Laughing Dragon Part 1: The Calm
Key
Primary Cast
Red - Kitsumoto Hachirō, Shimogakure Genin
Pink - Sen Yamamoto, Shimogakure Genin
Light Blue - Haruki Yamada, Kirigakure Tokubestu Jōnin
Green - Ghidorah, Kirigakure Genin
Cyan - Junki Takenaga, Kirigakure Genin
Orange - 'Thunder'
Gold - 'Lightning'
Yellow - 'Rain'
A gentle rain continued to rattle at the wooden roof, much as it had done for the past few days. A storm was brewing and - Haruki had been certain - it was going to be both long and fierce. Beyond the chipped glass windows was a haze of mist that now covered even the silhouettes of the distant unfamiliar mountains, leaving the eight ninja and their charge cut off from the rest of the world and huddling about fireplaces to ward off the freezing temperatures. The large house was abandoned and in disrepair - this land's money and people had been fleeing for the safety of stronger nations since the start of the current Great Ninja War - but with minimal effort it made do as a temporary refuge.
Lady Tsugumi, the least hardened of the group had taken the basement for herself where she continued her tireless dance of paperwork and strange ritual. Above, Sen Yamamoto had found a room somewhat distanced from distraction, centring herself on her sixth sense and casting a net of awareness beyond the borders of the structure. Try as she might, however, the chaos of the brewing storm and impenetrable mist was more than a match for her inexperienced fumbling in the arts - even in her trance and total focus she could feel no further than a hundred paces from her body.
You are deceived. Your eyes blinded.
The confrontation below did not help, her chakra parting the barriers of wood and stone. Two young shinobi were locked in contest; the Genin from Kirigakure standing defiantly as another from Shimogakure circled and paced as if testing.
"All I'm saying is we've gone a month without any real action and a week of sitting idly by. If they sent us to this island to rot and lose our edge, I'm not giving them what they want." Kitsumoto, impatient as always, had been eyeing Ghidorah since they had arrived. Here was another Genin to sharpen against - one with new abilities at that.
"We shouldn't be fighting..." the younger Genin's mask helped keep a stoic face, but he was backed into a corner by his elder's energy.
"Think of it as training. If something happens you want to be sharp."
"But-"
"In a real fight a split second can determine win or lose - live or die - you shouldn't let your chakra or senses stagnate."
"..."
"Besides - the others talk about you like you're something special, but you don't look the part. I want to see the kind of Jutsu you have hidden in there."
Ghidorah recoiled at the word, grasping his own arm and shrinking into the corner.
Junki had been keeping close watch on the situation, eyeing between the two and his own Jōnin; a pale, gaunt man feigning interest in a book at the corner of the room. Haruki was watching without eyes - Junki was sure of it - but as usual was unwilling to get between Ghidorah and any form of conflict.
"The boy needs to learn. Let them fight." the voice that Junki heard was not spoken, but cast through the air as a thread of chakra. The Jōnin refusing even to move his gaze to meet his worried pupil.
Kitsumoto's hand was outstretched towards the near-cowering masked Genin, the grin on his face as oppressive as it was enthusiastic. "Come on, show me something cool, 'Mr. Weapon'"
His hand was swatted aside, but not by Ghidorah. Instead, he found himself separated from his target by Junki.
"Leave him alone."
Silence reigned as the gazes of all present met. Ghidorah's small reptile had been ready to pounce for a while, but froze its stalking gait as Junki and his feathered friend had intervened. The bird, perched upon his master's shoulder, gave Kitsumoto a far darker gaze than the Genin. Even the seated Jōnin turned his gaze briefly.
"Your friend's tied in a knot - I just want him to let loose. What's the problem?"
"You want to fight? Fight me."
Kitsumoto's eyebrow raised as his grin fell, "No offence, but you don't strike me as much of a fighter."
"Then let me show you."
"Deal."
You know they shouldn't. You know what's coming. Why don't you say anything?
Sen's mind turned from the conversation and back out to the mist. If she couldn't sense anything nearby, she could search for her mentor's aura at the very least. Chiyoko's chakra burned brightly and fiercely - she had been out on reconnaissance with Aoki since morning - if anything could help her reach further, it was such a strong and familiar signature. She tried clearing her mind, adjusting her posture, kneading more energy and even moving about the room; no luck, the two must have simply been beyond her maximum range. Her peace was once again interrupted by the gathering shinobi out into the rain.
"Out here should do. Wouldn't want to interrupt the girls."
Junki gave no response, as if still trying to figure a means to descalate. He'd known Kitsumoto for a few weeks now - the older Genin wasn't bloodthirsty, but his short temper had been reigned in for too long. If he didn't let him vent, Ghidorah would suffer for it.
"Just a sparring match. No Ninjutsu, right?"
"You think I'm some Academy Student?" the rattle of a chain signalled everything Junki needed to know - first, a bladed sickle-like head, then a metal ball, each linked together into a single, complex weapon. The weapon whirred as its wielded spun it in a circle to further punctuate the point.
"Training's no good if it doesn't push you to your limit. I'm nearly a Chūnin, you can take me seriously!" his laughter was surprisingly genuine. "You might not be a living weapon, but I've heard you somehow learned Wood Release. That's no joke - show me some of that."
Fifty paces - enough distance for long-range types to back away, but close enough for taijutsu specialists to close the gap. Kitsumoto's feet were already leaving the floor as he warmed his body up, his kusarigama passing over, under and around him in an impressive whirl, as if to synchronize with its flow as he stretched. Already he was feeling the differences of weight in his clothes from the rain, testing the mud beneath his feet and figuring the effect the wind was having on his weapon. He wasn't a true master - not yet - but he was certainly getting there.
Junki meanwhile was as his opponent's opposite. His subtle unclasping of straps and gentle removal of the more cumbersome components of a heavy winter suit was followed by a dismissal of a very angry bird. "It's okay, I'll be fine." It took more than a forceful glance to send his winged companion on its way; dragging his winter clothing and folding it by the door in frustration - the bird's strength was unnatural for its tiny size, marking it as chakra-bonded to the Genin.
Settled with their own preperations, the young shinobi began scrutinizing one-another. It was clear that Kitsumoto had the physical advantage - he was older, taller, stronger and faster even without chakra, made even more apparent with their differences in specialty. Junki's stance meanwhile betrayed his specialism in ninjutsu; lowered into a defensive style that allowed for easy access between his two hands for sign-weaving, but offering no advantage in physical offence. The two boys were geniuses in their own way - even without much experience they were both predicting how the battle might go, even giving some thought to the other's own predictions.
Kitsumoto acted first, sprinting directly forward in order to close the gap and press his advantage. As if following a practiced rehearsal, Junki’s hands weaved a multitude of signs, pressing them into the earth just before his opponent had made it half way and erecting a small, thin barrier of wood directly between them.
The obstruction proved trivial as a hooked chain pulled itself across the barrier and – with a pull of chakra-enhanced muscle, swung Kitsumoto around. A wooden bird was ready to meet him, barely smashed aside by the blunt end of the weapon held in reserve. It was too late to follow through, Junki had given himself the time to retreat back to fifty paces.
Both of them were testing for the same thing and came to the same conclusion in the first few seconds. Junki could easily keep Kitsumoto away from him using Wood Style, but its cost to Junki’s chakra would make it a losing battle.
Junki’s turn. Growing a gnarled branch beside him, the Genin tore from it and – like senbon – lashed out with thin splinters. The first three, Kitsumoto didn’t bother to dodge, swatting them out of the air with a metal gauntlet. The fourth, subtly infused with a veil of chakra struck right through, embedding itself half an inch in the metal-clad forearm and drawing blood. Though it had only hurt a little, the taijutsu expert would dodge the next three – Junki had made his point.
Sliding under the final wooden senbon, Kitsumoto made a direct charge again. Wrapping his weapon about his hands, he clasped them together in a sign and conjured twin images of himself. All three of them immediately split up and charged from a slightly different angle – taking advantage of his simplistic movements with regards to the limits of his clones. Junki could block them all – they both knew that – but a wider barrier would burn even more chakra. True to his plan, the Wood user clasped in a sign, but did not release his Jutsu. Kitsumoto almost thought of stopping – almost – but pressed on regardless.
Surrounded at three angles by oncoming mace-like heads, the barrier was finally released – growing not in front of the incoming projectiles, but past them and over the chain. Two of the illusory items simply disappeared on contact, but the real one was trapped. Kitsumoto pulled himself towards the barrier, raising the bladed hook to strike and free his chain from the grip only to find himself dragged from behind. The tree that Junki had been using for his splinters had coiled around during the commotion and, with hefty strength, pulled the other Genin off his feet to hang inverse in the air.
Thinking quickly, Kitsumoto used his trapped kusarigama as an anchor by wrapping the chain around his arm. He could feel the pull in his core as the snaking tree fought against his grip – this was an exposed position. Junki was already preparing a Ninjutsu to take advantage of his suspended opponent, but was interrupted by an accurate volley of shuriken from Kitsumoto’s free hand. Easily dodged, but it gave him enough time to retrieve his kunai and – with a focused chakra blade, slice through the weak tree.
With hasty attempts to free his weapon failing, the Shimogakure Genin cursed as he unchained his favoured weapon and retreated with a leap. He had lost his shuriken and kusarigama – but his opponent was already showing signs of chakra exhaustion. It couldn’t be helped – Ninjutsu was taxing, especially on Genin – all that overpowering strength came at a hefty cost to energy reserves, something taijutsu didn’t suffer from.
”Three for three?”
Junki had expected a different trick, a different angle of attack, he didn’t expect his opponent to sprint directly at him again. Rather than a barrier, he had finally decided to go on the offensive; answering Kitsumoto’s easy trajectory with a hail of wooden splinters – wide enough to catch him regardless of his speed, if poor in raw effectiveness. The other Genin made no moves to stray from his course and – for a moment – Junki was worried his Ninjutsu would connect too effectively.
His thoughts turned to shock as an explosion rocked the core of the oncoming projectiles; a paper bomb Kitsumoto had prepared, lit and attached to his kunai. Junki’s tired and rattled mind looked left, right and above to cover his opponent’s advance, only to be caught further off guard as the charging Genin threw himself – unarmed – through the smoke of the explosion and connected his fist to the side of Junki’s face, sprawling him into the dirt.
A laughter reached his ringing ears ”Make your opponent expect something clever and they’ll miss the direct solution!”
He approached closer, quicker and with stance poised for a kick – the punch wasn’t nearly enough to take Junki out. Stopping only when he was intercepted by a small, colourful bird. The thing chirped and chittered as it clawed at Kitsumoto’s face – its small feet cutting deep gashes. As determined as it was, it could only dodge one punch before a kick sent it flying.
He almost looked to commend the bird on its warriors spirit, but his words found no air – as if it had been knocked out of him. It was only a second later he realized he was tumbling, a large wooden construct had struck into his chest and exploded into splinters, he was spinning, falling and finally struck the dirt with a wet thud, the crimson from his surface wounds mixing with the rainwater.
He will heal, but not quickly enough. You could have prevented this.
Junki’s hands were still clasped in the sign of the bird as he panted deep, exhausted breaths. The punch had dazed him, but the chakra exhaustion drove him nearly to unconsciousness, his vision blurred as he catapulted up with speed – not towards Kitsumoto, but towards the wounded bird that chirped in pain at its broken wing.
Kitsumoto tried to stand, falling twice, before finally making it to his feet a third time. Pain lanced through his chest as he inspected the blood pouring from a hundred small gashes.
”H-hey… Not bad. Both of you!” he couldn’t bring himself to laugh, his own vision and hearing fading while the cries of Asuka Inoue – the team’s joint Medical Nin, reached both of their muffled hearing.
A wet rumble alerted the Komugakure Jōnin of their companion as her silhouette slowly appeared in the rain - each droplet seemed to coalesce, first into a ball, then a mannequin, finally a short woman with long white hair, clad in black.
"The ploy was a success, they're faltering in the storm, the target has no idea we're here."
"Good," the largest of the trio; a musclebound, scarred and bandaged man relieved himself from the stone he was perched upon. His hand toyed with the grip of one of three swords about his belt, as if testing its willingness to be drawn. A roll of lightning crackled through the clouds above in response. "We've been waiting long enough. Now we strike."
"Keep to the plan," the third, frail-looking, elder figure spoke with a leader's tone as he unbalanced himself from the peak of his monk staff; crawling down its length without disturbing its own balance in the slightest - the rings and bells about it jingling in response to a sudden wind.
"Kill the medic first. Then we bleed the rest. Take only the target alive."