pale yellow slim fit polo shirt with stubby sleeves. Her gray-white Ninja tabi turned over at the tops, soft gray underlay peeking over the sides matching the skirt. A discarded sachel pack lay just out of the arena, probably containing weapons and equipment.

As Kiba watched her hold her cut arm he noticed the Ninja’s skin was tanned a healthy coconut brown, which shined with sweat in the subterranean heat. The practice had always interested him, as current society dictated that the most beautiful or powerful women had dark hair and fair skin, due to the upper class being able to afford cosmetic remedies and not having to work outdoors.
This made a definite statement: she didn’t care what society thought, forging her own identity as she wished.

Her hair was an amazing deep red, tied with white bows into two raised ponytails, the trailing hair hanging alongside the ribbons down the side of her head and resting on the shoulders of her polo.

Lastly, her face had been covered by a red Tengu mask, carved into the likeness of the legendary winged demons which inhabited the largest and loneliest mountains. It’s disconcerting visage was traditional: characteristic grin showcasing sharp white teeth, a brow wrinkled in anger and a long red nose which protruded a good handspan from her face. A village symbol had been stamped into the very center of the forehead for identification, replacing the need for a protector.
Kiba strained but could not see which symbol it was from this angle.

Next to her stood a blue-black scruffy Nin-dog, half her height and therefore considerably large, but still smaller than Akamaru. A Ninja protector looped around it’s neck, the shiny metal glinting in the sunlight. This time the symbol was visible: a five pointed star.
Kiba and Akamaru recognised the symbol as belonging to Hoshigakure, the Village Hidden under the Stars. The Land of Bears was reasonably near to the Land of Ghosts, and he travelled there from time to time on mission.

The woman let go of her cut arm, blood staining the light yellow sleeve around the high up wound as her blue dog gave a glance her way in concern.
“Alright, you got the best of me once, but that was a fluke. Ready to go again? Round two!” the energetic voice announced from behind the fierce red mask, causing her two spectators to look again. Her excited voice was such a mismatch for the choice of headwear…
“Shut up! There is no round two because I can only kill you once! ONCE!” Kyoka spat, the laughter dying.
“Stop being so whiny, creep! Round two, GO!” came the answer, the red haired kunoichi performing seals as her dog anticipated Tsukku’s ordered counterattack, tackling the smaller dog onto it’s side and biting at it’s ribs viciously. The mad dog yelped and snapped back, flecks of white spraying forth.

Crying out shrilly, Kyoka ran at his target, knife hand trailing behind and out to a side as he closed rapidly.

“Fire Style: Twilight Fire Jutsu!” the woman finished, thrusting her right hand palm first in Kyoka’s direction with fingers curled forward at the first joint. The other hand grabbed her tanned wrist tightly for support.
Immediately a great yellow inferno accompanied by an almighty whoosh spewed forth from her fingers like a cleansing sea, and washed over the target area directly in front of her, destroying two of the tripod lights and raising the already sweltering temperature by another few degrees before it dissipated. The taste of Elemental Jutsu was thick in the air as Kiba and Akamaru shielded their eyes from the split second sunburst before looking to the aftermath, impressed.

The fire had set some of the flammable materials ablaze, a table and the crate which housed the old generator crackling in the flames, flickering orange light painting small areas of cavern. The two dogs, who had continued their fight out of the line of fire, continued snarling and biting before both broke free and separated, hackles like razorbacks as they readied for the next scrap.

Kyoka was nowhere to be seen. While the air smelt of burning wood and dispersed flame, there was no charred corpse on the ground. Neither was there a taunting opponent standing in the center of the cavern.
Simultaneously the Kunoichi and her observers took breath slightly as they realised their opponent could be anywhere.
The Dog Ninja skills came into play, just as her blue dog dove into Tsukku again, it’s scab red opponent scoring multiple infectious bites.
She cocked her head to one side to hear more clearly faint footfalls in the shadows, a pigtail hanging loosely, and tentatively smelt for the chemical smell which followed Kyoka everywhere, the mask not seeming to hinder her. Her mind was completely set on detecting the enemy, the threat needing to be resolved before she could give aid to her partner.

From their safe vantage Akamaru spotted it first: a blind spot behind her in the rock studded darkness on the tower’s right, the young woman oblivious to her danger.
Knowing what was to come Kiba chose this time to act, quick seals and a chakra transfer to Akamaru preceding both falling into the condensation soaked stone underfoot.

Bursting from the shadows in her blind Kyoka lunged forward with a whoop of glee, black and red robe fluttering in the air behind him. His already bloody blade bore down towards her exposed spinal column in a calculated severing stab.
The blue dog snapped into a lope towards her, smaller red enemy giving chase, but was too late to reach her. Gasping as she realised her error she barely registered the rumbling underfoot, like the beginning of an earthquake.

The wafer thin blade cleaved through the air on it’s death arc, a mere blink from the kill, when the cavern quaked violently as Kiba and Akamaru burst through the floor, a great white blur the size of a ramen stand accompanied by the deafening sound of tectonic plates shifting. The drilling action all but destroying the circle, the startled Kunoichi cast herself away in a backward dive for cover reflexively as the cavern floor exploded resoundingly behind her. Kiba and Akamaru tore apart rock piles, burning desks, more of the tripod lights and the generator with their jutsu, sparking wires and crumpled heaps of metal skittering across the site alongside razor shards of rock, having infiltrated to the point by swimming through the underfoot slab.

At the very last second Kyoka leapt away, the drill a scarce caress to what it had intended to be. Even so, he was hurled into the cavern roof, twisting midair and slamming into the side of a stalactite shoulder first.
Tsukku was not as lucky. Both dogs feeling the tremors, they had broken their destination and dashed hell for leather towards the closest darkness in a race for their very lives. As the shaggy blue-black canine reached her master’s safe area the ground rent in a great fissure, the foaming dog yelping it’s last before falling into the darkness below the Underworld. Broken floor filled the closing crack moments later with a grinding crunch.

The very roof shook and stalactites crashed into the chaotically uneven floor as Kyoka started to fall back to earth, the majority of his jacket torn clear of his torso. He careened into the jumble floor with a meaty thud as Kiba and Akamaru brought the attack to a halt, finally standing on all fours and growling menacingly, great saliva dripping from the twin maws.

On her hands and knees behind a rock formation the red haired Kunoichi heard the furore come to a sudden stop, the echoes of scattering stones taking fifteen seconds to die away. Peeking out at this new party she could do nothing but stare in amazement, unable to say anything under her mask. The blue dog peered out behind her uneasily.

Immediately it dawned on her who had interrupted the fight. For Kiba and Akamaru had combined the Inuzuka’s most secret and renowned move, Man Beast Transformation Combo: Two Headed Wolf with an Underground Movement jutsu.
Before her stood a great white wolf the size of a small building, flowing fur of the purest white hanging untameably by their side. The muscle underneath was hard as stone and rippling gently as they breathed as one being, and their eyes shone of themselves with an ice blue which was told through the generations by whomever met their gaze. A deep rumbing growl accompanied it’s open mouthed breathing as it stood still.
The beast was terrifying. Majestic. Awesome. All of these things.

Craning their giant heads roofwards Kiba and Akamaru gave a single howl of victory, the cry echoing down all ventilation tunnels and into the tower itself, clearly audible across the frozen cityscape of Murasaka above and onward across the fields beyond the village.
Every Dog-Nin in Murasaka looked to the snow-obscure skies as the note carried it’s message: All fear and respect the Inuzuka.

*****

In the sitting room of his ancestral home on the outskirts of Murasaka Manzo-Ri was roused from private meditation by the chord, a knowing look registering on his face as all nine identical white dogs looked up in interest from their station in front of the fireplace.

He is powerful, just like his father…

In the shimmering firelight a smile crossed his face. A thin, wry smile.
I’ll be watching you, Inuzuka Kiba.

*****

Getting up the tanned woman brushed the hem of her skirt flat before walking slowly out to view who had disrupted the fight, hands never falling from a non-aggressive ready stance, scruffy shadow coming along quietly until they stood five steps away amid the floor of loose rocks.
Smelling their scents the great wolf regarded them both for a long moment with magnificent dawn blue eyes before Kiba and Akamaru deactivated the jutsu, tired and finally out of chakra.
“Thought you might need a hand.” The dusty Ninja said, smiling at her weakly as Akamaru wagged his shaggy tail uncertainly.

Still in awe, the kunoichi lifted a manicured hand to the Tengu mask and loosened the clasp on the side, drawing the grim red visor away.
A soft, very effeminate face which shined with a youthful vibrance regarded him with caramel coloured eyesalmost the same hue as her skin, a subtle bloom of blush on her cheeks as she took Kiba in, the pair of Ghost-Nin brushing and shaking the dust off themselves. She stayed silent until Kiba paused, looking at her again. “You okay?”
“Inuzuka, right?” she asked eventually. Kiba nodded, not surprised that he had been recognized.
“Yeah. While that wolf Jutsu was really cool, did you have to interrupt our fight?”
For a long moment Kiba and Akamaru stood in silence, not certain if she understood they saved her life, before she broke into a smile and laughed softly, adrenalin and her wound having drained her.

The mood lightened, Kiba started introductions.
“Inuzuka Kiba, head of Clan Inuzuka, and Akamaru.” He said formally, bowing in respect. Akamaru barked politely.
Clearly bemused by his formality she gave the newcomer a thumbs up with her left. “Kirisahi, soon to be the number one of this competition.” She nodded to her shaggy partner. “That’s Bento.”
“Bento?” Kiba raised an eyebrow.
“We let her choose her own name. And it’s an awesome name! Right, Bento?” Kirisahi said with enthusiasm, glancing down at her partner. Bento growled so with a canine smirk, the protector around her neck shining.
“Well, in any case it’s good to see that someone doesn’t want to attack us on sight.” Kiba admitted.
“You did save my life back there. Talent or no talent, I can’t win if I’m dead. Speaking of which, my arm’s been bleeding for a while now. I’m going to tend my shoulder and see what I can do for Bento, and then we’re setting camp for a few hours. Out two teams are the only ones down here, so it’s safe enough.”
“Yeah? And how do you know I’m friendly?” Kiba asked, unnerved that she would readily count him as a neutral party so soon after meeting.
“Oh, I’m a pretty good judge of character. Besides, neither of our pairings are anywhere near full strength, so we need each other.” Kirisahi replied, Bento and Akamaru involved in their own canine conversation despite the former’s injuries.

Kiba would have argued her assumption that they would form a team, but it really was the best course of action. As she said, both would be easy pickings if anyone else made their way to the Underworld. Besides, having backup would be an improvement to both their odds in the Tournament.
“You two got any friends here?” the tattooed Ninja asked, an arm rubbing the back of his neck absently through long spikes.
“Nope. But except for you everyone we’ve met so far has been completely creepy, and I don’t do creepy.”
“I see…”
“Anyway, you should hang out with us for a while! That way we can both rest up. A champion team needs their strength you know. And if you hang out with us everyone will think you’re cooler.” She said, raising a finger to emphasize her point as she crouched next to the sachel pack on the destroyed ground and pulled out some bandages and salves, chewing a clotting herb and packing the pulp into the wound under her sleeve. The yellow polo had been stained with blood running down the arm and back, but obviously the cut hadn’t been life threatening, otherwise she would have tended it sooner.

“Is that so?” Kiba said amused, he and Akamaru surveying the shattered debris of wet cavern stone, destroyed halogen lights and the occasional table ember before deeming the cavern safe to stay in. Only a few of the lights were operational now, casting eerie spectres across the now spiderweb-cracked cavern’s walls.
It was with a note of surprise that Kiba saw the base of Murasaka tower was completely unscathed, the destruction not even scarring the building with small chips or blemishes. The left prayer bell had been destroyed though, a caved in metal husk lying on the floor with a short length of broken rope.

After letting Kirisahi treat herself and move on to Bento, Kiba got back to the task at hand, looking back to where Kyoka had landed in the shadows. The kill needed to be confirmed before he could finally rest.
Crunching across the mixture of jagged rocks and fine powder they made their way to the new border between light and dark, Akamaru ready to tear out his throat.

And it was as they noticed the blank spot where a broken figure should have lain that they smelt it, alongside the blood. That chemical smell which had enabled them to track their prey into the Underworld, and to target him without Dynamic Marking. A burning stench which was dry amid the moist overtones the cavern gave off. Turning to the darkness they saw the faint ember glow below two steely eyes glinting with murder.

*****

No-one had been watching Kyoka.

Barely conscious, blood streaming from his cranial scar which had partially reopened, the insane Ninja had assessed himself quietly despite the agony. Shattered right shoulder from hitting the roof. Clawed chest and a few broken ribs. Profusely bleeding head wound.

He’d been worse, but barely.

As the two preoccupied groups chatted he slowly, discreetly, dragged himself with his good arm, inch by inch into the darkness created by the loss of the left bank of halogen lights, the smell of escaped neon faint in the moist air. The pain of his horribly destroyed shoulder was punishing, and he gritted his teeth tight enough to almost fracture them in his jaw. All along his teary eyes never left the slowly closer darkness, his safe haven here in the Underworld.
All he had to do was to keep the red fog threatening to take over him at bay.
Listen to them. Laughing at me. Taunting me. HATING me. I can hear their condescending voices! Their mockery! And Tsukku… NO! I will not let them drink your soul! Your burial place will remain unviolated! I swear it!
No… Enjoy it, Inuzuka. Take that young harlot’s hand. Dance around the victory festival together. Soon I will make offer to its master of ceremonies WITH DRIPPING HUNKS OF YOUR RENDED FLESH! YOU WILL PAY! YOU WILL PAY FOR EVERYTHING!

After what seemed an age the half cripple reached the cold embrace of darkness, forcing himself to stand on fractured earth which had largely escaped the preceding madness. Pain washed whitely over him as he rose into a low crouch, ignoring his chest and arm as best as he could, refusing to give his position away with a cry of pain. He had been alone in the Asylum for so long, feared and reviled.
This kind of hurt was nothing compared. Nothing could ever compare.

Shakily he stood, forcing chakra into his bloodstream to slow the adrenalin, feeling injured anew. He would need to have a steady hand soon.
Indeed his shoulder had been obliterated, all bones from his shoulder blade and collar bone to his rotor cup destroyed so utterly that his arm ran in line with the right side of his neck. Weight alone dragged the shoulder’s flesh forward grotesquely so that his hand hung almost to his knee, here and there a fragment of red ivory breaking the surface and spilling slow rivers to drip off his fingers.
His red and black happi was a tattered shred, a rag hanging over his left side connected to his intact sleeve, Grass Village protector still in place. The armoured vest had been torn from him, and a faint gash ran across his chest where the wolf had clawed him lightly, some ribs on his right side broken underneath the wound. Blood dribbled down his chest behind his arm and stained his pants.
Thankfully his old cranial wound hadn’t opened as severely as it may have. Not that Kyoka was thinking on the subject. The crimson had flowed over his black soft headband and obscured the handprint, lines soon to flow into an eye standing ignored.

One thought drove him to fight oblivion.
Do it. Do it before you pass out. If you fail, Kokinshu-sama will send you back to the Asylum after the Tournament is over. It won’t be like last time. Tsukku is gone. You’ll be completely alone.

Reaching shakily into his intact sleeve pocket Kyoka bypassed the crumpled cigarette packet and drew a match, clamping it in his teeth before reaching into his right hand waistband and hefting his trump card almost autonomously, useless arm swaying loosely with his movements.

*****

The Matchlock firearm was known to most Ninja as an archaic weapon from a less civilised time, predating the Age of Kage. Almost six hundred and fifty years ago the technology had been made using foreign designs and alchemical formula. The ability for minimal units to kill and demoralise enemy far superior in martial prowess was a dream during the Great Ninja Wars, and generals sought to outfit their armies with as many as possible.

But the logistics were a nightmare. A farmer with the barest of formal training could injure or kill a Chunin or Jounin. The possibility that a band of peasants armed with firearms could match the power of a Ninja clan became a very real and present threat, and once whisperings of villagers forming independent countries which outlawed Ninja started stirring, action was taken to assure that this most unacceptable state would never occur.
Gunpowder weapons were banned across all nations, the penalty for possessing a firearm or having knowledge of their manufacture decreed punishable by death.

The death penalty wasn’t as strictly enforced in the modern age, simply because firearms were too rare to even be considered a threat. Most Ninja would go through their careers without even seeing one.
But more importantly, those who wielded these weapons were viewed as the most heinous of cowards, weaklings and dishonourables. Only the most desperate or infirm would even think of using a firearm.

*****

The wooden and copper stock of the matchlock pistol were intricately carved with swirling clouds, with the watermark of it’s creator stamped on the butt of the hardwood grip. The serpentine, an S-shaped hammer which held the wick above the flash pan, was likened to a lightning dragon, teeth clenching the wick angrily. And impressively, the stormfront engraved on the side of the barrel itself doubled as a rough strike to light matches with, a clever feature which spoke volumes of what the weapon would have cost.

When it fired it was the visitation of a furious sky dragon’s wrath.

The butt was warm from his flesh, and a fresh wick had been clamped into the serpentine when he had reloaded it after shooting his fiancé on the surface world, Kiba finding the discarded taper earlier.
Flashing his glance forward Kyoka looked at those standing in the room. The kunoichi was tending her Nin-dog with a crude antitoxin, Tengu mask placed on a chopped flat stone nearby.
But Kyoka’s real target walked towards him, obviously intending to loot his corpse. Bastard.
He knew that the sounds and smells would give him away if he didn’t act fast. The window he had before the Inuzuka detected him coiled rapidly to a close.

Grimacing, Kyoka lifted the suddenly heavy pistol and dragged the stormhead situated on the barrel’s side along the match in his teeth, the head lighting with a dull hiss. As the Inuzuka noticed that Kyoka was gone he touched the match to the wick and let it fall into the rocks, shutting the pain out for one last task.
After that, nothing mattered.

*****

Kiba stared into Kyoka’s eyes though the darkness. The pieces had clicked. The dull glow. The chemical smell. A discarded wick. The unknown wound borne by the girl in the warehouse above.

Kiba jinked right with blinding speed, knowing that deflecting the shot was not an option. The trigger pulled, dragon igniting the powder in the flash pan with a fizz and brief shower of sparks before the burn raced to the firing chamber, exploding the shot forward out of the barrel.
The dragon roared deafeningly, the explosion lighting the shadows for a full second. With a superhuman effort Kyoka managed to fight the recoil and stay upright.

Kirisahi and Bento immediately jumped into ready positions, antitoxin vial falling to the ground with a clink. She looked over in time to see the projectile exit Kiba’s back through his chest, a fine spray of blood mingling midair with the room’s humidity as his arms flung forward loosely.

Falling heavily to his knees Kiba felt almost removed from himself, sound ceasing to exist altogether. He saw Akamaru sprint into the darkness at Kyoka, followed by Kirisahi and Bento charging to his side, the Kunoichi looking on in detached shock, red pigtails swaying as she brought herself to a stop. He tried to clutch his chest but his arms weren’t responsive.

***

As his vision faded he remembered a time long passed, sitting with Hinata under the eaves of a snow covered pine tree on her birthday. Back when they were children of Konoha. Back before the world stopped making sense.

He told her he loved her…

***

Inuzuka Kiba slumped onto his side amongst the debris of the Underworld, dead.

His work done, Kyoka fell backwards, cursed weapon clattering into the stones as smoke clouded the thick air above him, everything stinking of gunpowder and blood.

*****

In disbelief, Minoruko watched horrified as Kiba’s spirit rose out of his body, the tanned woman shaking his lifeless shell.

“Tou-san!” she screamed, appearing at Kiba’s side. Her father looked down at her as they stood next Kirisahi’s kneeling form, not noticing as his silver cord thinned until it was nothing at all, body and soul severed. Time stopped. The world ended.

Both stared at each other for an hour. A year. A lifetime. Longer. Emotions welled within the young girl, terror and sadness and other feelings she knew she shouldn’t be feeling in this realm.
Kiba must have known what had happened but just stood there, unable to act.

Ino-Sensei had told her time and again that a strong shock would send her back to her body. This was the worst she had ever felt in her entire life, like she wanted to cry. To scream. To vomit, if such an action could be fathomed in this place.
But she could not leave.
Why? Why am I being forced to see this? she screamed in her mind, wishing with all her might to wake up and have fallen asleep, not for this to be real…

I’LL TELL YOU WHY YOU CAN’T LEAVE, LITTLE GIRL. BECAUSE I WANT YOU RIGHT HERE, NEXT TO ME.

It started gradually. The colour flowed from the realm, everything fading first to gray and then almost to black, objects only vaguely noticeable outside of their area. Sound had ceased, aside from Kiba and Minoruko. And the voice.

YES, RIGHT HERE WHILE I SPEAK WITH THE FIRST SAPPHIRE FANG.

The voice was right behind her. Terror freezing her, Minoruko stood perfectly still as a jagged black claw rested upon the shoulder of her gray and red shirt, the fingers holding her in place just as surely as her fear. Closing her black diamond eyes she willed herself to return to her body. Nothing.

Kiba looked at the being behind his child, recognition dawning upon him as a second claw reached in front of the girl, holding her silver cord in another claw, covered in black hair.
“You. The voice. The dark being in my head. What do you want?”

TO TALK. ABOUT THE FUTURE.

**********

(Narrator’s Note: The track which should accompany this chapter is Parabol by Tool)

“Let my daughter go.”
YOU GROOM THIS CHILD AS THE SUCCESSOR TO YOUR DOG-NIN KENNEL? INTERESTING…
“Let my daughter go, right now.”
OR WHAT, SAPPHIRE FANG? YOU’LL USE YOUR TECHNIQUES ON ME? AS IF I WOULD ALLOW SUCH THINGS IN MY REALM. MAKE NO MISTAKE INUZUKA. YOU ARE DEAD, AND NOW IN MY POWER. IT WOULD BE VERY EASY FOR ME TO CLAIM YOU. DO NOT GIVE ME REASON.

With no response to such a threat, Kiba could do nothing but glare across at the fell beast which held his daughter captive, anger oozing away as a feeling of helplessness became him and mixed with the great sense of horror the being across from him bled into the environment. The same gut wrenching sickness that the Underworld had instilled upon him now closed shut around him like a hellish prison cell.
Next to the Ninja’s feet lay his colourless corpse, Kirisahi frozen in place as she tried to rouse him from death, time not existing in this state of being, the third emotion almost too much to bear.
I really am dead… Kiba thought forlornly, unable to believe that his part in life was over. The notion that he had died in such a cowardly and dishonourable fashion bore into him, making him feel his life cheapened as a whole from it. What would his ancestors believe of him for being bested so easily, so shamefully?
Across from him Minoruko let out a weak, helpless groan, her terror widened eyes speaking of evaporating sanity, running like mercury from a broken thermometer to splash into a silver pool on the ground before slipping away through drought thirsted cracks. The feeble sound reached her father, centring him forcefully on the present, three ghouls banished to dark corners in the face of a purpose. Terror went back in it’s box, as did his sinful fixation on death.
Minoruko needs me. I cannot give up and travel to my final destination yet. Not until she is safe.

Immediately Kiba analysed his monochrome surroundings and the situation as a whole, trying to devise a tactic in this most unbelievable of instances. Defeating this being in combat was not an option. Chakra seemed to be all around him now, yet it no longer felt a part of him as it always had since he had commenced his training. Techniques would be impossible.
Even if it did flow, the spectral Ghost-Nin didn’t think it would tip the scales in his favour.
Flight? Impossible. The demon had stated as much; this realm of sorrow was his domain. What about giving Minoruko a chance to return to her body at the cost of himself? He was already dead, and she would be safe there, away from the obsidian chaos form which held her.
But... would Minoruko even be able to flee, if given a chance?

As if sensing his train of thought, the demon released her shoulder and let go of her silver cord, gesturing with a spiked claw for her to leave. But Minoruko did not even take one step, rendered completely catatonic from the immeasurable horror of her situation. Her hair, gray and elder-like in this colourless world, hung loosely over her long sleeve shirt, as still and dead as her blasted mind.
LOOK AT HER, SAPPHIRE FANG. STARE INTO HER TINY DIAMOND PUPILS, IF YOU CAN FIND THEM. HER MIND HAS BEEN DESTROYED. EVEN IF SHE COULD LEAVE, ALL THAT WOULD DWELL WITHIN THE PRISON OF HER YOUNG BODY WOULD BE A WASTELAND SOUL. YOUR DAUGHTER MAY AS WELL BE DEAD, FOR EVEN BASIC THOUGHT COMPREHENSION IS FAR BEYOND HER NOW.
“No…”
The resolve against fear raised for Minoruko’s sake melted away like Spring snow. In despair, Kiba’s lip trembled as he stared into his daughter’s eyes, the vibrant child which had been in there now dead and buried six feet under insanity. The demon swished it’s tail quietly as Kiba reached out and touched her face, holding it in his hands as he searched for a sign his daughter still existed. She just stared through him, into the dark oblivion which had torn her to shreds.

UNLESS…

Animal eyes snapped to demonic counterparts, staring pure hatred and malice.
“Unless what?”
LIKE I SAID, SAPPHIRE FANG. THIS IS MY REALM. I CAN GIVE HER BACK HER SOUL, REBUILD HER PSYCHE. SHE CAN BE RETURNED TO HER BODY INTACT, AND WITHOUT A SINGLE MEMORY OF THIS NIGHTS EVENTS. SHE WILL NOT REMEMBER THAT I LOOKED UPON HER BARE SOUL, NOR THAT HER FATHER DIED.
Still talking in his harsh, rolling growl of a voice the black demon walked towards Kiba across the black broken stone floor, his form jolting and breaking motion like a damaged marionette puppet being shunted by an invisible hand, his feet disappearing through the ground or stepping on empty air from time to time like sprites in a poor quality video game set in black and white.
IN FACT, I DON’T WANT YOU DEAD AT ALL. I LIKE YOU. YOU ARE AN INTERESTING SPECIMEN, AND I HAVE GREATLY ENJOYED FOLLOWING YOUR EXPLOITS SO FAR.

In front of Kiba’s eyes evil energy manifested around the demon in the form of a grainy vortex, the inwardly spiralling forces so great as to create a black maelstrom which continually drew in more of the dark shroud which covered all things to feed the dark host at its heart.

“You have been watching my life?!” Kiba asked, aghast at the thought that he was entertainment for some horrible otherworldly thing.
OF COURSE. YOU, HINATA, MINORUKO HERE AND SATOROSHI. BUT YES, PRIMARILY YOU. IT HAS BEEN MOST SATISFYING TO SEE YOU GROW INTO A POWERFUL NINJA, WHO WILL NOT BE CONSTRAINED BY THE OPINIONS OR THOUGHTS OF OTHERS. YOUR ‘FOLLOW ME OR BURN IN HELL’ PHILOSOPHY IS ONE I CAN WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH. AND AS FOR YOUR BRIDE… WELL DIDN’T SHE TURN OUT TO BE A WILD ONE IN THE END? DO YOU KNOW THAT WHEN SHE WAS NINETEEN-
“Hey! You don’t talk about Hinata-chan!” Kiba growled back viciously, disgusted with the thought that this thing may have watched any number of personal moments. “I should kill you where you stand, beast.”
CAREFUL WHO YOU CALL BEAST…
Silence filled the dead air between the two as Kiba turned away and cleared his mind of emotion as best as he could, the demon giving Kiba time to cool off after the final exchange.

It was as he rubbed his eyes with a forefinger and thumb that an image flashed hotly into Kiba’s mind. His nightmare from two nights ago. The great wolf which had chased him through the forest, cheeks ablaze with fiery Inuzuka fangs.
“Demon… I had a dream of you, did I not?”
YES. THE SAME DREAM THAT ALL POWERFUL CRIMSON FANG HAD BEFORE YOU CAME ALONG.
All powerful Crimson Fang? Kiba thought in puzzlement before the piece clicked.
“How long have you followed Clan Inuzuka?”
SINCE THE CLAN’S CONCEPTION. I HAVE BEEN PRESENT DURING ALL OF THE MAJOR EVENTS OF THE INUZUKA THROUGH TIME, AND HAVE INFLUENCED MUCH OF YOUR CLAN. YOU COULD SAY THAT I HAVE A VESTED INTEREST IN YOUR LINE, AND WHERE IT LEADS.
Immediately Kiba saw a potential weakness and moved in, tactician taking over.
“So that is the real reason you are offering so much. You need my clan for something in the future, obviously something big enough for you to follow us for hundreds of years. And if I die it will greatly reduce the chances of our survival, correct?”
A soft, deep growl preceded the being’s dismissive reply.
YOU ARE NOT AS VITAL AS YOU PRESUME. THERE ARE OTHER CLANS AND INDIVIDUALS WHOM I HAVE BEEN WATCHING, ESPECIALLY ONE AS OF LATE. Pausing for a moment, it softened its tone towards the human.
HOWEVER THE FACT REMAINS THAT I LIKE YOU, AND I WOULD RATHER SEE YOUR LINE CONTINUE, SAPPHIRE FANG.
Taking a step forward in parody of his actions in life, Inuzuka Kiba walked to the edge of the dark maelstrom and looked at the demon, his waning fears now fully set aside in place of curiosity.
“What are you?”

It’s colour was beyond black, as if normal black were white by comparison, and the stripping darkness only fed it further. Standing upright like a human, the demon was covered in coarse, bristly fur which more suited a boar than a wolf. Its feet and hands were akin to padded paws ending with hard, curved nails, some snapped or broken but all sharp.
The knees were high and bent backwards as a dog’s hind leg, and behind its rippling muscular torso a great lashing tail like a scaly lizard’s stretched out, sweeping idly in the spiral. Its great arms were reminiscent of Burai, rock hard biceps bulging under the short fur as they led down to stiff forearms, both adorned with tattoos forming bright red glowing mazes. The bracers of unholy light were a chaotic jumble of right angles and intersecting lines which hurt to look at, even in this place.
And the head was undoubtedly a parody of a wolf. Feathered whisker fur stood behind a long bristled snout, the nose jet at the end. The jaw was permanently hung open, a long pasty tongue dripping with silver ichor loose in front of vicious ebony canines. Above the eternally narrowed eyes, devoid of colour or life, its ears were pricked into triangles, and off the tips great ribbon flat lengths of hair, thin as a kunai handle, arced over its shoulders to hang to the base of it’s tail, drifting slightly in the maelstrom of antimatter.
Tilting its head slightly the demon responded, tongue rolling over a fang to hang out the side of it’s mouth.
YOU MAY CALL ME YOKAI. THIS MEETING HAS BEEN LONG COMING, SAPPHIRE FANG.

Kiba waited for a moment, eyeing the nightmarish form before him, analysing him as he would an adversary. It was doubtful the physique was there for show, not to mention he himself possessed little strength in this place. If a battle did take place, it would have to be intellectual. Kiba cringed.
“So, you are one of the tailed demons? Or you work for them?” he ventured, starting to sound out his opponent.
I WILL FORGET YOU SAID THAT.
“Alright, no then. But if that is the case, then what are you? I’m not big with spiritual lore, but aren’t they masters of all demons?”
THE MATTERS OF GODS AND DEMONS ARE NOT COMPREHENSIBLE TO MAN. BUT, IMAGINE BEING PUT IN A PLACE ALONE FOR MILLENIA UNENDING, A PLACE WHICH BARBS YOU AND TEARS AT YOU UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING APART FROM THE PAIN, AND SORROW, AND HATE. UNTIL YOU BECOME THESE THINGS, AND WHAT YOU WERE BEFORE IS LOST FROM YOU FOREVER. YOUR ANSWER LIES A CLOSE LEAP FROM THAT POINT.
“You were a man once?”
PERHAPS. WERE YOU? Yokai chuckled, infuriating the Ninja further.
“Whatever, demon. Are you going to return Minoruko and myself to our former selves, or was that just the exaggerations of a weakling?” he countered, his intentional refusal to use Yokai’s name adding venom to the retort.
OH, THE TEDIUM OF DEATH SETTING IN ALREADY? The beast snorted sarcastically, jolting back to Minoruko’s still form. As it disjointedly made it’s way past her Yokai roughed up her hair a little with a twisted paw, elicting a pathetic whine before the hand flickered back to the demon’s side. Kiba held his overflowing anger in check, knowing this was just something he had to endure to ensure Minoruko’s survival, if it was indeed a genuine proposal.
ALRIGHT, I WILL TELL YOU WHAT WILL HAPPEN, SAPPHIRE FANG. I HAVE DECIDED THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO BECOME MY VASSAL.

Kiba was thrown completely off guard by the statement. “Your vassal?!” he exclaimed, half agape.
YES. BUT FEAR NOT INUZUKA, YOU WILL NOT HAVE ME IN YOUR HEAD DAY AND NIGHT, BAYING ORDERS INCESSANTLY. ACTUALLY, I HOPE THAT YOU WILL COME TO RELY UPON ME AS A VALUABLE RESOURCE FOR YOU TO DRAW FROM, AS I HAVE ALREADY PROVEN MYSELF IN THE PAST. AND OF COURSE I WILL RELEASE YOUR DAUGHTER, AS AGREED.
Not wanting to question when it had helped him, Kiba stood with arms crossed, waiting for the catch.
It came.
BUT FIRST, I WANT SOMETHING FROM YOU. A TEST. CALL IT A TRIAL BY COMBAT.
“A fight?” Kiba slightly perked up at the prospect of something within his power, Yokai sensing his interest.

AS I SAID, FOR THE LAST FEW DAYS THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER WHO COULD VERY WELL BE MY NEW VASSAL.
The beast cocked it’s head to the opposite camber, staring past Kiba and into the inky depths outside the shroud. Kiba followed it’s almost lustful gaze, past Akamaru paused in midair as he raced to finish Kyoka, shaggy white hair and long gray ears trailing behind the Nin-dog in flight, his target prone in his last moments of life. There was only the Ninja left.
“The insane Tokugawa over there?” Kiba asked incredulously, pointing at the still and bloodied form, almost camoflagued by the hue-drained realm.
WELL, HE DID KILL YOU, AFTER ALL. BESIDES, WHILE YOU ARE UNDOUBTEDLY POWERFUL AND HAVE EXTREME POTENTIAL, HE IS SOMETHING NEW AGAIN, A BEING FILLED WITH BEAUTIFUL RAGE AND LOATHING AT THE WHOLE WORLD. IT’S LIKE TRYING TO CHOOSE BETWEEN AN OLD FAVOURITE AND A DELICIOUS NEW ADDITION.
Yokai parted his clawed paws palm up as he put the metaphor to the gray and white Ninja. YOU CAN SEE MY PREDICAMANT.

“So, for this test you’ll return us both to prime condition and have us fight to the death.” Kiba stated, arms crossed as he looked down upon his mortal vessel below, existing outside of the demon’s realm of sorrow.
YOUR EXCELLENT REASONING IS ENDEARING TO ME, INUZUKA.
“That’s it?”
YOU WANTED SOMETHING MORE?
“All right, all right. Will his Nin-dog be returned to him?”
YOU KILLED IT FAIR AND SQUARE. CONSIDER THE ADVANTAGE YOU AND AKAMARU WILL HAVE A GIFT, FOR IN ALL OTHER ASPECTS IT WILL BE AN EVEN MATCH. HE WILL NOT HAVE HIS MATCHLOCK PISTOL, AND I WILL NOT BE FEEDING YOU CHAKRA LIKE I HAVE BEEN FOR THE LAST TWO DAYS.
At the last remark Kiba looked at the demon in confusion, taken aback by the addendum.
WHAT, YOU THOUGHT THAT YOU HAD SO MUCH OF A CHAKRA RESERVE? YOU’RE GOOD SAPPHIRE FANG, BUT NOT THAT GOOD. A brief pause. YET…

For a long length Kiba weighed his choices, simply accepting Yokai’s offer having no viable alternatives. But could the thing be trusted?
I have no choice…
Appearing before the flickering form at the speed of thought, Kiba looked long and hard into it’s cold, malicious eyes before he spoke.
“Okay, demon. I will play your game, and when Kyoka lies dead before me I will become your vassal. But you listen to me.” he snarled lowly, leaning in so that Yokai’s breath heated his neck above the blood ruined jacket’s gray collar. “If my daughter is not herself – completely as she was, and without any recollection whatsoever - I will make it my life’s mission to isolate you, break you and send you back to the place you came from, to once more be alone as nothing more than pain, and sorrow, and hate forever more. You understand?”
Yokai never once broke eye contact, continuing its soulless glare as the demon growled a reply.
DULY NOTED, SAPPHIRE FANG. AND MAYBE SOME DAY I’LL SEND YOU THERE YOURSELF.

Committed to the test, Kiba closed his eyes and calmed himself for the upcoming fight, eventually willing himself to appear in front of his daughter’s still form, bled dry of the colours of her soul as well as everything else. Kneeling in front of her he kissed her lightly on the forehead before turning to Yokai, swirling darkness expanding past father and daughter, master and apprentice. Giving the waiting demon one last withering look he nodded once, black Inuzuka tattoos rivalling the demon for darkness.

“Do it.”

*****

As he lay dying in the broken cavern deep within Murasaka’s Underworld, Kyoka let his mind wander, his heart synchronised with the vivid madness which was preceeding his death. Blacks and blues swirled before him, blotting out the warm, ugly world he had hated and giving way to sweet chaos, the colours tumbling like a tsunami of poetic midnight terror.

Presently, his mind’s eye was taken back to his childhood in the Land of Grass. He saw himself as a child, a young copper haired boy of six who was clad in the dirty rags of a pauper. The child was standing on a vast field which stood along the wall of Kusagakure, watching the village’s other children playing games and laughing, voices light with the carefree energy of the young.
Kyoka was not allowed to play with them, his father forbidding it unquestionably. When he had asked why, his father would tell him that they were a distraction from his duties and then beat him for bringing it up again, the bruises lingering for days. Kyoka had learned not to ask anymore.

Although he was too young to understand it fully, his family was nothing special despite being of Tokugawa descent. A distant branch family, they were seen as inferior stock, having not produced a Ninja in four generations. This pariahism had cast them into poverty, barely able to live in a filthy shack with a thatched roof in the backwater slums of the village.
His mother had died of Tuberculosis two years former, leaving his father bitter and resentful at the burden with which he had suddenly been foistered. The beatings were worse when he came home drunk, or fresh from losing all of their meagre savings in a gambling den, and more than one blackened strike was prominent on his face in the sunlight as he watched the children, his solitude the only companion he knew as he returned slowly to his place at the town’s gate, begging bowl in hand to eke out another meal.

Thus had been his childhood, an unhappy existence of violence and loneliness.

Kyoka stood where his childhood self had been a moment ago, silently watching as the dishevelled figure receeded into the distance. The light of a summer long gone warmed his cracked and broken flesh, and despite his nature a lonely tear rolled down his cheek in lament of his lost innocence, never to return.

YOU ARE NOT IN THE FIELDS…

The scene melted away into the black and blue cacophony of colour again, this time reforming four years later as he stood in a small candlelit shrine. The shrine was not devoted to anyone or anything in particular but it was Kyoka’s secret place, a bastion of his own creation housed within an old rusted shipping crate, forgotten behind a run down grain silo.
He wore better now than he had in the previous scene, standard issue forest green Ninja tabi under black shorts. A green shirt had been discarded, tossed onto his academy homework pack. Barechested in the green glow, aggravated bruises still covered him. But these were from other students, not his father. His spiny copper hair stood dull and life deprived above stony eyes, the expression speaking of his strength forged in solitude.

He had only been in the academy for three years, but already the main Tokugawa branch had identified himself as a prodigy of sorts and granted a probationary Nin-dog puppy. Tsukku, who only reached a little above his tabi, sat next to him and watched as he set a brown cloth bundle onto the chipped stoneware plate in the shrine’s center, green candles lighting the pitch black of his spiritual haven eerily.

The creation of this place had been necessary, the legacy of his lonesome childhood haunting him still. Kyoka’s drunkard father still despised him after all this time, but the beatings had been withdrawn in fear after the young Academy student had fought back, breaking his jaw with a lightning snap kick. His father instead showered him with contempt from afar, and the other students disdained and feared him because of his antisocial tendencies, which ranged from withdrawn social skills to violent bursts. In gangs they would lay in wait, descending upon him with the ferocity of sharks, fists and sticks not as hurtful as the jeering and name calling.
The only one who cared about him was Tsukku, the dusk-red puppy the only real friend he had ever known. And so together they had created the shrine, a secret place where they could hide away and despise the world in secret.

Kneeling in front of the candle laden trophy rack, the young Kyoka unwrapped his latest prize: a gleaming cat skull, killed fresh that day. The fleshy cartilage and brains had been boiled away until the long ivory skull came free of them cleanly, Tsukku eating much of the refuse.
The tabby had suffered long, each tortured mewl making Kyoka feel strong, a God who had the power to deal death only when he felt like it, and not a minute sooner. Tsukku had grown to enjoy these hunts in time, the young pup’s killer instincts running free alongside his grateful owner.
The long fanged skull was tinted lime by the candles as Kyoka picked it up reverently and placed it upon the top shelf, the latest addition joining the skulls of woodland creatures, birds and a turtle shell, each a bonding memory the pair treasured.

Reaching to the side of the shrine the ten year old pulled a razor sharp kunai, as well as a bowl of water and shaving soap. Not defiling this moment with speech he silently applied the soap to his full head of dull copper hair, drawing the kunai lightly over his scalp until eventually every last trace was gone, the bowl full of the discarded part of his identity.
Placing the bowl and kunai to one side he closed his eyes and slipped into meditation, Tsukku sitting obediently in silence as both basked in the radiance of their new possession.

Kyoka smiled proudly at the memory almost lost to time and insanity until this moment. Silently he resolved to build another shrine in the next life, and adorn it with the trophies of beasts and men who walked the ethereal plane.

YOU ARE NOT IN YOUR SHRINE…

Once more the scene faded to blue and black static, swirling and flickering until it was replaced by a fifteen year old version of himself, a Ninja dressed in field green Ninja leggings and tabi, a faded Chunin vest zipped over the long sleeved shirt. A black Kusagakure band adorned his head, copper regrowth faint against the tan of his scalp.

Kyoka’s rise to Chunin had been meteoric. He had carried his Genin team through it’s missions, not associating with them at all unless necessary. This suited them just fine. He barely even knew their names, and greeted their scents with a sneer. All that mattered to him was completing the missions quickly and being back, to train and to hunt. A day without death was a day wasted. He and Tsukku were a fine weapon, killing their purpose. Nothing more.
His Sensei had started training him in the finer arts in an attempt to curb his violent and withdrawn nature, teaching him calligraphy and poetry. But Kyoka only did as much as he was asked to do and no more, only truly applying himself to killing.
This was of deep concern to the Jonin. And rightly so.

Kyoka and his red shadow, now a good sized Nin-dog, stood on the scuffed dirt road in front of his father’s house during the deep of night, the door barricaded with broken furniture from within. The last adjustments completed Kyoka stepped back and admired his work, cracking a faint grin in satisfaction. This was perfect, exactly as he had imagined.
Kneeling next to Tsukku, who sat expressionlessly in the dirt, the Ninja picked up the clay barrel of shochu he had taken from inside and pulled the piece of alcohol soaked rag out the lip. Slowly a cheap match was provided, struck on his zigzagging Grass village headband and applied to the white shred before Kyoka raised to full height, looking forward at the dwelling he had lived within for so long.
He had once feared the house, synonymous with the sorrow of his mother’s death and the anguish of his poverty and brutal existence. But as he had hunted the animals, he had grown strong. He had learned that fear was for prey, not for predator.
Now all the house held for the Chunin was anger and violent compulsion. This night he was obeying.

From within a muffled cry was heard, his bastard drunken father trying to shout something through his gag, unable to move from his anchor: the rear wall post. He would have to watch before the flames hit him.
“You brought this judgement, teme. I am a weapon. People get hurt when they play with weapons.” Kyoka intoned quietly, emotionless as he hurled the flask, the accelerant filled vessel crashing into dry tinder and bursting into bright flames which illuminated the street, coating Ninja and dog a golden glow.
“Come now, father! Got something to share with us? Don’t just keep it to yourself! Speak! Shout! Scream your message to me!” Kyoka shouted madly as the thatch roof burst into flames, garbled screams of terror quickly becoming those of agony as the fire cleansed Kyoka’s world of his father’s oppression forever.

Kyoka howled with sardonic laughter, his elated crescent moon grin and joy filled teary eyes shining fiery gold as he watched until all which remained was ash and the whisper of a horrible death in the air.

Nothing could spoil this moment for him. As the mortified Kusagakure Ninja surrounded him soundlessly he turned to them, seeing his Sensei at their head. The Jonin stared at his pupil in silent horror, and became filled with sickening dread as he realised that the murderer held a piece of calligraphy paper in front of himself. It was a poem, written earlier that night before the flames had started.
Kyoka turned his head sideways to look at him, a proud smile bordered by tears of contentment in the ember light.
“Thanks for the lessons, Sensei. Arigatou gozaimashita.”

NOR ARE YOU ARE NOT AT THE RECKONING, TOKUGAWA…

The voice didn’t give him time to reflect upon the murder of his father, his conscious swirling from one quick memory to the next, a picture barely settling before the blues and blacks washed the snippets of his life away and bring forth another chosen at random. Kyoka could not even concentrate on them anymore, but he had stopped trying. A great presence entered his realm, dark and formless. But he was not afraid. He felt as though he had lived with this presence all his life.

YOU STILL LIVE, TO SERVE ONE MORE PURPOSE.

The images faded away before the blue static returned. But the normally chaotic and unpredictable turmoil froze, reforming into two great lapis fangs marbled black before his outstretched senses. Immediately Kyoka knew that somehow, somehow, Kiba was alive.
His most recent adversary, yet another who he thought had fallen like the rest, still stood in mocking defiance of him.

YOU KNOW INUZUKA KIBA STILL LIVES. THIS AFFRONT ENRAGES YOU? GOOD. THEN KILL HIM. IF YOU DO THIS THING YOU SHALL RETURN TO THE LIVING AND HUNT ONCE MORE. AND TOGETHER WE SHALL KILL MAN, GOD AND DEMON ALIKE.

Tokugawa Kyoka didn’t need to answer.
Even as the last of the level snarling voice’s message echoed within the walls of his universe, a giant’s clawed paw of darkness extended palm up before him, wiping away the fangs of Clan Inuzuka. Stepping onto the building sized palm of this being, Kyoka was born aloft in the darkness until he spied a faint beacon of white from afar. Laying serenely inside was his broken body, and a second chance at life.
He would pick up where he left off.
Clenching tight, the fist reeled back before hurling the departed soul earthwards towards it’s former inhabitance.
As the white halo rose up to meet him, Kyoka felt nothing, not anger nor sorrow. It seemed his job wasn’t complete after all. Kiba would die, and be the first in a grand procession for his new life, a banner bearer to march through the gates of Hell at the head of a murdered legion.
And now that there was an employer in his head watching, he had better stop slacking off and get serious. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
An impressive feat of gory disembowelment never failed to please…

*****

“Anyway, you should hang out with us for a while! That way we can both rest up. A champion team needs their strength you know. And if you hang out with us everyone will think you’re cooler.” Kirisahi said, raising a finger to emphasize her point as she crouched next to the sachel pack on the destroyed ground and pulled out some bandages and salves. Her back to the Inuzuka team, she chewed her clotting herb and packed the pulp into the wound under her sleeve.
No response.
“Yo, Fangs! Did you hear my offer?” she pressed with a nickname she just came up with, turning in time to see Kiba and Akamaru standing in the centre of the cavern’s broken floor, Kyoka standing across from them both alone. Kirisahi gasped once and Bento whined uncertainly, as their keen senses told the pair that both parties of black-clad Ninja were at full chakra and completely unscathed. It just wasn’t possible, but here they were in front of her and as healthy as they had been upon entry to the Tournament.

“Kirisahi-san. Take Bento and get out of here. This is our fight. I’ll find you after we’re done.”
Kiba’s level and venom-laced tone took her aback momentarily, unable to respond in any fashion. Kyoka’s unusually steady voice responded equally levelly, sending icy chills up and down her neck.
“You heard him. Get the Hell out of here. Now.”
Taking a step back from the light, Kirisahi knew that neither she nor Bento were meant to intervene. An almost physical taste of malevolence flooded the cavern, and it took a supreme effort not to turn tail and flee in fear. Slumping wordlessly against a droplet covered cavern wall, the pair sat and watched, knowing that whatever happened in the next few minutes would change her life.

Kiba’s fangs had grown longer in his mouth, and his hair became an unruly brown mane which encroached upon his reflector and over his battered leather jacket. In turn Kyoka’s hands had sprouted coarse copper fur to the knuckles, and his eyes had become two blood orbs, red and devoid of iris, just a black pupil dotted in both with a calligrapher’s brush.

“After I kill you I’m writing some flowery poetry for your wife, painting a perfect image of your pathetic ending!” the bloodlusting Tokugawa roared gutturally, drawing his scroll from the folds of his intact black happi and biting his thumb open.
Kiba replied with nothing but a blank battle stare, devoid of any emotion as he tossed a soldier pill to Akamaru. Swallowing it whole, the behemoth dog started convulsing as rapidly muscle bulked all over him, shaggy fur changing to become the red of a dying sunset before massacre. A second tail split from the first as bone and sinews cracked and snapped into Akamaru’s new form, all the while the Nin-dog slavering and baying as until finally he stood complete, Kiba slowly forming the Ox seal as Akamaru stod next him, reaching his shoulder.

“No more talk, Tokugawa. Let’s go.”

*****

(Narrator’s Note: The track which should accompany this chapter is Parabola by Tool)

The texture of the scroll running through the wound of his thumb tingled delightfully sharp as Kyoka drew a blood line across the arcane kanji on the paper before dropping to one knee and slamming his bristled hand to the broken stone. Black characters spiderwebbed away quickly into the cracks of the Underworld before summoning smoke blasted the cavern, tousling Kiba’s now thick hair as he flew through a series of Ninjutsu seals. As the chain completed, the earth between he and the Tokugawa shifted and reformed, focussing into cracked deadly spears of stone which barrelled through the thick smoke towards their intended target. A loud crash and shards of broken rock came back in response, and it was then that Kiba saw through the dispersing haze what had been contained in the scroll.
“We seemed to be an uneven number. So now my minder here will make it a double date.” Kyoka said with a winning grin, arms folded over his bare chest as confidently as if he was still wearing his armour.

The ‘Minder’ was a stone soldier, carved in the likeness of a ceremonial warrior using many stones. He was adorned with a carved scale mail curiass, what should have been leather skirting over the legs and matching plate gauntlets and greaves, all intricately detailed with sealing kanji. The figure’s head was unarmoured, hair pulled in a bun neatly and a Grass Village headband of stone on his brow. But it’s face was what ingrained it into the memory of all who saw it. A mouth echoing a horrible wailing sat downturned with broken teeth under a flat nose, and where the thing’s eyes should have been were two empty circular sockets which receeded into blackness. The dark circular gouges regarded the pair before it impassively as the soldier trained it’s jian once more, having hacked the stone spears down with a tremendous strength.
A grotesque statue which wanted to kill them. It’s face aside, Kiba was unimpressed.
Kyoka interjected Kiba’s impending seals, his goading tone souring Kiba once again. “Before you try any Earth Jutsu on Xiao Lao here, you should know that he isn’t affected by Earth elemental techniques as weak as what you play with. It would take an S-rank technique to even touch him, and I know that you are too pathetic to have any.”
Kiba gritted his teeth, fangs jutting forward over his lower incisors. The bastard was right, he smelt an almost pure Earth element chakra core inside the statue, running to its stone extremities like a real Chakra system, a very clever parody of life. If it wasn’t standing to oppose him, he may have been impressed how a relpenishable chakra pool was bound to the golem, a hard task seeing the vessel was a being which had never been alive at any point. Instead he looked at the great crimson dog next to him, Akamaru baying hoarsely. He was ready.
“Well then,” Inuzuka Kiba shouted to his smug opponent, “looks like we have to take you both down the old fashioned way!”
No more words. The four warriors charged, shards kicking up behind them as they closed the gap in mere seconds. Kirisahi and Bento crawled quickly into a humid ventilation tunnel, sensing their cue to escape the imminent destruction, the promise of which hung in the stuffy air thicker than the warm vapours of the earth.

*****

War isn’t the domain of the elderly. When thought about, how many old people do you see who still claim that battle is their profession? Certainly very few of the true warrior Samurai. And very few Ninja either. Sadly, most would die or suffer debilitating injuries while reasonably young, or retire from the profession in their early middle ages and live out their meagre lives in peace. It seemed that the only well-aged Ninja in existence were the ones of legend, whose stories were told across every corner of the Ninja nations.
Perhaps to be still alive at such astounding ages was more than enough to warrant awe and admiration on it’s own, to have borne the life of a warrior for so long. But more than likely, it was the mere ideal of send your opponent to a funeral pyre and not the other way around, and having the resolve, strength and cunning to ensure that was the way it always turned out.

Neither Inuzuka Kiba or Tokugawa Kyoka expected to grow old. Both were the same: a blunt instrument among weapons, wielded by their villages to find their target and apply blunt force trauma to complete the mission. As such, their life expectancy was not long.
But neither would have changed what they were, if given the opportunity. Despite it all, this was the life that both knew. The cut and thrust of combat. The thrill of chasing fleeing quarry. In a way, they were two sides of a twisted mirror: reflecting each other’s base traits. Personalities aside, they could have been brothers separated by the village reflectors they bore. But more importantly than these superficial similarities, they both believed higher than anything that victory was the only thing of worth in this life. Victory on the battlefield. Victory against the naysayers and disparagers. Victory against the world. And the spoils that victory could bring: fame, wealth, status, a family and a home.
This was the reason each wanted to win this. Not to live, not for revenge. But to prove to themselves that they were the best. To meet an almost exact rival and to emerge triumphant, the battle-scarred alpha, just to validate their own existence.
This battle would forever be a locus of strength to the victor, a proud memory where they drew power from just by remembering. A defining point in their lives, when they knew in satisfaction for the very first time, that they were truly powerful.

*****

Kyoka stepped outside of Kiba’s lunge punch, pushing the fist away casually as he struck a left punch into his cheek. Kiba expected this and turned with the parry and blow, spinning around until he back kicked Kyoka in the exposed rubs under his left arm. The insane Ninja exhaled with the blow and slid on his feet back through the gravelly rubble, dust kicking up in his wake. Snarling he kicked off a still standing stalagmite and rejoined the foray. Blow for blow they traded upon each other, as if trying to land the heaviest impact upon the other in a deadly game of one-upsmanship. Kyoka would elbow Kiba in the face, rocking him enough to be punched again in the abdomen before Kiba would grab Kyoka’s head close to his chest and hold it there while he kneed him repeatedly in the solar plexus. His opponent would drive him backwards into a cavern wall and hammer him brutally with a lightning chain of body blows until he was countered, Kiba planting a maximum power punch straight into his softening ribs again, the battle spanning across many minutes. Both used Taijutsu techniques geared toward powerful attacks at the expense of speed, brawling messily, drunk on rage and hate.


Akamaru meanwhile, had been trying to utilise his full weight against Xiao Lao, but the stone statue had the surprising element of speed, bounding from floor to wall, and even banking from the roof in powerful leaps as it slashed at the great red wolf, all the while a horrible wailing coming from it’s terrible downturned mouth. Akamaru snapped, lurched at and swiped with his paw at the statue as it zipped past again and again, eventually swatting it from the air after being cut along his back, red blood camoflagued as it matted his long pelt. The statue crashed unceremoniously into a halogen light, stone and sparking electricity marking Xiao Lao’s impact as he rolled and skidded along the broken floor, scraping metal piercing the air. Akamaru burst from the combat to pounce violently into Kyoka as he broke from his own opponent for a second.
The crimson eyed warrior regarded the giant dog angrily as he rolled away from the interloper, countering with a kunai in the ribs. Akamaru yelped horribly but Kiba was on the madman before any more damage could be done.
“Eat this, you bastard!” yelled the tattooed warrior as he grabbed the blade wielding left wrist in one hand before bringing his right upward at the elbow, a sickening crunch as the joint snapped upwards.
Roaring over the blade’s clatter to the floor Kyoka wrenched the offending limb free and gripped Kiba behind the head, flinging him onto the floor. He came down harder than he should have, punished for his lapse as Kyoka knee dropped his head into the razor stone on the floor. Pain exploded through his cerebrum and his vision whitened. On the outside stones stabbed into his temple and sapphire cheek, blood wetting the cold, moist earth. But he wasn’t over. As the bald Tokugawa made for the inevitable second knee drop Kiba flicked his wrist, immediately slamming the smoke bomb he ejected from the sleeve of his leather jacket into the ground. By the time the second knee came down it found nothing but bloody floor, Kiba escaping into the smoke as it filled the moist air of the Underworld in a second.

Lost, Kyoka nursed his twice mutilated arm as he stared around himself, smelling nothing by dry smoke. The remnants of his black sleeve traipsed up his shattered arm were slick with the blood pouring from the snapped bone jutting obscenely from his break, red flattening his bristly arm hair and glazing the Kusagakure protector on his wrist. The headband on his head still stank of blood from before Yokai’s intervention, but the thin Ninja couldn’t clearly remember that injury. The parallels between the old situation and the new were lost to him. It was all pain. And in time he would appreciate every ounce of it.
Closing his eyes he used the one sense not fouled by the smoke bomb. The cavern opened to him once more. He heard his own rasped growl with each exhale, some fighting between that freak of a pet and Xiao Lao… footsteps.
In a split moment he flipped into a handstand on his one good arm, his right foot lashing straight into Kiba’s mouth. A crackle of bone was heard before Kiba’s horrible scream, his front teeth and canines ripping through the gum as they tore freely into his mouth. Clutching his open mouth in both hands he disappeared in a flash of smoke, Kyoka righting himself once more as more blood dripped onto the floor from his abused arm. Slowly he slipped the sleeve off and wound it, fashioning a crude black rope sling from the linen as he looked at his foot in satisfaction. A tooth was stabbed into his toe in a trickling twist of blood.

Appearing at the edge of the main cavern close to the roots of Murasaka Tower, Kiba forced himself to calm as much as he was able. Releasing his face he spat, dislodged teeth and black blood spewing onto the droplet covered stone as he himself fell to one knee helplessly. The pain was unbearable, his ragged gums obliterating all but survival instinct. Mouth full of the warm salty liquid he spat again before just leaving his downturned mouth open, tar-coloured rivulets pouring lazily onto the ground, some mixing in the air on their way down before pooling in the cracks alongside tears.
Adrenalin kicked in. The pain ebbed slightly, his body dealing with the shock. Now wasn’t the time to white out. Slowly, shakily he raised to his feet. Pictures flashed into his thoughts. Minoruko. Satoroshi. Hinata. Akamaru. The people he needed in his life, they needed him too. Just as much. He had already died once, he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

This newfound strength surging through his body despite the pain, he took one step before feeling Akamaru pull up beside him. He was bleeding too, the slash along his back still dripping. But he pitied Kiba. Stone chips still lodged into his blooded cheek and temple, hair had pressed into the mess and obscured the blacker of the two blue fangs. His mouth still hung open like he was a drunkard, blood drooling down over his blowfish large black lips, over his chin and splaying on his shredded black jacket, bullet hole over the heart slicked anew from above. Both were bruised purple in a dozen places and pale from blood loss. But they were still alive, and able to fight. That was enough.
Heartened to see each other, Kiba scruffed Akamaru quickly on the furry shoulder before performing one of his oldest set of seals and dropping into a crouch, the summoning smoke billowing up like pyre smoke as he pushed chakra into the deep red Nin-dog.

As Kyoka finished tying the last excruciating knot in the sling Xiao Lao returned to his side with a crunch, his bankshot from a cavern wall slowed as he stepped sideways on two stalagmites, turning slowly after the second to step to the floor upright. The great stone golem had a blood slick jian, his master attributing it to a kill. Grunting in acknowledgement, he feebly raised his hand in front of him and concentrated, chakra burning visibly in a blue aura as he prepared for his favourite technique. The power became noticeable by all in the cavern and even Kirisahi and Bento in the side tunnel, the air heavy with energy. Slowly he made painful seals with both hands, ignoring his pain. It was worth it, this was a great fight.

He never made the fourth design. Through the air barrelled two high speed drills, laced with silver and a lazy spiral of red droplets. Sensing the danger to his master Xiao Lao leapt forward with sword drawn, flying through the air at the assailants. But he was no match for the raw power of the Gatsuuga, and the added effect of the three kunai gripped in between the fingers of each hand by both Kiba and Akamaru sealed its destruction. With a splitting of stone Xiao Lao’s core was exposed to the Underworld, and the statue blew apart in a shower of musty powder as both Kiba and Akamaru arced upward into the bedrock of the ceiling, burrowing matching tunnels through the solid stone. The statue’s head rolled away through the smoke, gouged eyes and horrified expression fitting his termination.
Kiba and Akamaru once would have had to use Dynamic Marking on their target to ensure perfect accuracy. But their sense of smell was incredible, and pierced the smoke where Kyoka’s didn’t through forced long term exposure to the bombs. The tactic was one of their oldest, but it was also their most effective.
Forced out of his concentration by the sudden destruction of Xiao Lao, Kyoka’s eyesbrows knitted in disgust at the ineptness of his followers as the burnt chakra dispersed around him like a pinwheel unfolding mid-turn. Did they not realise that he had no use for them dead?
“Inuzuka! I demand you get out here right now!” he roared, piercing red eyes searching the smoke around him intently. No response was forthcoming, no foe materialising in his kill radius. His breathing became a vent of frustration as the battle became quickly tedious for Kyoka. “Coward! Face your death like a man!”
“You first.”
It was instantaneous. Upon stopping his drilling, Kiba had melted into the rocks of his tunnel floor, coming out the ceiling after spying on Kyoka from above. His foe’s senses had been rendered null by the caustic smoke bombs, and he had just waited for the perfect opportunity to stand upside down above Kyoka before a thin needle of stone had lanced directly downward. Snapping his head up as he sensed movement, the finger width spike stabbed through his left crimson eye and beyond, exiting the back of his head with a pop. Convulsing for a moment, his lifeless corpse slid down the spear and onto the destroyed floor with a rattle of both stone and death gurgle.

Kiba dropped to the floor as slowly his hair shortened and returned to its normal length. Akamaru took the easy way of breaking through the stone above from their tunnels to join him, the twisted and destroyed kunai both had grasped tumbling forth along with the broken stone and rock dust. Kiba didn’t look back. Staring down at Kyoka through the smoke, he remained contemptuous.
“Write me some poetry now, you bastard.” He slurred, speech drunken and ugly, before spitting watery blood on the corpse, a horrible ache throbbing his entire mouth as the gums finally began to clot.
Akamaru looked at his master, the Beast Man Clone showing what Kiba should have looked like. Sighing, he took the liberty of speaking, his voice a coarse version of his partner’s.
“You’re not winning any beauty pageants anytime soon.” He stabbed with a smirk, the creases on the inside of his blue tattoos making the joke seem malevolent. Kiba made to punch him in the kunai-slashed segment of his ribs playfully, but both froze. Slowly the cavern filled with a low whine which rose sharply, the siren like that broadcast at the start of a new shift in Kamigakure’s foundries. From corners of the room untouched by the combat, dusty and forgotten beige speakers blared the sound throughout the Underworld.
The shrill howling continued, Akamaru walking a few steps away and staring up at the roof of the cavern. “You know that’s being broadcast aboveground too, right?” Kiba nodded slowly, his slackening reality put on hold in the face of this turn of events.
A clear feminine voice came over the loudspeakers, the whine muting to fit behind the words.
“Attention, competitors. Due to unforseen military activity, the Dog-Nin Master Tournament is being cancelled. All competitors please exit the arena immediately. Attention, competitors. Due to unforseen military activity…” the automated message became drone-like, repeating in a loop.
Both looked at each other, knowing there was only one reason the competition would be called off.

Invasion.

“Well, this sucks.” Akamaru said before sighing, the exhale carrying the note of a dog whine. “After all of this effort, we still didn’t broker any contacts with other stables, and now there’s no prizes either. Plus, we may have to fight an army.”
Kiba grunted dejectedly, booting a shard of floor through the smoky cavern. It skittered across a quick jumble of stone before knocking against an unseen halogen light, the metal ringing out as the decree began again.
“Maybe... but we’re not on the road home yet.” Kiba slurred semi-intelligibly through swollen blue-black lips before patting Akamaru on the jacketed shoulder and nodding his thanks, bloody toothless grin making his partner shake his head in amusement. The two clasped each other’s wrists in a brotherly fashion before Akamaru changed back to his original form, the blood speckled great white dog once more. It was time to leave.

As Kiba limped towards the exit to find Kirisahi and Bento, Yokai roared with laughter, the sound echoing inside his head loudly.
BEAUTIFUL. SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL. THAT’S WHAT THE AUDIENCE WANTS TO SEE. CRAVES TO SEE. EVEN THOSE WHO WON’T ADMIT IT.
Kiba ignored him, focussing on the broken floor under his feet. Pain and spent adrenalin had eaten away his reserves, and he could only do so much more now that it was all over. The beast made no sign of caring.
I ADMIT, I HAD MY DOUBTS TODAY. BUT I’M PLEASED TO ADMIT HOW WRONG I WAS, INUZUKA. YOU ARE TRULY A LONG TERM INVESTMENT, AS THEY SAY THESE DAYS.
One foot in front of the other. No words. Blood dribbled down his chin. The corners of his vision blotted.
BUT LET US ATTEND OUR BUSINESS FIRST. YOUR DAUGHTER IS SAFE, AS I PROMISED. THE LAST THING SHE REMEMBERS IS A LOWER ASTRAL ENTITY FRIGHTENING HER BACK INTO HER BODY WHEN SHE FOUND YOU IN THE VENTILATION SHAFT.
Kiba tried focussing on the woman’s voice playing over the loudspeaker, hoping the words would blot out Yokai’s growl of a monologue. It worked for a while, until a phrase brought him back to attention.
… LITTLE SOMETHING EXTRA FROM ME TO YOU, A REWARD FOR VICTORY TODAY.

Immediately, the pain in Kiba’s face was focussed, as if viced, but only for a split second. When it was over, the pain was washed clean from his mouth. Kiba recovered from his wordless scream before tentatively probing with a finger, then three. His teeth were all accounted for and just as they had been, exactly straight and strong, and his lips had returned to their original size and tanned hue. But there was still a rock shard lodged in his temple. With a grunt he yanked it out, leaning his head slightly so that the blood followed his eyebrow and left the eye itself clear.
DON’T WORRY ABOUT AKAMARU. I ALTERED HIS MEMORIES; HE WON’T REMEMBER A THING ABOUT YOUR FACE LOOKING LIKE A BUTCHERED SLAB OF MEAT. BUT AS FOR THE REST OF YOUR WOUNDS, THEY CAN STAY. A SCRATCHLESS MATCH CAUSES SUSPICION. BESIDES, SCARS AND BRUISES ADD TO YOUR PRESTIGE.
Kiba wasn’t sure he liked the thought of memory wiping. But these ones were blessings. In a way he wanted to be thankful, but the nature of his sponsor perished the thought at the time being.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He said gruffly as Akamaru pulled alongside. The dog didn’t question his talking to himself, instead just pleased that there were no serious or disfiguring wounds.

Before they cleared the outside of the fog the pair sniffed around the room for a moment, eventually stumbling upon the old matchlock pistol, discarded where it had fallen. Eyeing the weapon curiously, Kiba retrieved it, turning it over in his hands. It was truly a piece of art; intricate and lovely in its own way, just as a well crafted sword could be lovely. But it meant more to him than just a piece of art. The firearm had cost him his life once, and there was a dark lesson to be learned there.
As he tucked the spent weapon into his stained snow jeans waistband, Akamaru cocked his head unsurely towards Kiba. Seeing this, he hissed dismissively.
“No Akamaru, I’m not so weak I need one of these. When we get back to Kamigakure I’m having it deactivated, and mounted next to my old Konoha headband.” This suited the dog fine, as Kirisahi waved wordlessly to them from the ventilation tunnel she had taken cover in.
The trophy would be an important reminder. Some things in life need to be remembered.

*****

Hours later, the Underworld was silent, save for the electric neon hum of the remaining halogen lights set around the roots of Murasaka tower. The smoke had mostly dispersed, and condensation had settled onto the new array of the stone floor. Shadows reached out further and bolder than ever before, touching objects until recently permanently out of reach.

Under a thin stone spike which grew downward from the ceiling unnaturally, something stirred. Sitting up slowly, Kyoka felt the back of his head tentatively with his good arm. Another scar, more like a lopsided star which receded into his head from behind. Copper hair still grew in places around the impact, but for how it felt, it could have been there for years. Slowly the Ninja checked his vision. Twenty/twenty.
He may have been insane, but he knew that he should have really been dead that time.
“How?” he started, surprised by how humble his voice sounded.
I HAVE MY WAYS…

**********