"What's a Mizukage doing in a place like this?" I called out, keeping my voice casual despite the way my pulse hammered against my eardrums. I tied the panties around my wrist. "A bit far from home, don't you think?"
Inwardly, I was already preparing the Devil Whisper, though honestly, I had no fucking clue if it would work on someone already caught in another's genjutsu.
What combination of words could possibly convince a puppet to cut its own strings? What kind of effect would it have on a mind already twisted by Sharingan manipulation? I'd bet good money it wouldn't work, but it was still a better chance than trying to fight a Kage in my current state— or in any state, especially with Obito potentially watching from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Yagura remained silent, those unsettling pink eyes analyzing me with clinical detachment. Not the field of ice and corpses around us, not the bodies of his own Anbu guards scattered like broken toys—just yours truly.
Mistaking Anbu for hunter-nin…..How embarrassing.
I let the Devil Whisper infuse my next words, making them compelling, trustworthy, irresistible. "Look, I get it. Someone killed your people, invaded your territory. But a Kage entering foreign soil without permission?" I spread my hands in a reasonable gesture. The mist was thinning around for some reason. Pity—it had just gotten comfortable. "Think about the political implications. The Land of Waves might be small, but they have allies. This could spark an international incident neither of us wants."
I tried not to cringe too much. The reasoning behind the words was too weak and was, admittedly laughable under scrutiny. It felt like scolding a kunai for being sharp. But hoped with Devil's Whisper the blade would grow blunt? Ahh, I blame the blood loss.
I took a step closer, keeping my movements non-threatening. "Besides, it's dangerous for a Mizukage to be here without his guard. What would your village say if something happ—"
Yagura was on me in a blink.
His staff swung in a vicious arc that would have caved in my skull if I'd tried to block it. Instead, I threw myself sideways, feeling the weapon's wind pressure ruffle my hair as it passed. There was no parrying that thing.
He was fast. Faster than any of his ANBU, faster than I had any right to handle in my current state. My lightheaded, dizzy condition made everything feel like I was fighting underwater, each dodge a split-second gamble with death.
The hooked club came around in a backhanded sweep. I ducked under it, muscle memory from Guy-sensei's hellish training kicking in even as my vision swam. Another thrust—I twisted away, the hooks scraping against my ribs and tearing fabric.
Gradually, my body began to remember how to move. How to read an opponent's stance, their breathing, the micro-expressions that telegraphed their next attack. Thank fuck for Guy-sensei's torturous conditioning—without it, I'd have been pasted on the ice within seconds.
Yagura's attacks were precise, economical, deadly. But they followed patterns, rhythms I could begin to predict. A thrust, a sweep, a downward slam—each one designed to end the fight quickly.
I realized, as we danced around each other in that frozen tomb, I wasn't losing ground anymore. If anything, I was starting to gain it.
I wasn't on the back foot against a Kage when it came to taijutsu. Hell, I'd dare say I was even superior to him in pure hand-to-hand combat.
Calm your fucking horses now.
I never believed myself to be someone to underestimate his own abilities. But I was pretty fucked up at the moment. Chakra and mind were still a bit sluggish after Tsunami, add to that surviving a fight I was not supposed to, and yeah….
Yagura seemed to reach the same conclusion at the exact same moment. Which was why the bastard fucking spat at me. Spat!
I didn't have time to be properly offended before I realized each glob of saliva was moving like a bullet, cutting through the air. I twisted and weaved, feeling water projectiles whistle past my face.
The distance between us opened as Yagura used my evasion to reposition himself. I knew what came next—every shinobi with half a brain switched to ninjutsu when taijutsu failed them.
Even as I dodged another salvo of spit-bullets, my hands flowed through seals with practiced ease. Time to show this puppet how we did things in Konoha.
"Fire Release!" I took a deep breath that puffed out my chest like a bellows. "Great Fireball Jutsu!"
The fireball that erupted from my mouth was massive—easily three times the size of the house-sized one I'd used on Zabuza earlier. It spread wide as it roared toward Yagura, turning the air into a furnace.
Most shinobi would try to counter with a water technique. Water Wall, Water Dragon, Water Trumpet— can't dodge something that big.
And most shinobi were idiots. I'd hoped the Yagura would follow their example. In no way did I believe it would land true. But I was bound to be disappointed.
"Water Release: Water Mirror Jutsu!"
A massive, flat pool of water materialized in front of Yagura, its surface reflecting my incoming fireball with perfect clarity. He hooked his staff into the liquid mirror and rotated it ninety degrees, and suddenly my own technique was emerging from the water to meet its twin.
The collision was spectacular. Two identical Great Fireballs crashed into each other with enough force to make the ice dome groan, superheated steam billowing in all directions as the reflective water dispersed. The explosion rattled my bones and sent cracks spider-webbing through the nearest ice walls.
Not what I hopped. But it served its purpose. The flames created a perfect screen, hiding me and my next actions from the foe.
I formed a shadow clone and immediately began the transformation, taking a page from Naruto and Sasuke's teamwork from the show. My body shifted, condensed, became a hand of fire before I attached myself to the clone's arm. The firehand technique usually floated at a distance from the flesh of the arm, where the jutsu paper was, but this was rather impossible to achieve, and more importantly, Yagura wouldn't be familiar with my signature jutsu.
The flames from our clashing techniques hadn't even begun to die down when three water dragons rounded the conflagration from different angles, their serpentine forms lunging toward me, or rather, my clone.
The clone's hands flowed through seals without hesitation, slapping the ground.
"Earth Style: Mud Wall Jutsu!"
He poured chakra faster than was probably safe, but speed mattered more than efficiency right now. The wall didn't rise in front of him like a shield—instead, it erupted directly beneath his feet, launching him into the air like the world's most dangerous elevator.
The three water dragons collided with the earthen barrier just as the clone pushed off horizontally, chakra flooding to his legs for the jump. Mud and stone crumbled under the assault, but it had served its purpose. My clone sailed through the frigid air toward Yagura, kunai and shuriken spinning from his hands in a deadly constellation.
The projectiles weren't meant to kill— hell, it would be suspicious if they even landed. They were meant to keep the Kage busy, force him to focus on defense instead of preparing some nasty surprise for my clone's arrival.
And then we were back to close combat, because it was only wise fighting on one's own terms.
Yagura immediately tried to make distance, his staff whipping through the air in wide arcs designed to keep my clone at bay. But he wasn't having any of that shit. The clone pressed forward aggressively, ducking under swings and weaving between thrusts, never giving the Mizukage a moment to breathe or think.
Each exchange sent frost crystals scattering from our movements, the dome's icy walls shaking and cracking, reflecting our deadly dance in distorted fragments.
It wasn't hard to set up a trap when you knew exactly what your opponent wanted. The clone feinted a stumble—just enough to make Yagura think he'd found an opening. The Kage pulled back, staff raised for a finishing blow.
That's when the clone hurled me—still in firehand form—while his other hand raced through familiar seals.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Justu!"
A bit redundant, sure, but that was the whole fucking point.
Yagura had seen both techniques in action. He knew how to roughly counter them, which meant he wasn't surprised or caught off guard. He smoothly sidestepped my firehand form—clearly thinking it only exploded on contact—while his staff moved to create another water mirror for the incoming fireball.
"Water Release: Water Mirror Jutsu!" he called out, the reflective surface materializing.
It seemed the Mizukage would rather fight familiar techniques with his own predictable responses than reveal more of his arsenal. Fair enough—I could work with predictable.
While Yagura focused on positioning his mirror to catch the clone's fireball, I transformed back.
A grin on my face and a blue orb in my hand.
My first time ever using the Rasengan, and wasn't that just fucking perfect timing. Against a kage.
Yagura's reaction was inhumanly fast. Those pink eyes widened as he sensed the chakra behind him, his body already beginning to turn, staff moving to intercept—
But even a Kage couldn't outrun physics when he was caught flat-footed.
The Rasengan slammed into his back with the sound of a thunderclap, the spiraling chakra tearing through his defensive posture like paper.
I'd poured everything I could into the technique in the few seconds I'd had to form it, meaning to end this fight permanently.
Yagura went flying, his body tumbling across the ice like a broken doll before slamming into the dome's far wall with a crack that might have been stone or bone—or both.
Unfortunately, my brilliant plan had one tiny flaw.
The clone's fireball was still coming straight at me, and I didn't have a convenient water mirror to hide behind.
"Fuck!"
Though the Great Fireball was my go-to ninjutsu. The hand seals were so familiar I could probably do them in my sleep—which was good, because I barely had time to think. My hands moved in desperate precision as I took a quick breath.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
My fireball met the clone's in mid-air, the collision sending superheated air washing over the dome. The clone had been running low on chakra, so his technique wasn't quite as massive as it should be, but….
It was still bigger than mine, rushed as it was.
The explosion made me blind and deaf for a split second.
But I survived.
In fact, I came out of the exchange relatively intact. Well, if you ignored the second-degree burns crawling up my right arm and the first-degree burns across my chest. My clothes on that side were nothing but charred scraps now, the fabric still smoldering against my skin.
Sarcasm, healer of souls.
I was breathing hard, each gulp of frigid air feeling like knives in my lungs. The rapid and consecutive chakra usage had drained my reserves dangerously low. Every technique after technique, poured out faster than my system could safely handle.
I was even more lightheaded and a bit nauseous. Lucky that I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.
The clone puffed out of existence with a small pop, and I heaved a deep breath, immediately started stripping off my flak jacket and what remained of my shirt.
The fabric was still burning in places, and if it melted into my injuries, it would be a bitch and a half to heal properly. Not to mention the ugly scars it might leave—Anko definitely wouldn't want to cuddle with some charred, disfigured thing.
My eyes found Yagura's crumpled form across the dome. I'd put everything I had into that Rasengan, every scrap of chakra I could safely channel in the time available. It could — it should have been enough to kill him outright.
But as I had deduced before, luck was a finite resource, and I had run out of it.
"Fuck me sideways," I swore as the Kage slowly pushed himself to his feet, blood trickling from his mouth but still breathing, even if barely.
"Nobody is dying….." I muttered under my breath, watching him stand like my best technique had been nothing more than a love tap. "What the hell do they feed you people in Kiri?"
My swearing doubled when an ominous aura descended over the dome, every hair on my neck standing at attention. A red chakra cloak began boiling around Yagura's form, wild and violent and absolutely fucking terrifying.
Oh, right….. he was a jinchuriki.
How the hell had I forgotten that little detail?
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