The mission with Nova had been a success of varying degree. In terms of accomplishing the tasks entrusted with them, they had done so swimmingly. The threats that had ended multiple Kirigakure shinobi were put down and would not be continuing their slaughter. However, the rip in Takao’s favourite vest when his left side sustained a harpoon going through it was something he considered a personal failure. The bandages on his right arm carried with them a seal upon the fabric, and that seal had been used to change into a different vest after his departure from Nova at the beach in which they had emerged from.

Thus had marked the long trek back to Kirigakure. Unlike his first and admittedly rather fruitful attempt at returning to the village by stumbling through the wilderness, Takao had opted for the road. He hadn’t gotten far from the docks when his ears caught on to the quiet, distant fizzle of something behind him. His head turned and his gaze rose skyward, catching sight of the line of smoke as it arced above the docks. Obsidian eyes narrowed and flooded with chakra, drawing Aibāningu to overtake the black irides, quickly discerning a multitude of glowing humanoid figures in the distance where the flare had originated. One in particular stood out, which was the vague outline of a familiar face. Although his knowledge of the situation lacked the intimacy of somebody who was present, Takao broke into a sprint back toward the docks of which he had just barely departed from.

Chakra poured from the tenketsu of his legs and into the muscles of his calves, overriding their natural extension as the chakra erupted beneath the soles of his feet. He was thrown into the air in a semi-controlled, barely calculated arc, with his gaze quickly searching for and finding the figures that had caught his attention previously. Although it was little more than a thermographic outline, Takao's skill with his bloodline provided enough detail for him to know that the figure he had seen was Kirei, and that there was trouble afoot. Even if the young Genin was in danger, Takao did not want to reveal himself just yet, and opted to don the ROOT demeanor in which he had revealed to Kirei mere nights prior.

“Damn it,” Takao grunted, his words inaudible over the loud hiss of wind in his ears as he fumbled with the straps of Muninn. The time he allotted himself to prepare was left little room for error, and was just enough for him to remove the straps, pull his left sleeve up, and secure the weapon on the other arm. There was little benefit to his combat ability in doing so, his self-trained ambidextrous handedness was intended more for deception, and this matter required discretion.

The distant, almost inaudible whistle of Takao's rapid descent went unnoticed by those who stood below him. Glowing eyes had marked his targets before even engaging, plotting out the most vague of plans that would undoubtedly change as the ensuing battle raged on, but it was a starting point nonetheless. The trajectory in which he fell had been haphazardly calculated and he fell true on mere luck alone. His arm jerked back once and forward again as the handle of Muninn swung forward and into his gloved grasp, the weapon's mechanisms turning to erect the blade from its housing in a single fast, swift motion. Takao used the resistance of the wind and exceptional timing to spin his body in a full three hundred sixty degrees before he made his sudden landing. His left arm extended and, with the momentum gained from the spin, Takao swung Muninn straight through the arm of the assailant whose katana threatened Kirei.

The smooth, sharp blade bit into flesh effortlessly and tore through skin, meat, and bone alike. The subject of Takao’s mutilation could barely contort his face in shock of his own assailant’s sudden appearance before the helmed shinobi acted again after landing. The blood had barely began to spew from hewn veins when Takao’s weapon-armed elbow slammed into the man’s gut, forcing his remaining hand and arm from the spheroid liquid prison. The result of the strike to his solar plexus left him lurched over, and Takao’s onslaught came to an end when his torso rotated in the opposite direction of the solid elbow strike. The tip of Muninn was forced down between his shoulder and behind his rib cage, sinking effortlessly through flesh and muscle before it skewered the life giving organ thumping rapidly within. The body’s nervous system made him twitch and spasm even though the cold hands of death had quickly embraced him, and he crumbled lifelessly to the ground before the limb that Takao had sliced through earlier would land itself.

The commotion had drawn more attention than he would have preferred. Glowing eyes obscured by the tinted helmet visor stole a brief sidelong look at Kirei to ascertain his condition before they settled back upon the glowing thermographic visages that surrounded them. None seemed happy with their presence, though many were apprehensive to engage after witnessing the spectacle that left one of their own limp on the ground.

“Get up.” Takao said sternly to Kirei, maintaining a position in front of him when one from within the crowd had made a second attempt at his life via a thrown shuriken, which met Muninn’s blade and was sent into the wall. His voice was the same as it was on the night that he had conscripted the young shinobi into the ROOT initiation phase; monotone, stern, and distorted by the rebreather of the mask that obscured his face.

“Pick three.” Takao narrowed his on the visage of two stronger looking characters in particular. He had decided they would be his personal quarries, exempt from Kirei’s choice of combatants.

Without averting his gaze from them, the helmed shinobi swiped the arm-braced blade and flicked the trace amounts of blood from its carbon fiber surface. The crowd of seventeen began to arm themselves one by one, pulling blades from scabbards and knives from pockets, in preparation for their skirmish. Takao’s legs shifted and spread to shoulder width, while his left hand rose and pointed Muninn in the direction of the crowd and his right tightened into a fist.

“I’ll handle the rest.”

Takao’s eyes slowly dulled and lost their glow, fading back to onyx hue. Aibāningu would do little to aid him here, acting as a detriment that obscured the finer details of the battle. Broad daylight meant that the tint of the mask was more akin to sunglasses than complete darkness.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Kirei rise, force his shoulder back into place, and take to the rooftop of a nearby warehouse whilst a trifecta of clones marked their quarries via a thrown kunai and proceeded to engage. Takao acted immediately thereafter, keen eyes catching the way chakra pushed and distorted the wind enough to warrant a terse reaction. A breath within his lungs was flooded with chakra and exhaled in mimicry of the blade, catching it head-on. Strong torrents of wind ripped through the immediate area in which they stood as the pair of techniques collided, canceling each other out.

Dust erupted from the mouth of a Kirei doppelganger, providing Takao with the outer licks of cover as well. The rebreather kept his lungs clear of debris whilst the other pirates were not so fortunate, coughing and swiping at the air as they moved and stumbled toward the outskirts of the technique’s range. The dull rasp of Muninn sliding back into Takao’s sleeve rang out amidst the sounds of Kirei’s conflict, the helmed shinobi resolving not to kill any further, if it could be done.

“Damn--!” One of the senior shinobi within the band of pirates cursed from within the dust. Although their vision was largely unobscured, thanks to their well-honed perceptiveness, they were aware that some of their subordinates were not so fortunate.

“I can’t see shit!” “Can’t one of you blow this shit away?!” “Look out!”

The cries of several from within the dust were heard alongside hollow thuds and the sound of scuffling. Whilst one of the shinobi pirates slammed their palms together in preparation to blow the debris away, Takao had used what remained of his portion of the dust field to engage several of the pirates. The clang of metal, the tear of fabric, and the dull sound of unconscious bodies hitting the wooden docks they stood upon filled the air before the powerful hand-borne gale came. Another strong barrage of wind tore through the dust and blew large portions away, leaving only trace amounts remaining. As the dust was cleared by the technique, the remaining pirates noticed that four of their comrades lay unconscious on the ground, and that their masked assailant was nowhere to be found.

Having shrouded himself with chakra and cloaked his body with bent light, the Jōnin focused on the two real dangers that remained. Takao engaged while their eyes scanned for him frantically. His cloaked fist slammed into the unsuspecting jaw of one of the shinobi. He staggered and swung his katana wide at the air by instinct. Word befitting of a sailor were spewed from his mouth as a second punch connected.

A brash symphony of wild slashes forced Takao’s momentary retreat. The uncontested ninja did not sit idly by, and weaved a pattern of hand seals while sucking in a lungful of air. As he exhaled, a powerful torrent of water was spewed amidst the breath, not so much at any particular person but rather covering the ground with a clear layer of moisture. As Takao moved, each of his cloaked footprints rippled against the water.

“There!” The shinobi shouted after the torrent came to an end, pointing toward the vague location of Takao’s position. In response, the motley crew of non-shinobi unleashed a barrage of projectile weapons in his direction, and the shinobi who had not spewed water weaved his own set of hand seals. As he did, Takao evaded several of the projectiles, and the ones that he was incapable of evading were instead blocked with the flesh of his forearm. Although pain was present, it was ultimately negligible, and the cloak that shrouded his body flickered and faded. He tore the trio of shuriken from his arm and dropped them with a clang, opting to rush the jutsu casting shinobi rather than retaliating to the pirates. The breath was exhaled, and a relatively thin strip of coarse dust was ejected. Takao’s positioning allowed him to evade the breath easily enough, although as the man’s head moved to follow his helmed assailant, so too did the line of dust. The jet tore through the path and the outer wall of the warehouse, only narrowly missing several of the pirates as well before Takao positioned himself between the two shinobi and forced the first to end his technique, lest he damage his friend.

Takao easily outpaced and outmatched the man whose technique had only just ended, striking him repeatedly with various blows across his body and blocking the attempts made against him. The other shinobi chimed in when the opportunity arose, but found himself at the receiving end of a blow or two that forced his retreat. Instead, he opted for another approach, and strung together a sequence of hand seals different from the pattern he had completed before. While Takao and the man fought, several pirates attempted to attack as well. One found himself with a hard strike to the jaw, and the other a powerful kick to the chest that sent him through the wire-trapped doorway nearby, entangling and ensnaring him thoroughly. The additional combatants allowed the shinobi to land a few solid strikes on Takao’s person, but none were especially impairing.

As the non-contested shinobi sucked in a breath of air, building up oxygen and chakra within his lungs, Takao ducked under the wide swing of the shinobi he had been combatting. In the same motion, he balanced himself with one hand on the ground, and slammed the heel of his boot into the chin of the shinobi just as he was prepared to release the technique at point blank range. The head of the shinobi was thrust upward from the force of the kick and the technique was released harmlessly into the sky. Takao’s assault on the man didn’t end there. Briefly using his arms to support his weight, the leg used to kick the shinobi swung as his body rolled onto his back and then shoulders, spinning further and gaining momentum with the other leg. The unorthodox motion brought the heel of his boot sweeping through the man’s legs and throwing him to his back, while Takao rolled effortlessly back to his feet. The pirates around them seemed apprehensive to join the bout of shinobi versus shinobi, perhaps in fear that they might be caught in the crossfire as they nearly had been earlier.

Although Takao had tasked himself with handling the majority of their assailants, Kirei had taken initiative in combating the hesitant onlookers. Their figures were obscured by a shroud of flames, aiding the young ROOT initiate in weaving through the licks of fire to launch his assault upon those trapped within. Afforded precious little time to observe, the Jōnin found himself under fire at the hands of the two unexpectedly durable enemy shinobi. Bloodied and beaten faces aside, they looked no less hungry to spill his blood, each armed properly and stanced appropriately with their katana in hand.

As both a test of skill and a wordless extension of faith in his abilities, Takao opted to leave the remainder of the pirates to Kirei while his focus remained solely on the two shinobi, with whom he had entered a staring contest brought on by the hesitation of waiting for the other to act first. Takao had yet to fully reveal the nature of his techniques, while the other two had more or less displayed where their prowess lied. One held elemental advantage over him, the other was opposite, and neither seemed fully capable of keeping up with him in close quarters. A breakneck offense would do the trick, and luckily Takao specialized in just that, however the state of the docks and his surroundings remained an issue. It would hardly be a success if in stopping these shinobi, he was forced to level everything in sight and reduce it to ash.

Takao’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, the subtle expression of surprise garnered by his especially vocal subconscious hidden from the two shinobi in front of him. Perhaps it had been the mere passing mention of ash that triggered its emergence, or maybe it was just long enough into the fight for the disembodied voice to start its whining.

”Shut up!” He mentally berated his own excessively vocal psyche. Years of being plagued by its incessance left him jaded to its morbidity, yet even though it was dismissed, the disembodied voice had a point. Even if he did need to use fire, recent developments had given him the tools necessary to handle the aftermath.

Having finally grown tired of waiting for something to happen, one of the shinobi launched three metallic projectiles at Takao; one for the head, two for the chest. The other had willed a strong gust of wind from behind his body, catching the projectiles and increased their lethality. Takao ducked under the first projectile aimed for his head, and lifted his left arm to deflect the second as he evaded into it to dodge the third. As he did, Takao feigned a tiger seal, which was unnecessary for him to mould the chakra in his lungs. As he exhaled, the chakra was scattered by the diffuser in his mask, and broadened the size of the technique. A roaring, ten meter wide orb of intense flames shot from the rebreather of the mask and rocketed toward the pair. As soon as it was exhaled, Takao quickly bled and released chakra from his legs, which sent him high into the air above the fireball.

Given precious little time to evade because of the fireball’s speed and close proximity, the shinobi opted to counter the technique head on instead. Weaving hand seals turned chakra and nearby water into a translucent shark-shaped torrent of water from beneath the docks to collide with the raging fireball. The water extinguished the flames with ease, turning heat to steam as the shark continued forward and collided with the corner of the warehouse, slamming into and eating away at the wood. It quickly became apparent that Takao was no longer where he had been previously, and it took the pair little more than a quick look at their surroundings to locate him descending upon them from above.

The second shinobi had already claimed a bird seal and exhaled a volley of six pressurized spheres made from chakra and air. Takao feigned another string of hand seals and met each facet of the barrage with a ball of flame of his own. They collided and his fire prevailed as the superior element of the conflict, redirecting each with increased vigor as the flames erupted over the spheres and turned them back on their caster. As fire rained down upon the pair, they scattered to evade, and Takao landed with a heavy thud just in front of the shinobi who had favoured water for their bout.

The shinobi swung wide and strong, but met Takao’s Muninn-protected arm. Flesh and bone collided with the metal housing of the retractable tonfa, causing a hollow sound to ring out as the shinobi dropped his blade and Takao’s right hand gripped the wrist of his offender. His strength proved superior as he pulled the shinobi closer and jabbed his elbow into the unprotected flesh of his throat. Staggered and choking from the strike, Takao didn’t let him recover. The helmed shinobi grabbed the collar of his shirt, kicked out his knee and bent it backward to force him down, and effortlessly exhaled a white-hot jet of pressurized flame onto his grappled victim. A loud scream of horror left the man’s throat until the fire devoured the oxygen in his lungs, rapidly burning away flesh and muscle. Fire erupted around the pair as Takao finished vomiting fire onto his quarry; he stood unaffected, and the man laid reduced to a fried husk of whatever mangled and burnt muscle remained.

It was more telling of his abilities than he would have liked, but ultimately it mattered little. Only two of them would emerge alive from the fight, one way or another, and the other was bound to learn eventually. Takao set his sights upon the remaining shinobi, who was visibly shaken by the culling of his two degenerate companions. Stepping unharmed from within the flames, Takao slid Muninn from its housing, ready to finish the fight.

As the last licks of flame left Takao’s unburnt person, he broke into a sprint. The morale of the pirates was left in tatters, only a shred remained within the shinobi that stood steadfast amidst the burnt and bloodied docks. Heavy thuds of Takao’s boots padding against the wood were barely audible as the remainder of the pirates fled to boat and inland, seeking whatever solace they could find from their shinobi assailants.

The shrill sound of clashing weapons rang out as Takao’s bladed tonfa collided with the shinobi’s katana. Tiny shavings of metal sparked and ignited as their edges slid along one another with each clash. In the flurry of blows, both side sustained superficial cuts and scratches from the other’s blade. The shinobi swung Takao’s tonfa aside with superior leverage, and carried through with the slash to bring the blade down at his head. But as Takao’s arm was swept away, he stepped forward, and slammed his knee into his opponent’s lower ribs. Through the cloth that covered his joint, he could feel bones crack and crunch under the power of the blow, which sent the shinobi staggering backward.


Takao’s expression flinched behind his mask, unseen to his opponent once more, as the voices within his head screamed and shouted. The sheer volume of their urging made his own thoughts a whisper amidst their yelling, and his actions less his own and more theirs. Having been forced into a momentary pause as a result of his inability to think clearly, the shinobi had taken the opportunity to strike. Black eyes widened as he watched the shinobi suck in air and lift his fist, prepared to pound it against his stomach. For a brief moment, Takao hesitated, now unable to properly consider his options as the voices grew louder and louder in his head. His judgement was clouded, and his inaction a result of the deeply seeded mental turmoil of his own thoughts being lost to louder, more intrusive suggestions.

The shinobi exhaled the breath as his fist came pounding down onto his stomach. The highly compressed oxygen within his gullet tore into the wooden boards as it closed in on Takao, razor sharp blades of wind slicing everything in its path. Instinct kicked in and chakra began to flood his legs, but he didn’t move.




The voices overwrote his instinct and Takao’s eyebrows furrowed. Finally giving in to his frustration and their wishes, chakra was kneaded within his lungs in an instant. He exhaled before the torrent of slicing wind could reach him, and leaving his lungs with his breath was a massive, volatile plume of powerful flame. Elemental weakness allowed the flames to overtake the bullet with spectacular ease, and turned it on its caster. As the swathe of fire consumed the air, it turned into a sea of flames, reducing everything that it touched to ash, including the shinobi who had stood within the fire.

The sounds of conflict faded, and left only the crackling of fire to break the newfound silence. In the distance, he heard shouting, likely townspeople upset that their buildings had been set alight and destroyed in typical fashion for a bout between shinobi. Takao slowly inhaled and steadied his breath, turning away from the destruction to let the locals take care of the damage. It hadn’t been his fight, and it certainly wasn’t about to become his mess.

Takao approached Kirei, slumped and exhausted, and watched as he swiped ash from his face. “Let’s go, before the townspeople blame us for this mess.” He said, unwilling to be at the receiving end of a disgruntled mob’s torches and pitchforks. The helmed shinobi leaned down and, without the consent of his young partner in crime, lifted the spent Uchiha onto his back, provided that there wasn’t a struggle to discourage him from doing so.

“Only until you’ve got the energy to walk.” He added bluntly before they departed from the burnt warehouse, and back on the road bound for Kirigakure.

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