Drawn to the fiery horizon, a militia of harried garments threadbare on a shadow's back made haste for the Wind Country skyline, dipping with seductive curves that rolled barely beyond each ridge into a sea of dry dust crawling out toward the infinite. Poured over the rushing figure that sent flying soles, pulsing with chakra, into the folds of sand and made light work of the frightening expanse between dunes, frayed tufts of displaced sand leaping in time with ankles rising, tension snapping at the ocean's surface. Long days dragged thick layers of darkness over light revolving in the sky above as the lone shinobi tore through vast nothing, eyes transfixed on the road to sunset somewhere in the west, where betrayal's beating heart thrummed loud enough to track. Through the veil of cloth obscuring his face, red eyes pierced the sweltering heat of Kaze no Kuni's distant cities, onto the shape of flags swimming in the windswept reach.

"Is that assassin the reason we're still on alert?"

"I overheard the Messenger say another company had been wiped out yesterday, along the river leading west,"

Whispers caught desert winds and scorched the lips of marching soldiers who rabbled along the shore of slithering water that lead toward the Sand's recreation. Tracked through miles of shifting sands, the Leaf's techniques had served well the shinobi in black's crusade throughout the Wind, memories of friendly conversations conjured thoughts of an anchor from which his target would not stray. Fingers crested straps of painted leather, tugging against the soft resistance of gravity, metal clasps unwilling to hinder Kōtomo's graceful, silent withdrawal. Sinking sun swirled black, and orange into scarlet that cast jagged ridges of shadow from the edge of innumerable grains, bathing the predator that looked upon a heard of scouts in darkness. Twisting in the silent nothing, the space between a heaving sigh came as steel passed through the quivering wind, heat rushing heavenward from expanding desert ground guiding a flurry of shuriken in a graceful arc along the dune's trajectory. The whistling myriad of slicing tornados suspended there beneath the sword of damocles halted long enough for the assassin's voice to whisper low.

"Ōkuninushi..."

Black edges sliced through stalks of marching ankles cries erupting from a writhing mass of scattered formations in time with an immense scattering of crows from the dune's shadow which tore skyward, drawing befuddled stares from those who danced around to find purchase from the errant projectiles that had struck them. Descending in a shoal of seamless black feathers, woven across the sky to blanket it in inky shadow save for bloodshot eyes which drained of white and black to trails of iridescent red. Sheets of crows became a hail of daggers, rusty implements cutting down across the regiment. Rising from their eastern flank, the shape of black and grey short forward, Kōtomo peering from behind its master's hip as it swung with the upheaval of the assassin's momentum, wide eyes twisting to the figure in their peripherals, shades of horror passing through with tempered edge behind those very eyes to carry onward. Through a valley of smokestacks, Kirei made his way trailing brotherhood spinning in his fingers while expert Sharingan danced at the edge of his influence, watching the tint in earthly boundaries shift with his steps, Genjutsu lulling to death the scouting party with whom he hoped to lure forth his mark.

Tired, bloodshot eyes scanned through the trajectory of his onslaught, the Uchiha's fingers loosening on Kōtomo's handle letting loose the blade, threading it precariously through the sea of his illusion where it thrust itself deep into the northern sand. Wails turned to desperate confusion as color seeped around the scouts, blood, and ashes rising from their bodies as the pain melted together into the shape of feathers draining heavenward, coalescing into birds of prey which scattered to the winds. Seconds past before the few Kirei had slain became the focus of circles forming in the leftover crowds interrupted by the shrill remark of crows screeching in the silence. Wings draped across Kōtomo's hilt, the red-eyed crow, ruffling its feathers, shifted with impossible heft, wings contorting, elongating into masses of shredded cloth, digits slipping through the space between eyes and beaks to grasp the handle of a blade from which a string of paper tags cut a trench backward, throughout the rows of men and women. Pearlescent fangs cut bright through the waning, crimson twilight, fire sparking at the Uchiha's fingertips to call forth havoc in its wake. For the hunted, their final moment would be spent in daylight, cast through the final second of sunset before the night sunk through, blasts of wind and sand tossed into the sky still falling in thick rivulets of dust that threatened to last minutes.

Through this chaotic upheaval, whatever force arrived to see his work would see the shrouded figure, folds of black cloth enough to obscure himself deliberately, clutching the white-hot edge of his sword which dragged sizzling, molten trails through the sand.

Dust settling and overcome with silence, the desert shifted beneath the Uchiha's feet, chakra flooding through a slip in space where once nothing had been joined the dance of light, waxing and waning as chakra pulsed with a hidden rhythm. Dunes thrust into jagged peaks by the explosion drew an audience of carrion birds, black feathered, dark-eyed things that cackled low and ready to take flight. Moon swept behind clouds, eerie; still, blackness surrounded the shinobi who stood above a field of smoldering armaments. Crossing paths between them, Izumi's gaze became a bridge that would link her to this ghost, her eyes flirting with the red luminance that peered from the shadows of the Uchiha's hood, plastering the world with a veil of falsehood. Lies crept between innumerable grains that shifted beneath the weight of their chakra, three tomoe transfixed on the Wind's assassin he had crept across this wasteland hoping to slay.

Red lips closing with her cadence, Izumi's introduction was met with no reply save for the rustling of a feathered gallery, spectating from every angle, and the whisper of fabric thrown into spasms by the wind. Beneath these folds, Kōtomo readied itself, steel tip dripping from the Uchiha's right hip, snipping at the open air before it would become a river, cascading through the mountain of Kirei's grip. Twisting rapids of Kirigakure's craftsmanship descended with the Leaf shinobi, coupling an impressive upheaval in the world around them, wings clapping to life, impossibly echoing in the expanse and whipped into a frenzy. Sliding from the Uchiha's cloaks, threads trickled away and became a trail of vipers that hissed wickedness foul and brutal. Arm raising, the Uchiha's teeth tore at bandages, ripping free the back of his palm, carved black with ink, and conjured, between those same fingers, in the grip of his sword, a wreath of shuriken. Taking on a life of their own, and through the flusterstorm of ebon birds, the folds of the Uchiha's cloak would stretch as he unleashed his barrage, a quartet of black projectiles aimed in pairs, for the woman's chest and each of her thighs.

With the spin of his arm, the assassin would be gone, burst into a murder as he moved through layers of Genjutsu piled thick, presenting to Izumi the image of his body erupting into ravens while concealing his arc to the woman's left-hand side. Just beyond the crest of a meter, and to what would have been Izumi's left, the Uchiha would emerge from a shoal of black feathers, Kōtomo rising silver-tinged-blue in a path toward her elbow. No sooner than a second beyond the encroaching shuriken, the Uchiha's onslaught would begin, dancing forward with blade flickering moonlight in its wake for the woman's thigh and chest, cutting ahead and pivoting toward the sky to rend through her flesh from the nightmarish storm of his Genjutsu. Through even his deceit, Kirei knew the likelihood of his master faltering so early was low, and so his Farce, and this display of his illusory prowess would serve to prod at her defenses, smoke drifting through the air threatening to expose a crack in Izumi's armor.

Close to two years put between them, the boy whom she had discarded from the apex of Shinwato's monument had not returned, and the chakra swelling in his spirit would relay this death. Familiar, nostalgic even, but chilling cold, the Uchiha's chakra poured into the surrounding Genjutsu, crafting the shadow between each strand of a thousand-thousand feathers, eyes cutting red streaks through the night, brush strokes lingering crimson as Kōtomo slashed toward its master's foe. For all their duels in Kirigakure's countryside, and their deadly encounter on the night of Rippa's death, this opponent would not feel familiar to the graceful assassin who protected Suna's reclamation, instead, the Uchiha before her lashed out refined and practiced, without hesitation, and wreathed in shifting chakrascapes that ebbed and flowed with his Sharingan Genjutsu. Hidden still beneath the layers and folds of shredded black robes, the missing limb from which Kirei drew the determination to press his attack, and instead presented to Izumi would be the threat of something more to come, some secret blade or plan that this assailant had yet to reveal. Running through the Uchiha's thoughts, interspersed with thrashes of revenge and mercy, a single idea remained.

'Would you have been proud of me?'

Streams of red leaking from behind the Sharingan, Kirei made his ingress toward the assassin he once called master, step's twisting gullies of sand beneath their weight, grains absorbed in a storm of darkening Genjutsu. Needles pulled slowly, draining light and color from the illusion, Okuninushi's illusory prowess weaving falsehoods at the Uchiha's command. The shinobi's eyes flickered, watching the muscles beneath Izumi's flesh twitch and pulse, plucking at the tendons in her fingers as her arm snapped high, sword arcing above them and kept in the Uchiha's peripherals, Sharingan unwilling to forsake the movements of its opponent. Through a flourish of feathers, Kirei emerged with violence glistening from the sword he thrust as lance toward Izumi's leg, but with a swift hand seal, the woman was gone, and Kirei's scowling sword met nothingness in its stead. Kirei's thoughts rushed with questions, the voice of another self with whom he was intimately familiar permeated the waves of his subconscious.

'That Hand Seal..'

Stabbing through the air as the Uchiha stepped forward, whirling the blade heavenward, Kirei's Sharingan caught the kunai's path and Izumi's suspended frame. Sword dropping before her body and the rush of steel toward the Uchiha's chest, the Sharingan's focus allowed him to expend little effort, tracking the trajectory of her projectile would afford Kirei the ability to pivot on his heel and avoid its path entirely with a skip toward his right. Hand rising again in time with her attack, the Uchiha could not help but grimace as Izumi's fingers made the Seal of Confrontation. Without delay, the Uchiha's opponent vanished, Sharingan frantically trying to track impossible movements or the trace of chakra left by a flickering body empowered with chakra. With nothing left behind, Kirei saw too late the shadow that barreled toward him with blade in tow and brought Kōtomo to bear before him, knocking the tip of Izumi's sword but altering it too little, weapon plunging through the side of his abdomen and freezing for a moment. Seconds drew to minutes, Kirei's Farce erupting in a cacophony of screeching ravens and thrashing feathers before the Farce collapsed around them, reality sinking away to impossible duality, hidden within itself. Close enough to feel the cold of his body, Izumi would see the Sharingan change, and a smile slither across the Uchiha's lips while tomoe gave in to spiraling patterns, replaced with shifting pinwheels that shone brighter in the dim, decaying illusion.

From his original position, the Uchiha would already have begun his assault, hurling a shuriken toward Izumi without delay, and raising his hand to form the shape of a seal as he bound toward her in its wake. One would become thousand, shuriken multiplying in clouds of smoke and chakra into a wall of cloned projectiles that threatened to rip Izumi into pieces. If this were not enough, the Uchiha would immediately exhale, producing an orb of fire from his lips, chakra surging through his throat and lungs to ignite the air in glorious array. Blooming from between gritted teeth, the Katon scorched the sand, casting long shadows toward Izumi and illuminating the dunes brighter than the desert sun. Obscuring himself from view, Kirei would raise Kōtomo to cross his body, tip pointing toward his right hip, Mangekyō watching Izumi through the layers of chakra, determined to decipher the source of her movement. The swell of fire and metal which threatened to devour her intended to force whatever technique she had employed out and allow him to observe it closer, ever-the-scout, some old habits could not be broken. Wherever she moved, the Uchiha would be ready, allowing his Sharingan to drift rapidly through the surroundings, picking out the slightest flare of chakra, on edge and careful to protect himself, the Uchiha remained prepared to shift his stride and place Kōtomo between them at a moment's notice.